CHAPTER 22 - THE BELL

Axeton woke up first, slightly overheated due to the large lump that had spent the night on him. It took him a moment to remember exactly where he was, and who lay concealed under the thick red blanket. He pulled up his arms and squeezed, and a surprised yelp shot out from somewhere within.

“Huh? What?” Coria asked, panicked. Her head shot around, then down at the one causing the constriction, before softening.

“You…stayed,” she said gently, her smile warming the chilly room.

“You sound surprised,” he replied. “I couldn’t just let you wake up in a cold house in a chair, now could I?”

She kissed his forehead.

“You could have put me in my bed,” she said, amused, still wrapped in the blanket.

He kissed her back. “We wouldn’t be in this situation if I did that, would we?”

“No, I suppose the destination was worth the journey,” Coria mused, before her eyebrows furrowed.

“But I do have to go to the toilet.”

Axeton thanked the goddess for not only being so close to a crimson angel, but for the artificer who allowed a good portion of the town’s homes to include indoor toilets. The outside world was sure to be absolutely frigid, even with the sun rising, and a walk to an outhouse in that weather would not be pleasant.

“Do you have anything important going on today?” the priest asked upon Coria’s return. She sat back down on his lap and leaned into him with a sigh.

“As much as I’d love to sit with you all day, and believe me, you’re very comfortable,” she began. “We both have a Community Chamber meeting at 1pm today.”

Axeton rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I completely forgot about that one. What are we discussing this time?”

“We have to start preparing for the Spring Festival,” she answered. “I have to finalize vendors, get volunteers to make and set up decorations…there’s so much food.”

“The town really likes its festivals,” he thought out loud. “But everyone’s so devoted, it makes sense they’re going to celebrate the…”

His face went pale.

“Uh…” he said, not moving his head, but shifting his eyes towards Coria. “Is there a chance that people already know we…spent the night together? We didn’t do anything, but you know how people talk around here.”

She chortled, then kissed him again, lingering for just a moment. “You really need to read more about the Avaran lifestyle,” she chided playfully, her eyes blaring a fiery red. “Priests don’t have to be celebate.”

“Well, that’s good news, but do we need to…hide this?” he asked, his mind flashing back to all the times he got in trouble at Grenfield.

“First of all,” she said, counting on her fingers. “Everyone in town loves you, I doubt anyone would judge you for anything unless you…I don’t know, maybe hurt someone or started preaching blasphemy. And two…”

She looked at a clock on the wall above the fireplace.

“I’m sure at least half the town knows already.”

After breakfast and cups of piping hot coffee, courtesy of a very well-controlled Fire Gift, Axeton finally opened the wise red door to Coria’s home and stepped out into the sunlight. It was still morning, from what he could tell with a cloudy sky, and foot traffic near the market square was almost non-existent due to the cold. Steam chugged out of his nose as he walked, waving to anyone brave enough to be outside on a winter morning.

The priest approached his home, the gravel walkway partially cleared of snow, when he noticed a brown paper package on his doorstep. He looked around, but no one was paying him any attention. As he ripped open the paper, a streak of bright crimson expanded in his hands, revealing a new red scarf, accompanied by a note:

Heard you visited Miss Indreds last night, thought this would help you match.

I hope it works out!

With love,

Eupha Vash.

Axeton closed his eyes and exhaled. He thought Coria was being facetious when she said that half the town already knew, but he had been wrong. The scarf was intricate, and used several shades of red to create a quite stunning piece of clothing.

“She must have worked all night to make this,” he said to himself, before turning over the note.

PS: I was up all night making this. Don’t let her get away!

-E V

He smiled, shaking his head as he opened his front door and walked through it.

A few hours later, after cleaning up his home and taking a warm shower, the priest made his way to the familiar churchhouse, where the rest of the Community Chamber was waiting. Coria sat, neat and business-minded as ever, while the others at the table looked between him and Coria, each wearing sly grins.

After a few minutes of banter between the members, Joise Yards stood up, still holding onto a mug of tea she had been nursing since before Axeton had walked in.

