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   Chapter 6 No.6

The Book of Deacon By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 5225

Updated: 2018-01-19 12:03

"There is nothing north of here but miles and miles of tundra, " he said.

"I know, " she said gruffly.

"The only things that would send a person through that waste are very good confidence or very bad directions. Not to offend, but I am inclined to believe that the latter is the case, " he said.

"No, no. I just. . . misunderstood; I asked for the shortest way to Renack, and he sent me this way, " she explained, hoping that the priest would not pry further. Her story was suspect enough as it was. The truth would reveal the reason she had been shunned, and she would at least like a chance to let her feet stop throbbing before she was thrown out in the cold again.

"Oh, well, that certainly would explain it. It could have used more conflict, though. The best fairytales always have plenty of conflict. The essence of drama, you know, " said the priest, clearly aware that Myranda was hiding something.

"What? How did you know I was lying?" she asked, realizing the purpose of the comment.

"Listen hard enough and you begin to hear more of what people say than they had intended. Care to tell the truth--or, at least, a more compelling tale?" he asked.

"I wanted to know the easiest way to get to the next town. That was true, but I was purposely misled, " she said.

"Why would someone do that? You could have died out there, " he wondered.

"I had made myself. . . unwelcome, " she said, carefully dancing about the key bit of information sure to cost her the respect of her host.

"Do I need to ask, or will you save me the trouble?"

u join, you will pray each day that you will live long enough to pray again on the next. Pray that the impossible happens, that you live to see your children march off to the same fate as you try for the rest of your life to wash the blood from your hands. And if you cannot bear to throw your body into the flames of war, then you can live as I have. A fugitive, a nomad. Known by no one and hated by everyone. What worse fate could the Tressons have in store? What worse fate exists?" she proclaimed.

"It is talk such as that which will cost us victory, " the priest said.

"Victory!? There is no victory in war! War takes everything and gives nothing! I only wish my words were as destructive as you would have me believe! If that were true, I would shout myself hoarse, I would not sleep until my words had poisoned the thoughts of everyone who had ears--but the cold truth is that nothing I say or do will have even the slightest effect on this wretched war. I am nothing! A shadow! A whisper! Dismissed and forgotten!" she ranted.

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