Blessed
The arrow was meant to hit the apple, but it missed by a wide margin.
Outwardly, Finch cringed, shoulders slumped, but secretly he was glad.
The panel of four priests seated in the shade of the tent were quiet, all except Father Lowe of the local parish who sighed exasperatedly. Those gathered behind the priests were more vocal about their disappointment. They had come for blood, but it seemed a long time coming and meanwhile the harsh sun was making everyone sweat more than they could replenish with cheap wine. They might see blood yet, but it wouldn't be Amira's, not if Finch could help it.
"Try again." This came from the priest on Father Lowe’s left. Though Father Gallow bore none of the finery that draped his two companions from Holysea, his command of power was clear. It was the smooth lines of his face, a cold calculation rather than eagerness at the proceedings.
Finch straightened and wiped the sweat from his brow. Whether he was nervous or hot was hard to tell. He took his times selecting the next arrow from the small barrel at his side. This time, he chose the second most chipped and broken of them, having fired the ugliest of the lot just a moment ago. He made a show of taking care with this shot, smoothing the fletching between his fingers, glancing up and back at the flag on the tent to gauge the wind, and pausing to aim.
Again, the arrow flew wide.
Lowe dragged another exasperated breath, but Gallow silenced him with a glance.
"Again," he ordered with the same steadiness.
Three more times Finch fired and missed before he was ordered to cease. He didn't turn to face the priests and the crowd until he was sure his relief was tucked far from his face.
"Very well," Gallow's voice carried no hint of the disappointment that everyone around him must have felt. "While the evidence that Father Lowe presented to Holysea was damning, it would appear that this young woman is innocent of wrongdoing in the eyes of God."
The young woman in question was Amira. She sat in the tent with the priests, looking upon her trial with an air of curious challenge.
Everyone except for Finch saw her as a slender beauty with pale curves and dark lashes. Her auburn hair was pulled back neatly in a plait that fell to her waist. Days of imprisonment in the basement of the church with no food and scarce water did nothing to dampen the bright look in her meadow green eyes. She certainly did look like she could be a witch, or at least someone the men in town might picture dancing naked in the forest.
Though she sat beside Gallow, he hadn't so much as glance at her all day. Even now he paid her little attention as he continued, "provided that she attends church on Sundays and there are no further allegations, she will continue to enjoy the protection of our Lord."
If Amira was concerned about how close she had been to her execution, it didn't show. She was led away for her own safety as Gallow approached Finch. Behind them, a drunken fight had broken out amongst the rabble.
"A word, Master Finch?" While Gallow's tone was mild, it was clear that Finch had only one option.
"Yes, Father." Finch followed the priest away from the crowd and towards the apple that stood unmarked on the stump.
"Father Lowe assured me that you are the best archer in Muirfield, possibly even all of the Zealyn Isles. He claimed that in the last wars, you held your own against the elven archers at Evermore even with a gut wound."
Finch said nothing, so Gallow continued with a shrug. "And here you are, still alive, by the grace of God. It is clear that you are no stranger to the hand of our Lord. From time to time his touch comes to rest gently on a man's shoulder to guide him." He paused and fixed Finch with piercing stare. "We both know that this was not one of those times."
Finch remained quiet. A bead of sweat worked its way down the side of his face. He couldn't shake the feeling that the priest saw right through him.
Gallow picked up the apple and broke his gaze from Finch's to examine it. Here was a fruit plucked fresh off the tree. It was red and wholesome, untouched by the summer. By all means an apple should have been impossible in this season, in this heat, yet there was one tree just outside of Muirfield ladden with them.
The priest smiled, but Finch caught steel flashed behind his eyes. "I'll keep this close. I have a feeling that we will need it again soon."
