Chapter 1: A Stranger Known to the World
'I swore an oath to God, not to those men who claim to murder in his name.'
Yet why, I wonder, am I here?
A snowy-haired teenager leaned on a jagged rock by a dying tree. Next to him, a reflection of the sky was contained within a glinting sword that looked a tad too big for him. He wore the emblem of Christ on his pristine mantle.
'What's this kid doing here anyway?'
He heard them mutter to themselves, unaware that he could hear them clearly. 'The authorities are off their rocker. I mean really,' a groggy old man started in a hushed tone, 'are they trying to traumatize this child?' The others nodded in agreement. 'Maybe he has sinned, and the church wishes him to atone for it,' another man suggested.
They don't know who I am. All their whispers are just lies they wish to believe.
Crimson irises tensed as a sword was swung at an enemy. The blood that came after was the same shade. He panted heavily, stabbing the barren earth with his blood-stained sword. 'Inomine Patris et Filii et spiritus sancti. Amen.'
'Is he even a child?' They continued to mutter. 'He doesn't seem to be fazed at all by what he does.' The child only sat in a distant corner, red eyes gazing into a far off flame. 'What was his name again?' Even after talking about him all this time, they never really remembered his name. 'I think it was Gilbert, or something.' One of them said. At least they were right about one thing.
They don't understand why I'm here. But it's perfectly clear why they are. They're here to repent – or that's what they claim.
I wonder.
Gilbert rushed forward, his sword ready in his hands. He stabbed the enemy and dropped to his knees as the other fell behind him. 'Another one vanquished,' he gasped. He wasn't usually this tired. But this time was different; they were losing. He turned to stand and face the next one.
But instead he saw a large number of his comrades lying in pools of blood in the Moorish sun.
They will probably never know who I am. They will probably never understand why I was here as much as I understood them.
They never had the chance to.
He stood in the empire of Holy Rome, his head bowed down in front of the altar. The crusades had ended years ago. Yet the sight of his comrades still swam in his vision, flowing into his mind every so often. No one would ever remember as much blood as he would. He knelt on the ground and put his head on the ground. He prayed earnestly:
'Deus meus, ex toto corde pænitet me ómnium meórum peccatórum, éaque detéstor, quia peccándo, non solum pœnas a te iuste statútas proméritus sum, sed præsértim quia offéndi te, summum bonum, ac dignum qui super ómnia diligáris. Ídeo fírmiter propóno, adiuvánte grátia tua, de cétero me non peccatúrum peccandíque occasiónes próximas fugitúrum. Amen.'
There he broke down. The crusades had ended years and years ago. But it was only then that he had the courage to regret it. His tears spilled onto the carpet as his sobs filled the empty church.
They may never understand. They may never know the truth.
But they were as close as anyone was.
Why had he been there?
What did he do to deserve it? What sin so grave had he committed that he deserved to be punished like this?
Why did he have to be there to witness the passing of infinity? And why did it have to be so hard?
I originally intended to make the first chapter about China because he's basically the oldest. I had already started on his story, but I had a little dilemma in continuing it because I was uncertain of which point of view to use for the story. Well, Prussia solved that problem. :)
It's a short chapter, yes. But I was inspired to write this after watching The Season of the Witch a few days ago. The first line is quoted from Nicholas Cage's character Behmen.
Watching infinity unfold isn't as fun as it's cracked up to be. After a while, all the regrets you would not have felt may come rushing in. It can engulf you. It can consume you.
By the way, the Latin prayer Gilbert says in the church is the Act of Contrition.
I hope you like it. :)