The Past . . .

1504 A.D.

Jeremiah Garir glanced up at the clear night sky, the stars bright pin pricks against a matte of black, and took a deep breath. His wife, Rebekah, had complained of the sharp pains again. It was to be expected, he supposed. She had just begun her ninth month of pregnancy of their first child. The Peraton Village doctor said that she could be due any day now. Rebekah had been thirsty and so had woke him in the middle of the night to go and draw water from the well. He didn’t mind getting up. He was thirsty, too. Wearing only his nightclothes—loose-fitting light gray pants and matching top—he slipped on his shoes, grabbed the pottered urn by the door and went outside.

Now, out here in the cool night air, he felt invigorated and wondered if he’d be able to return to sleep easily once he was back indoors. Placing a palm to the edge of the well, Jeremiah took yet another deep breath and wondered why he was suddenly so restless. He had had nine months, after all, to prepare for the arrival of what he hoped would be a son. He had had all this time to go over in his head how he and Rebekah would parent the child, and if they would do well by him or her. Hopefully they would be everything this child could ask for in a set of parents and more. Hopefully. They were young and still somewhat inexperienced at life. He was twenty-eight, she twenty-three. But now, reflecting on it, it wasn’t the unease of questioning their potential parenting skills that set his stomach swirling with butterflies.

It was the type of world they would be bringing the child into.

Peraton Village wasn’t a terrible place at first glance. Normally, it was actually quite beautiful during the day, with small scattered patches of flowers and shrubs lining the streets, a small forest at its center with an area cleared out for children to run and play. But that’s where its idealness ended. Peraton was wasting away. The majority of the families barely earned enough from their trades or farming to keep a roof over their heads. Many of the children had been wearing the same set of clothes for the better part of the year. And many, adult and child alike, were forced to eat only every other day as a result of the severe drought this past summer, ruining most of the crops. Both Jeremiah’s and Rebekah’s once filled-out bodies were now mere cloaks of skin over skeletal frames. What was once a simple town with struggling settlers was quickly becoming a breeding ground for the starved and poor. Several of Jeremiah’s friends had to sell their small homes and move into makeshift shacks so they could afford to eat. He and Rebekah had contemplated doing the same just after the drought hit; only a small corner of his farm and a tiny vegetable garden Rebekah kept just out back of their tiny home remained. Even if next year brought good weather, Jeremiah doubted he would have enough money to get the farm started again.