Excerpt: Blood Storm

Five horizons distance from the world capital sat, nestled in the outstretched arm of the forest, a small town, the same one that Hesiod had made his home to spread faith in God to the people who lived there over two-hundred years ago, and so he had done.

At the heart of the town was a large cathedral, that could be seen from most parts of the town, except the outer edges where its rising spires disappeared from view behind rows of houses.

It was late morning, almost midday, and the middle of the year. The sun shone down through an almost cloudless sky, shining through the stained glass windows of the cathedral and painting their pictures across the floor of the main hall, seemingly bringing them to life.

The murals on the windows depicted Heaven, its many Angels, God sitting on high above them, and in the central pane a ball of silver fire fell through the sky towards the Earth. As the light cascaded through the image of this falling angel, it landed its silver light upon a white garbed figure standing at the forefront of the seated, kneeling, praying masses, facing them and speaking the word of God.

This important job did not fall to Saint Hesiod, who tended to other needs elsewhere, but to the town’s High Priest. An old man, now nearing his seventieth winter. The skin on his face sagged and his grey-green eyes sank back into his head. His hair was faint wisps of grey along the sides and back of his head, though they were illuminated by the light of the day.

He wore robes of cream, gold trim around the sleeves, collar and hem spoke words of faith and purity, praising God and the Angels on high. Around his neck hung a pendant, a golden sun, symbol of the faith and representation of the Lord himself.

His long, bony finger clutched the thick, royal blue, leather-bound book in his hand, turned to a page somewhere near the middle, he read aloud to those gathered in the hall, with his old, withered voice. If anyone were to make a sound no one would be able to hear him, for he was so quiet as he read the word of God, whether unable to speak any louder or keeping quiet in fear of upsetting the Lord with unintended arrogance.

Three rows from the back of the hall, on the seat closest to the inner aisle sat a young man. He listened to the sermon attentively, though he did not kneel or pray, he was too busy stopping his green eyes from wandering, or perhaps he let them, to the seventh row from the front and five columns in.

A Goddess, or so he thought her, knelt beside her mother in prayer. Her long straight hair a dark shade of brown, with slight hints of red given as the light bounced joyfully across its surface, her skin soft and white like a blanket of freshly fallen snow. Her face unadorned by make-up, she was beautiful enough without it. She wore several bracelets, some religious icons keeping evil at bay, others simple decorative things, strands of rope colours with dyes or adorned with small stones. A necklace hung around her neck, a golden sun hanging from it, showing her faith in God.

She wore a rich purple silk gown, it did not cling to her body, nor did it puff outwards, it settled neatly over her delicate frame, a plain beauty in comparison to that which wore it, a single black ribbon around her waist broke the canvas of purple that showed only her arms and neck.

Her name, Helena. The young man smiled as he thought of her.

His name was Jason. He had known Helena, and had been her friend, for as long as he could remember, and had been in love with her for just as long, though he had never told her.

His hair was long enough to cover his ears, but nowhere near his shoulders, and its colour was mid-brown, though it faded to a darker brown at the roots. He wore grey trousers with a dark red shirt and a black long-sleeved coat sat beside him, though it was too hot out to wear it.

As soon as the High Priest’s mouth closed alongside the holy book, Jason stood and walked to the door, no one saw him go out of it as one by one, they got off their knees and stood, lingering for a while before filing out in their twos and threes, some quietly whispering amongst themselves.