James Somers: The Order of Shaddai

True to his word, Gideon urged the others back on the move at dawn. They followed the River Sane, fed from the distant Thornhill Mountains. The river bordered between Nod and Wayland and avoided the main roads. Mordred would almost certainly be looking for them, so they shied from the villages and towns as well.

Ethan tugged at a piece of salt jerky, taking time to chew and savor it as they rode. Levi had managed to get them a third horse from those abandoned by fallen soldiers, found wandering in the grasslands following Stephen’s defeat. Their pace remained brisk as Gideon sought to bring their band to the safety of the Thornhill Mountains and the secret location of The Order of Shaddai.

As the trio continued over a large hill, a town became visible in the distance. Smoke spiraled up from the chimneys of nearly fifty houses and other basic structures, spread out over the next several low-lying hills. The center of town lay in a valley between them all. A well-worn road left the town to the east and another meandered away north toward the Thornhill Mountains in the distance.

They stopped long enough to survey the scene. “Is that where we’re going?” Ethan asked.

“Millertown, yes, I know people in this village,” Gideon said. “I was responsible for bringing the Word back to them after Mordred began his reign of terror in Nod. It was actually one of my first assignments from The Order.”

“How much farther to this temple you were talking about?” Levi asked.

“We’ve got another day’s travel into the Thornhills, but we could use a good home cooked meal and some rest in the meantime. The Thornhills are dangerous territory. Not many people live there, just man-eating snakes, dragon beetles, and ropeweed.”

“But if Mordred’s patrols are searching for us-”

“These are friendly people, Ethan. I’m sure we’ll be fine. I have friends here,” Gideon said. He never took his gaze from the village ahead.

Ethan and Levi looked at one another curiously as Gideon urged his horse forward without another word.

“So much for all of our caution eh, lad?” said Levi. He fell into place behind Gideon with Ethan following.

Within twenty minutes time, Gideon, Levi, and Ethan had made it into Millertown. People watched them as they entered the village, but no one appeared alarmed by the three riders. It was several hours past noon and many people were busy in the middle of town, gathering food from the small marketplace or drawing water from the large communal well.

Many friendly faces approached, all of them waving and shouting hello to Gideon in particular. He was known here, which brought Ethan some comfort. It meant they could relax their guard a bit-a welcome change after living the past three weeks as fugitives.

One man approached them with a very warm greeting, and Gideon lit down from his horse to embrace him. Levi and Ethan remained in the saddle watching curiously.

“Ah, my boy, how are you?” the man said.

“I’m doing well, Arness, and you? How is your good family?”

“Very well, but missing your face, my boy,” Arness said as he patted Gideon on the back. “You’ll be coming out to the farm later, yes?”

“Of course, we wouldn’t dare miss the opportunity. By the way, Arness, these are my very good friends, Captain Levi Bonifast and Ethan Hawk. We’re on our way to see Isaiah at the Temple.”

Levi, Ethan, and Arness exchanged nods, acknowledging one another. “Of course, gentlemen, any friend of Gideon is welcome in our home.” Then he turned to Gideon. “Will you be along directly? Sarah and her mother are still working at the laundry, but it won’t be long before they’re home.”

“Actually, I thought I would dispatch a message from the Willow Tree and perhaps treat my friends to a cool drink.”

“Even better. That way we can bid you a proper welcome with a hot meal when you arrive at the farm…say in two hours?”

“That sounds perfect,” Gideon said, “Just enough time for us to take advantage of the Willow Tree’s baths before we arrive.”

Arness patted Gideon on the shoulder and waved goodbye for the time being. He walked down the street toward the market.

“What’s the Willow Tree?” Levi asked.

“It’s an inn of sorts-that large building, down the road there,” he said.

“That bath certainly does sound nice,” Ethan said.

“Right this way, lads.” Gideon led his horse and his friends down the street toward the Willow Tree Inn.

Sarah, daughter of Arness, walked across the hard clay street toward the Willow Tree Inn. She was making a delivery of clean linens to their best customer, Mr. Oggle, the proprietor of the Inn. Her golden hair fell midway down her back with a thin braid of the hair cradling the back of her head like a chain.

Sarah carried two full sacks of linen by herself and cautiously weaved through the traffic of pedestrians and horse drawn wagons. She backed through the swinging double doors and carried the linen inside. Sarah hefted the bags through the maze of tables, being sure not to disturb Mr. Oggle’s guests. A young man, Blane, tended the bar where he served various drinks-concoctions of every tasty sort.

Blane was a handsome young man with dark hair and a thin mustache. He was not much older than Sarah and had been Mr. Oggle’s apprentice in the business for several years. He said Hello to the eighteen-year-old girl, pointing to the back room where Mr. Oggle was busy counting some of his stock.

Sarah waited with the bags at the bar where she and Mr. Oggle usually tallied his bill and where she received payment for the laundry owned by her parents. Blane tended to several customers at the other end of the bar while Sarah waited.

“Hey beautiful, how bout some service at this table!”

Sarah turned to find a table of well dressed, middle-aged men, four in all, engaged in a game of Tails-a game played with a die and round wafers of wood with characters etched into both sides. Gold and silver coins lay in different amounts before each of the men.

Sarah smiled politely. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t work here.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you to bring me a drink, exactly.” The man who spoke was a dapper sort with fine clothes and a larger portion of the money sitting in front of him on the table. His thick hair was dark with gray beginning to weave its way through his wavy locks. He wore a thin beard, mustache, and gold rings upon his fingers. He leered at Sarah with his dark eyes. His devilish, toothy grin made his uncouth intentions all too clear. The other men laughed, thinking their friend quite clever.

Sarah disregarded him and turned back to the bar. She looked at Blane, whose gaze moved from Sarah to the man. She heard a chair scoot away from the table behind her and feared the worst. She heard his boots lazily slapping the polished, wood floor as he meandered toward her. “Don’t turn your back on me, girl.”

He grabbed her waist, spinning her to him. The other men laughed and jeered. He grabbed her arms, staying her wrath, and attempted to force a kiss. “Don’t play so hard to get.”

The man’s breath reeked of liquor. He was drunk even though Sarah knew he had not gotten it at the Willow Tree. “Let go of me!” she shouted as she tried to break free of his grip. Blane walked down the bar, attempting to intervene.

The dapper gent whistled, and a behemoth lurched away from where he had been standing in the shadows near the door. “Virgil, this kid needs a lesson,” the dapper gent said, gesturing toward Blane.

Virgil stood seven feet tall and as thick as an oak tree. Muscles rippled and flexed through his massive arms and chest-the latter bound only by a leather vest that seemed strained to contain him. Virgil came to his master’s side, flexing his arms and making strained grabbing motions with each hand, causing his knuckles to pop repeatedly. Blane swallowed the lump in his throat, standing down his protest.