James Somers - The Order of Shaddai

Hobb had a simple place for his office since most of his work occurred in the homes of his patients at their bedsides. He did have a room in the back where he performed complex procedures, but usually it went unused. As payment for his services, Hobb would readily accept livestock or vegetables from someone’s garden and sometimes even nothing at all. Many wondered how he managed to survive on his meager wages, but what had not been well known was Hobb’s silent partnership in the Willow Tree Inn with Mr. Oggle.

Sarah looked this way and that, before entering Hobb’s office. She did not wish to be conspicuous. In a small place like Millertown, a visit to the Healer could quickly run the grape vine and subject one to all manner of questions and rumors.

Had it not been for the regularity of her nausea, Sarah might not have come at all. But she feared the plague which had taken several people’s lives in the past year. If she had any such disease, she might never see Gideon before he came back from The Order on another mission.

“Good day to you, Sarah,” Hobbs said as he met her at the door. She rushed inside and he shut the door behind her. “What’s the matter my dear, not feeling well?” he asked with a quirky smile.

“I’ve been ill almost every day for weeks now, Mr. Hobbs. I’m afraid I might have the plague or something equally horrible.”

Hobbs regarded the young maiden, smirking slightly before asking her to come into the back room. Sarah wondered why he didn’t look as worried about her condition as she might have supposed he should.

When Sarah emerged from the office of Mr. Hobb’s, she was at least as frightened about her condition as she had been when she entered two hours earlier. However, fear now mingled with new joy she wanted desperately to share with her husband.

A procession of some sort made its way into the middle of town, creating a great deal of noise. A covered carriage lumbered through the street pulled by a team of black mares with an armed military escort before and behind it.

Sarah had never seen anything like it entering her small town. Compared with the usual travelers, this person might as well have been a king for all of the fuss made. Children ran into the street, trotting along beside the soldiers and the carriage while Sarah stood watching with other bystanders on the wooden boardwalk stretching before the shops and businesses. The carriage, with its entourage, stopped when it reached the Willow Tree Inn. Mr. Oggle and Blane waited at the door, intending to greet this person when they disembarked.

Not having anyone she could share her own news with now, Sarah walked across the street. Something of this magnitude was simply too good to pass on. She mingled with the small crowd, trying to get closer to the carriage and its mysterious passenger.

When one of the armed soldiers opened the carriage door, a man wearing regal attire of gray and blue stepped forth to meet Mr. Oggle. He shook Oggle’s hand and then followed him inside as they talked. Several soldiers followed them inside the Willow Tree along with Blane as other soldiers stood guard at the door, blocking access for the curious crowd.

Sarah decided she would take the back way in and see what she could find out. She knew Blane would usually be the one to answer the service bell in the rear and supposed he would probably let her in. Sarah walked to the back of the building while the crowd remained in the street, trying to stir the rumor pot as to who this visitor actually was and what the nature of his visit might be.

Sarah gave Blane a few minutes and then she rang the service bell. In a moment, Blane appeared at the door. When he saw Sarah standing there, he looked about, making sure no one else was trying to gain admittance, then said, “Oh, all right. But don’t you let Mr. Oggle know I let you in.”

“I won’t,” she said and ran inside before he could change his mind.

Sarah followed him through the kitchen where several older women worked, cooking food and tending to dirty dishes and such. “What’s going on, Blane? Who is that man?”

“He’s the Royal Emissary from the Isle of Macedon. He’s come to make a request of The Order of Shaddai.”

“For what?”

Blane peered through the curtain into the main room. “He told Mr. Oggle their king desires The Order to send them the Word of Shaddai again.”

“But I thought Macedon had been taken over by Mordred’s army a few years ago,” Sarah said. “Why would the king ask for such a thing? Surely Mordred wouldn’t allow them to have Shaddai’s Word again.”

They watched through the curtain as the Royal Emissary prepared a message to send by falcon into the Thornhill Mountains. The falcon was specially trained to come back to the Temple and Shaddai’s priests with its message. And Millertown was the only place readily known where such a falcon could be found.

Mr. Oggle took the message after the emissary had prepared it. He rolled it up and placed it into a silver tube attached to a chain. He walked over to the large cage Blane had previously rolled out into the room and clamped the small bracelet and chain with the message cylinder to the falcon’s leg.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Blane donned a leather gauntlet and hurried out from behind the curtain. “I’m responsible for releasing the bird,” he called back. Sarah watched as Blane handled the animal, now adorned with a small hood. Having removed the falcon from the cage, Blane took it to a side door off the main room, removed its hood, and released it.

Blane came back in with the little hood in his hand, removing the leather gauntlet. He wore a smile as he came and bowed toward the emissary and reported the message sent on its way to the Temple and the High Priest of Shaddai.

“How long until I can expect a reply?” the Royal Emissary asked.

“Isaiah, the High Priest, is usually quick to respond,” Mr. Oggle said. “Probably tomorrow, but I’ll have Blane prepare our finest room for you so you’ll have a comfortable stay until the falcon returns.”

The emissary nodded and Blane bowed before hurrying off to prepare the room. Sarah stood there puzzled. Something did not make sense about all of it. Had the Isle of Macedon been liberated recently? If so, she was not aware of it. And how had this emissary and his entourage made it all the way to the Thornhills without encountering Mordred’s soldiers?

Sarah rubbed her belly and thought of her husband. She wished she could ask him these questions or at least know what he was doing. Sarah had important news to tell, and she hoped it would not be too long before she got the opportunity.

Mordecai watched with interest as the military men dispersed to equidistant positions around the Willow Tree Inn across the street. He wiped the dust from the dirty window of the attic loft where he had been hiding since last night. The business below, in the main part of the building, was a store where general goods were sold.

“Now what is all that about, I wonder,” Mordecai whispered to himself.

“Fascinating isn’t it?” a deep voice asked.

Mordecai whipped around with a dagger in his hand ready to hurl it at the source of the voice. When he saw the unexpected yet familiar face standing before him, he relaxed, if only a little. His pent up tension escaped with a measured sigh. “What are you doing here, Jericho?”

“I usually like to make sure men in my service are fulfilling their duties properly in accordance with my design.” The demon leaned against a bare support beam in the dusty gloom of half-light.

“You’ve nothing to worry about,” Mordecai assured him. “I’ll carry out my part of this, just as I said.”

“Oh, I’m not referring to you, Mordecai.”