CHILDREN OF THE SAVIOUR

PROLOGUE

Angels we have heard on high, 

Sweetly singing this refrain:

‘Sacrifice that saved us all, 

Our Saviour was the demons’ bane’

-‘Resurrection Day Gloria’

-Hymn, A.P.R. 81

Since their construction some thirty years ago, the Cloisters at Garnet Gardens had consistently been a quiet getaway for the wealthiest citizens of Simon’s Realm. The small cabins that dotted the two-acre plot of land just north of the city of Temperance were intended to be silent islands of peace and respite.

​

As Abraham Apostolico stomped noisily past the rows of serene lodging, he wore a scowl that would likely melt a child’s ice cream cone. Patriarch of Temperance and the southern realm’s favorite son, Abraham was accustomed to wielding his power liberally, hammering the minutia of life into compliant tools. He was used to getting his way, but today, his frustration with others was getting the better of him.

​

“Keep up,” he commanded.

​

“This is a bad idea,” said the man next to him, nearly out of breath as he tried to keep step with Abraham.

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“Don’t you think I know that?” snapped the Patriarch, stopping to glower at his younger companion. Though Abraham had already lived past the summit of his prime, he was still an imposing figure in his ruby and gold armor. Grey had only begun to seep into his thin beard and his blonde hair had not receded by even a single strand. “If there were better options open to me, do you not think I would avail myself of them, brother?”

​

“It’s still a bad idea,” grumbled Issac Apostolico, wincing under his brother’s gaze. He turned to the armored guard behind him, one of a dozen Ruby Blades that were following the pair. “Let the record show that I tried to talk our fearless Patriarch out of this madness.” Issac Apostolico was a shrunken version of his elder brother, with features like that of a weasel and a burgeoning gut that stuck out from under his armor. The shiny red gauntlet he wore on his right hand was his most striking feature, an overly large accoutrement that was awkward for his frame. “Do what you want, Abraham. You always do.”

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The two continued on, leading their squad as they weaved in and out of the rows of cabins. Eventually, they came to the very edge of the estate and stopped in front of a particularly disheveled-looking shack. Abraham fished in his pocket for a keyring, then took a deep breath and turned to his brother.

“Whatever happens, you cannot allow her to get past me.”

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“I’m not an idiot,” said Issac, rolling his eyes.

​

“Then don’t behave like one,” barked Abraham, taking his brother by the shoulders. “You know the things of which this girl is capable. If she gets loose, there’s a good chance you and I will be dead by morning.”

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Issac glowered back. “Which is why I’m begging you; burn down the shack with her in it and let’s be done with this abomination.”

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“We’re not having this argument again,” said Abraham, turning to the cabin door. “The gamble will pay dividends.”

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“It’s your funeral,” said Issac, moving for his sword. The ruby gauntlet that he wore made a clinking noise as he wrapped its fingers around the hilt awkwardly.

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“If you are as yet unaccustomed to your new appendage, perhaps it is best you step behind the others,” said Abraham, indicating the red gauntlet. 

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As Issac raised his hand and twiddled the red-wrapped fingers, a faint whirring sound emitted from the glove. “I haven’t had time to explore all of its features yet, but don’t worry, it’ll function well enough.” In order to prove his point, he drew his weapon and stood at the ready, as did the twelve men behind him.

​

Abraham felt for the hilt of his own sword, then unlocked and opened the door, allowing the noontime light to stream into the oddly dark structure. He steeled himself for any movement from the inside, but there was none.

​

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was surprised by the state of the small cabin. It was obvious that the bed had not been used in several months and that the cloister’s sole occupant seemed more comfortable sleeping on the wooden floor near the hearth of the stone fireplace. The eastern window with its magnificent view had been stuffed with debris to block any whisper of light. The walls were marred with black scribblings from floor to ceiling.

​

He tightened his grip on his sword and took half a step into the tiny cabin, squinting. 

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“Thorn?” said Abraham, making certain to stay in the middle of the doorway. When there was no answer, he took a small silver ornament out of his pocket. He ran a finger over one edge of the box and a flame jumped to life.

​

Now that there was light in the room, movement in the far corner caught his eye and a shock of crow-black hair greeted him. It was still a bit too dim for him to see the subject clearly, but it looked as though the figure had been in the process of marking the wall with a chunk of charcoal. 

​

There was no way that she didn’t know he was there, he thought. She was ignoring him, perhaps preparing to strike. Perhaps she was doing so simply to annoy.

