A New Dawn Coming

Chapter Nine

Sunlight slanted through the murky window pane, highlighting the swirling dust motes as they danced and flitted through the air. It crept across the clean, well-worn floor boards. It inched its way across the crumpled blankets, silently hunting its prey like a venomous spider, closing in for the kill. The hungry rays edged over the lip of the bed covers, and began tickling the face of their target.

Faux thrashed once, his hand swiping across his face, where the offending sunlight had prodded him. His eyes sprung open, before he was forced shut them tight against the offending, blinding light. His mind whirled, trying to figure out why it was so blessedly bright, before it finally fell into place; sunlight. It'd been so long since he’d seen it, he forgot what it felt like.

Through slanted eyes, he confirmed his suspicions that it was indeed sunlight that was attacking him. He lid back, enjoying the heat on his face. That’s when last night’s memories came rushing back. The gorgeous smile of the barmaid, the warmth from the fire and the feel of a real meal in his belly. Then there was the leering swordsman, the glint of lamplight off burnished steel, the yells and drops of blood as they floated through the air. The bite of his sword as it hungrily stabbed into his adversary; the piercing pain as a blade bored into him. The tangy smell of blood wafting on the air, and screams of the townsfolk, as everything spun out of control. Then the cooling tingle as Aboleth’s prayer healed him. The sobbing Jenni, first the tears of relief of surviving, followed quickly by the tears of grief when she saw her friend lying cold and dead on the common room floor.

He turned and looked over at the other bed in the small room. It was neatly made. All the blankets meticulously arranged with the down pillow perched proudly on top like a king’s crown. A worn breastplate hung from a bed post at the foot of the bed signalling that the dwarf hadn’t gone far.

Faux rolled out from the sanctuary of his blankets and began looking for something resembling clean clothes to put on. Grabbing his rapiers from along the wall, he slid them over his shoulders. Apparently, even in a place like this you could need them at a moments notice.

As he walked from the narrow, darkened hallway into the common room he found the dwarf sitting at the bar, attacking what looked to be a pile of eggs with a heap of bacon piled alongside. A tall mug of reddish ale sat next to him. He acknowledged the half-elf with a nod as Faux made his way over and sat next to him.

“Can I get ye anything master?” Gustfer slid over to them, dry washing his hands in a spotless white apron hanging about his thin neck.

“I’ll take whatever he’s having,” Faux motioned to the dwarf’s plate.

“Aye master, right away.”

“Mornin’, lad,” Aboleth said around a forkful of egg. “May Jahlenea bless ye this day.”

“Thanks, the same to you.”

“Ye look a might bit better than ye did when ye was sittin’ under that tree. A night in a bed can go a long way eh?”

“Yeah, I don’t really know the last time I had a night in a bed.” Faux paused, thinking, “It’s been a while.”

Gustfer came bustling back from the kitchen, balancing a plate full of eggs and bacon in one hand, while the other held a mug of ale. He laid it out on top of the bar in front of Faux. A spicy steam rose from the food, tickling his nose as he began reaching for his coin purse.

“Nay,” Gustfer said when he saw what Faux was reaching for. “I’ll not have you paying for anything else in my inn. You’ve done us all a great service, I’ll not be taking your coin.”

“It wasn’t that special,” Faux shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Nay master, not everyone.” The innkeeper said, making his way back to the kitchen.

The half-elf and dwarf sat in an easy silence. Downing his food in large gulps, Faux eyed the dwarf from the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t what he expected from a cleric of Jahlenea. He had a soft crinkle around his eyes, and this close he could make out small streaks of white woven through his hair, as well as within the dwarfs massive beard. There was a gentleness about him, and a caring nature as evidenced by how easily he took Faux under his wing. All those things he’d expected based on his conversations with Ahanna back in Estermont. In his previous experiences with actual priests, they didn’t seem half as genuine as the kind hearted dwarf.

But there was a savagery there as well. He’d seen that last blow. How he’d swung the mighty hammer that had seemed to materialize from nowhere once the fighting began. The crack of the bandit’s ribs before he went sprawling over the common room table echoed in his ears. That was a side of clerics he hadn’t seen before.

“Ye got somethin’ on yer mind lad?”

Faux paused, a forkful of bacon mid-way to his mouth. He turned to stare at the dwarf, abashed at having been noticed.

