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again
spoke in her stead, “that being Death’s Champion is an honorable
circumstance, and murder is not a part of her gift.”
    “Percy is a good child,” said her father
suddenly. “She means no harm to anyone, I can promise you.” And
speaking thus, Alann worriedly looked back and forth from the
priest to his wife to the knight. So far, the discussion had not
taken a dangerous turn, but he had a bad feeling about it,
considering that a minor crowd was once more beginning to gather
around them, as more and more neighbors and other villagers
congregated on the street. Various murmurs were heard, and Rosaide
Vellerin and her big mouth were recognizable more than once above
the voices of others, together with the utterances such as
“shameless hussy” and “witch” and “unholy doings.”
    Father Dibue decided to make a quick
conciliatory decision on the matter, since, to be honest, he was
generally overwhelmed by the events of the past week. The priest
was infinitely weary, even more generally confused, secretly
frightened, and had no desire to incite a mob. All things
considered, what Persephone Ayren had done was no more terrible and
no more unnatural than what was the present alternative for the
suffering dead.
    “And so I see,” said the good Father wisely.
“Furthermore, I have examined the late Bethesia Ayren’s mortal
remains, especially her countenance, and she appears to be as godly
and peaceful as possible under the circumstances. This tells me
that her soul is with the Lord, and since I myself had administered
the Last Rites earlier, all is as it should be. It is therefore
safe to rule out any influence of witchcraft, or any other unholy
means in this case—”
    “But what about the pig?” Someone on the
street yelled out.
    “What—What’s this?” the priest asked.
    “She made the Doneil pig pass on, just
now!”
    Father Doneil’s brows rose, and he looked
back at Percy with newly rising concern. “Is this true?”
    “Percy only helped the pig!” exclaimed Jenna
Doneil, at Percy’s side, meanwhile clutching at the front of her
own coat and dress, as was her fretful habit. “And she didn’t just
do it on her own, I asked her to do it, Father!”
    Percy nodded silently.
    The priest exhaled in some relief, recalling
the horror of that incident. “Then, it is all the same,” he said.
“If I remember right, that was a terrible thing that had happened.
So, it is indeed God’s Will that the creature is now at rest. And
now, enough, I declare, I am quite satisfied that all is well
here.” He nervously handled the rosary in his fingers, and pulled
out his mittens from a voluminous pocket. “Master Ayren, Mistress
Niobea, have you all the burial arrangements in hand? Yes? Good.
Let me know when you expect the funeral, and I will perform the
mass. . . . Now I think we have all seen enough
here, and I will be on my way—”
    “Thank you, Father,” said Alann Ayren,
handing the priest his payment in a small pouch.
    The priest took it matter-of-factly then
picked up his large bag from the porch. “Wonderful! And so, I wish
you all a good and blessed day, Master, Mistress, and you, of
course, My Lord—”
    As he came down the porch, nodding to
everyone, and then walked past Percy, Father Dibue briefly placed
his large meaty hand on her forehead, and gave her a loud blessing.
“Fare thee well, my child, Persephone Ayren, never falter from the
path of righteousness, and always do the Lord’s bidding, now!”
    Percy gratefully looked up in his faded
watery eyes, and saw a benevolent expression there. At the same
time, since the priest continued onward and down the street, the
neighbors started to disperse, seeing that nothing more was going
to come about.
    “I think it is time we were on our way,”
said the black knight to Percy, without looking at her parents.
    “Yes,” she said. “But first, I need a bite
to eat. . . .”
    “You may come inside, daughter,” said Niobea
from