Everything ached. It seemed like just when Wulfric had managed to massage the soreness out of his muscles, he was forced back to the bench to row again. The northmen had sailed up the Kalosian coast for three days, even rowing by moonlight. When clouds obscured the heavens, the ships turned out to deeper waters far out of sight of the shore and Skaldi called on his Ampharos to light their way. Halvard kept the ships on course through a strange shard of fogged glass he would hold up to the sky, judging the sun and moon's position through the reflection of the glass. Uthald swam alongside the ship, breaching occasionally with bloodstained fangs. While Wulfric rowed, Halvard sat with Dismas held gently in his hands, stroking the Chatot's feathers and staring at the horizon in contemplative silence. The first time Halvard had taken Dismas from him, Wulfric had panicked, but once his turn at the oar was up, Halvard handed the pokemon back without a word.

Finally, the ships turned into a long inlet nestled between the northern mountains, and Wulfric could make out a collection of huts and longhouses lining the shore. Halvard walked with an easy rolling gait to where Wulfric crouched by the rail of the ship. "Rovngalad," Halvard said, gesturing with a tilt of his head that he meant the town. "It is my home. And now it is yours, too."

The longships docked at the harbor and the northmen began unloading. When Wulfric was pushed out of the boat, he reeled on the dock as he tried to find his balance. Skaldi barked out a laugh as he walked by with his Breloom. "Look, the priest's knees have gone weak!"

Wulfric blushed and hid his face as Halvard took his arm and led him up to the shore. The woman with two scars from the other ship stood at the end of the dock. She surveyed Wulfric and raised an eyebrow. "This is the priest? He doesn't look like much."

"It is not the strength of his arms or back that I care about," Halvard replied. "It is his tongue I want."

The woman rolled her eyes. "We have just enough to go around to feed ourselves. If you insist on keeping the thrall, he'll be fed from your plate."

Halvard laughed. "An empty stomach is a small price to pay to read the southerner's marks, Ragnhildr!"

"If you say so, brother." She turned to Wulfric. "Come with me, priest. It's late in the day, so I suppose we'll let you rest. Tomorrow you get to work." She smiled the way all the northmen did, like a predator showing its teeth to terrify its prey. She whistled, and the Noivern perched on the stern of her longboat lifted off into the air and flew out over the village. A Houndoom with wickedly sharp horns trotted to her side and sniffed at the hem of Wulfric's robe. Dismas puffed himself up, but the canine seemed content to ignore the Chatot. "Geirr," Ragnhildr snapped. "Down." The Houndoom obediently went to her side.

She and Wulfric walked through the winding streets of the town to one of the larger halls. Ragnhildr drew aside the fur that served as a door and walked into the space. Two children sat by a hearth with a Kirlia. The younger one, a girl, jumped to her feet. "Mother! You're home!"

Ragnhildr scooped up her daughter and spun her around. "I am. Did you and Svein behave for Valdis?"

The girl nodded. "And we brought the Mareep in from pasture, and we didn't even have Geirr to help us. We did it all by ourselves." Ragnhildr set her down and patted the Kirlia's head. "Thank you for keeping my children safe." The psychic aligned tilted its head and gave a brief nod. Wulfric grasped his four-pronged ring. Saewin had done the same thing when Shepherd Aelffred had thanked him, and that was an uncomfortable reminder of home. Geirr walked past the family and lay down in front of the hearth, showing his fangs in a wide yawn.

Ragnhildr's son stared at Wulfric with eyes that were the same piercing blue as Halvard's. "Who is that?"

Ragnhildr sighed. "Your uncle decided to bring a thrall home. This man is a southern priest. Your uncle wants to learn the southern tongue, and I need more help on the farm." She turned to Wulfric. "You are not completely stupid? You do know how to farm?" Wulfric nodded. It was one of the many tasks the monks had undertaken in Coumarina. Ragnhildr pursed her lips and pointed at a corner by the hearth. "You will sleep there."

Something thudded to the ground outside. "Sigrund!" the girl cried and rushed out of the hall.

"Runa, be careful!" Ragnhildr shouted after her. The woman turned to Wulfric. "Come, Svein and I will show you the fields." They took him out of the longhouse by a second entryway in the back that opened on a large fertile plain. It was divided up at intervals by low wooden fences and stone walls. In the closest field, Runa was prancing around the same Noivern that had perched on Ragnhildr's ship, and the dragon twitched its head to follow the girl's movements. A flock of Mareep huddled around a large boulder further out in the pasture.

"This is all your land?" Wulfric asked.

"The whole village is our land," Ragnhildr replied and then scowled. "You will speak only when spoken to, priest."

Later that night, Halvard and Torvald had returned to the hall after carousing with several other northmen. Ragnhildr and Runa were asleep in a curtained room while Torvald and Halvard conversed softly over drinks. Wulfric sat in his assigned corner, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. He clutched his four-pronged ring in his right hand, fervently muttering a litany of prayers. Svein sat on the other side of the hearth, running his hands through Geirr's fur. When Wulfric looked up after reciting the seventh psalm, he saw the boy staring intently at him. "What is that? In your hand?"

