The devil's breath was over the entire territory. A bright white sun sat motionless in the cloudless yellow sky and was quite painful to look at with the naked eye. Even at such an early hour the unyielding heat produced an unbearable quality of heaviness. It was really hard to believe that harvest time was rapidly approaching. At least this is what a stranger to the territory thought to himself as he strolled along a dry soil road surrounded on both sides by acres on acres of agricultural crops. The stranger was regular looking enough, having grey skin and a tangled mess of cropped black hair. He wore tattered peasant clothing made of flax. Over one shoulder he lugged a small soiled cloth wrapped in a bundle, apparently his only belongings.
As the stranger walked on, he spotted large sections within the fields where months of abnormal heat had caused extensive damage to the crops. This seemed to be the case throughout the region. A set of windmills could be seen in the distance and from time to time the man passed groups of souls trudging out to the fields. The further he penetrated the property, the number of souls already at work in the fields increased.
The askew road led the stranger into a spacious clearing which centered an evenly proportioned estate house made of light colored stone, obviously belonging to the plantation owner. The house was a solid looking and sizeable structure with a wide stone front porch. This luxurious portico was shaded by a second story balcony constructed of wood. The walkway appeared to wrap around the entire upper level of the house where glass doors with fancy light colored curtains could hardly be ignored. There were various chairs and a hanging wood swing on the lower platform placed neatly near a nicked up wooden entrance door which appeared to be the only way in or out. The vertical zenith of the house was a bulky chimney which stood idle due to the heat. There also appeared to be an enclosed veranda, surrounded by a white picket fence and a mess of unmanaged shrubbery, attached to the rear of the house. The vast front lawn had been trampled to near nothing and a dilapidated stable was located slightly over a hundred yards to the left of the house. Behind the stable another crop field, filled with toiling souls, stretched into the distance where a collection of numerous huts formed a cluttered village. Behind the right side of the house, at a distance, stood a thin and nearly depleted wooded area between two additional fields. The sparkling reflection of water originating from near the trees, possibly a small pond, offered the illusion of fire.
The stranger utilized his bare right forearm to wipe the sweat from the smooth grey flesh of his brow and approached the house. Loud vengeful cursing came from the direction of the stable area where a golem sized overseer chased after a scrawny stable hand. The pursuer was a brutish looking man wearing a flimsy, and quite filthy, ranch hat which kept the sun from his savage eyes. The ruthless looking man wore a rough black leather vest with no sleeves over a tight fitting soiled t-shirt and soil smeared cotton work slacks with worn down boots. The grey skin which covered the overseer's beast like face was badly afflicted with deep craters remnant of a childhood skin disorder or possible long ago violence. The skinny servant attempting a futile escape was an older, malnourished soul with shaved head and an exasperated facial expression. The left ear of the escapee had been cut away long ago leaving a hideous scar which identified him as property.
By the time the overseer had managed to catch hold of the servant and fling him to the ground, the stranger was close enough to witness the violence. But the presence of a visitor didn't detour the overseer, who was foaming in a fit of heated agitation, from showering a storm of violence on the shrieking servant who was curled in a fetal position on the ground. The form of violence was mixed between heavy fists, kicks and an occasional smite from a flogging whip, though the implement was still coiled.
"You rotten no good one ear! Take dat', you dirty one ear dog! Dat'll teach you to water a colt worth dat' much like dat' way!" raged the overseer as he brutally increased the beating.
"Is that necessary?" asked the stranger with forced indifference.
The monstrous overseer froze in a clenched fist, hunched over position and glared with vast irritation at the stranger. The battered servant took advantage of the interruption made on his behalf by rolling to a kneeling position, scrambling to his feet and hastening back to the stable with a severe limp.
"Whut bus'nuss you got here, mister?" questioned the overseer gruffly as he straightened his posture and studied the newcomer. The first place the overseer's bloodshot eyes looked was the stranger's ears, neither of which marked him as property. He was a free man. The second examination was spent on the stranger's frame similar to the way a gladiator might size up an opponent.
"I'm seeking work. Is the estate master on the grounds?" replied the stranger.
The overseer tilted his head back contemptuously, allowing the sun's touch on his unshaven and scarred face then grunted in ill humor.
