Phoenix Labhaoise Iola
Joined: 06 Jan 2004
Posts: 31
Location: UK
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| Tell a Friend Posted: Tue Apr 13, 2004 12:48 pm Post subject: Elementals - Chapter Fire |
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Elementals
Fire
The alley was dimly lit. The walls were as coarse as sandpaper and the bass beat of the nightclub that backed on to the alley thumped like a demonic heart beat driving its dancing slaves inside. A dealer was doing business, selling what seemed to be a pharmacy from out of his jacket pocket. Dispensing narcotics to one type of drug addict or another was their problem, he mulled over as he counted his money and smiled. Russian roulette through the nose he called it, he’d often joked about that to his associates. Some of what he dealt could be good stuff, and have them flying like kites and pondering the mystery of individual colours for hours. As for the rest, he didn’t particularly care. Ok, so a dead user isn’t a paying one, but for every one he lost, he got at least four new customers hooked or waiting to be tempted to drug induced paradise.
As he was counting his nights earnings, he became very aware of someone there with him, watching him. He hadn’t heard footsteps, and none of his so called employees, or lackies, were around. Looking up he caught a glimpse of the shimmering silver sword the stranger was carrying, twisting and turning the blade in the moonlight so it shimmered and flashed. He began to reach for the gun he stashed in his belt, but realising it was too late, began to raise his hands in the air above his head. The stranger had raised the shimmering blade so the point met with the dealer’s forehead. His eyes slowly moved from the point, down the silver blade, over the red jewel studded hilt and to the swordsman’s gloves. It wasn’t long before their eyes met.
Transfixed, the dealer managed to utter through his fear. “What do you want?� The swordsman looked into his eyes, and seemed to be studying the depths of the soul interred in them. “What do you think I want mortal?� The swordsman pulled back his hood, revealing bright scarlet red hair that fluttered briefly in the breeze before settling on its owners head. Struck dumb with fear the dealer made no reply. His eyes widened as the sword twisted from side to side. “Your time is up mortal. Your deeds in this life have been judged detrimental to the existence and growth of mankind. I am here to escort you to the life beyond, and the punishment you truly deserve.�
Tears began to roll down the face of the accused. Were they remorse now judgement was upon him? Through quaking lips came a whisper. “Who, who are you?� The swordsman smiled. There was no sound, not even from the nightclub. It was as if time itself had stopped, when suddenly a flash of light slid down the shaft of the sword and interred itself like a bullet through and into the dealer’s skull. His jaw dropped wide open in recoil shock off the force of the blast. Within seconds the same light came back out of the bloody wound it had opened, spraying blood as it exited, inside of it snared the soul of a sinner. It danced up the fuller of the sword before entering a large clear diamond like crystal embedded in the hilt. The crystal glowed and swirled. The body slowly began to collapse on the floor, blood oozing from the wound as is slumped against the alley wall.
Raising the sword to horizontal, its owner admired it in the moonlight. “Fire� A voice whispered on the breeze. “Time to go� it seemed to whisper as it swirled round, picking up speed and power. Fire rolled her eyes like a child fed up with being told what to do. White flakes began to appear within the wind, slowly at first by the time everything was covered in a white film of snow and the breeze had stilled, Fire had gone.
Over hill and down a dale,
Through a cave of bricks,
Through the tunnel of darkest night,
To the river Styx,
Upon the bank the ferryman
Sits as his lips he licks.
Across the water to rancid hell
The soot and sinners heaped,
Over the waters to the gates of hell
A tortured angel leaped,
Nathaniel considers upon his sword
The soul that he has reaped.
Standing at the gates of hell, Fire once again rose up the sword. Level with her heart, she began pushing it through the gates of Hades. Once more the light shot from the crystal, down the sword and deep into hell. Standing there certainly was boring. The wails and screams of the occupants rose and fell like an oceanic tide. The sword seemed to dance in the flame light. Resisting the temptation to tell the guardsman to clean the gate occasionally of all the piles of soot and crap, Fire stood patiently, watching the flickering reflections. The wait was not long. Like a comet, the light came hurling through Hades avoiding the grasping, pleading hands of its occupants. It shot like a bold of lightning straight into the crystal. Lifting the hilt level with her face, Fire smiled. “No, I don’t like it much either. Let's get a holiday home somewhere else eh?� Sheathing the sword with a muted chortle, she turned to leave for the mortal realm, passing the gate guardian a glance of distaste before crossing the river and through the passageways to the surface.
