Chapter 13: BCJch14: William Penn

Silas envied Soifon for her ability to walk on air above the shit-covered streets of Low Delaware Town. The streets had been bad before but worsened during the famine and trials. More people gathered in the streets and crowded houses and businesses he felt claustrophobic. Worse by far was the feeling of fear he could sense from the populous. An intangible terror had gripped a once hopeful community, and it disgusted him. Men were gathered, and an old man dressed nicer than the rest stood on a podium out of the shit-covered streets.

 

“Cousins rejoice in the trials God has given us and have faith in the elder council’s leadership. Already they have secured a wagonload of food that will be distributed equally. More art on their way. We aren’t alone; other towns have gotten word of our troubles, and our fellow Christians will surely send us their spare food from God’s bountiful harvest.” The preacher said.

 

There were murmurs about food sweeping through the crowd but when they are starving what else would they think about.

 

“I saw a guard leading a gelding with eight of the fattest wolves I have ever seen. Wolf meat goes ten pence a pound, and tis sweet on the tongue. Mayhap if we hurry, we can secure the choice parts before the elders take their tithe.”  A townsman said.

 

While food helped the situation, there wasn’t much that could be done with the surrounding farms picked clean by passenger pigeons. Millions of the little birds had pecked fields clean and when they were killed, they meat rotted quickly. It was possibly a design by the hollow but more likely a coincidence. The wolf meat seemed fresh enough.

 

Silas had someone he could get more information from but didn’t dare speak with her aloud lest he was thought possessed. If people treated innocent girls like criminals, he would hate to see how they treated a man rich in food. More than likely, it would be torture until he confessed and then a more inventive death or a hanging.

 

Of course, Silas would beat them to death with his staff unless they were lucky enough to blast him with a musket. Lead rounds would still be a problem until he started climbing the cultivation ranks in earnest, bullets would still be a problem.

 

People feared an invisible predator that hunted them and clung to their religion for support. Silas understood it like how a terrified soldier might pray in a foxhole with bombs going off. It wasn’t faith; it was coping with a bad hand and admirable. At least they weren’t killing too many of each other and had a semblance of order in a famine.

 

If God and religion could keep people from panicking and killing each other, Silas would keep his atheistic views to himself. Even if he felt that morally it was his obligation to point out a lie, even if it was comfortable. For the greater good of the people around him, he chose to allow them their fiction. It wasn’t like Silas gained any brownie points from atheist Jesus for converting followers.

 

People traveled in clicks, each dressed slightly differently, but all were wrapped more modestly than a Caliph’s wife. Face coverings had become fashionable for the cold winter making Silas stand out with his light dress and thin hose.

 

Silas felt underdressed with his wool britches, splotchy, poorly starched linen shirt, and heavy dark green doublet. The hat he wore went out of fashion decades ago, and the trimming was shoddy at the best of times. His boots were the best part of his wardrobe, bought with his own funds, but they were covered in blood and shit.

 

If he wasn’t a cultivator, he would probably be freezing  

 

Soifon calmly brandished her sword and sent off the spirits that had gathered in the town. Silas wasn't certain whether they made it to soul society east or some other afterlife. Not a lot was certain as he would have liked. When he first arrived, he thought he knew the world and understood things no other man did. But, after he began cultivating and seeing spirits, he learned how complex the world truly was.

 

“Methinks thou should go ahead and find lodgings. Thy spiritual pressure tis highly noticeable and easily tracked. Before I return to give my report, I will help thee with that to balance the scales.” Soifon said.

 

He smiled, and she took that as his acceptance.

 

What was he supposed to do? Silas knew power dynamics enough not to piss off an elder, even if they looked like a cute girl. He couldn’t even track her movements when she slew the wolves. By the way, they died; he was willing to bet that some laws of physics didn’t quite apply to such a powerful spiritual being.

 

Before he could reach the villa, a column of red-coated mounted soldiers led by William Penn. Several columns of riders entered the city armed with muskets and cavalry sabers. The slightly obese man wearing a powdered wig, Mr. Quaker himself, had come to save the day.

 

…

 

Silas knocked on the gate to John’s Villa. It was time to play the pretend that neither party was aware of the other’s spiritual power game. While he couldn’t sense it before, John and the Grisham family shined like a handful of torches among a sea of candles. None of them was a match for Soifon, but they were powerful. If Silas had a choice, he wouldn’t show his face in the town until he was at least in the second stage of cultivation.