“I hope everyone is having a nice winter,” she began. Does anyone have any outside business before we pick up the Spring Festival planning?

“Ahem,” Molly Vergassen pretended to cough. “I believe…ya owe me a silver Rad, Miss Yards.”

The standing woman narrowed her eyes at the tavern owner. “For what?” she asked.

“You know,” she replied, before her eyes flitted to Axeton and Coria. “Remember…?”

Joise thought for a moment, tracking Molly’s movements with her head, then blushed visibly.

“Uh…yes, thank you for…reminding me,” she said, embarrassed. She pulled a silver coin from her purse, and plunked it on the table in front of Molly, who picked it up with a satisfied grin.

“Dear,” William Yards asked. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” she replied sharply.

“Yer wife made a bet the day after he came into town,” Molly chimed in, hooking a thumb at Axeton. “She said it would take six months for them two to get together. I said less than four.”

Coria sat, mortified, her crimson eyes ablaze, matching her face.

“Thanks for helpin’ out, darlin’,” Molly said, giving Coria a wink.

“I’m starting to like these meetings more and more,” Baron Estes said with a smile. But we should really get back to business. There’s a lot of money to be made in the coming months!”

Axeton breathed a sigh of relief, grateful at the change of subject. “What exactly happens during this festival? I assume it’s like the Harvest Festival but…the opposite?”

“Sort of, Father,” William began. “Spring and Autumn are two sides of the same coin when it comes to the cycle of rebirth. The Harvest Festival focuses on gratitude and a job well done, while the Spring Festival is more about celebrating the new year and having a good time before a lot of work begins.”

“Thank you, dear,” Joise picked up. “Our festivals are the closest things we have to an Avaran holiday, so we go all out. New merchants, lots of food and entertainment, dances every night for a week. There’s something for everyone.”

“Sounds great,” the priest replied. “What can I do to help?”

“Just don’t take too much of Miss Indreds’ time, I reckon,” Molly said coyly. “She’s got a lot of figurin’ before the big days.”

Axeton turned to Coria, who had transitioned from morbid embarrassment to a dignified irritation.

“Personal life aside, and I would appreciate it if it stayed aside,” she said through her teeth. “Almost everything has already been set up. I just need to verify a few details and send some letters to neighboring towns.”

Axeton grinned at her, unknowingly. He had always been attracted to her ability to carry herself with dignity, despite her immense workload.

“I can help with those,” he chimed in. “It sounds like I won’t have much to do anyway. Plus, it’ll help me get to know the geography of the surrounding towns better.”

“You two, knock it off!” William Yards said in a stern voice, pointing to Joise and Molly. They had leaned close together and palmed coins once the attention had been placed on them. “I know what you’re doing.”

Joise stared for a moment in the shock of being caught, before she recovered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Molly and I were-”

HE IS COMING.

The voice, which had been silent for months, shrieked in Axeton’s head. He looked around, at the table of people gossiping back and forth, to the church walls, then to the stained glass window in the back of the room. The voice…felt the same.

Who is coming? He thought towards the ethereal speech.

YOUR MASTER, it replied, sounding like it was struggling to maintain composure. I…THE ONE OF WAR…HIS SERVANT IS CLOSE. I MUST DRAW ON MY POWER TO KEEP HIM AWAY. WE MUST HIDE.

The “One of War?”

No response came, except for cries of effort.

“Father Axeton, is everything all right?”

“Father?”

“What’s going on?”

The priest regained his focus on the room. The entire table was staring at him, worried. He felt something on his face, and wiped away a tear he had no idea was there, and bit his lip.

“Something is wrong,” he said curtly. “A voice guided me here. And now, it’s telling me that there’s someone bad coming.”

Joise stood up. “Hun, you’re scaring me. What are you talking about?”

“A wicked man, from Grenfield,” Axeton spat. “Just before I left, I found out about his plan to steal ancient Parsells for his own gain. I wouldn’t be a part of it, so he’s been try to fi-”

An unsettling thought crashed into the priest’s mind, chilling his soul. He stopped his rambling, and turned to the table, his eyes wide as his mouth hung open in disbelief at his own negligence.

