The spores brushed into the pinto at the same time and she gave a start. John’s eyes widened - his skittish filly was about to bolt. He took a firm hold on the reins, immediately and completely concerned. “Easy girl… Fwah.”
She took off to the north with John shouting, “Whoa! Stop! Stop! Gah! You stupid horse!”
Michael had endured the pain long enough. He opened the way, seeing in that moment what it was. “Plague…” He snapped a look at the staggering Meroan, jumped down from Ares and ran over, unfastening a gauntlet as he went.
They met before his hand was free. The bauran’s aggression and appearance came as a shock. Michael had to shove it away to get the glove off. It came right back at him and they wrestled, him trying to heal it, it trying to bite and thrash him. Michael was stronger. He threw it down and pinned its rotten head against the road with his bare hand, searching, confounded. It was empty.
He tried and tried to find the way as its poison bled into the wind and as he neared the decision to destroy it. Whoever it had been before, it was a devil now. He picked it up by that blue shirt and flung it twenty feet out into the field. It flailed through the air, smoke tracing an arc behind it, and then - flump. It got right back up and kept coming while Michael went to Ares for the sword.
When John returned, the pinto was unconvinced and ready to bolt again. Michael stood in a pint of ink between the bauran’s smoking halves, wiping his blade.
John didn’t know what he was seeing. “Michael… you killed him?”
Michael turned around, showing his naked hand. “No! It’s plague! The way wouldn’t open! It wasn’t there…”
John snapped a look at the road home.
Michael’s mind was racing. The corpse boiled contagion into the air. He knelt to examine it and said, “John, go to your family. See that they’re safe from this.”
“I can’t… I…” If it was plague, he couldn’t justify going home to a remote place like the farm. It was days away from the larger populations at risk. I can’t go home, can I? Is my son already dead? Is the last of my blood gone?
Michael stood up with a golden glow in his eyes, mail sparkling on either side of the white. “John, as the templar’s consecrate I command you to investigate the farm down this road. Go.”
John’s emotions fought against his sense of duty. Though he wasn’t a model paladin, he’d given up much for the Circle and believed they stood for the right. The crossed roads were too many. He let Michael’s order point the way, turned his pinto toward the farm and rode.
The storm came and went.
***
On a woodland path east of Antioch, birds on the chirp, Samuel and Joseph rode toward Mount Tabor Sawmill. They’d left the church the day before. Samuel sat astride his red roan, Rascal, worrying that Abraham would be the one to go to Salem, knowing the way to there led through Tabor. What will Abraham do when he discovers I’ve betrayed him?
Joseph bounced along in tow on the DB cow. “You know, after I failed loyalty, I almost gave up and went home to Summerset. I was devastated.”
Samuel smiled, missing those front teeth, and put his other thoughts aside. “You hadn’t failed loyalty, Joseph.”
“Oh yes I did. Abraham let me have it in the worst way! I don’t know where you were…”
Samuel chuckled at him. “No, you didn’t. It’s that crucible that’s a betrayal. You’re told you failed for one unfair reason or another, to test your resolve with the injustice of it. Why was it again, that Abraham let you have it?”
Joseph’s face was open disbelief. “For eating at the Cauldron on a Tuesday!”
Samuel laughed.
“It’s not funny!”
“You didn’t think that was strange? A little too picky?”
“I thought it was something I’d missed in my studies! I’ve been killing myself over that!”
“Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t go another year with that attitude. Abraham would have held you back again if you didn’t at least complain.”
Joseph shook the bulk of the lie from his head. “Loyalty takes more than a year?”
“Oh yes, it’s the long one. You never really fail it, unless you give up.”
That made Joseph angry. “I don’t see how that tests a man’s loyalty at all.”
“It doesn’t, of course.”
“What?”
“Well, none of them do. You can’t test for a man’s virtues. The crucibles are meant to have one or another in mind but the only thing any of them really find is resolve. We’re not especially honest or loyal or tolerant...” Samuel chuckled, remembering Gabriel’s dynamic failing of that one. “We might have some of those qualities, sure, well… not all the time, of course…”
“What are you saying?”
