The Secrets of Rigalda - part 1

ONE

“Silence! Silence!” cried a gray-haired judge, arms spread to quiet his people.

The significant crowd that had gathered at the base of the theater-like outdoor Dome to hear the sentencing grew silent at the judge’s words. They had been waiting nearly an hour for him to emerge from the Courthouse with his final decision, and now their eyes fixed expectantly upon him. Even the birds who had been conversing in the treetops paused to listen.

“I have heard the testimonies,” the judge continued, his voice ringing across the deep valley, “listened to the arguments, studied the evidence, and after many hours of careful and deliberate consideration, I have come to what I believe is a just decision.”

One hundred yards away, hidden safely behind a cluster of beetle bushes, Khira narrowed her eyes. Don’t lie, you scumbag. Everyone knows you already decided this case before you even heard the opening accusations.

The old, gray-haired judge rubbed his bony nose and cleared his throat. “The defendant, Neil of Rowela, has been found guilty of all charges and is hereby sentenced to death by fire. The execution will take place tomorrow at sunrise. Dismissed!”

Cries of protest erupted from the crowd, and several men leapt forward angrily at the Noble Judge, but he slipped away into the Courthouse, carved in the side of the hill overlooking the valley, and left his iron-clad, sword-bearing assistants to settle the rioters. Neil, a man of twenty-something who had allegedly stolen original manuscripts from the palazzo and given them to members of a controversial new faith growing within the city, was roughly led across the Dome’s grassy, uneven footing and up the hill towards the prison complex.

Inside Khira seethed with anger. She, unlike the Noble Judge, understood that Neil was an honorable man who only meant to serve his god Enota. He had not done anything to harm another human being, had not broken the law. But in the simple act of being associated with this new faith, he had challenged the power of the residing religious leaders, the Erudites, and was thus accused of something he didn’t do. The Erudites were always wary of other religions, and did not tolerate their presence within the town. However, it was not against the law to be an Enotian, and so the only way they could destroy their rivals was one by one. A trial here, a banishment there, an “accidental” murder now and then…. It was almost more than Khira could tolerate, for she, too, was an Enotian.

It had not always been that way, however. Growing up, she had followed the customary religion of her hometown, Crada. Her own father was a leader in the Erudite faith, and her parents had raised her, as their only child, to carry on the family tradition. At first she had accepted it as part of her life, but as she grew older and learned more about the world, she realized how wrong her parents were. She had attended secret Enotian meetings, disguised as a boy, and just last year had surrendered her life to Enota. She had never felt more at peace with herself. The only problem was, her parents still didn’t know.

“It isn’t fair,” she murmured, throwing a stick at a small brown-speckled bird that had landed in front of her. It blinked at her, but didn’t move. The Dome birds were used to people and rarely took flight in the face of danger, especially if there was a chance someone would throw food at them. “If those Erudites keep this up, they’ll eventually wipe us all out.”

The bird merely hopped off in response, and Khira let out a long sigh. There wasn’t anything she could do about the situation, anyway. No one would listen to a mere girl, even if she was a Noble Scholar’s daughter. Girls weren’t allowed to roam the streets of Crada alone. They could only leave the house to go visiting, attend church, or shop at the market, and even then never without a proper escort. In Khira’s mind it was almost worse than being a dog. Even dogs could run free.

Sighing, Khira squinted up at the sun, judging by its position in the sky that it was nearly five past noon and within the hour her parents would notice she was missing. Time to head back home.

Khira shifted backwards to avoid hitting the prickly beetle bush branches, and quickly stood to her feet. In her haste, she bumped into someone behind her, and whirled around at the man’s gasp of surprise.

“I’m so sorry!” Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She pulled her hat low over her eyes so he wouldn’t recognize that she was a girl beneath her disguise. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Nor I, you,” he responded, brown eyes studying her carefully beneath the long locks of his dark, wavy hair. He was clothed in gray trousers and an untucked white shirt of tightly-woven goat hair. His leather shoes were worn and a single water canteen hung across his chest. A sword scabbard was tied to his belt, and if it weren't for that, Khira would have guessed him to be a homeless person, perhaps a member of one of the nomadic tribes from the South. However, he clearly didn’t know the rules of the land, or he wouldn’t be sneaking around above the Dome. The perimeter of the Dome was off-limits to civilians; if the guards found him - or her for that matter - they would drag him off to prison and he’d probably suffer the same fate as Neil of Rowela.

