By midday, the company had emerged from the woods onto open, rolling plains. In the distance rose stoic hills, and upon one sat a small village surrounded by fields gone fallow. As they rode nearer, an oppressive silence hung over the hovel-like homes and dirt lanes between. No children played, no women worked—an abandoned quality permeated the scene.
Richard halted before the largest hut and dismounted, worry gnawing at his heart. Lady Sophia rested a slender hand on his mailed arm. Tread carefully, friend—there is work here of fell magicks, I deem.
Within, they found a sparse gathering of gaunt villagers sitting mute and hollow-eyed as ghosts. At Richard's approach, one hoary elder raised his head. Plague came without warning; he croaked. First the crops, then people fell, like wheat, before the scythe. None were spared. Save these few shells, you see.
As he spoke, Richard surveyed the ailing folk with a doctor's eye, learning from his studies. These symptoms indicate no natural pestilence. He kneeled before an emaciated woman and took her chill hand in his warm grasp, praying soundlessly while laying his other hand upon her wasted brow. A breath and a faint golden glow blossomed from his fingertips and spread through her veins. Color seeped back into sallow cheeks as restoration took hold.
The villagers watched rapt as more miracles followed—a baby's wail, a man roused from comatose slumber. Hope kindled dimly where none had been as blessings multiplied. By nightfall, all signs of the curse had lifted, and folk began to stir from their long mourning. In the hut's hearth-glow, Richard led them in the Lord's Prayer, their voices gaining strength with each verse.
Outside, William glowered, kicking at stones. Let us go; the horse needs fodder, and this place offers nothing to fortify our quest. Richard turned to the elder. Friends, you have your lives renewed, but dark times may yet return. Guard your faith and community well. I must go, but pray always that light of Yeshua will shine on even your darkest of days.
As they prepared to depart, villagers pressed around with bundles of supplies. Though small, these gifts were proffered with abundant joy and thanks. Yet William accepted none, mounting up with a sneer. Faith may fill bellies in storybooks, he said, but in life we must take our fortunes into our own hands. The sooner we find this bible and end this fool's errand, the better.
Through it all, Richard held fast to hope, saddling up as the villagers' hymns of praise to Yeshua echoed behind him like blessings on the wind. His heart told him their mission was more than conquest alone—that through persevering faith in Yeshua, even the greatest of darkness might yet be conquered.