The Holy Dream

Prelude Part 6

The city square faded to silence as Theodyr’s last rumblings subsided. Lightning cleaved the Black Sun, painting a terrible picture to behold in the night. Thunder soon followed, as if a testament to his display. Theodyr winced as the sound resonated in his ears, nevertheless standing tall, proud; emanating his authority outward.

Sira, Gireon, Elisabeth and the townsfolk stared at him. Some were shaking, and others on their knees.

“We are not worthy, Master Bishop! Please, we beg of you, spare us, liberate us from our idiocy! We are merely your flock, your holiness…” A lone bystander let out in a shrill voice. Others looked away, or to the tiled pavement. Many homes had candles lit as their windows continued to fling open, and people crept glances while hiding in the safety of their second stories.

Theodyr glanced at Sira and nodded. She nodded back, and they both looked to the stake. Theodyr’s eyes grew wide. Many more followed, growing red and worrying of the consequences--Maric was nowhere to be seen.

Maric’s vision was blurred as he rushed past colors and flashes of light. He could feel the cold lickings of water falling against his slim shoulders, and running down his short hair. A small hand ushered him forward, pulling him from street to street. Occasionally he heard a girl speaking, but could not make out the words. While the rain was lukewarm and the air convoluted, thick with fog, mist and humidity. However, amidst this uncomfortable swathe of heat, a sickly cold swept over him. To Maric, it seemed like it came from inside. As if from his soul.

His vision slowly returned as he was beckoned forward. He remained in motion, losing his bearing consistently. Streetlamps and signs passed by, and a bright light from the sky emerged, the sound of thunder piercing his thoughts. After what seemed like an eternity, he was stopped in his tracks, the hand no longer guiding his path. He stumbled and nearly fell to the ground.After a short session of slamming his head and fists into stone nearby, Maric garnered his vision. He could make out that he appeared to be in a tight alleyway between two large manors. A small firepit flickered in front of him, crackling lightly. A small line of rain trickled down in the middle of the sidestreet, escaping through the narrow rooftop split. A few cloths were spread over the paved way as well as a few sticks scattered here and there. A small tent swayed in the wind, catching his eye. It seemed hardly big enough to fit someone of his size. A little girl in a dirty white dress stood in front of him. He blinked, looking at her for a moment. She had golden locks of hair, streaming down her chubby face. She had little hands and feet, even for one of her caliber. Her dress had all manners of stains, ranging from mud to food stains and some other colors that Maric could hardly conceive of. Although her eyes were weary for one of her age, a large smile was spread across her face. Her eyes lit up, and she motioned towards him. Suddenly, Maric felt apprehensive.

“Hey, you get! Don’t tell on me, I didn’t mean to hurt him!” He said exasperatedly.

She furrowed her tiny brow. “What are you talking about, silly? I saved you!” She jumped a little, shooting her feet out and striking a heroic pose. “I’m the hero! The lady saved the man!” She giggled.

Maric blushed. “I would have been fine, thank you very much miss! I don’t need anyone to save me.” He said, trailing off in shame.

The girl shook her head. “You were in deep trouble, mister! Those mean people were going to burn you! In all that ruckus I cut your ties and caught you! No one expects the cute little girl! I am… the best!” She yelled with fervor.

Maric took a step back. Clearly, this lady was insane.

“Yeah… you are the best… now… I am going to go home…” He said, attempting to hide his demeanor. He failed miserably.