Lyn’s hands worked in unison around the fuel puck, teasing out small vapors that wafted around. The pleasant smell of sweetbark, heartnut, and embernail all lingered from the burning plate. Small shards of carved glass sit around the small sustained flame, Lyn’s hand gently tilting and cleaning the lenses. From its position between Lyn and Anthony, a small scene played.

  An older grizzled man peered back at Anthony, his eyes the same color as his. Of course it was an older, grown, Anthony looking back at him from what Lyn imagined he would become when he got older. The youth looked at the simulacra with suspicion.

  “How is this not sacrilege, Lyn?” He looked at her with concern drawn onto his face, looking at the rendered image of himself staring back at him.

  “Priest Vandal assures me smokelore is not evil, Anthony.” Lyn confidently said, weaving her shades to tease out what kind of man he could be. “Draw another sign. Let’s see what you draw.” She said with a smirk.

  His hands carefully plucked another from Lyn’s hand, the cardstock thick between his fingers. Carefully he looked at the card to see a man bearing a bundle of logs across his back.

  “The Load, Its responsibility without direction. Bearing weight of something from where you don’t know came.” Lyn shuffled the hand and presented it again. “Another.”

  Hesitantly, Anthony took a second card, laying it flat as it is. A burning wall of fire separates one half of the card. A man on the other with a burning lantern in his hands sits kneeling on the unlit side.

  “The Firebreak.” Lyn’s brow furrowed, as she tried to interpret what the cards meant. “What feels like betrayal might be mercy in context. A moment is coming when inaction might be worse than cruelty.” Lyn looked at the cards and shuffled one more time. “A third and final card, Anthony.”

  Anthony looked at the cards in her hand and shook his head. “I don’t-“

  “Do it. Anthony.” She said with a much more serious tone now. “You dont leave signs unfinished. Do it.”

  Anthony slowly picked the third and final card, leaving it on the table as it is. A man stood in the middle of the card. Long antlers protruded from his head. Gripped in one hand is a long staff with torch head. The figure cloaked in a thick fur coat. The card itself was upside down.

  “The Stranger, reversed.” Lyn looked closer at the cards. Her eyes flitting over all three as if attempting to read the outcome, the projection shifting in real time with her thoughts processing what was going on. “Fear does not come from the unknown… it’s known and returning…” The projection shifts, revealing a much more weathered Anthony, now bloodied and in flames. Lyn dragged her hand through the smoke and dispersed the reading quickly.

  Anthony stood abruptly and glared down at the reading. “You think that’s me?” He squared up in his chest, hissing the accusation. “   That isn’t me!” He said in a sharp denial. Anthony stormed off, slamming the door behind himself.

  The home rattled with the show of force traveling through the walls. Lyn kept her eyes on the cards, analyzing them. “Something isn’t right here.” Her hands remained still, the projection of Anthony returned softly. This time he was much more damaged. His eyes wouldn’t open, no matter how much she twisted and fixed the glass. The flame lost its fuel as she attempted the fifth time.

  Lyn glared down at the fuel puck and sighed, knowing she couldn’t reconjure the shadows without them hallucinating inaccurate details and lies to her. Lyn sighed and drew the cards back in and shuffled her deck. She turned to see Mercer content in his crib. Idly, she pulled him into her lap and drew cards again. She looked down at him with a smile before she placed the first. The Path. She idly twirled the small lock of hair on mercers head. The Knife. More concerned, she laid a kiss on his forehead. “Oh sweet child, not like this.” She remarked, hesitating to draw the final card. Her hand softly let it touch the table, closing her eyes in the same motion. She counted to three, and opened them to see the card. The Witness. Lyn looked down at her sweet child and let her sobs out.

  Anthony stormed into town. His temper flared as he made his way to church. The air was nice, it was midday and the leaves were picking up in the wind. He saw the passing stones with small crosses carved into them. The sight of them infuriated him then. ‘You allowed this… nonsense…!’

  He saw the doors that, beneath them, held gravely redoubts. The lulling hills that separated him seemed to be a fortress. ‘Did I overreact?’ Anthony slows his pace as he took the time to appreciate the walk over this feeling of helplessness. ‘I’m better than that, I don’t sin.’ He felt the cool wind tracing his arms and lacing through his fingers. He stopped and saw the verdant green hills that made the pastureland west of the Church. Livestock of all like sat in lumps across the fields, grazing for their own sustenance.

