The first order of business had been to deliver the letters myself to make sure their recipients actually got them. I would not be satisfied with the idea of letting some runner I hired take care of them, such a person could be easily bribed to talk about how it had not actually been the old lady who handed over the letters and I had nothing monetary to counter that bribe. I suppose I could threaten them, but what good were my threats? I had no reputation and did not know exactly how to show that I could be a threat in a way that would not end up with people avoiding me all together. My ideas for now to make some necessary, lasting changes needed people to think I was only just being helpful and friendly, being a strange, magic wielding outsider was going to counter any of that. Besides, I needed the letters to be there waiting when people awoke early in the morning and I doubted there were any runners hanging around awake somewhere in such a relatively small town waiting for someone to need an urgent missive sent after midnight. Maybe in a big city near a high concentration of nobles or royals who often needed to send urgent messages by the cloak of night.

I had tucked the letter with the house deed under the crack of the shack door and tried to make it look like the woman had delivered it in a rush to leave in the middle of the night. I kicked the edge of the letter lightly to make it seem haphazardly placed in a hurry instead of perfectly slid under, then stepped back from the door and considered what else I could do to make it seem more convincing. I did not think that the two of them would be anything but confused and hopefully delighted about the turn of events to worry about if there had been any foul play involved, but it did not hurt to try to cover every eventuality. I had some ideas on how to make things feel a little more sincere about the old woman’s panicked flight into the night, but they would have to wait until I was done with the rest of my work to be completed. If I ran out of time before the sun rose, it would likely be fine and the chances of anything being called into question was slim to none.

The other two letter deliveries required a walk into town, which seemed like it should be difficult given that I had never physically been there before, but with the old woman’s memories still swimming around in my head, I knew exactly where to go and how to find both her daughter’s house and the Church provided home the Bishop resided in. It was beyond surreal having someone else’s memories swimming around my head when I didn’t even have my own. There was a part of my mind that was trying to latch onto them as my own and integrate them into my understanding of who I was and I had to keep actively telling myself that it was a ridiculous idea. I did not know who I had been before a few days ago, but I certainly had to be someone better than that wretched old lady. Still, in the absence of any logical answers, my psyche appeared to be desperate for any sense of understanding or basis for who I was. I was beginning to worry that the understanding may never come, that perhaps my memories were forever lost, which was a distressing idea, but something I had to consider and come to terms with. Maybe my burden to bear was that I would never know where I had come from, surely I could learn to adapt and form a new identity. I was already and would continue to do so, there were no other options anyway.

The dusty road into the town was deep with ruts from carts traveling in and out. It was one of the larger towns on the way to an actual city of any size for the region. To the west the woman was aware of only rolling hills used for sheep herding as far as she knew. She had dreamed about going out there and living on her own terms tucked away in a little valley near the sea, perhaps that would end up being where I hinted she had gone if the need arose. There were a few smaller villages dotted in that general direction, but they were few and far between, most of them did not have much as far as resources and amenities for the people who lived there and if you needed to sell grain or get something special for your home that would be difficult to make yourself, this town was the easiest source within reach. Farther to the east was the bigger city which the woman seemed to know little about other than it was where the bishop often traveled to when he was summoned away and then the rest of the important parts of the kingdom, including the center of the kingdom and where the royals resided was to the south and perhaps several days away on horseback. I would have to find a map to figure out where exactly I was and what my eventual next moves would be, though something compelled me to consider going towards the seat of the kingdom. I could not understand why, but every time I thought about it rung in my mind as the best idea. If no other option presented itself as a better idea, that might just end up being the option I took.

Approaching the small hamlet that served as the biggest down in the area, I was greeted by the sight of the imposing church that served the local populace. It looked like a fairly small and quaint chapel, though the great golden medallion depicting the rising sun that hung over the entrance to the door spoke of the great wealth that flowed through the religion. I was actually surprised just how small it looked compared to what it was presented as in the old woman’s mind. It made me pause alongside the building and stare, looking over the chapel like maybe it was some trick of the dark night that was making it seem so… normal. I suppose that was the part that was strange to me, the woman had perceived it as this grand, glittering center of worship. It made me aware that I would need to be careful with taking anything I learned by mind invasion as truth, that sometimes the perception of things did not match reality. Annoying, but any information is better than none.

Thanks to the woman’s memories, well, if they turned out to be accurate, I now had a much better idea of the Church’s teachings and principles and I believed that I had been correct in my original thoughts that the religion would look nice on paper but that the people in charge had corrupted it. As far as she had understood, the religion was all about forgiveness and helping those in need, but in reality at the very top of the Church hierarchy, it was obvious that they only cared about helping those in need when it benefited the balance in their pocket books. A shame really, I felt inclined to believe that at least one or two of their gods actually existed though I had no idea how or why I would know that to be a fact or even which of them they were. I did get a sense that I would recognize who the gods were by description or by sight, which was even more confusing since when would I ever have had the opportunity to come across the face of a god? I was just a human, was I not? Though I was a human with powers that seemed to transcend what a human could typically do, who knew what strange events lay in my past that would explain my abilities.

