Chapter 348 — The Wind Shifts

While the men worked, Sam struck up a conversation with the boatswain standing by to supervise. He did not dare speak to the shipowner—shipowners were truly respectable men. He asked about the origins of those "passengers" in the hold, who looked half dead and yet wore good clothes. As a man who made his living on the docks, picking up a few shipboard tales was capital for bragging in the tavern afterward.

"Them? From the Holy Spirit Plain," the boatswain said, spitting to one side. "Refugees."

"The Holy Spirit Plain? That's far off!" Sam looked startled. "What are they doing all the way out here?"

"Blood God cultists, all of them, and a few from the Shadow sect," the boatswain said offhandedly. "Word is some people in their local church had dealings with heretics, and so everyone who regularly attended services came under suspicion of heresy too. They're cracking down hard on cultists over on the Holy Spirit Plain—the tribunal of the Daystar Church has already burned over a thousand. These folk couldn't survive there anymore, so they sold off their belongings and fled."

Shaking his head, the boatswain added, "Three died on the way. For fear of contagion, we threw them all in the river."

The moment Sam heard it had to do with cultists, every hair on his body stood on end, and when he looked at those passengers in the hold again, his gaze turned awkward. He looked at them as though a few cultists really were hidden among them.

"Look at you, scared as a rabbit. These people aren't getting off—they're going all the way to Cecil Territory," the boatswain said, shaking his head at the sight of Sam. "Whether Cecil Territory wants them is another matter, seeing as they're tainted with heresy... If they don't, these people will be dumped in the wilderness. Still better than being burned."

Sam wiped his red nose, and suddenly felt a little uneasy.

The god he believed in was the Blood God.

The wind, which had already begun to turn warm, seemed to grow cold again.

At that same moment, in the only Dark Sun church in Cecil Territory, the priest Wright had just finished his morning prayers.

He was a devout believer and a preacher of fervor. Though many were deceived by his burly, powerful appearance, Wright knew himself that he had never been a man who liked to settle matters with force—especially not force visited upon his fellow man.

The Lord of Holy Light shelters the world and taught fragile mortals the holy arts of healing and exorcism, all for the protection of this world. Therefore the essence of the Way of Holy Light must also be protection, not destruction. That was why Wright had tempered his own body: so that even when the time truly came to root out evil, he could strike the enemy with strength other than holy light, lest he defile a power meant to soothe and protect.

This was his conviction. He knew it was a little foolish, but he had no intention of changing.

Yet a letter delivered to the church a few days ago had left him troubled.

Wright finished cleaning the church's prayer hall, then sat down in the front-row seat, drew the church letter from the Holy Spirit Plain out of his breast, and read through its contents once more.

"...Evil breeds, heretics stir... all are the ignorant who worship false gods, polluting the world's pure faith... The Lord wishes this land restored to purity; to sweep away the confusion and false belief in mortal hearts is the only remedy...

"...Therefore, all who will not heed the guidance of Holy Light, all who do not accept the Lord's teachings... are heretics..."

The pristine sheet of letter paper was crumpled into a ball, then smoothed open again, pressed flat, folded, and put away.

Light raised his head to gaze at the bright skylight of the church, and at the holy image of the God of Holy Light gleaming in the sunlight that poured through it.

"Lord, is that truly what You think..."