Yeah, she'd always been that kind of person. Lots of questions, too many questions. It was one of her biggest flaws in the veil, one of the things her parents liked most about her out here. She nodded. "We're not supposed to talk." She explained. "I just don't want you to get in trouble."
But his father... Eden knew his father. only in passing, they'd see each other at church. but a father was important for a man, the same way a mother was for a woman. If Ruth was sick... "I'm so sorry. I'm sure you've been praying plenty, but have you visited zelda? She might be able to help." Although she could already imagine the pushback. "You could say the goddess sent you something to ease his pain."
Honor shook his head quickly. "No, he wouldn't," he said. Others might, but his father was determined, almost seemed excited, to die what he saw an honorable death. Prolonging it with medication or drugs would just make it less so, in his mind. Though it saddened Honor, he tried to understand it and not to fight back against his father's wishes. "My father is... stubborn."
Mac assessed the shell between them, ghosting his finger along the curved edge. "Imperfection is mortal." Which meant it was inevitable, in his mind. Brigid disagreed, of course. She thought it was possible for humans to reach a level just beneath divine. "Keep it for now, until we see what else we've got." Cormac stepped closer to the water, which rose as the ocean neared high tide, and he dipped down to scoop sand, letting it sift between his fingers until only shells were left. "What do you make of it?" he chanced, eyes down, trained on the task at hand.
Honor pocketed the shell and moved to stand in the surf next to Cormac. He sensed that the question wasn't related to the shells, nor even the weather. "You mean the... man?" Before his mind's eye flashed the body, the symbol carved into its back. The lines of his own symbol, that signifying his faith, seemed to stand out on his wrist as he reached into the freezing water.
The midnight hour drew nearer, and so the veil between worlds grew thinner in turn. Brigid had sought to divine power from the moon's light, but the clouds obscured it, and so she returned to the church, emerging sullen from the woods' core. She tidied the pews, then tended to the altar -- replacing the wilted flowers, pouring mulled wine into a goblet, nicking her thumb and spreading the blood along the metal rim. Stepping back, Brigid took her thumb in her mouth, laving over the wound until the metallic taste faded, and then she lowered herself to the floor.
But there seemed no chance of peace today. The silence rippled, broken by the creaking of the door. Brigid turned, eyes lifted toward Honor. "Blessed nightfall," she greeted, though her tone was toying. "What errand have I intercepted on its course?"
Honor was not supposed to be caught. That was why he'd chosen to steal into the church in the night, when everyone would be asleep. One of the esteemed members of the congregation, a young mother, had come to him a few hours before, crying. She had told him that her daughter, only three years old, had given up her beloved stuffed rabbit for the altar at service a few days ago. The special offerings were typically left on the altar for a week at a time before being taken elsewhere and stored as part of a more permanent altar setting, somewhere the town couldn't access, somewhere even Honor himself had never seen.
Now, the girl was inconsolable. She couldn't sleep and refused to eat, crying constantly about her rabbit. Her mother had begged Honor to ask one of the Twelve if they could get it back, if perhaps the Cailleach would understand that it was just a child's poor choice. But Honor knew that there was no way that would be officially allowed, and that the best way to get the rabbit back was to... simply take it. It wouldn't be noticed, he hoped, and the child would have what she wanted back with her. No harm, no foul.
Only, of course Brigid was here. Honor straightened up as he let the door close behind him. "Prayer," he blurted out. "No errand. I was... coming to pray."
If the Stuarts hadn't been such loyal, well-paying customers, Leo would have sworn them off long ago. They lived just close enough to the compounds of the cult of his youth to set his hackles on edge, but not so close that he could justify not helping them. Plus, Old Lettie was one of the first horses he had helped calf, so Leo felt he had an obligation to tend to her any time Stuart needed.
The horse was fine - just a small stone lodged in her hoof. Leo held the hoof between his knees, a small chisel in his hand. It was a simple enough procedure; Lettie had grown accustomed to her hooves in Leo's care. Nevertheless, a small orange tabby cat sat on the fence beside them, keeping careful watch over the situation. A soft tap on the handle of the chisel saw the offending stone removed. A quick glance showed no outstanding damage, so Leo gently let the hoof down to the ground before turning around.
