“Yes.”
“Then you understand. I have known the trials of Saint Paul. Abused, shipwrecked, beaten … compelled to travel on, shouting the truth to a deaf and dying world. Not everyone accepted his testimony, Stefan. Not everyone accepts ours.”
“Why do you do it?”
“The same reason you are a priest. God’s truth compels us. It’s lonely work, isn’t it?”
“I did not mean to say I doubted your word.”
Bastion patted his leg. “You have not been taught. That’s not a crime I hold you responsible for. I will teach you. When I leave, you will teach others.”
“You seem so confident.”
“You have many questions. Ask one.”
Stefan wiped his neck. A little trickle of blood had run down into the crevices of his skin, making him wince. “The witch you travel with, your words … it frightens people. I never thought God’s work could be so dark. How can you be sure it pleases God?”
“Excellent question. You will make a fine student.”
“What proofs do you have from Him?”
“Has He given us, above all other creatures, the gift of reasoning?”
“Yes.”
“Does God want us to apply our minds, this gift, to the understanding of His will and His ways?”
“Of course.”
“So, let us begin. Can we see God?”
“No.”
“Can we see Him walking around this village?”
“No.”
“Then there can be no better way to know God than to study His opposite, which we do see. We do see His opposite in the world, in flesh and blood, do we not?”
“Yes.”
“And so we study this witch as a particular example. Everything this witch is, God is not. That woman out there can show God to this town.”
“All she is showing them is filth.”
“Precisely. You follow me well in this. Now I will ask you a question: What was Satan guilty of? Why was the serpent cast down from heaven?”
Stefan chewed his lip. It would match his ragged ear if he didn’t stop. “Pride,” he ventured.
“Excellent. And what is pride? What did Satan want?”
“To be like God.”
“What is God like? What does He do?”
“Gives laws,” Stefan offered.
“And demands obedience to them. Asks us to worship Him. Provides prophecy. Demands sacrifices. Raises up a church, spread throughout the world, that seeks to please Him and carry out His will on earth.”
Stefan suspected Bastion had had this conversation with other priests. He sounded rehearsed.
“So our enemy, Satan, is all these things in opposite,” Bastion continued. “He gives law, demands obedience, asks for sacrifices, raises up faithful believers. But where God creates life, Satan destroys it.”
“You travel with this witch so people will see and understand evil? And by seeing evil, they will see God?”
Bastion nodded and opened his mouth to say something else. Stefan cut him off. “But if we are commanded by God to destroy witches, you cannot permit her to live. You should kill her.”
The door slammed back on its hinges so hard it fell off at an angle. Bjorn burst into the room, and Bastion stood, grabbing a satchel. Stefan could not comprehend the sudden explosion of noise and words. Bjorn shook him by the shoulders.
“Alma is dying.”
Mia rocked Alma’s limp body, keening her prayers. Her breathless words drained away into the night, blending into the darkness outside their door.
“Take Alma outside,” Bastion ordered her. “Stefan, bring a bucket of water.”
Mia hesitated as Stefan rushed to obey.
“It’s cold tonight,” she said, looking to Bjorn. Night air couldn’t be good for Alma, especially now.
“Do it,” Bjorn told her.
Mia stood, still cradling Alma, and went outside, not bothering with a cloak for herself. Her mind knew it was cold. Her body felt nothing but fear. Holding Alma like a fragile infant, Mia swayed side to side in the starlight, trying to keep her frightened voice strong enough to coax Alma back. Alma’s eyes remained closed, her lips blue and swollen.
“Do you hear the birds, Alma?” Mia coaxed. “How noisy is spring, even at this hour! How we’ve missed our friends, the birds! Come back, Alma. Come back, and we’ll feed them at our window.”
Mia could hear the men inside and stepped closer to the window to listen. How could they cure Alma if Alma stayed out here? The child’s rabbit-fast breathing had slowed, but Mia could still see every rib between each breath. Alma’s heart slowed, growing tired from the effort. It would not be long now.
Mia rubbed Alma’s chest with one hand, leaving it red. “Do not give up. They’ll know what to do.”
“These signs trouble me,” Bastion said. His voice sounded strong, cutting through the shrill songs around her. She knew his voice apart from Bjorn’s. Bjorn’s voice was deep and rough at the edges. Bastion had the smooth, certain tones of a man who had spent years at a university. “Who among the women would curse you?” Bastion asked.