* * * * *
Two days later the cart rattled into Peat Town. Mica nodded. “Where do we go to deliver this door?”
“Head for the center of town. The church is the largest building. You can't miss it.”
The people they passed trudged along with bales of peat strapped on their backs. They looked up with tired eyes and little curiosity for the strangers.
“It seems these people have more than their share of troubles,” Mica said.
“This is a poor town. It's hard to make a living cutting peat in the bogs,” Liam said.
“You chose a worthy location for your door,” Willow said. “The people here could use a touch of kindness.”
Mica pulled the cart to a stop in front of the large stone church.
Liam jumped down. “I'll go find someone in charge and meet you back by the stables.”
Mica and Willow drove off. Liam climbed the worn stone steps to the heavy front doors. The large iron handle chilled his hand as he pulled open the door. Dim light filtered through the ancient stained glass windows and he paused to let his eyes adjust.
Rows of old wooden pews led to a simple raised alter flanked by a bank of flickering candles. A robed figure knelt in front of them, his head bent in prayer.
Liam quietly made his way to the front of the church.
The man raised his head and turned. “What brings you to God's house my son?”
Liam looked at the old man's tattered robe and lined face. “I am sorry to disturb you. I'm looking for Friar Roark.”
“You have found him,” he said. He used his staff to rise to his feet.
“My name is Liam. The Doormaster wrote to you about me.”
The Friar's face brightened. “Then it is true? You are here to install a door to Highland Town?”
Liam nodded.
Friar Roark placed a gnarled hand on Liam's shoulder. “This will mean so much to us. But where are my manners? We are poor, but we can at least give you a good meal.” He peered over Liam's shoulder. “Did you travel all this way alone?”
“I have two companions. They have taken our donkey and cart to the stables.”
“I will send someone to tend to your donkey and fetch your friends.”
Soon they were all seated on benches around a rough hewn table in front of the kitchen fire. There was stew, with coarse brown bread, and fresh cider. It reminded Liam of the meals his mother served.