Chapter 12: Eventide

"Across the river, then."

Music

​

Your Relic catches on the light of day as you step into the sun.

Father Wilhelm emerges some time later, devoid of blood, and as amused as ever.

You make no effort to hide the apple wedges you were feeding to the rouncey, who is more than eager to follow you as you all set out. A number of lighter coats, robes and blankets are thrown atop the rest of the supplies, protecting the valuables from prying eyes and the worst of the cold.

It feels like the countryside has only grown more beautiful. The trees have deepened into crimson, complimented by smatterings of amber and a light dusting of snow. So much gold catches off of the ice and the frost collecting around your breath that you don't shield yourself from the sun. The air is crisp, inviting, and you can't help but to utter a prayer to Mercy in hopes of protecting your journey back home.

Within the hour, the Father of the Church of Dream has enough spring in his step for you to properly thank him for all of his assistance. He seems delighted, not caring for how awkward the delivery is.

You can't make much time for conversation between your exercise regimen. You've been integrating it as best as you can into the man's procession forward, following his lead, and running to catch up as often as necessary.

Within the day, you could not be more grateful for the animal that Father Wilhelm went to such pains to acquire. Spurned through the forest to still push yourself to your limit, you've kept back, sparring, running, and stopping no fewer than six times to eat and rest. You're confident that you'll single-handedly work through the ample supply of food taken along for the journey before you reach the first bend in Eventide.

You constantly reassure yourself that it will be worth the pain, exhaustion, and struggle. The Father of Rest is entirely supportive of the effort, reassuring you more than once that the trade goods are almost purely to requisition more supplies as necessary.

Ray seems to be cheering you on all the while as well. You often have to command him to follow Father Wilhelm for reprieve of his own. Keeping your pace as best as he's able, he shows you as much devotion as he can.

Within the night— sleeping under an open sky, making the best of the first shift of watch— you're more than relieved for the protection of the Gods and your extreme caution. No one seems to disturb you all, despite making light conversation under the stars.

Father Wilhelm doesn't say much of substance, and nothing that you don't already know. The priest has seemed exhausted from the moment you left. You strongly suspect (with the murmurs elicited by your companion in his slumber) that he's doing a great deal to ensure your safe travel.

The cracks in his skin are almost as luminescent in his sleep as the stars themselves.

Within the next week, you're sure of it. Father Wilhelm has made detours each and every morning, insisting on odd resting places each night. There has been no hide or hair of a single demon, not a whisper from another member of clergy, and no disturbances from the common man to speak of. His conversation has grown sparse, though a smile seems permanently plastered over his face.

He's reluctant to speak of his work— but quick to point out the first sign of birds as you part from the worst of the snow. You both happily take note of the first dry grass underfoot, running streams, and warmer weather. Changing out the furs for lighter and lighter traveling materials (especially given how hard you're pushing yourself) even has you smiling from time to time as well.

It's been a week now, since you set out from the mountains. You've been made to rest entirely for the last two days, and you're thankful beyond words as a bend in the Eventide River greets you.

The surge of frigid water is so clear and inviting that you can see straight to the bottom of the bend. Everyone in your company rushes forward to greet it. There's a great deal of commotion as Ray sticks his entire face into the running water beside you. You swiftly pull him back, scolding him mildly for being so careless. Father Wilhelm guided you all to the narrowest possible break, but the water appears fast, deep, and devastatingly rocky.

​

Once you've had plenty to drink, washed your face as best as you're able, and refilled every flask in your possession, you ensure that the horse that's served you so diligently is given ample care. Along with the water and a little more of your supplies, you and Father Wilhelm work together to release it— positive that you couldn't guide the animal safely across.

Your guide puts a hand very firmly on your shoulder, and smiles at you as much as he can manage. You recognize the exhaustion. Father Wilhelm has been invoking Dream each and every night for guidance, and the toll it's taking on him is evident in every inch of his frame.

