Table of Contents – (spoilers)
Sunday Mass at the Spitzer church was the grandest and most attended in the building’s history. Word had spread that Otilla of the Holy Fire had returned from the wilds, and the ranks of the local devotees who had previously followed her around Main Street had swelled by the arrival of about a dozen pilgrims. These devout followers had begun gathering at the church on Saturday evening, where they joined Pinch in fervent prayer before the Wheel and sword altar. These worshipers stayed in the church all night.
On Sunday morning, the church was packed to capacity before the bell had even begun ringing. The Baron and Baroness Hart attended, along with their daughter Rebecca. The Baron Hart was wearing a fine suit of full-plate armor under an immaculate tabard of his green and black, with the golden badge of his rank of colonel in the kingdom’s military. He had no shield, but was armed with a longsword. He held his helm tucked under his arm. The Lady Hart and Rebecca were each wearing modest gowns of black wool.
Along with the Baron and Baroness came three armed and armored soldiers: a captain and lieutenant, along with Lieutenant Cooper, who had hosted the squad at the fort when they went there seeking out the Lady Hart upon her invitation.
Following the Baron’s group, was Sheriff Waters with his wife and children.
Father Morrenthall was standing at the altar in a fine, crisply pressed cassock, with his gleaming, polished steel Stronian Wheel upon his breast. In his hands was a Holy Book. Flanking him was the Pekot Bunch: Otilla of the Holy Fire to his right, with Choke to her right. Knuckle was on Father Morrenthall’s left, with Pinch to his left. The squad were all polished and smart, armored and with their sidearms. Peep had her shortbow rig on her back as well. Choke had on his black robes overtop of his armor.
Father Morrenthall blessed the Baron and his family when they moved to the front of the church to kneel before the altar. He ignored Sheriff Waters and his family as they did likewise.
Rebecca Hart smiled coyly at Peep and gave her a little wave as she took her seat in the front pew with her parents. Of course, with the exception of Mrs Dunn, who was seated on the left flank of the front pew, the front pews had been left unoccupied in expectation of the arrival of the community’s most important members. Once the Baron and Sheriff’s people had all taken their seats, Father Morrenthall signaled for Knuckle to ring the church bell. Knuckle did so enthusiastically for a few minutes until Father Morrenthall signaled for him to cease. By this time, the church was packed with folk standing in the wings and aisles, with many more out on the steps and gathered in the road outside.
Father Morrenthall’s address that day was a call to arms that was as much a news report as it was sermon. He reminded the congregation of Captain Fairchild’s mission to the north to scout the goblin trouble. He spoke of his apocalyptic dream that foretold Otilla’s baptism of fire; of legions of chaos and evil sweeping across the land. Goblins, orcs, ogres, and giants in numbers never before seen, rejoicing in their ascendency. Demons and devils feasting upon innocents as though this land were now Hell itself. He related Otilla and her men’s mission to cleanse the Old Mill of Callic. And he spoke of his audience with the Bishop of Bitina himself.
“Indeed! From the Bishop’s seat in the Cathedral, word has been sent to Ban Altas of the happenings here!” Father Morrenthall shouted. “All the eyes of Stroniandom will be upon this place and its coming events. Know that what we do now shall become history, if, that is, we are worthy enough to prevail. For believe me when I tell you, if we do not prevail, then there shall be no one left to write our history.
“But! I ask you! Are we worthy of victory against this coming evil? Do we deserve redemption? What mercy have we earned from Altas? What help have we earned from Stron? Is this coming doom not a worthy punishment for our sins? Have we not earned annihilation? I look upon this place, this land, this kingdom, and the Holy Stronian United Kingdoms entire, and I say that we have not earned protection or salvation! We have slipped into sloth, lust, pride, and avarice! We have lost our way! We must clean house! Put out our sin! For how can we expect Stron to help us when we tolerate sin we know he despises?”
