The physician arrived and sutured Beck’s wound in the loft. Judah cringed at each pass of the needle through flesh. Buck continued to give commands as if he were enjoying a cup of tea, not having a knife wound closed. “I will see the council of elders tomorrow morning. I want as many farmhands and townsfolk as possible in attendance. Official scribes must attend, and I want riders ready to run the new directions across the land. This is the true harvest, for all people. Make sure the cooks have sufficient food and beverage on hand to feed the multitude I would address.”
“I should have stayed my hand and my rage,” the assaulting elder said. “There will be many like me, nevertheless. And not all shall have the benefit of seeing harvest lights as have I. Do you have a plan for discord?”
Buck held his ribs and laughed. “There will be little, if any. The people will not revolt against the harvest, for I do not seek to end traditions; I wish only to have the ways of the people become inclusive of all methods and modalities of prayer and worship. There is nothing greater under the sun than the sacred blessings of the Holy Harvest and like nature, the people must embrace every aspect, not shun that which is new or different. Some shall naturally fall into a state of apoplectic shock. Change is uncomfortable. Change is necessary, nevertheless.”
“Would you please hold still while I finish wrapping your wound?” the doctor asked.
“There’s no stopping the tide, good physician. Beck Nazari cannot be slowed. Our forward momentum is unstoppable.”
“Yes, well, the juggernaut of Master Nazari will need to rest so he doesn’t pull his stitches. Did someone send for the magistrate?”
The elder gasped.
“I will not press charges upon you, sir. You reacted poorly, but within the scope of my expectations.”
“How can I further make amends?”
Beck reached out for the elder. “Believe in the new growth and help others do the same.”