---
After a simple meal alone in the evening, Finch left his house on the edge of town and made his way down towards the river. The breeze of the river didn't quite reach the settlement, but any closer and the buildings would be underwater when it flooded. His mind was made up about what to say, so there was little to distract him from the glorious night. He savoured the stars, the smell of the water as he crossed the bridge, and the woody scent of the forest once he was on the other side. The path he took wound up into the forest across the river from Muirfield. Here the air was cool.
Amira's song began not far from the treeline. She didn't have a loud voice, nor were any of her notes particularly on key, but they always carried as though the trees themselves passed it between them.
Finch shook his head. Clearly, she hadn't learnt her lesson.
He found her under the apple tree, perched on one of the lower branches.
"I thought I told you that you couldn't sing at night anymore," he chided.
Amira snorted. "First it was that I couldn't be seen talking to animals, and then it was that I couldn't bless the children at their christenings, and now I have to stop singing as well?" she sounded both contemptuous and exasperated. "Finch, there will be none of me left!"
He leant against the trunk below her perch. "You still tend the forest," he said gently.
"You still tend the forest," Amira mocked in an unflattering imitation of his voice. "I'm not happy just tending the forest like some sort of washed out dryad! Besides, it would tend itself just fine if your folk weren't cutting it down all the time."
Finch didn't bother replying. Amira was right, of course, but that wouldn't stop the townsfolk from murdering her.
He glanced up at her. She never bothered wasting glamour on him, so he saw the little woodland gnome for what she was; a short, sturdy figure with dark grey skin that would have blended into the night if not framed by her white robes and hair. Her eyes were the same meadow green, persisting brightly even at night.
Whatever expression on his face only irritated her more. She huffed and waved her hands impatiently. Two nearby saplings shot up to the height of trees in their fifth year. With a wiggle of her toes, a new crop of mushrooms sprung up, white in the moonlight. "There. Forest tended. And since I can't sing, and I can't be seen, I'll just sit here like a lump, shall I?"
Finch smiled. He paused and cleared his throat. "I can think of other ways you can occupy your time tonight."
Amira scowled at that. She plucked a near hanging apple and hurled it down at him. Finch caught it, still smiling. He went to bite into it and nearly chipped his tooth.
"Ouch! What did you do?" As he examined it, he noticed that it was heavier than an apple should be. More solid. More rock than apple, really. Amira loved playing pranks.
The gnome made a face. "Don't think for a moment that your charms will work on me, boy."
Finch spread his arms and shrugged. He let the apple fall from his hands. It was clearly not meant for eating. "But they worked the last time… and the time before."
Amira rolled her eyes. "You won't always be able to tell me what to do and then sweet talk me into a better mood."
Despite her words, she pushed herself off the branch and dropped into Finch's awaiting arms.
"I'm just trying to keep you out of trouble, love."
"Yes, yes, I know," Amira replied, trying to stay annoyed, but failing to do so.
---
The Lord's Alliance was the most successful attempt that humans had ever made to carve out an existence for themselves in the wilds of Zealyn. In Finch's opinion, they had been too successful; the People that once called Zealyn home had mostly fled or perished, leaving a dull and muted existence behind. However, the Alliance was of the opinion that their work wouldn't be finished until all of Zealyn was scrubbed of every last bit of the wyrd and the magical, hence the Inquisitions that were held each time that something strange was found.
After Finch could stomach it no longer, he found a quiet life for himself as far away from Holysea as he could manage, carving out some work in whittling, tracking and mending. His role was nothing crucial, but neither would he starve.
A bird came to land at his open window. It was only a small thing, mostly brown with a proud blue tail, but it sure knew how to announce itself. Its cry blasted through Finch's abode. When he tried to shoo it away, it loosened another shrill cry.
"For heaven's sake, what's the matter, then?" Finch snapped. Belatedly, he glanced conspicuously out his open door, hoping no one heard him talking to a bird, not that talking to a bird was an act of witchcraft per se, unless the bird talked back. Besides, most of his neighbours were up at the town square for Market Day.
The bird proved more annoying than wyrd when it let out another burst of piercing sound.
