Jessum

            Jessum, sitting on the window ledge of the garret room, thought he heard a howl coming from the castle depths. The stones seemed to vibrate with it. That wasn’t possible. Stone couldn’t penetrate these stones. He’d even explored the dungeons and knew the thickness of their secluded walls. 

            He turned his attention back to his stolen feast. After the King’s dismissal, he’d bounded for the kitchen and snatched a freshly baked loaf and two jugs of cider without being caught. 

It was time for a decision and Jessum needed sustenance to think. Half a loaf and a jug later, he’d reached several. The bread was heavenly, the cider tart, and he was going to leave. 

            He’d return to the village of Larnes and seek out Euli, the blind seer who’d prophesied over him with spasmodic glee, and declare that he’d been wrongfully chosen. He wasn’t the forgotten piece of the puzzle, and no royal blood flowed in his views.  If Euli kept insisting, he’d take the Seer by the hand and lead him to the blocks of dried dung kept for burning. Breathe deeply, he’d tell Euli, this is the worth of your words 

            He was finished with the old god, Jah, and his carping prophet. He and his family were of common stock, having always worshipped the humble household god, Drask. They’d been fools to believe in anything more.

            Drask was a god he could understand. A god of the belly, a god who listened to every day cares. Bothered with a toothache? Leave a generous portion of sweetmeat on the altar and all would be well. Problems with a spouse? Two silvers and they’d disappear. Once he’d actually seen a mouse carry off a goodly portion of an offering, but it hadn’t affected his belief. It was well known the gods took many guises.