A Note to my Readers: A lot of what I am writing is my spin on the universe of Chrno Crusade based on what I know about the characters, the world, and the motives of the characters. That being said, I will at times take liberties on things in exchange for the overall flow of the narrative, but at the same time, I will do my best to keep true to the original work that this fanfic is based off of. For me, though, the fun of it is taking these characters on journeys that we, as an audience, haven't seen yet. That's what makes it a joy to write. So, although sometimes it might not quite jive with the original story, I will do my best to make it plausible. Just give me some time my friends. The story is only about a fourth done and there are plenty of fun surprises to come in the next few chapters. Trust me…
Defalthus
Chrno Crusade: 1981
Chapter 3: Tracing the Path of Evil
Germany, June 11th 1933: Zoologischer Garten Station – Berlin
It was another busy day in the station. People were hopping of trains left and right with four, five, or 6 bags per family; coming in on holiday heading to the Alexanderplatz to shop and enjoy the beauty of Berlin. Sure, there were uprisings every now and then, socialist party banter in the street, people screaming "Germany for Germans". But people talk; why be afraid of talk?
Azmaria was afraid of talk. Standing in the train station, waiting for Ewan to arrive, she remembered that this kind of talk had resulted in the death of hundreds of thousands, including her parents. Thinking about the whole thing caused her skin to bubble. Without knowing it, her feet turned inwards and her head dipped down towards the floor. In her dark blue Magdalan Order uniform, head bowed and eyes close, she looked like she was praying…praying for each and every person who got on an off those trains that very moment.
Where are you, Ewan? Why aren't you here yet?
Suddenly Azmaria felt a pair of soft, gentle hands press up against the sides of her arms. She jumped a bit a first, but suddenly looked up and saw Ewan standing there in front of her.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Azmaria…"
"Ewan…" Without thinking, she leaned forward and fell into him, her arms linking around his back. "…I was afraid you weren't going to come. I got your letters."
Azmaria pulled away a bit and looked up into Ewan's eyes. For a moment she felt like she needed nothing else to hold onto in life than the reflection she saw in those eyes of his.
"Then you know what's going on."
"I do, I just don't believe it. You think people would have learned something from the previous war."
"Careful…" Ewan pulled Azmaria towards his body once more and whispered into her ear. "…Plans are being made in secret, and the information in those letters I sent to you must be delivered to the Magdalan branch in London as soon as possible. I fear it is even too late for the order to stop the events that have already been set in motion."
"No…that's not possible."
"Azmaria," Ewan looked down at Azmaria, wanting to say something important but got wrapped up in her teenage beauty, "You don't look a day over 18."
"Hmm…I'd say you're one to talk about appearances." Azmaria let go of Ewan for a moment and bent over to reach into her suitcase, a relatively thin, brown suitcase containing a change of cloths or two, some special items from the order, and a few mementoes. When she stood back up she handed her travel papers to Ewan who chuckled when she looked at her date of birth.
"Looks like you chopped off a few years. Good, if age matches appearance, people shouldn't ask you too many questions when you try to cross the border, especially when they see the cross and that innocent face of yours."
"Ewan, I'm not that innocent."
"Listen…" Ewan suddenly got very serious, "Germany is changing, and I fear it is only going to get worse. I don't know if I'll be able to protect you if you don't leave and report to London at once."
"Ewan, I'm not a child anymore. I joined the order to fight, not to run."
"I know. You made a promise to Rosette. Now I'm making a promise to you: I will never let what happen to Rosette happen to you."
Azmaria stood in shock. Why would he say something like that?
"What do you mean, Ewan?" Suddenly, the train that had been sitting dead on the track next to her sprung to life and the locomotive at the far end began cough smoke, ready to begin the long journey west. People began to board the train, left and right, just like they always did. And the conductor shouted in German for people to jump on board as he helped them with their luggage.
