The Curse of Faith
Leena straightens and faces her. “Thanks for pressing the soil down. Could you walk over the rest of the field too?”
“Leena.” Mord dips her head in greeting. “You are to come with me.” She turns on her heel and walks back the way she came.
Leena pinches the top of her nose and grits her teeth, quietly muttering, “What now?”
She is about to follow, smiles and instead starts turning over the trodden soil again, taking her time about it.
At the edge of the field, Mord looks around for Leena, spotting her doing something other than following her. A deep frown creasing her smooth skin as she crosses her arms. After a few more minutes of patient, diligent soil-turning, Leena shoves the spade into the ground at Mord’s feet, dusting herself off. “Well?”
Turning on her heel, Mord strides towards the church with Leena hurrying to keep up. She can’t help but notice dark clouds, heavy with the promise of unpleasant weather, framing Mord as she heads to the church. As if being led into a storm.
On top of the nearby hill, overlooking the town of Walders Orchard, is the church. Its walls are wet with rain, deepening their normal, bland grey to a soulless slate colour. Today is a day without prayer, therefore the church bell has been silent. Leena and Mord make their way up the path towards the drab, grey building. Set into the large wooden door is a carving of a radiant woman floating over a world. Around her are thirteen apostles, resplendent in flowing cloaks and long hair. The long, thick slats of wood forming the door have warped from years of being in the sun. Long splits run up and down it, somehow still holding together despite the use it gets each day.
Mord pushes the door open. Its tortuous creak announces their arrival. Their footsteps on the stone floor are like staccato accompaniments to the fading echoes of the door.
Spread along the walls of both aisles are tapestries showing glorious moments of the most faithful servants to The Bright One. As she had done many times before, Leena can’t help but observe the tapestries were all depictions of battles; soldiers with swords and armour in holy battle with each other. Swords and armour, Leena reflects, a thing of the past.
At the far end of the nave, kneeling at a stone altar and clothed in his usual dull grey robes with sandals on his feet, is the Vicar - the walking embodiment of the church. Mord stops at a respectful distance from him, where she stands with hands clasped in front. Leena does the same but a step behind and to the side of Mord, as is appropriate. Leena knows this is not the time to antagonise.
Minutes pass while they wait, listening to the rain pattering on the stone roof.
“Blessings be.” The Vicar’s soft words hang in the musty air as he slowly stands up to face them. His long grey hair rests on his shoulders, framing a lined face, home to an equally long beard. His face, like his garb, is as cheerless as the surrounding stone, along with his grey eyes showing no signs of warmth to welcome either of them.
“Child.” Though his voice isn’t deep, it carries authority. The kind that comes from a lifetime of faith and a town full of people believing his every word. He is looking at Leena.
She suppresses an eye roll at being referred to as ‘child’. He uses that word a lot when addressing younger people in his faithful flock, as if there is a paternal quality passed on when he says it. Indeed, he has no children of his own and, as far as anybody knew, had not been with anyone. The Bright One was and always would be his only love. Leena wonders if the Vicar, in the deepest part of his soul, dreamed the radiant woman depicted on the door would descend and whisk him away. The thought brings some amusement to her.
He comes forward and grasps her shoulders. “I worry about you.” He folds his hands together in front of his chest, his eyes never leaving hers. “You openly question what we are about to do. I see doubt in your eyes.”
Rain dances on the roof while Leena fidgets with her sleeves and holds the Vicar’s stare. He turns his back to her and points at a large metal circle with an eye in the centre, hanging on the far wall.
“The symbol of The Bright One, Her benevolent eye, watches us all, child. She created us. She guides us. She teaches us. She nurtures us.” It is hard for Leena to suppress another eye roll at the familiar litany, usually spoken during morning prayers. The Vicar puts the fingertips of both his hands together, forming the shape of an eye over his heart. Mord faithfully replies. Leena follows last, to make a point.
“Tell me, child. What ails you?”
She glances at Mord, then back at the Vicar and is about to speak, then pauses. Questioning with your family in the comfort of your home or with friends when you think you are some place private is one thing, but openly doing so to the Vicar?
Leena catches herself wiggling her fingers and clasps her hands together. “Do we really have to fight them?” She puts as much respect in her tone as possible.
