Updated 5/3/24

Chapter 1

Rebekah

Rebekah poked a fingernail under the edge of her false beard and peeled a bit away from her cheek. The tearing sensation made her wince, blowing out a quick breath.

Each sabbath it was more painful to remove.

Over several moons, she found the best spots to attach its lace backing so that she could smile and make other expressions without pain. Every other moon, she visited the hidden circle at Fairness Crossing. The ladies there created a new one from her hair cuttings. Sometimes it lasted two moons, but once it wore out quicker. She clenched her teeth when she remembered sneaking out of town in the middle of the night. Now she carried a spare and extra boiled hide glue.

She held her breath again, immersing her face into the bowl of warm vinegar to loosen the glue more. Her skin tingled as the mild acid broke down the hardened glue. She took another breath and went under again. The raw skin burned.

Soon she would have to hide somewhere safe and leave it off for at least a week to heal her skin completely. Otherwise, their might be permanent scarring. Perhaps the inn in the country that Teress mentioned.

What was the name? Lion and Tiger. Yes, that was it.

Each sabbath, at one of her regular inns, the beard came off. From sunset to sunset, the fragrant slippery elm bark salve had to be reapplied every hour. This day of rest was the only break, a brief therapy, from the irritating glue. A new sabbath ritual.

During this seclusion, she read the Writings and prayed, keeping her mind engaged so she wouldn’t wallow in despair. She never expected an easy life, but it was difficult to find any joy without Sarah. It had been a year and eight moons since she was taken. When the painful separation overwhelmed her, she forced herself to think of all that was good and possible for her missing daughter and husband.

 That horrific day still haunted her dreams--the destruction of their home, the blackened bodies of her parents in the thunderous fire, and witnessing Sarah stolen away. She feared going back to sleep on those nights, and longed for Jonathan’s strong arms.

Her alter ego, Tommas Bekh, was not a follower of J’shua so she could not attend any circle openly, needing to seem as worldly as anyone else to ferret out what the enemy was doing in the land.

Finally, with her beard back in place, Rebekah tromped downstairs to look for entertainment as any merchant would in the evening, another piece of her disguise. As she entered the tavern behind the inn, one man nodded as she passed. “Gooday, Tommas.”

 “Gooday to you, too, Barnus.”

Another man raised his mug. “Tommas, hallo!” Raising her hand and smiling, she continued toward the back. Rebekah found it unnerving that so many knew that name now. But it couldn’t be helped.

She would have preferred to stay at the former Flea and Flagon. The owners renamed it the Kings Inn, capitalizing on an overnight stay by King Edal, and that was where the best information could be found. However, Commandant Greysun frequented that establishment and Rebekah couldn't risk running into him for fear of ruining her cover. That beast was behind every vile evil in Fairness Crossing. He would poke and prod and dig like a dog, if he became curious.

Instead she used the Golden Canary. A popular place at the far end of town, the regular bard, Bingdad, sang a lively tune as she entered. The fireplace warmed everyone with dancing yellow and orange flames, and the proprietor’s special blend of ale laced the air, pungent and sweet. She headed toward her usual table, happy to see it unoccupied. Her closest friend, Teress, would arrive soon.

Teress always stood out when she made her entrance, this time dressed as a wealthy merchant’s wife wearing a bright blue linen shift and a navy silk overtunic, a bright green scarf wrapped around her head, unruly brown curls framing her face. Rebekah, Teress, and her husband, Vincent, had started Licht Gegen when they hid from debt collectors in Frei Forest.

After ordering two ales, Rebekah shared all the reports from her latest circuit. Hoping to find the rumors about the Knights’ School, to be untrue, she had traveled to the base of Shining Mountain. Finding its buildings burned to the ground, she hiked up the foothills. Her husband, Jonathan, had trained there. Now the school continued in secret hidden on the mountain.

Rebekah spoke in low tones. “The Knights’ School needs us to transmit messages to the circles. Their daikon asked if any orphans might wish to become knights. I hadn’t thought of that before.”

Teress nodded. “That’s a good idea. We will need their discipline and wisdom for our strategy to stand the test of time.”

Rebekah took a sip of the sweet and sour ale. “Crispus said they will pray for us and help us when they can. I think we should include them in the regular schedule.”

“I agree. We need the knights,” Teress said, then let out a tinkling laugh. She leaned closer and whispered, “Two men near the door have been watching us.”

“And what did he do then?” Rebekah asked loudly. Then lowered her voice. “Come to my room in an hour.”

“My dear sir, you honor me.” Teress stood, blew a kiss, and sashayed out.

Rebekah leered as she left, waiting to see if either man followed Teress. Unconsciously, she touched her dagger.

They did not move. One of them cocked his head acknowledging Bekh’s supposed good fortune, to which she returned a smile and a nod. Proceeding to the manager’s desk, she retrieved her messages for the day. Neither man followed, so it seemed safe. But she must continue to be careful. If any of their group ended up in the earl’s dungeon, his torturer would surely learn of all of them.

Her knock was barely audible. Rebekah leaped to the door. As soon as she opened it Teress entered, dressed as before, smiling. “Several men watched me walk up the stairs so your mystique with the ladies will continue.”

Rebekah rolled her eyes. “Tell me.”

“The council sent word through Major Gonnels’ mother that the information we sent to Commander Taelor was accurate and most helpful in placing men into the renegade garrisons. He confirmed that they are being given orders by black-robes as we suspected and relayed the intelligence to the king, but has not revealed the existence of Licht Gegen to protect our secrecy.”