“Ye’ve been givin’ me a stare while ye eat lad. Don’t worry, I’m not offended. Just wonderin’ what ye’ve been thinkin’ about.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Faux began, deciding to put his cards on the table rather than hold anything back from the dwarf. “I’ve known a few clerics, and I have a friend back...where I come from...and, well...they all seem to think that violence is against Jahlenea’s nature. I’m not saying I think there’s anything wrong with it. In fact, if you hadn’t been here or willing to get involved, last night might have gone differently.” He paused. “It’s just not what I’m used to from a cleric.”

Aboleth chuckled and took a long pull from his ale. “Ye have the gist of it right lad, but not everyone shares the same beliefs as yer friends.” Aboleth signalled to Gustfer for another round of drinks.

“Initiates to the Blessed One’s holy church take a vow of service. It’s a long oath, but the main part of it is to serve Jahlenea faithfully and protect her children, which we all are. Ye learn humility by cleanin’ chamber pots, scrubbin’ floors, doin’ all the stuff nobody likes doin’ but if it does’t get done, everyone complains about. It prepares ye for a life of service, bringin’ the words and message of our Blessed Mother to folk who might not know they need it, till they hear it.”

Aboleth paused to take a pull from his new ale. So far it didn’t sound like the most glamourous of lifestyles.

“Once ye passes on to an acolyte ye begins studyin’ the Blessed Book, focusin’ on the holy message. Ye looks for meanin’ in the words and phrases, tryin’ to figure out the best way to carry that message to the rest of the world. For most of us, it’s preachin’. Most go to a church, a cathedral, a log house in the woods, or even standin’ on a box at a street corner, wherever the callin’ takes ye. A very few think a lot about what Jahlenea says about ‘protectin’ the children’.” He turned to face the half-elf, a deep-rooted fervour in his eyes. “This group strives to be somethin’ more; a Protector.”

“A Protector?”

“Aye. A defender of the innocent and weak. We pick up for the oppressed and the destitute, providin’ an arm for those who can’t lift one for themselves. We don’t go lookin’ for fights or violence, and as much as possible try to find another way. But as ye saw last night, when it’s the only option we don’t back away either. We’re clerics in every sense of the word, but carry the extra burden of bein’ a light for the lost, a beacon for the weak.

Faux mulled that over. “I’ve had some experience with the preacher type, pretty sure you’re the first Protector I’ve met.”

“We’re a rare breed lad, the trainin’ is hard. We don’t get time off from studyin’ the holy words of the Blessed Book, but rather extra lessons in weapon craft are added. It’s a difficult time, most quit, preferrin’ to just preach the words. The ones who make it through are risen to the ranks and given a weapon blessed by the Pontifex on behalf of the Holy Mother herself.”

He reached under his cloak and pulled the heavy hammer Faux had seen him wielding the night before. He carefully laid it on the table. Faux stared at it in wonder.

It was no ordinary war hammer. The handle was large enough to be gripped with either one or both hands. It was wrapped in a fine white leather, soft and supple to the touch, with a large swirling pearl inset into the base of the pommel. The short shaft was worked to look like vines and leaves, interwoven into an exotic pattern, before joining with the massive head. A broad flat surface made up one end of the head while a large, cruel looking spike leapt out the other side. More intertwining vines and leaves were carved into the sides, framing an inscription in a language Faux didn’t recognize. The whole hammer shone with a dark metallic sheen, as if it wanted to be silver but was brushed with a thin layer of liquid ash.

“What’s it say?”

“Dor farien protecto vixtan. Blessed are the Protectors.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Only twelve, but always twelve. Four each of dwarves, humans, and elves; maintainin’ a balance. Some would have the order abolished, claimin’ it don’t fit with Jahlenea’s ways. The Pontifex is hesitant to go that far, so for now we carry on. It’s mostly a life of solitude. Travellin’ the world, tryin’ to do good to the Mother’s children, and protectin’ people from evil. We use the threat of the hammer when we can, but sometimes the threat isn’t enough, so ye use the hammer if ye must. It’s a callin’ and I’d have it no other way.”

Aboleth drained the last of his beer and thumped the empty mug on the bar top.

“Enough of the borin’ talk. I only get out this way once a year or so, twice at best. The local priest is an old friend though, and I always pay him a visit when I’m here. The poor bugger will be under siege today after last night. I was plannin’ on headin’ over now to pay my respects and see what I can do. Care to join me?”