Wulfric held up the ring. "It is the symbol of God. If I hold it when I pray, I feel closer to Him."

"Which god?"

"What do you mean? There is only one God."

Svein laughed. "Then your god must be very busy. Ours know to split up the work."

"The only god is Arceus."

The boy shrugged. "If you say so. Maybe you southerners only have time for one god. Sometimes it gets tedious praying to all of them."

"How many do you have?" Many stories were told of the more primitive religions of the eastern regions. When he had the time, Wulfric had found the illuminated Tojoh and Hoennian manuscripts where missionaries had chronicled the ancient beliefs in many other gods those lands had honored before they had accepted the Arcean faith. He knew there were some holdouts who clung to old folk religions in Hoenn, but Tojoh had been entirely converted for many years, though they did pay respects to the Tower Guardians as well. He knew that there had been pagan beliefs in Kalosia centuries before, but they were barbaric and he was never terribly interested in those stories.

Svein began ticking off on his hands. "Well, there is the Blue Spirit, and the One Who Watches. We've got the Protector of the Wild Places, and the Storm Bringer, and the Herald of Spring. Mother saw the Herald once, when she was a girl. And of course, there's," and here Svein made a gesture with his left hand, pressing his fingers into a Y shape, "the Bringer of Death. I've seen it myself, over the mountains, red and black and big as a tree."

Wulfric inclined his head. "We use those same names in the south, more or less. Those aren't gods. They are very powerful, but they aren't gods. The Blue Spirit is Articuno, and the Protector is Xerneas. The Storm Bringer is Zapdos, and yes, I've seen him from Coumarina once or twice. The Herald, I think, is Moltres, it fits with some folk beliefs. These are just very powerful pokemon, all created by Arceus."

"And what about the Watcher?" Svein scoffed. "And the Bringer of Death? How can your god create death itself?"

"The Watcher, I think, is what we call Zygarde, but we Arceans are fairly sure Zygarde is just a myth. It doesn't exist. Zygarde was made up to scare hunters into not leaving their carcasses out to rot, or woodsmen from cutting too many trees. Has anyone ever seen it?"

"Well, no, at least not for hundreds of years. But what about the Bringer of Death? I've seen it. How is your god strong enough to create death itself?"

"Arceus can do anything," Wulfric said, a little defensively. "And Yvetal is not death itself. It's just a very strong pokemon that we don't fully understand."

"How do we know Arceus isn't just a strong pokemon we don't understand?"

"Because Arceus emerged from Chaos and created the world. No pokemon is strong enough to do that."

"How do you know?"

Wulfric opened his mouth and then closed it again. Of course Arceus was the one true god. How could the child not see it? He formed the world with His thousand hands and set creation off on its expanding coil, creating everything as He saw fit in His grand design. To be the perfect being, Arceus had to first exist, and so because a perfect being like Arceus could be conceived of, He therefore had to exist. But Wulfric lacked the language to explain this to the precocious northerner. Fortunately, the child spared him the need to elaborate.

"I've never seen a pokemon like that bird before. What is his name?"

Wulfric looked down at where Dismas slept in his lap. "This is my Chatot. I call him Dismas, after Saint Dismas, one of the first easterners to embrace the grace of Arceus and renounce the godhood of the Tower Birds."

"To be a saint, all you have to do is say a god isn't real?" Svein laughed. "Does that mean we're both saints now?"

"There's more to it than just—"

"Is he strong?"

"Dismas, you mean?" Wulfric shook his head. "I wouldn't say so. Neither Dismas or I are fighters. But he is very clever."

At that moment, Torvald came over and ruffled his nephew's hair. "Is the priest filling your head with ideas, Svein? There's time enough to talk to him tomorrow. Time to get to bed."

Halvard stood as well. "You should sleep too, priest. You'll be out in the fields early in the morning." The two warriors led Svein away to a room opposite Ragnhildr and Runa's while Wulfric curled up on the hard packed earth and began his litany of prayers again.

The repetitive motions of plowing a field left Wulfric sore and tired, but after rowing up from Coumarina to Rovngalad, he was already numb to exertion. He fell into the rhythmic rise and fall of the plow the same way he had fallen into the rowing, though he knew he would be waking up sore and stiff for days. Because Svein had taken an interest in Dismas, Wulfric had let the Chatot join the boy while he herded the Mareep in the pasture. The Chatot's mimicry had amused Svein, and he had been using it to trick Runa all morning. And besides, he didn't like Dismas to see him like this.