Rebekah’s gut told her Earl Gaelib Melazera was behind this evil. In his province and surrounding towns, circles were raided and it was his undersecretary that destroyed her home. But all the intelligence that she and others had gathered had not brought tangible proof. None of it made sense.

Rebekah continued recounting her days. The stop she made in Caswell revealed the presence of many black-robes with duties in the castle and town. These mysterious functionaries were connected to the rash of debt collections that claimed her daughter. They were present at the sacrifice of the child she found. And she’d seen George Rosewud, the earl’s undersecretary, dressed as one also.

Then Rebekah detailed her travels with the two orphans who had assisted her for the last year. Her cover for intelligence-gathering and message-passing was too successful to manage alone. Surprised to make a profit as a plow salesman, she was growing wealthy. Yet, she still needed to move about as inconspicuously as possible so she lived frugally, investing the money quietly. This enabled her to start a new business in Lexandria, Bekh’s Bold Bargains. She purchased a warehouse on the southside and began collecting trade goods, as well as items Licht Gegen would need in the coming years.

Lastly, she shared her encounter with the boys living in the woods. She and her two lads had ridden south from Caswell, picking a spot to rest and eat. As with most days, she had collected countless bits of information.

Her lads were gathering kindling when about thirty boys of all ages stepped out of the woods. Their leader, James a tall beardless lad, had addressed her. He was confident and ready for any action. She’d been afraid, she hadn’t heard his approach, but his affable smile reassured her.

Her lips quirked thinking of James of the Wood leaning against the tree. He’d told her that he’d seen her pass through multiple times. They sought information about their parents who’d been arrested from circles in Lorness and Fairness Crossing.

“I’d like to provide them information about their parents next time I see them. What of the names I sent? Were any of the boys’ parents located?”

“Yes, the freedom of some was purchased with bribes. Their guards reported they died. Others are still imprisoned in Lorness or Farr Castle. And some we have no word of. But the council fears it is a trick. Can you prove these boys are genuine?”

“Proof…?” Rebekah rubbed her beard. She had no proof. Only her gut feeling. Her husband had helped those boys. “What if they provided statements that only their parents would recognize? Specific events and such. Then their parents could be sure.”

“That would work. Send several such statements for each.

Another hour passed before Teress bid her goodnight. “I will deliver this and bring you any information Licht Gegen can provide when we meet next.”

Chapter 2

Jonathan

Jonathan strode on the well-trodden dirt surrounded by travelers, endless shops and carts of wares constraining them on either side. He wove through the colorful river of people, all chattering in Tarin, which he barely understood. His skill with the language was only passable, receiving many sour looks when he spoke. He was relieved whenever someone offered to translate. J’shua, bring me a teacher for this language. So many words sound the same, but mean vastly different things.

The smell of pungent spices wafted over him as oxen grunted and lowed, pulling heavy carts toward the center of the capital city, Hampi. He skirted around the city center, remaining in the farmlands to avoid its crime. He merged onto a wider road, swelling with more noise and jabbering.

The people of Tarinland had a strict caste system. Everywhere he turned, peasants bowed to their betters. Arriving at the Delami Inn, he marveled at the colorful merchants, revered only moments before, who now lowered their heads to a magistrate who came out of the wide doorway.

The farming villages welcomed him, but opportunities to spread the Writings had been few because he was still learning their language. But some, curious of his fair hair and piercing blue eyes, invited him into their homes. Once they’d fed him as hospitality demanded in Tarin culture, they listened intently as he introduced them to J’shua Ha Mashiach. For the last moon, he had stayed in homes when invited and under the stars when not.

Jonathan discovered that no law prevented anyone from accepting the words of J’shua. However, circles could not include people from different castes. Therefore, to spread the Writings to the upper ranks of Tarin society, he would have to meet individuals of higher status. He prayed for that.

Jonathan noticed a few Tarin soldiers eyeing him. They separated and began walking toward him on either side of the street. Has word of the bounty on me spread here? He blew out a breath and prayed. J’shua had called him to Tarin.

Relax. They are just drawn to my strange blonde hair and blue eyes.

[Be not afraid of sudden fear, neither of the desolation of the wicked, when it cometh.]

Despite recalling those words from the writings, Jonathan decided to get off the street. He entered the Delami Inn, seeking its dining hall. A woman draped in bright saffron-colored silk wound loosely about her, greeted him—the proprietor’s wife perhaps. After he handed her a damar, the smallest of their gold coins, she gave him a glazed ceramic bowl and pointed to the table of deep tureens and colorful dishes.

The crowded hall smelled of cinnamon and roasted spicy meats. Several tables had a dozen patrons already. He smiled at the laughing and hooting men to his right and the old man that announced his daughter’s engagement on this left.

Jonathan ladled a thick savory stew into the bowl, found a seat, and struck up a conversation with a Tarin merchant. As they spoke, he learned his new friend had traveled north through Esthlanis and south into the wildlands of the mountains. The man’s wiry frame and limbs moved with every word like a marionette while explaining all he knew of this region.

The two soldiers entered, then spoke to the woman wearing the saffron dress. She bowed and waved them in. One stayed by the door while the other strolled to the back of the room.

Jonathan continued to pray, slowing his breathing.

[Pray without ceasing.]

“It would be too difficult for a Priest to accept J’shua,” the silver merchant drew swirls in the air with his fork as he spoke, “as they are trained from infancy to teach spiritual things. The man’s family would murder him.” His dark, bushy eyebrows rose. “Reaching the warrior and ruling castes might be possible. Even so, there would be great pressure on the family to kill them. The elite castes do not trust foreigners.” The man shook his head and took another forkful of pigeon.