Khira could do nothing but stare at him.

“I couldn't help but overhear," the stranger continued, his strong voice betraying his otherwise dingy appearance, "and I wanted to allay your concerns about our people dying off. The more who sacrifice their lives, the more who will believe."

Khira blinked. Was this man was an Enotian, too? She had not seen him at any of the meetings.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

Did she look frightened? "No...not at all. I just..." She paused, trying to think of something to say. “So you’re an Enotian?”

“And proud of it.”

“I am, too. I don’t believe a thing those Erudites say…at least not anymore.”

“A new convert, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, it always makes me happy to see how many people these days are believing what Enota did for us. Our god is working miracles every day.”

“Indeed.”

Silence hung between them for a moment, and Khira let her eyes drift behind him to admire a dusty dappled gray mare who stood quietly at his side. Her head was draped over his arm, her long-lashed dark eyes watching Khira curiously. She was as beautiful a creature as Khira had ever seen.

"Your mare is lovely," she breathed, forgetting about the man, her attention now fully riveted on the large, well-muscled equine.

The stranger's lips curled in a slight smile. "Rigalda serves me well."

"Is she from the West? She looks like the older Tresylian type."

"She sailed over from Afolvia, but yes, she has Tresylian bloodlines."

Khira desperately wanted to touch her velvety gray nose, but didn't dare to ask. Instead she took a deep breath and scanned the forest around her, suddenly feeling as though she was being watched.

"The guards are still occupied with the protesters, don't worry. My friends are keeping a lookout."

"Your friends?"

"Fellow Enotians, yes. We just arrived this morning." The man glanced out across the Dome, where a group of civilians were trying to penetrate the wall of armed men that blocked passageway to the prison. One of the guards had drawn his sword and was threatening a protester with it.

“Neil was a good man." The stranger sighed, his expression now regretful. "He didn’t deserve this. I wish I’d gotten here a day sooner; now it’s too late.”

"But what could you have done? They would have captured you, too."

“A small price to pay, indeed." A rustling of leaves drew his attention to the side. Two other men, also leading horses, appeared from behind a cluster of towering palm trees. They were dressed in the same rags, their faces clearly distressed.

"I think they've spotted us," the taller of the two announced. His thick black hair was pulled back with a cord to keep it out of his eyes. "There's movement in our direction."

"Very well. We should settle down for the night anyway." The man turned to Khira. “Perhaps you should come down to the palazzo tomorrow at noontime. I’ll be speaking to the crowds then, if you want to know more.”

Khira barely nodded, not sure how to respond. Was he some kind of expert or something?

“Be careful around here," he added as he gathered his mare's reins in his hands. "I doubt the guards would be very forgiving if they found you sneaking around the Dome, even if you are just a harmless boy.”

Then he and his friends were gone as silently as they’d come, leaving Khira standing there, thoroughly intrigued.

Several yards away she heard the voices of two guards as they made rounds. Ducking behind a patch of sweet-smelling honeysuckles, she remained hidden until they had passed by, and then without a sound scurried off towards home.

* * *

Khira burst into her two-story wooden house by way of the back door at precisely quarter ‘til six. She was hoping to avoid any confrontation with her parents, but as expected, her mother was waiting for her in the dining area - hands folded before her and a gently disapproving look on her long face.

“Where have you been, darling?”

Khira halted abruptly. “Out with Magic. Like I said.” Hanging out at the barn with her horse was the only thing her parents ever let her do, and since neither bothered to check up on her, she was able to escape whenever she liked.

The excuse, however, did nothing to lessen her mother’s concern. “I told you to be up at the house early tonight; your father invited a special guest to dine with us.”

“I lost track of time. I’m sorry.” Khira stared at her feet, snuggled within fleece-padded leather slippers.

“When are you going to learn to be more responsible? You are probably the only girl whose parents let her go outside to pet a dirty horse, and this is how you thank us?” With a sigh of regret her mother walked up to her and lifted her chin with a finger. She inspected Khira carefully, head to toe. “What did you do to your hair?”

Heartbeat accelerating, Khira ran a hand through her wavy locks. Had she not brushed them out sufficiently after her little adventure?