"There's no time. Get on the train, Azmaria. Do what needs to be done…" then he leaned closer to her again, their two faces almost becoming one, "…I won't forget you…" he whispered. Then, like electricity, his lips met hers. They were as soft as his hands had been: gentle, supple, and sweet. This…this can't be happening. She felt her eye lids grow heavy and wanted to pull Ewan as close to her body as possible. But when her arms searched out for him all they found was air. Opening her eyes, Azmaria fell into consciousness, almost losing her balance completely in the process.
Ewan…
Once more, she looked around the track to see if he was there, but he had vanished as suddenly as he arrived. All that remained was his promise, and a sweet taste on Azmaria's lips; a taste that filled her heart with something new and unexpected. When she was younger, she had looked up to Ewan. She had been as innocent as her outward appearance showed. She wanted to fight, but was afraid. Now, she still wanted to fight…but with one kiss everything had changed.
Slowly, Azmaria boarded the very last car of the train, standing on the outside platform looking back into the terminal. As the train began to pull away, Azmaria felt something pulsate and glow from underneath her uniform. Pulling back on a chain that was resting around her neck, she lifted out the small pocket watch that Rosette had used to make the contract with Chrno. It's glowing…is she trying to tell me something? In the distance, the train station drifted farther and farther into the horizon, Berlin going with it.
"Fraulein?" The conductor motioned her inside the car. It wasn't safe to be outside anymore. With a tear running down her cheek, Azmaria wondered how long it would be before nothing was safe anymore.
…Please, don't die, Ewan. Whatever you do, please, please don't die.
Back in the Present Day,
Vatican City - May 15th, 1981
Security on the grounds of the Vatican had gone way up in the days following the assassination attempt. Visitors, onlookers, and supporters alike were all under the same level of speculation and no one was allowed to go near St. Peters Square without showing all of the appropriate papers first.
Just outside of the square, a large Lincoln Continental, black with tinted windows, was making its way to the back of the back entrance of the Vatican, reserved for members of the church. As the car approached, a security guard quickly hopped out of his little booth and approached the driver's side window.
"carta d'identità, per favore." Quickly the driver lifted a small identification card and showed it to the security guard. After swiping it through a little machine he had in his hand, he realized that the passenger in the back of the car was none other than the Carmelengo, the representative for the Pope during life and the most important man in the Church upon his death. Without a second thought, he let the car go through.
Upon parking the car and being escorted to floor where the Pope's residence was, the young Carmelengo, barely out of his thirties, was greeted by three of the popes elected cardinals. Having only heard about the assassination a day before, almost 24 hours after the rest of the world (the priest had been doing charitable work in Nairobi), he was particularly perturbed.
"…and there was no one who could have reached me sooner? What if he had died, Cardinal?"
"Carmelengo, we had the bishops scrambling to find you as soon as it occurred. But the truth of the matter is…" there was no time to waste on the truth. The truth was that the Pope had been shot and he wasn't there to help him.
"Has he requested me?"
"Several times. He is aware you are in the building and he is ready to see you as soon as you wish."
"I do wish, right now. Please." He let the cardinals pass in front of him, giving them at least some of the respect they deserve. Walking behind them, he looked out at the square and noticed all the people standing behind the barricades, praying for their fallen pontiff. So this is really what you wish? Without giving it a second thought, he turned back towards the hallway in front of him, taking a few moments to wipe of his robes and straighten his beads before walking into the popes sacred chamber.
In all honesty, most of the cardinals did not like the Carmelengo. They thought he was too idealistic to be the point man of the most influential staple of the Roman Caltholic Church. He rarely agreed with his superiors, was an ultra liberal as far as the church was concerncerd, and as one Bishop had made clear, thought he was "barely out of diapers the first time I met him." That being said, the Pope appointed him carmelengo for two key reasons: 1) his presence always made the aged pontiff feel young as well as young at heart, and 2) because the Carmelengo was undoubtedly loyal and would never betray him.
