The Record of the Saints Caliber Read Free

the mass to an end with a final prayer to Aeoria and the music of the great brass pipe-organ began to reverberate. A man called out asking if there would be food today and a wave of murmurings spread across the congregation.
    Father Tarask held up his hands and said, “I know it has been a trying winter for all of us. We had to give up more of the community fields last summer than any of us had hoped. But spring is now upon us! Soon we shall plant crops again! Soon fields shall bloom and life and prosperity shall return to us! Certainly King Gatima will call an end to the shortages this summer and allow us to reclaim more of the fields for our own families.”
    “That’s what you said last year and the year before!” cried the man. “My wife and daughter are at home too weak to move! I lost a son this winter to starvation! Everybody here today has lost somebody to hunger!” Here the man tore off his dirty shirt which was little more than patchwork cloth. His stomach was sunken and filthy, his ribs clearly visible beneath the skin. “We go hungry while you stand up there fat as the hogs you keep hidden from us!”
    Father Tarask held up his hands and began addressing the audience, urging them to remain seated and calm, but his words were being drowned out by the mumblings of the audience. Rook could feel something happening; a palpable tension building amongst the people.
    The man who had ripped off his shirt turned to address the congregation. “We starve while they get fat!” he screamed at the men and women in the pews. “They receive shipments of grain and bread! Their homes all have pigs and cows and we have to come here every day and beg for the scraps from their tables!”
    Immediately the man was beset upon by a group of Sin Eaters. They descended upon him like a flock of crows and he seemed to disappear beneath their billowy cloaks as they took him away, screaming and struggling. Meanwhile, Father Tarask began reciting a prayer, asking Aeoria to forgive the man and his sins and to bless his family with food and health, but it was too late. Others began standing up, talking loudly and angrily amongst themselves. And then Mister Brumal stood up and shouted that his own sons were starving. Rook looked up at Mister Brumal, whose face had turned red with anger as he screamed at Father Tarask. And then he pointed a finger down at Rook and screamed, “For the love of Aeoria, they lost their father to hunger! How much longer must we suffer?!”
    At this Rook’s mother quickly grabbed him by the hand and they slid out of the pew quickly. “Come, Rook. We have to go.”
    “But—” began Rook, thinking desperately that this little uprising would certainly provoke some sort of giving of food, but his mother cut him off, saying that the Clerical Guard would be coming and they had to leave.
    Rook followed his mother, but couldn’t resist looking back as the people stood and yelled at Father Tarask. A few more families got up to leave as well. He turned back around just as his mother was opening the door and a group of Clerical Guards came bursting in, nearly throwing Rook, his mother and Ursula to the floor. They wore their red armor, lacquered and shining above their black bodysuits. Upon their heads were helmets that covered all but their eyes, their mouths covered by a grilled visor that Rook thought made them look like some otherworldly insect. Upon their rounded pauldrons was the holy star of Aeoria worn as a badge. In their hands were the heavy iron guns—bolt-throwers they were called—that made them so fearsome. Rook had only seen the guns used once before, on a man who had tried stealing a goat from the nobles. He was ordered to stop but starting running. That’s when the soldier raised the heavy gun in both hands. It roared to life with three quick blasts that sounded like a steel sledgehammer upon a metal anvil. The running man fell to the ground, his body torn open into mangled meat by the steel