“Tell me more,” Jonathan said, reclining slightly to keep an eye on both soldiers. The merchant didn’t seem to notice them.

“My caste, traders and merchants, is most open. To expand our routes and bring in goods from afar, we must deal with foreigners and their strange ideas. This makes us curious.” He took another bite. “I acquired a Book of J’shua with silver fasteners in Esthlanis. I’ve shown it to customers in higher castes as merely another product. I’ve not had an offer for it yet. What can I tell them about the book that might entice them? Perhaps an exotic story from it?”

“Ah, yes.” Jonathan smiled. “Once, long ago, Daniel, a slave since his youth, had been elevated for his virtue. Now an old man, his enemies tricked the king who had become his ally and now he was entrapped by the king’s law which could not be changed. He did not despair but prayed. Even as they lowered him into a pit with a rope tied to his wrists, Daniel prayed. The—”

The merchant’s eyes narrowed. “This story will not sell well.”

Jonathan motioned to him. “A little patience. A dozen starving lions whose shoulders were taller than your hips, snarled. Not fed for many days, they slowly circled the pit eyes fixed on his warm flesh, their saliva dripping from the panting tongues that lay between their sharp teeth.”

“Oh, my! This is in your holy book?” the man asked with wide eyes.

“As Daniel’s feet came to rest upon the muddy floor, he watched the circling beasts growling and baring their teeth. His captors rolled a large stone over the opening so no one could save him. Daniel thought this was the end, but still, he refused to beg his captors, and continued to pray.”

“This could have promise,” the merchant said.

Jonathan smiled. “In the morning, they rolled away the stone. Instead of finding a bloody, broken corpse, Daniel stood in the center looking up at them, saying, ‘My God sent his angel and shut the mouths of the lions.’ All around him, the creatures were fast asleep on the floor, soothed by the God of Truth.”

“I did not see that coming. Yes, that has merit. Are there other such stories of your god’s power?”

Jonathan spent the next two hours sharing more stories about the God of Truth and his son, J’shua Ha Mashiach. The soldiers never moved. He pushed down his growing anxiety.

The silver merchant emptied his mug. “Thank you, Jonathan. I have enjoyed this immensely.”

“I have likewise. I am glad to have met you. Can you tell me of other merchants that might wish to learn of J’shua?”

The Tarin smiled. “In the inner city marketplace, there’s a bookseller. He’ll be interested in speaking with you and, perhaps, acquiring copies of the Book of J’shua. His family name, Padhyay, is above the shop’s entrance on the main road.”

“Thank you, sir. I will visit him. The Lord J’shua be with you. I will look for you this time next year.”

Jonathan forced himself to remain calm, following the merchant out. He passed the soldier without making eye contact. Hoping no one the could hear his pounding heart or see him sweat, he did not look back. Nor did he run, even though every fiber wished to.

He headed deeper into Hampi.

***

Jonathan found Omari Padhyay, exactly where he had been instructed. He conversed with the man and perused his well-stocked bookshop. It was a relief that so many of the merchants in Tarin spoke Freis. They quickly became friends.

The bell above the door tinkled as an older man entered dressed in traditional attire befitting a high status. Omari rushed to him and bowed low, his palms placed together. “The peace within me recognizes the peace within you, Thapa Raju. How can I help this fine day?”

Jonathan noticed a palanquin and men to carry it, out the window. He understood the gist of the conversation. He looked back to the book he held not wanting to intrude.

“Thapa Raju, you are most learned and a wise truth seeker. You must meet my new friend, Sir Jonathan Otual from Freislicht. He is a Knight of J’shua.” Omari pointed his upturned hand toward Jonathan.

Thapa raised his eyebrows, bowing the appropriate amount to an unknown foreigner of a religious sect. “The peace within me recognizes the peace within you, Sir Otual. I have heard of the Knights of J’shua. It is an honor to meet a visitor of such esteemed reputation. Welcome to our humble city. What brings you here?”

Jonathan smiled warmly as he approached, a bit worried his dusty cloak and broken Tarin might offend the old man. He prayed silently before he spoke in Tarin as best he could, “I see the peace, worthy Thapa Raju. Thank you for kind welcome. Please, sorry, bad talking. I travel from far want understand teachings and wisdom of this place. Want learn of Tarinland.

Thapa smiled. “I understand. Very good. Speaking well. What would you know?”

Jonathan bowed and pointed to himself. “I am truth seeker. Spiritual fulfilment all humans seek. I want catch ideas. Deep water share understanding of the Creator, the God of Truth.” Jonathan mimed pouring from one hand to his other.

Thapa smiled and nodded. “Good, very good, you speak Tarin well. Indeed, the pursuit of truth is a noble endeavor. Our writings speak of the eternal soul, the cycle of fate, and the path to liberation. Perhaps you have insights from your own traditions to share?”

Jonathan thought he understood the man, though some words confused him. “Yes, esteemed one, people of my sect cherish message of J’shua Ha Mashiach. He give words of love, compassion, and redemption. My quest similar. Want talk more with you. Is possible? Perhaps have translator?”

Omari and Thapa exchanged rapid words Jonathan could not understand, but hoped it was about arranging another meeting. The bookseller handed Thapa Raju a package and bowed deeply. Thapa responded with a lesser bow to Omari and Jonathan, then left.