“The crucibles only test your determination. That isn’t the spirit of them, now, they’re intended to find virtuous men. But, the reality, what I’ve come to find, is that determination was all we ever needed.”
“Do the others see it that way?”
“Only Abraham believes in the Circle’s righteousness anymore. Even Michael’s had his eyes opened.”
Joseph was shocked. He’d counted himself among the virtuous elite, among the white knights, since he was thirteen years old. “All these years... I’ve… I’m… Well, there it is.”
Samuel nodded. “Even then, it’s the templar’s decision in the end. If he doesn’t think you’re worth ordination, he won’t waste any time with you at all. Where’s the virtue in one man’s opinion of another?”
“I can’t believe Thomas didn’t tell me.”
“Thomas is a prat.”
Joseph shook his head, the shock becoming amusement. “You didn’t tell me either.”
Samuel gave him a beefy, cheesy grin.
Joseph said, “At the very least, I can take comfort from Abraham having wasted so much time on me. He must have really liked me after all.” They chuckled and then they laughed.
They rode east and up into the mountains toward the deep forest on the northern face of Mount Tabor. Samuel divulged other interesting secrets as they wound through the rocks and the trees. Then, to Joseph’s further confusion, Samuel turned them off the way onto a smaller, wilder path that descended southward into the valley.
Joseph looked back, scratched his head, looked at Samuel and then back again. He said, “Sir, I think we’re going to lose time if we go around the mountain first.”
Samuel smiled but it was a sad distraction. The secrets he had yet to tell were harder for him. “Have you ever had huckleberry whiskey, Joseph?”
Joseph paused. “I can’t say that I have...”
Samuel nodded, remembering the taste. “Best drink in the world. It’s because of the peat smoke. When you dry the grain over a peat fire it makes the liquor earthy later on. Gives it a… peatiness.”
“Peatiness. I see. Shouldn’t we be getting to Tabor? We’re headed the wrong way. What’s going on?”
Rascal stayed the course. “I never planned to go there. We’re going to Breahg.”
Joseph’s eyes expanded. Then his arms flapped out and he said, “Why!? Why in the world would you want to go there - now?”
“Because I think they’re still alive.”
“But you’ll be days out of the way! Tabor will fall, the smoke will get through and everyone in the north will die!”
“The smoke travels on the wind. Saving Tabor won’t make a difference.”
Joseph had a creeping fear that his master had gone insane. “Does saving Breahg make a difference?”
“It does.”
“Why!? This doesn’t make any sense! Those savages aren’t worth breaking the line for!”
“I disagree.”
“Oh, well, that’s all that matters then, isn’t it?” Joseph clenched and turned away. The original plan had given him hope for his own people in the north. Samuel was abandoning them. Joseph felt that he couldn’t argue and that he had no choice but to follow. He was
powerless.
Samuel tried to explain. “The smoke is on the wind. We can’t stop it. Nothing can. Wherever I plant myself, that’s where people get to live. I’m not going to waste that on filthy, lawless Tabor. When everything ends, I want this to be the decision I made, right or wrong.”
“But why the clan? I agree with you about Tabor, to hell with that place, but why not go to Summerset, where I’m from? They’re good people. Why go to Breahg?”
“Because I’m Breahg.”
Joseph was stunned.
Samuel handled it gently. “Shave and a haircut, we look like everybody else.”
Joseph didn’t know what to say, so he said something stupid. “But… But, Breahg isn’t allowed in the Circle.”
“Well, I lied to get in, didn’t I?”
It took Joseph a long time to respond. Out of the five, he’d always been closest to Samuel. He knew now there’d been lies between them, but he’d known Samuel’s kindness and patience as well. Those hadn’t been lies. Joseph hadn’t known he’d ever met anyone from Breahg. “I feel like I’ve never known anything.”
“I’m sorry, Joseph.” It was only an apology.