Long grey hair obscures his face as he bows his head. “Child. It has become clear to me they have lost their way.” He turns and faces her, grey eyes piercing. “Their spirit has become corrupted. I have tried.” Casting his eyes upward and shaking his head, he spreads his arms wide. “By the Eye have I tried!” A small sigh comes from Mord, followed by a whispered, ‘Blessings be upon you.’
He leans towards Leena, hands together. “They are lost.”
“But,” she stops, gathering herself for a moment. “But the whole town?”
“They are lost.” Grey-eyed conviction.
“By thine hand must the rotted branch be pruned.” Mord intones.
He smiles at Mord. “Yes. Blessings be upon you.” She lowers her head, blushing. To Leena, he says, “Our leader of the Blackcoats is an exemplar. Her faith is bright and clean of taint.” He turns and motions for both women to kneel at the altar.
The altar, a chipped, grey hunk of rectangular stone, is the perfect symbol of the church. Since before the town existed, it has sat in this exact location, at the top of the hill. A few hundred years ago (Leena can’t quite remember how long, church history bores her silly) the church was built around it and the stone floor wasn’t allowed to interrupt the altar’s link to the ground.
Both women kneel, hands in prayer.
“They are lost.” The Vicar says. Leena strains to hear him, leaning slightly to turn her ear in his direction. “The Bright One has bestowed upon me, her most humble of servants, a glimpse into her vision. She has made it clear we are to cleanse them. Through Her word have we tried to reach them, but they have been deaf. Through her Hand we shall purify them.”
Leena’s mind dwells on recent events. For a long time now the Vicar has been weaving into his morning sermons word of a ‘taint’ in the land, fearing it will take hold in our souls, leading us away from Her light. His sermons had become more intense over the last few months, as if his flock were about to succumb to it. What this taint is and where it is coming from, the Vicar hasn’t said. Or won’t.
The people of Walder’s Orchard are peaceful, faithful, and hard workers. Only a few days ago, a young couple were married, with everyone in the town coming together to celebrate. They had no home of their own, so she, her family, and many others banded together to build them a house. It’s almost complete, giving the newly married couple a place to call their own.
Tanner’s Heath, the neighbouring town not ten miles away, was friendly enough but in the last few months tensions had been growing between them. Little skirmishes, a few fists being thrown and accusations skirting far enough away from blasphemous to avoid it going any further. Leena muses the Blackcoats of Walder’s Orchard have it in their heads this ‘taint’ is everywhere, affecting perfectly friendly towns. Recently things had gotten more serious when a Blackcoat from Tanner’s Heath stabbed one from Walder’s Orchard. From what she’d heard, an accusation of blasphemous activity had been laid against them. Heated words led to fists, then to weapons being drawn. Blood flowed, but no life was lost. Liam, the stabbed Blackcoat, was recovering at home but made it to yesterday’s prayer. Plenty of well-wishing and clapping on the back for him as he walked up the aisle, taking his place with the other Blackcoats against the backdrop of glorious battles depicted in tapestries.
The Vicar had whipped the town up into a frenzy of righteous anger. Mord, the picture of calm intensity, had vowed to be the vessel for The Bright One’s fury. All voices and hands were raised in unison. Leena had followed outwardly, but inside there was something just not quite right. Even though an apology had been sent by messenger from Tanner’s Heath, written by their own Priest, it hadn’t appeased the Vicar.
“Blessings be.” The Vicar’s voice brings Leena to the present and she mutters a ‘Blessings be’ before they both stand up. “I shall see you tomorrow morning, child.” The dismissal is clear.
Leena glances at Mord, then walks out.
That evening Leena sits at the table mulling over the conversation at the church, while her family busy themselves preparing the last meal of the day. Family activity at this time of the evening has been the same since she was born. The preparation of the evening meal is much like a family ritual, almost as regular and certain as the sun rising. Tonight’s ritual is against the background noise of rain on the roof and it is her turn to relax; a small thing but something enjoyed by all of them as meal duties rotate daily, something her family seems to be the only ones in the town to do (one reason she loves her family so much).
