SAFETY IN PRONTERA CHURCH

“Calm down, honey, there’s nothing to worry about.” A young church deacon tried in vain to comfort an elderly lady who claimed that she had just escaped from the reach of Moonlight Flower herself.

                “It was terrible! But I escaped, because I would never let myself fall prey to such a despicable sub-species. Let me tell you, it was just a horrible experience…” The lady rambled on as the deacon looked around for a means of escape. In a nearby corner, Rohane rolled his eyes in her direction. Probably trying to get paid to stop being annoying, he thought as he scanned the rest of the lawns and gardens surrounding the church. Mostly, children played near their parents, unaware of the carnage going on outside the city. There was a steady flow of visitors, all seeking shelter in the peaceful, carefree church grounds. Rohane liked to feel a sense of authority he knew he did not possess, especially when he was alone. At twelve, the boy already had a quite defined face was soft, caring eyes and lips set in a straight line. His hair usually fell over his forehead, except the fact that it had been recently clipped short. Rohane’s eyes were finally drawn towards another older lady whom he knew.

                

Aunt Shurna approached Father Niacha, the head of the Prontera Church. She was one of the many women who were too poor to support their family, and those people gathered weekly at the church to receive basic provisions. Aunt Shurna looked at the Father with a mixture of admiration and respect as he handed her five loaves of bread, eight pounds of assorted vegetables and a mixture of meats.

                

“I am so grateful, Father Niacha, that you have continued to serve God so faithfully all of these years. You are so blessed,” she said as she smiled. Father Niacha smiled in return as the lady headed off into the distance with her provisions. He continued smiling, making sure his lips were arched as high as possible before calling the next woman to the table. The wide grinned soon faded into a frown as he considered, no, realized, that the family ushering themselves to the table had been in line before.

 

“Oh father, blessed father, it seems that, in your great haste, you had forgotten to hand us the assorted vegetables!” The lady kneeled down, not daring to make eye contact with the frowning face, which was rapidly turning into a scowl. After a moment’s silence, Father Niacha answered.

 

“Now now, dear, we mustn’t be to…taxing on the church’s provisions. After all, we must share in what the Lord has given us, mustn’t we?”

“Oh, f-father�"of course, but�"”

 

“And If I am not mistaken, you haven’t been giving your weekly tithe, have you?”

 

The woman’s face had turned a scarlet shade of red. Her family backed away slowly, fear showing in their eyes. The thought of their own mother offending the head of the church was almost unbearable.

 

“Now, in the future, remember not to turn to sinful thoughts and tendencies, dear widow. I believe the confession box is asking for a prayer. And mind you light a candle for your dearest mother? She would be turning over in her grave if she could, seeing your… rather selfish behaviour.”

 

“Oh of course father,” she blurted, tripping as she emptied her last bag of coins into the donation box.

 

Aunt Shurna had heard much of the conversation as she struggled to secure her own provisions, however all thoughts of unfairness were pushed aside as she began to search for her daughter. Looking through crowds, she spotted a fair lad who seemed to be gazing intently at her. He quickly dropped his eyes, turning around, but not before she had had a chance to see his familiar features.

 

Why, isn’t that Sister Adelia’s young boy? Well, not so young anymore now, but nevertheless… For a moment, Aunt Shurna considered asking him if she had seen her child, but realized they had never met.

 

She could have called her name, but the young girl would not have heard it. Seated in a quiet, small alley, Aunt Shurna’s daughter was absorbing herself in an old, worn book, her pitiful appearance drawing little attention. Dirt covered her clothes and face, and her half-torn tunic was not only two sizes too big, but also belonged to a male. At only age six, she was attempting to read an ancient folklore about a man given eleven tasks, one of which was to dethrone the king of the world. Suddenly, the book disappeared from her hands, and a nasty looking face replaced the frayed pages.

 

“Not reading fairy tales, are we?”

 

At least twice as old, the sneering face had unkempt grey hair that bobbed up and down vigorously at every movement. Seized by fear, the young girl was unable to move as she watched the older one tear the book into shreds. Tears blurred her vision as the nasal, high-pitched voice filled her head.

 

“There there, now you can use the remains to patch that potato sack you’re wearing. Happy reading!” With a final snort of discuss, the teen left, leaving the crying girl choking in a cloud of dust.

 

Rohane was wandering off, slightly embarrassed at having been caught staring by an elder woman. It was only after a while that his ears picked up the unpleasant sounds of sobbing. Rounding the corner, he saw a small girl, eyes flowing, torn pages fluttering around her as she feebly tried to re-piece them. He cleared his throat quietly.

 

“Erm, are you alright?”

 

The girl looked up, the tears stopping for a second. Then, her entire story came out, a jumble of words, sobs and hiccups.

Rohane tried to look sympathetic.

 

“ A fairy tale book? Well, I’m pretty sure the market has millions of copies of 101 Tales of True Courage and Wit: A comprehensive Bed-Time study. I-well, my family can get you another one.”

 

Inwardly, he was hoping he had pronounced comprehensive right, while wondering who in their right mind would read such a boring book. He noticed that the girl had stood up. For a moment, he analyzed her features, struck by the already attractive features uncommon for such a young person. Natural blue hair fell waist-length, in desperate need of a haircut, but Rohane liked its wild look. The colour suited her eyes perfectly, which were also that kind of wild blue. He suddenly turned away, noticing the eyes were giving him a puzzled look

 

“Well, um, er… what did she look like?”

 

The puzzled look was replaced by complete confusion. “G-girl?”

 

“You know, the, um, thief. What did she look like?”

 

“Oh, well, she had grey hair, a weird mole on her chin and amber eyes, I think.”