"Work, eh? Wait here." the overseer replied in a dry tone. Leisurely the brute went up onto the porch of the estate house where he rallied a sleeping canine with a hard kick. Once the dog was out of the way the golem removed his hat and knocked at the front door. He was let in by someone on the inside and the door closed behind him. Within a minute, the overseer returned outdoors stuffing tobacco into his bottom lip as he made his way back to where the stranger waited.
"It'll be an hour or more before Mr. Capidolbred be able to see you, if you was want'n ta' wait it out. It'd be a waste uh time, though. Ain't no work around here. I'm Ducayne. I enforce law round here." the overseer declared sloppily and without any trace of amicability.
The stranger nodded comprehension and began to look around. Ducayne spit tobacco at the stranger's feet.
"Where you from, mister? You from da' East where dey' got all that liberty bosh goin? You can't see dat' we got souls in these here parts?" interrogated Ducayne.
"Yes, I know about souls. But free or not, in this world a man needs work to subsist." replied the stranger as he looked Ducayne directly in the eyes.
A sarcastic grin spread wide across Ducayne's face exhibiting crooked yellow teeth and a film covered tongue. The amusement vanished quickly and was replaced by a turbulent sea of bitterness.
"Da' hired help round these parts can barely keep food ..ble fo' our own families as it is." growled Ducayne.
And the overseer walked off towards the stable area in an even fouler mood than he had originally been.
--2--
"You are submerged in your vulgar credit, William! What this cursed heat hasn't destroyed of your crop produce, the yellow mold and the unruliness of your servants have!" Templeton Capidolbred lectured his younger brother William.
The two brothers had been born by a wealthy family of landowners whose name held high esteem among the local gentry, but that was as far as the similarities went. The elder brother Templeton had left the cozy graces of paternal protection early in life to join an army regiment in defending the Eastern territories during the wars of insurrection against the church. By this decision, his history was set. The repeated insurrections were brutally crushed by the state and in the process Templeton Capidolbred had been awarded some of the highest awards obtainable to a loyalist officer serving in the field of battle. There was much praise and speculation as to which honorable young maiden he might choose for a wife upon his return home. But Templeton's bright homecoming had been severely darkened by the sudden death of both parents, the result of a continent wide plague which followed the wars of insurrection against the church. This travesty along with reoccurring dreams of death and war drove Templeton to excessive drink and heavy gambling. Within a few tumultuous years of self destruction, Templeton had succeeded in squandering all traces of inheritance left to him by his parents. Left only with a soldier's annual, a meager amount despite his awards of merit, Templeton eventually took an administrative post in the territory of his youth and managed to secure a small piece of land which he cultivated with his own hands. Never taking a wife and living in solitude outside of his employment, Templeton began to sober in the face of shrinking currency value and vast inflation which began to choke the West.
It was with the nagging premonition that the economy would fall worse before getting better which had prompted Templeton to pay a visit to his younger brother's estate. Originally Templeton had promised himself that no matter which direction the conversation went that he would only let his conscience and concern be known. But William's stubborn denial concerning the multiple troubles surrounding his estate drove Templeton on in fervently speaking his mind.
"The heat is not going to let, William. And the two new fields you irrigated and planted are filled with rocks! I took a look this morning. Do you really expect to produce crops worth sale from that soil?" argued Templeton.
Dressed as usual in his dark brown military uniform decorated with four rows of war ribbons placed neatly over his left breast, Templeton was pacing back and forth through the many antiquities of the main parlor. Over the years William had left every piece of furniture as it had been during the last years before the death of their parents. The grandfather clock ticked as loudly as it had always done. The grand piano of polished oak was still in place. Father's desk was still positioned near the window. The oak seats padded with mother's embroidered cushions hadn't been moved. And the massive floor rug which had been brought back from the East still covered the center floor. Everything was exactly the same and it agitated Templeton who stopped to stare at a large wall mirror which was surprisingly a fresh addition to the parlor. Templeton hesitated at his reflection. How age had taken him. His cropped black hair, always kept in short military fashion which showed off both of his full ears, was white in places and receded as if backing away from an approaching specter. His rough grey face was strained and wrinkled. Only the spirit in his eyes had not faded over the years and the dark pupils were still those of a killer. The memories of violent war would never fade and his eyes gave up that secret on contact.
"What a vain fellow my brother is." William Capidolbred joked. "All the way home and all he wants to do is talk dreary politics and gaze at himself in a mirror."
"I am attempting to speak with you seriously, William." Templeton sighed. He turned sharply and looked across the room where William was reclining with the previous day's edition of the territorial press print.
