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.
"No!" Rhean cries, rushing toward the tree where the dove had perched, now fluttering into the yellowed light of the newborn sun.
"We should go," Rhett says from behind her, his warmth brushing against her side.
"It flew away!" Rhean exclaims, dejection heavy in his voice as he turns back to them.
"You'll see it again," Neva says gently, her gaze drifting toward the silhouettes of their companions, blurring into the misty morning with the growing distance.
The boy only pouts as a smiling Rhett lifts him up. He rests his chin against his father's shoulder. "I'm hungry."
As father and son talk over how the day is to unfold, Canawood paints 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 swallows 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 just before the soft, damp grass yields to the hard, smooth stone pavement at the town's rear.
Canawood is 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."
In the quiet of the shaded corner, she leans against him, her heart easing as she watches Rhean smile at bright-eyed Adam.
The two boys slip into a world of gestures only they share, a language all their own.
"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 back at him, then heads toward their companions in the quiet corner.
A pair of silver-armored soldiers vanish into an alley across from them, moments before familiar faces emerge. 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 uncaring of me." She laughs softly.
Neva smiles, but for a fleeting beat she catches the unguarded pain in Maria's eyes, deeper than the ache of separation alone.
"Everyone's here, Boss. What's our next move?" Ace asks, falling into step with the rebel guards awaiting command.
Rhett crosses his arms, his eyes cutting across the disguised guards. "Split into two units."
"One spreads the word. The rest holds guard. No unnecessary exposure. Avoid all unsafe contact."
"We regroup here at five sharp," he adds, the gold lid flashing as he closes the Full Hunter pocket watch.
"Eat breakfast before then."
An accord of voices acknowledge the command before the air parts,
half the guards slipping from the shaded corner and out of sight.
"Come on," Rhett calls, extending a hand as his son bounces toward him.
While the dozen or so guards hang back, moving silently in their wake.
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.
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 replies, and turns to Neva.
He frowns as she meets his gaze, the shawl drawn over her nose against the offending scent.
"What's wrong, Angel?" he asks.
"It smells," she whispers, fighting the knot in her throat.
"Do you feel sick?" His voice softens.
"I'll be fine," she mumbles, looking toward Apphia, Maria, and Adam 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 undoubtedly responds with a sharp frown of disgust.
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.
Sky catches her gaze and offers a small smile, but Neva doesn't miss the faint flush blooming along her cheeks.
Neva gazes toward the boy again, standing alone atop the podium, scarcely more than a teenager.
And with astonishment, 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, then his grin fades 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…"
"Do you need something?" Rhett asks, gaze fixed 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 and steps forward.
Rhett casts her a questioning look. She blinks at him in quiet reassurance.
The woman's eyes brighten as she meets Neva, taking her hands with gentle reverence.
"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 squeezes 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," Neva replies. "And you are welcome to come with us."
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 into silence!"
A worried Neva prays for the young follower of Christ,
who kneels with swords aimed at him, unflinching as he looks to the sky.
"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.