But now that laughter seemed so far away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, a look of concern crossing her normally mischievous face.
“The Temple was attacked. Martin Harrow died.”
Jacob was becoming accustomed to the expression that crossed Brienna’s face-blatant incredulity.
“Attacked?” she asked. “By whom?”
“A small battalion from the east, flying Karak’s banners. They demanded that the people of Haven swear themselves once more to Karak or else face more violence.”
“And Martin was caught in the middle?”
Jacob nodded. Brienna frowned, and he could tell that her sharp mind was already working through the problem.
“So Karak’s followers have formed an army,” she said.
“It seems so, though I cannot begin to guess at the size. The hundred men who attacked Haven may only be a fraction, or they may represent the entirety of their power. Either way, it means we now have a rather unfortunate problem. If Neldar is lashing out at those in Haven, who have done nothing wrong save exercise their freedom, how long until their soldiers cross the bridges and do the same to us?”
“You know that can’t happen, Jacob. Ashhur won’t let it, and neither would Karak. Nothing good can come from that way of thinking. Nothing at all.”
He sighed, and even to his ears it sounded defeated.
“I know.”
“So what are you going to do? What does your god say?”
Jacob shook his head. “Nothing as of yet. He is consoling Stoke and Tori Harrow as we speak. I assume he will send for me come morning.”
“What will you do until then? Do you want to talk of it?”
He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Brienna’s slender waist. The downy feel of her petticoat helped ease his mind, and he suddenly felt tired once more.
“I’d rather not,” he said.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
He smiled at her.
“You know there is.”
Brienna blew a strand of hair from her eyes, which sparkled with life.
“Indeed I do.”
CHAPTER 3
It was still dark when a loud banging woke Jacob from a dreamless sleep. He slowly rose to his elbows on the feather mattress. Brienna lay on her back beside him, mouth slightly open. She was snoring. He reached over and pinched her small, pointed nose shut. She licked her lips and rolled over, forcing his fingers off her. When she settled in again, her snoring ceased. The banging, however, did not. Jacob grumbled as he slid out from beneath the thin, corded sheets, the rough material grabbing at the hairs on his legs. He walked out of the bedchamber, his body sore and his head groggy, not bothering to slip his bedclothes over his head. Moonlight poured in through the windows he’d forgotten to shutter earlier.
“Give me a moment,” he muttered.
He opened the door to his cabin, naked as the day he was created. The brightness from the moon turned the man standing on his stoop into a squat blue toad. The man looked up into Jacob’s face, his jowls shaking as he spoke.
“Master Eveningstar,” said Clegman Treadwell, Ashhur’s Grand Steward.
“Clegman,” said Jacob. He let the name hang in the air for a moment, knowing that the short, fat man grew uncomfortable during long periods of silence. “Why are you here at this ungodly hour?”
Clegman cleared his throat.
“His Grace wishes an audience with you.”
“Now?”
“Yes, yes, now.”
Jacob leaned out of the cabin. He gazed east, where the horizon was still black, though the tiniest thread of crimson was working its way into the sky.
“Let me get dressed.”
“Very well. I will wait here.”
Jacob rolled his eyes. “You do that.”
Throwing on his old breeches and a somewhat clean tunic, Jacob followed the portly man down the path. Though still annoyed by his interrupted slumber, he couldn’t help but admire the way the change in lighting altered the feel of his surroundings. How amazing it was that a simple difference could completely transform a person’s outlook. It was as if all of life existed in multiple worlds layered over one another.
They took the road up and out of the gulch, but instead of heading for the Sanctuary, Clegman led him toward the grassy hill overlooking the valley on Safeway’s western border. Even from a distance, he could see the god sitting there on the crest, legs crossed and hands on his knees, facing the desert. The serenity of his posture caused Jacob to shiver.
“I bid your leave here, Master Jacob,” said Clegman, bowing and backing away.
“Thanks,” mumbled Jacob.
Ashhur did not move as he approached. The god’s head was tilted back and his eyes were closed. Jacob sat on the ground before him, crossing his legs in the same manner. Even sitting, the god towered over him by more than two heads. There he waited without making a sound, until at last Ashhur’s shimmering gold eyes fluttered open.
“Jacob,” the god said, his voice low and soothing. It was the tone he usually took when meeting with his most ardent disciple.
“My Lord,” said Jacob, pitching forward on his knees and bowing so low that his nose brushed a blade of grass.
“Sit up, my son,” Ashhur said. “We must talk.”
Jacob did as he was told, but kept quiet. In conversations with a god, it was best to let the deity speak first.
“The Harrows are very upset over the death of their son,” Ashhur said.
“They should be.”
Ashhur sighed. “Indeed.”
Again there was silence. Jacob waited it out, rocking back and forth until his sides cramped. Ashhur was staring up at the twinkling stars above-one in particular. Jacob’s irritation began to build, and he kneaded a fold in his leather pants, trying to calm his nerves. When he’d had enough, he blurted out, “My Lord, why did you drag me out here, if not to speak?”
Ashhur’s eyes turned to him, those eyes that glowed with the wisdom of ages. But they also held something different this time-accusation.
“There will be no response,” the god said.
Jacob’s brow furrowed.
“What do you mean?”
“There will be no retaliation for the attack on Haven or for Martin’s death. I forbid it.”
Jacob held out his hands. “I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I had not once considered it.”
“I see the truth in all things, Jacob Eveningstar. You are no fool, so why do you lie to me now?”
Jacob sighed. Ashhur could sense when men spoke falsehoods, so it would do no good to dance around the subject.
“Forgive me, Father. It is true, I had wondered if you might think countermeasures necessary. I assure you, I would never act on your behalf without consulting you first.”
Ashhur nodded. “Yet I tell you now, and still you doubt.”
“I do, my Lord.”
“Are you questioning my wisdom?” the god asked, peering at him through squinting lids. Jacob shot upright, his spine straightening like an iron rod. A stone of concern dropped in his belly. He was treading on dangerous ground here, no matter how much his god adored him.
“My questions stem from my own confusion, my Lord. You are God of Justice. Do these events not require a just response?”