“The Bell…”

Coria and Estes looked at each other with concern. “What about it?” she asked.

“I didn’t even think about him wanting it!” Axeton blurted. “I was concerned about my own safety and couldn’t see…if he followed me here, he’ll find the Bell and kill everyone here to tie up loose ends. Oh gods, what have I done!?”

“We’ll get the details later,” William said, trying to maintain himself. “What did the voice say?”

Axeton clenched his fists, trying to remember as his mind swam in panic.

“The voice said that it needed to draw on its power to keep him away, and to hide,” he answered. “Is the voice the goddess, and if that’s true, where does she keep her power?”

“It’s gotta be, she’s tryin’ to protect us,'' Molly argued, more serious than Axeton had ever seen the woman. “We don’t know where the goddess gets her power, but she’s bonafide connected to our Bell. She must be tryin’ to use it to hide the town!”

“Can a goddess even use Whispers?” Coria thought out loud.

“We don’t have time for guessing,” Estes barked. “I haven’t heard the Bell ring all day, I thought the mechanized timer was broken. She must have stopped it so this enemy can’t hear it.”

The older man, who was wearing his standard, albeit rich traveling clothes, followed Joise and stood up. His jawline tensed, framed by a graying goatee.

“Find anyone Gifted and tell them to call out to everyone in Avandale through the Bell,” he ordered. “Bring everyone to the market square, so no one accidentally leads these invaders in. DO NOT use your Gifts, we must leave the goddess with as many Whispers as possible. GO!”

—----

After another week of travel, Bernhardt Dorian and his cadre of Knights continued southward, led by Rosario. The line of his Tracking had thankfully, only skirted the smaller towns that dotted the landscape, which had sped up the journey. The traitor, as it appeared, had zigzagged around a small trade road, but roughly stayed parallel to it.

Even those under Dorian’s Deception and larger coffee rations began to grumble at the late stage of the trek; which had taken them from their comfortable homes and school into the relatively wild part of the continent, and now the winter was in full force. They still had at least another month until a chilly spring would relieve them, and they knew it. Dorian had insisted they keep up a fast pace, and morale was as worn as the boots on their feet.

Torvald wouldn’t complain, Dorian thought.

The Master of the Knights of the Silver Moon watched Rosario, flanked by a few of his less-trained underlings, as they shuffled wordlessly at the front of the caravan. Suddenly, the man paused, as if listening to the wind, before he pivoted and started to stumble through some brambles.

“Do you have anything? Tracker!” Dorian yelled out.

Rosario, in a slimy grin, reemerged and put a finger to his lips and nodded. Dorian held up a hand to halt the caravan, and excitedly dismounted.

—-

The Community Chamber of the town of Avandale split up, each following the baron’s orders. Thanks to most of the Gifted in the town having the Bell as their Parsell, the overall feeling of danger was immediate and prioritized once enough people felt it.

The Bell stayed silent, as refugees gathered in the church house beneath it and in the market square. Few villagers had their own pocket watches (relying solely on their beloved Bell), so the inability to know how much time had passed had started to wear on the crowd. As the minutes crept by, the Gifted could feel the pool of Whispers from the Bell drain at a brisk pace, and wondered what was happening.

Axeton the priest, known as a traitor elsewhere but beloved in Avandale, nervously stood in front of the door of the churchhouse. The voice had not spoken in hours, and had left him feeling sick and alone with an enemy at the gates. He did initially want to address the town; he had never spoken to that many people before in his life at once, but the members of the Community Chamber insisted that as a positively-viewed public figure, the town would listen to his words.

What do I tell them? He thought, hoping the voice would respond. It didn’t, but he could feel the entity behind it struggling with effort. It made his mind and soul feel sore.

I can’t tell them everything…not yet, if ever. Someone could say something and it would lead back to Dorian finding me here.

“Why is everyone here?” a face in the crowd asked, indignant. “It’s too cold to stand out all day like this!”

A little girl, whom Axeton knew had a Listen Gift, began to cry. She undoubtedly felt the same distress that was plaguing everyone with a connection to the Bell.