 

Having the slightest feeling that asking what colour was amber would be an unimpressive display of unintelligence, he muttered, “could be anybody.”

 

“Well, how about you tell me your name? That way, maybe the church could help me find you later, since you are training with them?”

 

“Well, I’m not exactly… never mind. I’m Rohane. Rohane Brooklander. My mom works at the church�"Sister Adelia’s her name.”

 

“Adelia? Oh, Adelia! My mom always talks about her! She remembers how kind she was when they first met…”

 

“That’s great! You must be… Aunt Shurna’s daughter? My mom’s always meeting with her once a week. She says she makes the best potions in Geffen.”

 

“That is my mom! Oh, by the way, my name’s Mipsy Lavoisier. Well, if your mom can meet my mom, maybe she can give some potions or something in return for the book!”

 

Rohane felt all warm inside as he told her not to worry about it. After a final goodbye, they parted ways, Rohane leaving her at the gate of the church. He felt happy to finally help someone, wondering if the life of a crusader was filled with doing heroic acts for the less fortunate.

 

“Rohane, ROHANE! Where have you been?” A worried looking Sister Adelia rushed down to the front gate, sweeping her son into her arms in full view of a murmuring crowd.

“Aww, mom,” he started, but never finished.

 

“You could have been killed by Moonlight Flower! Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to wander around at this time?”

 

Suddenly, the crowd parted ways for a town crier. As if shouting directly at Sister Adelia, he made his speech.

 

“Not to fear! We have just been sent word by a runner that a powerful assassin and rogue couple have destroyed Moonlight Flower, and dispersed her entire band of foxes! They were last spotted near the Hidden Temple! Hear, Hear! Moonlight Flower is dead…”

 

“All the same,” said Sister Adelia, her words radiating with wisdom, “We must all be careful in these times.” Only Rohane heard her above the cheers of the crowd, and his eyes fell on the well placed smirk on his brother, Hazel.

 

“Feeling a little powerful, aren’t we? Trying to destroy Moonlight Flower and her band of wolves?” Hazel’s smirk grew wider as it broke into a grin.

 

“Ha, that’s a funny one,” he sneered.

 

“Shut up, you�"” He would have said more, but the disapproving look on his mother’s face quieted Rohane. Soon, they had re-joined their father’s side. Tall and handsome, he himself was a high ranking crusader, and had the profession of Rohane’s dreams.

 

“Ah, Sir Feylihon, how nice to meet you!”

 

“Indeed, to you, Tinoryl Beesley. You must be quite excited over Moonlight Flower’s destruction.”

 

“Yes indeed, she would have hurt my trade severely. Ah, if this isn’t young baby Rohane, Hardly a baby anymore, though. My, how fast I age these days!” With a chortled laugh, Mr. Beesley hobbled away, leaving a very red Rohane glaring at his brother.

 

The Brooklanders walked towards the entrance of the church, Hazel pleading for a hunting trip. They were, all in all, a very religious family, following after the practices of the church of Prontera, so carefully set up by Father Niacha�"“oh, but sometimes, I feel he’s changed from the young priest he once was, when his thoughts weren’t so much on his diamond sceptre,” remarked Sister Adelia with a sigh. “I remember wishing more people would grow up so absorbed in performing the kind acts like he did.”

 

Rohane chose this opportunity to bring up Mipsy and Aunt Shurna. Sister Adelia was quick to surprise the excited boy, however�"she announced that both would be staying at their house during the summer, as Aunt Shurna had recently lost her home due to an inability to pay rent. “The poor dear,” she remarked, “so kind, so generous, yet in so much need.”

 

“Father Niacha, I really must question your actions today.”

 

            The leader of the church turned, simultaneously covering the table he was sitting at with a  cloth.

 

            “Brother Andre, as I remember it, it is not in custom to question the actions of the most high priest, is it? Or, for that matter, to enter the private chambers of the most high priest.”

 

            “As you have written and spoke about yourself, and as it is written in the Bible, we must rebuke our brothers when they are in the wrong. You should not have denied that woman her rations, and made her pay to give homage to the candles.”

 

            Under his breath, he muttered, “ there shouldn’t be any candles at all. In fact, I would be almost certain that confession boxes were catholic affairs…” He then paused to look at the forbidden room he had just entered. It looked more luxurious than the palace of the king.

 

            “My dearest brother, you do not realize where her heart was. As the high priest, I have discernment over these matters, and they are mines to deal with alone.”

 

            Andre suddenly noticed the suspicious lump concealed under the hastily placed cloth. In one sweep, he uncovered the table, its contents clattering to the ground. The entire contents of the offering, confessional box and candle lighting boxes spilled out of Father Niacha’s bag. Andre was seething with fury as he tried to control himself.

 

            “Tell me, father, when did the wise, faithful, honest Niacha fall for the poisons of this world? How long has it been since you, our leader, GAVE HIS HEART TO THE DEVIL?”

 

            Niacha raised his golden sceptre, it’s handsome diamond insets gleaming in the dim lighting. With an unprecedented force, he brought the gem-encrusted tip onto Brother Andre’s head, sending him crumpling to the ground.

 

            “It is you who is fallen, brother.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

please write a review!

Reviews

[Radical Dreamer]

Thank god those ignorant church-goers can't see that I only want this position for the glory of being�me, he thought to himself as he moved to help another family, making sure his fake smile was...

This line kind bothered me because here you are telling us what his intentions are while at the same time showing us. Have you ever seen those movies where the villain tells the hero his entire plan? And you wonder why? This reminded me of that because you could exclude the enitre thought in his head and just write "his fake smile" and people would know that this character is fake. Or maybe include another gesture that will show us his true character. Besides that I am really liking where this is going, sub-species and burning villages are all part of my reading.