The Winterstone Plague (The Carrion Cycle) by Scroggins David

Author:Scroggins, David [Scroggins, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: dsfg
Published: 2014-07-09T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

ABYTHEOS GLANCED around the dusty chapel of the abandoned church and sighed. There was much work to be done before this place could be considered passable. There was no rhyme or reason to the decorations, nor was the building itself erected with any discernable theme in mind. It was easy to see that the people of Solstice had been allowed to worship whichever gods they saw fit—a dirty habit that he intended to change sooner than later. Of course, he would have to take care not to offend the powers that be, for that could prove disastrous. No, special attention must be given to the people of this village—if he bothered to stay long enough to make a difference.

At least Philip had not commanded armed men to escort him from Solstice. It was more than he could say for a few of the other towns he had visited.

The priest reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the small, ancient book he was never without. The leather cover was simple enough; it was the contents that many would consider peculiar. This was a book that must have been handled by countless men over the thousands of years it had already existed; yet the pages were new and crisp as if it had just been crafted. The words inside had been written cleanly and were easily decipherable; even the ink still smelled fresh. It was all the proof he needed of the One God’s existence. He had been unable to take his eyes from the tome since first discovering it.

That pull was why he had resorted to somewhat barbaric measures to obtain it.

“Those unclean fools were not worthy of the message,” he muttered, surprised that his voice still echoed through the sparsely furnished room.

Light flooded into the room as the thick, arched double doors of the chapel swung open. Abytheos felt a strong urge to shield his eyes, but he resisted. Not wanting anyone else to lay eyes upon his prized possession, he put away the book, stood straight and brushed the dust from his dark breeches. The doors slowly creaked closed and a young woman stepped into view. Her hair would have been quite long if it had not been matted with dirt; her eyes were dull, and her nose ended in a sharp, jutting point. She stepped forward and did her best imitation of what he thought was a curtsy. It more closely resembled a drunken stagger, he mused.

“To what do I owe this honor?” He called, forcing warmth into his voice. “I do not believe we have met.”

“No, Sir,” she replied. “We haven’t. You’re the new preacher, ain’t you?”

He scratched his chin, briefly, with a long fingernail. “I am, if all goes well, of course. I am called Abytheos. What is your name, child?”

“I’m Jentha.”

“What is your family name, Jentha?”

She lowered her eyes. “Beggin’ your pardon, reverend. Never met a man of the cloth before; I only heard about them from my momma. I weren’t sure how to pay the introductions to a holy man.

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