March

Issue 42

     “Galwain, my son.”

     The squire spun around toward the voice. Son? “You are not my father,” he told the man who stood there. Dressed in white robes, he had long, dark hair, mustache and beard.

     “Of course I am not,” replied the man. “My name is Gideon. I’ve watched you since you were a child, listening to the stories of my Father. You believed them and came to have faith. Yet, Galwain of Cork, I find you here chasing magic and myth.”

     “I seek help. A good warrior cannot afford such an affliction.” Galwain held his hands up for the man, whom he assumed was an angel, to see. The squire felt no surprise nor fear, only solace.

     “You must spread the word of Christ,” said Gideon. “For that, you don’t need strength in your hands but in your heart.”

     “But I wish to be a MacCool warrior. To defend the people’s rights . . .”

     “And that you can be. There is but one way.”