William Capidolbred shared the same build and bone structure as his older brother. Only never knowing the heartless embrace of war, his facial features were generally jocular and pleasant. He was in no way bad looking for a man on the declining side of middle age. His grey skin appeared to the eye as soft and smooth. His cropped black hair pomaded. He dressed in gentlemen's trousers made of cotton and a sweat dampened dress shirt with sleeves rolled up. Despite the windows being open the room was very hot and stuffy.
"It's not as bad as you say, brother." William insisted. He dropped his newspaper and got to his feet in order to sit at the piano and tap the keys as if checking the sound of each.
"It is for a man already choking on his credit. Look, William. Man to man. Brother to brother. Why not sell now to George Bullion before time and fate combine and the bank closes on you? You won't possibly stay above water through the next harvest. I know you have an understanding of business, William." cried Templeton.
"I should think that I have proven that."
"Then you understand that should the bank find opportunity of closing on you, that beast of mammon Mr. Goldman will follow the rule of all bankers and simply approve the confiscation of all you own and sell it to George Bullion or some other buyer at a profit. It matters nothing to a bank whether you pay your debts or if they sell you out to another as long as the blasted institution turns over an eight percent profit. Not to mention, brother, that when the liberation movement comes West from the East you will quite possibly be required by law to free all of your souls. That alone will be enough in lost capital to ruin you twice over if indeed you aren't already in ruin by that time."
"I beg to differ, Templeton. The whims of those Eastern sophists will never gain ground here in the West especially among our great and honorable politicians." William declared optimistically.
"Honorable politicians? Bosh! Politicians are keen to making deals with banks at the expense of the people. Why do you think proposed laws and measures are voted on by the panel of sixty representatives? So no individual law maker can be held solely accountable for the tricks and bad decisions inflicted on the people for the people!"
William chuckled at his older brother's blatant dislike for politicians.
"I truly appreciate your concern, Templeton, but…"
"William, in the name of the three daughters of God, why do you cling to such a hopelessly lost situation? You and Elizabeth have no heir. And you're no longer a young man, either. If you sell before disaster strikes you can buy a smaller piece of land with no credit strings to eventually choke you."
Being reminded that his wife's womb was barren and that he himself was no longer at a prime age caused a solemn and dejected revolution to sweep over William's face. He attempted to suppress the spasm, succeeding somewhat, but the emotional pain was still evident.
William Capidolbred had lived quite a different life than his older brother Templeton. While Templeton had eagerly left home searching out the experience of patriotism and war, William had remained in the cozy grace of his parents in order to assist his father in managing the family estates. In doing so, he had gained valuable experience in developing crop fields and managing the souls working them. He had even become familiar with and taught religion to some of the older souls like old Daddy Roshka.
"The heat is not going to let, William. And the two new fields you irrigated and planted are filled with rocks! I took a look this morning. Do you really expect to produce crops worth sale from that soil?" argued Templeton.
Dressed as usual in his dark brown military uniform decorated with four rows of war ribbons placed neatly over his left breast, Templeton was pacing back and forth through the many antiquities of the main parlor. Over the years William had left every piece of furniture as it had been during the last years before the death of their parents. The grandfather clock ticked as loudly as it had always done. The grand piano of polished oak was still in place. Father's desk was still positioned near the window. The oak seats padded with mother's embroidered cushions hadn't been moved. And the massive floor rug which had been brought back from the East still covered the center floor. Everything was exactly the same and it agitated Templeton who stopped to stare at a large wall mirror which was surprisingly a fresh addition to the parlor. Templeton hesitated at his reflection. How age had taken him. His cropped black hair, always kept in short military fashion which showed off both of his full ears, was white in places and receded as if backing away from an approaching specter. His rough grey face was strained and wrinkled. Only the spirit in his eyes had not faded over the years and the dark pupils were still those of a killer. The memories of violent war would never fade and his eyes gave up that secret on contact.
"What a vain fellow my brother is." William Capidolbred joked. "All the way home and all he wants to do is talk dreary politics and gaze at himself in a mirror."
"I am attempting to speak with you seriously, William." Templeton sighed. He turned sharply and looked across the room where William was reclining with the previous day's edition of the territorial press print.