  Anthony placed his weight on the old wooden fence and quietly watched the animals. The passage of multiple nuns and church goers seemingly ignored him as he sought resolution with himself. ‘The Lord is my Captain, I am the co-captain.’ He remarked quietly, the subtle rot of a determined future sat wrong then. Nothing sat right, no matter what he said to himself, it didn’t seem… right.

  He registered someone standing next to him then, a woman. A nun, he realized a moment later. He turned his head and muttered.

  “Huh?”

  “I didn’t say anything, Anthony.” The elderly woman said.

  Anthony registered that he’d seen this woman before but had a hard time placing her then.

  “You look troubled, care to share your burden?” The woman asked with a warmth and kindness he’d rarely seen before.

  “Nothing. It’s nothing, Sister Agnes.” He remarked automatically.

  Sister Agnes quietly stood shoulder to shoulder with Anthony, looking at the grazing animals. “My father told me that a lot too.” She said calmly, leaning on the same post that Anthony did. “I think I would too if I knew my beer company was going under. Don’t want to startle your children.” She looked at the small animals, lifting her hand and pinching them in the middle distance of her sight.

  Anthony sighed, and kept his eyes forward on the livestock trying to see what she saw. He mimicked the motion wordlessly.

  “I used to imagine picking up these little animals and setting them on my shoulders. I’d talk my troubles away, all day and night.” She smirked at the thought, reliving fond memories. “What if I were to put a small little thornpest on your shoulder?” She smiled, offering her pinched fingers to Anthony.

  He saw them and remained there, unsure of what to do.

  “C’mon then, don’t let the little thornpest freeze!” She placed the small imaginary creature onto Anthony’s shoulder, patting it afterward. “Share your load, even if nobody else can hear it. You’d be surprised what miracles come from the rote.” She pushed off the fence and kept walking, not breaking stride on her way back to the church.

  Anthony tracked Sister Agnes as she left. ‘I don’t sin.’ The mantra rung like a bell in his mind. Anthony rubbed his eyes and continued to move towards the church. He saw the arched entrance, its doors flung wide open. As if the church was making a statement to allow all into its confines. The windy breeze was replaced with the scent of incense, and a faint warmth the building had to offer. He sought a seat, bringing his hands up into a prayer.

  “Anthony?” Priest Vandal asked.

  He looked up, trying to spot the sound of the priest’s voice.

  “Anthony, I’m over here.” Vandal affirmed.

  He saw Priest Vandal sitting next to the confessional, having just stepped out.

  Anthony approached the old man.

  Vandal could sense something wrong the moment the youth turned. “What’s the matter Anthony?”

  Anthony looked up at Vandal’s imposing features, the old bulwark of a priest seemed… too indomitable. “Nothin-“

  “Don’t lie to me. I can always tell when someone is lying.” He looked down at Anthony, then registered something. “Was it something Lyn or Katie did?” He asked with a smirk.

  Anthony flustered at the question, tripping over his words. “I didn’t-“

  “You don’t need to. Usually you’re in your town clothes whenever I see you after your work on their property.” Priest Vandal shifted his weight. “I can always trust your actions Anthony, they’re much more honest than your words.” The priest turned to show a path to the church garden. “Would you like to walk and talk? I’ve been in confessional all day and would like to stretch out my legs.”

  Anthony nodded, defeated from the very start.

  “Share your burden, Anthony.” Priest Vandal strode amongst the neat pethorn rows, seeing their crimson buds flowering in the daylight. “Its just you, me, and the pethorn flowers.”

  Anthony hesitated; his eyes fixated on the thorns. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

  Priest Vandal remained quiet, allowing the silence to draw out what needed to be said.

  “Lyn did my Sign reading today.” He said softly, his eyes searching the long row ahead of them, picking out the thorns more than the flowers.

  “What did your signs say?” Priest Vandal asked in a nonchalant tone.

  “Does it matter?” Anthony asked, reaching out to touch one of the pethorn stalks.

  “It seems to matter to you, Anthony. You wouldn’t be so dour.” Priest Vandal lifted a hand to feel one of the flowers, gently teasing one of them to open fully.

  “It…” His thumb lightly caught on the edge of one of the thorns, he could feel the ridges in the skin of his thumb skip across it. “It said something I don’t like.” Anthony admitted finally.

  “That tends to happen when you try to read Fate.” Priest Vandal held the flower softly in his hand, and sighed. “Just remember that you aren’t fated for anything, Anthony. Symbols don’t judge.” Vandal turned to the youth and spoke further. “If they did we’d all be damned.”

  Anthony pulled his hand back, looking at the bead of blood on his thumb. “I know.”