“Everyone, please,” he began. His voice was elevated, but knew he couldn’t shout too loudly or it could ruin whatever the voice was doing to hide them.

The voice…the goddess, he thought.

The goddess guided me here. She saved me from Dorian, and is doing her best to save these people. Her people.

His eyes scanned the crowd. The Yards, Vergassens. Brey Gunderson, the Vashes, Baron Estes behind him, and Coria, were all staring at him from their places in the crowd. A glimmer of hope began to shine in the collective emotions, an ember waiting for something to make it stronger.

These people need me, like I needed them all those months ago, he thought, tightening his fists.

“People of Avandale,” he stated with authority, his hands pushing down air in front of him, hoping the gesture would quiet the crowd. It worked, the worried chatter began to die down.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“I came here because a quiet voice guided me,” he continued. “It led me here, it saved my life. I didn’t know what it was, or if it was even real. But do you know what reality I could not question? The strength and goodness of this town. You all took me in, a stranger, and trusted me. I’ve been to your homes, prayed with you, helped you when I could.”

Coria’s eyes, in their blazing crimson passion, emblazoned his soul from within the crowd. A set of blue rings further away stared intently as snow started to fall, and Brey Gunderson’s eyes, a rich emerald green, shone brilliantly onto his weathered face. As their Gifts and emotions radiated in the cold of winter, he felt comfort beginning to ease into the connection to the Bell.

They’re pacifying the crowd, he took a moment to realize. We can’t be afraid. None of us.

“But a wicked man is coming, and it’s because of me,” the priest confessed. “He followed my trail here. If he finds me in this place, he will undoubtedly steal the Bell and…”

I can’t tell them what Dorian would do. He never leaves witnesses.

But the priest didn’t have to explain. The Bell structured their day, brought them together, gave them hope and strength. It was their blatant connection to their beloved goddess. They knew what would happen if anyone took it. The mass of townsfolk began to simmer in a nervous murmur again.

“The goddess told me,” he said, barely believing it himself. “That she is using her power to hide him from us. So we MUST give her all our Whispers. She needs us.”

The crowd stood, completely silent. The priest stood before them, unsure that they would even believe him, let alone do anything. He tapped into the Bell himself, and saw the Whispers of the people, swirling around them like they always had. They looked at each other, seeing the faces of their friends and loved ones through the gently falling snow. One by one, the Gifted among them reached for their Parsells. Golden chains, rings, belt buckles, pendants, hairpins, all gleaming as if the sun shone right above them. They lowered their heads, even the unGifted, as the Parsells were raised in supplication towards the sky.

Axeton felt the hope ripple through the town, and a river of ethereal Whispers flowed up, over the church house, and seeped into the Bell. That hope, the feeling of having a loving home and knowing their goddess would protect it, amplified the peoples’ sacrificed power. The priest, remembering he had a little more to give, offered the Whispers from his mother’s amulet. Those too were absorbed, before the Bell began to rock back and forth. It produced no sound, as it swung faster and faster, until it stopped as if grabbed by the hands of heaven themselves.

I…have done all I can, the voice finally said in the priest’s mind.

You have indeed grown stronger here.

—--

Rosario the Tracker led Dorian through the brambles, the thorns tearing at their clothes. The Master of the Knights looked down after he noticed a difference in the sound of his footsteps, and realized he had been walking on a trail of lightly-colored gravel, almost hidden beneath the snow. He grinned.

Hiding in some backwoods village, are you? He thought. No one hides from me.

“I heard there was a village near here,” Ozhriath said, following his Master a few feet behind. “It seems to be the likely case based on the smaller roads nearby. I wasn’t sure exactly where, though.”

Dorian wasn’t listening. Irritated and anxious, he drew his sword and began to slash through the brush. The last errant leaves fell away, and Dorian was met with the sight of a snow-covered field. Trees lined both sides, as if leading towards something, but the haze of the falling snow had made it difficult to see. His heart raced, as he relayed the message for everyone to follow through those behind him.

