WOW. Sorry for the... ahem... delay. This year has been CRAZYPANTS to say the least. I've probably had more therapy this year than most people have in their entire life! O_o yay brains. thank [insert deity's name here] for meds and the GED. ANYWHO, here's teh chapter 3. Tell me what you think. Pleeeez? :) And in case you're wondering, the whole Aztec deity thing will be coming into sharp focus after this chapter, probably, so sit tight!

Also: THANK YOU to all my readers. It's so encouraging to know that there's human beings out there who enjoy my little creation here. So REVIEW! Let me know if it's terrible! Tell me what to do to make it not terrible! Mmkay?

Malachai stared at the unconscious girl in his arms. She had the same features as the sinner. The olive-toned skin, jet-black hair, almond-shaped eyes… Could Isaac have been mistaken, or the drawings false prophecies? But it was too much of a coincidence, and besides, he wasn't about to disobey the Seer. He made his way through the corn carrying the outlander, surprised at how light she was. The little animal followed them all the way to Isaac's room at the back of the church.

Isaac was examining the Bible when Malachai entered the church carrying the girl.

"Isaac, I found her. It was just like the picture."

"What happened?" asked Isaac, nodding at the comatose outlander.

The redhead laid her on a pew and said, "I killed the unbeliever like you ordered, but then I heard something as he ran out of the corn. He spoke, said something before dying, but I couldn't understand any of it. Then I saw her, and it was exactly like the picture." He pointed at the drawing on the table. It was a child's art, crudely drawn but very clear. It showed a boy covered in red with a girl kneeling next to him and a small animal behind her. Behind them was the corn, and peeking through was a figure with red hair. "She was… very frightened, and didn't notice me at first when I stepped out of the corn. When she saw me she became even more frightened, but I put down my knife and told her to come with me. She didn't move, so I took her by the arm and led her into the corn, and that's when she passed out."

Isaac stared hard at the outlander and pondered this. He supposed anyone would be afraid of his assistant when he Malachai was carrying a weapon and covered in blood… Many of the children were afraid of him. It seemed natural enough.

"You frightened her, Malachai."

"I… it wasn't my intention." It wasn't a lie. It also wasn't the truth. Malachai did everything in his power to frighten anyone and everyone into submission, with the exception of Isaac. It was so natural for him to intimidate others that sometimes he didn't even realize he was doing it.

Isaac stared at his helper for another few moments before saying, "Bring her to the back room for now. She needs to feel comfortable, otherwise we're wasting time."

Malachai picked her up again. In seeing the strange girl's pallid face, her long hair, her stillness, his mind flashed back to a memory of a girl he once knew. Quickly, he shook the thought away. The two situations were completely unrelated, and this outlander looked nothing like her.

He set her down on the bed and glared at her unmoving figure for a moment, suddenly annoyed.

"Malachai, go fetch one of the older girls and tell her to come here. I need someone to care for the outlander until she wakes up. And wash off that blood; it's unclean."

He strode off without a word and snarled at the first girl he saw to go see Isaac, then yelled at her again when she hesitated.

Malachai stood shirtless in the older boys' tent and watched as the water became flecked with the forming patterns that swirled around in the large bowl. The scarlet fluid was all over his arms, splattered on his neck and face and on his chest and torso where it had soaked through his clothing. A blissful numbness embraced him as he recalled grabbing the boy by the hair and, holding his head back, pressing the blade against his neck and bringing it across, feeling the warm blood flow over his arms and the child's pulse quickly coming to a close. Taking in every minute detail then finally whispering in the child's ear, "It is over," and with a satisfied smirk letting him go.

He exhaled deeply and came back to the present. He washed off the remaining evidence and looked through the mirror into the green eyes of the monster. A small whimper was heard and he turned his head to look at the tiny boy who was staring at him with tears forming in his eyes. As his whine grew louder, threatening to turn into a full-blown wail, a teenage girl ran into the tent and picked him up, blushed slightly at the sight of Malachai, then fled after muttering, "Excuse us," without making eye contact.