William Capidolbred shared the same build and bone structure as his older brother. Only never knowing the heartless embrace of war, his facial features were generally jocular and pleasant. He was in no way bad looking for a man on the declining side of middle age. His grey skin appeared to the eye as soft and smooth. His cropped black hair pomaded. He dressed in gentlemen's trousers made of cotton and a sweat dampened dress shirt with sleeves rolled up. Despite the windows being open the room was very hot and stuffy.
"It's not as bad as you say, brother." William insisted. He dropped his newspaper and got to his feet in order to sit at the piano and tap the keys as if checking the sound of each.
"It is for a man already choking on his credit. Look, William. Man to man. Brother to brother. Why not sell now to George Bullion before time and fate combine and the bank closes on you? You won't possibly stay above water through the next harvest. I know you have an understanding of business, William." cried Templeton.
"I should think that I have proven that."
"Then you understand that should the bank find opportunity of closing on you, that beast of mammon Mr. Goldman will follow the rule of all bankers and simply approve the confiscation of all you own and sell it to George Bullion or some other buyer at a profit. It matters nothing to a bank whether you pay your debts or if they sell you out to another as long as the blasted institution turns over an eight percent profit. Not to mention, brother, that when the liberation movement comes West from the East you will quite possibly be required by law to free all of your souls. That alone will be enough in lost capital to ruin you twice over if indeed you aren't already in ruin by that time."
"I beg to differ, Templeton. The whims of those Eastern sophists will never gain ground here in the West especially among our great and honorable politicians." William declared optimistically.
"Honorable politicians? Bosh! Politicians are keen to making deals with banks at the expense of the people. Why do you think proposed laws and measures are voted on by the panel of sixty representatives? So no individual law maker can be held solely accountable for the tricks and bad decisions inflicted on the people for the people!"
William chuckled at his older brother's blatant dislike for politicians.
"I truly appreciate your concern, Templeton, but…"
"William, in the name of the three daughters of God, why do you cling to such a hopelessly lost situation? You and Elizabeth have no heir. And you're no longer a young man, either. If you sell before disaster strikes you can buy a smaller piece of land with no credit strings to eventually choke you."
Being reminded that his wife's womb was barren and that he himself was no longer at a prime age caused a solemn and dejected revolution to sweep over William's face. He attempted to suppress the spasm, succeeding somewhat, but the emotional pain was still evident.
William Capidolbred had lived quite a different life than his older brother Templeton. While Templeton had eagerly left home searching out the experience of patriotism and war, William had remained in the cozy grace of his parents in order to assist his father in managing the family estates. In doing so, he had gained valuable experience in developing crop fields and managing the souls working them. He had even become familiar with and taught religion to some of the older souls like old Daddy Roshka.
When William had reached legal age, he married. The match was a prearranged one between his parents and a prominent land owner named John Dewolf. Dewolf had offered the hand of his only daughter Elizabeth along with a very sizable dowry. The wedding festivities were storybook despite the disappointment over Templeton's absence due to a renewal of violence against the church in the Eastern provinces. As a wedding gift from his parents, William was given a large estate and eight hundred prime souls. The honeymoon years were happy ones for William and Elizabeth, but they produced no children and it soon became evident that the territory they had known since childhood was changing rapidly. The long years of hardship during the wars of insurrection against the church saw many lands and properties owned by accused "heretics" confiscated by the state and church acting in unison. Many of the confiscated lands were liquidated through the banks and sold to the highest bidder. In the majority of cases the larger landowners took advantage of their capital supremacy to accumulate a majority of the territory. With much of the land and raw materials in an elite group of hands, the larger landowners who had benefited during the periods of war could easily utilize their accumulated capital resources to muscle smaller landowners into debt and sale during times of peace. And they did so. Despite being a loyalist family, William watched helplessly as his parents lost several estates during this consolidation period due to the fact that they could not compete economically. Then everything had suddenly changed. The deadly plague after the wars practically reduced the population of the continent in half taking William's parents and Elizabeth's father with it. These were the memories playing through William's mind as he listened to Templeton's argument.
"True, Templeton. My wife has not given me an heir and sadly you have chosen not to take a wife. Despite all, I will not sell. This plantation is all that remains of father and mother's estates. Out of all the great property passed down through mother's blood line this is the last that remains with our blood. We played on many of those plantations as children, remember? I'll be damned if the bankers or George Bullion, who already holds much of our parent's land, will seize this last estate while I breath. I see your aggravation, brother. I see it in your face. But work around here will simply have to be doubled up. Ducayne, my best overseer, will just have to take another pay cut. So will the other overseers. I hate having to do it. Those men are first class overseers who know through experience how to keep the clamp down. And my souls, my souls will simply have to know what harder work is. Longer work hours will create higher work production to ease our situation. Whatever must be done to preserve and resurrect this estate, I will have it doe. But I have long ago decided not to sell."