Determined to keep good time to get everything done with time to spare before sun up, I started back walking. Beyond the church were some fields used for Church activities like picnics and rituals, a memory from the old woman of her grandson running awkward across the field on his stubby, baby legs to chase a butterfly during one of the festival day picnics flashed before my eyes and I had to shake it away. I had even felt the joy in her heart as she watched him, the gladness that she had worked her way up in life to be able to have those moments with her family in the warm summer sun. I did not feel the same about that memory, because I know at the same time she had housed a young man back at her home that was quite obviously starving who had not been invited to the abundance of food strewn around the blankets, nor even made aware the event was happening at all. The memory and the knowledge that she had still managed to feel joy and not be wracked with guilt cemented that I had made the right choice and this was the just and righteous path.

Her daughter’s house was just around the corner of a small shop that sold general house supplies like sewing supplies, pots, and pans. It was the main shop that was not focused on food in the town and if you ran out of nails, laundry soap, or anything random household item along those lines, you could find it in the shop or have the owner order it for you to be in the following week. Her husband’s father owned the small shop and he worked helping stock shelves and doing the accounting for the books with the promise that when the old man was ready to retire he would hand over the shop to his son. Their small family worked hard to keep the shop afloat and growing, the old woman’s daughter even stepping in to give advice on the kinds of items to get in stock and tidying up when things became rushed around major holidays. The old woman had been proud of her daughter for standing on her own feet and making something of her family so that her children would want for nothing.

The shop windows were dark, but I could make out a display of new household textiles that had come in that would be greatly coveted for making new hand towels and other goods that required a thick and sturdy weave. They were in bright, floral colors and the fact that such things were available for purchase in the town signaled that there was plenty of money to go around, at least with many of the families or the owner would not take a risk on buying more expensive cloth that might not sell. The daughter probably had a hand in ordering that particular print, it was not the kind of thing two men would consider ordering in and generally not in that kind of pattern. It was not that men would not enjoy it and find it nice to look at, it was just that men tended to gravitate more towards the idea that a beige cloth would work just as well and not think of adding decoration to that particular aspect of their lives. Women were good at that, women could see that art and beauty could be added to all aspects of life and that surrounding yourself with beautiful things could make even the darkest of days just a tiny bit brighter.

Tucking the letter into the space between the locking mechanism of the white gate out front of the daughter’s house, that task was complete. The house itself was nothing very fancy, but was solidly middle working class with toys for a young child strewn about the small front yard. I felt marginally bad about the fact that the daughter and her family would never see the woman again, I knew that none of them were fully aware of what the old lady had been doing and simply thought she had random farm hands that the church sent to help her work her small chicken farm. The woman had been careful to never have her family over to her home while she had her “guests” living with her and her family was under the impression that her chicken farm was much grander than it actually was. It was a thin and transparent lie that could have easily fallen apart at any point, but the bishop of the Church had been helping her cover her tracks for years. He heavily thanked her at every picnic and feast for the generous donation of eggs that went into the meal, even though very rarely did she ever donate even a single egg. It worked and everyone thought that she was just a little old lady with dozens of chickens who made eggs that the Church purchased to feed the hungry and needy. She had not known, and therefore I did not know, how the bishop actually managed to feed the needy people he handed out meals to on a daily basis, but if it shaped up to be anything like the rest of what the dealings were like, I was not sure I really wanted to know or I was going to become a very busy man needing to find more secluded cliffs to push people off of.

The bishop’s abode was on the outskirts of the town, beyond the Church grounds and technically I had already past the fastest route to get there on the way to the daughter’s house, but I wanted to be able to linger and have a good look around to judge what kind of man he was and the kind of life he lived. I was pretty certain that I was going to discover that he had no redeeming qualities and that I absolutely hated him and what he stood for, but the old woman seemed to have had a split opinion on him, one where she had been half positive that he was a good man who did things to better the community, then another half where she was a bit afraid of him and what he, or at least the church he represented, might to do her if she stopped being a part of her scheme. I did not hold out much hope for finding much that would redeem him in my eyes, he was high enough up in the hierarchy to be privy to what was going on and he was the one whose name was on the letters for the people who were sent, but I would certainly try to verify my assumptions before I carried out any more permanent acts of justice.

The grounds the house was set on fit closer to what I would consider a fancy estate rather than a humble home fit for a man whose job it was to oversee the physical and spiritual well being of the people. This front yard was very well manicured with lots of flowers of all different varieties, some of which I was certain would not typically grow in this region and had to have been specifically imported in and closely monitored to keep alive. The giant, frilly blossoms of soft peach that entwined their stems with the white picket fence that marked the beginning of the property looked very warm weather loving and delicate, I could not imagine their thin, delicate stems and almost transparent leaves making it through a winter as harsh as this area would get. They must have been removed at the end of every winter and replaced with new plants at the start of every spring. I was not an expert in flowering plants, but it seemed like that was a lot of wasted time, effort, and likely money that could go into the people rather than manicuring the bishop's front lawn. It was an obvious status symbol and added nothing of value to anyone, the way things seemed to work around here is that anything the bishop wanted, he asked for volunteers and in exchange they might get special favors at a later date or their effort was simply written off as a good work to put them a better status with the Church. I am sure there was some benefit I was not familiar with or that I perhaps did not think would be worth all the effort put in, but it seemed to me to just be an excellent way to get labor for free without having to call it slave labor.