The silence between them didn’t last long. They were still friends. Some things just had to be accepted. Samuel answered Joseph’s questions and they spent two days on the ride putting the pieces into place. At night, by the campfire, Samuel read his book of bauran out loud. By the time they reached the hillock over which they’d be able to see the village, Joseph’s hopes were on Samuel’s side. They left their animals at the bottom and dropped to a crawl at the top to spy.
The earthen huts out and below were surrounded by hundreds of Breahg and Meroan bauran. Peat smoke came out of some of the openings in the roofs. The people within had been burning chunks of their walls to keep warm.
Joseph said, “Look at all of them gathered around the huts. You were right. They’re still alive!”
“And those devils are waiting for them, just like Horace under the tree.”
“I can’t believe they haven’t starved.”
“You can last a long time without food if you’ve got water. Those huts are built strong with their wells inside.”
Joseph was encouraged. “Surely this is an even better cut-off than Tabor.”
Samuel nodded. “It’s much further south. And, the plague will stick in this bog’s valley like flour in a wet spoon.”
“Alright, what are we going to do?”
“We aren’t going to do anything. You need to stay as far away from this as possible. I won’t be able to stop fighting to give you hospital, or protect you while you’re asleep.” Samuel rubbed his mouth, thinking. “There are hundreds of them down there. I can’t handle them all at once. Michael says they pile on top of you until you can’t move. I have to split them up somehow.”
Joseph got an idea. He looked back at Rascal for a moment, the horse known to throw paladins, and gauged his own horsemanship against his chances. “I can ride Rascal through and draw them out. You can take them once they’re scattered.”
Samuel said, “That’s too dangerous...” but he couldn’t think of a way to do it alone.
“What are you going to do then?”
“I don’t know…”
“Let me help you.”
Samuel paused. “Are you sure?”
Joseph remembered what Samuel said two days before: When everything ends, I want this to be the decision I made, right or wrong. “It would be an honor.”
Samuel’s chest swelled with love and respect and he embraced Joseph. Then he said, “Rascal’s no great war-moose, but you’ve the fire of a rider!” Joseph didn’t fully understand what that meant but it sounded like a powerful compliment. They smiled at each other and went about forming a plan.
The cow could graze. Samuel left his scabbard on the hill. Joseph sat in Rascal’s saddle. Samuel reminded him, “Hold your breath when you come through and don’t bring them back around until I’m out of sight. We don’t want to give them too much to think about.”
Joseph nodded.
Samuel went on, worrying over his young friend, “And don’t spur him too much or jerk him, that’s what makes him pitch. Rascal likes to have a say in where he goes.”
Joseph nodded again, ready.
“Good luck, Joseph.”
“You too.” Then Joseph screeched out, “Heee-YAAAW! Raaascaaal!” and galloped toward the village, whooping, hollering and raising a ruckus. Samuel stayed low and watched.
Sure enough, the bauran peeled away from the huts and went after the horse, some of them with surprising speed. Samuel noted to himself, “Those must be the old ones.” They flooded out of the village like ants out of a mound. Then Samuel ran down without a sound and destroyed the few that had stayed.
His technique wasn’t as clean as Michael’s. Samuel swung a caligan like a club. He swatted them around, breaking more bones than he cut, but he got the job done. Then he hid behind a hut and waited. Rascal and Joseph shot by a few minutes later, kicking up mud and leading a line behind them. “Heee-YAAAW! Samuel! It’s working! It’s workiiing!”
Samuel smiled at Joseph’s bravado. Then he rushed out at the line’s end and chopped twenty of them to bits without as much as a grunt. The rest pulled away and he ran back in to wait for the next pass.
A nearby door opened a crack and gaunt faces peeked out. Samuel turned on them, eyes glowing, and slammed that door shut. From behind the hard leather, they asked him who he was. Samuel replied, “Shh… I’m a wizard. So, you’d better stay inside.” They gasped and repeated it to each other.
Horse and rider flew by again and again in a wide figure-eight that crossed at Samuel’s hiding place. Samuel popped out to destroy the end of the line each time. The corpses piled there. They were little more than skeletons under blue shirts and elk furs and they hardly smoked at all.