Templeton frowned. "You are a fool, brother."
At that point a domestic soul wearing a servant's dress reaching down to her ankles with a matching bonnet covering her ears entered the parlor. Her docile grey face was pretty and she bowed and spoke softly.
"Master William, my mistress requests you out on verandah."
--3--
"Better git ta' yo' field, boy, fo' I tell one'a massa's seers!" threatened a male soul working the edge of a field. The earnest warning was purposely kept at a low enough level not to arouse the attention of overseers. Atam paid little heed to the threat and continued running. The afternoon was much hotter than had been the case on the previous day which to the great dismay and complaint of the souls had been much hotter than the previous two days. The air was dry and heavy bringing sweat out of the flesh with ease. To make matters worse rain had been scarce in the territory through two entire lunar cycles. The dirt path which Atam trod was baked and cracked, but not particularly painful on his bare coarse feet.
Only a boy of eight Atam had an underdeveloped chest with skinny arms and a lanky build. His head was shaved as was custom with all male souls in order to make his mutilated ear easy to spot. The boy's most prominent facial features were his dark eyes and nostrils. The only clothing the child wore on his body were flax pants which were tattered at the knee. Those pants were the only piece of clothing the boy still possessed from the meager rations handed out before the previous cold season and the only clothing he would have until the upcoming cold season when the estate master would once again distribute annual rations. Horizontally across the grey flesh of the child's back were two deep scars, the result of an overseer's flogging whip. The deeper of scars were as healed as they were going to get. The second set was a more recent work.
The boy was coming from the rear of "ol' massa's" house by way of a dirt trail which, bordered on one side by woodland, traced one of the smaller fields on the plantation. Cutting across one of two dirt clearings Atam reached the backside of the village without trouble and slowed his pace in order to catch his breath. The poignant smell of excrement hung heavily about the cramped collection of small mud brick huts. Despite a few elderly women souls looking after the sick and infantile the village was usually empty and quiet during daylight hours unless weather disrupted the work day. From behind a hut at the edge of the village Atam gazed without detection on the field where an hour earlier he had been working along side his father and the other souls. When he had slipped away unnoticed from the uncountable rows of agriculture which constituted so much of the world, the field had been under the supervision of three overseers on horseback. To the utter dismay of every soul present, one of the overseers was the quick tempered and often drunk Ducayne. Ducayne was feared and silently hated by every soul on the plantation due to the extreme brutality he applied in the discipline of "rotten one ear" souls. Not only was the man's violence unprecedented even among peers of the trade, he took great pride that the name Ducayane was not known and feared exclusively on Capidolbred's estate. Each year, if it was a year William Capidolbred bought and brought in a new litter of souls, it was Ducayne's custom to gather every woman soul on the plantation along with their male children in order to publicly execute a full grown male soul of the strongest physical appearance. Rumor around the village held that one year Ducayane and the other overseers tied a male soul between two horses to where his arms were bound to the hind legs of one horse, his legs bound to the hind legs of another horse. White hot iron rods were then used to start the horses in opposite directions ripping the soul's body into two bloody fragments. Rumors concerning other years had told of Ducayne simply using shotguns or fire. Atam had never believed the gruesome stories, considering them scare tactics to make young souls work their hardest, until he himself was made to witness. Just before his mother was sold away to one of the neighboring plantations, Atam was among the gathered group taken to the wretched annual. On that occasion Ducayne had only used a flogging whip equipped with sharp metal tips at the end of the lash. The gathered group of woman and children souls was told that they would get the same lash if they turned their gaze away from the upcoming spectacle.
The grey skinned body of the male soul to be executed was solid muscle and top physical stature. What was more, this soul possessed the fire of resistance in his eyes. Despite being stripped naked and verbally abused by the drunken overseers, the soul to be executed spoke loudly and passionately to the women and children souls about taking liberty until the fourth lash dropped. It was the fourth lash that took his ability to speak. With hands tied and bound to one of the various whipping posts, the soul was lashed repeatedly across the region of his torso, from neck to his ribs, far beyond being covered with blood and tattered flesh.
