The Apostasy

Church doors have a particular sound all of their own. Tall, heavy, wooden. Patterned by iron rivets from centuries ago. Every inch an echo, if they're allowed to slam.

This evening, they slammed hard. The echo was still reverberating through the building when the footsteps began towards her.

Immediately, she knew the visitor was a stranger to this place; the usual entrance was through the uglier, tattier, quieter Twentieth Century door to the right. 

She had taken a seat in the middle of the pews hours ago. Her heart heavy, pounding. She had made a decision that she hadn't been able to acknowledge out loud till today.

Her knees ached. Her throat was dry. The discomfort seemed to her deserved, justifiable, even a rite of passage. Memories had brought tears, love, days of hope and promises. Days of clarity and conviction. A past mostly covered in a bright daze, glistening, memorable, as pasts often are. If hindsight were a painter's palette it would have no dark shades. It was the present that held all the dark colours.

The steps drew closer. Candles gasped into flame all 'round the church.

Her hands hung loosely over the back of the seat in front, joined together, her head bowed. She had uttered every word she had prepared, and thousands more. She had gazed on the Tabernacle so long her eyes were sick of the colour of gold.

"Release me," she whispered again.

The footsteps stopped by the seat in front of her and she glanced up to see who it was that would take a place so near to her when the rest of the building was empty. A black coat. A long cane. Leather gloves. Long, raven black hair falling straight, neat, glossy, past the shoulders of the man. The man. MAN. If that were all he were, she would not be here.

She straightened up as he genuflected, so surprised by the action. It wasn't even a mock of a bow, it was genuine. It was meant. He remained on one knee longer than even a priest normally would. His head bowed lower. He raised himself to his full, extraordinary height, stepped sideways into the pew, and sat down. He leant right back into the seat, his arm brushing against her hands. At first, neither spoke, and she closed her eyes and lowered her head again.

He yawned, loudly, sardonically. "So?" He asked her.

She looked up at him but he'd evidently spoken to her without a glance.

"You.... you knelt." She said, a hint of incredulity in her tone.

At this, he did turn to look at her. His deep, green eyes betraying hurt.

"Why on earth wouldn't I?" He gasped, shocked that she would even think he wouldn't.

"You... acknowledge Him?"

He smirked, chuckled. "Well, it depends what you mean by 'acknowledge' now, doesn't it? I certainly don't 'acknowledge' as you do. Or... don't?"

She stared at him. Her eyes flitted to the Tabernacle, the home, so her religion taught her, of her god in material form. A wafer, to a non believer. Flesh, to the faithful. Then her eyes returned to him. A new god. A newly found god. One believed in long ago in cold lands. Norse. Loki.

"You didn't answer me." His countenance became serious.

"I am stuck," she whispered. "I feel a pull, in my chest. I don't want to stand. I don't want to even leave this building."

Loki smirked and sighed. He moved to sit sideways, kicking his long legs up onto the seat and making himself comfortable. Or as comfortable as a god on a wooden bench could be.

"Yes. I figured he would do that. He isn't one for letting one get away. He even hangs around for them to come back."

"Sssshhhh..." she begged him to be quiet, provoking a bout of laughter from him.

"Shush? SHUSH? Oh my dear. Ha! If he can only hear when one speaks aloud, no wonder so many say their prayers go unheard. Priceless! 'shush' Haha."

He watched her face. The candlelight threw the shadows of the columns dancing across it. Her eyes fell in and out of shade, as though reflecting the conflict within.

"Would you like me to leave you two alone?" Asked Loki.

"No," she said, quietly, "No. I have left him with as much as I had left. I can go now."

She stood, and paused as the building spun around her, bringing her back down again. Loki leapt the bench to help her and caught her just before her head hit the floor.

"You sweet idiot," he hissed. "I bet you fasted. You haven't eaten, have you?"

She muttered that she hadn't. Loki brought about a glass of water from the air and put it to her lips. He shook her to make her take it. "All of it," he said, "I want it all drunk."

She managed to get the liquid down and sat up in his arms, leaning against his chest.

"Loki," she whispered, "Let's go. I've had enough of this place."

By the end of the aisle she had recovered enough to walk unaided. As he began to walk a little ahead of her, she grabbed his wrist and pulled, causing him to turn and face her.

"So, what now?" she was suddenly afraid. "I make an oath to you, yes? You told me the words... I pledge undying..." he put his finger against her lips to make her stop.

"Not here." He said. Then, in a whisper, "Not here."

The two left by the smaller door. The old god, and his new thrall.

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