The crimson brush withered as winter rolled in, blanketing the town in dirty snow. It piled on the streets and turned to grey slush, bringing the city to a halt. Military operations had come to a standstill; even taking the weather into account, the tides of fortune had begun to turn against us. Casualties spiked beyond the bar of what was deemed acceptable—a bar that had shifted dramatically as a result of my presence. Morale drooped and money was tight. It was a dreary winter for sure, and people were beginning to wonder if there was hope to be found in the summer.

Their toil only strengthened their faith. They swarmed the chapel, desperate for a guiding star. Mass became so crowded that we had to let people listen through the windows. There was a brief spike in tithes, but as the winter dragged on, our income dried up. The city was not quite starving, but any spare coin had to be stockpiled, for nobody knew if the snow would let up early or last till spring. We had always been funded in part by the monarch’s administration, but it was hardly enough, especially now that there were greater priorities. To make things worse, rumours of a plague began to spread—though that only made them flock to the chapel in greater numbers, desperate for protection.

“Yes, Sister?” She called out, facing a wall as she took off her hood, still dressed in the rest of her habit. Even from behind, she looked exhausted—besides Mass, she also had to listen to what ailed the people and offer advice, or empathy where she could not.

“Will we be okay?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well… the coffers are drying up. I’m not complaining, but if you need me to help with anything…”

“Don’t worry. We can last a bit longer. Till the next harvest, perhaps. Not that there’ll be much to reap.”

“What about after?”

She turned towards me with a blank stare on her face. “After?”

“I know this is rude, but we can’t realistically survive if we’re constantly burning money.”

“Well… we’ll have more tithes coming in, won’t we? Once this spell passes?” Her question was a command disguised. For once, her words were murky water. It’s fine. She’s just a little tired.

“Um… I don’t know.”

“You should, though. You’re the Child of God—the Shepherd herself. You’d know better than I do: the fate that lies in store for us all. The divine chronology. Right?”

The divine chronology? I was confused. She was asking something of me, but I did not understand what.

“It’s not just the snow that has ground the city to a halt. Neither the plague. The plague—it isn’t real. Just rumours… just a few more cases of the flu than usual, but nothing to indicate a plague. No, there’s… something else. A shadow, perhaps, cloaking the town, smothering it. I don’t know what it is. Things haven’t been going well for us lately.”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

“...A shadow? No, I think… perhaps it’s just a spell of bad luck.”

Her eyes narrowed, lit ablaze by a single oil lamp. “So what about everything until now? Was that merely a spell of good luck?”

I gasped, unable to breathe. I have no clue. What was the cause for our good fortune till now? The plague that afflicted the enemy. The military victories. The economic upturn. They had been relentless, but diminishing. I wanted to believe that I had had a hand in our good fortune. I wanted to believe that my divine presence had guided this town. But I had no real power. The believers acted emboldened by faith, and the fruits of that faith strengthened their beliefs, like a snake eating its own tail. But was my only role that of a catalyst to kick-start this chain reaction? What meaning was there in titles and worship if I had no real influence over the world?

It then struck me that to wish for such power was the ultimate sin. My first act of divinity was to strike down an entire town with a plague. My worshipers then saw it fit to slaughter and burn them to ash. In wishing for power over fate, I sought to take credit for this massacre. And yet, without such power, what was I doing here, living like royalty?

The faith that bloomed from that initial lucky coincidence could never last. I could grace the people with ten blessings a day, but eventually they would be taken for granted. The few strokes of bad luck would fester in their minds, begging the question of why an all-powerful deity could not prevent such trivial calamities. The problem of evil.

“Do you know what they say?”

“At Mass?”

“Yes. They complain. They say things like: my crops withered. Someone in my family caught the flu and died. My friend disappeared after taking out a loan in my name and now I have to pay it off. Everyday tragedies, but perhaps you’re unfamiliar with them. They always lead up to the same thing: why is it that a deity that can plague an entire town can’t cure a simple flu for a single man? Or cure crops of disease? Why is a deity that can bring good fortune to the town’s economy as a whole unable to pay off a single man’s debt?”

She spoke clearly the fears that had taken root in my mind. Divine miracles are arbitrary, yet people expect reason from them. They see miracles as an application of power rather than events of chance borne from a greater power. It is a very human way of seeing things: divine power being a scale with striking down a town with a plague at the extreme end and everything in between possible with a snap of one’s fingers. Like magic.

“But… the woman from the night of Elsmeade! She was cured, wasn’t she?” I stammered.

“Not completely. The fever passed, yes, but like I said back then, it might have been an ordinary fever. It is too early to tell if her sickly body has changed at all. Besides, you made her drink your blood. Even if it did have—” she froze, her hand flying to her mouth. What she left unsaid terrified me. Then, there was the way she looked at me uncomfortably, as though I had changed somehow and become unrecognisable. Her gaze pierced into me, nailing my conscience to the wall. I could not bear it any longer and was just about to look away when a gust of wind snuffed the lamp out.

“Ah! It’s pitch dark. Oh no. I can barely see my nose.” Her disorientation showed in her tone.

I rushed towards her and held her hands. I could barely make out her face in front of mine.

“Sorry!” She breathed deeply, trying to compose herself. “I didn’t mean to interrogate you. I’m just… ah, I’m so exhausted, hearing these complaints all the time. I feel so pathetic—useless, even. All I can do is lend an ear. All this talk of death and debt… it’s too much for me to bear.” Her expression softened and turned into a faint smile that I chose to trust. There was nothing else in the darkness for me to cling on to.

“It’s okay. Let’s do our best together from now on. Please let me help in any way I can.”

“Thank you… I’m sorry, but I might have to take you up on that offer.”