But, they did smoke. A cloud built at the intersection and Joseph rode through it like a breeze, carrying it with him. The infection would have been impossible for him to avoid, no matter how long he could hold his breath. His boisterousness lessened as the painful spore crept into his body through his eyes, nose and mouth. The paralysis began.
Joseph leaned forward in the saddle farther and farther until he was lying down, clinging to Rascal’s mane and cooing deliriously, “You’re a good boy… aren’t you? You’re not a… bad horse. There you go… there’s a good boy… only one… or two… more…” While Joseph faded away, Rascal kept playing the game, trailing them in a figure-eight, unguided. Then Joseph’s grip failed and he fell, but Rascal stayed the course.
The bauran didn’t have long with Summerset’s light.
The horse passed by without a rider. Samuel’s face turned the color of ash. He rushed out, saw the last of the monsters gathered in one spot and started screaming at them, “Here! It’s me! To me! Here!” They came. Samuel finished them like Michael’s story, moving in a backward circle.
Joseph lay motionless at that path’s end, his yellow plaid and acolyte’s tabard torn and muddy. Samuel rushed over to him and knelt, fumbling with a gauntlet, but he could already tell it was too late. He tried to open the way but his brave, young friend was dead. Rascal trotted up and snorted.
Samuel snapped. “You threw him, didn’t you!? You threw him! You miserable animal!” He stumbled up with his caligan and took a vicious swing on the run. If Rascal hadn’t flinched, the stroke would have opened him from ribs to tail. Instead it bit two inches into his flank through the saddle. The horse squealed and took off, spraying blood. Samuel dropped his weapon, fell to his knees and moaned into his hands.
He was a dark man when he returned to the village that night. He walked from hut to hut with a torch, punching the doors to knock. If they answered from inside, he’d give them hospital and made sure they stayed safe. If they did not answer, if they pounded and scratched and tried to get out, Samuel put his torch to the hut and turned it into an oven. Since the walls were made of peat, t
hey smoldered even in the damp.
32 A Crucible of Resolve
Abraham rode a gold and cream palomino named Absinth. When the fellowship’s hymns stopped, he looked over his shoulder. He’d never imagined leaving Antioch by any way other than death. He felt relieved to have those people behind him. His only regret was what had happened with Michael. He’d always been fond of Michael.
With better vision, Abraham might have spotted the two bauran shuffling in from the field toward town. Even if he had, though, he’d have just dismissed them as beaners late to service.
“Good riddance! You know boy, if there really was a God, there wouldn’t be any damned religions.”
Lot scratched his head, not sure what to take from that. He sat between their DB cow’s bags, the leash tied to Absinth’s saddle. “Sir, I have something to ask of you.”
“I know. You want to go on crucible.”
“How did you know that?”
Abraham rolled his eyes. “That’s the only reason boys your age seek out the church. Did you know you only get to try once a year?”
Lot paused. “Yes, sir...”
“What was that business last night then?” Abraham mocked Lot’s first words from when he’d burst into the church with Fergus. “I… I just arrived…” He turned around to look at him. “I knew you’d been sitting out there.”
Lot slumped. “How?”
Abraham gave him a spooky stare. “I can see through walls…”
Lot hung his head in shame and defeat. Then he immediately made up his mind to follow Abraham around until next year, to try again. Everyone’s always trying to make me quit. I’m never going to quit. It all showed in his pulse and in his temperature, in his reflection.
Abraham was impressed. He chuckled and said, “Everything a child does is dumb and obvious. I remember when Michael was five years old. I swatted him on the butt to play. He said, stop it, and stalked away from me, looking all standoffish. He wasn’t playing at all. He was serious! I’d offended his sensibilities.”
Lot didn’t care for being called a child, dumb and obvious, but kept it to himself.
Abraham said, “You’re not the first boy to try making an impression like that. Ooh, look at me, who knows how long I’ve been out here, ooh. You can’t go on crucible unless you’ve an advocate in the church. One of us has to sponsor you.”