THE DELIVERER'S DESTINY

Chapter 1, Part 1 - Todd

Ostwall Cemetery, Amissah, 10416 P.C.

The cold winter wind whipped through the old country cemetery, teasing the coats and scarves of those gathered around the open grave on the far side of the fenced-in yard. Sparkling snow adorned the many tombstones lined up in painfully perfect rows, the names passionately carved into them giving the living a small glimpse of those passed on. Large, skeletal trees stretched their bare fingers over the graves as if trying to prevent the souls of the dead from rising to the heavens. Eerie and solemn, Ostwall Cemetery gave those who visited an uneasy feeling. Only a few ever ventured there alone.

Blood-red roses, freshly cut, lay on the polished wooden lid of the casket, giving colour to the otherwise bleak and dark setting. A young girl stood on the tips of her toes to place her rose with the others, and a tear dripped from her plump, rosy cheek onto the casket. She quickly wiped at her cheek with a gloved hand, turning away and hurrying back to the welcoming arms of her solemn mother.

Todd Vinson averted his gaze from the girl to the casket, the lump in his throat too large to swallow back. Deep within him, a raging sea of emotions threatened to tear him apart, and he fought to keep the emotionless facade plastered like a mask on his face. How embarrassing would it be to break down in front of all of these people? He pressed his lips together and clenched his fists in the pockets of his brother-in-law's old dress coat, ignoring the hole his right hand nearly slid through. Cathy had made him wear it, even though it was too big in the shoulders and could have wrapped around him twice if he had tried.

The casket blurred in his vision, and he blinked hard. He wouldn't cry. Not in public. He was much too stubborn. But then, so were his accusing thoughts:

It's all my fault.

The low voice of the celebrant was lulling, drifting to the back of Todd's hearing like static noise as his gaze drifted up and found one of his best friends, Mikayla Bowie. Her long, dark hair danced in the wind, flying in her face as if trying to wipe away the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Even with her naturally tanned complexion, she was pale; he could see her hands shaking as she fought to tuck her uncooperative hair behind her ears. She sat in the row of chairs beside the casket, flanked on either side by her mother and father. She was a mess. A beautiful mess, he decided.

Their gazes locked for a moment, and a painful jolt rocketed through his chest. He looked away so fast it felt cruel. He couldn't bear to see the grief and agony in her eyes, for it would definitely cause his collected facade to crumble, cause the dam to break loose and the raging seas to crash forth. The twins had always been able to see right through him, and he couldn't watch her do it this time. His flitting gaze found the tombstone, and he focused on it, trying for a distraction.

Michael Doug Bowie

1398 - 1416

A loving son, brother, and friend. Forever in our hearts.

The distraction was a poor one, as it made things that much more unbearable. Todd let his gaze drop to the snow-covered ground as the lump in his throat burned. Michael's death was his fault. Entirely his fault. They shouldn't have been there in the first place. It was his own stupid choices that had gotten his best friend killed. If he could have given anything at that moment, anything in all of Amissah, it would have been to reverse time and do it differently. It was impossible, though. He could never go back. Michael was dead, and it was all Todd's fault.

Ducking his head, Todd silently cursed himself for the unbidden tears that burned his eyes. He blinked hard, trying to force them away; he couldn't cry here. He hated looking weak, even though Henry proved to him over and over that he was — if he cried now, he knew Henry would use it against him somehow. Everywhere he turned Todd found proof of his worthlessness, and crying wouldn't increase it any.