Her mother busies herself around the fire, getting the chicken off the spit and the boiling pot off the fire-tripod. Her father enters with some wood from the town store. It is just coming into autumn and though the days are still warm it is getting cooler in the evenings, so the fire will be extended a couple more hours. As he drops the wood in a pile by the fire, his long black hair, streaked with grey, falls across his face, dripping rainwater onto the floor. His wet beard, also streaked grey, drips down his top.
Leena’s two brothers, both younger, finish setting the wooden plates and forks, then sit down. The chicken gets peeled of meat, then portioned out across the five of them, followed by boiled potatoes and carrots. Her father tears a loaf of bread into chunks and places one by each plate. Leena gets up and takes a handful of ground tea leaves, then sets about pouring them all hot water.
Once everything is laid, her mother sits down. Her father, as always, leads the evening prayer. They all join hands and her father’s deep voice fills the room.
“To you, we owe this food.
To you, we owe this day.
To you, we owe the morrow.
To you, for now and evermore.”
“Blessings be.” Came the collective reply.
They immediately dig into the food. The smells waft around the table, fanning ravenous appetites built over a day’s work. Tasty meat and warm vegetables get stuffed into hungry mouths, with barely enough time between swallows to put more in. They make quick work of the food and mop up the juices with bread, before sitting back with their cups of tea.
“Wonderful!” breathes Tigg, the youngest, with a grin on his twelve-year-old face. His black hair dangles down both sides of his face, still wet from the rain.
Ethan grins at Tigg. “I think you beat me.” At fifteen, Ethan is filling out and growing into young adulthood. His hair is as black as Tigg’s, but longer and tied back, hanging between the middle of his shoulders.
At twenty-two, Leena is the eldest. Her own hair is black, like all her family, but cut just below her chin. To Leena, long hair is a pain, especially when at the orchards or working the fields with wind whipping it around her face. Her mother tolerates Leena’s short hair, reminding her of that fact with a frown at every opportunity.
Father stands up and burps. “Blessings be.” He goes about gathering some plates together and takes them to the barrel for rinsing. With an accompanying ‘Blessings be’, her mother gathers up the rest.
The family talk for a while about the events of the day; All the normal things happening in their lives, the different stories and gossip of the people in and about the town. Leena partially listens until her mother mentions the coming battle.
“I am worried about tomorrow.” Mother stands at the washing barrel, vigorously cleaning dishes and handing them to Ethan for drying. “This is a friendly town with good people.” Her hands pause in their scrubbing. “Perhaps we should pray once more, just to be sure.”
Father leans back, looking at his wife. “Oh, I think we are faithful enough, Yory my love.” Shifting in his seat, he adds, “And let’s not use the word ‘battle’. We’re going there to make sure the Vicar is ok is all. Probably nothing will come of it.”
She tuts, shaking a dripping finger at him. “I’m worried their taint will spread here.”
He frowns, eyeing her. “Taint is a little harsh, my love. Yes, our towns have been disagreeing, but that’s nothing more than Bright-One-fearing Blackcoats showing off their muscles.”
Ethan stands up. “Father, they stabbed one of ours!”
His father presses his pointed finger to the table. “And the one responsible will be punished. Their letter of apology said so.”
Not to be outshone by his bigger brother, Tigg also stands up. “Well, I think we go there tomorrow and fight them all!”
Father gets up, standing over Tigg. “We’ll be doing our part, my boy. Don’t you worry about that. You’ll not be taking part in any of that, though.”
“Father! I want to fight!”
“You’re too young, Tigg. You’ll be coming with us, but you won’t be taking part in any fighting. You’ll be travelling with the other children and old folk.” Father shrugs. “The Vicar wants it that way.”
“But I can fight. You’ve seen me do it!” Tigg’s wide eyes implore.
Father points at Ethan. “When called upon, your brother will become a Browncoat, get his training done before becoming a Blackcoat. But for now, he’ll fight with the rest of us - if it comes to it. He’s the right age for it.” The finger moves to Tigg. “You aren’t.”
“And there will be no more said on that.” Mother says, staring at the wishful-warrior. Tigg frowns, dropping onto his chair to stare at the table.
Ethan straightens. “I’ll be there.”