"I am here…I am sorry I was late. No one informed me." The Carmelengo walked over to bed and kneeled down beside the fallen Pontiff, grabbing his hand and kissing the gold ring, which signified his position as Pope. The Pope, lacking the strength to say much, placed his hand on the side of the Carmelengo's head and looked deep into his eyes. A smile crossed the pope's face: an infectious smile that went straight to the center of the Carmelengo's soul. Without a second thought, the pope motioned the Cardinals out of the room; he wanted to speak to his assistant alone.
"It is good to see you, Josef…"
"How are you feeling?"
"Shot…" Josef chuckled, the Pope had not lost his infectious sense of humor. "…but I digress. I think the lord has chosen to test me. I just hope I've passed."
"I would say with flying colors. Since nothing goes unrewarded, even for the Pope, I have brought a gift for you." Reaching into one of the pockets in his robe, he withdrew a small black box with a gold border around it. The tired hands of the Pontiff took hold of it, almost without thinking, and before opening it he looked up at Josef.
"Now what is this all about? You know I can't accept this."
"My friend, for once you need not be the Pope. Open it." Slowly, the Carmelengo rose and turned away from the bed. Once again he looked out the window—at all the people with their tents up and their signs out and their cameras at the ready for their Pope's appearance. God forgive me. This is what they all wanted. This is what is best. The world is about to change…for the better.
The pope opened the small box and noticed that inside was a small pocket watch made out of gold. The dials were not moving and all the arms were pointing in different directions. While the watch itself was very beautiful, the puzzled pontiff was unsure of why Josef would give him such an item. When the Pope noticed the dial on the side, he turned it, and the arms on the clock began to spin backwards, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Without a sound, the Pope's body began to get very rigid and his tongue latched to the roof of his mouth. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his feet pointed themselves towards the opposing wall, and his fist clenched the watch as tight as possible. All the while, the Carmelengo recited a prayer to himself, whispering the words to the floor with his eyes closed and his arms behind his back.
What happened next would go unnoticed by anyone in the Vatican and to all of the onlookers outside in St. Peters Square. The clock, now spinning out of control, began to glow a bright yellow, as did the body of the injured pontiff and his not so trustworthy Carmelengo. Feeling the moment growing to the head, the Carmelengo finished his prayer by throwing his arms in the air and shouting out loud, "AMEN!"
A few moments later, after the Carmelengo had ran out of the popes room screaming 'THE POPE HAS DIED!' a doctor made the final checks on the body, confirming the man deceased, while one of the cardinals read the popes last rights. The men tried not to show any tears, but it was hard not to cry when the Pope had seemed in such good spirits a few hours earlier.
Trying not to draw too much attention to himself, Josef took the black box with the watch in it off the table and placed it safely back in his pocket before turning to the cardinals.
"Forgive me, I know there is a lot to be done in the next few days, but I must take my leave of you and make some…personal arrangements. Forgive me."
"But Carmelengo…" But it was too late; Josef had already bounded half way down the hallway towards the elevator. Perhaps that was a bit rash of me, but I have no time. Reaching the car, the driver quickly opened the back door, allowing Josef to get in. Leaning into the door, the driver picked up the car phone in the back and handed it to the Carmelengo.
"He's already on the phone for you, sir."
"Thank you."
Pulling out of the Vatican, eyeing the crowd that just received the news of the popes death-- the tears, the hugging, the disappointment of the moment, Josef placed the phone to his ear and listened as his destiny spoke to him on the other end. Pulling the watch out of his pocket once more, he held in front of his face,
"It is done. Now, there is no turning back." Hanging up the phone, he felt the power of the Astral Line flow through him; a direct connection to it created from the energy of the fallen pope now stored in this remarkably simple object. As the power grew, the Carmelengo could feel his grip with humanity slipping away. But it no longer mattered. There were more important things to deal with, and his tickets were waiting for him at the international airport.
Next – Chapter 4: The Cost of Ones Powers
