On the Value of Faith (2)
Large cities generally boast markets as advanced as their size. Beyond mere quantitative expansion, their quality renders rural town markets incomparable. Even a single bakery exemplified this. Saliva dribbled from Sara's mouth.
"Master... the smell of the bread is so fragrant...!"
"Indeed, little Sara. Let us close your mouth before we converse."
Lenoir wiped the drool with his handkerchief. He then nudged her chin upward with his index finger, at which point Sara finally swallowed.
A bread overflowing with pristine cream captivated her gaze. The red strawberry perched atop it gleamed with a luster reminiscent of jewels.
"Do city folk eat things like this every day?"
"I doubt it. Observe the price. Unlike simple loaves, it commands a steep sum."
"Huh, heek...! You're right! One silver coin for a single bread!?"
"Precisely. A most irrational price when one considers the costs. The toll of vanity conjured by that cream and strawberry."
Sara shuddered. A single bread scarcely enough to sate one meager meal—for a silver coin. Such barbaric pricing.
Her eyes squeezed shut.
"Ugh, I couldn't buy bread like this. Master, little Sara would sooner buy heaps of it and become stuffed Sara...!"
"...I can afford one for you. Eat your fill."
"Is that truly permissible? Such grace would compel me to pour drinks for you once more... "
"Pray, refrain. I feel another sigh welling up."
Enough banter. With a sigh, Lenoir stationed Sara before the display case and approached the shopkeeper to place his order.
"Good sir. Baker."
"Yes, milord!"
"That precious lady yonder and I intend to bring relief to the slums tomorrow. I wish to order bread sufficient for many mouths."
"For ordinary loaves, I can begin preparations this evening and produce some five hundred. As for the price..."
"Pay generously, I shall. And one of those cream-filled ones, if you please."
"At once! My deepest gratitude, milord!"
A renowned baker remained, at heart, a merchant. Dealing in perishables, none delighted him more than bulk orders. Clad in costly finery, commissioning vast quantities of low-effort wares—how else would Lenoir appear to him?
The baker ventured cautiously, "Yet milord, if it's slum relief... perchance..."
"I have founded a new order. The Goddess Church, it is called. A temple shall rise in time, and should the bread prove satisfactory, such orders may recur."
"Ah! May light shine upon you. To aid in such would be the greatest honor."
Even Sara could discern his faith rang hollow. To feign devotion sans knowledge of the creed? Nay. He exalted the coin promised. Securing such patronage was shrewd commerce.
Lenoir bore no grudge. Paths to faith diverged for each. Let it become a creed worthy of trust. Such pragmatic reverence would, in time, bloom true.
"Deliver the loaves to this address come morn."
"Yes, milord! And here is your ordered bread!"
Lenoir accepted the cream bread. Beside it lay a soft loaf slathered thick with fruit jam—a bribe, harmless enough. He nodded his thanks.
Then came the baker's words. "Ah, milord. If I may, out of an old man's concern: the slums divide by sect. To avoid needless strife, shun the domains of the Orin and Gerard churches."
Orin. The name resurfaced. Lenoir inquired, "A potent force?"
"Mid-tier in might, yet exceedingly aggressive."
"I shall commit it to memory. Your counsel is appreciated."
Lenoir pondered briefly. No cause to engage them prematurely, nor to evade. He tolerated them from necessity alone. Superficial though their spirit guardians were—no true deity—their societal sway leaned more toward good than ill. Precipitous expulsion would breed unrest.
Yet should they impede church works... or if the Goddess Church could supplant the clamor they quelled... the tale altered.
Thoughts aligned, Lenoir returned to Sara. "...Come, little Sara. And this, the baker gifts to you."
"Eek! Two of them!"
Sara's gaze turned to the baker. The pure maiden's sparkling eyes sufficed to melt him. A warm smile graced his lips. Hands clasped prayerfully, he bowed to her.
Be it deference to a "church dignitary" or her loveliness...
In that instant, Lenoir beheld it.
Faith.
A mote, grain-sized, kindled in the baker and drifted to Sara. Murky, nearer courtesy than awe—human to exalted human. Yet faith it was.
Such faintness would refine to divinity within her soul.
As expected...