“And is that a smudge of dirt on your face?”

Khira swallowed. How careless of her not to take the time to properly groom herself before returning to the house. Her conversation with that stranger had put her way behind schedule and she had rushed to change from her breeches into a dress and clean up down at the barn. Besides, she’d totally forgotten about the guest – probably the dreaded Master Teagan.

“Magic rolled in the mud and I was brushing it off. So a little got on my face. I’ll go wash it off.” Khira tried not to appear too eager in her escape.

Her mother shook her head sadly, as if resigned to the fact that her daughter would never be the proper young lady she wanted her to be. “Hurry up, and please put on something a little more presentable for Master Teagan. Like your yellow silk gown.”

Khira rolled her eyes and made a quick exit to the left, following the long dark hallway to her room. She hated the yellow silk gown almost as much as she hated Master Teagan. Tonight was not going to be pleasant, to be sure.

As she splashed water on her face in the marble basin and dried it with a sheepskin rag, she thought about her conversation with the stranger. Who was he? And where was he from? Did he even realize the tumult he would undoubtedly cause if he started speaking at the palazzo, of all places? The Erudites would kick him out, or worse, beat him for his blasphemous words. They might even kill him.

Should I go, or not? Her mind battled with indecision. If her father were to find out, he would lock her in her room for weeks, just like he’d done when she got caught racing her horse Magic with the town boys three years ago. That was when her parents had decided she should follow the proper protocol for women and stay inside, out of trouble.

But at the same time, she was incredibly curious. So curious, in fact, to hear what this man had to say, that she almost didn’t care what her parents did to her. Besides, they’d never caught her before. And nobody who’d seen her in her breeches and hat had recognized her. It really wasn’t that much more risky to be out in public, was it?

How long could her rouse last, anyway? In this day and age, Khira had little choice but to grow up as an Erudite woman and marry an Erudite Scholar and have little Erudite babies. That was her respectable path in life. But she wanted so much more. She wanted her life to have meaning, purpose. She wanted to serve Enota. But how could she when her parents and friends expected her to be someone she was not?

Sighing, Khira moved to her one and only window and peered through the narrow slit. The sun was low in the sky, casting shades of orange and pink along the tree-crested horizon. Out across the wispy grass field she could see the barn where Magic was safely tucked away for the night, and to its side a small gurgling brook zigzagged to the north. How peaceful it was out there. If only her life was peaceful, too.

After reluctantly changing into the dress, which hung uncomfortably off her shoulders, clung to her chest and waist, and draped elegantly from her narrow hips to the ground, Khira ran a brush through her waist-length hair and returned to the dining area. By now her father and Master Teagan had joined her mother; all three were standing around the candle-lit table waiting for her. Dishes of lamb, squash, legumes, and assorted fruits were spread across the lace tablecloth, steaming with a delicious aroma.

Khira tried to act natural as she entered the room. All eyes were upon her and a familiar feeling of inadequacy shivered inside her stomach. Would somebody say something?

“How lovely you look this evening, Khiranda.” The rich voice of Master Teagan echoed across the room.

Anything but that, Khira groaned inwardly. She lifted her eyes to his chin in response. “Thank you.” And stop calling me Khiranda.

“Take your seat, Khira,” her mother instructed patiently.

The four of them sat around the table, her father at the head, and Master Teagan sitting across from Khira. If she dared to look him in the eyes, she knew, he would be watching her with open affection. It was no secret that the Erudite teacher sought her for his bride; nearly everyone in town was waiting expectantly for the announcement of engagement - everyone but Khira.

“Would you do the honors, Master Teagan?” her father asked after everyone had settled into their chairs.

“Of course,” the older man replied. He bowed his head in reverence to Siganor and proceeded in a loud, well-dictated voice: “Honorable Creator, bless this meal we are about to partake. Grant us wisdom and total obedience in speech and mind. May Your name be glorified.”

Khira tried to stifle a yawn. Every night it was the same prayer, the same rhythm, the same tone. Did the words even mean anything to these people, anyway?

“So Khiranda,” Master Teagan continued as her father Darren began to pass around the various dishes, “how are you this evening?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Khira replied dryly. Her mother cast her a look that demanded she show a little more respect, so she added, “It’s been a beautiful day.”

“Yes, it has, hasn’t it? The cool season has finally arrived.”

