Damned!

Outrage Part 2

 Father McNalster had watched the grievances and conflict through guarded eyes. He hated seeing Giovanna being pushed aside and Ein being threatened with jail. He knew his own job was under fire, but more importantly, he realized just how much this community meant to him. He realized how lost he would feel without

their ties.

Even though his grandson's efforts were valiant, he sincerely doubted whether the suits in the capital would wield a deal that would be anything more than compensatory for the Gandan people. He knew the archbishop for many years and his selfish ways of gaining power that led to his climb in the church and the Thas government. The Gandan's would certainly not come out ahead.

It did not help that the priest spoke up on behalf of the Gandans, remarking that perhaps Hoveting or Mayor Mignon should have included more correspondence. He pressed on Dominez that the opportunity to hear the people's voice had been overlooked, which had angered the parishioners and caused the campout.

"Whose fault was that?" Dominez had retorted stubbornly refusing to see how his pressure to get the job done quickly had backfired on him and caused so much trouble in Medium Cruces.

After Dominez had placed a call inside the church to President Hoveting, the archbishop insisted on staying overnight at the village hotel, most likely for the opportunity of comfort where he could be fed a full morning breakfast. Father McNalster could not say he was disappointed. He suspected that Dominez was raging with the recent events and most likely would not prefer company. Father McNalster could only comply with his wishes; but in his heart he had decided that this was the last straw of their correspondence together. He could no longer trust his companions at the top.

Taking off his frock, he grabbed his black raincoat and the backpack that had been packed for just this occasion. Stepping into the moist night air with the rain that drizzled on his jacket, he was reminded of his first night he had arrived in Medium Cruces. The church was not built yet, and he had arranged to seek shelter at the village inn, two miles outside the center of the village, while introductions were made. He had been surprised at the hospitality of the villagers, and within a day's time he had been taken into a family's home, being told that the food and lodging was much better.

Like many families, their dependence on the river was evident and the first trip through the village led straight to the many fishing boats that gathered throughout the day on Roshana. When he threw the net out at the water, he related the story of Jesus telling his disciples which way to fish. The men listened with laughter in their eyes.

"It seems that perhaps the disciples did not revere Horah?"

"What is Horah?" the priest had asked.

Jango, the young man who had brought Heinrich, relayed the connection between the river god and the bird god.

"If the disciples believed in both gods, they would have understood the division of power was to be shared. Just as we share our goods with you."

Heinrich had frowned.

"How can there be multiple gods in charge of destiny? That is not what I believe."

Later, as he built the church with the help of the villagers and brought about the community events that corresponded to religious holidays, he noticed that even with their enthusiastic participation the people still did not do away with polygamist religion. This had irked him for some time and been the source of many admonishments during sermons. Still, he could not help but have a softness for their generous spirits. The laughter of the women and children, the hardworking attitudes of the men. The gossip and gatherings of the young adults. Maybe paradise is a place where you are accepted, no matter what your belief was, as he had been.

The village market had long been closed down as the hour neared midnight, the soft drizzle of the rain covered all other whispers, and the air seemed eerie in expectation. As if in response, the wind whipped up. He listened for a moment to the swish through the river bank trees and was comforted.

He quickened his step towards his destination. When he got to the entrance, he unhooked his backpack, prepared the box of matches he had brought with him and made sure the long sticks of dynamite were within ease of reach. The mud on the entrance would betray his footsteps, but he was hoping he could cover his tracks in the aftermath. He did not want to disturb the temporary sleeping inhabitants nearby and wished to remain unseen.

So far, nobody on the premises had noticed him. Looking around carefully, he slipped through and made his way towards his target. He placed the dynamite sticks all around and led the rope back to outside the entrance. In his rush the door slammed shut, and he fumbled to find the match. He heard voices but could not tell where they were coming from. He hesitated and panicked; the match was not within reach in his pocket. He dug down deeper as he heard shots ring out. Within seconds he had found the match, and hurriedly dropped it on the rope. Jumping up, he turned before noticing the wetness dripping down his cloak that hit the dirt as he stumbled and fell.