Serial
an excerpt

Priest

The fire crackled, it's warmth inviting. Rob had not allowed fire their first few nights out from the church. “All the easier to find us,” he had said. Garret smiled contentedly now, though. It had been six days, or perhaps it was seven, since they had left his church, burning behind them. God had been good that night, and protected their way, as a shepherd minds his flock, he mused. When day broke after that first night, he realized that they were headed North. It didn't matter, though, really, as anywhere away from those men was sufficient for Garret. It seemed to him that Rob had a plan in mind, though what it was, he couldn't say for sure.
He was travelweary. They avoided the roads, and so were crossing field and forest. The fields though, were rough, as they'd not been furrowed in some years, and the arms of the forest often snagged at his clothes. Rob seemed to be in his element, though, leading the priest along at a good clip. When they had come to the river on the third day, he was sure they'd have to follow it to a bridge. Garret had assured Rob that he was no swimmer, and too old besides. He had simply shrugged, waded in, and beckoned for the old priest to follow. Rob had carried him across the river. A skinny boy, but strong. He shook his head, and glanced at his companion. No, no boy. That's a man, that one is. A man touched by the grace of the Almighty.
Garret had not performed any miracles since that first night in his church, though, he hadn't had cause to try, either. He cautioned Rob to be careful with his life though, as he didn't know if he'd be able to repeat what he had done.
They had made themselves a comfortable camp beneath the eaves of a small stand of trees, a large, barren field left behind. They had seen no outbuildings, or people of any kind. They were utterly alone out here. Rob tended the fire with a stick, sending up a spiralling column of ashes. The fire reflected in his pale blue eyes, and Garret swore he saw something else there, too. The old priest drew himself closer to the fire, rubbing his liver-spotted hands together. Fall was coming on brisk this year.
“Rob, where is it you're taking us?” Rob glanced up for a moment, then looked back into the fire.
“We should be there in two days. Don't worry yourself, Father.” The boy had been elusive like this since they'd left, never giving him what he wanted to know.
“That's not what I asked,” the father replied curtly. Rob glanced up at him again, his own fire filling his eyes now, not merely the reflection of the flames.
“I know.” Rob tossed the stick into the fire, and went out into the darkness beyond. The father could see his silhouette movign further from the camp, but then lost sight of him entirely.

