Exile: The Book of Ever

4: A Boat With No Oar

The back of the Orton family cabin looked out on a small cove on the western side of Bountiful, its yard a mossy, level patch at the top of a tumbled slope of sea grass and granite that ran down steeply to the water. The wooden walls were a bit lower here, arranged on a ledge of cliff below where Ever stood that still allowed a decent view.

Ever stood at the top of the slope, watching the dark waves crash against the rocks as the sun sank into a molten puddle in the western sky.

After leaving the Council chamber, Ever had returned to the infirmary and submitted herself to the remainder of Sister Hales' treatment, which mostly seemed to consist of pushing broth, bread, and vegetable pasties on her until she was so full she could barely breathe.

Bishop Royce had been as good as his word: less than an hour later he had walked in the door, pulled a chair up to her bedside, and listened to her tell her entire story. When she was finished he apologized that he hadn't been able to see her sooner, and said that he had been concerned about her condition. Ever felt relieved and satisfied for a moment, until it occurred to her that, good intentions aside, the Bishop was merely humoring her. He evaded her questions about how Bountiful would respond to this new threat, and had encouraged her to put her trust in the priesthood. Thinking back on it now, Ever only felt more determined than ever to make sure that her voice was heard. If the Elders weren't taking this seriously, someone had to make them see sense.

She sighed and wrapped her arms tightly about herself. The air was growing chillier. She considered going back inside, but quickly rejected that notion. Her family was just sitting down to dinner; she had begged off, explaining to her mother and father that she was stuffed from Sister Hales' ministrations, and needed time alone to clear her head and pray. Elder Orton had agreed on the condition that she not leave the cabin grounds. There was a very serious lecture coming on the dangers of traveling unaccompanied, Ever knew. Up until know she had avoided it, and would avoid it for a day or two longer, most likely, if only because her parents and everyone else in the village were worried for her sanity after her encounter with the Marmack. But it was coming, as surely as were the first snows of the new season. The days grew shorter and colder as winter loomed, and perched over the ocean as they were, Bountiful could be a cold place to live.

The community, a holdfast village home to over three hundred souls, was situated on a point, a thick, drumstick of rocky, wooded land jutting out into Marvel Sound from the larger peninsula that stretched out north and east from the mainland. The walls that surrounded the village were stout and thick. On the three sides that were open to the water the land fell away in treacherous, craggy rock tumbles and sheer cliffs.

The community of Blessed that had become Bountiful had not always been located in this spot, a fact every child of Bountiful learned in Primary. It was the relentless harassment of the Marmack Apostates that had driven them to this, the eastern edge of the Northeast Kingdom. The Marmacks were an inland tribe, strangely cautious around the sea; when her people had first settled this spot and built Bountiful, many had believed they had put themselves forever outside the reach of the Marmacks and all others who would harm them or their way of life.

That had proven sadly wrong, as the more pragmatic brethren of Bountiful had always known it would be, but for many years there had been relative peace. It was only in Ever's own lifetime that the Marmacks had finally found them again, making their way from their river communities inland and conducting periodic raids. Testing their defenses, Elder Betenson, Bountiful's Master at Arms, said. Aside from the raid that had killed Ever's parents, the Marmacks had never breached Bountiful's walls. But even the most devout among them, those who believed that Heavenly Father would literally defend their lives with choirs of angels if need be, had begun to realize that they were no longer as safe as they once were. We're living on borrowed time, according to Elder Betenson, she remembered Father—her foster father, Elder Orton—saying once at dinner. If Bountiful is to survive, we can't stay here forever.