Ch 15: Church

We offer our prayers to the Herald. He who brings the gods closer to us and bears our messages to them even when we do not know to whom we are praying. May his wings carry our souls forward.

• A Common Prayer at the Church of the Herald

Through the window of his carriage Solomon could see that it was a crisp and clear day. He could see a number of people dressed in their church best making their way to either the main church of the Herald or local shrines. It was perhaps the cleanest he’d seen the residents of Moonfallow since he’d arrived.

That’s not fair. He scolded himself. These were people in hard situations that needed to do whatever they could to support themselves and their families. He shouldn’t be holding them to a noble level of cleanliness and dress. He was meant to set the highest standard for them by example, not by critique.

They arrived at the front of the church and Solomon allowed Melissa to exit and open the door for him before stepping out, his fine shoes and walking stick making three distinct clicks as he pulled himself out. The church was filling quickly, but the regular citizens parted ways for him and his servants as he walked inside.

The outside of the church was an old, but well maintained building of black brick, with a high steeple that led up to a belltower and windows adorned with scenes of the Herald and the Laborer. That meant mostly vivid brown wings and trumpets, as well as hammers, bricks, and images of wide backs.

Inside were rows of pews that were already filled with congregants as well as a large formal altar at the Church’s head carved with yet more iconography of the Herald. He was the one who carried people’s prayers where they were meant to be, so altars typically favored him.

In front of the altar, speaking to a small row of people in the front pew, was Luterne, the young priest Solomon had met when he first walked Moonfallow’s streets. Behind the altar itself was a much older man in the brown vestments of the Herald. He looked wan and pale, with wrinkles that seemed to have wrinkles of their own, but was managing to keep himself steady with a well worn cane.

Solomon made his way to the front pew, which was always set aside for nobility, and Luterne gave him a wide and ingratiating smile.

“Master Morrow. I am glad to see you.”

“Solomon is fine, Luterne. I’m sorry I couldn’t attend the previous services. Many things to fix back at the manor.”

“Of course, sir, of course. Well, I am happy you could be here today.”

The older priest called out to Luterne from that altar.

“Please excuse me,” said Luterne with a bit of annoyance bleeding through his expression.

Solomon looked at the others at the pew seeing an older woman with a severe face and a strong jaw as well as long white hair. She seemed to be the only other noble, and to her right sat a man in an older style of servants attire, with twin tails on his coat. He himself had an odd look to him, with nearly translucent white skin, pale blonde hair, and light eyes. His features were so soft that Solomon would’ve confused him for a woman had he not had short cut hair and wore a man’s suit. He looked as if all the color had been drained from him. Solomon guessed the woman was Dame Pryor, which meant that the man with him must’ve been his uncle’s former servant.

Solomon bowed low to the lady.

“Ma’am, I am Solomon Morrow. Would it be acceptable if I sat with you for the service?”

This was an unnecessary question, but a polite one.

The woman regarded him carefully, her eyebrow raising.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“You may sit, sir.”

He raised up from his bow and sat carefully next to her, his posture perfect in the pew, likely blocking the view of a few of the people seated behind him. All of the other pews were filled, and a number of people were actually standing.

“Dame Pryor,” she said, offering a hand.

Solomon took it gently.

“Solomon Morrow.”

The woman tutted. “Really? A Morrow deigning to come down here and have service with his lessers?”

“I take it my Uncle never made the trek?”

“You take it correctly.”

“Well, I apologize for his rudeness. He was not known to… like people. It was well known within our family.”

She frowned. “Don’t waste your breath apologizing for family. You’ll soon run out of it.”

It was Solomon’s turn to raise an eyebrow, but he chose not to pry.

“How do you care for the services here?”

“They’re awful. Luterne spends all of his time saying prayers that amount to kissing different people’s asses. The mayor’s, the captain of the guard, even mine. I’m sure your own ass will be wet with kisses by the time he’s done today.”