Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

:The Sunlord requires much of us,: his inner voice said, warmth present in its tone, :but not more than we can give. There’s no limit to his love for us. He only wishes us to love him in return and share that love with all his children.:

And, as a priest, he should know that better than most. Pytor smiled. His sister was right. He must place his trust in Vkandis, certain he had made the correct decision.

If things went wrong . . . well, there were more terrible things than death.

The following day passed in a blur. Selenna and the children had left for the north, but not as early as planned. A sudden summer storm had boiled up during the night and drenched the countryside, delaying a morning departure. Normally, the villagers would have hailed this storm as beneficial, but with travel held to narrow country roads, most merely lanes, rain seemed a bad omen. Choosing not to see it so, at the morning service Pytor had blessed the rain as a gift to the surrounding fields. He further assured the children’s parents that Vkandis had given everyone a bit more time to say farewells.

It had been extraordinarily difficult to stand at the edge of the village and watch Selenna and the six children set off to the north, though his sister, ever the practical and enterprising one, led the small caravan.

The families of the departing children had seemed lost now that their children had gone. He had said comforting words, made comforting gestures, but had no comforting thoughts for himself. And now, of course, he must rehearse his explanations—if such were ever needed—as to the absence of the six children. Two Trees was hardly a large village, and the yearly census would show there were fewer children to be found if anyone came looking.

And that was exactly what Chardan would be doing.

Chardan.

Pytor bowed his head. What could he say to Chardan? The ready responses he and Selenna had concocted had seemed more than sufficient at the time, but would they hold up under Chardan’s questioning? The fact all six children were cousins could explain why they had set off to visit a dying grandmother before the God took her. Such an event could preclude mandatory presence at the Feast of Children. The children’s parents had agreed to journey to the grandmother’s home to flesh out the deception, leaving not more than three hours after their children had departed. And now, in a village far emptier than it had been in the morning, Pytor wondered if it was enough.

Chardan was no fool, and Pytor was uncertain as never before how he would react when he looked his childhood friend in the eyes and had to lie.

Morning dawned as one of those glorious summer days when all seemed right with the world. Some of the gloom had lifted from Pytor’s heart overnight, and he felt considerably more confident in the outcome of his plans. Even Pytor’s cats sensed his increased optimism: when he went outside to feed them, everyone, even Sunshine, had gathered close and rubbed his ankles thoroughly before settling down to their breakfast.

And now, he fell back into his priestly routine. He cleaned the Temple, thoroughly swept the yard around it, and made sure he had a sufficient supply of night candles. As he inventoried what few medicines he kept in a small chest in his room, he thanked the God he had a more than competent midwife living but one village away.

With fields in constant need of weeding and watering, the remaining children of Two Trees would be off helping their parents. The village, therefore, lay strangely quiet, save for the occasional barking of an exuberant dog. In the past, this had been a time when Pytor had devoted his waking hours to contemplation and study of the Writ. It should have been again, but, far back in the depths of his mind, he still worried about what could happen when Chardan arrived.

Sunset, and another evening service passed without incident. The night candle lit, Pytor sat down to supper, missing his sister’s company. By now, she and the children should be nearly halfway to their destination if the roads and lanes held firm. This knowledge, of course, only emphasized it would be all too soon that Chardan came knocking at his door. Suddenly, the sausage he was chewing tasted like dust. His heart beat faster, and he closed his eyes. Calm . . . he needed calm. If he could achieve a state of serene composure, if he could maintain that state through Chardan’s visit, then his deception would be complete.

The door to his room stood open, admitting the evening breeze. He drew another deep breath and cast a wary eye on what remained of his supper. His appetite had gone and the thought of finishing what lay on his plate upset his stomach. Ah, well. The cats would thank him for the extra portions.