Desa and Kalia

Prologue-1

Three Months Ago

Three Months Ago“Sin!”

Reverend Raphael Azradi stood behind the pulpit in his little church. In preparation for the new year, he had donned a white cassock with gold trim on the cuffs of each sleeve, but the garment was too loose. Another sign of his advancing age. In your middle years, everything became too tight, but as your body shrivelled, it was suddenly loose again.

Raphael was a man of eighty and two, his pale face marked by deep creases with a liver spot on his cheek. What remained of his white hair was thin and wispy. His eyes, however, were every bit as sharp as they had been in his youth.

Oh, he might need spectacles to read the Scriptures, and sometimes objects fuzzed at the edges when he wasn’t squinting, but he could spot sin from a mile away. And today, he saw it everywhere he looked.

Solemn faces stared back at him with dull eyes. Nearly every pew was full on this cold, winter morning. Fat snowflakes swirled in the arch-shaped windows on either side of the room.

With a new year only days away, people came – as they always did – to affirm their commitment to renewed piety. For many, it was a pledge that would last a month at most. When the holiday passed and the yearly reminder of the Almighty’s eternal vigilance faded, so too would their commitment. By spring, most would have slipped back into their old habits: gambling, drinking, debauchery, a******y.

With trembling hands gripping the lectern, Raphael leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Sin,” he said again. “The universal condition that defines our existence, that sets the bounds of our potential. Sin is that which makes us human.”

He saw several people staring into their laps. Colin Basworth looked particularly uneasy. No doubt his discomfort was well-earned. Raphael had listened to his confessions when he was a boy filching pies off window sills. He had been a troublemaker then and not much had changed in the forty years since.

Now, Colin was a tall and broad-shouldered fellow with a bit of a paunch and a ring of gray hair around the back of his head. He had ascended the ranks at the Gilbert and Sons Logging Company, becoming a businessman of some repute. Ask anyone here in Silver Spruce – or any of the nearby communities – and they would tell you that Colin Basworth was beyond reproach.

They would also be lying.

It was common knowledge that Colin had a mistress in every town from here to High Falls. Even his relentless harridan of a wife knew it, though, in her case, the desire to sweep it under the rug made some amount of sense. Raphael could understand a woman’s shame upon discovering that her husband was unfaithful. What he could not understand was why the rest of the town insisted on playing along with such a ridiculous charade.

Men did such things when they wanted to remain in each other’s good graces, turning a blind eye to the filth that festered right in front of their faces. Well, Raphael could see it. Sometimes, he thought he could taste it.

In the minds of most men, harmony was more important than honesty, the approval of their fellows more important than their duty to the Almighty. Raphael understood the temptations of earthly pleasures. What he did not understand was how anyone could measure such momentary happiness against the eternal bliss that awaited those who served faithfully, yet still choose the former. If bliss was not sufficient inducement, surely the lingering threat of the Abyss would drive the point home.

Stepping back, Raphael drew himself up to full height, ignoring a momentary flash of pain in his right hip. He adopted the tone of a lecturing schoolteacher. “Sin cannot be conquered by a man’s will for men are weak. Only the grace of the Almighty can overcome the darkness that lingers within each of us.”

Rita Bateson, a diminutive woman with more wrinkles than you would expect from the small amount of gray in her raven-black bun, began to fidget. She glanced out the window with a tight frown.

It was an effort not to glare at her. Rita’s husband, Carl, was a bookkeeper who seemed oblivious to his wife’s growing affinity for fine, silk dresses. For that matter, her growing collection of gold jewelry bore some scrutiny. What was Carl thinking, letting her parade around like that? Raphael couldn’t remember the last time he had witnessed such flagrant immodesty.

“You must give your sins to the Almighty,” he declared. “For only he can cleanse your soul! Come forth and receive the Almighty’s mercy.”

One by one, they came forward to be anointed. Raphael placed a dab of holy oil on each of their foreheads, and they each took a small, white candle from the altar, lighting it with the large, red one that burned with a steady flame. Another mass to end another year. Another string of false promises to renew their commitment to virtue. He was growing weary of this.

* * *

“Reverend!” Bill Martin hollered, his voice muffled by the thick, wooden door.

Raphael sat up, a momentary back spasm causing him to wince. He returned his pen to the ink jar and slid his chair back from the desk with a harsh, grinding sound. The gray light coming through his small, square window was insufficient; he needed an oil lamp to complete his work on next week’s sermon. His eyes might be able to spot sin, but the cramped scrawlings of whoever transcribed his copy of Raine’s Ascendence were another matter entirely.

Hobbling out from behind the desk, Raphael went to the door and pulled it open with a grunt. He found Bill standing in the hallway, looking somewhat diffident. The poor fellow wouldn’t lift his eyes from the floor.

