Chapter 3

"Yes, can I help you?" The speaker was a broadly handsome man, his face all planes and angles, though he affected a sorrowful expression and dolorous tone under his dark brow and brown hair.

"May I come in? I think I should like to ask the Mother a question."

The man's eyes widened in surprise. "Not many would ask in that fashion, there are the usual litanies of supplication to follow." Observing that McAllister was prepared to wait patiently, the other sighed. "Yes, come in. The altar is ahead, and there is a small shrine to the right."

As McAllister crossed the large expanse of the nave, a shorter bald man came trotting up to him. "Hello. Can you spare me a few moments?"

McAllister studied the man's broad, earnest face. Wearing a too-tight cassock, the man was built amply, and McAllister knew he seldom sweated in physical labor. Tersely, McAllister nodded.

"Come on, then, into the rectory, there'll be time for devotions later." McAllister frowned at this, but held his tongue.

The other man led the way, an effervescent trail of words floating behind him as bubbles might follow the wake of a boat. Caught in the wash of the man's chatter, McAllister simply followed.

"I'm Ephistanes, most people call me 'Stan' for short. We're a bit more informal out here at the edges of the Church's influence, I trust that won't be an issue for you. Would you like cheese and wine?"

McAllister kept his silence as the shorter man bustled about the room he'd led him to. The cluttered study was off the apse's left side and on the ground floor, clearly under the living quarters of the rectory. The church gave the sense of relative newness, certainly less than fifty years old. McAllister took all this in, with the general untidiness of the room, and guessed the man had been shunted off to the far outposts of the church, though not as far as Auben, apparently. McAllister suspected Auben's posting might be reviewed when word of his fight with the hellhounds reached the hierarchy of the church.

Noting McAllister's silence at last, the other lapsed into stillness, waiting for McAllister. Eventually, awareness of his own rudeness came to McAllister, and he turned his attention to the churchman. "You wanted to ask me questions?"

The other nodded. "What's it like?"

McAllister blinked. "What's it like?" he parroted. "What's what like?"

"You know, being a paladin."

McAllister stared at the other man. "What on God's green Earth would make you think I'm a paladin?"

Wide-eyed, the churchman stuttered, "G-god's green Earth... ?"

McAllister closed his eyes, and sighed. "Why do you think I'm a paladin?" he asked, with little inflection.

"Because of that which you wear," the other said, gesturing at McAllister's collarbone.

Surprised, McAllister looked down to see the Goddess' brooch. "Ah," he said. He handed the brooch-pin to the churchman, and offered, "You may examine it. I was given this recently. I believe it was freely given, and not a token of office or badge of servitude."

The other nodded, eyes on the brooch as he turned it over and over again in his hands. "I can feel her power in it," he murmured, "as I've seldom felt it before." He looked up at McAllister. "I truly believe," he said, almost defiantly, "since I can feel traces of her presence in many of our artifacts, and I've felt her during our rites in the large temples on the Middle Sea."

He thrust his chin at McAllister pugnaciously, and challenged, "I know its cost me in the Church. Those with authority sent me here, out of the way. I'm sure my belief amuses them, if they ever think of me at all. This," he brandished the brooch, "I can feel. Those blind and ignorant archprelates are so secure in their knowledge and their 'enlightenment'. They post the less-favored of their own here, such as Manuestes, the one you met at the door. I have to answer to them, do their bidding."

His intense glare fixed McAllister then. "And so I want to know. There are high churchmen who ride about the highways and demand things that are always given, whether it's a horse, lodging, or information, and they ride with a pin with a bumblebee worked on it as this one, as badge of office. But I've never felt one with her blessing in it, as I feel with this one. With just the few words you've spared me, I know you're not from the church. You ... are from somewhere else, and would normally be named anathema, I think. But you wear the favor of the Goddess we worship. And so I want to know ... everything."

McAllister sighed, capitulating in the face of the man's intensity. "I was a fighting man on a sailing ship, and I was betrayed and sold into captivity. I was sent to Hell on the wings of an eight-pound keg of gunpowder when I refused to take a brand and be sold as a slave to a sugarcane plantation. I escaped from Hell with the help of a friend, and we were almost immediately chased. I stumbled into a new church of the Goddess near the high mountains, and the priest there sheltered us. The Child presented me with this gift, and the Mother..." McAllister paused, aware things seemed preternaturally quiet, as if a great deal hinged on his next words.

"The Mother offered me assistance, and I think it was for her own purposes and reasons, but I was grateful nonetheless. I recognize my companion and I owe her a great deal. And yet, no party spoke of service to her church."

McAllister gently reached out and took the pin from the churchman's seemingly nerveless fingers, and refastened it upon his collarbone.

"Things ... are not right," the other man finally said. "I would fix them if I could. Knowing there were others repairing the disarray and lack of faith in the church would help."

"I am fleeing the continent. I had no wish to reform a church hierarchy and do battle with her officers while I avoid the agents of Hell."

The other grudgingly nodded. "Yet, surrounded by churchmen would be a safer place to be, no?"

McAllister snorted. "How many in ten of them would fight the minions of Hell? If none of them truly believe in their Goddess?" Stan sighed, his expression one of sadness.

"When I come back tomorrow, I'll ask for you. I need to speak with my companion."

Supper in the inn was tolerable, though McAllister felt the glances he received lingered just a touch too long, the voices fell silent too quickly when he stood up. Slipping to the stable, keeping out of sight, McAllister joined Sable.

"Paranoia is healthy, when one has all of Hell after one," the horse laughed.

McAllister related the events of the day, and recounted the conversation with the churchman. When he'd finished, the horse nodded thoughtfully.