Chapter 24

How dare Brantley remind me of my calling to share the letter, when he had never believed in the Maker’s words?

My grief coalesced into an urgency to flee. I needed to turn from my failure, my loss. I needed to get away from Brantley’s scrutiny and Reena’s sympathy. I needed to see the vast ocean.

I sprang up, but my knee buckled. Something had twisted in my wild and desperate dance and now sent a sharp warning through the joint. All my muscles had stiffened in my nightlong vigil, too.

“Whoa, there.” Brantley’s arm steadied me by grabbing my elbow.

I wrenched away from him.

Limping out of the sheltering pines, I stumbled each time the earth rolled underfoot. I dragged myself along the near-invisible footpath, past the burnt-out longhouse, and across the ashen earth of the former village.

I sat on the edge of matted tangleroot, dangling my feet into the water. Beneath the rippling surface, the stain of soot still coated my feet and legs. I pulled my gaze away from the sad reminder of destruction.

The primary sun painted sharp amber and coral streaks across the rich blue of the morning waves. The sunrise reminded me of the glowing pillar of light that had ridden across the deep and revealed the Maker to me. If only He would show Himself like that again.

I looked around. Brantley hadn’t followed me. No one else had ventured through the ruins of the village, so I dared give vent to my pain, glaring out over the sea. “You left me! Where were You last night? I begged You. I danced to give my mother life.”

I squinted toward the horizon, hoping He would become tangible again. When He’d met me with a physical presence, it had been so much easier to trust Him. Instead, the water stirred, rushing a current over my feet strong enough to wash away the dark ashes. The bruises from the frantic dance on uneven ground faded and disappeared.

“No.” I pulled my legs from the water. “Don’t heal me. Go heal my mother.”

She is restored. The words were soft as a breath brushing across my cheek, and I wasn’t sure if it was the Maker’s voice or my own fragile hope. I decided to cling to the thought. My mother was indeed restored. I longed for encounters with the Maker, and she now had the blessing of being constantly in His presence.

My hand pressed against my heart. “I believe You. But it’s so hard to see You here, where there is so much loss and hurt.” I gestured to the broken village behind me, and the whole island beyond. “What do I do next?”

Why ask when you already know?

Did I know? I eased my weary feet back into the water and let His touch continue to heal. The water buffed my feet, as cleaning and comforting as when Ginerva had massaged my wounded ankle. My whole body felt new strength.

He had asked me to bring His letter to the villages, and my own people still hadn’t heard the precious words. Grief had stolen my senses for a time, but my calling hadn’t changed. Even Brantley knew that.

The crunch of footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned. Brantley stopped several yards away, looking at me through his lashes, scuffing the ground uncertainly.

I smiled in welcome and patted the island’s edge at my side.

He let out a relieved breath and sat. “I’m sorry you had such a brief time with your mother. Do you . . . do you feel the Maker failed you?”

The water had stopped stirring, no visions unfurled across the sky, no more quiet words spoke into my heart. Yet I knew the Maker was present.

“I did,” I admitted, turning my gaze out to sea again, “for a while. But it was the Order who failed me. They taught me that the greatest power comes from my strength of will.”

He leaned forward and scrubbed his hands in the water. “I hold no trust for the Order, but relying on strength of will sounds like truth to me.”

“No, it’s the core of their lie. Our strength is not in the dance or our perfection or our focused will. The Maker is the power.”

He met my gaze, small furrows between his eyes. But he didn’t scoff. “Will you be all right if I summon Navar and do some fishing?”

“Of course. The people are starving.”

He stood, wiped his damp hands on his tunic, and offered a hand to me.

I let him help me up. An unexpected wave rocked the ground and I fell toward him. His arms caught me easily. Instead of setting me back on my feet, he held me for a long, quiet moment. His chin rested on the top of my head.

The comfort of the Maker had been wonderful, but His comfort given through human arms was especially precious.

“Thank you,” I whispered to them both.

* * *

Hours later, I sat on a fallen log surrounded by the miserable remnants of Undertow. Brantley had refused to go fishing until I promised to rest. By the time I woke from a few hours of sleep, he had returned with baskets of fish, and roasted fillets now sated empty bellies. However, the food did little to satisfy the empty and aching hearts. Everyone in the clearing had lost loved ones in the soldiers’ attack or the disease that ravaged them afterwards. Looking around at the tattered remnants of her village, Reena agreed to my offer to share the Maker’s words with what was left of Undertow.

Reena moved around the clearing, murmuring and gesturing toward me as she spoke with each cluster of people. Quietly, the villagers banked their fires and came to sit near me, spreading their cloaks on the damp ground.

My gaze shifted toward the bedding where my mother had died. How could I offer any comfort when my own grief was so raw? Help me, Maker.

“Some weeks ago, we”—I nodded toward Brantley, who sat on the ground near me—“found a man from Windswell who had preserved the Maker’s letter, carefully passed down through the generations.”

A man coughed, then scoffed. “How do we know the man didn’t write it himself?”

Brantley stifled a smile at the suggestion of Varney composing the letter. “I can attest that he didn’t create it. Beyond that . . .” he shrugged.

I took the pouch from around my neck and pulled out the bound parchment. “You can judge for yourself. I didn’t know what to think when I first read the letter. But then the Maker met with me.”

Children’s eyes widened. Some people leaned forward. Others studied the ground. Except for the deeper pain of grief that curved my shoulders, this conversation was like so many others I’d had with the rim and midrange villages.