  Vandal smirked and took out a small rag. “It doesn’t seem like it. But I’ll trust you understand my meaning.” He dabbed at the small drop of blood on the youth’s hand. “Why don’t you accompany me today?” He asked in a cheery tone. “We could use the extra hand.”

  Anthony looked up and nodded. “Okay, Vandal.” His fingers rubbed together. “Lets go.” Anthony fell into stride alongside Vandal.

  Vandal led the way out and down into town, following the gravel path that Anthony took on the way in. The town is laid out in a simple affair, one main boulevard with about ten branching streets breaking off into about six housing roads filled to the brim with narrow homes that bud up against one another. Then four branching roads of industry and trade. A half branch, the one leading out of town, forms the agricultural district. Anthony eyed the road he came down and followed Vandal the opposite way.

  They strode down the road into the markets, Vandal chatting with strangers that Anthony couldn’t recognize. The smell of incense remained though, similar to the smell of the stuff they used at the church.

  One of the members of the faith seemed familiar. Eliza Dorn was quietly embroidering on her porch that overlooked the small playground in town. “Its good to see you again Priest Vandal, what brings you out today?” Her tone was a mix of pleasant surprise and mirth.

  “Well, Anthony needed to walk and clear his mind. I decided to join him; I was locked in confession all day.” He smiled and turned his attention to the skein embroidery. “Beautiful work so far, how long until I get my quilt Eliza?” Priest Vandal leant on the balustrade to the porch.

  Eliza flushed and swatted the air. “I’m working on them; they’re all labors of love Priest.” She smiled and kept her focus down on her work. “I’d let monsters pass if they didn’t bother me while I was working.” She began to rock back and forth in her chair.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Vandal smiled and remained leaning on the railing. “Do we have any other disputes that need arbitration today?” Priest Vandal seemed more easy going around Eliza, Anthony picked up a subtle difference between the two.

  Eliza smiled faintly and spoke from memory. “We’ve been trying to negotiate with some of the artisan guilds over gilding some of our vestry portraits. But they’ve been dragging their feet on how much the church will pay.” She picked up a new ball of yarn seemingly from nowhere and started a new colored stitch. “Then we have the dispute between the Locksons and the Idleviews families. They’ve been arguing over what fence can go where. Last I heard there was a hatchet and sickle involved.” Eliza softly chuckled, thinking about it. “Might want to bring a log or your sword, Priest Vandal.” She made eye contact and winked at him before going back to work. “Then there’s still the Gibson boy who’s sick, might want to visit him and see to his ailment.” Eliza stopped rocking for a moment, trying to think of anything more to say. “There’re a couple other things, but we have other nuns working on fixing them without needing your help Vandal.”

  Priest Vandal seemed transfixed a little longer than necessary, blinking before replying. “Guess I’ll have to take a look into all of them today.” He smirked at Anthony. “I told you I could use your help.” Standing off the balustrade he started walking down the street. “Thank you, Eliza!” He said waving his hand, disappearing down one of the alley ways.

  Anthony kept up with the old man, processing what he just saw.

  “One amazing woman she is.” Remarked Priest Vandal. “If I hadn’t taken the robes of the order, I’d settle down for her.” He smiled and felt the labor of the day come a little easier having seen his crush.

  “Are you…?” Anthony almost smirked.

  “I am, I really shouldn’t let it impede my judgement though.” Vandal smiled, cutting through another alley way, waving to one of the landowners who sat and worked on something out of sight.

  “Who’re we going to speak to first?” Anthony felt a little better now, having something to distract himself with.

  “We’re going to speak with the two feuding families, and then we’re going to see Riley Gibson. He’s been sick for the last couple days. The artisans are going to take a long time negotiating with, and arguing price isn’t my strong suit. I think I will ask one of our more fiery sisters to look into it.”

  Anthony nodded. “I thought you said you were going to look into all of them?”

  Vandal shrugged. “Sometimes you have to register when you’re at your limit. I know the difference between needing to sharpen a skill and when being under skilled are important. I could go. But would I really be the best representative the church can have negotiating for them? I am a better use of manpower negotiating and speaking with the every day people of the church, keeping the body whole and alive.”

  Anthony nodded and followed the Priest until they made their way to the disputing families.

  Anthony locked eyes with a large estate that bordered the edge of town. Immaculate hedgerows of beautiful riverwhip. Massive flowing branches weeping over the property kept swaying in this mesmerizing pattern that kept Anthony’s attention on the things going on overhead.

