Erika A. Horton
Chapter 1
Four men stood silently with perfect posture, statuesque almost. The room was dimly lit and smelled of leather and old paper. A small fire crackled in the center of the room. Candles flickered in the one, small, round window. The room was circular, made of stone, with a wooden plank floor. Bookshelves lined the walls. Above the fire a large, black, cast iron pot boiled over with a murky liquid. One of the men wore dark, hooded robes. A red pattern around the hem resembling flames seemed to dance in the firelight. The man began to speak. Strange words she couldn't understand.
“Ergo videtur quod non videtur.” The man spoke in a low, rumbling voice.
The flames began to leap higher and lick at the bottom of the cauldron. The murky liquid began to swirl and suddenly became very clear. The fluid began to form a picture. The picture began to move like a television screen, crystal clear. A young woman cried as she sat on a bed. She started to wail louder and her breathing became labored. She was giving birth! No one was there to help; she was all alone in a cold, white room. Her screams echoed off the walls as they became shrill and then stopped. Her breathing labored and the cry of a newborn baby could be heard. She picked up the child and held it in her arms; it was a baby girl! She lay holding her child in her arms, her expression a strange mixture of joy and sadness. She stayed for a while longer until she regained some of her strength. She got up, wrapped the child in a blanket and stepped outside, it was early morning, dark and smelled like rain.
The vessel bubbled and the scene changed. The front of a tall, dark, stone building with stained glass windows could be seen from afar. The woman carrying the newborn baby stepped into the scene. She ran across the wet pavement of the street and up to the building. A sign atop the front steps read “St. Mary’s,” a church. The woman carefully climbed the stone steps and approached the double doors. The doors were old, made of aged, dark wood scarred by the weather. There were two heavy, brass knockers in the shape of bearded men’s faces on the doors. The woman grasped one of the knockers and banged it hard against the scarred wood. She turned her attention to the tiny child in her arms and whispered:
“Mommy will always love you, little one. You are destined for far more then I can prepare you for.” She kissed the baby girl on the forehead and laid her on the step. As the door began to creak open the woman ran away into the night. A man in a robe and slippers answered the door, stuck his head out the crack, rubbed his eyes and looked around. He looked right and left confused. The baby let out a small whimpering sound, it was cold; he looked down, searching for the sound. A look of astonishment crossed his face. The expression turned into a caring smile. He bent down and scooped up the cooing baby and carried her inside.
The cauldron stopped bubbling and the liquid returned to its original, murky state. The men stepped back from around the cauldron and looked at each other. This time the man wearing the same dark, hooded robes as the others, except with light blue waves around the hem, began to speak.
“Brothers, we will have our savior. This child, this girl-child, will deliver us from the darkness. On her twenty-fifth birthday she will learn who she truly is and her true destiny.”
“Ring! Ring! Ring…!” Could be heard over the robed man’s speaking. “Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! Ringgggggg!” The sound came again.