As Finch stood from his table, it leapt from his window and flew away at a frantic speed. Glancing out the window after it, he caught sight of the church's steeple rising above the few trees in town. On any other day, it was just part of the scenery, but today…
Today the sight filled him with a sense of inexplicable dread.
Finch slipped into his shoes and grabbed his hat on his way out the door. He scolded himself the whole way to the market, yet he didn't turn back. The square was busier than usual with the priests in town; people had travelled from nearby villages in the hopes of a blessing or prophecy. He saw a few familiar faces and returned their greetings while his eyes scanned the makeshift stalls that lined the town square. He made his way around. One. Twice. Thrice.
Amira wasn't there.
Finch shut his eyes tightly, trying to will some common sense back into himself. Amira didn't always attend the markets. She could be sleeping in her burrow for all he knew. There was no reason that she should be in danger, especially after he made her promise last night. He should have gone home, but he convinced himself to extend his stroll to the church.
Odd. The doors of the church were closed when he got there. Finch would have been content to circle it and go home, but he heard a familiar voice inside drifting out from the first open window.
"But he's as normal as they come," Finch heard Amira insisting.
He stopped in his tracks. If anyone caught him listening, he wouldn't know how to explain himself. He and Amira weren't officially acquainted at all. It was partly why he had been selected for her trial.
"And how would you know? How would anyone know? He keeps to himself most of the time. Cameron's son told me that he visits the forest after dark." Finch recognised Father Lowe, if not from his voice then from his impatience. "You can't vet someone you don't know."
"I was in your cells only last week! Why should I wish to say anything that would put another there?"
"Amira." Father Gallow's voice cut through whatever else she had to say. "When he deliberately made those arrows swerve from the apple, he revealed his unfaithfulness to God."
Finch wanted Amira as far away from Gallow as possible. Something about the priest reminded him of the ones he fought alongside in the wars, the ones that were almost wyrd themselves. It was as if Gallow had a way of seeing inside someone's thoughts. If he learnt the truth about Amira, she was as good as dead.
"Why would he do that if I barely know the man?" Amira challenged.
"Beauty has a way with men," said Lowe. "It is likely that he considers you indebted to him now, and your body will be payment."
Finch rolled his eyes. From the flat silence that followed, he guessed that Amira was just as unimpressed.
"No, that's not it, it is?" Gallow said thoughtfully. "Or perhaps there is something else you are hiding?"
"I'm not hiding anything," Amira said quickly. Too quickly.
Finch prayed that the gnome would suddenly learn to lie better. The more that he thought about Gallow, the surer he was that the priest was not normal. The measured way in which he spoke; the way his eyes pierced right through Finch; how he was sure Finch had cheated - all this pushed Finch beyond unease. He rubbed the callouses of his thumb and forefinger together, remembering the feel of string and arrow between them. Two priests. Two arrows.
"Amira, God can see through your lies."
"Alright, God's caught me out again. What will I need to do this time? Sink in the river?" She was angry and defiant; all the wrong things to be right now.
Finch shook his head in dismay. He was so caught up in the futility of Amira's situation that he thought he misheard when Gallow said, "Nothing like that, my dear, not unless it's an absolute necessity, now that God has shown me what lies within you."
"What?" Lowe was just as surprised.
"Can you not see? She is with child."
"What?"
Finch almost exclaimed aloud himself. It took all of his willpower not to barge in the church.
She is with child. Gallow's words echoed in his ears.
He felt a surge of panic, followed almost immediately by a warm wonder.
"I…" Amira paused. "How could you possibly…"
"It is God who guides me, and God can protect you and your babe, but you must be faithful only to him. You must prove your loyalty to him."
"She's consorted with the devil!" Lowe gasped.
"Nonsense," Gallow said with such scorn that Lowe's hysterics could gain no further momentum. "Do you think that such a beauty needs to stoop all the way to Hell to find a willing mate? I think not. It was one of the men in town, wasn't it, Amira? I hope you haven't made a sinner out of someone's husband?"