Halvard had hitched Steinarr to a larger plow and was turning a different part of the field. Other villagers, some of them thralls, worked in the other sections of the fields and always hailed Wulfric's captor as "Jarl Halvard". They had begun work at sunrise, and when Halvard told Wulfric to stop it was nearly noon. "If I work you any harder, you'll probably die on me. Can't let that happen, for all the trouble it would put me through." The northman walked to a well and pulled up a pail, drinking deeply from it. He let it fall again and motioned for Wulfric to do the same. "There's a big rock under the new field, can't do anything more until we do something about it. I'll need to send for Torvald. Jarn only listens to him." He waved Svein over. Dismas followed and alighted on Wulfric's shoulder. "Boy, go fetch your uncle in town."

Svein glanced over his shoulder at where Runa and Geirr were trying to marshal the Mareep flock. "I will, but a few of the Mareep wandered off into the woods. I don't trust Runa going there alone." He looked over at Dismas. "Perhaps the bird could go? He can mimic voices."

Halvard turned to Wulfric. "And he could find Torvald?"

Wulfric shrugged. "Dismas is clever. I should think so."

The northman tilted his head. "Show me the trick." After a few minutes of practice, Dismas had managed to get the message right and Wulfric was fairly confident that Dismas had been given enough of a description to recognize Torvald. "What's stopping the bird from flying away?" Halvard asked as they watched Dismas fly over the field and into the village.

"Would Steinarr abandon you?" Wulfric replied.

"Fair enough." Halvard sat down on the ground and patted the earth next to him. "Nothing can be done until my brother gets back. Teach me some words. Field. Rock. Plow." Wulfric did as he asked, and though Halvard butchered the pronunciation, he could see the northman turning the words over. Finally, Halvard smirked. "There's a question that has been eating you. I can see it. Ask, then."

Wulfric lowered his eyes. "The people here call you jarl. That makes you their lord, yes? But if you're the lord, then why are you working the fields with me?"

Halvard dug his hand into the soil and pulled up a handful. "Because this, priest, is my land. It belongs to me, but I belong to it. It is only right that I work it alongside my subjects and my thralls. Did not your lord in the south do the same?"

"No. The king would never work his own fields."

Halvard let the dirt trickle through his fingers. "Then he does not deserve to be king."

"The king sits on the Illuminated Throne by the grace of Arceus Himself!"

Halvard threw back his head and roared with laughter. "I ought to strike you for that insolence, priest, but you're too damn funny!" He got his laughter under control. "Do you mean to tell me that your god came down and personally put the crown on your king's head?"

"Well, of course not. But the High Shepherd conferred his blessing and…"

Halvard laughed again. "Men who claim to speak for the gods only ever say what they wish. It is just that they hide behind their gods to give their words weight. Skaldi says he speaks for the Bringer of Death, but do I believe him? Of course not. Yvetal is a force of nature, what time does it have to speak through the runes? Perhaps Skaldi can feel its power and be in awe of its majesty. His sacrifices may even reach the Bringer of Death somehow. But whenever he claims to speak with Yvetal's voice, I know that is my signal to watch Runa play one of her little games or to finally get the bramble out to Steinarr's leaves."

"You do not honor the gods? Any gods?"

"You ask too many questions, priest." Halvard shrugged. "But put that way, no. I don't."

"So when you told Torvald and Skaldi that I was a gift from your gods…?"

"I was just trying to shut them up. If I told them I just wanted someone to teach me your southern language, they would have tried to dissuade me."

"I see. So you would turn the name of god to your own ends, for selfish gain?"

"The gods don't care about us. Why should I care about them?"

"Arceus cares about all living things."

Halvard laughed again. "Then your god has too much time on his hands." The jarl jumped to his feet and waved at an approaching figure. "Torvald! The bird found you?"

Torvald walked up to the well and drew up some water. Dismas fluttered around his head until Wulfric waved him off to go back to Svein and Runa. After taking a drink, Torvald grunted. "That bird wouldn't leave me alone. What's so important you needed to drag me all the way back here?"

Halvard took his brother and Wulfric out into the new field he and Steinarr had been plowing. "There's a large rock right about here," Halvard said, pointing at the ground. "We need Jarn to move it."

Torvald muttered something under his breath before sticking two fingers in his mouth and whistling. The large rock foundation at the edge of the forest began to move and shift. The squeal of metal grinding against metal filled the air as the rock pile stood upright, revealing a glittering metal carapace. An Aggron half again as large as any that Wulfric had seen any of the Kalosian knights use rose up and growled. Torvald snapped his fingers and beckoned the monstrous beast over. With plodding steps, the Aggron ambled through the herd of Mareep. The electric aligned seemed undisturbed by this and just parted around its feet.

"Jarn, there's a rock just here," Torvald said. "We need you to dig it up."

The steel aligned made a long, deep rumbling sound, and it felt to Wulfric like all of his bones were shaking. Jarn began to dig, its heavy tail lashing back and forth. "Will that be all?" Torvald said, and before waiting for an answer he turned on his heel and strode off back towards Rovngalad.

Halvard shook his head and hitched his plow behind Steinarr again. "Back to work, priest."