Free The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS) by Laurence Moore

wooden podium to one side of the covered altar. It was empty and the Map Maker had the sudden urge to climb its steps and stand inside, imagining himself holding sway over hundreds of eager and devoted listeners.
    He smiled.
    But then the noise was back in his head, metal scraping metal. Faraway, then closer, penetrating him, guiding, swirling inside.
    Look …
    He tilted his head back, saw the carving. It was a solid wooden cross, quite possibly ten feet in height, perhaps taller, but unlike any of the crosses he had seen since arriving in Ennpithia; this one bore the shape of a man upon it, his face contorted in pain, a crown of thorns upon his skull, his legs bound, nails driven through his hands.
    The Map Maker stared, mouth agape. The clarity came to him. The lines joined together. The shapes snapped into place.
    You have been here before. So long ago. In a way they will never understand, never believe, and never accept.
    The Map Maker blinked, looked frantically around. The voice had been distinct, as if whispered in his ear. He could see the villagers at the back of the building, hunched over. They had not budged.
    Then a tall figure emerged from the shadows. It was Deacon Rush. Footsteps echoed as he walked toward him.
    “One of Mr Boyd’s friends,” he said, politely.
    The Map Maker did not respond.
    “It is a shame you did not arrive earlier. You missed our Reverence Morning service.” He paused. “Father Devon delivered one of his most powerful sermons. It was very uplifting.”
    “Who is he?” asked the Map Maker, nodding at the crucified figure.
    “It is the Son of our Lord.”
    “Where does your Lord live? In the village?”
    Rush frowned, raised his eyes. “Our Lord is in the Above. He watches over all of us.”
    “Why is he in pain?”
    “He suffers for the sins of Man. Because Man’s greed plunged the world into darkness. One day He will return …”
    “… and where there is darkness,” continued the Map Maker, “He will bring Light.”
    “You are a man of faith?” said Rush. “Captain Duggan assumed you were faithless Kiven.”
    “One day He will return,” whispered the Map Maker. “One day you will return. I don’t hear it anymore.”
    Rush frowned.
    “I’m sorry?”
    “I don’t hear it. Do you understand? The noise has gone. It’s gone. There is something about this building. It’s blocking the noise.”
    He stopped.
    “Clarity,” he said. “This building isn’t blocking the noise. The noise has been unscrambled.”
    Deeply puzzled, slightly concerned, Rush said, “Would you care to sit down?”
    “It’s words. All this time. Words.”
    “Please, have a seat.”
    The Map Maker eased gingerly onto a pew. Rush sat on the one in front of him.
    “Mr Boyd claimed knowledge of you three strangers but I am beginning to wonder if I have been tricked.”
    “You have,” said the Map Maker, flatly, making no eye contact. “I don’t know the man. Nor does Stone or Nuria.”
    “Stone and Nuria are your companions?”
    The Map Maker shook his head.
    “My followers.”
    “You have followers? A man of faith with followers. That’s quite interesting. Do you have a name, sir?”
    “No.”
    “You have no name?”
    “No.”
    Rush swept a hand over his cropped hair.
    “Where are you from?”
    “Gallen.”
    “Then you’re not Kiven.”
    “What’s Kiven?”
    “Well, Kiven are us, I suppose. Ennpithians and Kiven are the same but the Place of Bridges is what divides us and has done for centuries.”
    “They are nothing like us,” boomed a voice. “This is why our Lord created the Place of Bridges.”
    Both men turned to see Father Devon coming through a side door, his lined face reddened with anger. He strode swiftly toward the two men. The Map Maker guessed he was possibly in his fifties or sixties or even older. In his lifetime he had seen few men of such age.
    “Do not compare us to the Kiven,” he said. “What an outrageous claim to make, Deacon Rush.”
    “I am