Between Two Fires

by Christopher Buehlman

“What we say and what we do are …” “Well, I do what I say. Which is why I don’t say much.”

Some righteous men and women yet held faith, but they were scattered so far that none could see the other’s light, and it seemed the darkness had no end.

And now the rain fell, and fell, and fell. On the third day of it, and their second day without food, the priest saw a stone barn and a cottage and hoped they would be deserted. What had things come to when a man of God wished misfortune on a family because he coveted their roof?

She knew many such stories of betrayal and selfishness from her village, though she also knew stories of great faithfulness and courage. This pestilence cooked away pretense and showed people’s souls, as surely as it eventually showed their bones.

“Do you really want to go back up there?” Thomas asked. The man sat down in the grass and looked bewildered. “I don’t know,” he said. “But don’t you see? This is the one thing I can do as well as anyone else. I can’t plow. I can’t build. But I can suffer. God wants suffering now.” The priest opened his mouth to contradict the man, but nothing came out.

“Let us wear their greatest men like skins, and when they speak, they will speak our words; they will speak of wars and purgings, and of dashing the babe’s head. We will turn their understanding so they make their Christ a god of war, and we will cause them to set navies to the seas and armies under the moon with generals whose eyes glow like brands, and we will stir Turk and Christian alike to madness by our own deeds, and by our own hands will we hasten the death of men.”

“Man is born into sin. All because of Adam.” Guillaume said, “Mostly Eve, my priest told us.” Delphine looked up from the water now. “That’s not fair.” “How’s that?” said Guillaume. “She was tempted by something stronger than her. Adam was tempted by a weaker creature. Or so we are told. If Eve was his inferior, his sin was greater. You can’t have it both ways.”