But the violence itself hadn't been the most terrible lesson to Atam. He had been standing, crying, near enough to Ducayne to overhear the overseer explaining the ideology "of dis' here ritual" to a fellow overseer.
"We don't have no insurrections round these parts, Mr. Lowen. You go tell your Mr. Bullion dat' dar'. I makes sure, no insurrections. And how I do it is dis' here. I get all da' one ear wenches wit' dey' little bastard sons dat' dey' love so much and I show 'em 'zactly what'll happen to any strong minded… or strong bodied one ear, ha-ha-ha, dat' makes trouble around here! I destroy da' father figure of da' family right in front of dey' eyes in da' most violent way. If you show da' one ear wenches what'll happen to a full grown one ear, and I knows from experience, dey' goes back ta' their little huts and raises them sons up ta' be obedient. Dem' one ear wenches ain't as dumb as dey' look! Dey' will teach they sons not to be trouble or resistant cause they know what'll happen if dem' boys grow into resistant one ears. I tell ya' it works. I read it from a manual some soul breeder from da' East wrote…uh, before all dat' cursed liberty talk started up there."
Atam shook the disturbing memory from his mind and continued scanning the field hoping for a distraction that would permit him back among the assemblage of working souls without being detected by the overseers and punished. Nothing in the field appeared out of order. Working went on at regular pace while the overseers on horseback told jokes. Atam visually searched over the numerous men and women souls which varied of all ages until he caught a brief glance of Braham's shaved head and muscular grey shoulders bobbing up and down within the mesh of agriculture. Atam watched his father work. The man was just as devout towards a day's work as he was towards the "one God". Atam could recall the days before his mother had been taken away to another plantation. In those days Braham was no father figure and spent nearly every free hour and holiday drinking heavily alongside some of the loudest and coarse souls in the village. But coming off a holiday binge to the sudden realization that his wife, who had bore him his only son, was no longer on the plantation had struck a drastic change in Braham. He broke from drinking and began to pray daily. And within a year of turning to God Braham began discussions with his fellow souls, many of whom worshipped the daughters of God as taught by the free men, about the concept of one God. Despite receiving lashes on many occasions for speaking his mind against the "free man's" beliefs, Braham's concept of one God had slowly gained a small group of followers within the village. Atam did not plunge head first into his father's new faith, but listened carefully and received much to consider. One thing Braham would always tell Atam was "Fear God not the seer. Fear God not the lash.".
Atam didn't completely understand the concept of God or the mass confusion which surrounded discussions concerning God, but he certainly did not fear the lash. To Atam a lashing or two was well worth the risk of sneaking up to the estate house in order to see Eva. It was some crush that Atam had developed for the young girl. Eva was often his only thought during the long days of exhausting labor. Reflections of her were all that got him through the later hours of most work days. Eva was around the same age as Atam, though no soul knew their exact age, only she had been born the daughter of a domestic woman soul named Lindsey. Eva worked at her mother's side in "massa's kitchen" every day. She was a very cute young girl, slightly chubby compared to other souls her age, but that was the advantage of working as a domestic in "massa's kitchen".
An outburst in the field recaptured Atam's drifting attention. One of the older male souls had in some way provoked Ducayne's wrath. The overseer, utilizing the stirrups attached to the saddle of his horse in order to pool his strength with that of the beast, delivered a lash from his flogging whip. The pathetic old soul tried to duck and scamper but wasn't fast enough. The blow struck the side of the soul's face, eliciting a shriek of pain and a hideous laceration which sent blood rolling down his cheek. Atam knew that the scene was enough to attract all attention and quickly prepared to run back into the field as if he had been there the entire time. He shuffled his feet and…
"Hey, there. You."
Caught between an impulse sent from his brain to run and the instinctive reaction of stopping after hearing a voice calling, Atam looked back toward the heart of the village and saw a man he had never seen before. The approaching man did not look like a soul, for his head was topped by a mess of cropped black hair and the only male souls allowed to have hair were fugitive run away souls. Despite wearing sandals, the stranger wore a tattered flax shirt while most souls at that time of year were shirtless. The man's grey face was covered in perspiration and he clutched a soiled bundle in his hand. He appeared unfamiliar with his surroundings and indeed neither of the man's ears had been marked. He was a free man and what surprised Atam more was that the man was unarmed. Atam gazed from the free man back to the field and thought about making a run for it.
"I've been told that a house of worship exists in this village. Am I near it?" the stranger asked.
