Blind Faith (Book 1)

Chapter 2

Aimee

The warmth of the sun on her face pulled Aimee back from her prayers. She always knelt at this pew, where the sun would pierce the stunning stained-glass window above and shine all its glory into the ancient building.

She had been here all morning and her knees were beginning to ache, pins and needles were settling into her right foot, making it uncomfortable. It was part of her training to manipulate the mind and ignore pain, but today she could not focus. She kept forgetting the words of the Litany of Retribution, only to have to start over, the energy of the words fading away instantly.

Maybe the Holy Council was right to punish her, she needed contemplation, and time to regain her mindset and remember who and what she was and represented.

Finally succumbing to her chaotic thoughts, she opened her eyes and stared up at the stained-glass windows to admire the scene of Archangel Michael holding his great sword aloft. The weapon was called Ardor, the flame in Latin. The Archangel's glory poured from the tip of his blade. The sun's rays hit perfectly in the exact place the artist had designed the holy light in the picture, streaming a rainbow effect throughout the building. She often wondered if it was purely coincidental or magical insight by the creator.

"Inspirational," she whispered, scratching her neck where her black cassock itched. The Cassock of one in Exile, of one deemed unworthy. It had been two years since she last wore the attire of a Monk and she did not miss it.

She had been in solitude prayer, trying to listen for the words of Archangel Michael and to redeem herself. But he remained silent, or she was unworthy to hear his words. Most probably her selfish thoughts blocked his insight. If only she could rid herself of the gut-retching feeling that had been slowly eating her up inside these past weeks. It had appeared as soon as she arrived in the Lake District and intensified as soon as her feet touched the beach of St Michael's Island.

Part of the reason she had come to the chapel on Lake Derwentwater, was she craved Archangel Michael's guidance. The ancient little Chapel was built during the Roman occupation of Britain, on top of an ancient Druid site. The sacred site has always played an important part in the local community and the area's religion. Mythology says the island is where the Goddess from the Other-world could touch the real world and heal people who are deemed worthy. The Roman Christians agreed there was a mystical power here but believed that the Island was Holy and that it wasn't a Pagan Goddess but Archangel Michael himself who descended to help the righteous and convert the people to Christianity.

Today, Aimee had wanted, no needed, that power, that holiness. Her mind and body craved peace, and the familiarity helped her see through the veil clouding her heart. But...since her downfall, Archangel Michael had remained silent.

St Michael Island was where she had finished her training, before the joining ceremony and where the daily routine as a local Monk, gave her purpose and focus. It was the only place in the world that she could truly call - home and be at peace.

The Holy Order was founded here and was also where some of the most important and influential people in her early life lived. They were her friends, her mentors and her guides. Only Brother Biggs, a new monk to the island was foreign to her and was the only one who was ill at ease in her presence. She understood why, because of what she was and what she represented, in the Holy Order, but it could also be because of what she had done.

Speak of the devil?

Aimee tensed as she heard the shuffling of leather on stone, long before the sandals entered the chapel, short hesitant strides of a Monk. Though she was on her feet in an instant and moved to the shadows, to observe if the intruder was friend or foe - old habits were hard to forget.

As she had sensed, it turned out to be Brother Biggs, his dark-tinted glasses and tiny stature giving him away. She eased out into the light, enjoying the perplexed expression on his chubby round face.

"Oh, my lady," he cried, falling to his knees with a small squeal, remaining on the cold stone until she permitted him to rise. Once he raised his head, he stared at her, eyes so large and unblinking through thick lenses. Aimee dropped her gaze, realizing why he stared. She had instinctively grabbed hold of the Holy Aura of Archangel Michael, its holy energy pouring into her; at least the archangel had not denied her his gift of power. She released the Aura and peered back at him.

"Brother Biggs?" She said trying to wake him up. He blinked and his face coloured in shame.

"Sorry, please forgive me, I am so sorry my lady...I-"

"Please Brother, I have asked you to call me Aimee, or sister if you prefer," she replied, grabbing his arms, preventing him to kneel at her feet again. The last time when he thought he had insulted her, he had begun kissing her feet and asking for forgiveness.

"Yes, forgive me, my lady," he replied in horror, staring at her hands, holding onto his pristine white robe. She dropped them and placed them behind her back, rolling her eyes in contempt. Brother Biggs continued to gaze up at her in awe.

How did he ever manage to become a Monk in the Holy Order?

"Brother are you looking for me?" she asked gently, ignoring the bitter taste of frustration rising in her mouth.

"Oh my, please forgive me, yes...I have...no...there was a telephone call for you just now, in the office." He pointed behind him, then saw what he was doing and quickly dropped his eyes to the floor and fidgeted with his hands instead.

"From who?" she asked, realizing she was going to have to work for the information.

Um...oh dear...sorry, I did not ask. I'm not used to using such...things, devices and technology-"

"Brother, are they still on the phone waiting?" This was like trying to draw blood from a stone.

"Oh dear, no my lady, they just said to pass on a message, the caller sounded ever so serious. Is everything okay?"

Aimee was getting that feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach again.

"How would I know you fool; you took the call!" She grabbed the little Monks arms and pulled him in close, picking him completely off the floor, so she could stare into his eyes.

"What is the message Brother, word for word and don't miss out on a single thing." The blood drained from his face, as in frustration, Aimee had accidentally pulled in Archangel Michael's Aura again, the pure white glow of her eyes reflecting like a mirror from his glasses. She grimaced at her appearance.

"Sh...she s-said that, your bouquet of lilies is ready for delivery."

Aimee stared into his terrified eyes, chewing the words over in her mind.

"Was that it?" she demanded, the holy power flowing into her voice. Biggs squealed.

"Yes. S-she hung up after t-that."

"That's it? Nothing else?"

He quickly shook his head and bit back another squeal just as she felt something wet and warm begin to drip steadily onto her bare feet. She glanced down - only to drop the Monk onto his backside and step away.

"Sorry my Lady, I... I'm ever so...sorry." He spun on his heels and shuffled away as fast as his little legs could take him. She watched him leave, her nose twitching from the aroma of urine in the air.

She glanced over her shoulder and up at the image of Archangel Michael, still feeling like she could vomit. The telephone call was an encrypted message from an old friend, informing her, that her punishment was over, and she was required for duty.

It seems that the Holy Council had finally forgiven her. If only she could do the same and forgive herself.

"Give me the strength and the courage to carry on my Lord, for I believe I am going to need it." She said, falling to her knees, kissing the cold ancient stone of the dais and glancing up at the magnificent bust of Archangel Michael. The Archangel stared down at her, pointing Ardor accusingly towards her on the altar. But still...he remained silent.