Book One of the Heretic Chronicles: The Awakening

Chapter Three

Lorden Plains was unusually quiet. The only sound seemed to be the horse's hooves and the turning wheels against the cobblestone street. The few houses they passed were silent. The place should be a hub of activity with the Autumn Festival only a few days away. But, as Nogart and his father crossed the Kemple Bridge into the heart of town, they only saw a couple of shopkeepers, the local constable seemingly on his way somewhere, and a few individuals on their way to wherever they normally went. Perhaps the threat of rain and the increasing cold had most people seeking the warmth of their homes.

Nogart froze as his eyes rested on Charlinda's home. She was in there somewhere, not that he had ever been invited inside. Her father, a strict man, only allowed possible suitors to cross the threshold to see his daughter. And, in his eyes, Nogart was not that man. The Wilmont's were not going to advance his wealth in any way. The part of him that loved Charlinda more than anything, wanted to jump off the wagon, burst into the house, and take her in his arms. Instead, he watched her house disappear from his line of sight. Can I really do that to her?

"There will be plenty of time for that," Vorgan said.

Time. Was there time? How much time? The Creator would be coming for him, and nothing would be the same. Nothing is already the same. Nogart sighed heavily.

"As soon as we deliver the harvest, you can spend the rest of the day with Charlinda. I expect you'll be wanting a room at the inn?"

Nogart blushed. He thought about Charlinda in his bed, actually most days that was all he thought about. He smiled. This was the first time since awakening that he felt like Nogart and not Alexander. He had dreamed about the moment when their bodies would finally come together more times than he could count. But, hearing someone other than himself say it aloud made it seem too real.

"Alexander, why are you blushing? You've had women in your bed before, more than you can count," a familiar voice called out in his head.

Instinctively, he looked at his father and realized that he had not spoken. The voice belonged to his spirit guide, Norman. Every life had one, most people only thought of it as their inner voice, their conscience. Everyone could hear them, they just had to listen. Of course, some were chattier than others. Norman was a middle of the road kind of spirit guide. He only interjected when absolutely necessary, or whenever it entertained him.

"Norman. Why have you been quiet?"

"You have not needed me."

Norman was right. Figuring out the right thing to do had always come naturally to Nogart. And, if something troubled him, he could always speak with his father. Even Mistress Larden gave him council, especially when he did not ask. It was the mother in her. As much as it annoyed him, Nogart was thankful that she cared as much as she did. He only wished she would be more discreet when she did so.

"I need you now. What has happened? Mistress Enza was brief. I do not think He wants her to fully know."

"What is between you and the Creator is between you and the Creator. I cannot interfere."

"How about you be helpful and offer some advice?"

"You know the rules."

Nogart sighed. "Yeah, I know." He paused. "Where is the Creator?"

"He's still in the Gavin Quadrant. It's been pretty serious over there. We're losing a world. The planet is dying. And, we do not know why. They've been trying to transport the inhabitants to a new location. The Creator can do a lot of things, but creating an entire world in time is not one of them. It's a complete mess."

"Sounds like it."

Norman coughed.

"Sounds like what, son?"

Nogart turned to see his father staring back at him. The wagon had stopped. They arrived at Bellnor's Market, their harvest destination.