Prologue

A Matter Of Time

There was nothing she could do to convince him to stay.

Listlessly, she stood alone on the rickety orphanage's front porch, feeling the chill of the early Desert morning. She shivered slightly—not from the cold, but from the gradual onset of a bitter, bitter loss.

Moving away from her, the lanky figure of a child began to disappear into the murky distance. He was leaving the orphanage for good, and he was taking nothing with him…

…save for a reason to be alone, and a promise that could no longer be kept.

The hurt soon overwhelmed the Priestess, and she fell in a heap onto the fragile floorboards—but not before her silver cross slipped through her fingers and struck the porch floor with a sorrowful tinny sound.

Her head on the dusty floorboards, she watched through teary eyes as the boy's form faded and disappeared into the distance, never to be seen again.

•••

Seven nights later, the Priestess sat at her desk, half-heartedly thumbing through some reading material, dated 1388, that she had brought with her to this orphanage almost three years before. She remembered how she often let the boy into her room to read her books and magazines, all the while heartened by his eagerness to learn. They would sit at her desk for hours after the other kids had gone to bed, talking about wondrous things far removed from the Desert and the turmoil they were experiencing those days…

Sighing, she closed the book she was reading. It seemed, even after a week, she could not get her mind off of the boy.

Three quick knocks came at her room's door, and she looked up with a start. The sound seemed to come from the upper portion of the door—none of the orphans were tall enough to reach that far.

She swallowed. Was it them again?

As quickly as her weakened body could carry her, she left her desk, took a quarterstaff in her hands and reached for the door, removing the latch and pulling it open.

A tall, heavyset bearded man in plated armor stood at her door, silhouetted by the moonlight. A large shield was slung over his back, and a massive Iron Mace hung from his belt. The old man looked down on the young Priestess, noting her short, unkempt hair, the dark circles under her eyes, her tattered Priestly clothing, and her tarnished silver cross. He remembered how she looked like only thirty months ago, the last time he visited the orphanage. She was vibrant and optimistic back then… now, it seemed as though he was looking down at an empty shell that used to be his Apprentice.

The Priestess's eyes narrowed and filled with tears at the sight of the large Cleric in front of her.

"Father… Rubalkabara…" she uttered his name, dropping her quarterstaff and falling forward into his large arms.

Rubalkabara held her close in a comforting embrace. "The War is over, Matilda," he whispered. "We are going Home."

•••

Rubalkabara sat on her desk chair, watching in the faint candlelight as Matilda prepared some bitter tea for him. While crushing the brittle leaves in a bowl, she mindlessly droned on what had happened during the thirty months since she last saw her Master. When she reached the part about what had taken place in the orphanage only seven days ago, Rubalkabara stopped her.

"He saved you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "A single Nomad boy saved you and the other orphans, you say?"

Matilda nodded, wiping a tear with the back of her hand. "I thought it was him," she replied. "I wish I had read more about Yosuke's writings to be sure."

"Did he have strange eyes?"

Matilda froze. Slowly she looked at her mentor over her shoulder.

"Did he have blue hair?"

Matilda's mouth opened, but the shock of hearing Rubalkabara's knowing inquiries prevented her from answering.

"Was he ten years old?"

The Priestess left the bowl on the kitchen sink and approached Rubalkabara breathlessly.

"Was it him?" she frantically asked. "Was he really the one?"

Rubalkabara sat unmoving. "If the answer to all of my questions is 'yes'…"

Matilda ran to her closet, throwing its doors open and shoving her clothes into a backpack.

"I should have stopped him when I had the chance!" Matilda wailed, packing some bread and dates into the bag. "We must find him quickly!"

She threw a cloak over her shoulders, slung the bag onto her back and picked up her quarterstaff on her way to the door.

"Matilda," Rubalkabara's calm, deep voice called after her.

The Priestess had the door open, but she was not able to step onto the porch outside. She had stopped at the sound of her name being called.

"You said he left seven days ago," the old Cleric stated. "He could be anywhere by now. Do not do anything rash—your health is fading. You would die before finding him."

"But he must be found!" she protested.

"Worry not," Rubalkabara said, not rising from his chair. "If he truly is the one promised by Yosuke in his writings… if he is truly the child of prophecy… if the fate of Midgard truly lies in his hands… then he will be found."

Matilda stared at her mentor, her will teetering between Rubalkabara's assertions and her own tribulations.

"He will be found," Rubalkabara repeated for her sake. "Ten years after his death, the first part of Yosuke's secret prophecies has come to pass."

"But…" she began.

"You have played your part in this scheme, Matilda. Nothing more needs to be done by you. The second part of Yosuke's prophecies will come in its own time."

Matilda wasn't convinced. "In its own time," she repeated to herself, not exactly liking the idea.

"He will be found, Matilda." Rubalkabara reassured her for the third instance. "It is only a matter of time."

Matilda turned to look through the door. A brilliant crescent moon hung in the deep blue night sky, throwing a pale light over the bleak Desert landscape. Her troubled thoughts gravitated to the consoling belief that the boy was somewhere among those shifting sand dunes, and that he was alive and well, waiting to be found by the person who would play the next part in this scheme.

A smile etched itself on Matilda's lips as she wished her best for the boy.

"Isaac," she whispered into the crescent moon.

•••

Underneath the same moon, somewhere in vastness of the Sograt Desert, a lonely Nomad boy slowly made his way northward, unaware of the destiny that had been waiting for him for 10,000 years.

•••

One Who Waits II

The Journey Continues

2007