The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.
Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.
Neva draws in a slow breath, Deuteronomy 31:8 unfurling within her—a whispered prayer braided into the quickening rhythm of her heart.
"Mama, a dove!" Rhean squeals, bouncing on his feet as he tugs at Neva's hand.
Neva blinks at the white dove perched on a bare branch, promising life with melodious singing—pure and radiant against the tree's bleak, barren stillnes.
Warmth brushes against her side, a familiar, calloused hand intertwining with hers.
"We should go,'' Rhett says softly.
Neva nods, her gaze drifting toward the silhouettes of their companions as they blur into the misty morning,
fading with the growing distance.
"No—don't leave!" Rhean cries, crestfallen beneath the tree where the dove had perched. But the dove flutters into the yellowed light of the newborn sun, ignoring his desperate pleas.
"It flew away!" Rhean exclaims, dejection heavy in his voice as he turns back to them.
"You'll see it again," Neva says gently, while Rhett lifts him up as they reach him.
Rhean pouts, resting against his father's shoulder. "I'm hungry," he mumbles as the mist parts, painting Canawood into view, the echo of a rising town drifting on the warm scent of fresh bread and cheese.
Neva tugs her shawl over her head, and turns back toward the dark forest beyond the meadow, its silhouette swallowing the secret movement that had carried them through.
"Angel?" Rhett calls, his voice crossing the small distance between them.
With quick, eager steps, she reaches them and slips her hand into his outstretched one.
He squeezes her hand as the soft, damp grass yields to the hard, smooth stone pavement of the town, only just awakening for a bustling market day ahead.
It has been two weeks since Jeriah brought her the message of the final ministry fragment, destined to close before the snow melts under the young sun and the earth gives birth to shoots and bloom.
Unlike before, when they moved through lands hidden from the King's ministers, priests, and soldiers, among the poor and forgotten—this final preaching opens in the sprawling town of Canawood, sowing the seeds her Father prepared for all hearts.
"Adam!" Rhean waves at the little boy beneath an ancient evergreen.
He's tucked into the corner of a stone building with Apphia and Sky, behind open stairs leading to a home where dawn has yet to slip past the closed door.
Adam, his hand held snugly in his grandmother's, waves back. A smile lights his beautiful face as Rhean slips from his father's arms and hurries toward him.
"We should get you both something to eat," Rhett says, an arm sliding around her waist to pull her close.
"Okay," Neva replies, "though it seems Rhean's hunger is long forgotten."
She leans against him, her heart easing as she watches their son smile and nod to bright-eyed Adam, the two drifting into a world of gestures only they understand.
"Well, Rhean needs his fill too," Rhett says softly, "but I was talking about you and the baby." He presses a lingering kiss to her hair.
She meets his gaze, warm and protective; the gentle smile on his lips melting her from within.
She tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, smiles at his stunned eyes, then heads toward their companions in the quiet corner.
A pair of silver-armored soldiers vanish into an alley moments before familiar faces pass by, their expressions vague and unyielding until the narrowing distance lifts the blur.
Save for Maria, bright-faced, who leaves Jeremiah's side and hurries toward Neva.
"Sister Neva," Maria exclaims, drawing her into a fierce embrace. "How agonizing these hours have been without you."
Neva chuckles softly, patting Maria's back, her arms only tightening around her.
"I missed you too, Maria—but I can't really breathe right now."
"Oh—forgive me." Maria gently pulls away, glancing aside as she wipes away the tear on her cheek. "How insensitive of me," she says, laughing softly.
Neva smiles, but for a fleeting beat she catches the unguarded pain in Maria's eyes, deeper than the ache of separation alone.
"What's the plan, Boss?" Ace asks as he falls into step beside Sky.
He's dressed in a grey tunic and robes to blend in, while Sky wears a blue dress, golden hair slipping loose from the shawl draped over her head.
"Split into two units," Rhett commands,
arms crossed as his eyes cut across the disguised rebel guards.
"One spreads word of the sermon.
The other holds guard. No unnecessary exposure. Avoid all unsafe contact."
"We regroup here at five sharp tomorrow," he adds, the gold lid flashing as he closes the Full Hunter pocket watch.
"Eat breakfast before then."
An accord of voices acknowledges the command. The air parts as half the rebel guards move off, slipping from the shaded corner and out of sight.
Canawood swarms with life, cluttered voices and muffled movement filling the streets as people linger by shops and tiny stalls at the market's heart, the air rich with the scent of fresh bread, sweet fruit, and roasted meat.
And though Neva usually loves non-vegetarian food, her stomach turns queasy at the scent of roasted meat.