Omari spoke in Freis, “You did well Sir Jonathan. He invites you to his home. He bids me to bring you tomorrow and translate. Can you be here at noon?”

“Yes, this is wonderful, Omari. God bless you, friend.”

“I will take you to the baths and bring you suitable clothes.”

Omari handed him an illustrated alphabet book.

Jonathan accepted the gift and bowed low. “You are very kind, Omari.”

Omari bowed. “I am curious how this will go tomorrow.”

The next day, Omari took Jonathan to the bath house. Soldiers milled about every few blocks. This might be normal. He couldn’t tell if they were watching him.

They approached a low building, surrounded by cisterns. Women came to draw water from one and bathed their children in another. Long lines of peasants waited their turn.

A servant standing by the entrance bowed as Omari showed him a wooden card engraved with Tarin letters. Jonathan recognized them from the alphabet book, but could not tell what they spelled. Inside the room, steps led down into a pool of steaming water. A light mist rose up from it. Servants stood all around the pool, ready to offer a brush or soap. Omari handed another servant the basket he brought and began removing his clothes, which the servant held.

Jonathan did the same, following Omari. He glanced toward the entrance as a soldier entered the bath house and scanned the pool. Jonathan looked down at his fair skin, even more of a flag than his white-blond hair. Should he ask about the soldiers and tell Omari about the bounty? No, he wanted to allay his fear, but that was just his yearning for comfort. He would trust J’shua and let this play out. He may need to be arrested to encounter whoever J’shua intended him to meet.

The soldier had not moved, so Jonathan stepped in. Soothing warmth and the fragrance of roses comforted him as he slowly sank into the water. He accepted a loofah and scrubbed his body. Then Omari motioned to his back and Jon scrubbed the man’s back, Then Omari did his. It felt glorious. He was glad the fountain in the center of the pool kept the water moving or there might have been a cloud of dirt surrounding his pink body.

After they finished drying, the servant held out the basket and Omari helped Jonathan dress. Their dirty clothes went into the basket and Omari gave a boy a coin to run them home.

They arrived at the sprawling estate of Thapa Raju. The soft, blue silk tunic and pants Omari lent him flowed with every movement. Strange fragrances from flowering trees greeted them. A servant swung the door wide, bowing and beckoning them inside.

Jonathan froze. On either side of the door stood two more soldiers. Even though they kept their heads pointed forward, he was sure their eyes saw everything. He forced himself to maintain his calm exterior, though his skin prickled and his heart skipped several beats.

The servant led them to a room more opulent than any in High Keep with plush furniture, pedestals holding creatures carved of ivory, and lined with shelves holding books and scrolls. A large table in the center of the library contained ink and quills and fresh parchment. Servants brought in trays of exotic foods and flagons of wine.

Jonathan scanned the variety of titles.

Thapa Raju entered from another doorway, smiling, motioning for Omari and Jonathan to sit.  He noticed Jonathan glance toward the soldiers. “Fear not Sir Jonathan. Our spies have informed us of the bounty on your head. We have decided that since the man who wants you is our enemy, you are a friend. Our soldiers are here to protect you in case you were followed by evildoers from your country.”

Bowing his head Jonathan replied. “Thank you kind sir.” His knees were weak. He sat, relief flooding through him. Their surveillance was remarkable.

Would they always consider him a friend?

“Let us begin our research,” Thapa said as he opened the scroll before him.

The spirited discussion ranged over the impermanence of the material world, ideas of love, compassion, forgiveness, and the pursuit of spiritual understanding. Thapa smiled, frowned, and laughed periodically. Jonathan’s heart burned as he shared about the Creator of heaven and earth, that his heavenly host were referred to as sons of God, stars, and lesser gods in the Writings. He explained that they did not always obey their father, the Creator. Finally, he shared J’shua Ha Mashiach’s ultimate sacrifice that ransomed all who accepted him.

Omari interpreted as they exchanged ideas.

Jonathan had many pages of notes that he rolled up and slid in his tunic when Thapa bid them farewell. He bowed low, thanking his host for the gift of his time.

Looking toward the setting sun Jonathan asked Omari, “Do you think that went well?”

“I think you gave him much to ponder. And I also.” Omari’s smile grew. “He seemed to enjoy your company.”

“Thank you for being my interpreter. That would have been impossible without you.”

“I am happy to have heard such a thorough explanation of the spiritual world. I would know more.”

“I will introduce you to others who study the words of J’shua and the God of Truth.”

After guiding Omari to the small circle in Hampi, Jonathan headed to the Knights School in Freislicht. Tomorrow, he would be there.

I pray there is a letter from Rebekah. Sarah is already eight.

Chapter 3

Owakar

Owakar sat in the barber’s chair as a red-haired angel snipped at his brown locks. Waving the scissors this way and that, the stylist pouted as he trimmed an errant strand. “Sir Owakar, what do you have planned for the day?”

“Just the usual, Cranik, watching and writing, and more writing.” He wouldn’t say anything that might get back to the Warrior or some other disobedient brother.

As the Watcher over the Province of Lorness, he needed to look more respectable. He wasn’t just a messenger any longer, scurrying about informing angels of orders, or providing humans with words of inspiration from J’shua ha Mashiach. Now he had a more important position, so he kept his hair shoulder length as was common both here in the Celestial Sea and in the earthly realm of Lorness.

The people in the Density changed, and the angels above changed with them. Even though most angels thought humans were an annoying reminder of the secret the God of Truth had kept, they were infatuated with everything human and imitated many of their ways. He supposed it was like a moth to the flame—that which they hated or feared drew them. He trusted his creator, the God of Truth, so he neither hated nor feared them. But he too was besotted with those in his charge.