His brother was there.
Leo's stomach dropped. This wasn't like the times he caught sight of Honor from across the street, or the occasional glance he'd sneak from time to time. This was no accidental almost-meet in a market or even the inn.
No, Honor was here, at the Stuart farm, with no one around. This was intentional. Even more telling was his posture, his hands raised in mock surrender, as if he hadn't specifically sought Leo out. Something akin to joy, but acidic, filled his chest. How long had he wanted to talk to them? How many times had he stopped himself?
Leo pulled a deep breath in through his nose. He let silence hang for a moment before: "You're not supposed to talk to me."
Honor nodded. He wasn't surprised that was how Courage would greet him after so long. The separation wasn't Honor's fault, though; he hadn't been the one to kick Courage out, to tell him to never come back -- to ban him, effectively, from their whole world.
He held guilt, yes, but not for that. "It's a special occasion," he replied carefully. He didn't want to start in with their father's condition. He worried that Courage might react poorly, or worse, that he might not... care. That what Honor hoped could finally be a chance to mend the bridge between Courage and the family would crumble just as quickly as it had the chance to be built.
His laughter signaled acceptance, both of Honor's presence and apology, and Cormac made no attempt to deny the sentiment. It was true. Privacy was as scarce as sunshine. Ridge Harbor was riddled with secrets, but they were all ancient. Newer ones seemed impossible to keep. Surely even this encounter, benign as it was, would be whispered about eagerly. Sometimes, Mac was certain that there was no place of true safety: not even his thoughts, which Brigid always seemed able to read. And so he focused on the water, on the shoreline, on the lapping waves and the old buoys that bobbed and creaked. Anything to keep them from drifting, from centering on Honor too earnestly.
"We've all been praying," which was meant to be comforting, allusion to community and their collective efforts, but to Cormac, it felt like proof they'd been abandoned. No-- He looked to Honor, breath held in fear he'd been caught, Brigid's imagined fury riddling him with shame. The Cailleach would never abandon her flock. "I just mean--" Mac swallowed, hoping his easy grin would convincingly deceive, "--clearly the Veiled One demands more. In fact..." He gestured to the beach, to the expansive shore, "I was collecting offerings, as well as my own thoughts. Would you care to--? I won't keep you if you've got to run."
Honor wasn't sure the reason for the catch in Cormac's breath, whether it indicated fear of the storms, fear of the futility of prayer -- but he dismissed that thought as soon as it entered his mind. "Yes, I would love to. I have nowhere to be." That wasn't necessarily true; there were always endless things to be doing, errands to run and favors to perform for the Twelve. But he liked it on the beach, with the cold wind. Where it felt like maybe nature could be controlled. He bent down and picked up a shell, nearly complete with just a single chip. "Do you think this'll do, or is it... not right?" He tapped his finger against the chipped edge.
Jericho raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Hey, I mean, I'm not gonna fight you over it." He shrugged. Honor had always been a bit of an odd duck, but so many of these Veilheads were. At least Honor was amenable and generally kind. If nothing else, he was a semi-regular customer, so Jericho appreciated him that far.
"Standard rate is fine," he said with a sideways attempt at humor. "You gonna shuffle me out some back road again? Last time you said you were on a 'time limit' and practically frog marched me out."
Honor scoffed lightly, dismissing that, even as he glanced through the window toward the front yard. He was certain that she wouldn't be due back for another hour or two, and yet he got antsy regardless. "Standard rate it is, no frog marches," he said, his eyes shifting back to Jericho as he pulled out the small bag of coins he kept in his pocket. "There are some... who wouldn't want you to have my business," he explained carefully.
Not the first part, the second part. Eden looked around, and realized they were the only ones there. That had to be why. Nobody from inside the veil would ask something like that unless they wouldn't be seen.
Tension she hadn't realized had gathered fell from her shoulders, and she smiled back, slowly. "I'm alright. How are you, honor?" It was a little weird to not have to fully carry the conversation. Usually it was terse and clipped. one dozen. What do i owe you. and that was all. This was... strange. exciting? good.