"I…well...no, he's not married."
It would be absurd, if it wasn't so serious. Father Gallow could see that Amira was with child, but couldn't see that she was a gnome swathed in glamour. He wanted her to accuse Finch of witchcraft, not knowing that Finch was most likely the father of the child. Amira and the child's life hung in the balance of her decision.
"You have not turned so far from God that your actions can not be redeemed," Gallow continued. He paused pointedly. "However, should you choose to protect a sinner, then I can not guarantee your safety. In fact, the opposite is more likely."
The silence that followed stretched out forever. Finally, Amira spoke.
"I... I'll think about it," she said. For the first time, she sounded afraid.
---
They came for Finch the next day. He would have turned himself in if they hadn't. Father Lowe's voice was loud and righteous when he read off the list of offences against God that Finch had apparently committed.
"Do you deny that you have sinned?" he concluded, his eyebrow raised higher than the rafters of the church.
"No," Finch replied.
Things moved quickly after that. Finch barely had time to feel hungry before he was hauled back out for trial. Father Gallow didn't so much as glance at him when he was placed in the chair beside him. Finch, on the other hand, studied the priest, wondering what his motivations were. Why had he travelled so far from Holysea? Why was he so bent on an execution? The force of Gallow's presence was as such that Finch didn't even notice the two other priests in their finery, or the frothing crowd that had again gathered behind the tent. His mouth was dry, thoughts racing. Was this how Amira must have felt when she was in the tent?
They had picked another archer, someone from a neighbouring town. He was young, and fit, possessing the enthusiasm of an idealist doing God's work.
At Father Gallow's command, the archer strung and tested his bow before selecting the best arrow from the lot. He took his time to aim after gauging the wind.
The arrow left the string with crisp precision.
It hit the apple-
-and bounced off.
Outwardly, Finch cringed and his shoulders slumped a bit, but secretly he was glad.
Outwardly, Finch cringed, shoulders slumped, but secretly he was glad.
The panel of four priests seated in the shade of the tent were quiet, all except Father Lowe of the local parish who sighed exasperatedly. Those gathered behind the priests were more vocal about their disappointment. They had come for blood, but it seemed a long time coming and meanwhile the harsh sun was making everyone sweat more than they could replenish with cheap wine. They might see blood yet, but it wouldn't be Amira's, not if Finch could help it.
"Try again." This came from the priest on Father Lowe’s left. Though Father Gallow bore none of the finery that draped his two companions from Holysea, his command of power was clear. It was the smooth lines of his face, a cold calculation rather than eagerness at the proceedings.
Finch straightened and wiped the sweat from his brow. Whether he was nervous or hot was hard to tell. He took his times selecting the next arrow from the small barrel at his side. This time, he chose the second most chipped and broken of them, having fired the ugliest of the lot just a moment ago. He made a show of taking care with this shot, smoothing the fletching between his fingers, glancing up and back at the flag on the tent to gauge the wind, and pausing to aim.
Again, the arrow flew wide.
Lowe dragged another exasperated breath, but Gallow silenced him with a glance.
"Again," he ordered with the same steadiness.
Three more times Finch fired and missed before he was ordered to cease. He didn't turn to face the priests and the crowd until he was sure his relief was tucked far from his face.
"Very well," Gallow's voice carried no hint of the disappointment that everyone around him must have felt. "While the evidence that Father Lowe presented to Holysea was damning, it would appear that this young woman is innocent of wrongdoing in the eyes of God."
The young woman in question was Amira. She sat in the tent with the priests, looking upon her trial with an air of curious challenge.
Everyone except for Finch saw her as a slender beauty with pale curves and dark lashes. Her auburn hair was pulled back neatly in a plait that fell to her waist. Days of imprisonment in the basement of the church with no food and scarce water did nothing to dampen the bright look in her meadow green eyes. She certainly did look like she could be a witch, or at least someone the men in town might picture dancing naked in the forest.