Father Morrenthall stood glaring at the congregation for a long time. His silence became oppressive, as the import of his words echoed through the minds of his congregation. Finally, he spoke again, this time his anger muted, and with the confidence of a man who knows exactly what must be done:
“All of us, all of you, each and every one of you, know exactly what it is that you must do. You know what is sin and what is virtue. You know righteousness from wickedness. You know duty from corruption. It is now time to do that which is right and put out that which is not. No matter the cost. Cleave to your duty. And those who do not bend to this cleansing of our society, who do not seek absolution through rehabilitation, those who continue their corrupt ways, those people…” Father Morrenthall paused to glare at Sheriff Waters, “those people, must be cleansed from us. For they are an abomination in the eyes of our Lord, Stron.”
Father Morrenthall glared at the congregation as a whole now. Then he banged his fist down upon his Holy Book and raised his hand high, palm upwards. A plume of roaring flame surged from his hand. Its heat was terrifying. With the flame continuing to roil from his hand, Father Morrenthall roared:
“Fire is coming! Fire shall consume us all! But what manner of fire shall it be for you? Will it be the holy, cleansing fire of Stron? Will it be the holy fire of faith, burning brightly within you, guiding you to do what is right? Will it be Stron’s punishing fire, as wielded by Otilla of the Holy Fire, to be delivered to our enemies? Or shall it be the fire of our enemies as they burn our lands and our holdings? Shall the fire be your salvation? Or shall it be your damnation? This! Is! Your! Choice!”
Father Morrenthall closed his fingers into a fist to extinguish his holy flame. He waited another long moment before speaking, his voice still loud, but now calm:
“Your choice. Your choice. And know that to come to the Wheel and confess your sins with a penitent heart, to earnestly seek to amend your ways and to do that which is right: this shall earn forgiveness. It is time to repent and to do right going forward. Nothing more, or less, is required. Let us now pray:
“Our Father Altas, please have mercy on us sinners and know that we are but mortals, wretched in our weakness. Lord Stron, give us the strength to do what is right. Give us the strength to put out that evil within us, so that we may earn the forgiveness of your Father, Altas. Give us the strength to vanquish your enemies within, so that we might be strong enough to vanquish the enemies that come as surely as the winter snows. Amen.”
“Amen,” the congregation intoned.
“Now, those who wish to receive Otilla of the Holy Fire’s blessing may come before the altar to receive it. In orderly fashion, if you please. Do not worry, for we shall bless each and every supplicant in turn, however long that takes,” Father Morrenthall said, smiling maliciously at Peep, who had slumped a little in despair at hearing this.
The Baron himself rose from his pew and drew his longsword. He came to kneel before the altar in front of Father Morrenthall and Peep, holding his sword point down grasped by the blade, so that the hilt was in front of his face. The Baron Hart was a big, muscular man, handsome with a full beard and bright, alert eyes. Even kneeling as he was, he was not so much shorter than Peep was standing. For an instant, Peep balked at the sight of such a man, in all his martial glory, kneeling before her. Of course, Father Morrenthall had instructed Peep on how to deliver Stron’s blessing, so he only needed to nudge her with his elbow to get her going.
Peep raised her right hand above the Baron’s head, palm upwards and traced the four spoked wheel, first a circle and then an “X” crossing it, as she said:
“Stron bless this man!”
With this, Peep pressed her palm down upon the Baron Hart’s forehead. It took just a second, but it was clear to all that something profound happened to both participants of this holy ritual. The Baron tensed with a sharp inhalation of breath, as Peep shuddered in an almost orgasmic manner.
The Baron stood up and turned to raise his sword high as he faced the congregation. As strong as his bearing had been before, there was no mistaking that it was now much fortified. The steel of Stron’s faith and purpose had been driven into his soul.
“Praise Stron!” he boomed.
“Amen!” and “Praise Stron!” the congregation shouted in a wild effusion.
Her face slack, Peep exhaled in a long sigh as she contemplated the Wheel in her palm.
“Ohhhhh,” she sighed again. Then she looked over the assemblage before her, who had begun to queue and her eyes flared wide as she realized just what this meant for her.
“Oh,” she said. Then she braced herself and got right into it.
The Baroness Hart was next. With only a hint of her trepidation showing, the Baroness knelt in front of Peep to receive Stron’s blessing. When she received it, her reaction was quite different than that of her husband. She sat still with her eyes closed for a long moment. Then she nodded resolutely and took her place by her husband’s side.