  Priest Vandal shared Anthony’s appreciation for a moment before returning his sight on the property. He saw things were calm at the moment, and took it as a chance to walk onto the beautiful terrain. He approached the Locksons’ family home and made himself known. “Hello? Anyone home?” Vandal knocked on the front door tentatively, waiting for a response.

  “Go away.” Retorted a short and ornery voice, as if it were evident, Anthony could spot the peeling paint on the building. He vaguely likened it to the tone of the man inside.

  “Jebediah, Please. Just a moment of your time.” Vandal stood a little further from the door, almost anticipating something.

  “I said. Go. Away!” He remarked again, louder this time.

  “Jeb-boy. C’mon. Lets talk this out, you’re the first I’ve come to see today, lets air out this grievance you and me.” Vandal turned and looked at Anthony as if the youth could do anything about the stubborn old man.

  “That Idleview fuck aint gonna try to move my hedgerow! My riverwhip’s all I got!” He remarked in a simple, but direct, tone.

  “Jeb-boy, I know, the church is still using your handmade baskets and hampers, please come out so we don’t have to shout through your door!” Vandal seemed more irritated now, keeping it in check as he argued with the bitter old man.

  Jebidiah rancorously burst through his front door, barely missing Vandal. “I told ya! I told ya! I aint givin up my land!” He came chin to chin with Vandal, the two old men seemingly dead set on trying to prove a point.

  Vandal held his ground, puffing his chest at the miser. “I didn’t say anything about giving up your land Jeb! But you better start telling me what’s going on here with the Idleviews before you make an ass of yourself.”

  Jebidiah looked deep into Vandal’s eyes, backing down quietly and reassessing his approach here. “They want me to chop and move my riverwhip fence. I need it for all the extra canes that come from ‘em. If I chop and move I’m set back five years of progress-“ He looked more desperate now, processing what he has. “The town tax assessor has my property billed up twenty more Doltairs this year because of this hedge row, I’ll be damned if I give it up.” Jeb took a pointy finger and jammed it into Vandal’s chest to no effect.

  Vandal quietly looked down at Jebidiah and nodded. “Alright Jeb, lets take this one step at a time. Give me some time to speak to the Idleviews so we can get this all sorted out, alright?”

  Jeb nodded and returned into his house with a slam of his solid stoutfather door.

  Anthony furrowed his brow. “You looked like you knew him prior to coming here.”

  Vandal nodded, walking down the steps to the miser’s home. “I worked here for a time, its why I walked up with no issue. I climbed the riverwhip trees here for many years collecting the whips you see all around.” Vandal splayed his arms out to reveal the property to be one large hedgerow of the same tree.

  Anthony looked around in amazement. “They’re quite beautiful trees. Surprised someone like him can keep this many around with so few hands.”

  Vandal nodded. “I don’t think he really needs the fence here, but its his business what he does to his property.” Vandal crossed the property and left for the exit, Anthony trailing behind quietly.

  They both saw the issue before they saw Irene Idleview. Jebidiah Lockson’s riverwhip trees shaded out a rather large section of Irene’s property in the day, and absolutely covered everything under them in sap and leaves. It was more apparent when they walked the hard packed gravel path leading to the porch of the Idleviews home. Rocks and leaves stuck to the bottom of their feet as they passed.

  Anthony looked down, noticing how heavy his feet had become. “I see why they want the trees moved.” He remarked quietly.

  “Yeah, I kinda’ knew why they were arguing. It’s not hard to see the issue of Jeb’s hedgerow.” Vandal smiled as he remembered back. “Those trees tend to lay sap on everything under them, I mean they’re okay as shade trees but you wouldn’t want to leave anything under them.” He walked up the porch and knocked on the front door. “Irene, Ma’am do you have a minute?”

  The door remained silent, and a moment passed. Creaking open revealed a large man with a potbelly and a bald head. “Preacher Vandal.” He said in a low voice.

  “Good morning Jacob. I came because I heard there was a dispute between your missus and Jebidiah.” Vandal took a couple steps back to let the large man walk out.

  “Huh? Yeah that sounds about right. They were yellin’ really loud last night.” Jacob remarked, scratching his head.

  Vandal noticed that he was more disheveled than usual. “Is everything alright? You aren’t as well dressed as I remember you to be.”

  Jacob milled around as he thought of how to phrase his plight. “I was… let go. Bramwell logging company replaced me with some prison laborers some two months ago. I’ve been looking for a new job ever since. I’d ask Mr. Lockson for one… but I think that might just be the end of my marriage with Irene…” He scratched the back of his neck thinking of it. “It’d be a real treat if you could smooth things over ‘tween them.”