Khira pasted on a fake smile. “Indeed.”

“Did you hear about the trial verdict this afternoon?” Darren interrupted, much to Khira’s relief.

“Ah, yes, I did.” Master Teagan spooned a generous helping of squash onto his plate. “It’s a sad thing, but it can’t be helped. The poor boy was in direct opposition to the faith; he had to be stopped.”

“Certainly,” Darren agreed. “I hear he was burning the Scrolls during the riot last week, too.”

“Abomination!” the Master exclaimed.

Khira felt her indignation rising, but said nothing. It wasn’t her place. She wasn’t supposed to talk unless someone asked her a question; it wasn’t worth the consequences her father would undoubtedly dish out. But deep inside she wanted to scream her protest. The riot was just a rumor; she knew for a fact that Neil had not been burning scrolls, and even if he was, it wasn’t a crime worthy of death.

“Hopefully his execution will stem much of the turmoil we’ve been having lately, especially now that Keifer has arrived.” Darren scowled and chose a juicy piece of lamb from the plate. “Ah, this smells wonderful, Casilda.”

Khira’s mother nodded her thanks.

“Delicious,” Master Teagan agreed. “I haven’t met this man Keifer. But I’ve heard much about him. They say he was born an Erudite but cast off the faith years ago and now leads a revival among the people, teaching strange things about Enota. He used to be one of our best, residing in the Capitol and helping capture those Enotian traitors. But I don’t know what changed his mind.”

“A vision, apparently,” Darren said with disgust. “He claims Enota spoke to him. It’s blasphemy, I say. The man’s gone crazy.”

“Wasn’t he here two years ago? When I was in Landol on a spiritual quest?”

Darren nodded. “Yes, he was, but at the time he was relatively unknown and certainly not considered a threat. I daresay his arrival will cause quite a stir this time, however.”

“Mmm…I’ll have to request a dispatch of our Royal Guards to surround the palazzo, just in case there’s a riot or something.”

“That would be a wise decision.”

In the ensuing silence, Khira’s mind replayed the conversation she’d had with the strange man at the Dome. Hadn’t he mentioned that he’d just arrived in Crada? And he had said he’d be speaking in the palazzo.

Without thinking Khira turned to her father. “What does he look like?”

Casilda groaned and Darren sharply replied, “Where are your manners? Keep quiet, my child.”

Frustration rose inside her chest, but she obediently closed her mouth and glanced down at her plate. She wasn’t really in the mood for lamb. Or anything, for that matter. Life was so unfair. Why couldn’t she ask a simple question? When she was a boy, people let her talk.

“From what I hear, he’s of medium build, brown eyes and long unkempt hair, with a face so full of conviction and passion that he changes hearts with but a word.” Master Teagan’s voice dripped with disdain, but nonetheless Khira was grateful that he answered her question. “They say he wears rags and carries nothing but a day’s supply of food. He has many followers, too, that travel with him all over the country. It’s lunacy, I tell you. One day they’ll all be caught and executed. It will be a day I shall surely celebrate.”

Khira frowned at him, but inside her heart skipped a beat. Perhaps this stranger was none other than Keifer himself! And he had spoken to her, and treated her with a kind of respect that no one else ever had. Surely whatever he preached would ignite her soul, perhaps provide a solution to her problem. I have to go to the palazzo tomorrow. I will find a way.

“Khira, would you please stop staring at your food and start eating it?” Darren admonished. “What’s it going to take to put some meat on your bones?”

The insult flew over her head unnoticed. Khira’s mind was already spinning with possible ways to sneak out during the noontime hour. Maybe if she told her mother she was going to visit Arista or the old widow on the other side of town…

“Did you hear me?” Darren repeated when she made no move to eat.

Startled, Khira’s eyes flashed to his. All it took was one look and she knew exactly what he’d said. “Yes, sir,” she replied meekly, and put her knife to the chunk of lamb.

* * *

“So has he proposed yet?”

Lying on her back on top of her friend’s feather-stuffed mattress, hands cradling her head, Khira rolled her eyes and did her best not to laugh at the immaturity of the question. After all, it wasn’t Arista’s fault that she was a typical Cradan girl.

“Is that all you can think about these days?” Khira asked, focusing on the elegantly carved beams that surrounded the bed. These conversations were getting so old.