Honor could tell she found it strange that he was even talking to her, at least beyond the words required for a transaction. But that made him -- weirdly sad. Maybe it was that he'd been trying to find Courage just to speak to him, just to let him know about their father's waning health, but he'd been thinking a lot lately about how fucked up it was that there were people who lived in his very town who he was never supposed to talk to. People who he'd used to have some kind of relationship with. "Just alright? The Eden I knew used to bounce off the walls asking a million questions a minute." He hoped that was okay to say -- he knew that she'd likely renounced her old life, and yet, that was all he knew. "I'm doing... okay. My father's health is not good."
Cormac Dunaid rarely thought of himself. It wasn't that he was particularly selfless, but rather that he was otherful. From the moment they were born, the twins were set on a fated course: Brigid, for ascension, and Cormac, to break any potential fall. So he spent his time in her shadow-- No, by her side. A place of honor. A position that most would die for. That some had died for. To serve the High Priestess was to serve the Cailleach herself in mortal form. Why should he ever ask for -- hope for, dream of, long for -- more?
And for most of his life, Mac didn't mind this role. Brigid was more than his sister or his future leader -- she was intertwined well within his soul. They were each other's companions, and for most of childhood and adolescence, they were simply that: young. They weren't so wholly concerned with the practical applications of faith, nor did they understand (or so zealously believe) they could impact the world. Now, what had been duty once fortolled was responsibility borne, and Cormac found himself lost in the endless, impenetrable maze of his thoughts.
Which, of course, was why he didn't see Honor at first. He blinked, coming back from some empty nothingness, smiling instinctually, though only for show. In truth, he had hoped for a reprieve, for just an hour or two alone. "I was hoping it might offer some clarity," he mused, shrugging from his spot on the stones. "But I think it might've just given me frostbite on my nose." He shifted, half chuckling, half clearing his throat. "Think we're due for another storm?"
He wasn't sure if his intrusion was welcome, but it was too late now. "Frostbite's a small price to pay for some privacy," he said. "Which I'm ruining. Sorry." He peered out at the sea. "Hope not. Feels like they're coming faster and worse these days. I've been praying for fair weather."
Honor's the one who's been tasked with telling Courage. Dad's not getting better, that much is clear, and he's been talking some nonsense about wanting to see him. Wanting to see his eldest, one last time. Honor's tried to talk him out of it, as has everyone else, but he won't have it. Whether his mind is going or if he wants to have one final fight, Honor has no idea.
But like the good son he is, he goes in search of his brother.
He's hardly exchanged five words with Courage in years. Though they live in the same town, it's easy enough to avoid one another like the plague. The whole family's expert at it. Avoiding Courage -- if it were a category in some contest, they'd win hands down, every time. But now, he's doing the opposite; seeking him out. He strikes out at a few places, but someone at the market mentions that they saw Courage headed toward the Stuart farm, something about a sick horse.
So Honor heads out that way, too, sneaking around the farm house to the barn, knowing that if Courage sees him coming, he'll fucking take off. But when he steps inside the barn, Courage is there with the horse, and Honor raises his hands in surrender, not saying anything, just approaching slowly. He wants, strangely, for Courage to have the first word.
Cormac Dunaid was someone Honor had never spoken much to. He didn't avoid him on purpose necessarily. In some ways, he was jealous of Cormac's position, of Brigid's — of their perfect family, the way everyone stayed together under belief and faith. If Brigid were to ascend to High Priestess, Cormac would have her right hand, and Honor just wished that he could be in that same position of power.
The other reason that he stayed at a distance was because Cormac was attractive, and Honor found himself drawn to him. This would be okay, as Cormac was within the faith, but Honor couldn't enter into any type of real relationship. Not with the Twelve always beckoning to him, wanting different things. Whether they wanted him to please them or just to do something, he had to keep this at the center of his life. He couldn't concern himself or grow too attached to his own affairs. His entire family, his entire life would fall apart. And what if — his private fear — the same thing that had happened to Courage happened to him? Same-sex partnerships were less encouraged because Ridge Harbor needed more children, though Honor wasn't likely to provide that regardless. He'd leave the procreation to the others. He wasn't interested in fatherhood.
