Redeemed

Ch. 2

With the traders not coming until later that afternoon, I decided to catch up on the news in the town. Mom had arrived shortly after the bandits had run off, our poor old farm mare huffing heavily. Seeing that the trouble was done and there were few injuries, she had given me some money, instructed me on what to spend it on, and then headed to the temple for service. She would probably be there for the rest of the evening, worshiping the Almighty or the Advocate or whatever the Prince was calling himself.

The temple was run by the single remaining man left in town, his duty to lead the flock (a.k.a. us) apparently more important than fighting in the army. I had never quite understood how Mom could pray to the Prince when it was he who took her husband away, or how she could continue to ask for protection over her son. According to the legends, the Prince had been alive at the beginning of time and would reign forever. Similar ideas were said of the Dragon, the supposed enemy. Complete hogwash. People did not live forever. Most likely, the original people bearing the Prince and Dragon titles passed those down to successors so that there would always be someone for the troops to rally behind. Whoever was masquerading around as the Prince and Dragon now certainly couldn't be the same beings that the priests droned on and on about. Mom had tried forcing me to go to the regular weekly service after Dad's death, but that quickly ended one day when I stood up, challenged the priest about the validity of his statements, and stormed out. If going to the temple made Mom feel better, I guess it wasn't the worst way to spend one's time, but that type of shallow comfort was not for me. Not as long as this war raged on.

I guided Kynthelig along the narrow cobbled streets, heading toward the center of town. The houses, their low slanted thatched roofs and roughly painted wooden sides, greeted me. It would be nice to live near other people, but I knew Mom would never give up the farm. For that matter, neither would I, not with all the love and memories that Dad had created in it. So many memories...

"Feet shoulder width apart, slightly angled. Good. Keep that sword pointed up!" Dad gently corrected my stance.

"Dad, why is it so heavy?" I whined, my arm shaking from the weight of the sword. "I thought you said it was like an extension of my arm. It feels more like holding aloft an elephant!"

Dad chuckled. "Your arm will get used to the weight, honey. And remember, you'll never have to carry the weight on your own. You will always have -"

I blinked, shaking my head before the hurt could seep in. It would not do to get lost in painful memories, and besides, that was the past. I needed to pay attention to the present, to myself and Mom. I had reached the center of town during my trip down memory lane, and I could not remember anything we had just passed. If Dad were here, he would berate me for not paying attention. I needed to do better.

In the center of town stood a tall white building with a peaked roof. An image of a dove holding an olive branch shown on the door. People carrying incense and candles were going in. They would be placed on the altar inside, and prayers and worship to the Prince would commence. It would probably be extremely raucous today after the bandit attack. The town would thank the Prince for his protection and goodness, as if he had been here himself fighting off the bandits and not two women with sword and bow. How everybody attributed all good things to the Prince when he was not here and ignored the suffering his war caused was beyond my imagination and logic.

"Place your candle here, Thea," Dad said, gently guiding my small hands to the altar. "Now bow your head and share with the Prince about your day."

"Dear Prince - wait, Dad, my candle went out!" my young, high-pitched voice rang shrilly, close to tears. "Now the Prince won't hear my prayer!"