“And I.” The parents smile at each other.
Terren slumps. “I wish I could.”
“None of us should be there!” Both Leena’s fists bang on the table. There is a dull ache in her jaw and she realises it has been tense since this conversation started. The rain tap-taps on the wooden roof.
Her mother clears her throat. “Meaning?”
“Meaning…” Leena shuffles around to the back of the chair, keeping it between her mother and herself. “Meaning that we shouldn’t be doing this.” One thing Leena knew about herself: when she felt something was right, she knew in her bones it was so.
Mother remains seated, motionless. “Doing what?”
“We shouldn’t be going off to fight any town, let alone the people in Tanner’s Heath.” Leena draws a breath before continuing. “The Vicar is wrong.”
As if on cue, her mother and both brothers place both hands flat over their hearts, warding off bad luck.
Frowning, her father walks over to Leena and holds her shoulders, his brown eyes gazing intently into her own. “The Vicar is the voice of The Bright One.” Up close she can see the lines on his face and, through the beard, his lips pressed in a thin line. “Carry on like that and you’ll bring the Silver Man to our house.” Again, it reminded Leena of her meeting at the church.
Moving around the table, Mother stands next to her husband. “Our family will play its part, Leena, including you.” She says. “Our house is faithful and we’ll not curry disfavour from the Vicar with blasphemous words. The Bright One favours our town. Our fruit crops are healthy and we have no sickness.” She points upwards. “She watches over us. Always. Rewarding those who follow and act on Her word.”
Leena’s hands ball into fists again. “But I don’t know how to fight! And neither do you!” She shakes off her father’s hands and points at them all. “Any of you!”
“Our faith will protect us, Leena.” Her father says. His confidence inspires the others, but it simply doesn’t touch her. Something was missing. It irks her, as it had done since she was young. In scripture teachings, she would ask why things were the way they were in those writings. Why were they meant to follow what was written? Who was it written by? Any answer given was littered with ‘have faith’, ‘pray more’ or ‘only She knows her plan.’ Answers that answered nothing! Each time she would ask questions, she would get annoyed looks from others in her group. Even the Vicar had no satisfying answers, with each one given merely seeding more questions.
A hole exists where her true faith should be. It wasn’t enough to pray or believe The Bright One had a purpose for her, or she was part of some ‘Big Plan.’ There was just no proof. Nothing that couldn’t be attributed to something happening by chance, whether someone was there to see it or not.
In the end, Leena kept coming back to one central question: why was she different?
By now, she knew it was pointless to carry on the conversation with her family. It would go the same way it did every other time, so she bows her head and nods, then sits back down.
Her parents, like Leena, have been down this path before and know when to leave it alone. They look at each other, sharing a silent understanding any parent has. Her mother abruptly claps her hands.
“Time to study your scriptures.” She says, then points to Ethan. “You especially.”
They each find a comfortable spot in the house. There are three rooms: the main area for eating and sitting; their parents’ bedroom; and the other bedroom is for Leena, Ethan, and Tigg to sleep in. Between the bedrooms is a door leading out the back of the house. The house is like others in Walder’s Orchards, and other towns, made from logs and covered in wattle and daub. In the centre of the main area is an open fire pit with a flue extending over it, leading up to the chimney. Over the pit is a metal bar sitting on two thick Y-shaped branches stuck in the ground.
Ethan and Tigg eagerly grab their copies of the scriptures and settle down to study. Leena drags herself over to the shelf, takes her own scriptures and sits back down at the table, half-heartedly flipping through the pages.
The town gets its morning wake-up as the rooster crows, faithfully performing its duty. Leena cracks her eyes open to the sunbeams shining through the window shutters. Swinging her legs over the bed and suppressing a yawn, she quietly goes about getting dressed, then heads out of the house.
The sun peeks over the hills in the distance, slowly making its way upwards in a clear blue sky. Today will be warm. She heads towards the orchards, breaking into a loping run, not wanting to be late.
Leena arrives just as others from the town are getting started. The person she wants to talk to is standing on a ladder, reaching into an apple tree and picking its fruit. He is a little taller than she is, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. More often than not, he smiles, as he is now, whilst muttering to himself. She finds him funny, easygoing and above all - trustworthy.
