Desa and Kalia

Prologue-3

Sarah couldn’t stop smirking. “You can pray to the Almighty all you want,” she replied. “But it’s Rina of Aladar you should thank.”

“Maybe it’s both,” Mary Burnham chimed in. “Maybe the Almighty worked through Rina.”

Raphael bit back the curse that danced on the tip of his tongue. They had been talking about this Rina character on and off for the last hour. How easily men’s hearts turned away from the divine. And how typical: Once again, it was a woman who tempted them to sin.

“Give your sins to the Almighty,” he said, turning away from them. “For he will cleanse your soul and grant you rest.”

* * *

When night finally came, Raphael returned to his house behind the church. He had half expected to find the place demolished, but as luck would have it, the tiny cottage had endured the worst of the quakes. The window in his kitchen was broken, but other than that, there was no lasting damage. Ronald Pollan had been kind enough to board it up so that Raphael could sleep without freezing to death.

Preparing for bed, he went to the washstand and filled the basin with water that he had heated on his stove. He had been out in the cold for too long. The chill had seeped into his bones, and now, he would struggle for days to rid himself of it.

His bedroom was little more than four stone walls with an oil lamp on the nightstand, but it served him. A holy man did not need lavish accommodations. Such temptations were the domain of fools.

A gust of wind outside his tiny window made him flinch. Part of him expected the chaos to start up again. As if the Almighty were toying with his children, granting them a reprieve only to restart the Apocalypse when they let their guard down.

Raphael turned to the washstand and gasped, stumbling backward. His heart nearly stopped from the shock of what he saw.

There, in the water, a silhouette stared back at him. Not his reflection. It had been many long decades since his face was that thin. And his shoulders were never so broad. He might have thought it just a trick of the light if not for the fact that the shadow moved, c*****g its head as though studying him.

“Away with you, demon!” Raphael snarled.

“Be at ease, my son,” the shadow replied. “I mean you no harm.”

Approaching the washstand reluctantly, Raphael gripped the basin with both hands and leaned forward to peer into the water. “Who…Who are you?”

“Do you not know me, Raphael? I am he whom you have served faithfully all these long years.”

Raphael’s mouth worked silently. He must have gone mad! Yes, that had to be it. His mind had cracked during all that mayhem. Perhaps he had imagined the whole thing. There had been no quakes, no rainbow light, only the wild ravings of a man who had lost his hold on sanity.

“Take control of yourself, my son!” the shadow snapped. “This is no time for self-indulgence!”

Raphael blinked, trying to make sense of what he heard. “All…Almighty?” he stammered. “Have you come to take me home?”

“Not yet, my son. I have work for you.”

“What kind of work?”

The shadow never stirred – not even when he jostled the basin and disturbed the water – but somehow, he felt as though it were smiling at him. “You are to be my instrument, here on Ezryn. You will gather my lost children and bring them back to me.”

“Your lost children?” Raphael scowled, shaking his head. “Almighty, I would deny you nothing, but I cannot perform this task. I have not the strength. Your children must give you their sins if they wish to find salvation.”

Rich laughter bubbled out of the basin, causing the water to ripple. And still, the shadow remained perfectly clear. “No, my son,” it said. “They must give you their sins! For you are to be my messenger! Accept my grace, and you shall have the strength you require.”

you Drawing a shuddering breath through his gaping mouth, Raphael nodded slowly. “Yes, Almighty.” He closed his eyes, putting the fear out of his mind. His god had called upon him to serve. He would not falter. “I accept.”

“Then take my hand.”

Raphael wasn’t sure what to do; so, he dipped his fingers into the basin. Warm water travelled over his hand and up his arm, clinging to him like a second skin. He backed away, but the water continued to spread. Under his sleeve and across his shoulder. It darkened, becoming like liquid obsidian as it oozed over his face.

Finally, it slipped into his eye.

Raphael screamed as pain like a thousand fiery needles burned through his body. But the moment passed, and when it was over, he felt a renewed vigour. He almost thought he would be able to run a mile. Or perhaps two.

Dropping to one knee with a hand over his heart, Raphael bowed his head reverently. “I live to serve you, my lord,” he panted. “Speak your will, and it will be done. This, I swear.”

Without thinking, he stretched a hand toward the window. And he did not flinch when it shattered. The chain he had used to punish Timothy came streaming into his bedroom with a blast of icy wind.

Raphael caught it, squeezing his fingers around two iron links. The rest coiled around his forearm. To his shock and delight, the rust faded away, leaving a brilliant sheen. He stood up with a magnificent grin, barely able to contain the laughter that wanted to burst from his lips. “I am ready.”

“Very good,” the shadow replied. “Now, listen carefully. Three have been forgotten. You must ensure that they are never remembered…”