Breaking glass and a crash caused Owakar to turn as a crowd of guardians dragged a struggling messenger from the game room next door. A basket flew through the air, impaled by a sword. It had been pretty quiet recently.

“Hey, let me go! I was just saying what I think,” the messenger cried.

One guardian, a burly angel, his muscles rippling as he gripped the messenger by the hair. “You were spreading discordant rumors about the God of Truth and J’shua Ha Mashiach.”

“We’re free to state our opinions. Who are you to interfere?”

“I’ll tell you who I am. I’m the one that’s going to teach you to be more respectful,” the guardian spat.

One didn’t become a guardian if you were small and petite. And messengers tended to be trim and fast. The God of Truth loved diversity as much as he loved free will, which was the cause of all this.

In the Celestial Sea, every angel was a law unto themselves. All were free to state their thoughts. Arguments abounded and often fights broke out. Angels were quick to self-heal so there was no reason not to fight.

Owakar watched as the guardian gave the vocal messenger a kick. After stumbling, the bruised angel ran off. The guardians went back inside and other patrons along the street went back to enjoying themselves.

Everyone had an opinion about the trial of the Serpent. No one knew how much longer the pretrial motions would take. It could take yet another millennium. Everyday more angels were deposed by one side or the other. Even those loyal to the God of Truth and his son J’shua were unsettled by the upcoming addition of humans into their society. It was bad enough when there were only two of them. Now there were a four hundred fifty million, two hundred twenty-eight thousand, three hundred and one. He looked at the luach again, make that, and three. Would all of them be allowed in the new heaven and earth?

It seemed everyone’s anger was easily pricked by the Serpent’s followers. Though locked away until the trial, he still sowed chaos in the Celestial Sea and in the earth, the Density.

Chaos abounded in both places. That’s why the second heaven was called the Celestial Sea. Just as in the realm of humanity, free will and selfish tendencies made the angelic society structured around individual autonomy rather than collective harmony. Each angel often prioritized their own desires and goals over communal well-being. The hierarchy was based on power, influence, and accomplishment. Angels competed for status, resources, and dominance. Without a shared mission or goal, many pursued personal pleasure.

Even the best of them could be tempted. This minor brawl was not his affair.

Sighing, Owakar looked in the mirror and nodded his approval.

He was a Watcher now and had responsibilities in the Density, in the Province of Lorness. When J’shua spoke to him today, he gave him leave to appoint assistants so that he could provide better overwatch for the Otuals. He smiled thinking of how adversity had sent the four family members in different directions, only one of which had he predicted.. Yes, these humans were very surprising. He never knew what they would do next.

It was easier to keep events straight if he used the calendar of Freislicht rather than the heavenly reckoning of time. Today was the Waning Crescent of Late Summer, in the thirty-first year of the Reign of King Edal. The youngest, Sarah, now eight years old had sparked an ember of seeking in a boy that was so repressed he rarely had a thought of his own. Owakar prayed for the boy every day after learning of his suffering at the hands of his lord, Earl Gaelib Melazera. He had to giggle whenever he thought of how the natural expression of her character had affected the young soldier.. She was the perfect emissary to him. Only the wise God of Truth could have orchestrated it. And now she was learning to be a lady at Locke Castle. He wondered whose heart she might touch there with her simple faith. The faith of a child.

The luach warmed in his pocket and he took it out. He smiled as he read it, ever so happy to have input from the Book of Life always nearby.

[But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but the God of Truth meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive.]

David, the Otual’s son would soon finish his apprenticeship as a horse breeder and would be trained as his father had to become a Knight of J’shua. So far the group in the Shining Mountains had been untainted by a lust for superiority and control. It was inevitable that all organizations fell to such in the end. Some groups merely held to their good intentions for a year. Others for decades. But this group had maintained their simplicity and humbleness for one hundred and fifty years. Their oldest and wisest daikons had managed to avoid usurping God as overseers of the younger knights they taught. By submitting to God and each other in daily study of the Writings, manifestation of the gift, abundant sharing of their temporal things, bearing witness of truth, and in fellowship. It was truly remarkable. But it wouldn’t last. Not unless future leaders were as humble and wise as the two oldest knights, Daikon Theodomo Crispus and Daikon Sylvanus Baxter. Only time will tell.

Jonathan Otual continued to evade Earl Melazera’s soldiers who pursued him every time he entered Freislicht. Even now he followed the call of the spirit into the surrounding countryside to spread the word of the God of Truth. He had recently visited the Knights School and learned that his wife was still alive and on a mission of her own. The man had no idea what that might be, her letter gave him no details, but he trusted she was led by the spirit of God. He left a letter with Crispus for her, before setting out for Tarinland.

 Owakar wondered what the God of Truth might be working on there.

And Rebekah, that remarkable lady, masquerading as a man in order to unearth the hidden plans of evil men and spirits in  Freislicht. Initially, she intended to find her daughter, but upon realizing that there was a greater evil gaining control in the country, she accepted the call to spy out the evil ones and recruit others who wished to end the growing blight upon the good people of Freislicht. Today she set out to retrieve David from Agon Gorum’s horse farm in the republic of Esthlanis and deliver him to the Knights’ School.