He rolled his eyes. Though they didn't fully understand or acknowledge it, all of Gatlin was aware of Malachai's thirst for blood. He didn't bother trying to hide it: he enjoyed the kill. And why shouldn't he, when it was obvious the Lord did, too?

He glanced once more into the green eyes of the beast inside him, then made his way to a place where no one would bother him.

Valentina awoke as a young blonde girl placed a wet cloth on her forehead.

"Good, you're awake! Eat, drink. You look starved." She motioned to a bedside table where there was a plate with a chunk of shapeless bread and a glass of water.

She sat up, letting the washcloth fall. The memories washed over her like a tidal wave, and all she could do was sit there, paralyzed. She looked at her hands, but they were clean. Next to her bed was a large bowl of ruddy water containing equally ruddy rags. She eyed the bread and water suspiciously.

"What happened to you? That blood wasn't yours, seeing as you're not wounded," murmured the girl, who then quickly squeaked, "Oh, n-never mind, I shouldn't be asking! If you'll excuse me, I'll call Isaac."

"Wait!" Valentina said, and the girl (who would later become known as Naomi) turned around.

"What is this place, where am I?"

"Gatlin," she the child said simply, and she left before the outsider could protest.

"Jesus," Valentina whispered hoarsely. "Why's this happening to me…"

"You were summoned here."

She jumped at the voice, and saw a young boy standing in the doorway. What stood out the most was the hat he was wearing. It was huge. It looked absurd, and yet she still couldn't help but take his presence seriously. He had brown hair and the deepest of brown eyes. Eyes that were like hers, that conveyed the a strange emotion. That cold interest submerged in hopelessness. She recognized him immediately as the boy from her dream. All she could do was stare in fearful awe as he dragged a chair into the room and sat across from her, his legs dangling off the edge since he was too short to reach the floor.

"…Y-you… summoned me?" she pronounced every syllable carefully, as if trying to make sense of them even after having said them out loud.

"I'm a mere Seer; I do not have that power. The Lord He Who Walks Behind The Rows called out to you. I am thankful that you answered. We've been expecting you. But first, what is your name?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The Lord summoned you, and you came. For that I am grateful."

"…"

The child nodded wisely, his face dead serious, which was odd to look at since this was how she imagined Gandalf would nod, although this boy looked more like a hobbit. His solemn demeanor was convincing, and she tried to remind herself that he couldn't be older than ten years old.

"Kid, where are your parents?"

He tilted his head slightly, and she realized he was indicating the window. She looked out but there was nothing but cornfields.

"In the corn."

"What, like working in the cornfields?"

"Not exactly. The adults fertilize the Lord's soil so the corn can grow tall and fruitful."

She raised one eyebrow. "Your parents are dead." She didn't want to understand what he really meant.

"All our parents are in the corn."

"Why." It didn't even sound like a question. The word just popped out.

"Because all adults are sinners. Only the child is pure enough to serve the Lord."

"Could you elaborate." Her voice was now a monotone.

"It started thirteen years ago when a Seer named David saw the Lord in a dream, and was told to gather all the children and rebel against the sinful adults. He did so, and the adults were used to fertilize the soil that year, and the crops were good for the first time in years. We have lived by David's teachings ever since, and when he reached the Age of Favor, I was chosen to be the next Seer."

Valentina pondered this warped version of the messiah. And here I thought Catholics and Evangelicals were insane, she thought.

"Ah…" she tried to choose her words carefully. "Isn't it a sin to kill?"

"He Who Walks Behind The Rows is a god of favor, but He is a god of sacrifice as well."

He didn't answer the question.

"Is that what the boy this morning was? A sacrifice?"

"No, Job was an unbeliever; a defiler of the corn. He was not sacrificed. He was punished."

So much for freedom of religion.

"So you ordered him to be killed."