Beyond the elegant buds was a rich, emerald lawn shorn close to the ground with lively pops of color from all sorts of different flowers. Some of the clusters of flowers were meant to showcase the positions of statues of various saints or gods dotting the yard, the stone they were made of was polished so intensely that they shone even if in the near lack of any moonlight from the cloudy night. They didn’t seem to match any of the saints or gods I felt I would recognize, but it was also hard to really see the fine details in the low light. Moving past them, I cautiously approached the extravagant archway of a covered porch area where there was a table and several chairs arranged in a casual meeting formation, likely a convenient place to have a meeting with some snacks or a light meal while overlooking the lawn. The front door itself was a heavy chunk of wood with elaborate brass fittings depicting the sun at its zenith in the sky. I tucked the letter into the crack of the door next to the pull where it would tumble out when the door was opened. I made my way stealthily back around the side of the house looking for another door in, I was not yet satisfied with my findings. I wanted to see how he lived and maybe even go farther if I dared.

I found a back door that let out into an elaborate back garden. I did not bother paying much attention to the garden as I was already certain it would not yield any more important clues. Instead, I carefully tried to pull open the door and found that it was locked tight. I figured that might end up being true, so I had mentally prepared not to get inside the house, but I would see if the tendrils of my power could seek him out and get the information I needed. Releasing my gathered power, I sent my magic through the cracks in the door and met immediate resistance. I furrowed my brow in confusion. I had never felt any resistance to what I wanted to do other than my own limitations or exhaustion, but this, this was like I was trying to press against a hard, unforgiving surface. A strange sense of cold, like my magic was pressing up against ice washed over me and I shivered despite the rather warm and humid night air. Whatever it was, it seemed like no matter where I tried to go around or find a weak spot to push through, it was solid and impenetrable. Giving up, I walked back to the front door and did the same only to be met by the same resistance. The more I interacted with the wall of resistance, the more I was beginning to understand that it was magic of some type, perhaps the bishop was also some type of magic user or he employed someone that was. It would make sense with the kinds of secrets I knew he kept, eventually someone was bound to come around to ensure he was served his just desserts. I was pondering my next move when a glitter of a candle light flickered through the curtains on the window next to me. Someone was coming to the door, probably to check what was disturbing the ward. I flung myself over the railing of the porch and into the bushes that lined the front of the house. They were not very tall, so I had to squat down low to keep my head from peeking out the top of the bushes.

The door rattled open and a middle aged man in his nightdress stepped out onto the porch with a candle in his hand. It was the bishop, his eyes piercing the darkness around him as he searched for whomever or whatever was poking at the defenses of his home. His eyes glanced down at the letter that had fallen to his feet and upon picking it up and examining the handwriting, his lips broke into a thin frown. With their arrangement I was sure that letters being passed in the night usually meant bad news and more work for him to try to cover things up. He did not open the letter immediately, but instead continued his search to see if he could ascertain if anyone else was still lingering near his property. Seeing no one, he let out a loud grunt, then turned back to go back inside, but then hesitated and gave one last look around.

“It is not wise to meddle with people and forces you cannot even begin to fathom,” he said gruffly, then slammed and locked the door behind him once more.

That sealed the deal, he was definitely the source of the magic, which would make him even trickier to deal with. I doubted I would be able to ever easily break through his defenses and invade his mind to make him my puppet like I had done the old woman. He would need a different approach and a more complex plan. I would think on it and come up with something worthy of his deeds, something with flair and maybe a bit of snark. It felt like the people he had let die would probably appreciate it if I made it the most uncomfortable that I could.

Not wanting to stick around to see what the outcome was going to be for the letter, just in case he didn’t buy it and wanted to march down to the old woman’s house to see for himself, I hurried out of the bushes and along the edge of the property, hopping the fence at the side, then speed walked back towards the house. My letters had been delivered and now there was nothing left to do but to make the necessary changes at the house to make it look like she had left in a hurry. It would not take long, then I could start work helping the family move in, get them settled, deal with the bishop, then perhaps think about moving on to somewhere else.

For having every intention of just passing through and finding where it was I was supposed to be, I was doing a very poor job of not getting myself entangled in the webs of these people’s lives. Though from an outsider perspective, they absolutely needed an outsider to come in and make changes were necessary. This town was a mess and the secret that had been operating under their noses was unacceptable to even the most morally ambiguous. Perhaps if I never figured out who I was or what my purpose was supposed to be, this could be my purpose. Righting wrongs and avenging those who no longer could. The idea of that was appealing and made me feel comforted. Even if my past was a mystery, I could write a future I was proud of.