They pushed on as quickly as they could and, despite racing toward a settlement that he expected to find in ruins, Nathaniel found himself enjoying the trip. The forests seemed older, with fewer varieties of trees. It struck him that some trees transplanted from Norisle had worked their way inland season by season. He knew from the Shedashee that they’d never raised wheat or rye, but the crops could be found up and down the Colonies. Not only had men invaded Mystria, but they’d brought green allies to exert dominance over the land.
Nathaniel knew that the Good Book gave man license to establish dominion over the world. He found himself wishing that the Good Lord had been a bit more specific with his instructions on how to do that. All too often he got the feeling that the Good Lord had said, “Yes, you may make light in the darkness,” and most men figured that gave them license to burn down a forest.
He found himself walking behind the Steward as the second day stretched toward night. “Don’t mind me asking, Ezekiel Fire, but what was it made you come on out here?”
The older man glanced back over his shoulder. “God gave man an unspoiled garden. He gave people everything they wanted, including the gift of magick. But men got greedy, and they spoiled the garden. So God exiled them and took away their gifts. Mostly He did, that was, but He’s a loving God. He gave us a way to return to His grace. And it came upon me to realize that He wanted men to be back in that unspoiled garden. Now, truly, have you seen any other place that has done without man’s spoiling hand since He created the world?”
“I don’t reckon I have, but we ain’t alone out here. There’s Shedashee lives in these parts.”
“But they live as God intended. They’re innocents, of course, because they have not heard the Word and have not been saved, but their innocence and the way they live in harmony with the land makes them blessed. I believe, when the Good Lord comes again, He will reward them for their fidelity to His intention.”
Nathaniel snorted. “That’s a mite kinder assessment than I done heard coming out of some other preachers’ pieholes.”
Fire looked back, a wistful expression lighting his face. “That’s because my brethren are frustrated. They hold the key to salvation in their hands every day, but they have failed to discern God’s true plan, failed to have learned the lessons He set out for each of us.”
Kamiskwa worked his way back along the trail. “We found where they probably spent their first morning. It has good water. We can’t be more than four or five hours away now, so we might as well camp for the night.”
“Agreed, iffen you’re agreeable, Steward.”
“Yes. I shall use the time to pray.”
Neither man said it aloud, but they expected fighting the next day. Taking the evening to rest and prepare would not hurt.
“Now, Steward, when we head out tomorrow…”
Fire shook his head. “Son, do you think God has spared me a vision of what we will find?”
“Don’t know if He has, sir, or not, but I don’t know if you done ever seen a slaughter before. It’s been going on a week since they died. Scavengers might not have been at them because of the blood poison, but the sun ain’t going to have spared them none, and maggots, well, they tend to be hearty little beasts.” Nathaniel pointed up and down the trail. “For us, they ain’t gonna be people we knowed. For you…”
“I understand, Mr. Woods, and I appreciate your concern.” The older man smiled. “But you should understand this: I am not the Steward of their physical selves, but of their souls. What you describe is not, to me, a tragedy, but confirmation that God, in His Wisdom, has called them home. And while I know that what we will see will be horrible, there will be a part of me that wishes I lay among them.”
Nathaniel frowned. “I don’t reckon that is right.”
“Oh, but it is.” Ezekiel Fire sighed wearily. “You see, God has showed me what we shall see tomorrow, and all that I shall endure the rest of my days. Believe me when I say that there are some things which are worse than Death, and those very things lay in store for me.”
Chapter Twenty-four
13 May 1767 Piety Postsylvania, Mystria
In the morning’s dead air, nothing moved in Piety.
They’d come in from the east, topping a hill that looked down upon the shallow valley in which the settlement had been raised. A modest stream ran from northeast to southwest, with a small lake at the southwestern end. It wasn’t hard to see that the lake had once been larger, but the settlers had drained what had been marshland, reducing it by two-thirds, and had placed that land under cultivation. A wooden dock jutted into the lake and Owen easily imagined boys fishing off it on a warm summer afternoon.
Owen had crouched and taken out a journal to sketch a rough map of the village. The structures had been clustered toward the northeastern end of the valley. They had neither a mill nor a workshop, but a central blockhouse overlooked a village green and served as a meeting house. Smaller houses had been arranged around it, many with corrals and chicken coops built nearby. Four barns served the community, two on each side of the stream, all southwest of the settlement.
Nathaniel sank down beside Owen. “Ain’t nothing to see, is there?”
“Doesn’t appear to be.” Owen sighed. “We might as well go down and investigate.”
“Agreed.” Nathaniel stood. “Everyone stay together. Makepeace, you’ll be watching our backsides. Steward, you’ll be with Owen, telling him what’s normal and what ain’t. Kamiskwa, Colonel, we’ll be keeping our eyes peeled and don’t be forgetting the sky. Anything comes on bat-wings, I reckon we should send it back to Hell.”
The party made their way down into the village from the east and approached one of the houses from the rear. It really wasn’t much more than a log shack, ten feet deep and twenty wide. It had a long roof sloping toward the rear, with an overhang that covered a shelf for wood storage. Owen figured it had first been made as a lean-to, with the front face open, but that had later been finished with rough-hewn boards. A plank door hung crooked on leather hinges.
Kamiskwa swung a door to the chicken coop back and forth. “No birds, a little blood, but the coop is intact. Whatever took them wasn’t a wild animal.”
Nathaniel nodded and pointed toward the goat pen. “They also took time to brush away their footprints.”
“Looks wind-scoured to me.” Makepeace bent down to take a better look. “But ain’t no wind woulda done that good a job, save for a big storm, and we ain’t had that.”
Owen shivered. “Magick, then?”
He’d expected Kamiskwa to answer, but Fire hung his head. “Evil magick. I can feel it.”
Makepeace and Rathfield crossed themselves.
They moved on to the house. Owen entered first, rifle ready, but the small shack proved empty. A sleeping loft considerably lowered the ceiling over the main room. The fire in the hearth on the left wall had long since died. Cornmeal mush had congealed in the base of a cast-iron pot hanging there. The surface had cracked like the mud in a dry lake bed. The porridge had been served up and small mounds of it had dried on four plates set on a table suitable for seating six. Butter had melted and resolidified in a small crock, and the loaf of brown bread on a cutting board had grown stale.
“Do you know who lived here?”
Fire nodded solemnly. “Ben Mason, his wife, four children-a boy, three girls.”
Owen quickly mounted the log ladder to the sleeping loft. A large bed with a cradle at the foot of it lay to the right, and three sleeping mats with blankets lay to the left. The beds had been made neatly, with one of the sleeping mats having a small ragged doll in a grey dress and bonnet leaning against the pillow.
Owen descended again and rejoined the others outside. “Family was having dinner, must have come out peacefully because there is nothing out of place. If we didn’t know what had happened, a casual look-see and I’d assume they were all coming back inside the hour.”
“Miriam always did keep a good house. Encouraged the children that way.”
Fire’s observation did nothing to make Owen feel any better. The peaceful nature of the village contrasted with the horror of the wounds on the Green woman’s body. For all intents and purposes, every living thing had vanished in an instant, and there was no reason Owen could imagine that they couldn’t disappear just as quickly.