Chapter 4

Blackhawk

[Ages- Sarah 10                      David 13         BH 20              J,Sg,Dr, Ga 32]

Steven Blackhawk had settled into High Keep well. For four years, he trained soldiers in the hand-to-hand fighting techniques that had impressed Commander Taelor when he first arrived.  But recently the commander had added him to the rotation of officers patrolling the main roads from High Keep –the High-Farr Castle Road, the High-Fairness Crossing Road, and the High-Lorness Road.

He heard the commotion around the announcement board before he rounded the corner. Approaching the list of assignments, he prayed that it hadn’t changed. The other soldiers finally dwindled away as he pushed to the front. He huffed out a breath,  relieved to see that he was not assigned to the High-Lorness Road. If he ever was, Earl Gaelib Melazera, his patron, would expect a visit each moon.

The thought brought a shiver down his spine. He thanked Little Soldier’s God every day for keeping him away from Lorness. Instead, he would patrol the road from High Keep to Fairness Crossing. The patrols kept law and order. His instructions were to maintain a relaxed pace and avoid alarming travelers as they passed, then meet with the local officer and return the same way. He expected it to take two or three weeks at the most. Then the last week of the moon, he’d train soldiers.

The only soldier that avoided his training sessions was Lieutenant Fortuch, who had not forgotten their clash in the dining hall. He’d been unconscious for fourteen hours and his nose had healed even more off-center. Although he behaved in public, his private revenges were ongoing.

Blackhawk’s clothes went missing from the washer woman’s basket. Or he would find the door to his shanty open, and things moved around. Despite this harassment, Blackhawk remained outwardly affable and unaffected.

When he found a silver goblet hidden under his formal uniform, he had to act. Stashing it in the only safe place he’d found in his quarters, the space under loose floorboards where he had found the Writings a year ago. He sat at his table and reviewed maps for his patrol assignment.

Moments later, someone knocked. A scowling captain entered without invitation. “Lieutenant, there have been reports of pilferage. Your name has come up. Therefore, I need you to stand at attention over there,” he pointed to the farthest corner, “while I perform a search.”

“Yes, sir.” Blackhawk put on a perplexed but compliant expression, then did as ordered. The captain went almost immediately to the spot the goblet had been placed.

Clearly, it was no longer enough for Fortuch to aggravate. He wanted Blackhawk thrown out of the Royal Guard in disgrace.

The captain’s puzzled expression was comical. Glaring at Blackhawk, he marched out.

***

It took almost a week for Blackhawk to complete his arrangements. A week during which Fortuch stayed clear of him. As did the captain who had searched the room. Nor were there any more incidents. Then…

Blackhawk had made sure there were plenty of witnesses to corroborate his alibi. He’d also ensured that he’d be very memorable on this evening, which explained the appalling string of bad luck he was having at cards. “Another hand to you,” he lamented, taking a long pull of ale, his frown deepening.

Brean Mitchett scooped the baden toward him, wagging his head at Samuel and Donert. “I told you his luck couldn’t hold.” His gleeful smile lit up the room.

“Seems everyone’s winning but you tonight, Steven,” Samuel Benutt crowed.

“Finally evening the score,” Donert Maitlan chuckled, looking down at the largest pile of baden he’d ever amassed at one of their games.

“Fire! Fire!” came a yell from outside.

The four officers grabbed their gear and their baden, dashing outside to see what was going on. Flames engulfed the nearest row of junior officers’ shanties. Officers barked orders to the militet who passed buckets of water. Shouldering loitering soldiers out of the way, Blackhawk and his friends tried to get closer, but the heat prevented them.

Karl Fortuch ran into view, then turned on Blackhawk. “You did this! I’ll get you for this! You’ll rue the day that—”

“He’ll rue the day he did what, Lieutenant?” Commander Taelor demanded, striding into view as he cinched tight his sword belt. “I’m waiting, Lieutenant! I won’t ask again.”

“He burned down my quarters!”

Taelor’s eyebrow rose as he turned to face Blackhawk. “Is this true…Lieutenant Maitlan? Did Blackhawk set the fire?” Blackhawk remained unflinching before Taelor’s stony glare.

“I don’t see how he could, sir. He’s been playing cards with us for the last two hours, maybe longer. He hasn’t even left to take a piss.”

Taelor fixed his gaze on Sergeant Samuel Benutt. “Can you shed any light on this?”

“No, sir. Blackhawk’s had a lousy run of cards. But that’s the only thing he’s done since we came off duty.”

“I…see…” Taelor’s jaw worked back and forth as if chewing a tough piece of meat. He turned back toward Fortuch. A crash from within the burning officers’ quarters pulled all their eyes as a wall collapsed and a silver goblet rolled into sight. “Does that belong to you, Lieutenant Fortuch?”

“No, sir. Never seen it before.”

Taelor walked forward, kneeled, and examined the piece. “Someone stole this from me about a week ago. Which of these quarters,” he pointed to the burning rooms, “is yours?”

Fortuch smiled smugly, pointing to the one next to where the goblet had appeared from.

“And who stays in that one?” Taelor pointed to the goblet’s former hiding place.

“It’s…” Fortuch’s face fell. “It’s empty.”

“How long has it been empty?”

“Four…”

“Days, Lieutenant? Weeks?” Taelor demanded, his tone hardening, eyes narrowing.

“Moons, Commander.”

“Really? How did that come about, Lieutenant? Were other quarters empty?”

“Yes, sir…”

“How many of them, Fortuch?”

“All of them, sir.”

“I think that you have explaining to do, lieutenant. Starting off with why you would accuse a brother officer. Next, there is the matter of your…unique…living arrangements in a camp that has little or no space to waste. And, finally, how this goblet appeared from an empty set of quarters next to your own.”