 

A guard wearing the Grisham family coat of arms led him inside under the scrutinizing gazes of the British soldiery. 250 riders and 1000 infantry had entered the town, further congesting an already overpopulated town. The man was here to ostensibly settle the matter.

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It was surprising when the man was led inside, absent his guards, to sit in the same waiting room as Silas. The man smiled genially, which put Silas off immediately.

 

“God has tested thee greatly, young Sirrah. I have heard of thy trips from distant farm to town bringing meat and supplies. By the almighty, thou art a godsend.” The man’s smile suddenly dimmed. “Pay thee be careful. Don’t be fooled by appearances; the Sirrah of this house has little love of God or the divine. Thou art absent from church on Sundays mayhap tis a reason. I worry for the immortal God-given soul of such a brave young Sirrah.” William Penn said.

 

Silas had rarely had his dick sucked with so many teeth. The man praised him for Silas’s deeds and condemned him for his lack of faith or perceived lack of piety.

 

While he had no piety to speak of, even for the soul-king, Silas wasn’t going to let mister Quaker himself know that. There were hundreds of trained soldiers in town to keep the peace against a demonic threat. The most dangerous mortal in town was William Penn, so Silas chose his words carefully.

 

“Have no fear, my lord. I see no reason to make more trips to town for the foreseeable future. Methinks, thou have this situation well in hand. After I say goodbye to my friend, I will leave and not return for some time. Surely there are towns elsewhere that need my harvest more. I pray thou have brought enough supplies to feed the town until the situation is resolved.” Silas said.

 

He would regret the loss in profit during a famine, but he didn’t need more trouble.

 

“Thou have misunderstood me. Thy deeds are greatly appreciated, and I beg that thou continue thy work. But a sirrah needs to keep appearances among puritans even if they prefer to keep their relationship with God out of sight. Mayhap this is the wrong colony for thee.” The man said and smiled gently.

 

Silas would say there was no god, but there were apparently exceedingly powerful hollows. Who could say there wasn’t primordial hollow god that called itself Yahweh? He couldn’t say for sure what existed beyond the reach of soul society.

 

“Quakers art known for their sympathies but not their martial responses. Why come at the head of a column? Thy message has left me perplexed.” Silas said.

 

William Penn was the leader of the Pennsylvania colony that Delaware belonged to. It was his responsibility to see to the peace. The man was known for a soft hand, but that was relative to the hard asses of the day. Young girls were forced to confess to witchcraft or die in the puritan town, and a little soft compared to that might be marching in a small army to keep the peace and stop the madness.

 

“My message is peace and stability; too many deaths at the hands of the unelected elder council. Hark thee, Sirrah, and know I want to end the madness and return to my estate. Do not be afraid good Sirrah; my men shall find the beast and end it.” William Penn said.

 

Silas thought about what he wanted to say to the man who ruled the land appointed by the king. Telling the man his doubts or revealing anything about the monster would only lead to more scrutiny. Manpower wasn’t the problem so much as an invisible enemy. While muskets may hurt it with so many men, friendly fire was almost guaranteed once they panicked. The hollow could only grow stronger by feasting on so many souls.

 

“Will thou try the elder council for their crimes against the people? They have sent many young mistresses to God and pressed many under torture into a false confession. Mayhap a hot poker would have them proclaim themselves demons if only to get the pain to stop.” Silas said.

 

“Think twice before thou speak, and thy words will be twice the better for it. While I disagree with their ways, they sought to fight in the name of God against a foe they were ill-equipped to battle. Mayhap I need holy crosses instead of muskets. Art thou the one who made his way to deliver his harvest to the people. Did thy faith in God lend aid to thy musket, or did a cross better protect thee?” William said.

Faith wasn’t something Silas had anymore, and he doubted it could empower a cross to strike a hollow. Instead, Silas saw faith as a mix of desperation and hope for something intangible. People want to believe there is more than the shit world. Soul Society definitely wasn’t any better. A part of him wanted to bring some good to people, but there was too much to do and so little spiritual energy to go around.

 

Silas produced a small amount by existing, but it wasn’t enough to change the world alone. Hundreds of thousands of cultivators were needed for the world to truly change. Counting himself, there were seven up and coming, and even Silas couldn’t call himself one until he reached the first stage. 

 

Before Silas could say anything to alienate William Penn, the door opened, and John welcomed William into his study.

 

“Silas, please wait until after my meeting with Representative Penn. Methinks we have much to discuss.” John said.

 

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