My Mother Divinity [Unedited]

Chapter Eight

A troop of stallions draws the attention of every villager who has the eyes to see, storming through the square, and the butcher is the first to look away. He is apprehensive, the hairs on his arms standing up with his body's natural instincts that suggest fight or flight. Whenever a group of outsiders on horses have travelled through their area before, it never ended well.

Gail watches on from the comfort of her charity shop. They're always looking for something, she thinks. The customers browsing her items have stopped in their tracks to cower away behind the shelves, fearing the worst. Are they messengers sent from the Gods to punish them for their wrongdoings? Gail could count the number of 'sins' she's committed on one hand - stealing the wine meant for her parents' twentieth anniversary when she was fifteen is probably the worst act she's committed, and that was before the notion of the Gods became mainstream or even existed at all.

She clutches her puzzle book to her chest when she sees the men dismount their horses, tie them to the old tilted lampposts that have been out of use for a rather long time, and head towards her shop. "We're closing," she calls out, aiming to usher the residents back to their homes. She doesn't want any trouble for them. They listen to her warning and flood out like a school of sardines. She steps outside the front door and flips the sign.

Around the village square, several establishments have already blown out their candles and thought about boarding up their windows, locking their doors. But Gail stands out in the cold and the rain, pouring rain actually, soaking her freshly washed hair with remnants of salt. She blinks water away from her eyelashes and the blurry shapes come closer towards her.

"You're the owner of this business?" The frontman is dressed in mostly blacks and browns and looks like he's never cracked a smile in his life. Gail holds her defensive position and nods slightly. No trouble, she reminds herself.

"Mr Watson," the man introduces himself. He even sticks out his gloved hand for her to shake and she hesitates for only a split second before she accepts the offer. "You must be Gail, I'm told."

She doesn't have to ask how he knows that because the Gods will have said all they've needed to already. But for him to come directly to her on their orders? There must be something amiss. A man who looks to be Watson's second-in-command steps up beside him, and he is introduced as Mr Tierney.

She doesn't dare ask them what their purpose is with her, or at least not yet. She leads them wordlessly into her shop and locks the door behind them. She was expecting more, perhaps, and louder chatter, and accusations that wouldn't make any sense. She could expect to be crying to the floor, for the God of Servitude to be whispering sweet nothings in her ear before she is commanded to whip her own back.

But no, there is only silence. Watson takes a moment to admire his surroundings while Tierney stands guard at the door. The other villagers have probably gone home; when you see a group of threatening men make such a statement when they ride in, looking all business and all threatening, you should hide. But maybe Gail can be welcoming and friendly like she always has managed to be before and they'll eventually leave her be with little damage.

"We're chasing up information," Tierney informs her with a tip of his hat. His wet shoes have made little puddles on the floor and Gail resists the urge to grab a mop. She doesn't want to look like she's making a break for anything that could be used as a weapon. Besides, one quick look at Watson's waistline as his jacket sweeps out behind him tells her that there's a gun hidden in there, and his colleagues are also likely armed.

"I'll do my best to help in any way I can," Gail promises. And she really isn't lying; she has a husband and children to look after and would give her life, or the life of her friends, for their protection. Family is all that matters in the midst of such a dystopia. She, like many others, has already given up so much to the Gods just to be here today. She is no stranger to suffering.