He did not want to Disguise himself, he knew that there was nowhere for the traitor to run. He wanted the traitor to see him coming, to cower, to flee. He could Deceive anyone he met into handing him over. He smiled, teeth showing as he relished the abnormal quiet of winter, about to pounce on his prey.

POP

POP

POP

POP

The caravan of Knights and Trackers, led by their master, reached the middle of the grassy, snowy field and looked down into the valley.

A valley consumed almost entirely by a frozen lake, whose icy shores almost reached the field. Barren oak trees stood sporadically around the ice in every other direction, with not a single shred of human intervention to be seen.

Dorian’s eye twitched as he chewed a scowl with his lower lip and glared at Rosario.

“His aura is here!” he said, punctuating his point with the bloodied straw in his hand. “It doesn’t go any further, he has to be here.”

Dorian growled, the heat from his breath sending a plume of steam from his mouth.

“How fresh is the line?” he asked, not even looking at the Tracker.

“Fresh,” the Tracker replied, pointing to the lake. “Concentrated there. We’re following his path exactly.”

“Has it moved?” Dorian said, as he glared at the icy lake.

Rosario, focused on the straw, waved it through the air. He seemed to talk to himself as he worked to triangulate the Tracking line towards his target. He stopped, then shook his head.

“Maybe a few feet here and there,” he said, embarrassed. “But I can’t trace him to any other part of the valley.”

He’s there, the voice said calmly in Dorian’s head. I can feel it.

Is he alive? He thought in response.

A moment passed, Dorian felt the judgment and pressure from his own Master.

No.

You failed to find the traitor, her servant…but the ending is still the same. You got lucky, Bernhardt. You know what would have happened if you had failed completely.

Dorian clenched his teeth.

You couldn’t have told me he was dead before I wasted months marching around in the cold? He thought towards the voice, angry and exhausted.

I can’t search everywhere at once, and his goddess must have been hiding him until he died. Your journey was not only to find the traitor, but it was also a punishment for letting him escape in the first place.

Dorian unclenched his body, closed his eyes, and exhaled. He could finally go home, and start his grand plan. The traitor was taken care of.

I would have loved to do it with my own hands, he thought.

“Back to Grenfield,” he ordered. “The traitor must have died here and was dragged to the lake by bandits or bears. Even if we came back after the thaw, I doubt there would be enough left to find.”

The Knights in front of the group grimaced at the thought, but were relieved to finally be on their way back.

“Makes sense,” Ozhriath commented. “Bears out here will eat anything before hibernating for the winter. Wolves and foxes scavenge what’s left, or it could even be a kelpie.”

“Not a single word about the traitor, or what happened to him,” Dorian barked. “We need to get back to Grenfield quickly; move out.”

The Master of the Knights of the Silver Moon, Bernhardt Dorian, saddled up and ordered his horse back towards the main road. A miserable, yet quantifiable journey back home lay ahead, but he couldn’t help but feel that something was there. He took solace in his Master’s words, and knew that even if the traitor was somehow still alive, he would never be able to stop the servant of the God of War.

CHAPTER 23 - THE SUNSET

The town of Avandale, after sacrificing their Whispers, eventually calmed down for the most part. A majority of them still remained anxious, others understanding that either their goddess’ power worked, or it did not, and there was nothing more they could do about it. The order still remained to keep the townsfolk towards the center of town so they wouldn’t be discovered, and the Community Chamber organized a simple meal for everyone with the help of those who lived closest.

At that point in the farming town, a majority of winter stores had been depleted, but as with everything else it produced, it was the quality that shone. Fresh bread, butter, all kinds of jam, sliced meats and cheeses, and plenty of preserved fruits and vegetables were passed around.

The oldest and youngest, those more susceptible to the icy winter chill, were allowed respite in the church house. The body heat and furnace kept it comfortable, while nearly smokeless fires burned outside to warm those who couldn’t fit into any of the closeby houses. William Yards initially protested the use of the logs, but Molly Vergassen had pointed out that there would “be no point in hiding if half of us froze to death out here”.

