“What did they do?” odd coldness crept over his skin.

“What they always do,” countered Tabitha, but fell silent.

“They threatened expulsion,” Cassidy said.

“One’s who cannot conform must be cut from the flock,” she whispered. “So, all will be saved from corruption.”

“Your brother was the last to see him,” added the bounty hunter.

“Yes,” she frowned, “maybe, he thought Theodore could save him, since he had recanted his sins.”

“So, Dermot would rather die, than admit his sins or accept the punishment for them,” Cassidy said slowly, but doubt crept into his voice. Something was off, and if he could stop or belay the Revival, he could delve deeper into this mystery.

“Mister Bullock,” large eyes met his azure gaze, “Cassidy, please may we have some silence, for my heart is heavy.” He nodded to her relief.

Wind was slow, and rot clung to the air. In the silence, they sat. Both felt their hearts grow lighter. Humid was the day. Even in the lowest breeze, buildings seemed to shudder, and low snaps crept under groans of wood. Cassidy breathed through his nose, so not to choke from the taste of decay. Sun moved above.

The bounty hunter watched strands of silken hair brushed her soft cheek, which Tabitha tucked behind an ear. Instincts screamed as Cassidy turned to see Obadiah, where he had confronted him upon arrival in Sulky Hills. Past him the false preacher looked to the Elders, who walked towards the bounty hunter.

As they approached, nervous but resolute, Cassidy stood up. Tabitha’s eyes grew sad at the sight of her twin, but turned to ice at Arnold and Griswold. Away she moved; yet over a shoulder she glanced at the bounty hunter.

Back to the false preacher azure eyes returned. After going to the Langston homestead, Cassidy had gone after Obadiah. They wanted to speak to him, for he had spoken to the family for a whole year. It was the first time he had spoken to the old man of venomous words.

Obadiah had come with no resistance. As they rode, the false preacher had spoken at great length. Of Caroline, Ruth, and Bart the ancient man had questioned; yet, he had known much. Underneath the smile and concern, Cassidy felt a nasty mirth and delight in suffering, especially that of the innocent. Obadiah was interested in the bounty hunter, but confusion lingered below.

Hints of how compatriots died were danced around. Cassidy was away at war, when his family was murdered. Obadiah had offered every possibility of their ends. The bounty hunter had never shot a prisoner, unless they tried to kill him. Every ghastly suggestion was offered with a smile, wooden teeth gleamed.

When he had delivered the false preacher to the deputy, Obadiah had tittered. Now as then, the ancient man smiled, laughed, and a gleam filled eyes like polished glass.

Arnold was at the front of the three, face stern. Before him they stopped. “Mister Bullock, you made more of an impression than I assumed possible.

“Have you arrived at a decision?” he asked.

Arnold sighed, “Despite my objections, the others have overruled me.” Theodore smiled, but doubts adorn Griswold’s face.

“Will you stop the Revival?” asked Cassidy daring to hope.

“No, but we’ve decided to delay it,” Arnold said, his face tightened. “It will be tomorrow, instead of tonight,” he sighed, relaxed, “we should know the nature of the Revival.”

“At the very least,” Cassidy nodded, but forced away his smile, “thank you.”

“We’re going to speak to Obadiah now, Mister Bullock,” Arnold said, and started towards the false preacher. Cassidy was at the front, and broad was his smile.

Obadiah’s cruel grin was broad; sour mirth dripped from a vile mien, but he waited. Eyes the color of mud at the bottom of a corrupted pond held a knowing, good cheer. Patient, he was relaxed. The dissolution of Mother’s Scar had cost Abaddon dearly, yet the Angel of Woe had grown curious.

“Obadiah,” Arnold smiled, though embarrassed, “we need to speak to you. We’ve decided to put off the Revival, until tomorrow. The nature of your Carnisvale is a mystery, which our duty dictates we know, before we partake.”

Past the Elders, he looked at Cassidy, and dismissed the spiritual heads of Sulky Hills. “Well, Mister Bullock, you’ve done much better than I thought,” muddy eyes gleamed, “but I won’t wait.” Lips split wide to unveil the wooden dentures. The world around the false preacher wavered, and inside the dirt-brown eyes, hellfire began to swirl.

“What are you?” breathed the bounty hunter. The world distorted, but he felt ensnared, immersed in water. A trap, he thought, as instincts screamed, it closed in on him. To the Elders he turned mouth refused to open, and he felt the world slow.

“Griswold Todd,” Obadiah said, delighted and sneering, “Dermot was beyond your salvation. No amount of bruises or broken bones could undo the boy’s sin.” Lips widened, shadows gathered, and the false preacher’s eyes were whirlwinds of flame. “If the people of Sulky Hills should know of his transgression,” smiled the ancient man, and let it hang for a moment. Cassidy saw only Elder Todd could heart Obadiah. “I would imagine,” he continued, “they would see your methods as barbaric. The Covenant would be shattered, people lost, and the outside world will devour them. To save your people, their very souls, you have only the Revival.”

“Arnold Morgan,” the false preacher turned to the Elder, and the bounty hunter could only watch. “You loved Dermot,” his disgusting grin grew sly, “In a way, most can never understand, most condemn. His time in Penance, with Theodore, it was where their love bloomed.” Cruel words were delivered in joyful slash of a smirk, “Some of Sulky Hills has felt your love, though shame keeps their mouths shut. Imagine, Mister Morgan, if such a secret was to be unveiled. How would they react, those you seek to protect from the outside world? It would destroy you, the Covenant, and this community.” Feigned sorrowed grew, “All of this can be avoided. You can save everyone, your secrets. The Carnisvale shall redeem you.”