As far as this goes... - Years Became Like Days-Chapter 1

Preface

Chapter 1

1662
London

“I am disappointed in you, Carlisle.”

It was this single, cutting sentence that made me turn from the twilight in the window. My father, withered in his years, was seated at the hearth. I had been the head of his church for two years now and not a single heathen had been found. I looked down into his blue eyes, still sharp despite his age.

“Father, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice quieter than it had been in our fight. “I just have not found any that are truly evil. I do not wish to burn innocent people.” I walked to the chair across from him and sat down.

“Sometimes that sacrifice needs to be made,” he said in the same harsh tones he always used. His skeletal hand grasped the chairs armrests as he pulled himself forward. “It shows everyone the penalty of sin. It reminds them that all wrongs are equal in the eyes of the Lord.”

I looked down at the floor. The wood was smoothed from years of boots passing over it. The dark was closing in on the fire and the crumbs from our bread cast short shadows. It was hard to answer my father’s questions like this. There was no right answer, no way to show him my side. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees, face in my hands. Patience, Carlisle.

“Father, please try to understand. It scares people to see their fellows burned at the stake,” I said, brining my face up to meet his eye. “I want the people to be happy and to follow the Lord in love, not in fear.”

He coughed a laugh. “Love? People do not understand the Lord well enough to love him. All they will ever understand is respect and reverence. Until they fear hell, they will not respect him.”

I sighed. This discussion would go no where. I stood up.

“I think I will take a walk to clear my thoughts,” I said, walking to the door for my coat. I could hear my father’s chair creak as he leaned back. I could feel his eyes boring into my back.

“Yes, think about this course of action, my son,” he said, his voice gravel on tin. “You will see the folly of the path you are on soon enough.”

I bit back the sigh that may have escaped. I opened the door and heard a quiet “I will pray for you,” from the hearthside.

The cold stole my breath and bit my face. The new year was coming in a few days and all the natural world was asleep. A few lamps were burning in windows along the winding streets, spilling puddles of light along my way. I tucked my hands under my armpits, trying to keep the bitterness away from my fingertips.

I tried to think about my father’s work. He punished a great number of sinners in his time. I had been nothing but a disappointment to him since I first refused to call out witches and vampires where there were none. I shook my head at the thought. To kill innocent people would make me want to go to hell, just to receive the punishment and feel cleansed.

The street was silent at this time of the evening. Most people had returned home for dinner at this time, as the sun set for the night. The days were short, but the darkness and the snow kept everyone inside. It was nice to imagine a family around the table, saying their prayers before their meal. I wandered without thought of where I was going. I headed down hill a little, just above a poorly lit street.

Ahead of me, just past the only small circle of lamplight, the sewer grate started to move slightly. I stopped short and watched. The grate stopped. I shook my head and continued watching. After a few moments, the grate lifted slightly. A slender, white hand seemed to be supporting the grate. I moved as silently as possible into the darkness of an alley to see who would emerge.

The grate was set gently to the side of the hole and the top of a black-haired head could be seen. It turned slowly in my direction. The black hair framed a heavy brow with the blackest eyes set above high cheek bones. I held my breath. The eyes passed over my hiding place in the darkness.

The face disappeared in an instant. I could hear nothing, even after leaning forward. And, as if by magic, three figures were now standing in the street. All were pale corpses, walking about in dirty cloaks. The black-haired man stood tallest, the next tallest being a bulky blacksmith sort with sandy, short hair. The last was a little girl with long, brown hair. All were beautiful, but with dead, cold eyes. My breath froze in my mouth, making my heart pound and my brow moist.

I could hear their voices, low and quick. The few words I could understand sounded like Latin. The little girl bent down and effortlessly replaced the grate. She did not even drag it across the stones. Impossible. She looked to be no more than eight or nine years old, yet she lifted a cast iron grate. I gasped at the sight.

At that small sound, all three of the figures froze. I tensed as well, not even blinking. The last thing I wanted was for them to notice where I was hidden. They all looked around, their eyes seeming blacker than before. The huge man seemed to be sniffing the air. The little girl said something and the black haired man nodded. I trembled slightly from the tension of waiting.

Then, they were gone.

Chapter 2