“So, what’s it like?” Coria asked Axeton, as they both walked outside. It was late afternoon, and they had just finished checking in with those inside the church house.

“What’s what like?” he asked in return.

“Having the goddess talk to you,” she replied.

The priest thought for a moment.

“You’ve mentioned before that you weren’t exactly ‘devout’, why the sudden interest?

She stopped, hands on her hips as she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really? The fact that you can hear a goddess, and that she talks to you, saved this town and our lives. My degree of belief has nothing to do with it.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “When your life is all about one thing, it’s sometimes hard to think that there’s a world outside of it.”

She nodded, empathetically. “That’s how most of this town thinks, I guess. Relative isolation and whatnot. But my question still stands.”

The priest chewed his lip as he thought, his view turning up towards the sky, then back down to her.

“It feels…different,” he began. “It’s hard to explain. At first, I couldn’t tell if it was another part of my mind, telling me harsh truths and helping me to think about things I normally wouldn’t. Almost like guilt mixed with common sense to become a person that started talking to me. With what happened…to Fred…the voice helped me see what I needed to see.”

They sat on a bench near the market square, and she took his hand.

“The same Fred from yesterday?” she asked.

He nodded. “My best friend. The man that almost found us today…he killed him. I barely managed to escape. He…gave his life to save mine.”

The priest’s voice began to tremble.

“Coria, I watched him die. I was so afraid, but so confident I could stop that man…but he saw me coming. He knew what I would do before I even did.”

Coria leaned, her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry you lost your friend,” she said in a soothing tone. “What was he like?”

Axeton sniffed, and took a deep breath before exhaling it slowly.

“He was always joking around, gambling…barely paying attention in class. I have no idea how he even passed most of them. He was a blacksmith from the outskirts of Morwell, and loved his craft…that was his passion. But his Gift, I was so jealous of such a great Gift.”

“Really?” she asked. “What could he do?”

The priest smiled. “He could Ghost. That is, pass through solid objects like they were made of smoke. He had incredible control over it.

He sat up straighter, mimicking a fight. “If he was sparring with anyone, he could tap into his Whispers and their fists or weapons would pass right through him. If he could see you coming, you had almost no chance of landing a blow.”

Coria’s face brightened, impressed. “Wow, I would love to be able to do that. It would let me get out of so many meetings.”

Axeton chuckled. “True, but you have Fire. That in itself is incredible. I only have Sight…not nearly as useful.”

The woman grabbed Axeton’s hand and pulled it towards her, his face meeting hers.

“Do you See me?” she asked, her clear eyes gazing up, into his own.

The question blindsided him. “Y…yes, I do,” he stammered. “Even when I’m out of Whispers.”

She leaned up and kissed him, lingering as his shoulders relaxed, before he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. She didn’t resist, and after a time, pulled her head away to look at him again.

“If you See me, then your Gift is my favorite one.”

The couple sat, talking as the sun fell lower and lower. The snowy clouds obscured it almost entirely, but it still managed to cast the sky in orange, red, purple and blue ripples that clung to the clouds in the west. Andy Vergassen, who had just dropped off a large box of freshly roasted meat, approached.

“There ya’ll are,” he said, slightly winded. “Estes was lookin’ for ya. Wanted to know if ya got the all clear.”

Axeton shook his head. “I haven’t heard or felt anything since the Bell stopped, hours ago. The goddess must be exhausted.”

The older man took off his hat and wiped a few beads of sweat from the top of his balding head. “Her and me both. Been walkin’ food and whatnots back and forth since then.”

“Do you need any help?” Coria asked, ready to jump in if she was needed.

“Nah,” he replied. “It’s been so long, I reckon if that guy was gonna attack, he woulda done it by now. Estes wants to start sendin’ people home…the ones who live on the outskirts, anyway. Brey hasn’t complained yet, bless his soul, but a fair bit of others have.”

“The man that the goddess warned us about,” the priest explained. “Is ruthless. He wouldn’t just attack. He’d scout, surround us, take hostages if he could…then wipe us all out. I’d still play it safe until we hear otherwise.”