“Why not?” Faux shrugged.

“Good,” Aboleth stood, sliding his hammer back through the loop on his belt. “Let’s go see if the old bugger is still alive, eh?”

* * * * *

Faux squinted his eyes and tipped his face towards the sun, as they made their way towards the small village chapel. The sunlight felt good as it danced along his skin, prickling and tickling him, as if it too, were glad to finally be released from its cloudy prison.

The village seemed much more alive under the bright sunshine than when it was bearing the weight of the heavy rain clouds. Men wearing rough work clothes, headed off towards the fields lurking just west of the village. They carried scythes and shovels, pushing rickety wheelbarrows through the hardening mud. Women could be seen dashing dirty clothes against washing boards, sudsy water splashing over the top of the wooden basins. Some early risers already had various garments hanging from drying lines, taking advantage of the early fall sunshine.

The small chapel looked just as run down and dilapidated in the sunlight as it did in the rain the evening before. The planked boards were well-fitted, but paint had flaked off in large chunks, leaving gaping holes of weathered wood peeking through. The thatched roof looked to be mostly intact, but a fine sheen of moss laid over the thatch like a thin blanket, hinting that it was past time to be replaced. The Blessed One’s clasped hands, in front of a glowing sunburst, stood out on the front doors, but it too was faded with age.

“Looks like its seen better days,” Faux said, sizing up the building.

“Aye lad, the folk here are busy tryin’ to survive off the land. They often forget the simple things, regardless of how important they are.”

“What about the cleric? You’d think he’d want to keep it looking good. You know, glory of Jahlenea and all.”

Aboleth chuckled, “What about the cleric indeed? Come, let’s go meet him, maybe that’ll answer yer question.” He stumped up the few stout stairs and pulled open the door, motioning for Faux to enter.

Faux’s jaw dropped as he walked into the small building. Long beams of sunlight poured through high set windows along one wall, but most of the illumination came from dozens and dozens of candles. Every alcove and nook around the main chamber held burning candles. The walls were oiled and polished so often that they seemed to glow in the candlelight, radiating a faint copper light of their own. The sturdy benches, running in arrow straight rows, faced the front of the building and were made from solid oaken planks.

A large altar sat at the front of the building, the Blessed One’s symbol carved in exquisite detail, gazed out over the rest of the building. Two large, silver candelabras sat on opposite ends of the altar, candles happily blazing away. The care and splendor of the building’s interior was a stark contrast to its rundown appearance from the outside.

Laying in front of the altar, resting on a quickly made table of fresh cut planks, lay the body of the young girl killed the night before. A bent figure stood over the girl, fussing with the dress she was wearing, tuttering to himself as his hands first picked at one thing then another.

Aboleth went to one knee, placing both of his palms flat to the floor. He bowed his head, before rising and making his way into the church.

“Father Iolder!” His voice boomed inside the small space. “It has been too long my friend.”

“Brother Aboleth? I’d heard a dwarf had had a hand in last night’s events, but never dreamed it could have been you. By Jahlenea herself it is good to see you again.” The man paused his fussing and looked up to greet his arrivals.

If Faux had called him ancient that still would have been a gross understatement. There wasn’t a single area of his face that wasn’t wrinkled. He looked as though he’d soaked it in a bath for hours and then lid in the sun for weeks. Lank, snow white hair, hung in thin wisps across his liver spotted scalp.

He peered at them through rheumy eyes, settling on a spot slightly over Aboleth’s shoulder. Faux’s eyes widened. He’s blind!

“Indeed it is Father, if only the circumstances were better.”

“Jahlenea brings us together in dark times so that we make the light shine brighter. But it is indeed a grim day, never easy to lose one so young.” His hand reached out and gently stroked the face of the dead barmaid laid out in front of him.

She was wearing a pale blue dress with bits of white lace around the bodice and flowing around the hem. Her hands were clasped neatly together and resting on her stomach, while a deep, royal blue scarf wrapped her neck, covering the ugly s***h made by the thugs sword. Her light blond hair spilled around her in a golden pool, a stark contrast to the crimson pool that stained the common room floor the night before.

“Indeed she does.” Aboleth nodded. “Grim business that was, and unnecessary. A girl’s life over a few coins. T’was a dark night.”