All of these things ran vaguely through his mind as he walked the beach. It was stony and the strolling was difficult, but he liked that. The cool wind whipped at his face, his cheeks going pink. When he spotted a figure standing not far away, he raised his hand in greeting before realizing who it was. Then, it was too late, and he approached with a smile plastered onto his face. "Cormac. Good to see someone else braving the cold."
Honor knew that the Twelve wanted to be sure that this new woman, Eve, was really within their grasp. He'd been asked to cozy up to her a bit, to find out where her true loyalties lay. Especially since she'd been poking around and asking questions, and there was a real need to draw up the bridges, to be sure that everyone within the castle's walls, so to speak, was safe. He'd never really spoken with her, and he wasn't sure he had the best read on her, but -- what the hell? It was worth a try. So he found her at the inn one evening, and he sidled up to her table. "You have room for one more?" he asked.
It was late, and Thomas had noticed that ever since the body turned up, people either left earlier, or once it passed a certain time, they stayed in the common room near the fireplace for as long as possible and only left in small groups. Not that he was surprised people were worried, scared. Who did it? Who was next? Those were probably the thoughts running through people's heads. He wasn't going to throw anyone out, though. Leaning onto the bar, he put his face against his hand.
"You gonna order anything else? Or do you want a room or anything? I get not wanting to go out there at this time. Don't worry though, we'll take care of you, long as you're under my roof."
Honor had made a mistake in coming here. But he was already drunk when he'd shown up, and had been hoping that Courage might be around. When he arrived and saw that Courage was not here, well, he was already halfway to the bar with a few coins in his hand. "Well ain't that lovely hospitality?" he drawled, tossing the coins onto the bar. "I'll have whatever you're still serving."
"That should just about do it," Jericho said, giving the door a little shake to make sure it hung on its hinges properly. He dropped his wrench into the small tool bag on the ground. He turned to face the other person, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt.
"This one's on the house," he said, interjecting before they could mention payment. "It was a quick enough fix, and I was already in the area with my tools. But if you've got anything else you need help with, I've got a bit more time before I have to be back at the tavern?"
Honor was handling some repairs for one of the Twelve; her house always needed little things fixed, and while he'd tried to fix this door several times, there was something messed up with the frame, and it always ended up coming off of its hinges if there was a bad storm or if someone slammed it too hard. He'd called in Jericho for help, but said, "No, I insist, I'd like to pay you." Mostly, he knew that she'd hate if she knew he'd gotten Jericho Chapman to do the job; much worse, she'd hate if he'd done it pro bono. Honor wanted to pay so that it would at least be a transaction rather than a kindness, from someone outside of the community.
Spring was coming, eden could smell it. The morning air was warmer, and boy if that wasn't welcome. She had her morning chores regardless of the weather, but doing them in a young sun's warm glow was much better than stepping through snow. Now, at least, it was rain.
"Beautiful day for market, isn't it?" Saturdays had markets, and Eden was there snow or shine. But this saturday, it was warming up. sales would be better. more to bring home. "I missed the sun. Do you need some eggs?"
Honor glanced around him, checking to see if anyone would spot him speaking to Eden. She was most definitely persona non grata, and yet he'd always sort of liked her. She'd been younger than him by a little over a decade and so when he'd watched the younger kids in the congregation, she was always among them. She'd enjoyed his stories. He tried to be nice to her whenever she was around, though he still worried about what others might think.
He nodded. "Yes, I'd like a dozen. How's it going?"
Second-born, second-best. Honor Rafferty spent his childhood trailing his brother Courage, always wanting and always failing to be as good or as special as him. While Joel Rafferty would leave and spend entire days or even weeks in service of the Council, it was Courage who stepped into the role of father figure — to Honor’s eyes.
 Honor was born three years after Courage, an age gap that was not meant to be. While Marnie and Joel had wanted another child immediately after Courage’s birth, it took over two years for Marnie to get pregnant again. During this time, she prayed and promised the Cailleach that if she should have any other children, she would commit their lives, too, in service not only of the Veiled One but the Council, too.
