Sleep came in fitful bursts to Matthew. The sounds of breathing from the others around him were a welcome sound he would gladly dream to, but the cold which his blankets seemed to fight vainly against and the howl of wind coming at just the wrongs times were unknown things to the warm blooded farm boy far from home. He lied in the massive bed with the boys of the Kettle family, all four of them soundly sleeping through the cold weather.

With being this far south, it was strange even in Salvar to be as cold as it was. The lower areas were normally farmlands and the main source of food for the country. Winter was coming earlier this year and apparently with more fury. The older folk of the village, full of stories of years past, were making daily comments about the strangeness of this winter and the bad omens it was promising.

The winter wasn’t the first bad omen though. From the merchants who had come through, fewer by far than most years, there were of rebellion and war in the capital, traveling armies putting villages to the torch for insubordination, and priest who were condemning whole towns to the pits of hell. There were even rumors of the Sway releasing dread beasts upon the lands to destroy their enemies. Each story was more and wilder than the last and talk was even being made of armies of dead holy men appearing all over the world. “Surely, these are the end-times,” was heard throughout the village.

In all this turmoil, Matthew had chosen to come and explore the supposedly pious nation of Salvar. His travels as a page of the Suffering Servant beckoned him wherever the light of the Servant must be shined. Many who he had spoken to of his faith and his church, said that they sounded much like those of the Salvarans, with their strict church hierarchy and veneration of long-ago heroes. He had been leery of the so called similarities, but had decided to come and see what the faith truly was. Perhaps he would be the first to bring the light of the Servant to these people.

He had not gone far before he had come to the small village he was now living in. It was a relatively independent village, on the outskirts of one of the large southern fiefdoms. A greedy noble had allowed his lands to grow too wide with not enough vassals. Thus the fiefs were large, with much of it uncared for. Officials came to the village infrequently to collect what meager taxes the people could scrounge up. The church had little influence, with an outdoor small altar which saw few visitors during the day. Little distinguished it from the bland altars of Corone and Scara Brae used for the lesser known and worshipped gods. The closest priest and church was a day’s walk to the lord’s manor of the fiefdom. Still, even here, where the faces of the church were absent, much of the same taboos were still observed.

The village had welcomed Matthew kindly. Once learning that he knew how to help on a farm, they grew exceedingly friendly and made him feel as if he was part of their village family. He had denied all forms of payment, believing food and lodgings to be enough. While they were constantly curious about his life at home, his travels, and even a bit about his weapons training, whenever they uncovered some path of his life which opened upon his faith, they grew quiet and uncomfortable. Whatever this faith of Salvar was, it held a firm grasp on the people. The only ones who would truly hear of his faith were the older folk, who nodded sagely but made no real efforts to learn. They simply fulfilled their curiosity. Some of the younger folk were highly interested, having never heard such a tale as that of the Servant. Their superstitious mothers and father would quickly pull Matthew aside though and warn him of the Sway’s intolerance of other beliefs, and ask that he not risk their children with such stories. He had given in to their request, but four of the boys his own age continued hounding him, and the parents, frustrated with their inability to keep them away from such dangerous knowledge, gave in.

Matthew didn’t hold formal lessons with the boys, but they would talk during their daily chores. One, John, was exceptionally bright and had picked up on the highly intellectual theology of the faith within a week. He was know scholastic, but had the budding mind of one. The other three, Luke, Mark, and Mathias, were much more interested in the stories of the Servant and the world he came from. Mark wanted to know all about the man, Mathias all about his culture, and Luke all about the growth of the church. Matthew was an unskilled teacher but he tried his best.

Among the chores of the village and keeping up with boys’ questions, Matthew always made sure to spend some time on his own. He spent his evenings after dinner in prayer and weapons practice. While he spoke of his weapons training when anyone in the village asked, he vehemently refused to teach the boys anything when they inevitably asked. The boys needed to learn how to farm, not go off on adventures. In fact, if not for the fact that he was an unneeded, though much loved, extra mouth to feed back home, he would still be working on his own farm. He only traveled out of a sense of duty.

So while he was plenty comfortable and happy throughout the day, his nights were times he wished he could skip over. He was surprised his constant tossing and turning didn’t wake the boys. Before he knew it, day was breaking. He got up, not refreshed but ready for the day. The boys were still snoring as he got up and dressed. Their mother would be in soon to rudely awaken them and get them moving.

The young man walked some distance out of the village with his Book of the Servant. The morning was cloudy but Matthew felt confident the sun would come through by the end of the day. Finding his small patch of earth he prayed upon daily, he recited his meditations and read a passage from the book.

As he finished he stood up and was buffeted by a single gust of strong, icy wind. He was cold for a moment, and his eyes were drawn to the west. The clouds were blowing in from that direction, and they seemed to be darker, though held no promise of rain. Cold feelings came over him, and his confidence in the sun waned. He lifted up a prayer as he went back to start his work.