At nightfall, Ozren ordered the men to set camp and stop for the day. Veran protested, begging the young boyar to march through the night and reach Rhana but Ozren was unwavering. Tents were raised, and fires were started. Watches were drawn, but Veran wasn’t given one.

Setting up camp wasn’t easy when the battalion was split into groups. People ran into each other, and luggage and provisions were spilled on the ground. Two men struggled, pushing a cart out of the mud while another group just watched from the side. Belief had put a hard line between them.

“Kindle the flames, polish your steels tonight, and watch the chasm nearby. I’d hate having to dig someone out of there in the morning. We may see fighting tomorrow.” - Captain Rorick said to the men under his command.

They ate the last of their rations around the fires. Veran found a place in the only group that didn’t stand silent while he was around - Malek’s friends. The soldiers sat around the fire with their hands clasped together and whispered silent prayers. Each one of them tore a little piece of bread from their rations and tossed it in the fire.

“To Svarog. To keep our blades sharp in battle.”

Veran looked around and saw that many of the men in this part of camp were doing the same thing. Some prayed around the fire, others looked at the sky and some held a handful of dirt and spoke to it. On the other side, you could see men crossing themselves, touching their foreheads, belly, and shoulders.

“Tell me about your gods.” - Veran asked when their ritual was done.

They looked around, but no one dared say anything. They expected it to be another joke or an opportunity to mock them.

“I’m serious.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything, I guess.”

“Well, they are many.”

“Too many to know all of them.”

“There are a few main ones that everyone worships, but the others depend on the region.”

“How so?”

“When Perrun hurls lightning in the sky, everyone can feel his strength. But what other gods your village makes sacrifices to depends on what it needs.”

“If you’re only a small community, you probably make sacrifices to Lada to have babies and help the land be fertile. She only touches the soil, and it would give fruit the next harvest. She would hold her hand over a woman’s belly and she would be with child on the next moon.”

“The whole sacrifice thing is misunderstood too. Back in the day, they made feasts for the gods to win their support. It’s the same with prayers. You had to ask them for help in the past, show you respect and love them. But we still pray now. You never know who’s listening.”

“You speak as though you sat down and ate with them.”

“My grandmother did. She’s seen them. She knows them.”

“Oh, would you cut the fairy tales.” - a voice came from a group of men nearby.

“What’s your problem? Put some bread in your ears if you don’t want to listen.”

Like all other evenings after the incident, the men jabbed at each other’s faith. Were they so much different, Veran thought? Some of them crossed themselves before falling asleep. Others burned things in the fire for good omens. Was it so hard for them to share this world? But each of those two worlds shook the foundations of the other.

Then he saw the figure again.