“We’re at that age, you know,” the younger girl reminded her. “I’m almost sixteen.”

“Yes, the day after tomorrow.”

“And then I’ll be old enough to marry. Father said I can choose whoever I want.” Arista smiled at the prospect. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question.”

Khira sat up to look directly at her. Admittedly, Arista was a beautiful girl: luxurious blond curls that shone with health; eyes the color of the sky; a fair, delicately formed face; and a perfectly curved, ample figure. She was one of those girls they deemed as the essence of Espacian beauty. Sometimes Khira envied her her womanly presence. Although eighteen years old, Khira had never developed a woman’s figure and was all arms and legs. She often felt awkward at the height of five-foot-seven, a good three inches above the average height of Espacians. She had no curves, no golden hair, and her skin was tanned several shades darker than the desired paleness, due to her love of the outdoors. She had a few freckles on her nose which her mother disdained, and her near-black hair was unruly, with waves tumbling to her waist. Her one and only admiring feature, according to her mother, was her eyes. Dark, heavily lashed, and set perfectly above high cheekbones and a well-shaped chin, her eyes were the doorway to her soul. Her mother always said she could read her mind just by looking into her eyes.

“Khira, are you even listening to me?”

“Um, yeah…. And no, he hasn’t proposed yet, thank goodness. He’s an ugly, arrogant, two-faced Scholar who’s old enough to be my father and two inches shorter than me.”

“You’re way too picky,” Arista said. “Any woman would be honored to marry Master Teagan.”

“Well, then you can have him for all I care.”

“Really? I doubt he’d want me. And I always liked Noble Jules better anyway.”

While Arista trailed off with fantasies of future husbands, Khira let her thoughts once again drift to the subject of her new religion. She remembered the days when questions had flooded her mind. Did the Enotians worship Siganor like the Erudites, or just Enota? Who did they believe Enota was? The Astutos, who were the foreign invaders from Afolvia now controlling much of the region southeast of Espacia, thought he was a trouble-making revolutionist who wanted to take the throne away from them. The Erudites believed him to be a misguided prophet; and various groups thought he had escaped from the Afterlife in Rigalda - a misty, inaccessible island where people supposedly lived with their Creator Siganor after they died. But Khira knew the truth. Enota was the son of Siganor, who had come from Rigalda and died a painful death so that people could freely come and live with him on the island – if they believed. At first the idea had seemed ludicrous to her, for how could a common man be related to the creator of the world and the master of the Afterlife? But now, having experienced Enota’s forgiveness and peace in her life, she knew it was true.

Khira’s eyes drifted to the window, where the sun was nearly at its zenith. Almost time to head to the palazzo. Her parents believed her to be visiting Arista, which wasn’t a lie…but what they didn’t know was that she had other plans for the afternoon as well. Years ago, when Khira had first started sneaking around behind their backs, she had felt terribly guilty about it. But now it was old habit; lying and keeping secrets was part of her everyday life - a necessary part that without which, she would have molded into the exact person her society expected her to be. Someone just like Arista, whose only dream was to be a wife and a mother.

“You know,” the girl rambled on, “maybe I shouldn’t totally check off Castor from my list. He did bring me those flowers the other day. And he owns ten horses and gives money to the poor. Mother said that’s the sign of a good man.”

Khira jumped to her feet. There was no way she could spend another minute listening to Arista’s nonsense. Besides, Keifer was probably already there and she wanted to get a good spot where she could hear everything.

“I’m going for a walk.” Khira grabbed her bag which held a change of clothes and some sturdier boots and headed for the door.

“Don’t you want to stay for lunch?” Arista begged. “The maid is cooking pez de malone. And my brother will be there, too.”

“That’s why I’m leaving.” Khira paused at the doorway. “I’ll drop by later and maybe we can go for a ride. And make sure Will doesn’t run off with my horse again while I’m gone, kay?”

Arista pouted to show her disapproval, but she had long since learned not to argue with Khira when her mind was made up. She sighed deeply. “Okay.”

