Page 28 of Chapel at Ender’s Ridge (Ender’s Calling #1)

“Flip to Exodus,” he said, dragging his chair closer.

He thumbed through ragged pages until he reached the second book.

“Keep going.” Decker leaned over his shoulder and tapped his hand when he reached the right page. “There. The plagues of Egypt. ”

The rusty wheel lurched and groaned, shaking off months of apathy and dismissal. He’d become so blinded by what he thought his life was, he’d ignored what it was becoming.

Mind racing, he read over the passages as dread coiled in his stomach like a rattlesnake.

“And all the waters that were in the river were turned to blood…the frogs came up and covered the land…all the dust of the land became lice—” Decker blindly stumbled through words until they became a blur.

“Swarm of flies…a very grievous murrain…a boil breaking forth—”

They’ll ship me to the asylum before they’ll believe this.

His chair flew and he began pacing. “Blood, frogs, lice, flies, livestock dying, boils. The plagues, it’s all here.”

“Decker,” Laurie said gently, worry lingering in his eyes. “That happened under very specific circumstances. The ancient plagues of Egypt, here ? In Ender’s Ridge?”

“It’s too much to be a coincidence,” Decker said. “I know it doesn’t make sense, makes me sound like I hit the bottle, but I can’t ignore the similarities.”

Willa frowned as she rolled her coffee cup between her hands. Her eyes sharpened under the blanket Sister Inez had tucked around her. “Say you were right about it, how does that explain the strange way the kid’s necklace didn’t protect him?”

“The last plague.” Sister Inez moved to his table, and Safine propped her elbows up as she stayed put.

Flipping a page, she pointed out the verse. “And it came to pass that at midnight the Lord smote all the firstborn. All the plagues lead to the death of the firstborn. ”

“Cricket wasn’t the firstborn. He mentioned an older sister teaching him how to braid his hair once,” Decker said. “And the rest of us haven’t died.”

“Yet,” Safine added.

Sister Inez shrugged and sat back, as if she’d done her part.

“Firstborn,” Decker said under his breath, mulling over the verse. The last plague of Egypt was a desperate attempt at forcing freedom. Cruelty in exchange for souls.

If these truly were plagues, they’d all been focused on the destruction of Ender’s Ridge, and every creature still here had survived.

Some of them could avoid death, immortality etched on their bones.

There was another way to kill the unkillable.

Maybe death of the firstborn couldn’t be taken so literally with twisted plagues from an unknown source.

“We’re all the firstborn,” Decker said grimly.

“Cricket died because he was just a human without the amulet. It’s been happening to me, and I didn’t even realize it.

If the plague is leading towards the death of what makes us different and making us human again, it would explain why I haven’t been getting burned and why I got ill after Nathan. ”

Willa lightly scoffed. “Don’t you think I’d crumble into a little pile of dust by now?”

“It’s been gradual.” The thought of them all becoming human again was worse than anything even Cricket came up with in his liquor-addled brain. But they didn’t have any other leads.

Laurie sank permanent wrinkles into his brows. “This isn’t of God. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Many parts of the Bible don’t make sense,” Decker said .

The Bible gaped at them like the empty mouth of hell.

If there was a god, the God, and Laurie was wrong and this was a punishment for their mere existence, how was he meant to fix this?

Shout at the stars and demand redemption from a being that hadn’t given half a shit for his whole life?

Bargain with the Devil himself since he knew the coldness of God intimately?

Decker scrubbed a hand over his beard and left his half-full cup of coffee on the table. “I’m gonna go feed the horses.”

He grabbed his hat from the nail behind the counter and slipped on his gloves. The brisk autumn air nipped at him before he pulled his bandana over his face and ducked into the barn.

Sitara and the others whickered happily when they saw him, stomping in their stalls as he scooped grain for them and scratched Sitara’s forehead. Marshal stood listlessly in his stall, nibbling on the edge of the wood.

“I know,” Decker said softly, running a hand over the whorls of white and sorrel across his neck. “I’m sorry your days of chasing down stagecoaches are over.”

His own days of pouring drinks and pretending to be human would be over soon, if they couldn’t find the cause of the plagues.

Human.

The idea shook him, even though the thoughts slipped through the cracks of his mind over the years. He’d gotten a taste on the train. A glimpse of humanity, and he held it close.

The barn door cracked open and Sister Inez slipped inside.

A frown pulled at Decker’s brow.

She folded her hands in front of her and joined him, lingering in the sounds of crunching grain and scraping hooves. When she finally spoke, it was careful and measured .

“Willa is brave, but careless. She doesn’t believe the church could be corrupt,” Sister Inez said quietly, waiting for his sign to continue.

Her face was drawn as she recounted her thoughts.

“Once the priest beat Sister Jo and took her to the church after dark. When she came back she was white as a sheet and her wounds were stitched. Perfect. I’ve seen Father try to fix his robes; it wasn’t him.

I told Willa what I knew, and she didn’t listen. I hope you will.”

A corrupt doctor hiding out in an equally corrupt church, too fancy for Silver Creek to sustain. His only thread to follow, frayed, but it was possible.

“I can reach Silver Creek if I leave soon,” Decker said.

Her dark gaze intensified, boring into him. “Thunder and hail are next. If you’re right, and these are plagues, each one is coming more quickly than in Egypt. Be careful.”

No time to waste.

Decker swept a brush over Sitara’s cream coat and fitted her with a bead-edged saddle blanket, lifting it from her withers.

When he’d accompanied Safine to trade with Three Hawks several months ago, he’d admired the intricate, square pattern adorning his paint pony.

When Safine returned from her next trip, she’d proudly presented him with one of his own.

Crafted for Sitara or haggled over by his wife, Decker didn’t know, but he sent his thanks in pouches of tobacco and rattling tins of glass beads.

Decker slung empty saddlebags over the pommel and fitted Sitara’s bitless bridle.

Sister Inez waited before she said, “I want to believe there’s good to fight the corruption in the church. Laurie shows promise. My family shows promise. ”

Decker faintly smiled. “You tell ‘em everyone’s welcome here as long as we’re still a town.”

“Of course.” She dipped her head. “I’ll say a prayer for you.”

“Might need more than one, Sister.”