Solo, Pela and Kilroy head off from the Mature Tulip to the Pharmacist Cyric’s storefront. Solo has his old longsword at his hip again. “So, this should not take long.”

Kilroy smirks at Solo, his silvery hair swaying in the wind. “Are you sure?”

Lone cracks a smile. “Sure. By Jara’s Hammers, it will be so.”

Pela shakes her head at Lone’s blasphemy. “You know, if one of the Trinity hears you talk like that, you’ll be called out in front of everyone.”

“Bah! As if Kamil would just walk around the corner and overhear me take the Saint’s name in vain,” Lone says.

Lone’s eyes dart to the corner of the street, making sure there is no way Pela could be right. At a glimpse of white, Lone nearly faints away due to his ever-present lousy luck. Tripping over, he falls on his face. Kilroy and Pela laugh at him as Kamil walks up to them.

He wears his usual attire, a pristine white robe, open with a simple white tunic and pants underneath. His holy symbol hangs mid-chest just above his ample girth, though his shoulders still appear broad and muscular—local gossip has him pegged as an Orange Crusader in his youth. A wisp of white hair edges his bald plate, and his brown eyes are full of laughter.

Grabbing Lone’s arm, the feel of his iron grip sends a small shock through Solo’s body. Noticing his reaction, Kamil smirks a little. “Are you alright, my son? Seems like you took a bit of a tumble.”

Pela, still laughing, says, “Father Kamil, he misstepped worrying about taking the Saint’s name in vain.”

Kilroy pipes up, barely hiding his smiling. “All that footwork we were working on, down the drain. Next training session, let’s see if we can’t make you less of a clumsy oaf.”

Abbot Kamil shakes his head. “Now, my son, you know that bad luck can suddenly fall upon you if you say nasty things about the Saints.”

Dusting himself off, Lone glares at Kil and Pela, both smirking at Lone’s embarrassment. “I am sorry, Abbot Kamil. Just a slip of the tongue. Nice to see you again but we must be off.”

As Lone starts to walk away with as much dignity as he can muster, Kamil calls out. “I might join you. I missed you at last blessing, and I am guessing you are busy with the blessing in two days as well. I think you might need a touch of my guidance. If you never turn up to church, how can I do my job properly?”

As Lone is about to object, Pela and Kilroy both nod in agreement. Kilroy steps up to Abbot Kamil, grinning from ear to ear. With a quick, fluid bow, he says, “Having you come along will be fantastic, Father Abbot. Could you give us a story from the Book of Jara?”

Pela jumps a little in excitement. Kamil nods, smiling, and Lone sighs.

As they walk, Kamil’s pure white robes sweep the ground, but not one speck of dirt clings to the fabric as if they are holy objects. After a few paces, pondering, Kamil starts to talk in an audible voice. People around begin to follow in his wake, listening to the story.

“Well, my children, a story about Saint Jara. At this moment, one of his many crusades comes to mind.”

At the end of Affluent Road, Kamil wanders into Noble’s Park and takes a seat on a bench under a willow tree. As people start to gather, sitting before him, Pela and Kilroy grab Lone’s arm and pull him down as well.

“Oh my, so many of you,” Kamil remarks. “It was a crusade during which Saint Jara nearly lost his faith.”

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A gasp ripples through the crowd, but with a raised hand from Kamil, a sudden silence hits the masses. “It was his fifth year fighting in the twenty-year crusade after The Green Mother’s martyrdom in the Holy city of Omri. He and Gurion, his disciple-knight, heard of an attack on a town friendly to the cause of the Trinity. Day and night they rode, fatigue pressing on them, but they knew they were needed. On the third day, they saw the town. It was more a large village, called Crasmere.”

A shout of glee erupts from a few of the audience. Crasmere is now a shrine of the Orange because of that day and lies only four days’ ride from Lake Merrin. Abbot Kamil sees a few proud faces in the crowd, knowing they must hail from Crasmere itself.