“But the Blessed One saw fit to have you here, to keep it from being more. Three innocent lives lost, many more saved Brother. Don’t dwell on the losses, be thankful for the blessings. It is a glorious morning full of sunshine and reunions.”

“Ye speak the truth Father. Yer well these days?”

“If by well you mean alive, then yes I am.” He barked a dry laugh. “The Holy Mother has seen fit to grant me a long life. My bones ache, and I don’t dance like I used to, but I’m well fed and continue to do Her work which is all a man can ask for. And you Brother? I see you have a new companion.”

Faux looked curiously at the man as he nodded his head towards him. ‘How’d he know I was here?’

“Well enough Father, well enough. The life is harsh but the rewards are rich. I found this young pup starvin’ under a tree yesterday, a mile or so from the village. Seems a fine lad to me, did his own share of the heavy work last evenin’.”

“Is that so?” Father Iolder peered at Faux, the intense gaze through his cloudy eyes making him uncomfortable. He felt as though they could see more of him than clear eyes ever could. He spread his hands wide and bowed his head, “Welcome to my humble church, I am Father Iolder.”

“Nice to meet you Father. Faux, Faux Falaran.”

“If ye don’t mind father I’d like to use the altar. I’ve prayers to make and a penance to seek.”

“Of course not bother, my humble church is at your disposal.”

“A penance?” Faux asked. “I thought protecting people was what you did, why would your god push a punishment on you?”

“Not just my god lad, Jahlenea sees over us all, whether we acknowledge it or no. And killin’ is a last resort, there should always be a better option. But that’s between her and me.”

Father Iolder shambled up to the half-elf and laid a withered hand on his shoulder.

“Come boy,” he said. “We’ll give the brother some privacy to talk to the Mother.” He lead Faux the length of the small chapel and gingerly sat on a pew at the back, near the doors they’d entered.

“A half-elf, and carrying two swords no less. You are intriguing company for brother Aboleth.”

“How did you know that?” Faux’s face creased in puzzlement.

“Why shouldn’t I? Because I’m blind? What is eyesight but another way to be deceived? The Holy Mother doesn’t take anything without giving back in other ways. I can hear the rustle of your sword belt buckles, smell the oil on the blades. Even a hint of tang, from the blood you’ve spilled. I can hear an elvish lilt to your voice, but it’s deeper than it should be, perhaps because of your human...father?”

Faux shook his head. “That is an impressive feat Father.”

“Pfhaw!” the old cleric scoffed. “Do you have to look to your sword hilts to know they’re there when drawing them? Of course not! You simply trust your senses to tell you they’re there. Their weight on your back, the pull of the straps on your shoulders, you don’t need your eyes to see them. I have lost my sight, it’s true, but with Jahlenea’s guidance I now see better than I ever have before. All trials can lead to rewards beyond imagining if we but look for them, rather than curse in despair.”

“I sincerely hope you’re right Father,” Faux said, retracing the trials he’d faced since leaving Estermont. There didn’t seem to be much of a reward in store for him, save maybe the comfortable bed he’d slept in last night, and the warm meals he’d had. Perhaps that was the point.

A ray of sunlight snuck in and scurried across the floor as the door to the small chapel creaked open. Guy stepped in, his blue eyes scanning the small chapel.

“Greetings Father,” he said, bowing his head towards the elderly churchman.

“And to you, Guythalamew.”

He turned to Faux. “I’ve been looking for you and the dwarf. The village councillor wants to talk to you. Well...us. Is he here too?”

Faux nodded his head. “Praying. By the altar.”

“Nay lad, all done. Jahlenea has heard all she wants from me today. She’s a busy lass, so I try not to take up too much of her time. Many thanks Father.” Aboleth clasped one of the old man’s shoulders. He fished in his pouch with his other hand. “A donation to help with the maintenance of the church.” Faux saw the glint of gold as Aboleth pushed several coins into the old man’s liver spotted hand. “May She watch over and protect ye. I am sorry the visit is short, truly.”

“You are most generous Brother! Duty calls. I understand the burden you carry. May the wisdom of our Holy Mother guide you, and her blessings be plentiful.”

“Aye, and to you as well.” He turned to face Faux and Guy. “Well lads, let’s see what this councillor is all about.”