* * *

A rather large crowd had already gathered at the palazzo by the time Khira sneaked up to the wooden fence surrounding the covered square. Just outside the main entrance into the gigantic temple-like building she could make out the familiar figure of Keifer, his hands extended as he spoke in a clearly audible voice, even from thirty feet away. As she climbed over the fence and approached the back of the crowd, she could see that his face was lit with an intense kind of passion. All who stood around him were deathly silent, their attention riveted upon him, drinking in the mystery of his words. Some looked confused, some pensive, some doubtful, others amused…and the two Scholars to the left appeared to be seething with anger beneath their stony masks. Khira knew that if it weren’t for the law stating that any man who had a message could speak outside the palazzos during the noontime hour, they would have arrested him before he’d even said a word.

Khira drew up beside an older man she’d never seen before and peered between two shoulders in front of her. This was definitely a time when she was glad she was tall.

“…and not only have they executed an innocent man, but they have also preached to you that you must wear the Ring of Siganor to even be accepted as an Erudite or permitted into this palazzo. Do you really think that a mere ring pierced into your right ear can change who you are and dictate what you believe? That it can carry you safely into the afterworld when you die? A ring is nothing but melted gold, shaped and molded by the hands of a man. But a heart, the only true measure of what a man believes, is made of flesh and blood and is shaped and molded by our creator Siganor himself, and changed for your salvation by the blood his own son Enota shed for you when he died. He gave his life so that all who believe in him and trust him and love him can spend eternity with him rather than burning in the depths of the Pit!”

A series of gasps and mutterings erupted from the crowd.

“Blasphemy!” One of the Scholars exclaimed, pushing his way to the front. “How dare you suggest that this man Enota can save us more than the Scrolls of Siganor? How dare you even compare Him to the majesty of Siganor! He is dead, gone...buried and never to return. Enota was but a common man who knew not what he was speaking. You are foolish, Keifer…foolish indeed. You should never have left us. One of these days you’ll get yourself killed for all this talk!”

Silence chased after the Scholar’s words, the spectators waiting eagerly for Keifer’s rebuttal. The man said nothing at first, however - merely nodded and walked across the platform to where a collection of scrolls were arranged on a table made of precious, sweet-smelling englewood. He picked one up, grasping it in his strong hand. His eyes roamed over the crowd, paused briefly on Khira as he recognized her, and landed back on the Scholar who had challenged him. He almost sounded sad. “Yes, you’re right. I suppose if I wanted to live a long, healthy life, enjoy the riches and fame of this world, I should never have deserted your people.” He lifted the scroll. “This used to be my life. Studying the words of the old prophets, the message of Siganor; praying in the palazzos and teaching the people; zealously capturing and killing anyone who dared to do exactly what I’m doing right now. But you know what? I have found something better. A true joy and peace that no one but Enota can impart to His followers.

"You see, when you can grasp the concept that going to the Afterlife is not based on how much of the Scrolls you have memorized or how many ceremonies you attend, you are given an incredible freedom. The freedom to spend your time serving and loving your Creator instead of trying to impress Him with your actions." Keifer placed the scroll back onto the table. "Because of Enota's sacrifice, all you must do is believe, and you will be granted passage into the Afterlife, to the very gates of Rigalda. Enota said that was where he was going, and where we would be going to live with him some day. I can think of nothing I'd rather do than just exist in his presence."

"You never even knew Enota," the second Scholar, a short man with a white beard, interrupted. "I knew him. I heard him speak when I visited Renviere during the Great Hunt. A greater extremist I never met. He was crazy, possessed by something. He caused more turmoil and confusion among the people than anyone before him. I wouldn't trust a word that came out of his mouth; obviously he was a liar - if only his lies had gone with him to the grave!"

Keifer was not phased in the least. Clearly he'd heard such protestations before and was prepared to counter them. "You call them lies but I tell you they are nothing but the absolute truth. What proof do I have, you ask? The very fact that he conquered death and returned to life. We could not kill him, and neither could the Dark Side. By demonstrating power over death he proved that he was indeed Siganor’s son and that he spoke the truth. And you are wrong; I have met him. He came to me in a vision and told me to stop killing the Enotians and serve him instead."

By this point Khira was completely enraptured by the things Keifer was saying. She had heard them all before and believed them with all her heart...and yet, somehow hearing it this time touched her more than it ever had before.

"You were hot and tired and probably just hallucinating," someone from the crowd injected. "You didn't really see him."