Though she sat beside Gallow, he hadn't so much as glance at her all day. Even now he paid her little attention as he continued, "provided that she attends church on Sundays and there are no further allegations, she will continue to enjoy the protection of our Lord."
If Amira was concerned about how close she had been to her execution, it didn't show. She was led away for her own safety as Gallow approached Finch. Behind them, a drunken fight had broken out amongst the rabble.
"A word, Master Finch?" While Gallow's tone was mild, it was clear that Finch had only one option.
"Yes, Father." Finch followed the priest away from the crowd and towards the apple that stood unmarked on the stump.
"Father Lowe assured me that you are the best archer in Muirfield, possibly even all of the Zealyn Isles. He claimed that in the last wars, you held your own against the elven archers at Evermore even with a gut wound."
Finch said nothing, so Gallow continued with a shrug. "And here you are, still alive, by the grace of God. It is clear that you are no stranger to the hand of our Lord. From time to time his touch comes to rest gently on a man's shoulder to guide him." He paused and fixed Finch with piercing stare. "We both know that this was not one of those times."
Finch remained quiet. A bead of sweat worked its way down the side of his face. He couldn't shake the feeling that the priest saw right through him.
Gallow picked up the apple and broke his gaze from Finch's to examine it. Here was a fruit plucked fresh off the tree. It was red and wholesome, untouched by the summer. By all means an apple should have been impossible in this season, in this heat, yet there was one tree just outside of Muirfield ladden with them.
The priest smiled, but Finch caught steel flashed behind his eyes. "I'll keep this close. I have a feeling that we will need it again soon."
---
After a simple meal alone in the evening, Finch left his house on the edge of town and made his way down towards the river. The breeze of the river didn't quite reach the settlement, but any closer and the buildings would be underwater when it flooded. His mind was made up about what to say, so there was little to distract him from the glorious night. He savoured the stars, the smell of the water as he crossed the bridge, and the woody scent of the forest once he was on the other side. The path he took wound up into the forest across the river from Muirfield. Here the air was cool.
Amira's song began not far from the treeline. She didn't have a loud voice, nor were any of her notes particularly on key, but they always carried as though the trees themselves passed it between them.
Finch shook his head. Clearly, she hadn't learnt her lesson.
He found her under the apple tree, perched on one of the lower branches.
"I thought I told you that you couldn't sing at night anymore," he chided.
Amira snorted. "First it was that I couldn't be seen talking to animals, and then it was that I couldn't bless the children at their christenings, and now I have to stop singing as well?" she sounded both contemptuous and exasperated. "Finch, there will be none of me left!"
He leant against the trunk below her perch. "You still tend the forest," he said gently.
"You still tend the forest," Amira mocked in an unflattering imitation of his voice. "I'm not happy just tending the forest like some sort of washed out dryad! Besides, it would tend itself just fine if your folk weren't cutting it down all the time."
Finch didn't bother replying. Amira was right, of course, but that wouldn't stop the townsfolk from murdering her.
He glanced up at her. She never bothered wasting glamour on him, so he saw the little woodland gnome for what she was; a short, sturdy figure with dark grey skin that would have blended into the night if not framed by her white robes and hair. Her eyes were the same meadow green, persisting brightly even at night.
Whatever expression on his face only irritated her more. She huffed and waved her hands impatiently. Two nearby saplings shot up to the height of trees in their fifth year. With a wiggle of her toes, a new crop of mushrooms sprung up, white in the moonlight. "There. Forest tended. And since I can't sing, and I can't be seen, I'll just sit here like a lump, shall I?"
Finch smiled. He paused and cleared his throat. "I can think of other ways you can occupy your time tonight."
Amira scowled at that. She plucked a near hanging apple and hurled it down at him. Finch caught it, still smiling. He went to bite into it and nearly chipped his tooth.
