Jacob drew steel, the sound echoing through the tavern and drawing every pair of eyes. Zane’s face went stony for a moment, but then avalanched into laughter and mirth. “You’d kill me, then, monk?” spat Zane. “You must have forgotten your own book. ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ I’m not afraid of your threats.” The drunken brawler suddenly pulled two long knives from his belt, twirling them like ballerinas. “I’m going to kill you now and take that book from you. Ought to be worth something to somebody.” Zane leaped forward, and Jacob’s sword flashed in the torchlight. A split second later, Zane’s blades clanged against the far walls. But Jacob did not stop at disarming his opponent—he was too deadly, too proud. No, Jacob’s weapon swung through the air, the razor tip scraping Zane’s neck, slitting it. The metal monk knelt beside his dying opponent. Quietly, he prayed over the man, begging his Lord to forgive him his sins and wing this soul to heaven. When he was done, he caught a last flicker of light in Zane’s eyes. He whispered: “If you had been more familiar with my book, you might have known another verse: ‘I come, not to bring peace, but a sword.’ I did not seek a fight with you. But I am through running.”
Ferris: He’s had one job all his life, and he’s really proud of that. He’s always saying he’s just an ordinary working man.
Maia: That’s nice.
Ferris: Do you think so?
Maia: I don’t know. I better go home to my dad. He needs my help.
Maia: What do you mean “yeah”? You don’t know anything about my dad!
Ferris: You just said he needed help. It was just a response, like, yeah. What’s wrong with you?
Maia: Nothing… I can let you borrow the book when I’m done.
Naomi: Your grandmother told me to go without her. Her legs were weak. We both knew she would die if she stayed. But there was no time.
Maia: I don’t remember Grandma.
Naomi: You were just a baby, Maia.
Maia: Tell me something about her.
Naomi: It was a cold day, colder than most severe winter days. Water was right behind her, moving like a demon, the raging tide.
Maia: No, something about Grandma.
Naomi: She stayed still under the kitchen table. She could smell the salt closing in around her. Her eyes were closed.
Maia: You didn’t see any of this, Mother.