 When her second child was finally born, she was delighted to have a child at all; her disappointment at him being a male was secondary to her joy. She considered him to be an honor and a blessing placed upon the family.
 After his birth, the other three children came in quick succession.
 For the first few years of Honor’s life, his mother was either pregnant or breastfeeding. Her pregnancies and the postpartum periods afterward were not easy for her, and so Courage supported Honor and the others as much as possible. Honor looked up to him and relied upon him, and he spent long days following in his footsteps through the barn, trying to understand why the barn cats would hiss and scratch at him but not his brother.
 His talents were not with the animals, however much he wanted them to be. He wanted to be like his big brother, desperately; but he lacked the patience, the gentleness. He was too easily worked up; if a cat hissed at him, he’d hiss back without a second thought.
 When Courage began to work more for the Twelve and with the animals, Marnie turned to Honor to try to figure out in what unique way the Veiled One had blessed him. How would he best serve the Twelve?
 But his talents were few and far between. He did okay in school; a bit better than Courage, which he boasted about given any opportunity, but math and science were still difficult for him. He enjoyed history because he liked the stories — how the world had become the way it was. And for him, the greatest story of all was that of Ridge Harbor itself and the Veiled One.
 When his brother began to question the Cailleach, Honor fell deeper into his faith. He spent much of his time in the center of town, trying to offer up his services to the Council — he’d do anything for them, and he made this clear from a young age. At first, no one had any particular use for him; if they wanted something done, they’d ask Joel or Courage, who were older and more reliable. So much of Honor’s time was spent sitting around the town square, people-watching or else telling stories of the Cailleach to the younger children. These stories were made up, but they were fun, a mythology he created through gaps in the stories he’d inherited. Mostly, he liked how easily he could command everyone else’s attention. While his older brother grew more subdued, Honor became more outgoing. He wore his heart on his sleeve, kept the faith of a child into his teenage years. He didn’t question like Courage did; he didn’t want to question.
 After all, belief had never led him astray.
 When Courage foolishly allowed himself to grow entangled with a non-believer, it seemed as though the skies above Ridge Harbor darkened. The faith that had always felt simple and straightforward to Honor was tested as he watched his brother come home battered and bruised. He pleaded with him not to question, to simply fall back into line. But Courage either couldn’t or wouldn’t.
 The gap between the two widened, and so while Honor stayed on the righteous path and became more beloved by the Council the older he grew, Courage veered off. The night that Honor found him attempting to leave quietly, he woke his parents and their other siblings in the hopes that they would all be able to convince his brother not to leave the family.
 As he watched his father’s violent reaction to his brother, and as he peered through the window at Courage’s retreating form, his faith hardened into something more necessary. He needed it, because it was the glue that held everything together. He made it all make… sense.
 Without the truth, without the Cailleach, all of this was for nothing.
 Joel grew older and more tired after Courage left, and Honor took on more responsibilities at home and with the Council. As he left his teenage years and entered his twenties, he found that he could do quite a lot for them. Some of the Twelve wanted wood chopped for their fire, for example. Or for him to go to the market and retrieve the items on their grocery list. Others wanted him to lead the younger congregants with stories like he’d invented as a youth, only now, the Council acted as if those very same stories had always been enshrined in truth. As if Honor had not, in fact, made them up.
 He spent his days at the beck and call of the Council just as his father had. Some nights, one or other of the Twelve would also beckon, and Honor would go.
 He would do anything he needed to do, in order to hold tight to the faith that he’d required his whole life. In order to keep the position he had, both in his family and in the town. Well-liked, well-respected.
 What was asked of him in dark rooms did not matter in the town square, where everyone smiled at him and greeted him and asked questions about faith.
 Honor lives in a small house near the center of town, where he can be reached should anyone need him at any hour. Though he has plenty of friends, he doesn’t have anyone he can confide in, nor has he ever opened his heart up to a real life partner. He’s had flings with several of the congregants in the past, but has never been able to open himself up to any one person.
 Now, Joel Rafferty is on his deathbed, and the strains on the family are added to the confusion and darkness among the town in general. It’s a time for faith to be tested, but Honor’s is solid as a rock.