  Priest Vandal nodded, and smiled. “Sure, mind asking the Mrs. to come out?” Vandal visibly relaxed, he seemed almost ready for the man to cause a confrontation.

  Jacob nodded, adjusting his shirt. “I would, but she’s out of the house. She’ll be back sometime later, soon though. She promised me she wouldn’t be out long. Care to share some drink and food?” Jacob shifted back and offered the door open to Vandal.

  “Should we partake in this man’s hard earned food Anthony?” Vandal looked back with a smug smile.

  Anothony smiled. “I would, but I feel like I’d be imposing…”

  Jacob smiled and shook his head. “Oh nonsense. Come on in and try some of our vegetables. They’re the best in town.”

  Anthony smiled and let Vandal enter first, following behind. The home was modest, adorned with rugged furniture that’d seen better days. In the pantry were plenty of vegetables ready for cooking. Jacob, however, decided to ladle some stew into earthenware ramekins. They were simple, and treated with what Anthony assumed to be tallow.

  “Thank you, Jacob.” Vandal said, pausing a moment to state a prayer. “Fields of Green. We give bearing for this meal, for the hands that prepped it, and for those that carry it forward, let nothing taken from here be small, and let nothing be forgotten. In His keeping, Amen.”

  The other men in the room nodded and shared a meal together. The soft clatter of bowls and silverware filled the room until another added to it softly from the door.

  Irene Idleview walked into her home seeing Priest Vandal and a young man she’d only ever seen cleaning at the church. “Hello gentlemen, I take it you’re here to speak about… last night…” She sheepishly asked.

  Vandal nodded, giving her a warm smile. “Gentle words turn out wrath, Irene.” He stood and moved to clean his dish. “But a harsh word stirs it back to life.” He sat the dish back into the cupboard clean and ready for reuse. “Might we have a discussion between you and Jebidiah?”

  Irene seemed hesitant as he asked, as if she knew this moment was coming to haunt her. “Alright, only because its you, Vandal.” She relaxed her shoulders, letting him lead the way.

  Vandal nodded, and made his way back to Jeb’s house. The day had settled somewhat, the cooling winds of the afternoon were at his back now, rustling the new growth on the riverwhip all throughout the land here.

  Once more Vandal wrapped his hand on the door of the old paint blistered home. He saw the flustered face of the old man again, this time even more enraged that he had brough Irene back.

  “I told you! No!” Jeb shouted, attempting to pick up and throw his newly acquired cane at Irene.

  Vandal flashed a quick hand and stopped the weapon from moving further than a raised hand. “No, if you do that nothing will end well for you, Jeb. We’re going to talk this out like adults.” Vandal pushed his will into the weave, feeling his small wisps of sap infused incense burn at the gesture.

  Anthony felt a strange emotion overcome him then, the sudden urge to calm down and take a seat pressed on his mind. It was unnatural, but present. Anthony looked around and saw the other two go a little more placid at the sudden presence. He furrowed his brow and kept watching the exchange.

  “Irene, please, air your grievance.” Vandal invited, letting Job set the cane down.

  Irene seemed a little lackadaisical, her iris’ blew wide as she spoke in a slightly slurred tone. “The town tax assessor raised property values on us… And Jacob lost his job recently. We have to… buckle down for a while… until Jacob can work again.” She said, almost slack jawed.

  Vandal nodded, and looked at Jeb. “Say your peace, Jeb.” He felt half of the incense he had for the day burn, wanting to urge this moment of peace to be the moment he sealed the deal between them.

  “I… have to pay more too…” Jeb said in the same slurred speech, a slight haltering tone in it indicated he was trying to resist saying his peace.

  Vandal inwardly rolled his eyes as the gesture, the Old coot was so stubborn it was showing in the weave.

  “…They want 20 more Doltairs for my property this year than they did last year… I don’t know if I’ll even make it this year or not. I’m-“ Jeb tried to stop the words from flowing free, too stubborn to even speak them from the aura that Vandal commanded. “I’m worried I’ll die before then-“

  Vandal relaxed his grip on the weave, and let the two come to terms with what was coerced out of them. “You’re too stubborn for your own good Jeb.” Vandal sneered a moment at Jeb, as the aura wore off. He recomposed himself while the three in company shrugged off the aura.

  “That was Cheap, Vandal.” Jeb said, more vicious and vile than before.