The temple of spirits certainly smelt nicer than the gates of Hell. As if that was hard! The brimstone certainly gave ‘atmosphere’, as if atmosphere was a choking smouldering stink that hung in your nose and even surpassed that of blocked drains and over flowing sewer drains. It was a good job anyone down there was definitely past caring about needing oxygen. The white candles that lit the white walls of the temple gave off an ethereal supernatural and yet holy and serene glow.
A light breeze began to swirl and flow around the temple’s vast floor, teasing the candles as it twisted and twirled into the centre of the floor. The vortex of fast flowing air began to grow, until Air was standing where it once had billowed and swirled. “Welcome back� Air’s voice was as light as a whisper on the breeze. Another shape shimmering entered the temple limits. Water walked in and stood beside Air, both looking over Fire like teachers testing a novice. Withdrawing the sword, Fire stood it on its tip, where it balanced perfectly in front of the tutors. “We have something for you� Water reached with its robes and pulled out a parchment scroll.
Bemused, Fire began to open it. “What is it?� asking, too impatient to wait and see. “The key to your future� a whisper came back. Unrolling the scroll Fire paused, bemused at what she saw. “I don’t understand. I can’t read this� she exclaimed in disgust. “You are not meant to� Water spoke as it began to turn to leave. “Your guardian is the one that truly understands what He has planned for you. His will be done.� Fire looked up from the scroll as it flickered in her hands, but she was now alone. Looking around, the temple too began to fade away. Before long the realisation dawned that Fire was no longer in her ethereal form, but had metamorphosised into her mortal body. Noticing the time on the clock, she began to dress as the radio alarm started up, the frustrated radio DJ ranting about traffic problems caused by a freak snow storm that had appeared the night before……
Well, the DJ hadn’t lied. Sitting in her car in traffic was about as interesting as watching paint dry in cold weather. Fidgeting in her seat, her temper began to raise its ugly head, but she kept it in control. Flicking the radio on in an attempt to find something either soothing or amusing, she found nothing but channel after channel of jumpy DJs and hyperactive R and B music, certainly not what she needed right now. She reached to the passenger foot well and retrieved a CD of classical music and slotted it into the stereo. Soon the soothing tones of violins and flutes flowed over her, calming her ragged nerves and soothing the savage avenging angel inside. The traffic began moving, gradually at first till finally she could go at a normal speed till she arrived at her destination.
Parking the car in her regular parking spot, she turned the key and the engine spluttered and died. The music gently faded away, leaving her with the realisation she was there. A mere few months before hand she had been content and happy with her job and life. Getting out of the car she pondered on the changes that had happened. The car accident that should have killed her and didn’t. The visitations by Air and Water she believed for the first few days were delusions, bought around by the head trauma she received. They were real alright. Turning the key to lock the door she turned and bumped straight into a man who was standing straight behind her. Gasping her breath, and then letting out a sigh of relief, she realised who it was. “Your late, Iola� his voice sounded annoyed as he looked down on her. “I guess you were caught in the traffic. Come on, the cases wont wait all day for you to get your finger out.� He turned and began to walk away. She watched as he strode away as if marching. “And I suppose you weren’t caught in it, Ande? Ande?� She hurried her steps to catch up. He stopped, paused, and turned, causing Iola to almost walk straight into him. Smiling down at her he chortled. “Of course, but I left earlier!� Iola gently play punched his arm and smiled as they walked into the Laboratory of Forensic Sciences together.
As Iola walked into the main DNA testing area of the laboratory she sighed to herself, silently contemplating the pile of paper work and samples that lay before her. She went through four years of University studying biochemistry, for what? A sterile laboratory full of varying levels of test tubes, beakers, Bunsen burners, DNA multiplier and data collating machines. She knew what her motivation was when she was studying, and considering what she knew now of her future, it was futile. As a young undergraduate she had dreams of ridding the world of criminals and vile offenders by trapping them with the science of forensics, leading them to the justice they deserved, in a vile hell hole of a prison. Reality has a way of biting quite hard on dreamers, and she was no different. She began working through the tests and papers before her. Samples off suspected rapists, samples off the victims and of the crime they endured. Compare. Match. One copy to the crime file, another copy to detectives then one copy to the file system at the laboratory. Her mind wandered as the repetitiveness of the experiments got the better of her, test after test, same type of test, different results. The hours came and went and before long it was time to leave. Carefully completing the testing she was doing, she filed her paperwork and tidied her desk. Letting out a small sigh of relief, she looked round the laboratory one last time, turned out the light and exited the room, pulling the door quietly to a close behind her.