Mr Vergassen nodded grimly, wringing his hat in his hands. “I see. A nasty fella, I guess. I’ll relay your thoughts on it to the baron, see what he says.”

GONG

GONG

GONG

GONG

GONG

All three stood, mouths open as they saw and heard their beloved Bell ringing again. The day, already wrought with grief, fear, and pain, seemed to last even longer without its peaceful and assuring peal.

Andy sighed with relief. “Well, can’t say I’ve ever been so glad to know what time it was,” he said, his eyes welling up as his voice cracked. “Sounds like the goddess saved us after all.”

“Then we’ll celebrate even more when the Spring Festival comes,” Coria said, her face breaking out in a pleased grin.

After spreading the news that they were no longer in danger, those in charge of assisting others gathered up wagons and horses, and shuttled families home. The concerted effort still took hours, and the frigid winter chill had settled in for the night by the time it was done. The Community Chamber, its members somehow still awake, sat together in the church house.

“A long day, huh?” Molly quipped. Her yellow floral apron covered in dirt and splatters of food; she had been serving meals for most of the day in the market square. Her husband fell asleep in his chair, less than a minute after taking a seat.

“A long one, but we survived,” Baron Estes answered. “Thanks to the efforts of everyone here. But we need a plan moving forward, to make sure something like this never happens again.”

He turned to Axeton, who was drumming his fingers on the table.

“You know who this man is, the one who almost found us. I know it’s late, but we need to know what he is and what he really wants.”

The priest stopped, and sighed. “That’s what I was thinking as well, but frankly, I don’t know what we could do to stop him if he came around again.”

The people around the table, those awake anyway, stared. Their worry overtook their fatigue.

“The man…his name is Bernhardt Dorian. The Master of the Knights of the Silver Moon. It’s a group from Grenfield that finds Gifted students and teaches them to use their Gifts to pursue power and authority over others.”

“And why would he be after you?” Joise asked, suspicious.

They don’t need to know I was one of them. They can’t. I can’t…live with that shame if they knew.

“I...found out that he wants to collect ancient Parsells,” he continued. “A very old book told him that if he collected enough of them, they would lead him to a powerful treasure. And he wants to use that to…hurt people.”

“So if he found the Bell…” Coria began.

“Then he would take it, and kill everyone here to cover up his tracks,” Axeton finished, solemnly. “He doesn’t allow loose ends. I swear, I didn’t know the Bell was here, or that this valley was even here, and didn’t realize until today that he would want it. I’m so sorry, everyone. I put you all in terrible danger.”

The silence lingered, until Joise spoke quietly, defeated.

“You’re not really a priest, are you?”

Six sets of eyes bored down on him, their faces confused, shocked, and worried.

But…not angry.

Tears welled in Axeton’s eyes as he hung his head.

“No.”

I can’t hide myself anymore. They don’t deserve whole lies, or half truths. I’ll take their punishment.

“Dorian…” he began. “Was my Master. I was in the Knights of the Silver Moon because he ‘saw my potential’, and taught me how to fight. My friend and I, Frederick, treated it as more of a club than a way of life, like Dorian wanted. It was a place where we wouldn’t feel alone. But Dorian told me about his plan, I knew I couldn’t be a part of it. His Gift…manipulated me. I tried to steal the book before leaving, but it was a trap. Fred died, and I barely made it out, wounded.”

“And then ya found my tavern,” Andy Vergassen chimed in, fully awake now. “You said you were a priest. But ya wern’t.”

Axeton nodded, and pulled out his mother’s Avaran amulet from under his shirt.

“My mother was from a town not unlike this one,” he said, holding it between his fingers. “She gave me this, and it became my Parsell. She tried to raise me in faith, but as a kid who wanted to change the world and become stronger, I didn’t care. But no, I wasn’t. I lied to you.”

The shame, lacing his relief at finally telling the truth, crashed onto the man’s back as he sat with people he loved and respected.

Joise looked at William, who nodded at his wife. They turned towards Baron Estes, who did the same.

“While you did put us in danger,” Joise began, wagging her finger. “But you are our priest, whether you like it or not. There’s no reason for anything to change, or for what was just discussed to leave this table.”