​

Next to the doorway there was a standing oil lamp. He took the flame from his silver box and lit the wick, illuminating the room. He took a single step deeper into the room, then closed the door behind him.

​

“Thorn,” he said, inching closer to the now-illuminated figure in the corner. “I have come with an offer. Freedom will be your wages.”

​

The figure turned with a scowl, eyes clear and dark. After a long moment, the young woman stood up. She was a slim figure of a girl no more than twenty, though pale and perhaps a bit undernourished. She was dressed in a well-worn burgundy robe with streaks of charcoal fingerprints creating a patchwork of thatches across her torso. Her thick black hair had been pulled back into a braid at one point, but now it just stuck out everywhere. 

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 “Ah, your fullnessness,” she said, rubbing her fingers across her robe as she took a step toward him. She gave him a brief curtsey, though the look on her face betrayed the mockery of it. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have cleaned the place up a bit.”

​

“I have no time for your impertinence; if you--”

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“No time? No time?!” Her voice exploded with rage as she threw a clay mug at him. It shattered harmlessly on his breastplate, but it did cause Abraham to clutch the hilt of his sword more firmly. She continued to rant. “I’ve been locked up in here for--” –she glanced at the scratchings on the wall – “three years, four months and twelve days! You’ve had plenty of time to listen to my side of the story!”

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“Are you quite finished?” he snapped, shouting her down. “Or shall I take my offer elsewhere?”

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“Don’t try bluffing, Patriarch. You must be desperate to come to me, so I’m guessing I’m your only option at this point.”

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“Not my only,” admitted Abraham, seating himself at the table in the middle of the room. “But yes, you are my best option. Come, sit.”

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Thorn approached warily. “So what’s in this for me?” she said as she sat across from Abraham.

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“Your freedom, of course. However, there are other benefits to be had if you--”

“Why me?” she demanded.

​

“You possess the skills and background I require. You were once a dancer, yes? I will need you to quickly prove your artistry to a dance troupe in Prosperity in order to insinuate yourself into my son’s life. Once you have his trust, you will deliver him to me.”

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“That’s it?” Thorn howled with laughter. “Okay, which of your spoiled brats ran away this time? You have four, right?”

Abraham could feel his upper lip twitching. So frustrating when your own body betrays you.

​

“My third eldest, Harland Marcus – Hap to his friends - has been in Prosperity for over a year now; he needs must return home to Temperance and his family. Not only do his brothers miss him, he has a wealth of critical knowledge I require.”

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“What kind of knowledge?” asked Thorn, leaning in.

​

“Do you remember Resurrection Day?”

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“I read about it afterwards,” she said. “I don’t get out much, remember? Some big fight between angels and demons last year in Prosperity - and the Saviour died. What else was there to know?”

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“Hap was there, in the middle of the great battle. I require his account of the events.”

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“Why?”

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“I need to know about the angels.”

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An eyebrow raised. “Simon’s angels, the ones that supposedly saved everyone? Hap knows about them?”

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“Yes, I thought that might intrigue you,” said Abraham. “Yet another one of the reasons I chose you for this. I am aware that you have questions of your own concerning these beings.”

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Thorn looked thoughtful for a moment. 

“Nope,” she said, suddenly flipping the table right into Abraham’s face. As he attempted to draw his sword, she nimbly knocked it out of his hand and swept his feet out from under him. Now on his back, he found that Thorn was standing over him, holding his own sword to his throat. 

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“Any other reasons to keep me from killing you?” she said with an evil grin.

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Abraham did his best to remain calm. “The cabin door is locked from the outside. If you kill me now, I’ll foul your cabin for weeks.”

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Thorn held for a moment, then laughed as she moved the sword away from his neck. “Fair enough. So the deal is, I bring Hap to you and I get to go free, right? Why wouldn’t I just run the second you open that door?”

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“Ah,” said Abraham, slowly climbing to his feet as Thorn kept the sword pointed his way. “That would be the second part of your reward.”

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“There’s more?” Her eyes gleamed.

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“Yes, a bit of knowledge that will hopefully keep me alive until you accomplish your mission,” said Abraham, his composure regained. “If you bring Hap back to me, I will help you get revenge on the person who really put you in this prison.”

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Thorn’s eyes grew wide.

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“Yes, Thorn,” said a supremely confident Abraham. “I have what you want more than anything in the world. I know the name of the man you want to kill.”