As she turned the handle of the door to lock it properly, Iola could hear the soft pat of leather shoed footsteps behind her. A voice spoke softly in her ear. “Finished for the day?� Ande’s voice always seemed to be inviting to her, ever since she had first heard his accent. There was nothing wrong with his accent, but you didn’t hear many African accents round here. His was soft and warm, gentle and faint, not at all like those hard boys portrayed in the action films she had seen, when she used to have the time to watch movies. “Yes, yes I have. One more down, only another God knows how many to go!� She smiled as she replied, subconsciously flicking her hair before placing her bag on her shoulder. “Will you do me the honour of joining me for a drink? Or at the very least let me escort you to your car.� His broad white smile seemed to flash as he placed his hand out in offering. Iola’s eyes looked at him intently, seemingly looking into his very soul, looking for the true intentions. Deciding that a drink wasn’t the end of the world, she agreed, tucking her arm in his as they headed out of the laboratory.
The bar seemed empty as they entered, a few men were in the corner were playing cards and the jukebox played what sounded almost like a tune from yesteryear everyone hums, but no one ever seems to know the words. From the depths of the bar the sound of pool balls striking each other and rattling the jaws of unseen pockets as they entered made almost sounded like the sound of water dripping down stalactites in a cave. The TV provided the most dominant sound in the place; a presenter was reeling off the scores for that week’s football games at such a pace Iola wondered how anyone kept up with what he was saying. Ordering a beer each, they looked round for the cleanest looking table to sit down. Deciding on a bench seat in the corner looked the most hygienic and viable table available, they paid the barman for their drinks and wandered over to take their seats. The beer was chilled nicely; the cool wet condensation ran as slowly down the outside of the glass in trickles as the bubbles inside slowly rose up through the cold amber liquid. A welcome relaxing moment, longed for by someone who had been far too busy to enjoy moments as these for so long. Realising she was staring at her glass sitting on the table, Iola raised her head to look into the dark brown eyes of her companion. Subconsciously she began to smile, he seemed to be able to mesmerise her, keeping her attention away from the noises and people in the bar. It seemed as if they were a million miles away. They talked about his parents’ immigration from Africa before his birth, the hardships they were escaping to give their unborn child a chance of freedom in a new country, away from the oppressive regime they had endured and escaped. Iola recounted how her mother’s family had sent her away from Ireland for disgracing them, by getting pregnant out of wedlock, even though her mother had been raped and beaten by Iola’s biological father, his standing in the community insured his protection while she was sent far away as punishment. The histories, although different were alike, ejection from their homelands to start anew to protect their young. A closer understanding now bridged between them as the talk went on, spreading from heritage to work to the current state of traffic. All too soon the drinks were drunk, the dregs in the glasses a ghost reminder of the glasses former, fuller selves.
As they walked back to their cars, Iola clung to Ande’s arm. It felt so nice, for once she felt the protected instead of the protector, and even for that short time it felt so good. Ande made her feel special, like something worth saving, worth the fight she gave to save others. He guided her right to the door of her car before turning to face her. “This is where we have to part, it has been wonderful to spend time with you Iola, you are a beautiful lady, and a kind wonderful generous person.� Ande gently kissed her on her left cheek, his breath felt so soft on her skin. As he pulled away, their eyes gaze caught one another, and as if working on instinct alone, gently their lips began to touch. For an instant the world stood still, as if the magic of a first kiss was a spell to hang time itself for an eternity neither wanted to end. As they came a part, they both began to smile coyly; they now shared a magical new bond, something special beyond the physical, beyond comprehension. Waving their goodbyes, they got in their separate cars. Iola sighed as watched Ande’s car peal out of the lot, she felt warm and content. Then, like a dart, a pang of reality hit her. As an Elemental angel, were mortal relations allowed? After all, she was born mortal, would there be a problem? She couldn’t answer that for herself that was for sure. There was only one place she could go for answers to questions on her angel existence. Starting her car, she drove off the lot, heading for a church.