He continues, “The village was a black husk, and for the sensibility of the young ones, I will not describe the horror that Jara and Gurion saw that day. Jara looked upon this and cried out in anger and pain. ‘Why? Why this evil at every turn, Gurion?’ Looking at the face of his master, Sir Gurion wept, as you know he had a kind and pure soul. ‘As always, my Lord, it is Amordous’ minions.’ And with his hand, Gurion gripped his Sword of the Green. ‘His evil will never win as long as we fight.’”

With a few raised fists, many signs of the Trinity are to be seen in the crowd. Kilroy’s is one of the raised fists, while Pela weeps at this well-known story. Lone heard this tale many times at the Trinity Orphanage in the next town over, where he grew up. Many of the orphanage’s Crusaders lectured the children on these stories, hoping to inspire them to join the Orange, but Lone knows the life expectancy of a Crusader is measured in years not decades after they gain their Hammers.

“Saint Jara looked down at his Hammer. On the granite face, he could see the blood of the victims of that endless war. ‘Gurion, there is blood on my hands. I was a healer, but now I murder for some forgotten reason.’ Shocked at his Lord’s words, Gurion looked at the Hammer, and he could see blood dripping off the edge. Gurion looked around: at the side of his vision, he saw shadows of fleeting images, an apparent miasma of the Abyssus.”

Allowing that to sink in, Kamil continued. “Knowing that his Lord was vulnerable due to the black magiks, he pulled out the Sword of Green, blessed by Jara’s wife Eloise Dawnbreak, First Mother of the Green.” The crowd is absorbed by the Abbot’s words. “Jara dropped to his knees, cradling his Hammer as it wept blood, oblivious to the danger. Emerald-green light flooded the square, the murk being held back by the gleam of the Sword. Gurion called out to Jara, ‘Look, look, your beloved is here with us.’ Showing the Sword to Jara, as the emerald light flooded his face, the blood that dripped evaporated, showing Jara the Truth! The aspect of the Trinity!”

“Jara stared at the glowing sword and back down to the stone hammer he had claimed from the fallen walls of Omri. Blinking once, Jara stood and gazed around the square, his hammer flaring a sunrise orange to counter the beauty of the emerald sword. All around them were dark spirits, nibbling upon their souls, each with the stench of Amordous.”

“‘’Ware my Lord,’ Gurion the Pure yelled, ‘we are surrounded.’ Taking this in his stride, Jara stood and smashed the handle of his great hammer onto the ground. With each blow, a burst of Orange light flooded the square.” Kamil pauses to look into each eye of the audience. Pela is leaning forward, her own skin seems to be flushed, even glowing. Lone is too captivated by the story to notice. “With each blast, the oily creatures were smashed and ripped apart by the power of Jara’s faith.”

Clearing his throat, Kamil grabs the symbol upon his breast, holding it out in front of him. “The lesson is this: even in the darkest moments, never lose hope, as your friends will remind you that you are never alone. May the Trinity bless all Its children.”

Making a symbol of the Trinity, a white glow emanates from Abbot Kamil. Peace floods over Lone, and he stares with bemusement. The crowd roars in response.

Abbot Kamil stands up. “That is enough for today. Too much time has been taken up.” A disappointed murmur travels through the crowd. “But I will continue this story as there is more to it. I will conclude it at the next Blessing.”

Pela sighs, for now, she must wait two days until the Blessing. For some reason, this story sang to her. Abbot Kamil is swamped by onlookers as he gives the sign of the Trinity to each petitioner as a blessing.

Lone stands up. “Well, that was interesting.”

With one smooth motion, Kilroy jumps up, agile for one in his middle years. He stands in front of Lone. “Can you not understand the message, Solo?”

“What? That the Trinity is magic and holy and trusts your friends or something like that?”

With a cuff of his hand, Kilroy says, “You will now be coming with me to the next Blessing. Obviously, you need to hear the rest of the story.”

As Kilroy and Pela start to walk away, Lone quickly catches up. “Come on Kil, do I have to?”

Kilroy looks at Lone. “No, not if you can beat me.”

Pela laughs at that, but Lone mutters to himself. “Always in my bloody Jara’s Hammers!”