"I tell you I did. And I've never been the same since." He addressed the people with renewed passion. "Give up your devotion to the palazzos, my friends! It is but a simple building, no more able to give you happiness than a rock or a tree. Siganor doesn't desire your rituals and ceremonies; He desires your heart. Give it to him and you will forever be free!"

"But how do we do that?" a tall farmer asked, stepping forward, his eyes alight with conviction.

"All you have to do is believe and repent and turn your love for him into service. Then you will receive perfect communication with Siganor that will help you accomplish all this."

"What do you mean?"

"He can speak to your mind, guide you, give you confidence and strength," Keifer explained. "This is the only true sign of your acceptance into Rigalda – if you can hear his voice."

A Scholar objected. "You speak of things you know not! If there were such a perfect communication, it would have been written in the Scrolls!"

"Siganor reveals himself in other ways besides the Scrolls. He has spoken through his Son, and now through those to whom he has given authority to teach."

The Scholar sneered at him. "I suppose you claim to be one of those with authority."

"Indeed I am, for Siganor has revealed things to me, things he wants me to share with all the world."

By now there were hundreds of people gathered around listening with rapt attention. Some whispered among themselves, others stared at Keifer in utter astonishment. Khira’s spine prickled with excitement. This man had a way with words. Was he really who he said he was? A messenger from Siganor with special authority? Coming from anyone else's mouth it would've sounded incredibly pompous. But Keifer seemed to hold no pride over this fact; rather, it was something very dear and precious to him, a responsibility he took with all seriousness.

“You are walking on dangerous ground, my friend,” the white-haired Scholar warned. “We could arrest you for such statements.”

“Go ahead, take me to prison. I’ve been there before, and I’ll go again if that’s what Enota requires. You can’t stop me from speaking – I will speak until the day I die!”

Another wave of mutterings penetrated the silence. Khira watched as the two Scholars addressed each other quietly. One of them nodded and walked off; the other turned back to Keifer and crossed his arms over his chest. “We are calling for Master Teagan and alerting the Royal Guard. I’d be careful what you say, Keifer, lest you start a riot and get carted off to that death you’re so anxious to experience.”

Keifer ignored him and instead lifted his hands above his head. “Siganor, pour your grace upon these people. Let your power move among them and show them the truth. May your will be done.”

Someone a few feet from Khira started bawling, his sobs echoing across the covered patio. “Please, sir, help me!” he cried, dropping to his knees in front of Keifer. “Siganor would never want to give me this freedom you speak of. I have lived an awful life.”

A gentleness softened his features, and Keifer crouched down beside him. “It can’t be anything worse than what I have done. But Enota died for you and me both, so that our wicked pasts would not prevent us from entering Rigalda some day. He has forgiven me, and he will forgive you, too, if you let him.”

“I do! I want him to forgive me! I want to be able to talk to him. I want his peace.” The man was hysterical now, tears pouring down his face.

The sight of a grown man crying sent a jolt slamming into Khira’s heart. How poignant it was to see lives changed, to witness such desperateness. She longed somehow to have the freedom to do what Keifer was doing, to tell people about her god.

Behind her Khira heard the sounds of angry Scholars. When she identified Master Teagan’s voice, she ducked under the fence and lunged behind a dense bush. Master Teagan might very well recognize her if he saw her, and she knew that would be the end of everything. When he passed her, she darted down the narrow dirt street between the palazzo and a few houses.

Khira didn’t stop running until she reached home. Sliding down against Magic’s stall, her breath coming in short gasps, she thought more about the emotions Keifer had stirred within her. She wanted so badly to declare before the whole world that she, Khira, was an Enotian. She wanted to share what she knew with those who were as lost as she’d once been.

Your parents would disown you, she reminded herself, and that dampened her fervor. There was no way she could ever tell anyone; she’d be cast from her family, tossed onto the streets, and die from starvation. No, it was not a smart move for a girl as dependent as she.

But wasn’t she starving anyway? Starving for love, for acceptance, for a purpose in life? Sure, she was confident that Enota had saved her and knew that she loved him. But wasn’t there so much more to being an Enotian than sneaking around and hiding?

Wrought with indecision, Khira stood to her feet and pushed the hair out of her eyes. Maybe she’d go back again, just to see if Keifer had any answers. Maybe that would help her decide.

“Enota, if you have a plan for me,” she whispered against Magic’s soft shoulder, “show me what I must do.”