There's an extremely manic tilt to his eyes. His voice is distant and utterly ethereal as he recounts Dream's word to you.

"The road will wind along a path not traveled, for the Eventide has shifted. Only the Gods may bend his path, his knee."

You blink a few times, stunned, and try not to interrupt the priest's work.

Father Wilhelm's tone resumes its weariness, coming back down to earth with a sigh. He gestures to the water beyond, even going so far as to wade in himself a few feet. "It's... well it's not quite shallow, but we'll be alright! Mind your feet. Shouldn't climb past your knees if you watch your step. And do watch your step. I'll help as much as I can."

You don't budge, looking down to Ray. Your faithful hound— who has stayed so diligently by your side for his short life— looks healthier than he has in ages. Well-fed, loving every minute of the sunlight and fresh water, he looks up to you with curiosity and so much love that your heart wants to break.

He's enormous, but comes up no higher than the bottom of your thighs. There's no question in your mind that he'll be carried away by the current if you simply have him follow you.

Father Wilhelm looks to you with absolute horror, catching on instantly to your dismay. "He didn't take your boy into consideration at all. I suppose I didn't, either. Damn." He looks and sounds as if he wants to utter substantially more severe expletives, but is clearly holding himself back for your sake.

Drumming a few fingers along his beard, puffing on yet another cigar, the lord of visions looks to the water ahead.

You trust in Dream completely, and you know that Father Wilhelm has meant well, but the Gods care little for animals. Most men don't think twice of them, either. It's clearly up to you to look after your dog.

Music

You give the most reassuring grimace you can muster to your boy. He happily runs alongside you as you begin tying together every length of rope and fabric you can find.

Father Wilhelm wades back out of the river, calling out to you quizzically. "What do you suppose you're doing?"

"Take this." You don't bother explaining, handing over a massive handful of blankets and sheets.

A crazed smile is directed back at you. "Across the river, then?"

"If you would. Ray easily weighs more than I do—"

"The sturdiest tree I can find, then. Don't you dare go out there until I come back."

"Father Wilhelm, please, there is no need—!"

He's already set out, waving back to you without a care in the world. You marvel at his fearlessness, and the extremely erratic path he carves across the water without once looking to the rocks beneath him. The only thing slowing his path across the river is clearly the corporeal. There's divinity in the blue of his eyes. A vision of something you can't see but have heard of before.

"The Gods are Merciful, Father Anscham! I'll be quite alright!"

You shake your head, seconding the motion under your breath as you finish tying the last bit of sturdy material you can find. It's enough to get across the river with hardly any slack.

"Mercy."

As your guide reaches the opposite bank, you realize you have to wade all the way up to the interior of the shore if he's to have anything to tie around the closest tree. You wind up taking off your coat, robes and shirt entirely, adding a few more precious feet to the measure of security. Though your skin is crawling at the prospect of so many scars seeing the light of day, you earned them all through protecting others. Your boy needs you now, more than ever, and there's no one here to hide your life's work from.

In fact, Father Wilhelm waves excitedly to you from across the river, urging you to pull as hard as you're able on the makeshift line once you're soaked halfway up your trousers in the fast-moving current. The line has absolutely no give, not a foot to spare.

To your relief, your countryman uses the rope to rapidly cross back over to you, before you have to figure out a means of securing anything further. His footing gives way once or twice, but he seems to trust in the strength of your combined efforts just as much as he does in Dream.

With a grimace, you hike up your trousers, and accept Father Wilhelm's coat and robe to add onto the line. You've been pushing your entirely neglected self to your absolute limit in the last week and a half, and it's hardly made up for a lifetime of abuse. Most of you is still brutally thin, even with the added bulk of the last few days of rest. It's enough that the last bits of fabric can be tied to Father Wilhelm's satisfaction, and with a few more additions of your own.

He gives you such a hard pat on your shoulder that you nearly lose your footing. The priest steps behind you. You look down to him with so much intensity that he can't help but laugh nervously back.

"There's no talking you out of this, is there?"

