Chapter VII, Pt I

There was nothing left to do. The pair would come out with bloodied hands and soil'd weapons and the mission would be over. All Elsa had to do was wait. She was always used as a sort of guide and seer, some tool for war. She had long ago sold her soul to the military in order to take apprenticeship under a well-known witch and prophet. That's what they were now, all of them; dogs of the military. Even now the cycle makes its turn as a new apprentice has arriv'd to study under her, the bright and energetic Lydia. The girl was young and full of potential. Just as it had been with herself.

Dragging her out of thought was a rank and stagnant smell. What was that repelling smell, she thought. Such a horrible smelling place, the slums. All around were piles of waste and mountains of all-around junk. She spott'd the smell. It was a heap of dung with a lovely audience of gargantuan flies hovering near the remnants. She shuddered. All the wisdom of her teachings couldn't shake her of the natural dislike of reeking vile. The horses didn't seem to mind. They were all grazing peacefully on the patches of grass that only grew so well on the lawn of the old church.

The church itself was massive, she discover'd as she look'd on at it. Larger than some of the more modern ones she's visit'd, perhaps. It most certainly rival'd any others she's seen. Even in its age and disuse it had retain'd the natural splendor, a great ruin of decaying wood and glass. The windows were made up of long, stain'd glass with several ikon-like depictions in their geometric style of art. Here and there the windows foresaw The Trio; Mother, Father, and Son. Towering high was the steeple, no longer white, but grey. It point'd up toward the skies, to the Heavens, but if it even scratch'd the surface, no one could tell. It could only strive.

The sense of Death was stronger now than ever before. It was like a heavy bog-wraith smothering the area with its presence. The boy had felt it, aye. She knew he did. They all did, it made their trip a sombre solemn. It was odd that such a spectre could bring about the feelings of nostalgia, for she had (unintentionally) read the other two's minds. Both of them recall'd that same dreadful emotion, that black atmosphere.

Without any warning, a series of turbulent images began to force themselves in her head. She was perceiving in the eyes of the boy now, and a sharpen'd sense of fear was with him, but sharper still was his sense of duty. Something of a wonder was going on, a wonderful and deathly miracle. Over and over the sound of some deep, even and long note was resonating within the church. Over and over, repeating and repeating, that low and even metronome of sound. The Child's power was being releas'd. Too soon.

Through the boy's eyes she saw the source of the sound. Vibrating on its own accord was the fork of a chime necklace strewn across the Child's neck. It was sounding as if by an invisible force, and the Child was awakening. Slowly, she saw the Child's feet rise into the air, her eyes ablaze in an iridescent blue with a deep and painful anger. She didn't have to see it. She could feel her power from where she was standing outside. It was in the change of wind and air that gave eerie chills down the spinal column.

"My Gods..." She heard herself whisper.