When he awoke the next morning, Rob was standing over him, shaking him by the shoulder.
“Father, wake up. It's time to go.” He waited until Garret had opened his eyes before moving off. The fire was a pile of ash and charcoal now, the morning mist settled in the low spots of the field, glowing pink from the sunrise. Ofttimes, Rob would have some kind of breakfast waiting for them. He was a natural woodsmen, it seemed. At the river, he had quickly fashioned a spear from a stick, and caught them two trout. The father recoiled at the thought of eating raw fish, since Rob refused fire. But he put together a small teepee that night, and filled it with hot stones, then poured water on it to steam the fish. The day prior, he had trapped some rabbits, and they had ate those fresh off the spit. The remarkable thing was, the boy carried no tools or equipment of any kind. Everything he needed he could find out here.
But this morning there was no breakfast. Garret voiced his complaints, but Rob would have none of it. “I'll find you some berries or something to munch on while we walk.” He looked skyward. “We're late.” He set off then, into the stand of trees, and Garret followed, venturing a question.
“Where did you learn to do all this?” Rob slowed his pace to allow him to catch up, and looked at him quizically.
“All what?”
“This... living off the land.” The father knew nothing about the boy, but wanted to learn. So desperately, wanted to learn. He was one of God's chosen, certainly.
“I taught myself,” his reply came quickly, “It was either I learn how to do that, or I die. The choice was easy, really.” He stopped at a bush covered in black berries. He pinched one, and tasted the juice. “You can get your feast here, Father.”
“Call me Garret. My church is burned, my flock is lost. I am no Father. No more than you are.”
Rob laughed. “Saint then? After all, you can perform miracles, it seems. And you performed three. That's the requirement isn't it?” He thought for a moment. “Though I guess you'd have to die first.” He laughed again. The boy had a morbid sense of humour, that was to be sure, yet Garret never felt threatened by him.
“But why Rob? Why did you have to learn that, or die?” Rob shrugged.
“My mother died birthing me, and I'm guessing my dad died, or left before I was born. There was some folks that took care of me, but I guess it wasn't too long before the government folks started poking around asking about me. When I was ten they came to take me for the first time, but I ran off.” He hopped over a fallen log, helping the father clamber over after him. “Since then I've been on my own, running the woods. Sometimes I stop in a town for a bit for supplies or shelter, but not for very long, because they always manage to find me. That's what happened there.” He lowered his eyes to the ground. “Sorry about your church.” Garret waved him off.
“A church is but a building for people to gather in one place under God. But if there are no people to gather, then it is just a building. He doesn't need walls of wood, or stone. Or a roof, a floor, or an altar.” Garret put his fist on his chest. “This is his temple, here. And if we lead good, moral lives, the temple will stand strong.” He paused, “And if not...” He opened his fist, and pulled it away from his heart.”
“And did you lead a good, moral life, Father?” Rob stopped now, leaning against a tree, looking him in the eye.
“I did.” The father nodded. “According to the Book, I did, yes.” The fire was in Rob's eyes again.
“Then why did He burn down your church, and why did your flock abandon you?” The boy had a point.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Rob. Who are we to question Him?”
“That's a nice catch-all phrase. Answers so many questions, and none at all.” He smirked, the sarcasm thick in his voice. Garret considered that a moment.
“You want something more specific? Perhaps my flock abandoned me, so that I would have nothing holding me back from leaving myself. And the church burned to defend us against those men. Sometimes, Rob, the Lord is not so mysterious. Sometimes his plans are clearer for some than others. My flock abandoned me so that when it was time to go with you, I could. And my church burned so that you could live. I brought you back from the dead!” he exclaimed. “For all I know, you could be the new messiah.” Rob snorted a derisive laugh. “Are you an atheist, my son?” Rob shook his head.
“No Father. I believe in something. But the folks that raised me, they taught me that it was religion was the cause for the fall. And your messiah started the worst church of them all.” He leaned in, “That'd be yours, for the record. I don't have anything against you, personally though. But you've put your faith into a sham.” The father had heard such things before, and knew to simply brush them off. Rob walked off, leading them through the forest once again.
He didn't speak again that day, nor did he slow so that the Father might keep up. But Garret found strength in his old, knobby knees, and managed to keep him in sight for the day, coming up puffing at the camp Rob had set up when dusk came. He was working on starting a fire. Garret plopped down on the ground. “I'm going to sleep,” he declared, and slumped sideways, asleep before his head was even on the ground.
The next day passed much the same as the last, and the one before that. But today was the day Rob said they'd be getting wherever it was they were going. By mid-afternoon, they were entering the outskirts of a city, though which, Garret couldn't say. By all appearances this area was deserted, but even Garret knew that appearances could be deceiving, and so let Rob lead the way. He's been here before. He must, else how would he know where it is? Rob stopped short, and the father almost bumped into him. Rob put a finger to his lips though, and the Garret held his tongue. It was then that he heard the voices, off away, to be sure, but there they were. Rob ducked into an old abandoned car, and Garret followed, the voices drawing closer. Have we been seen? Is this it, we finally get to where we need to be, and we get caught? Rob peeked over the dashboard, and quickly ducked back down. He held up five fingers, and pointed towards the voices. He pressed his finger to his lips again, and slipped out the door opposite the men, keeping cover behind the car. He had picked up a shard of glass, Garret saw. One man against five? Garret slipped out the same door, and scooped up his own shard of glass, but one of the men must've seen him, because they gave a shout, and thunderous footfalls advanced on them. Rob just shook his head at the father, whispered in his ear “You're bait, now, Garret. Sorry,” and moved off again. This time Garret lost sight of him entirely. He made the sign of the cross, said a very quick prayer, and set the shard of glass back on the ancient tarmac. He stood, and walked out from behind the car. The man stopped short, eyeing him up and down.
“Who are you, old man?” a short one with dark, greasy hair demanded. He had a knife in his right hand. The others were armed as well.
“My name is Garret. I'm a priest, and I've lost my way. Do you know where I am?” The short one spoke up again.
“You must be really lost if you don't know where you is. This here's what we call the Hammer.” He looked Garret up and down. “You don't look like no priest I ever saw.” Bless me father, for I am about to sin.
“I had no time to gather my things. A marauding gang burned my church to the ground in the middle of the night, and I had to flee,” he lied. “I've been walking for a week.” He saw Rob then, coming up behind the men, the shard of glass he held like a knife. Another man spoke, this one taller, and blonde, but covered in dirt, or soot, or something.
“All by yer'self were ya?” The father shook his head.
“No, a few of my parishioners made it out of town with me, but they died on the way here. There was a river crossing someways back, and most of them drowned, God have mercy on their souls.” He made the sign of the crucifix once more, and Rob was now almost atop them. He tried not to give the boy away though. The short one with the knife fell first, the shard of glass protruding from his throat. Rob snatched up the man's dagger, and was among them, slashing, cutting, stabbing. They each fell, one by one, never once landing a blow against Rob. He stood breathless, five corpses laying at his feet. Garret was taken aback.
“I...you... You murdered those men!” The father said, horrified.
“They meant us harm, Garret,” Rob said, “Had we let that go on, they would've eventually tried to rob you. And when they found nothing to take, they'd have just killed you.” The tale was likely true, but it didn't matter to him
“You are chosen by God Himself,” Garret said sternly to the boy. “Act accordingly.” Rob laughed, and shrugged, searching the men, and coming up with only a few weapons. These he took, and hid about his person, though he kept the knife in easy reach. When he was finished, he stood, and made his way towards the interior of the city.
“Welcome to the Hammer, Father,” he laughed, a bitter laugh now, “Welcome to Hell.”