Axeton sat up, confused. “What?”

“There’s no shame in any of this,” William Yards added. “The key tenet of Avara is rebirth. You should have died, and came to us when we needed you the most. You could have stolen from us, taken advantage, or worse. But you didn’t. You were reborn here, end of story.”

Axeton’s eyes surveyed those around him, unsure as to what to say. They met with Coria, whose irises would have been a blazing crimson if she had any Whispers left, and she stood up.

“I propose a punishment,” she said sharply, her head turned towards the Baron, glaring at Axeton with a side eye. “For everything he’s done.”

Baron Estes nodded. “Go on.”

She pivoted towards Axeton, making eye contact and holding on.

“I propose that Axeton Bridges’ punishment is that he has to stay here, forever. Also, that he must dance with me first at the Spring Festival, and at all over events that I determine require this punishment.”

“And I demand he continue to host tea and prayers, and to minister to those in town, in perpetuity,” Joise said with a smile.

“Seconded,” William chimed in, raising a finger in the air.

“And I demand,” Molly Vergassen said, as she pounded a fist on the table. “That he stops in once in a while for a free meal at the tavern. This is non-negotiable!”

Baron Estes held out a hand, and the table grew quiet.

“As lord and noble over this town and surrounding land, it is my authority to carry out punishments for the most serious crimes,” he began, in his authoritarian voice, reserved for civil matters. “The accused has confessed, and his punishments will be exacted immediately; the circumstances of both will never leave this room.”

The older gentleman, his fine traveling clothes filthy from the emergency earlier that day, stood up and walked over to Axeton, hand outstretched.

“Will you take your punishments, as severe as they are?” He asked.

Axeton slowly stood up, then raised his head to look at the noble. He forced away the shame and gripped the man’s hand, shaking it firmly. The priest’s eyes watered as he sat back down, his soul awash with relief. He had found total acceptance in a place he didn’t expect.

The meeting only lasted for a few more minutes, before Axeton found himself standing outside of the church house, the icy chill biting into his face. But even with the numbing cold, his heart had never felt more alive and full than it did at that moment. As Coria walked up next to him, they both looked up at the night sky, which had cleared in a few places, showcasing the eternities of the stars above them.

“You mentioned before,” Axeton said. “Earlier today. You had a lot of letters to write, didn’t you?”

Coria groaned. “Yeah, I do. And I’ll be exhausted for days. But it’ll all be worth it.”

Axeton reached out and grabbed her hand, which both still looked forward. His own simple, brown glove against her fine, red one.

The most beautiful color, he thought.

The priest coughed. “So, you let some people stay in your house today, I’m sure it’s a mess in there. At the very least, they probably helped themselves to your food and other supplies.”

“I forgot about that…” she replied. “I can’t tell you how much I don’t want to deal with that right now. I’m a little annoyed you reminded me; I could have used a few more minutes of blissful ignorance.”

Axeton chuckled. “I’m sorry. But, my house was untouched…we could write those letters there.”

“Oh,” Coria said, a flash of realization hitting her face. “Y…yes, we could. That would be nice, to stay in your home and…take care of those.”

“That’s great, I’m glad you agree,” Axeton continued, as he squeezed her hand more tightly. “Because at this point, I don’t think my home would feel right without you there.”

She looked at him, her cool brown eyes full of hope and peace after so much worry, before she buried her head in his chest, augmenting a vigorous hug. They separated, after too little time both of them thought, and stepped forward.

The two walked through town, its residents exhausted and asleep, as a gentle snowfall dusted the valley in front of them. When reached the priest’s modest home, Axeton felt like it had been ages since he had been there, like he was a different man from the one who had left that morning. But maybe he was. His soul was free, his mind tired but clear, and a future ahead. What kind of future, he didn’t know. But he was going to take advantage of the new life he had been given.

The priest, the real priest of the town of Avandale, opened the door for Coria Indreds. She smiled as she walked through the threshold, and Axeton felt how even without her Whispers, she could still set his soul ablaze.