“Sir, I…” Fortuch glared at Blackhawk with murder in his eyes.

“That is quite enough of that!” Taelor snapped. “If I could prove that you’d stolen this goblet, I’d see you got the maximum number of lashes and dismissal. As it is, you are demoted. Report to the quartermaster for your new accommodations and replace your lost gear.”

Blackhawk remained with his friends, stone-faced, saying nothing. Fortuch threw one more glare his way before he trudged away. It was worth every baden he’d spent on the multiple intermediaries for planting the goblet and setting the fire . It was even worth all his losses. Fortuch’s new quarters as a sergeant would be on the far side of the section with the militet. And the worst quarters at High Keep would be rebuilt.

He could not work out how the goblet rolled into sight as if on cue. For a moment, he thought back to Little Soldier. “We need it when we need it.”

Perhaps, every once in a while, things just fall into place.

Chapter 5

Sarah

The sun cast its golden rays through the eastern windows of Locke Castle, bathing its ancient walls in a warm glow. Sarah ran down the corridor, her wooden practice sword raised over her head. Melyssa, the duke’s youngest daughter, also nine-years-old, ran two steps behind with a candlestick thrust out before her. Squealing servants careened out of their way as the two girls burst into the great hall with a roar, brandishing their fearsome weapons.

Duke Gregory Locke and his officials looked up in surprise. The duke turned toward the doorway and said with a bright smile. “Brave knights of Lexandria, you have saved us! Please go to the kitchen for your reward. Come here tomorrow morning at dawn so that I can give you your next mission.”

Sarah thrust her sword in the sash tied around her waist and bowed low. As she rose, she said, “Thank you my lord. You are most gracious. We live to serve.”

Melyssa bounced on her toes. Then she gave a curtsy “Thank you father.”

To a servant the duke said, “Follow them and give them anything they want.”

The two girls looked at each other and took off, the servant rushing to keep up.

Ever since the duchess had chosen her ma as the family’s midwife, Sarah and her adoptive mother, Kennah Decker, had been at Locke Castle. Matylda, the old midwife, recommended Ma to the duchess and they had come to an agreement. Kennah would stay for the two moons surrounding the time of confinement of any of the duchess’ sisters, daughters, or nieces. But Ma would return to their village, Carington, at other times, while Sarah stayed and learn to be a lady to increase her possibilities for a good marriage.

The room was warm and dark, lit only with candles. Matylda toddled about with a dark, knobby cane. She wore a dark mahogany-colored shift and muslin apron as all the midwives did. She could no longer kneel and lift as a midwife must. Ma explained that the duchess had been content with apprentices that Matylda supervised, but they lacked confidence and that made the duchess nervous. That’s why she chose Kennah to succeed her at Locke Castle.

Now, the duke’s youngest sister finally delivered a baby girl, the birth was very overdue. The baby girl came out all red and wrinkled, the size of a three-month-old. The placenta was white, like cooked fish. Sarah poked it and whispered to her ma, it feels like leather.

Her ma nodded to her. “That is a good observation, Sarah. It is a miracle of God that the child was born alive. You have become a reliable assistant.” Kennah gave her shoulder a squeeze. Matilda hobbled over, smiling. She patted Sarah’s head and said, “You did good work tonight. Both of you. I can rest easy. All my girls will be in capable hands when I am gone.”

 Ma gave Matylda a sad smile.

A few weeks later, there was a party to celebrate the new Locke daughter. Many Locke relatives from near and far were visiting. Within the castle's grand halls, laughter echoed as the duchess welcomed guests to a lavish reception.

Sarah, wide eyed, her heart full of wonder, stood by her mother's side, awestruck by the splendor of the new people. The ladies approached, some dressed in exotic, bright colored silks and others in simple linen shifts. The latter dressed like commoners, like friends back home, made her feel more comfortable.

She had barely learned the names of all the usual family and staff, so this great influx caused her to give up the mental exercise and enjoy the pageant before her. Many ladies flocked about her mother babbling about the difficult birth.

Sarah looked down at her fingernails. Oh, no! She forgot to scrub them. She held her hands clasped so that they dirt was hidden. As soon as the receiving line finished she would find water and a brush.

Sarah's gaze fell upon Melyssa, the duchess' young daughter, who ambled toward her with a warm smile. Melyssa was a vision of grace, her eyes sparkled, a good sign she had a plan. Her new friend was kind. That made her less homesick.

"Hallo, Sarah!" Melyssa greeted, her voice musical like the tinkling of bells. “Would you like to join me for some tea?”

Sarah's heart soared at the invitation. She nodded eagerly, her cheeks flushing with excitement as she followed Melyssa to a cozy alcove adorned with plush cushions and delicate lace curtains.

“Melyssa, I need water,” she said as she showed her the dirt under her nails.

“This is easily mended.” Melyssa turned to a servant boy that had followed her. “Bring us water and a nail brush.” Melyssa pointed to a chair beside a table full of rich cakes and colorful fruit. Sarah sat.

When the boy returned, he bowed and motioned for Sarah to place her hands into the bowl of warm water. He proceeded to take each finger in turn and gently brush away the dirt.

To have someone else do this task felt pleasing, but strangely wrong. Self-conscious, she looked at Melyssa, “May I do it myself?”

Melyssa nodded and waved the boy away. He backed up several paces to wait for another command.