"No demon could keep me from protecting him, Father Wilhelm. A river is nothing."

Ray is patiently and obediently waiting off the shore. Scolding him once (even delicately) was more than enough to keep such a well-behaved dog out of harm's way.

There's a sinking feeling in the pit of your chronically full stomach, as you set about placing him in danger. You try to brace yourself. "Stay just enough downstream to catch us, if— if I miss my footing."

"You won't."

"Slow and steady..."

You're saying it more for your own sake than the man beside you, but he offers you so much patience and reassurance you can't help but to feel like this isn't entirely suicidal.

"Have a little faith, Father Anscham."

"You know I always do. In abundance. Mercy— I am going to do this myself—"

You dig your heels as hard as you can into the wet soil under the current, take a deep breath, and offer an extremely pained grimace to your boy. "Here, Ray. Easy, boy. Easy—"

With the utmost discipline he approaches, but instinctively hangs back from water the moment it gets any higher than his paws. You realize where the sinking feeling was coming from.

I'm going to have to catch him.

"Get my back."

"What—?"

"Here, boy! Jump!"

There's a burst of gold in your eyes, and so much fire in your limbs as you catch onto the mastiff that you think for a moment you may have invoked a God.

No such divinity courses through your veins as you take an extremely heavy step backwards. Your feet sink deeply into the soil under the river, your joints screaming in pain. Both of Father Wilhelm's hands were firmly behind you, but he puts both of his arms up. The full length of his limbs slams flush against your back to help keep you straight.

You dig into the agony and head straight for the opposite bank. The frigid current is nothing short of a miracle for the burn in every fiber of your being.

Ray nestles his head against your shoulder like a puppy, delighted beyond all measure to be held for the first time in such a way in years. You wish you could smile at him, but you're trying very hard to not vomit. Fighting with the heat, his bulk, the current, and so much pride in yourself, you couldn't even speak if you tried.

Father Wilhelm practically screams at you to stop after only a few steps, not daring to pull on you or knock you off balance. "WATCH IT!"

He manages to communicate in a series of expletives and shouts where to avoid the worst of the dips in the river, the rocks threatening to trip you up, and a pit in the floor that would absolutely have swept you all under Eventide if it weren't for Dream's vision.

Going at such a slow and steady pace saved your lives. There isn't a single slip, as you make it across the deepest section in at least three times the time it took Father Wilhelm to traverse it alone. The burn is so intense that you begin to feel cold.

The moment you think it's safe to call Ray out of your arms, you realize you haven't been breathing at all for a good moment. Your lungs are so spent that you can't command him to leap out of your arms, and have to suffer through a few last steps. Safely collapsing to your knees comes the second he's to the other shore.

There's no time for the priest beside you to finish the cheer that he clearly wants to express at your feat of strength. You're still in the water, and nearly slip under it completely.

A great deal of water gets up in your nose and mouth. Father Wilhelm is right beside you, shoving his full weight hard against your exhausted frame. Both of his arms grab hold of you before you go completely under the river.

You both slide for several feet, whisked into the current. He lets out a shout only as he grabs onto the rope around you for extra security, catching it despite the slack, and expertly keeping his footing. "Nothing like— a test of faith— isn't that right, Father Anscham?!"

You find your breath, though you can't reply. Coughing hard through the water, the rope remains slack. The extra insurance gets you both back to dry land before you even finish clearing your lungs.

You're dragged you a few feet further onto the bank. Father Wilhelm backs away rapidly as Ray bounds over, growling at him hysterically. It hurts more than you thought ever possible to raise your hands, and to command him to stay down— but you manage, grinning insanely at your best friend.

A shadow leans over you, dripping a fair amount of water onto your already soaked frame. You're offered a hand, and have to wait a moment to take it while still struggling to catch your breath.

"I think Father Friedrich will forgive me for letting you do this on a rest day."

You clasp the hand extended to you as firmly as you're able, getting to your feet with a familiar fire in your aching frame. There might as well be smoke rising from your muscle.