Saint Helen’s Catholic Church was a quiet parish for a city centre, like all churches of its size it had ebbs and flows with the religious seasons, with the stalwart die hard Catholics coming in regardless of the weather, disaster or traffic. Father Michael adored his parish, he loved the old ladies who came to clean the brasses every Tuesday, and he loved the old gentlemen and the grandsons who came to help care for the church yard and cemetery. He felt at home, a sense of belonging he missed as a child, being dragged from port to port as his father served as an Admiral, never in one place long enough to make friends or establish any kind of home. Becoming a priest was so much more than finding his place in a community, he felt a bond to the church, he felt content knowing he was helping others, listening to them as le had longed for before he had met his mentor, Father Thomas, who had passed on a few months previous, not before seeing Father Michael become priest of his own parish. Thinking fondly back on how Father Thomas had shown more pride in him than his own father, Father Michael lit a candle on the remembrance stand, took a small step back and uttered a small prayer of thanksgiving for such a patient mentor before blowing out the lighting wick. The candle flame wavered slightly, dancing a small dance with the gentle draft that then wound its way lightly dancing round the church, teasing each lit candle making their flames wave as if shooing it away. Tidying round slightly, Father Michael turned round and headed to the confessionals to get ready for that evening's confessions of the faithful.
Walking up the central aisle he could see someone in the back pews praying. As he got closer the head of long red hair raised and began looking intensely at the Altar, as if looking for answers. Quietly making his approach, Father Michael sat next to the young lady he hadn’t seen before, trying not to disturb too much, yet wishing to help in anyway he could. As he looked at her smooth sleek red hair, she turned and smiled at him. Her emerald green eyes seemed to dance in the candlelight. “Hello, I hope I am not intruding.� Her voice seemed calm her eyes turned to the Alter again. “I just needed to ask some questions, and this church seemed to call me.� Her eyes dropped to her hands. She seemed so lost, yet sure of herself. “My name is Father Michael, is there anything I can do to help?� He smiled and his head sloped slightly, in a caring manner. “What is your name child?� He asked, wondering who this pretty young lady was, where she was from. “My name is Iola Owens� Her voice seemed to purr as she looked the Priest straight in the eyes. She smiled at him, and as she began to look at the altar, she shook her head. “I’m afraid the questions I have are beyond your ability to answer.� Iola sighed. As she looked at the altar, she could swear she saw a shadow move down the side of the church. “What is it?� Father Michael noted the questioned look on her face; he fell silent as she put a finger to her lips indicating he should stay quiet.
Another sound and shadow movement startled Iola. She stood up sharp and began to look round. As Father Michael began to stand, she pushed his shoulder down to make him sit. More shadow movement, this time closer. For the first time since began at Saint Helen’s, Father Michael felt scared. Iola had sensed what ever it was creeping around, it wasn’t certainly wasn’t mortal or an angel. Holding her hands out horizontal, she muttered a prayer to call the Soul reaper sword to her. Once it had materialised, she took the sword by its hilt, ready to protect both her and the Padre from the unseen mystery foe. Father Michael couldn’t believe his eyes. Briefly taking a looking at the priest, Iola gently placed her finder under his jaw and closed his gaping mouth.
Suddenly pulling the frightened priest to his feet, she guided him roughly out the pew into the central aisle. “Try to stay calm,� Iola could sense his panic, “I will protect you.� “That I don’t doubt, but who are you?� His voice seemed higher now; Iola put it down to stress of the frightening situation. “I didn’t lie, my mortal name is Iola Owens, but I am also an Elemental Guardian Angel. I need you to trust me. Please believe in me.� Her own voice was starting to waiver now. She had never been in this situation before, certainly not in this lifetime. Another swoop of air, very close this time. She twisted to see the motion of the unseen. Suddenly as if from thin air, a demon materialised and began to charge down the aisle, raising his sword above his head. As he bought it down Father Michael fell to the floor in a heap, the clash of metal on metal inches above him, Iola’s sword had met with the demon’s, stopping a mortal blow aimed right at the padre’s head.