"Ouch! What did you do?" As he examined it, he noticed that it was heavier than an apple should be. More solid. More rock than apple, really. Amira loved playing pranks.
The gnome made a face. "Don't think for a moment that your charms will work on me, boy."
Finch spread his arms and shrugged. He let the apple fall from his hands. It was clearly not meant for eating. "But they worked the last time… and the time before."
Amira rolled her eyes. "You won't always be able to tell me what to do and then sweet talk me into a better mood."
Despite her words, she pushed herself off the branch and dropped into Finch's awaiting arms.
"I'm just trying to keep you out of trouble, love."
"Yes, yes, I know," Amira replied, trying to stay annoyed, but failing to do so.
---
The Lord's Alliance was the most successful attempt that humans had ever made to carve out an existence for themselves in the wilds of Zealyn. In Finch's opinion, they had been too successful; the People that once called Zealyn home had mostly fled or perished, leaving a dull and muted existence behind. However, the Alliance was of the opinion that their work wouldn't be finished until all of Zealyn was scrubbed of every last bit of the wyrd and the magical, hence the Inquisitions that were held each time that something strange was found.
After Finch could stomach it no longer, he found a quiet life for himself as far away from Holysea as he could manage, carving out some work in whittling, tracking and mending. His role was nothing crucial, but neither would he starve.
A bird came to land at his open window. It was only a small thing, mostly brown with a proud blue tail, but it sure knew how to announce itself. Its cry blasted through Finch's abode. When he tried to shoo it away, it loosened another shrill cry.
"For heaven's sake, what's the matter, then?" Finch snapped. Belatedly, he glanced conspicuously out his open door, hoping no one heard him talking to a bird, not that talking to a bird was an act of witchcraft per se, unless the bird talked back. Besides, most of his neighbours were up at the town square for Market Day.
The bird proved more annoying than wyrd when it let out another burst of piercing sound.
As Finch stood from his table, it leapt from his window and flew away at a frantic speed. Glancing out the window after it, he caught sight of the church's steeple rising above the few trees in town. On any other day, it was just part of the scenery, but today…
Today the sight filled him with a sense of inexplicable dread.
Finch slipped into his shoes and grabbed his hat on his way out the door. He scolded himself the whole way to the market, yet he didn't turn back. The square was busier than usual with the priests in town; people had travelled from nearby villages in the hopes of a blessing or prophecy. He saw a few familiar faces and returned their greetings while his eyes scanned the makeshift stalls that lined the town square. He made his way around. One. Twice. Thrice.
Amira wasn't there.
Finch shut his eyes tightly, trying to will some common sense back into himself. Amira didn't always attend the markets. She could be sleeping in her burrow for all he knew. There was no reason that she should be in danger, especially after he made her promise last night. He should have gone home, but he convinced himself to extend his stroll to the church.
Odd. The doors of the church were closed when he got there. Finch would have been content to circle it and go home, but he heard a familiar voice inside drifting out from the first open window.
"But he's as normal as they come," Finch heard Amira insisting.
He stopped in his tracks. If anyone caught him listening, he wouldn't know how to explain himself. He and Amira weren't officially acquainted at all. It was partly why he had been selected for her trial.
"And how would you know? How would anyone know? He keeps to himself most of the time. Cameron's son told me that he visits the forest after dark." Finch recognised Father Lowe, if not from his voice then from his impatience. "You can't vet someone you don't know."
"I was in your cells only last week! Why should I wish to say anything that would put another there?"
"Amira." Father Gallow's voice cut through whatever else she had to say. "When he deliberately made those arrows swerve from the apple, he revealed his unfaithfulness to God."
Finch wanted Amira as far away from Gallow as possible. Something about the priest reminded him of the ones he fought alongside in the wars, the ones that were almost wyrd themselves. It was as if Gallow had a way of seeing inside someone's thoughts. If he learnt the truth about Amira, she was as good as dead.