"Not even Flesh Himself could take issue, Father Wilhelm."

Thanks to your stunt across Eventide, Father Wilhelm makes it a point to give you another full day of rest and recovery. It gives you all time to dry out all of the trade goods and equipment, and you don't mind the delay in the slightest.

The continued stalls seem to be more and more frequent now that the rouncey is long gone. Father Wilhelm sets out with increasing frequency to remote farmsteads. You know he's bartering for the day's food and drink, safe passage, and what you suspect is no word of his visits so far from the Church of Dream.

Upholding your promise, you happily keep far out of sight. Working yourself hard through the parting forest— in fields of barley and little streams trickling down from the Eventide— passes any time waiting for him rapidly.

No matter how many delays you're faced with, you know you're rapidly approaching home.

Another week passes of travel under clear skies before you have to ford again. It's significantly easier the second time around, without need for any further breaks. You've been called a masochist many times before, and would be lying to yourself if you denied how much you're enjoying the extreme physical demand of your training.

You take in the countryside, the last peaks of Folorast in the distance, and the promise of civilization as you journey on. At night, you occasionally see the light of sparse farmsteads off in the distance. By day, the sounds of humanity cuts across what was beginning to feel like nearly endless silence.

Father Wilhelm has become increasingly more quiet, to the point where the two of you have scarcely had need for speech. It's clear that he's worked himself to the bone in the name of granting you safe travel, and you don't know how to ever repay him for all of his hard work.

On what you estimate to be over two weeks out from his vacation home, on the cusp of Worship, you greet the morning by crossing into what you know must be the borders of Wearmoor.

Music

It's the first civilization you've seen in nearly three months. Little wooden farmsteads peek out from heavily fortified walls of moss covered stone, built directly atop the ruins of the last age. Fertile soil blossoms with the last of the harvest, carrying the scent of growth, of life, and of Agriculture along a curving path. The road is winding, cutting through hollowed out gaps in the ancient stone, and practically begs for you to keep walking.

​

It looks so safe. There's no scorch marks, no fresh blood, and no sign of any recent outbreaks or attacks. There's a slight bustle of carts moving far down the road, of men at work in the field. The Church of Flesh is only a few days across the last of the Eventide River proper, before it merges with Morinburn. You know that the two rivers flow straight out to the Sunless Sea (north of the country), and are all guarded by the Church of Storm.

The peaks of the Holy City, Calunoth, can almost be seen in the distance. Though Wearmoor isn't currently guarded by a church leader, its position is within reach of so many sources of protection that you never feared for your parents' safety. Not for the walls of the farming community residing outside the natural defenses of the river, and not for all the years you've gone without seeing them.

The fact that you haven't heard from them in thirteen years does give you pause.

Though you're cleaner, healthier and surely look better than you have been in months, you still have a lot of work to do. You're scarred, worn, and haven't had so much as a haircut since you left for the ruins. The bags under your eyes, the tremor in your frame, the pallor that's persisted despite all the sun you've had, and the unhinged tilt you know is in your expression is something that was not present in the farm boy that left Pontos so many years ago.

You carry your Relic— the blessing of a Goddess— around your neck. You've been appointed as the leader of the Church of Mercy, yet may be mistaken for dead. You want to be proud of yourself, for everything you've been through.

You want to see your parents again more than anything, but you hadn't really thought this through.

For the first time in several days, you want to break the silence between you and a different Father. There is no one on the road before you— not yet— and it seems safe enough to linger for a few more moments.

It's cold enough to be slightly uncomfortable as you stand still. A strong wind is picking up through your unfettered hair, and biting at your exposed, war-torn face. Leaves pick up from the fields beyond, and carry across an unpaved road.

Father Wilhelm speaks first, over the gale. Having stayed right by your side from the moment you stopped walking, he places a hand gently on your shoulder, and smiles wearily. "Would you look at that? We've made it. I know what you're probably thinking! Try not to worry. I'm sure they'll be more than happy to see you. I can go ahead, if you'd like. Ease them into it. It's up to you. This is for you, Father Anscham. They'll be quite alright."