As he uncovered his head and looked up Father Michael could see the soul reaper pushing the demon sword away, only to swing and clash with it again, sending a rain of bright sparks tumbling to the floor. “Leave this mortal to me Angel, you have no business here� The demon’s voice growled like thunder. Looking at the priest he liked his lips in a taunt as he strained to keep his opponents sword at bay. “Who in Hell are you to come into a Church and pick on a priest?� Iola’s voce began to show anger, betraying her fiery nature. The blood in her veins burned with hate for this brazen demon, but she knew she had her duty, protect the Church and the Priest. Once more the swords swung and clashed, pushing her backwards. “I am the demon Alastor, the executioner and you are keeping me from my prey! I will destroy you!� The swords clashed and slid along each other, both whining a high pitched squeal in protest till they stopped at the hilts. Face to face, Iola could smell the reached smell of sulphur and rotting flesh as her ugly opponent spat bile in her face. Quickly wiping with her free hand she spat back in pure blooded defiance. Her spit burned on the demon's face, making him scream in pain. Taking her chance she took a slice at his stomach, her sword passing through its flesh like butter. Alastor staggered, blinded by the burning spit and the searing with pain from the slice in his belly which bled black sticky treacle like substance. Taking his chance, Father Michael ran up to the altar, falling on his knees, cowering before it, muttering every prayer he could remember as he feared for his life.
Standing upright, stretching and arching his back, Alastor screamed a loud lingering escalating scream. Iola stood stunned, staring as the wound in the demons stomach began to seal itself. “Dear Lord� She exclaimed out loud, her mouth falling open in amazement. The demon, flexed, bringing his sword crashing down inches from her, snapping her back into the reality of the conflict. Blocking blow after blow from the demon wasn’t enough. The swords crashed, releasing red hot sparks at each blow. Each blow edged her backwards as the demon seemed to become stronger and stronger. Iola tripped up over the alter step as the demon pushed her back. “I will have my prey!� he screamed as his sword came down towards the defenceless priests head. Holding the sword at the hilt and the blade Iola let out growling grunt as she blocked his sword from delivering a terminal blow, pushing as hard as she could against the evil standing now above her. Fathers Michael’s prayers became faster and more panicked as he sensed how close the swords were, the tip of the demon sword caught his robe, startling him, his voice tightening to almost a squeak if fear.
“Pray harder!� Iola screamed as she kicked the demon first in the groin then pushed hard with both feet against the belly of the beast, sending him staggering backwards, crashing the first pew to smithereens. Standing up on her feet she raised the soul reaper crystal level with her heart, the blade pointing straight to the ground. Her eyes closed as she began to pray, she prayed for the Church, she prayed for the priest, she prayed for the soul of the demon. The altar seemed to shine with the light of a thousand candles, as the centre of the crucifix began to glow a bright ethereal white. Iola’s eyes rolled skyward as the demon rose to his feet, her lips muttering a thousand silent prayers. The light from the crucifix focused, shooting a ray of light through the heart of Iola, into the centre of the soul reaper crystal. The soul reaper released empowered with the beam, shot straight at the demon, entering his chest with the force of a bullet. The ricochets visible inside him as the reaper burned its trail, gathering faster and faster, bouncing off the inside of his leather blackened skin. As the demon began to scream in pain and anguish his body began to glow red as the reaper burned its trail inside him, his scream becoming louder and higher as he was slowly burned apart. His skin disintegrated in an explosion scattering ashes over the aisle, leaving no more than dust on the floor, which the draft gently played with, and gently blowing the remaining ashes out of the church. The reaper, its job completed danced its way back to the crystal to rest.
Falling to her knees, Iola leaned upon the sword, breathing heavily from the fight. Father Michael turned and looked round the church, amazed at what had happened. Turning to Iola, he placed a hand on her shoulder as her head rested against the hilt of the sword. “Are you ok?� he asked feebly. “Yes, are you?� she replied breathlessly, raising herself up, Father Michael held her arm to help as he nodded. “Would you like a cup of tea? I think I could do with one right now.� He asked, as he looked at her she took a deep breath. “Tea would be lovely, thank you.� She uttered, still slightly shocked at what had just transpired. Kissing the crystal, she held the sword horizontal, muttered a short prayer of thanks as the sword disappeared back to its home. Opening her eyes she looked at the priest and smiled. Relieved, he smiled back, and guided her to the rectory, his head swimming with thousands of questions.
As she sat in the rectory, Iola relaxed, happy with herself. Today she had saved a mortal rather than reaping the soul from them, and it felt good, even if she was exhausted. As the padre bought out the tea, she was struck by the civility of it all. After all that fighting, all that violence, and here she was drinking tea poured from a beautiful china tea pot into lovely delicate china cups resting on hand painted saucers. It seemed so genteel, so serene. It felt nice. It felt civilised. As Father Michael handed her a cup she could sense he was burning with questions. “Father, you can ask, I don’t bite. I may slice the odd demon or two, and reap the odd sinned but definitely don’t bite.� She let go of a small stifled laugh as they both smiled.
