Question of Faith

She awoke. She did not want to wake. Isobel wanted to go back to the dream, that beautiful, peaceful dream. The meadow is so quiet. The flowers paint brilliant hues of color across the sun dappled land. Let me go back, please.  

Shifting, the packed dirt offered no comfort. Something fuzzy ran over her bare cracked feet. She sat up to see the round rat scurry across the straw covered dirt floor and squeeze itself under the cell door. Isobel swatted the tangled mass of dark hair out of her face with a grimy hand.  

Her stomach growled violently. The food given to her by her jailors was not fit for anyone to eat, but ate it she had. She did not realize that the foul gruel was all she was to receive for days. She dared not drink the rank liquid the guards called water.  

She knew it was morning despite there not being a window. The shift of guards always came a daybreak and evening. She continued to count the days. Isobel remembered only the last ten. Her mind wandered back to her first memory. 

Isobel wished she knew who she was. She opened her eyes and found herself lying alongside a road close to a village with only the name Isobel in her mind. She barely stood when a kind woman came across her. When she heard Isobel's story, she offered her lodgings and food for the night. The woman, Maria, told Isobel she could stay on for few days until she remembered something of herself or someone came looking for her. 

Isobel agreed. She would help Maria around her small yet beautiful home for payment. With a sick little boy and an injured husband, Maria needed help and her own health was wearing thin.  

Three days went by. On the fourth day, Tomas' fever soared dangerously high. Maria cried as did Domingo, her husband. 

Isobel did not know what possessed her to do what she did, but it saved the child's life. Touching her palm to his forehead, she whispered ancient words. Words which held no meaning for her, but they worked. Within the hour, Tomas woke fully recovered from his affliction. 

His mama praised God for the miracle, but Domingo glared at Isobel while mumbling "Diablo" under his breath.  

Isobel left the next morning before sun rise only to be arrested and taken the thirty miles to the city. A building just outside the city limits became her destination. As her captors reached the gates, the first of many tortured screams echoed.  

Now, days later, the hollow clanking of chains and the scuffing noises announced other prisoners were awake and anxious. Many still woke to the pitiful cry of the latest victim. As sudden it was there, it disappeared. The tension in the air rose as the prisoners knew what their fate would sound like. 

The dungeon, stifling with head, turned chilled. Isobel shuddered. The murmurs came. The Spanish filtered through the air in hushed tones. The others did not want to have the Bishop hear. She listened to the quiet din and discovered Roberto Rivera was the whose scream was silenced. 

An uneasy quiet came over the prisoners. Wondering what happened, she strained to hear. The ringing sounds of footfall on stone filled the air. She heard the deep, gravelly voice of the Bishop and the softer tones of the Master Jailer resounding as they got closer. "Rivera did not confess, Manuel. He died too soon, you fool!" 

"Forgive me, Your Excellency! Beg pardon, please!" 

Isobel heard the abject fear and awe in the man's voice as he groveled.  

"Yes, yes. Now be quiet!" the Bishop snapped.  

Isobel glanced through the iron bars to see Bishop Montoya glide closer. As he passed a torch, the firelight lit and shadowed his face in a macabre mask. Her instinctual thought was of the devil.