Ordo Sanctus

By Sarah Daniel

My feet dragged in mud and blood, mine or another's, I cared not. 

My bones howled in agony, my lance upright solely by mental fortitude. 

My heart, in contrast, had exultation. For the demons of a town so corrupted, had been cast into the pits of hell.

The cathedral was silent—the kind where your flesh knew naught but peace. The bishop, a newly ordained yet famed man—famed for divine healing, purification and visions from the Holy Saint—stood at the altar, ready to cleanse us from our expedition.

My knees kissed the ground at the sanctum, wholly willing to be sanctified, to be made again holy. 

I lifted my eyes to accept the Blessing—the divinity of Saintly purity. 

Love, Hope, Peace. The things I yearned for with every breath.

His eyes were soft, earthy—wicked. His eyes held darkness. Darkness that had seen the misery of the world, and the corruption of infants, and feasted upon them. 

Evil, now, stood at the gates of the Holy Saint I ached for, holy as the Saint Himself.

By Sarah Daniel