Rebecca Hart quivered almost as much as Peep as they shared a moment with Stron’s blessing passing between them. Then she gave a little squeal of pleasure before joining her parents who were standing in front of their pew.
The Baron’s officers were next, and they all reacted very much the same way as their lord. Following them, of course, was Sheriff Waters. Oddly, he stood aside and gestured for his wife and three children to go ahead of him. When his family had all received the blessing, the Sheriff hesitated for just a second before guiding them towards the door. As he turned to follow them, Father Morrenthall spoke up:
“Sheriff Waters! Would you not take Stron’s blessing from Otilla of the Holy Fire? Whatever might you be afraid of?”
Sheriff Waters stood staring back at Father Morrenthall, looking for a moment like he might attempt to explain himself. He soon thought better of it and hurried to kneel before Peep, giving her a murderous look as she smirked at him.
“Understand!” Father Morrenthall spoke loudly, so that all might hear. “Whatever Otilla might have been before, and whatever her personal feelings might be, she is a Holy Vessel. This means she is just a conduit through which Stron’s blessing may pass. She does not bless you, Stron does. And she does not judge or punish. Stron does!”
Father Morrenthall looked down upon Sheriff Waters as though he were a condemned man.
“Do you fear Stron’s judgement, Sheriff Waters?” he asked loudly.
“No, Father,” the Sheriff managed.
“Good. Then receive his blessing. May it give you strength for your coming ordeal,” Father Morrenthall said with a sadistic smile, only loud enough for those in the very front of the church to hear. Then he nodded deeply to Peep: “Otilla, my apologies. I interrupted your blessing. Please do continue.”
“Thank you, Father!” Peep said happily as she raised her hand high to trace the Wheel above the Sheriff.
When she laid her brand upon his brow, there was not, as some might have expected, any flame or smoke or stink of scorched flesh. It was a blessing just as the others had been. However, whatever it was that Sheriff Waters received from it did not sit well with him. He groaned and writhed a little as Peep gave a little giggle along with her pleasure spasm.
The Sheriff staggered to his feet and went straight for the exit with his family following close behind.
“Well, that is concerning,” the Baron said.
“Indeed, Baron,” Father Morrenthall agreed. “But whatever it was is his private matter, between him and Stron. It is not for us to interpret. But I will say, that for a stone mason, the labor of lifting and working stone is natural and right. Having grown into the labor, the mason is accustomed to these burdens. But have another man, such as your Lady’s Father Percy, for example, take up these tasks for even an hour, and he shall have a hard time of it. So it goes for things such as duty and righteousness. Those of us used to shouldering them have developed the strength to do so and feel no burden from it. But lay that weight upon one who has no custom of bearing it, and it must seem heavy indeed.”
The Baron Hart laughed at his. “I take your point, Father.”
“I am glad you do, Baron. But, as I said, it is not for us to judge. Not this day. And not the Sherrif’s blessing. I have other matters to discuss with him,” Father Morrenthall said with a deep nod towards the Lady Hart.
“Yes, I suppose you do, Father,” Baron Hart said giving his wife an irritated sideways look. “And I expect that you have notions to discuss with me about how to go about that.”
“That I do, Baron. We have much to discuss, I think.”
“I agree, Father. In private. How about tomorrow morning? I shall come here and we can settle everything,” the Baron said.
“Thank you, Baron. I most appreciate that. However, I think much of what we have to discuss ought to involve your steward. And given your uncle’s venerability, I think it may be best that we come to you in the fort. If that suits you, Baron,” Father Morrenthall said with a deep nod.
Baron Hart nodded. “It does. But, ‘we?’ Who shall accompany you?”
“Otilla of the Holy Fire and Bartholomew of the Brothers of the Holy Stone Pekot school, of course. I shall be bearing evidence from them that you must hear. And I thought you would want them present to clarify any details you might have questions over.”
“Ah. Yes. Good idea, Father. Thank you. I shall notify Father Gerban. We will await you at the fort tomorrow morning.”
“Excellent, Baron. Thank you so much. I most appreciate your good attention in this matter,” Father Morrenthall said, again nodding deeply to Baron Hart.