There's a hundred ways you want to protest.

I've been working myself sick every day for nearly three weeks, but my father has been working himself his entire life. He always was so disappointed. He couldn't ever heal the worst of the bullying, couldn't keep me on the farm if he tried. It broke my mother's heart to know that I invoked Vengeance a single time. If she saw me wearing evidence of a lifetime of abuse—

There's a pain knitting your brow, a lifetime in the making, that has your voice come out so hurt and timid you almost don't recognize it. It reminds you intensely of how you sounded as a boy. "They had to leave their home once before on my account, Father Wilhelm. I still— I have yet to forgive myself for the first time."

Pulling up your hood, there's an unmistakable tremor running through your hands. You look down to your hands— ravaged with burns, callouses and battle— deeply worried for how you must look. The soft and travel-stained fabric conceals the worst of your facial scars from view, but the pits of your eyes take in the dark, and your broken nose is probably still peeking out of the shadow.

An understanding and unbearably saddened smile is looking up to you. You match it with a grimace, as you slip your Relic and its chain as discreetly as you're able underneath your robes and shirt. There's still a glint of gold on the edges of your neck. You hope that it could easily be mistaken as a normal chain, or a more typical holy symbol. The weight against your chest could never rival how heavy your heart feels.

As usual, Father Wilhelm lingers on the edge of the village, not daring to enter with your company.

For the first time since you left the ruins, you try to properly guide your companion. "Will you go ahead on my behalf? I have asked you for so much, but I could never jeopardize their safety—"

"Of course, Father Anscham. Is there anything you would like for me to say?"

"I— I still wish to see them—"

"That's quite alright."

"But they— there is no need for them to know that I'll be coming. Could you please find their home? I— I hate to impose myself on them like this, but—"

"There's no need to fear. I'll give them a little warning. No names! You know the drill! Sit tight. Stay safe. I'll be back."

Father Wilhelm takes one of the remaining pouches of coin from you, and sets off without another word.

The afternoon passes idly by, as you and Ray hole up beside a few trees on the outskirts of Wearmoor. The sound of birds in the distance, farmhands hard at work, and so much normalcy is an incredibly mixed experience. You want to enjoy yourself— working a short exercise routine into the reprieve— but the physical exertion gives you no relief. An undercurrent of nostalgia and fear builds onto itself through each passing hour.

The sun climbs high over the horizon, gradually becoming obscured by gathering clouds. It's nearly sunset before your traveling companion reappears.

He's running, obviously trying to outpace the coming Storm. "Father Anscham!"

You spring to your feet, shouldering the little equipment still remaining from your travels. The shield and mace get tucked completely away on your shoulders and back. Your cane is still wrapped in a blanket. It's an exercise in futility to try and mask your anxiety.

You hear a commotion from several houses in the distance, as the citizens of Wearmoor are surely seeking as much shelter as they're able. A light rain begins to fall, as you follow after Father Wilhelm down the empty road. "You found them, then?"

The strips of farmland that greet you from the interior of Wearmoor's walls look so much healthier than the fields you tried to help tend as a child. Though the scattered citizens seem sparse— especially with the inclement weather— there's life. There is hope and security for humanity's continued survival.

You catch a good number of lights flickering on from the interior of homes in the distance.

"It took a little more maneuvering than I would have hoped for. Storm must look kindly upon you, Father Anscham, to have staved off the rain for as long as He did!"

The downpour is picking up in intensity. The last of the afternoon rays are completely blocked out by the first rain clouds you've seen in weeks.

Ray is more than content to lap at the large droplets, but you pick up your pace, following Father Wilhelm's rapid strides with ease. "The Gods are Merciful, Father Wilhelm. Where— where are they, exactly...?"

"You'll see! Right this way. Just a few miles down the road."