Seated at the small table, Melyssa served Sarah a sweet cake and the boy poured fragrant tea into a cup. Sarah marveled at the exquisite porcelain cups and silver platters, feeling as though she had stepped into a fairy tale.

As they sipped their tea and nibbled on the sweet treats, Sarah and Melyssa told stories and giggled, their friendship had blossomed over the last year. Tomorrow, Sarah would return to Carington for the last time to pack up all her things and live permanently at Locke Castle.

“Sarah, what is it like in the village?” Melyssa asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

“Everything is simple and plain but full of warmth and love,” Sarah replied, her voice soft. “We may not have grand feasts or fancy gowns, but we have each other, and that is all that matters. We all have many chores to do that fill the time. But we often eat meals together when the weather is warm.”

Melyssa listened intently. Despite their different upbringings, Sarah felt drawn to her gentle spirit and genuine kindness. She told Melyssa of the chickens each of whom she had named, and Ned, her best friend. He was the one she missed most of all.

The afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the castle grounds. Sarah and Melyssa exchanged promises of friendship that would endure beyond the walls of Locke Castle and forever.

***

The final day of travel, the morning sun winked at her from behind fluffy clouds, as she, Ma, and four-year-old Benjamin returned to Carington. The Lockes had agreed that Kennah would stay in Lexandria attending to the Locke women when they were nearing their expected confinement, and return to their village for those mothers. Her ma needed to train midwives to take her place if there was an overlap.

This would be the last time Sarah would go to Carington since the duke had been decided after this trial period that she would be raised amongst the Lockes. She would have to say goodbye to Ned and her other friends. Kennah would continue to travel back and forth while training the two women she chose to replace her in Carington. And when she was away, Sarah would use herbs to take care of the minor complaints such as nausea, headaches, and back pain. So this would be Sarah’s last visit home for quite some time.

As soon as the wagon stopped Sarah ran inside the cottage to get her practice sword.

“Take Benjamin with you. I have much to do and it will help me if he is not underfoot. I have many visits to make.”

Sarah scowled, but said, “Yes, Ma.” Then turning to the four-year-old, “Come on Benjamin. You can be the horse!”

Ma handed her a bundle of warm cakes.

“Yay!” The boy ran to her.

“Be back by mid-day. There are many things to do before you move to the castle.”

“I will Ma,” Sarah said as she took Benjamin’s hand and skipped away, twirling the wooden sword.

***

The Knight of J’shua, Sir Sarahad, scanned the horizon from the tower, seeking signs of the approaching horde.

“I’ll protect the people!” the knight yelled, raising the sword to the heavens.

The door sprang open, and three ugly hordes-men stormed in. Their toothless sneers stretched across pock-marked faces that were half-hidden by stringy hair.

“Alas, evildoers. You’ll not harm anyone here. I shall cut you down. Prepare to sleep until you meet the God of Truth.”

The horde growled and lunged. Sir Sarahad danced amongst them with precise strikes and parries. The horde retreated in fear. Dealing them each a last thrust, they fell from the tower with blood-curdling screams. Having vanquished them, the knight lifted the sword again. “Long live the king!”

A squeaky voice called to the knight from the garden below. “Sarah, you said I could be the knight this time. You should be the queen, because Benjamin wants to be the baby, not a horse.”

“Not a horse!” Benjamin declared, “I’m the baby!”

“I’m coming, Ned. Benj, I thought you wanted to be the horse.” Sarah deftly climbed down the tall oak, hopping from the lowest branch. Her belted tunic flapped as she landed in a squat. She picked up Benjamin and cradled him like a baby.

“Wah!” Benjamin smiled. “I wanna cake.”

She set him down and untied the package of honey cakes.

Ned huffed and sat in the grass against the tree, stretching out. “Sarah, let’s fish in the river.”

She handed him a cake. Then, grabbing Benjamin, who was about to run off, she gave him a cake too.

“I can’t. I have to watch Benjamin until Ma returns. But I should go home. I still have chores to finish.” She’d be ten next moon, almost grown up.

“Yeah, me too,” Ned said with a frown.

Benjamin smiled a toothy grin, face covered in crumbs.

***

It was four weeks before the next Locke baby was expected so they returned to Lexandria. She cried as they rode away because she loved the village and all her friends there, especially Ned. No one else practiced the sword with her as valiantly. He was her best friend.

But in Lexandria, she had Melyssa. She was a constant companion for she was charged with Sarah’s education in the ways of the noble class. That meant doing everything Melyssa said to do. Usually she didn’t mind for it was great fun. And she could see that Melyssa was doing what her mother or the governess told her. So her days were filled with reading books and scrolls written by famous Lockes or letter about historical events. Both she and Melyssa would be tested on every book in their library. There was a different tutor for each subject.

She was learning to play the flute, which made her happy because it fit in the pocket of her cloak or her apron so she could take it anywhere. It was smaller than her sword. It was a great comfort when they traveled.

All the ladies taught her to dance. It was wonderful to follow along with Melyssa as her partner. During celebrations she would pair up with a different servant boy. The Lockes had trouble producing boys. But she noticed as she learned bits of the Locke family tree, every other noble line contained Locke daughters so Lockes were everywhere.

The duchess taught management of a large household. At first it was boring to listen to the her go over the accounts with every department head in the castle. The cook seemed always to whine about the quality of the fruit. The housekeeper was a relief for she told all the gossip. The duchess never scolded her, for it was important to know the undercurrents in her home. Very entertaining and informative. The gardener talked mostly about weather and bugs.

It was much harder to be a noble lady than she had ever pretended.