"Yes. Blasphemy is not tolerated,." he said sternly.

"…so that fiend was simply following orders."

"If you're referring to Malachai, then yes. I understand he frightened you, but he is not a fiend, I assure you." Valentina didn't notice the flash of worry in Isaac's eyes.

"Oh, is that his name," she said, ignoring the last part.

"Yes, he is my assistant."

"Hn," Valentina grunted. "So how does any of this involve me?"

Isaac's expression softened. Looking at him, she thought he looked almost vulnerable.

"I'll tell you, but first, may I know your name?"

She sighed. At this point… What the hell. "Valentina."

He nodded. "Well, Valentina, one year ago the Lord tested our faith and we failed. Many died because of our weakening faith and the Lord lowered the Age of Favor from nineteen years to eighteen. Ever since then the crops have failed and many have died. And I have had dreams in which the spirit of He Who Walks Behind The Rows would come to us in the body of a human. And that human would redeem our weaknesses, and we would be fruitful once more. And now… you've finally arrived." Isaac stared at her with hopeful, almost pleading eyes. He looked like a child for the first time since she'd met him.

He's been dreaming of me, too? This just gets weirder by the second… She tried to say something intelligent and rational, but all she could come up with was, "So… you want me to like, die on a cross for you?"

"No! You have a spiritual connection to He Who Walks Behind the Rows. Only you can communicate with Him directly, and help us understand where we've gone wrong."

There was a long pause while Valentina attempted to digest this.

"Okay. Pushing aside the fact that this is the creepiest, most bizarre thing that has ever happened, ever, and supposing I did what you're asking me to do, when would I get to go home?"

Isaac looked surprised. "You are home."

For a few seconds, she actually couldn't breathe. She had assumed they'd let her go if she did what they asked. That would be the rational thing to think. Alas, she should have known better; because these weren't normal kidnappers, these were homicidal pagan children. Or at least one of them was homicidal.

"Look, I didn't just poof into your world, okay? I didn't get sent down from heaven. I have a family. They're probably frantic right about now. I can't just leave them."

He turned his head slightly and looked at her sideways. "You already have."

"I didn't choose to come here—"

"You walked right into us though, didn't you, Valentina? You walked here while you slept. You didn't know it in your mind, but in your soul you knew you were needed here."

"This is insane…" she muttered to herself, shaking her head incredulously.

"You belong here in Gatlin. Think on it," he said solemnly, and turned to leave.

"Wait," Valentina said softly. "Where's my cat?"

He opened the door and called out, "Naomi," and motioned for her to come. "The cat."

Naomi smiled kindly and put down the purring animal who soon jumped onto his owner's lap.

The door closed and Valentina was left to discuss the affair with her trusted companion.

She sighed. She had to get home… but how? How did one escape a herd pack of disturbed children? And what about her family? She imagined their grief. They must have been looking for her at that very moment. Soon she'd be filed as a missing person. But what if eventually she did get back? What would she say? 'I got abducted by a sect of pagan murderous miniature mythmongers' didn't sound quite plausible. They'd probably send her to a loony bin for the rest of her life.

Besides… would they even want her back? She was a burden. Maybe they'd be better off without her. Mamá and Papá wouldn't have to pay for therapy anymore, and the twins would have more freedom, and the money in her college fund could go to them… At least that's what her lack of serotonin said.

She had to admit it was nice to finally feel needed. It was as if Isaac were confirming the value of her existence, which she had questioned endless times. This might be her chance to make a difference for someone, even if that someone were these peculiar children. Maybe she could convince them to stop killing one another.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud growl coming from her stomach. It was cloudy, so she couldn't tell the time by looking at the sky, but it had to have been at least a good twelve hours since she last ate. With a sigh, she tasted the bread. It was made from corn, not wheat, no surprise there. It was a bit bland, but not bad. Valentina wasn't partial to strong flavors anyway. I can live with this, she thought. I'm here, aren't I? Might as well make the most of it, right? Right?