  “You didn’t tell me you were afraid of dying soon Jeb.” Irene cut through the ugly words Jeb was cooking up in his mind.

  Jeb looked more defensive now than ever, trying to figure how to twist this against Vandal. “He read my mind and compelled me to speak!” He stood taller and attempted to make himself larger in the argument.

  “Jeb, please. Show a moment of vulnerability for once. Pride cometh before the fall.” Vandal remarked softly. “I get it. You’re low on time, I’m near that point too.” Vandal shifted his weight. “Do you know Mercer? Lyn’s boy?”

  Jeb nodded. “Who doesn’t right now?”

  Vandal nodded. “I’ll be lucky to see him become a young adult, and Lyn promised me I could shape his future. How do you even shape the impressions of a young boy at that age?”

  Jeb quietly nodded, reliving his youth. “Not easily, Vandal.” He sighed, trying to get over the casual invasion of his private thoughts. “I don’t get how that comes back to you compelling me to say my thoughts.”

  Vandal sighed. “We’re both short on time here, Jeb. That’s my point. I think there’s a better solution here if you were to both set down your tools and acknowledge that there’s an extra pair of hands around that could cement both of your issues.”

  Irene nodded, more hopeful now.

  Jeb crossed his arms. “You mean Jacob?” Jeb sneered once more.

  “I mean Jacob, Yes.” Vandal said more irritated than usual. “Ley him work for you, he used to work for Bramwell Logging-“

  “I will not support anyone who worked for Bramwell. Period. End of discussion.” Jeb remarked harshly.

  “Why Jeb. Explain why.” Vandal said flatly, tired of the plain vile uncrossed behavior Vandal was seeing.

  “Why would you? The man obviously is a cheat, Bramwell – Not Jacob.” Jeb stood firm, adjusting his pants. “They take everything worth selling, burn the rest, and call it stewardship. I won’t have that kind of work taught on my land. Far as I’m concerned, the whole damned company can rot.”

  Vandal sighed. “So your issue is with Mr. Bramwell?”

  Jeb nodded. “Yes-”

  “Taking it out on a man who has to put food on the table for his wife after losing his job. Did you know that Jeb? The man’s been unemployed next to you for a month and a half now and you don’t even notice?”

  Jeb shook his head, insulted. “I know my neighbors-”

  “Clearly you don’t Jeb. Otherwise you’d have jumped on the opportunity to hire a hard working timberman in his prime. Just ready to make your dying business thrive again. Just remember, Jeb, your kids left for Port Daleth. Your wife died. You have no inheritors aside from the men who’d gladly chop up your home for its worth and pay out to ungrateful children who fled for the city.” Vandal was in Jeb’s face now, chin to chin with the most stubborn man in town.

  Jeb frowned, working his jaw wordlessly. “Don’t you DARE bring up my wife and kids.” The old man jabbed a finger deep into Vandal’s chest. “I’m not going to turn over MY business to the men who bled it dry to begin with.” His voice cracked as he spoke, his composure failing in real time.

  Vandal saw a single tear in Jeb’s eye. “Jeb, it doesn’t have to end this way.” Vandal said more resigned than anything. “Our town is dying if we can’t look out for our neighbors.” Vandal gently stood to the side and let Irene into view. “Remember when Donna was sick with a violent flu some ten years ago?” Vandal quietly leant over and picked up one of the leaves off the ground. “You were so worried you came running to me in tears, Jeb. I hadn’t gotten my anointment then, I was still a faithful. Everyone at the church came together then, we all just raised enough coin to get a healer into town.” He sighed, twisting the leaf in his fingers. “Don’t you think it’s time to pay back a little of that kindness?”

  Jeb cleared his throat and looked away from Vandal. His eyes searching the remnants of everything he built. The overgrown riverwhip stood proud in the distance, long hedgerows grew narrow. His eyes flitted to the blistered and crackling paint on the exterior of his house. The old dangling swing set in the yard, the old plank slowly churned in the wind as it picked up. “How could I forget that?” He muttered, looking at the ravages of age in his hands now. “Okay.” He remarked quietly. “Okay. I’ll take on Jacob.” Jeb looked away, dragging a hand across his face. Jeb turned and walked back up the steps of his decaying house, and closed the door quietly.

  Priest Vandal quietly nodded and turned to smile with Irene and Anthony. “I think it’s time we visit the boy now, If you’d excuse us Irene.”

  Anthony sighed in relief, quietly surprised at the turn of events.

  “Please, feel free to come around any time. We don’t have much to offer in thanks, Vandal, your help means the world.”