“We forgot Him.” I held up a scorched bowl I had unearthed in the ruins near the sea and brought back to the clearing. “And we crowded our hearts with other things.” I poured out filthy water, green algae, and bits of charcoal. “Most of my life, I believed my purpose was to serve the Order.”

Dark murmurs rose from the villagers.

I lifted a hand. “And I finally learned that was wrong. But leaving them behind left me so empty I thought I couldn’t go on. The Maker is teaching me that an empty vessel can be filled with Him.”

I smiled at Pert, who crouched nearby, and gave him our prearranged signal. He jumped up with a pitcher of sweet seawater and sloshed it into the bowl. He scratched his ribs, then bowed to the gathered audience with a flourish.

Chuckles rose from the crowd. I handed the bowl to Brantley who took a sip and passed it on. As the water circulated throughout the group, I unfolded the letter.

“All I ask is that you allow me to read the Maker’s letter.”

Once again, the words of love and longing captured me as I read. My worries about Undertow’s response faded into the background. My grief hadn’t left, but it became a gentle dance of evening shadow blended into a pattern of sunrise, that only enhanced the sense of blessings to come. My fear also shrank. The tasks ahead that had seemed so frightening lost some of their power. The Maker loved me. He would never leave me.

* * *

During the next several days, Brantley assisted in the work of clearing the old site of the town and tearing down charred ruins. Part of the longhouse still stood, so as people overcame their fear of further attacks, they moved into it for shelter. I danced over the charred stalks of grain and trampled beds of tubers and rejoiced as they returned to life. Those who remained skeptical about the Maker’s existence still appreciated the return of food.

Renewed with hope, the villagers began to rebuild. Soon the song of saws and hammers rose and fell through the day.

Although the work was hard, the daily routine was comforting. I built friendships, learned more about my family-that-had-been, and could have happily settled in Undertow for the rest of my life.

Brantley also seemed to thrive. Each morning he rose early to ride out on Navar and was able to find at least a few schools of fish before digging in to the restoration of the town, pitching in wherever he was needed.

One afternoon, I brought a load of blankets and supplies from the inland campsite to the village. Brantley worked on the roof of the longhouse, pounding new beams into place. Hair tousled and too shaggy, muscles strong and tireless, he walked across the ridgepole with the balance of an experienced herder. My breath caught as I watched him. Probably just worried about his safety up there.

Reena came and stood beside me, collecting the armload of blankets. “You and your man have given our village—your village—new life.”

“Oh, he’s not my . . .”

Brantley spotted me and gave a jaunty wave.

“Mm-hmm,” Reena murmured before walking away.

* * *

That evening the subsun finished its journey off to the left side of the horizon, reminding me of the ever-changing angle caused by our world’s rotation. I sat on the lip of land, dangling my legs and letting the cool water refresh my feet.

Far from me, in the very center of the island, the Order continued to turn us all. They held our land fast, unable to ride the currents as the Maker intended.

“Please free Meriel.” I whispered the prayer. “You can do that. I know it’s Your will. And You are stronger than the Order.”

It is My will, and I am able. But I have invited you to be part of the unfolding. Are you willing?

I looked behind me at the blossoming village and the people who had become dear to me already. Part of me had hoped the Maker had forgotten that He’d told me to confront the Order. Regret drew a sigh from my chest. “Must I leave already?”

He waited. Every sound muffled, as if the world stilled in holy silence.

I gathered my feeble faith and looked back out to the vast unknown. “I am Your empty bowl. Fill me with Your task.”

I will fill you with Myself.

Stars twinkled by the time Brantley found me where I was still resting in the presence of the One who would never leave me. This quiet communion built strength in me for the painful choices ahead.

“I asked again,” he said, dropping down beside me, “but no parchment survived the attack and the fires.”

I was touched that he understood my desire to write out copies of the letter for each village we visited. This village needed His words more than most.

“I could travel back to Windswell and get supplies,” he said.

The eagerness in his tone made my stomach tighten. “Is that what you want to do?”

“We’ve made good progress on rebuilding Undertow’s supplies here. And I promised Reena that when Navar next births, we’ll bring the calf to them so they can train up a herder. I’ve done all I can here for now.”

He shifted his position, then drummed his fingers on his leg. He was restless. Ready to return to his life. I’d commandeered him for far too long.

Another wrench of loss twisted under my heart. I fought to sound cheerful and accommodating. “Well then, I think you should return to Windswell. Although you don’t need to send parchment back. I won’t be staying here long enough.”

I rose and dusted my hands against my leggings.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“It’s time for me to head inland. The Maker made clear that it’s time for me to bring His truth to the Order.”

He stood and blocked my path. “Just like that?”

Even in the darkness I could see the lines of his brow, the clench of his jaw. What was he upset about now? I had done all I could to make things easier for him, yet he was still irritated.

“You only offered to help me reach my village, and you’ve done that and more. It’s time for you to return to your life. Isn’t that what you want?”

“What do you want?”

I wanted him to stay with me, to help me with this last most frightening task, but that wasn’t fair to him. He would only resent all the sacrifices he’d made to help me.

Trying to be brave, I raised my chin. “It’s time for me to continue this quest alone.”

He took a step back. “So now that you’ve gotten what you want, I’m dismissed?”

“Brantley, I appreciate all you’ve—”

“You appreciate me?” His voice had turned flat and cold.

I reached out to touch his arm. “I only mean that—”

“You’ve made yourself clear.” He pulled away. “I’ll leave in the morning.”

And he walked away.