It had been a few months since Raphael had spoken with him. Bill had put on some weight, it seemed. His double chin was even more prominent. His thick, brown mustache almost looked comical on that pink-cheeked face. “We, uh…We need your assistance, Reverend.”

“What’s the matter, Bill?”

The big man stepped aside to reveal a skinny slip of a youth standing behind him. Timothy Martin refused to look at Raphael. Everyone agreed that the boy took after his mother, though it was hard to confirm that assessment. Sarah had been dead for eight years now. Raphael had almost forgotten what she looked like.

With a cleft chin and high cheekbones, Timothy would have no trouble drawing the attention of any girl who caught his eye. That mop of sandy, blonde hair could do with some trimming, however; the bangs almost fell into his eyes.

“He um…He needs Repentance, Reverend,” Bill stammered.

Raphael blinked, startled by the other man’s request. “Repentance?” His gaze latched onto the boy. “And what sin of yours is severe enough to merit the Almighty’s direct intervention?”

“f*********n,” Bill said.

That drew a response from the boy; he straightened his back and glared daggers at his father. “We weren’t fornicating!”

Raphael held up a hand for silence. Calmly turning to Bill, he let none of his displeasure show on his face. “Explain.”

Staring at the floor again, Bill cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I caught him and Brandy Clifton in the barn. The girl had her skirts hitched up to her knees and-”

“That will be quite enough, Bill,” Raphael interjected. “Meet me in the yard by the tool shed. We will perform the sacrament there.”

The other man was quick to obey, his sullen son slinking along behind him. There wasn’t a lad in this world who enjoyed taking responsibility for his crimes – and accepting the punishment that went with it – but these were the moments that forged a boy into a man. Of course, it also meant an unpleasant walk in the cold. He fetched his coat from the small cabinet and a pair of leather boots as well. His slippers were of no use on a day like this.

Raphael left his study, pulling the door shut and using an old, iron key to lock it. He had to jiggle the b****y thing a few times. That done, he shuffled through the narrow corridor.

A series of oil lamps along the white wall provided more than enough light even for his weary eyes, but they offered little in the way of heat. Not enough for comfort, anyway. After an hour in his study with a woodstove burning, he felt the chill quite keenly.

The back door opened with the groan of rusted hinges. He stepped into a gloomy afternoon with a ceiling of gray clouds stretching across the sky. If it had been chilly indoors, it was downright frigid out here. The icy wind nipped at his nose and his ears.

A few snowflakes fluttered playfully through the air, but not enough to leave more than a light dusting on the ground. Those looming clouds had been threatening a blizzard for several days, but so far, they had failed to make good on it. The ground was hard beneath Raphael’s feet, the frozen grass having turned brown months ago.

He made his way out to the shed – a small, wooden building that stood next to a massive blue spruce tree. Getting the door open required some effort on his part. His arms weren’t as strong as they used to be.

With one final tug – and a grimace for good measure – Raphael grunted and fell on his backside. A collision with the lumpy ground sent another jolt of pain through his hips. He ignored it, forcing himself to stand and dusting himself off.

Inside the shed, he found a shovel, several hammers and a saw whose blade had dulled. He had to rummage for a few moments, tossing aside the old axe that Nathan used to retrieve firewood. His fingers were starting to feel the cold. Soon, they would be numb; he should have put on gloves.

After some grumbling, Raphael found what he was looking for.

There it was, coiled up in the corner: an old, rusted chain made from iron. He grabbed the end of it, snarling as he pulled it out of the shed. It was heavier than he remembered. Or perhaps his arms were even weaker than he had surmised.

Turning around, he gave a start upon finding Timothy and Bill standing side by side in the field. The boy had his eyes downcast and his shoulders hunched up. Perhaps in an attempt to keep the cold at bay. Or perhaps in anticipation of what he knew would come.

“On your knees, boy,” Raphael commanded. “Remove your coat and shirt.”

Timothy refused to budge.

“You heard him!” Bill growled, seizing his son by the shoulder and forcing him to kneel. The man was as red as the sinking sun.

Timothy looked up at his father through narrowed eyes. “This is lunacy!” he spat. “I kiss a girl, and you beat me like a dog?”

“The Almighty demands payment for your sins,” Raphael murmured. “Remove your coat and your shirt.”

“The Abyss take me if I will!”

Rage boiled within Raphael. Before he even realized it, he was swinging the chain with all his might. How dare this whelp disobey him? Timothy flinched as a rusted link kissed his cheek, squeezing his eyes shut and hissing.

Raphael swung the chain again.

This time, the lad caught it and stood up slowly. His face was murderous, a tiny cut bleeding on his cheek. He tugged on the chain, pulling Raphael closer.