“Hi Flynn,” Leena smiles lopsidedly.
He stops and gives her a quick wave, “Ha. Ha, Leena. Only mum calls me Flynn.” He reaches back up, continuing his pursuit of an errant fruit.
“It never gets old.” She looks around her. “Floss?”
“Better.”
”Neelam here yet?” Neelam is the overseer of this orchard and is none too tolerant of people arriving late. He tends towards the dour side of life and doesn’t get on too well with people.
Floss stretches deeper into the tree, straining to reach a piece of fruit. “He was, but had to go to one of the other orchards. He didn’t say when he’d be back,” he gives up and tries for an easier one, “but he made sure to tell us to get the day’s harvest of apples in.” Smiling, he points at a pile of baskets. Leena grabs one and puts the strap across her neck, letting the basket hang from it, and joins Floss. He does a quick look left and right. “So, what did the bitch want with you yesterday?”
“To watch me squirm in front of the Vicar.”
He chuckles. “Did you squirm?”
“Of course I did!” She glances around. “I find him creepy.”
“Oh?” Floss looks sidelong at her, “He taken a liking to you, has he?”
“No, not creepy like that. Just… I don’t know. Intense.” Leena drops a couple of apples in her basket. “Mord’s a bitch, but at least with her, what you see is what you get.” She double-checks nobody is close. “But the Vicar? There’s something there which wasn’t before.”
Floss grunts. “He’s always been intense. You know how drab the church is. The intensity of all that drabness has seeped into him. He’s as serious as stone.”
“Yeah, as hard as stone, too.”
Floss checks on his apples, “Mm.”
They pick for a while, feeling the growing warmth of the sun. Once Floss’ basket is full, he takes it over to some barrels lined up by a cart. Leena stops to take a break and watches him empty his basket into the nearest barrel. Keelan, a homely woman well into her forties, walks over to inspect his pickings, striking up a conversation with him. Wincing at the ache in her shoulder, Leena adjusts her increasingly heavy basket and continues picking.
A few minutes later, Floss returns with an empty basket bouncing across his belly. “I really hope we don’t all have a big fight tomorrow.”
Leena stops and looks at him. “Tomorrow? I didn’t know it was going to be so soon!”
“Keelan told me.”
“Damn it!” Keelan helps at the church and sometimes passes word around on behalf of the Vicar. She is a sweet woman and not given to lying, so if she says the people of Walder’s Orchard are going to battle with Tanner’s Heath, then that is what is going to happen - by the Vicar’s decree.
Floss rests his hands on the basket and fiddles with the edge. “I don’t want to go.”
“Me neither.”
“I suppose they’ll be wanting me to fight.” He huffs a laugh, “I’ve never had a fight in my life!”
“Neither have I. The only thing I’ve hit are fish heads on rocks.” Leena pauses for a moment. “That and my brothers.”
“Leena, I can’t go swinging some big pointy stick around, bashing and stabbing people.” He takes his basket off and puts it on the floor, turning to her, “This is all between the bloody Blackcoats!” He pokes his thumb to his chest, “Why are we getting caught up in it?”
She shrugs. Anything she says would be some half-hearted comment about faith, the will of The Bright One or the Vicar’s command. Things Leena already has deep misgivings about.
His shoulders slump. “You know I pray and go to church,” he says. “I study and all that, but I don’t know if I can do this.” He picks up an apple and turns it over in his hands. “What if I don’t go? What will The Bright One do to me?”
“I’d be more worried about the Vicar and the bitch if I were you.”
“Maybe we could leave?” Floss looks at Leena, a small smile on his face.
“Mm, perhaps.” Even to her own ears, her words dribble without conviction. “The Vicar would set the Blackcoats on us though. The bitch would love that!”
The apple drops back into the basket and he slowly puts it back around his shoulders. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” He smiles. “Hey, maybe Keelan can protect us. The big, bad warrior woman!”
Leena chuckles half-heartedly, “Somehow I don’t think she’ll be wading into any fight.”
From the top of the hill come the sounds of the church bell, calling the townspeople to their morning prayers. Leena and Floss empty their baskets in the barrels and head up the hill.