"Why would he do that if I barely know the man?" Amira challenged.
"Beauty has a way with men," said Lowe. "It is likely that he considers you indebted to him now, and your body will be payment."
Finch rolled his eyes. From the flat silence that followed, he guessed that Amira was just as unimpressed.
"No, that's not it, it is?" Gallow said thoughtfully. "Or perhaps there is something else you are hiding?"
"I'm not hiding anything," Amira said quickly. Too quickly.
Finch prayed that the gnome would suddenly learn to lie better. The more that he thought about Gallow, the surer he was that the priest was not normal. The measured way in which he spoke; the way his eyes pierced right through Finch; how he was sure Finch had cheated - all this pushed Finch beyond unease. He rubbed the callouses of his thumb and forefinger together, remembering the feel of string and arrow between them. Two priests. Two arrows.
"Amira, God can see through your lies."
"Alright, God's caught me out again. What will I need to do this time? Sink in the river?" She was angry and defiant; all the wrong things to be right now.
Finch shook his head in dismay. He was so caught up in the futility of Amira's situation that he thought he misheard when Gallow said, "Nothing like that, my dear, not unless it's an absolute necessity, now that God has shown me what lies within you."
"What?" Lowe was just as surprised.
"Can you not see? She is with child."
"What?"
Finch almost exclaimed aloud himself. It took all of his willpower not to barge in the church.
She is with child. Gallow's words echoed in his ears.
He felt a surge of panic, followed almost immediately by a warm wonder.
"I…" Amira paused. "How could you possibly…"
"It is God who guides me, and God can protect you and your babe, but you must be faithful only to him. You must prove your loyalty to him."
"She's consorted with the devil!" Lowe gasped.
"Nonsense," Gallow said with such scorn that Lowe's hysterics could gain no further momentum. "Do you think that such a beauty needs to stoop all the way to Hell to find a willing mate? I think not. It was one of the men in town, wasn't it, Amira? I hope you haven't made a sinner out of someone's husband?"
"I…well...no, he's not married."
It would be absurd, if it wasn't so serious. Father Gallow could see that Amira was with child, but couldn't see that she was a gnome swathed in glamour. He wanted her to accuse Finch of witchcraft, not knowing that Finch was most likely the father of the child. Amira and the child's life hung in the balance of her decision.
"You have not turned so far from God that your actions can not be redeemed," Gallow continued. He paused pointedly. "However, should you choose to protect a sinner, then I can not guarantee your safety. In fact, the opposite is more likely."
The silence that followed stretched out forever. Finally, Amira spoke.
"I... I'll think about it," she said. For the first time, she sounded afraid.
---
They came for Finch the next day. He would have turned himself in if they hadn't. Father Lowe's voice was loud and righteous when he read off the list of offences against God that Finch had apparently committed.
"Do you deny that you have sinned?" he concluded, his eyebrow raised higher than the rafters of the church.
"No," Finch replied.
Things moved quickly after that. Finch barely had time to feel hungry before he was hauled back out for trial. Father Gallow didn't so much as glance at him when he was placed in the chair beside him. Finch, on the other hand, studied the priest, wondering what his motivations were. Why had he travelled so far from Holysea? Why was he so bent on an execution? The force of Gallow's presence was as such that Finch didn't even notice the two other priests in their finery, or the frothing crowd that had again gathered behind the tent. His mouth was dry, thoughts racing. Was this how Amira must have felt when she was in the tent?
They had picked another archer, someone from a neighbouring town. He was young, and fit, possessing the enthusiasm of an idealist doing God's work.
At Father Gallow's command, the archer strung and tested his bow before selecting the best arrow from the lot. He took his time to aim after gauging the wind.
The arrow left the string with crisp precision.
It hit the apple-
-and bounced off.
Outwardly, Finch cringed and his shoulders slumped a bit, but secretly he was glad.