past

The door slammed on the opposite end of the rowhouse, rocking it to its foundation. That was her signal to hide. Sweeping the last pile of errant ash back into the hearth, she dashed into the adjacent pantry, broom still in hand. Pulling the door closed save a sliver to allow for a narrow swath of light, she backed into the corner and clutched the broom to her chest. Wordlessly moving her lips, she began her customary silent prayer for protection when once again she found herself cowering, paralyzed with the fear of her drunken father.

“Graced Valen,” she began, “Paragon of Order-”

“Nathania!” Her father bellowed, furniture kicked and tossed out of the way as he ambled toward the kitchen.

“...I am your humble servant. Please, grant me bravery in the face of peril...”

“Where are you, girl!?”

From outside, clomping boots created vibrations across the plank wood floor.

“Useless wretch!”

Slamming down into the chair at the kitchen table, it rocked off its front legs under his weight, crashing back down a second later.

“...through your wisdom, guide me to find a way to escape this wretched upbringing…”

Fabric cracked as he snapped off the towel covering the bowl of stew she had left for him, and she heard it the dull thwump as it bounced off the pantry door.

“What is this slop?”

The spoon fell into the bowl with a splat and a clatter. “Typical,” he spit through his words. “As pitiful a cook as her trollop of a mother was. Runs away like her too.”

Pausing a moment at that thought, trying to push down the anger that boiled in her blood at the sentiment, was it any wonder why her mother would have escaped a marriage to this vitriolic brute? Then again, she held no remorse for the woman who had abandoned her to this monster out of self-preservation, and the thought of being compared to her fueled her anger even more. At that moment, she asked for something she had never once asked for before.

“If you find me at all worthy, as I know that I am unwanted and forgot please invoke your righteous justice upon this man, and I will serve you until my dying day.”

You are neither of those things, child.

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once. At the sound of it, she jumped, and before she could catch it, the broom smacked against the wooden floor. The kitchen chair scraped harshly against the same floor as he pushed away from the table. The hinges of the door creaked as is flung backwards beyond its intended angle. Light exploded into the small darkened space before it was eclipsed by the foreboding shadow of her father.

“There you are!”

Yanking her out by her collar, he threw her across the kitchen, her off-kilter balance resulting in a stumble that sent her careening into the chair, smashing into it with her shin, before tumbling into the pipework beneath the free-standing sink.

“Hide from me will you?” he growled, rolling back his sleeved slowly before reaching back to strike her.

Under the sink.

Eyes darting to the floor under the sink, she noticed the knife she had used to cut the vegetables sitting just off to the side. She had left it to rest upon the edge of the wide basin when she had finished, and it had fallen to the floor when she had impacted the sink.

Spinning towards his hulking frame, she ducked her head into the crook of her elbow and raised the knife towards his swinging arm. Another beastly growl erupted from him as he struck the blade, lacking the reflexes and the reaction time in his drunken stupor to notice and correct for the weapon directed at him. The knife fell from her hand as he reeled back, cradling his wounded arm.

Quick. The door.

Darting her eyes from her bleeding father to the backdoor just beyond him, she hesitated, taking a tentative breath. She couldn’t get past him. He would grab her. He wouldn’t let her leave.

Run.

I… I can’t. Where will I go? She asked.

Tears swelled in her eyes. All she could hear was the voice and her heart beating in her eyes. Staggering towards her, he began to regain composure.

Run, and know that I will provide.

Nathania closed her eyes, released a bated breath, and dropped her head as she went barreling past her father. Swiping at her unsuccessfully with his good but non-dominant hand, he twisted ungracefully, and then toppled. Once she was out of the door she ran until she felt she would faint. Fire clawed at her lungs and throat, her muscles simply giving out as she collapsed against the base of a statue in a small public square. She had no idea where she was or how far she had run. Frankly, she didn’t care, merely relishing in the fact that she was safe and that finally, she was free.

Heaving breaths in and out, failing to quell the searing pain throughout her body, she doubled over limp and weary. Falling to her side, she pulled her knees up to her chest, rocking gently until she could regulate her breathing. Once she could manage a steady rhythm, able to finally take deep, measured breaths, she rolled to her back, arms splayed out to her sides, eyes cast towards the Infinite from where the call to her prayer had been answered.

Towering above her, cast in weathered bronze, the noble visage of Valen stood protectively over her. Drawing herself upwards to her knees, she scanned the surrounding square, the realization of where she was dawned on her— she had run all the way to his temple. The gleaming lights from with the glass ceiling of his sanctum called to her like a moth to flame.

Managing enough energy to drag her body to the doors of the temple, she was surprised to find that even at this late hour, his doors were open to all who needed sanctuary and guidance. The interior was magnificent. Creamy polished marble that lined the walls and draped like fabric in decorative elements throughout the hall. Warm, rich woods, twisting into willowy columns and rafters high into the ceiling. Despite being an adherent of Valen nearly all her young life, she had never actually been to his temple. Her parents were not particular religious, but she had been fascinated by the concept of him since the day she had learned about him in primary school. To her, he had been the equivalent of her imaginary friend. All these years she had spoken to him, praying in greatest moments of need, making offerings on his high holy days, and prayers of gratitude for his aid whenever possible. But, this was the first time in nine years he had ever spoken to her.

At the end of the long aisle that divided the inner sanctum, stood another statue of Valen, but smaller than the one outside and cast in a precious, gleaming golden metal. Resting her head at the foot of his statue, Nathania finally let her tears falls, no longer out of fear, but rather gratitude.

“As promised, I am at your service.”

A gentle squeeze of her shoulders broke her reverie, and she turned to find a priest gazing down at her with a look of serenity.

“He spoke to you,” he smiled, and the end of his sentence went up like a question.

“How did you know?”

“Because, young one, he has spoken to me too. I’ve been expecting you for sometime.”

He took her by both hands, and dropped down on bended knee so he was as eye to eye with her as possible.

“He has chosen you to be his prophet.”