Mr. Ellis, or Oar as he would have me call him, was born by the ocean. He is one of the first generation born after the great sickness and has seen first-hand the evolution of the holy archangel Michael. As he told me his story, he smoked a pipe carved from mahogany and brushed the ashes off his suit.
"My first memory is of a brilliant white light. It was His light, telling me that I was going to serve Him for the rest of my days. As I grew older, I gathered my flock from other lost children in the area. We grew larger and started a society of virtue and peace. Once my flock was well-established, He talked to me again. He told me to spread His word as far and wide as I could. I gave all my worldly goods to my sons and daughters and headed east with nothing but the Scriptures in my hand."
"Fascinating. May I see your scriptures?" He handed me the book, a thick journal bound in soft black leather. Inside, each and every page was filled to the brim with tiny cramped handwriting. I opened a page at random and tried to read by the dim firelight.
"He is most sacred to all. Hold His life above your own, His truths are more valuable than yours, He is all that is right and just in this world."
I flipped to other pages in the book, but the content remained much the same. "What exactly are His truths?"
"Listen to your heart, son. He speaks them to you if only you take the time to listen."
Anthony interrupted to take a look at my broken toes. He had some less-than polite things to say about the doctor who saw to me in Miles City. Apparently the toes haven't been set right and I can look forward to walking with a limp the rest of my life. Sam returned with a brace of rabbits slung over her shoulder, and since I am apparently the only one who can cook without turning the meat into charcoal, I have been nominated the stagevan chef.
Anthony helped me rise to my feet and handed my crutches to me. I stumbled and had to grab his shoulder for balance. We laughed and I headed to my luggage for my spices.
"Careful with the Michaelman, Sen." Sam knelt on the side of the stagevan, opposite the fire. She spoke in low tones and didn't look up at me, focusing on skinning the rabbit in her hands. "There's certain lines there you just don't cross with them."
"What?"
A huff of impatience, and the stem of sagebrush in her mouth was spit onto the ground. "Sen Stu Sha, you know full well what I'm talking about. That kid, Anthony. I'm warning you now not to let the Michaelman see you together."
I pulled the suitcase to the ground next to her, the better to participate in this hushed conversation. "First off, I don't know what you're talking about. Anthony is nothing to me. Second of all, what business is it of his?"
She wrapped the viscera in the rabbit's pelt and set it aside, handing me the bloody meat. "Michaelmen think everything is their business. And they're not afraid to tell you so with more than words." Another carcass was laid over my arm. Thank goodness I'd chosen to wear a dark colored shirt today. "I've seen the scars Michaelmen leave behind if they don't like what you're doing. Taking a hand for theft. Plucking out the eyes of wandering husbands." She wiped her knife on the grass before sticking it back down in her boot. "Love the wrong person and you get burnt. Literally. Acid. Fire. The Michaelmen have everyone under their thumb out West." She stood, gathering the gruesome blood-dripping pelts in her arms.
"Wait." I jerked my head to the campfire, where Oar and Anthony sat talking with the stagevan driver. "I can cook up some of those and burn the rest. We can save the hides for something."
Sam smirked, but helped me to my feet and handed me the spices from my suitcase. "Do you even know how to tan hides, Sen?"
"No, but I believe I have a book with instructions for it somewhere."
"Figures," Sam laughed, shaking her head. "Why?"
"I want to see if I can, that's all."
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