Sensing he was struck dumb with questions she began. “I can tell you all that I know up to now if you like?� “Please� he replied, mesmerised. He was in awe, he had never consciously met an angel, and in a way he was feeling honoured. This angel had not just revealed herself to him, but had defended him. Was he that special in the scheme of things that he was sent a Guardian Angel?
“Many decades ago the war between Heaven and Hell escalated. Some of the higher demons had convinced a mortal to rule the world, and for the most part he managed it. Without getting into mortal politics or history lessons I can’t remember, Hitler managed to do a lot of damage. On the final day Gabriel led the heavenly brigade on one final push to repel the borders of hell back to where they belonged. The front runners of the brigade were the Elementals, Fire, Water, Air and Earth. These angels were earth bound to protect mortals.� Iola took a sip of her tea. “The elementals, while successful in there efforts paid a heavy price. Fire, Water and Earth were all wounded mortally, even for angels�. She looked at Father Michaels face. She wondered if he was taking this in, or was just in awed of her. After pausing for a short while, she continued. “Deciding that the angels needed to recuperate, each was placed in the womb of an unborn baby girl. Confused yet?� She smiled and looked at the padre square in the eyes. “So you are Fire, reborn?� he asked, desperately trying to prove he was paying attention to her every word. “Yes� Iola sighed as she looked at the floor. “My realisation came a few weeks ago. Realisation is where a reincarnated angel begins to get memories and abilities back after being rested as a mortal. It was, well, confusing, even more so now than before. I was warned that a demon may come after me before the realisation was complete, but that demon was clearly not after me, but after your blood. I wonder why.�
The tea tasted sweet as she sipped some more. Sitting back slightly she saw that Father Michael was looking at his feet, his hands dangling from his knees, as if embarrassed, disappointed in himself. “You must be special, Father. Smile, God loves you. Not everyone can say an angel was guided to be in their church to save them from a demon.� They both laughed. Pausing, Father Michael began to notice a breeze had picked up, inside the rectory? A quizzical look appeared on his face as he turned to look at the windows. As he turned back to ask Iola a question a woman began to materialise beside her. Startled, Father Michael stood up and promptly fell over the arm of his chair, scurrying like a frightened mouse, he hid behind it as the woman materialised fully.
Iola laughed loudly at Father Michael’s needless efforts to hide. “Its ok, you can come out, Father, she’s an Angel too!� She laughed again as he peeked from behind the chair like a child playing peek-a-boo. Standing up and walking over to him, she took his arm and bought him out. The days events had definitely made him jumpy, and she didn’t blame him one bit. “Father Michael, may I introduce you to Air Elemental. Air, the padre was attacked by a demon calling himself Alastor the executioner. Any chance you know why?� Putting the Father in his seat she stood, adamantly at his side, leaning on the back of the chair. Air smiled. “Do not be afraid Michael Brawberry, we have spoken before.� Seeing the confused faces before her, Air whispered a small laugh. “When you were small Michael, who did you talk too when you were alone?�
Father Michael was confused. Was this angel now saying she was his imaginary friend from his childhood? He searched his memory, thinking back to those lonely days. Taking a breath, he asked the first question to come into his head. “Is that why the demon came after me, because you were guarding me then too?� He mused at the realisation his whole life had been protected by angels he had always believed in but had never thought he had seen, well, at least till now.
“No, Alastor was not after you because you were protected. You were protected because of Alastor. We cannot explain the reasons why Alastor was sent, only evil knows that, and they will not tell us. We presume you have something in your future you have to do that will diminish they hold on the world right now. I must leave, see if I can find out more, but I will watch over you Michael Brawberry� As she dissipated, a faint wave could be seen before a gust of wind blew out of the tiny crack in the window.
Father Michael’s head fell in his hands, could he really believe what was happening to him? Gently placing a hand on his shoulder, Iola tried to reassure him. “If it will make you feel safe, I can stay guard for you tonight down here. You look exhausted, and you need you rest to help the parishioners.� Father Michael muttered a muffled “thank you� through his hands. “I think I will make some more tea, want some?� Iola picked up the tea things and proceeded to the kitchen to make tea, as Father Michael contemplated why he was so important, he, a mere parish priest. It was definitely a day to change his life, and his priesthood, forever. |
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