"I want oranges, Dada!" Rhean exclaims, tugging at his father's hand and pointing eagerly at a fruit stall ahead.
"Sure," Rhett says, turning to Neva.
But a frown tugs at his brows as she meets his eyes, the shawl pulled over her nose against the smell.
"What's wrong, Angel?" he asks.
"The smell," she whispers, fighting the knot in her throat.
"Do you feel sick?" he asks softly.
"I'll be fine," she mumbles,
looking toward Apphia, Maria, and Adam already at the fruit-laden stall ahead.
"Dada!" Rhean whines, tugging insistently at his father's hand. "Adam's already there!"
"Alright, alright," he mutters, giving in.
She lets the fabric fall as they reach the stall, the sweet aroma of fruits washing away the earlier offensive smells.
While Rhean selects smooth-skinned oranges, her gaze drifts to a distant silhouette: a boy ascending the steps of a tall podium.
Ace leans in and says something inaudible; Sky responds with a sharp frown of disgust.
Sky catches her gaze and offers a small smile, but Neva doesn't miss the faint flush blooming along her cheeks.
Neva looks to the boy again, standing alone atop the podium, scarcely more than a teenager.
And with astonishment, quiet joy, and a thread of fear woven through her breath, she watches him proclaim the Word of God to the crowd forming beneath him.
"Reckless," Rhett murmurs from beside her, "but brave."
Neva sighs, averting her gaze.
"Apple?" he teases, holding up a scarlet apple and giving it a little shake.
"Thank you," she says, accepting it with a smile.
"Mama, peel it like you always do!" Rhean beams, holding up a big orange for her.
Rhett's hand tousles the boy's hair, his grin fading a beat before Neva senses two figures approaching: a woman in her thirties and a middle-aged man.
As the woman steps forward, Rhett gently positions his wife and son behind him.
Her hand flies to her mouth as she gasps. "Prophetess…"
"What do you want?" Rhett asks, his eyes on the woman's unfamiliar face and the man behind her, cradling a little girl.
Neva frowns, hesitation tightening in her chest as she watches the woman glance at the man, hand on her rounded stomach.
"Is she not the prophetess?" the man asks, eyes wary as he gently pulls his wife back by the arm. "The one God has chosen to deliver us from the king?"
"I am she," Neva says.
Rhett casts her a questioning look, and she blinks at him in quiet reassurance.
The woman's eyes brighten as she steps forward, taking Neva's hands with gentle reverence. "Oh, I knew I could not have been mistaken. Adonai has answered our prayers."
"We were there, at the sermon in the Valley of Samaria. We are but some of the multitude who long to gather with you, under the mighty protection of Christ."
"So you shall," Neva says, squeezing her hands gently.
A smile touches her lips. "When shall we hear the Word again?
Where do we journey from here?"
"A sermon will be held tomorrow, and you are welcome to come with us," Neva replies.
Her eyes widen, grinning, she glances at her husband. "And have the prophetess and her companions a place prepared for the night?"
"No, not yet," Neva murmurs, her smile soft.
"Perfect!" she exclaims, clapping her hands. "We have many rooms in our home—come with us! Oh, how I forget," she laughs, gesturing. "This is my husband, Samuel, and our daughter, Zeruiah. I am Arzia."
Neva nods at the family, then meets her husband's eyes, silently asking for guidance. A subtle nod in return gives her all the reassurance she needs.
"Oh, we have much to prepare!" Arzia exclaims, beaming. "The Lord is so good!"
"My dearest," Samuel says, concern knitting his thick brows.
"Such restlessness will serve you poorly. Let the servants and I handle much of it."
"Oh, hush, Sam," Arzia says warmly, taking Neva's hand again. "Come—"
"What is this madness?!" a voice thunders, silencing Arzia mid-sentence.
Three soldiers climb the stairs, swords drawn, moving toward the young boy still preaching atop the podium. The crowd parts chaotically to make way for a priest with a long, greying beard, draped in a cream-colored tunic beneath black robes.
"Outrageous—utter madness!" the priest shrieks. "Kill him. Kill him here.
Let his death cleanse this square of heresy and fear into silence!"
Neva worries for the young follower of Christ,
who kneels with swords aimed at him, unflinching as he looks to the sky and prays.
"Do something, Rhett," she whispers.
He exhales and flicks a signal at Ace. With a subtle nod, Ace melts into the crowd, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
"Please, lead the way," Rhett says calmly.
Arzia, distracted from the young believer, turns toward them. "Yes, yes… indeed," she says, the color draining from her cheeks.