They came up over the last hill and cut across empty fields toward the road paralleling the river. It really wasn’t much more than a cow path that led nowhere, since there was nowhere to go outside the valley. A couple of shepherds saw them and waved, but made no move to intercept them. Others below noticed them, however, and a reception committee formed itself up. Three men straddled the track near the edge of the village. Boys and girls hung back about another twenty yards, and an old man started across the green toward them.
Nathaniel slowed their advance to allow the old man to reach the others before they did. As the visitor approached, Nathaniel kept his rifle cradled, but raised an open hand. “Greetings. Whereabouts is this place?”
The older man-older appearing, anyway, because of the grey shot through his hair-opened his arms. “Welcome, travelers. This is Happy Valley, in Postsylvania. You’ve come far.”
“We have.” Nathaniel looked back toward the mountains. “Cut some tracks up there, followed ’em down here. Two men. If I don’t miss my guess, sir, given the look of your shoes, you was one of them.”
The older man smiled. “I was indeed. God had sent me into the mountains with one of my deacons, then He shook the earth to show me His grace and power. He led us to a vast Temple, where we found golden tablets, upon which He has inscribed His new commandments.”
Owen nodded. “We saw the Temple.”
The other three men exchanged glances and smiled.
The older man laughed. “You see, I told you there would be pilgrims come to verify what we told you. Gentlemen, please. I am Ezekiel Fire. Happy Valley is the home of the True Oriental Church of the Lord. We are God-fearing people who live in harmony with the land and the precepts God has laid down in the Good Book. He has favored us with further Revelations, which we are translating now.”
Owen arched an eyebrow. “A new revelation? That’s interesting, Reverend.”
“No Reverend here, no Bishops. I have no title, though many call me the Steward. I have deacons, but they are chosen by their fellows for specific tasks, then they surrender power until called upon again to serve.”
“Beg pardon, then.” Nathaniel nodded. “I’m Nathaniel Woods. This here is Makepeace Bone, Captain Owen Strake, Kamiskwa of the Altashee, and Colonel Ian Rathfield. The Colonel, he done come out here all the way to jaw with you about the petition you sent to the Queen.”
For Owen it was like watching Miranda’s smile the first time a butterfly fluttered down and landed on her finger. Ezekiel’s face opened up, displaying such innocent joy as Owen had never seen on another adult’s face. “That is wonderful, Colonel; our prayers have been answered. Please, let me show you our settlement. I guarantee our sister settlements are very similar. You can report back to the Queen about us, and she’ll know that granting us a charter was the perfect thing to do. God’s work, truly.”
Rathfield smiled. “Please, lead on.”
Ezekiel guided them through the village, naming the families who lived in each home. Though he did not come out and say it, his liberal use of the term “sister-wife” led Owen to believe the Orientalists practiced plural marriage. A fair number of children six years and younger played in and around the homes, and that surprised Owen. While working a farm usually required a good-sized family, rare were those who’d not lost children in their early years. Granted he couldn’t know how many children had died, but he didn’t see any graveyards and the children especially looked healthy.
The one barnlike building Owen had not been able to figure out from the hilltop turned out to be the village workshop and school. The Orientalists had harvested the wood from the nearby forests and had fitted broad planks over a stout lattice to create a solid structure. They’d put a thatched roof on it, fitted it with windows for light-though no glass had made it that far west. The whole thing had been painted red on the outside, with the pigment coming from rusty earth.
Ezekiel proudly waved them through the broad doors. “Each of us shares what we can with each other and the children. Here they can learn to read, write, and cipher. They learn to carve wood and make furniture or weave, sew, and quilt.”
“Even the boys?” Rathfield looked over at a young man patching a pair of homespun pants, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrated. “That’s women’s work.”
“Is it?” The older man smiled carefully. “In the Good Book, you’ll find Our Lord healing those who are sick, and yet that task usually falls to women. And His cloak was described as being seamless-meaning perfect. So He must have made it, since no one but God could create something perfect. Yet you would tell me that weaving and sewing are work meant for women. But if Our Lord could do them, are they not fit for men?”
Rathfield stared, but behind him Makepeace breathed a single word. “Amen.”
Ezekiel tousled the boy’s hair. “We have found, Colonel, that people tend to do a better job when they enjoy what they do. God lets us know what He wants us to do by the pleasure it brings us and that may change as time goes on. Out here we don’t always have the luxury of having someone to do a task for us, so we find that letting everyone learn a little bit of everything, then concentrate on what brings them joy works best. It’s one of the messages that God has for His people.”
Rathfield looked around, then frowned. “You don’t appear to have a gunsmith. I should think that would be a very vital trade out here.”
The Steward smiled. “Guns are not mentioned in the Good Book, so we prefer not to use them. Our people are quite proficient in using slings, bows, and even spears if we must hunt. As it is, God has blessed us with this land of incredible bounty.”
Owen looked up from where a man was using a draw-knife to scrape down what would become the seat of a chair. “How long has Happy Valley been here?”
“Ten years. It was only after Green River and Piety became established that we sent our petition to the Queen.” Ezekiel clapped his hands. “I hardly expected the Queen would actually send someone to us. But, please, come along, you must see our most important work.”
He waved them out of the workshop and toward the log fort. “Reading the Good Book led me to this place. I only had a handful of people with me, but others came out and joined us once they understood what our work entails. You see, the Good Book tells us that God has given us dominion over the entire world, but there are those who interpret this to mean they can despoil and ruin as they will. We, instead, choose to live in harmony with the land, much as the Twilight People do.”
Owen’s eyes narrowed. “How is that, exactly?”
Ezekiel stopped and swept a hand toward the terraces. “Each morning we collect nightsoil and use it to fertilize the fields. We start at the top. As the rain comes and water washes down to the lower fields, the nightsoil is not wasted. And when the water comes off the last field, it flows into the river below the settlement. In another two years we intend to dig out and reinforce the hilltops, then fill the basins with water. We will stock them with fish, and use the water there to irrigate the fields.
“And you may have noticed that we have no timber yards. We go into the forests and select the trees that need to be thinned. We take only what we need as we need it. In the workshop, as you saw, we would rather repair something than harvest new wood. We do not require much. Because we live in harmony with God’s Creation, He provides for us.”
Kamiskwa looked over at the Steward. “How is it you know which trees must be taken?”
The older man’s smile broadened. “When a deacon is called for such work, God blesses him with a knowing. He can walk through the woods and pick out the trees to take. God is very generous that way.”