"Ye've got to name that colt now," Collette scolded Rolph. "I don't think 'No-good rotten son of a common hussy' suits him anymore."
Rolph laughed from his belly, and his laughter was contagious. Catrin's full belly soon hurt, and joyful tears ran down her cheeks. "I think I'll call 'im Elmheart. What d'ya think of that, Elma?"
"I think that suits him just fine. I'll take pride in his naming."
"That ya should. That ya should," Collette said, nodding her head.
"As much as I hate to leave your hospitality," Benjin said with a hand on his full belly. "We should be on our way. We've a long way to go."
"I'll not send y'off on foot. No sir, I won't. I may not have a horse to spare, but I've an ox and an old oxcart. If ye'd be willing to help me fix up the cart, I'd say ya more than earned it," Rolph said, and Catrin's jaw dropped open.
"That's far too generous a gift for us to accept," she said, and Benjin nodded his agreement.
"I'll not hear it. No, I won't," Rolph insisted, and Collette added her vote to his.
"Are you sure you can do without?"
"Ah, I must admit our gift is not all it'd seem. Curly's no prize. He's cross-eyed and unp'dictable, but he'll pull a cart. B'sides, in a few weeks, the colt'll be broke, and I can use 'im to pull the plow if'n I needs to. We'll be fine."
Rocks tumbled into the ravine as Lissa tried to regain her footing, the heels of her sturdy boots finding no purchase amid the brittle layers of shale. Using her gloved hands, she slowed her fall and eventually came to a stop. Before her stood only open air, below a sheer face that raced to meet the river valley far below. Using the skills Morif had taught her, she climbed slowly back to safety.
He'd always been a mentor to her and had listened when no one else would. She wished he were with her now, but she knew even he would make her go back, make her face what everyone seemed to think was her responsibility-her duty. No one could make her face that-no one. Instead, she made the choice for her people. She would rather they perish as free people than survive as slaves to the Zjhon and Kytes.
Better to be free, she thought as she searched for food and shelter. Better to be free.
Chapter 19
If you wish the devout to ingest poison, wrap it in pomp and seal it with ideology.
Catrin, Rolph, and Benjin worked on the oxcart in the afternoon sun. The cart was in poor condition, and one of the wheels was seized. After they removed the wheel and greased the hub, it moved more freely, but was still less than perfect. Catrin was glad to have the cart as it would make their travels much easier, and she hoped it would help them appear more like locals. Collette folded the blankets from the loft and insisted they would make a good cushion for the splintery wooden seat. Their kindness in such a trying time spoke volumes for their generous souls, and Catrin vowed to never forget them and all they had done for her.
When the cart was deemed ready for travel, Rolph led them to a pasture on the outskirts of the farmstead. On his way, he retrieved a bushel basket of hard corn still on the cob, and he handed an ear to Catrin.
"Take this out to him. Hold your ground now. He's harmless," Rolph said with a mischievous grin, and Catrin reluctantly slipped through the fence.
Curly stood at the far end of the field, tall as a horse, half again as long, and twice as big around. His shaggy coat added to his girth, making him look like a barn on legs. As soon as Catrin stood within the fence, he turned and charged, building momentum as he came. Afraid she would be run down, Catrin did as Rolph had instructed: she held her ground, albeit with her eyes closed.
Heavy breathing and the pounding of his hooves grew closer, but just before she thought Curly would trample her, he stopped. When Catrin opened her eyes, he stood before her, eyeing her with one eye; the other stared off to her right. He snorted and nudged her with his broad head, and only then did she recall the ear of corn she held at her side. As she extended it to him, he grabbed it greedily from her hand. He shoved his ear into her hand as he chewed, nearly knocking her over. She scratched behind his ear, and he leaned into her, groaning with pleasure.
The ear of corn kept him busy for only a moment, and he nudged her hands for more. As she turned to walk back to the fence, he followed on her heels, occasionally nudging her from behind.
"I think he likes you," Rolph said with a chuckle, and Catrin stuck her tongue out at him, which set him to laughing from his belly.
"He seems like a friendly beast," Benjin said. "We can't thank you enough for your generosity."
"It's the least we can do."
Catrin slid back through the fence, and they retrieved the oxcart. Rolph brought a yoke and lines from the barn, and Curly paced the fence excitedly, rattling the gate as he passed it. But as Rolph opened the gate, a bell rang out in the distance. Its peal sent a chill down Catrin's spine and raised the hair on her arms.
"Citizens call!" echoed across the distance. "Citizens call!"
Despite Curly's protests, Rolph closed the gate. "Well, let's see what news the crier brings," he said, and Benjin nodded, showing no signs of concern. Catrin followed nervously as they crossed the fields to a small town. The call for citizens continued even after they arrived, giving those in more remote areas the chance to congregate with the rest. A large crowd had gathered around the crier, who stood atop a stage of crates draped with a red cloth.
"Good citizens, I greet you with news both grand and dire," the crier said with a dramatic flourish. "In the south of Faulk has been found the likeness of god and goddess, the very symbol of the Zjhon, with a life its own. It glows from within, proof it is a divine gift from the heavens, and we rejoice!" His words were met with a muted hush, but he continued on, apparently undaunted by the lack of applause.
"The faithful are called to the great city of Adderhold to gaze upon god and goddess, to worship in person. Failure to do so will be considered insult and heresy. Prepare yourselves, pilgrims, for Istra and Vestra call you to them, and only the masses can assuage their thirst for worship."
A louder murmur rushed through the crowd. Few seemed pleased by the prospect. Angry and frightened faces surrounded them, and the air grew foul with tension. The charge of it weighed on Catrin as the masses broadcast their anxiety, and waves of it battered her senses. She breathed in deeply to stave off the nausea, and the crier waved his arms for silence.
"The next is sad beyond reckoning, and I ask that the weak of heart be seated," the crier continued, waiting it seemed more for dramatic pause than anything else. "The armies have returned from the Godfist with only three ships. The rest were lost. The Herald Witch laid waste to the armada, killing our people and her own without discretion. She has betrayed god, goddess, the Greatland, and the Godfist with her actions, and her own people have cast her into exile. The remains of our armies took mercy on the good people of the Godfist and helped in what ways they could before they left in pursuit of the renegade Herald Witch."
Catrin swayed on her feet, along with many of those around her, but for different reasons. She knew it to be false-all of it-and she was appalled by the depth of the Zjhon's deceit. They lied to their own people because they feared the truth. Rolph leaned on Catrin and nearly fell, and she supported his weight. His face was contorted into a mask of pain and grief, and Catrin's fury rose higher. The crier's lies caused him needless pain, and she resented it deeply. She had set the armies free, but the crier's words made it sound as if she had slaughtered everyone.