The Multitude, стр. 10

of the portal. From what she’d been able to piece together after thousands of conversations with these locals and various travelers, the world she’d created was, in many respects, a biblical reflection of the original one across the smoke. Yet despite the Roman Empire’s survival here, a four-thousand-mile distance defeated the emperor’s attempts at authoritarian rule over the vast regions his armies had settled. Thus, Latin amounted to no more than the ineffective shadow cast by a toothless empire. A common language hadn’t been enough to prevent the colonists from splintering into tribes. Some, such as the barbarians across the border in Virtus, allowed themselves to be ruled from afar by proxy. Others, including these Mystics, proved impossible to control.

Gabriella likened these loveable people to the Judeans of Herod’s era and found significance in the similarity, grasping at this straw as evidence a new messiah would wander onto her cabin grounds sooner or later.

“Abyssus.” The woman’s initial wide-eyed reaction reverted to the stoic expression typically exhibited by members of her tribe. These hardy people preferred to reveal emotion only when it suited them. Otherwise, they favored the blank slate—maddening for an angel who couldn’t read minds on this side of the portal—another of the curses God had rained down on Gabriella’s head. She had no greater power here in Sanctimonia than the meekest of mortals.

“I’m Gabriella,” she said.

“I am Carmella.” They stared at each other for a long moment until the woman added, “What they say about you is true.”

“And that is…?”

“Goddess, you have the body of a fawn but the eyes of a lioness!”

“Don’t call me goddess. I am only a prophet!” Gabriella relished the love these people had for her, but good lord! If she allowed them to feed her vanity by worshipping her, she’d probably lose grace with God rather than regain his favor. The road to forgiveness had so many forks.

She had only herself to blame for her deification. She’d let the Mystics watch her pass through a portal that never admitted any of them, she’d stubbornly clung to her youthful appearance despite the passage of forty years, and she’d worked “miracles” by curing their illnesses. The medicines she brought through the portal always went flat and the food stale, but she knew how to make penicillin from bread mold and aspirin from the bark of a willow tree.

A cynical inner voice reminded her she craved adoration. Asura had been right about her vanity. For that reason, Gabriella had tried doubly hard to please God by helping these people, teaching such subjects as advanced navigation techniques, the use of cover crops to avoid erosion, and on a spiritual level, lessons from the Old Testament. Perhaps this visitor had come to hear a Bible story. Mystics took delight in hearing Gabriella verify their ancient myths about Abraham, Noah, and Moses. Her promises of a messiah thrilled them.

If only God would allow her to assume the role of savior! But the barrier had its own ideas.

The woman gestured toward the circular stone entranceway in the center of the wall. “You created a beautiful garden.”

“Your people lifted and set the stones at my direction, but yes, I planted every seed and dug the pond with my own hands.” Gabriella couldn’t hide the pride from her voice.

They gazed through the entranceway together. The replica of Asura’s garden seemed to captivate the young woman, just as it had enchanted legions of Mystics before her. After obtaining medicine or a hint of magic or whatever else Gabriella came up with, they’d linger on the bench and soak in the flowers, the shrubs, the stones, and the koi in the pond. They’d tell their stories.

Perhaps Carmella would add to the treasure trove of fact and folklore the others had already shared. Gabriella loved learning new details about their beliefs, ambitions, value systems, traditions, motivations, and dreams. But God hadn’t brought her here to serve as local historian. A messiah would come to her doorstep one day, and she needed to absorb enough local culture to bond with that person with ease.

Meanwhile, the timing of this visit was decidedly odd. The Mystics lived in constant danger from their hostile neighbors in Virtus. This woman had risked her freedom to visit during a period of border unrest. “You shouldn’t have traveled here alone,” Gabriella said.

The admonishment won a fleeting glance, but Carmella returned her attention to the garden. “I do what I must.”

“Virtus lies less than a mile southwest of here.”

“I’m familiar with the local geography.”

Although Carmella seemed distracted, Gabriella pressed on. “Five women have been stolen in the past week. Perhaps you’ll write to me about the geography after you’ve been dragged across the border and sold as a bride.”

Smoke rose from deep within the forest. The barbarians of Virtus might have been sacking a Mystic outpost even as Gabriella spoke.

Carmella swept an arm toward a thicker forest on the opposite side of the meadow. “If this region is so dangerous, why didn’t you settle farther away in a different clearing?”

Why indeed? Gabriella looked to the heavens. This cabin location certainly hadn’t been her choice.

“Because a goddess fears nothing! Nor does a Mystic.” Carmella delivered the answer to her own question with fierce pride shining in her eyes. “Woe betide the hapless raider who tries dragging me across the border.” She hiked her dress to reveal a curved dagger hidden against her calf.

“Good luck with that. We both know the raiders carry far more weaponry than a butter knife.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You don’t want to be captured by the barbarians of Virtus, Carmella. They stone adulteresses and crucify thieves. They slaughter innocents to thrill the crowds in the arena.” A persistent throb in Gabriella’s temples reminded her who had inadvertently created such a people.

“All right, then. Let’s speak of innocents.” Carmella leaned toward the garden. “Stop hiding, Maynya! Come greet our hostess.”

A girl’s giggle rose above the white noise of crickets from the other side of the stone wall.

“Good heavens, Carmella! You traveled alone