“Not at all. As I do yours, Father. Well, with that settled, I think we should take our leave. Thank you, Father. Praise Stron!”
“Praise Stron, indeed. Until tomorrow then. Thank you so much, Baron. And Baroness Hart, charming as always. It was so lovely so see you in our humble church of Stron,” Father Morrenthall said as he nodded deeply to the lady.
“Thank you, Father. Stron’s blessing was most uplifting. I am so grateful to have received it. Praise Stron and his holy father, Altas,” Lady Hart said.
“Indeed. Praise Stron and Altas. With the Father’s cleansing sun and his Son’s holy fire, we shall have a fighting chance in these days to come. If we all do our duty,” Father Morrenthall said significantly.
“Indeed, Father. Thank you,” Lady Hart said shortly.
“And Miss Rebecca, lovely to see you, as always. What a vision. I have no doubt that you shall soon be able to help forge an alliance between your family and another. I hear that Count Vallent’s youngest son may have taken an interest in you. That would be a fine match indeed for the Harts!”
“It is being considered. We shall see,” Lady Hart said.
“Of course. Of course. Not my place to interfere. You know your business well, I am sure, my lady. Well then, with that: farewell to you all. Thank you so much for your attendance today. Until tomorrow, Baron,” Father Morrenthall nodded deeply to the Harts.
“Yes. Until tomorrow. Thank you, Father,” Baron Hart said.
The crowd parted as the Baron and his family left down the center aisle, followed closely by his officers. Of course, Peep had been continuing her blessings during the conversation, but this had thinned the queue only somewhat.
It took the better part of two hours for Peep to bless everyone in the congregation. As exhausting as it was for her, she did so earnestly and with a little quiver of pleasure every time. Finally, with the congregation all blessed, Father Morrenthall signaled for the Pekot boys to take their turn. Choke went first, followed by Knuckle, and then Pinch. When Pinch received the blessing of her Wheel brand upon his brow, it healed the lurid handprint Father Morrenthall had burned into it the day before. Sadly for him, though, his hair was not restored.
Last of all, Father Morrenthall took his turn to kneel before Peep. She blessed him as she had the others. Visibly moved by the experience, Father Morrenthall took a long moment to get back to his feet. When he finally did, he turned to address the remaining worshipers. About fifty had returned to the pews to pray after their blessing, many of them fervently humming hymns and rocking to and fro with their hands clasps high above them.
“Do feel free to stay as long as you wish. Those of you from other places may stay in the church overnight. I do ask that you remain in the public area of the church and the yard out front, and refrain from bothering Otilla of the Holy Fire or her men. Stron bless you all!”
Father Morrenthall traced the Wheel high in the air before him as the flock intoned, “Amen.”
Peep was swaying on her feet with a stupid smile and glazed eyes like someone profoundly high. Father Morrenthall looked like he might laugh when he turned to look at her, but he managed to hold it together.
“Oh my,” he said. “I see this many blessings has really taken it out of you, Otilla. I think you should go to your quarters and rest for as long as you need. You have earned it, my child.”
“Yeah… ahhhhhhhh… that was… yeah! I feel like I could just melt like a candle and dribble away. Woah. That was a lot, man,” Peep said blissfully, her head lolling around on her shoulders.
“Yes, Indeed. Go on now and rest. Mrs Dunn, could you please see to it that Otilla gets to her chambers? Thank you.”
Father Morrenthall waited until Mrs Dunn had piloted Peep through the door to the right of the altar. Then he turned to Choke:
“I shall be in my office, preparing the necessary documents for our meeting tomorrow with the Baron and his steward. Bartholomew, I suggest you take this day of rest to reflect on what we discussed and prepare yourself mentally for what is to come. As well, make sure your two men understand the situation. Nikolas and Theodas: listen well to your leader, Bartholomew, and take his words to heart. All you three are well-placed to do much good in these coming times of mayhem. But… your position requires prudence. Do not speak of what you know to any but your confessors. I trust you all understand me.”
“Yes, Father,” the three Pekot boys said as one.
“Very good, then. Dismissed.”
Muse Vassal 