Joy anew: her vessel for souls complete.
"Master! The bread melts so tenderly! One chew, and poof—gone!"
"Is that so."
"No dipping in hot soup needed! No sore jaws!"
"Freshly baked loaves are ever thus."
"Ugh, my world has crumbled...! Sara Lorojin, who deemed all bread hardy, is dead...!"
Such theatrics he could indulge. Gratitude unwaning bespoke purity.
Lenoir rested a hand atop her crown—a gesture she cherished, now praise. Eyes wide at unearned bounty, Sara pondered her small head, then slyly tore a morsel.
"Shall I...?"
Evidently, she reckoned praise prepaid for bread.
"Nay."
"Eh?"
"I hunger not. Let us depart."
Lenoir exited the street in brighter humor. Sara clutched his sleeve with one hand, bread in the other, trotting and munching apace.
The next morn, early, five hundred fresh loaves arrived from the bakery at the mansion gates. Pterin guild hands hauled the sacks via cart. As day dawned, Sara set forth with Lenoir toward the slums.
The notions of goddess and church yet felt distant. Yet relief work? She, ration-reared, brimmed with lore. Confidence? Assured.
"Trust only me! Ration Queen Sara Lorojin has it handled!"
"A most piteous sovereign."
"Ere meeting you, I claimed first rations always. Even the church..."
Words halted.
Orin Church. Thoughts of them soured mirth.
Sadness she must cradle onward—she learned this, slowly erasing that day. Yet recollections of dear ones stolen by Orin sometimes engulfed her beyond control.
Revenge must not blind. Selbes and elders' counsel. Lenoir deemed it dignity's breach, beyond mere alley survival.
Sara quelled her ire. Then Lenoir's hand upon her head.
"No need to stifle overmuch."
"...Yet 'tis undignified."
"You commit far graver lapses already; this mars not. Maxims to quell vengeance warn 'gainst souls warped ugly by hate."
Steady strokes soothed profoundly.
"Little Sara. You shall not sin, yearning foes' ruin. Rather, purer than they, you lead mortals aright."
"...Yes."
"That suffices. None escape grudge or wrath. 'Tis but variance in fortitude."
Sara glanced sidelong. "You as well?"
"Assuredly. Negative tempests assail me oft. I but conceal."
Sometimes sorrow shadowed him—her suspected woe.
"Might I one day console you?"
"You fare admirably. Merely refine your speech."
"Hehe..."
Oddly, his balm dissolved her fury. A mere "all is well" would suffice—from him.
Thus precious grew Lenoir.
"I'll strive! Yeah!"
"Spirit fine, yet strain not. Above all..."
Lips parted, then stilled.
Sara divined the rest. "Aye, Orin folk may appear."
Their first ward overlapped Orin domain. Slum faith cheap; they prized it.
Wary, yet will inflamed. Today, wrest souls from their scythe—faith bought with rations, then severed.
Thus conversing, the slums neared. No dawn fervor; for them, morn marked night's close.
Yet therein lay meaning.
"Little Sara. As I said, reveal your nobility. Feigned garb sets perception's frame. Thus..."
"Nay, Master."
"Hm?"
"Watch from afar."
Sara strode square-center. Lenoir's face twisted anxious.
But she knew: for paupers, relief's pomp secondary.
Deep breath. Then bellowed.
"Goddess Church relief arrives—! Warm bread! Fresh-baked! First five hundred only!!!"
Lenoir petrified at the raucous roar.
Sara grinned. Utility? Results proclaimed it.
"Goddess Church!? Where?!"
"Fresh bread, they say! Rush it!"
Grow the flock. This procession proclaimed. Advertise foremost.
Lenoir spoke of buying faith with bread. First, secure the buyers.
Hordes surged. Faith be damned—bread hunger drove hundreds.
Chaos fondly alley-like.
Sara smirked, spine straight. "All sit! Sermons for the attentive only! Heed me—goddess incarnate speaks!"
"Mad whelp?"
"Bread-giver's goddess enough. Sit."
"Aye."
Order bloomed instant. Sara flashed V-sign to Lenoir.
He rubbed his eyes. Baffled, yet speechless—faint faith now stirred indeed.