The following is an excerpt from THE DARK PROVINCE: SON OF DUPRIN:

“I want to believe, Calvin. But I don’t have the faith.”

“I have it,” I said. “And I will carry it for both of us. I swear to you, Mari, I will not let you die.”

Fresh tears burned across the soft brown skin of Mari’s face.

“Calvin, no—that’s not up to you.”

“The Goddess calls us to stand faithful to the highest principles of our creed,” I maintained. “Healing and restoration are at the core of our covenant.” I could see the conflict in Mari’s eyes, the confusion and the panic. It shimmered before me so clearly. Though I had been taught all my life to watch my tongue—to be thoughtful and diligent with every word I would ever speak—I willfully gave over to the moment’s passion and refused to restrain my call to faith.

“As sure as Our Lady Beloved lives, I promise you tonight that you will soon stand on your own two feet again—free of ailment and free of this threat to your life.”

A dense and deafening silence settled between us. Mari no longer wept. Her eyes rather showed concern for me, a weighted acknowledgment of the seriousness of my words.

“You know it’s against wisdom to make promises you can’t keep,” she whispered. Her pause and the tone of her new gaze were sobering.

Suddenly I felt bare and cold. I had spoken far beyond my station. What power do I have? I thought as I quickly evaluated the promises I’d made. I was neither priest nor seer, and these were the words spoken only by one or the other.

“By whose authority do you proclaim these things?” Mari solemnly asked.

“My own, Mari, by my own authority; as a covenant-carrying Duprinite.”

Mari watched me for a moment, and then her soft gaze returned.

“It is just as it is written; the kings who performed miracles did so as common men,” I said defiantly. “This is well within my right. Please, Mari.” I squeezed her hand just a bit more, pulling myself as close to her bedside as I could be on my own knees. “Please stand with me in your heart. Believe with me for your restoration. My faith can carry us. I know it can.”

Mari nodded and began to weep once more. I leaned my head against hers and wept alongside her.

“I swear, Mari, for us death shall be just as life. If you should walk across the cool fields of slumbering souls, I will follow right behind you just as I did on the day of our birth. And the gates of Nozoria will be just as the entrance to this world, one we shall greet together!”

Mari said nothing else; she simply offered a tremulous nod. With her head still leaned against mine and holding tightly to each other’s hand, we wept, for bitterness as well as for precious hope.

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