Author's Note: Hello and welcome to the second installment of "Cross". Please note that this drabble takes place after the events of the film and from now on, all drabbles will alternate between Priestess's pre-movie back-story and her post-movie journey with Priest. Hopefully that won't be too confusing! ^_^
I'd also like to thank everyone who took the time to review the last chapter, Faith-Catherine, Mythstar Black Dragon, DarkenedMoonAngel, Genius-626, FireChildSlytherin5, and babydrake93. In addition, I'd like to thank everyone who added this story to their favorites/author alerts list. I truly appreciate your support and encouragement. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Priest.
II. Resurrection
The smoldering wreck of the train sent a blast of heat into her face, bringing with it the unwelcome promise of the hellfire that awaited them all. Her nose twitched, her nostrils dilating as the acrid scent of burning vampire flesh infused the rising clouds of gray smoke. It stank like spoiled meat and fetid blood and all things stale and dark and unsavory. The bodies fell to ash.
Remember that you are dust, Priestess thought wryly, her soot-stained fingers moving to make the Sign of the Cross, and to dust you shall return.
It was a day of impermanence. A day in which gore pooled in the cracked earth and bones were blackened by cinders and the all-too familiar memories of battle rushed upon her in a wave of great, fiery vengeance, filling her with renewal…with life.
The life that she had forgotten, or at least, tried so very hard to forget.
Priestess felt weak with the promise of it, her adrenalin fading, her head and heart bearing the immeasurable weight of the world. What they had done here this day…what they had done….
It was like a dream. Like one of the misplaced memories that stole upon her during the night, tempting her with visions of the Great War and of the days when she had stood with Priest and he with her. And there had been a greatness about them then, a greatness only dimmed when the Church took away what was rightfully their's….
But things had changed now. Things had changed.
Thank God, thank God, things had changed.
Priestess watched with a strange sense of detachment as Priest mounted his motorcycle, the severed head of a vampire hanging in a sack by his side like a grotesque saddlebag. In the moment before he started the engine and slipped on his goggles, her old comrade met her gaze and held it.
He did not speak. There was little need to.
Do we dare do this? Priest seemed to ask her with his tired, hard eyes. Do we go against the Church?
Priestess felt her lips twitch, freezing somewhere between a frown and a deep, worried grimace. Once more, she looked at the wrecked train and the dead bodies and the large, charred craters that the explosives had dug into the earth.
And Priest understood.
They had already dared. They had already disobeyed.
They were already damned.
He revved the engine, guiding the motorcycle in a wide circle, circumnavigating the detritus of the wreck, the scattered pieces of metal and wood and carrion. And then with a roar and a burst of sped, Priest became a blotch in the distance, a faint trail of dust that streamed towards the city where the venomous serpent of judgment laid in wait.
Priestess shut her eyes.
Protect him, she prayed. Please, God…God please protect him.
And bring him back to me.
The last thought shocked her, jolted her into a new awareness of her frailty, of her very real and potent human desires. But she could not think of that now, could not let the strains of weakness infect her mind and render her thoughtless…useless.
There was much to be done, after all. So very much to be done.
Gladly, she accepted the sense of purpose that flooded her, the return of her warrior sensibilities. It had been a while. It had been a long, long while. But here she was, a solider again, and the restoration to her former state, to her original state, felt entirely natural. Expected. Longed for.
For a brief minute, she reveled in the feeling, in the pleasant assurance that control and faith and certainty brought. She was whole again, she was victorious, she was alive….
Then Hicks cleared his throat.
Priestess swallowed an intemperate sigh. There was no subtlety in youth. No patience.
The young Sheriff with the sun-warmed flesh and round, discerning eyes was standing with his sweetheart in his arms, his dirty coat sleeves wrapped around the virginal white fabric of her dress. Both young lovers had a shocked appearance about them, one of breathless fear and deep-rooted terror.
Flicking his tongue along his dry lips, the Sheriff tried his best to seem off-hand as he addressed Priestess.
"What do we do now?" he asked, half-mumbling the words, as if he was aware of the naivety behind his simple question.
Priestess managed to find a subdued smile for him. "You take Lucy home," she said.
Hicks raised his shoulders in a nervous shrug. "Yeah well, what about you? What about Priest?"
Priestess tilted her head to the side, shielding her eyes from the glare of the setting sun. "Not your concern," she said, her tone clipped but understanding. "Take Lucy home. It'll be dark soon."
Darkness, she thought. Yes, how they all feared the darkness.
Hicks, though young, knew enough not to argue. After a few minutes of scrambling, Priestess helped him find a motorcycle that hadn't been entirely demolished in the explosion. As Hicks lifted Lucy onto the seat, Priestess found that could not help looking at the girl, at her pale, pretty features and soft hair and frightened, yet determined eyes.
Had Shannon looked like her daughter? she wondered.
No matter. No matter.
Hicks settled into the seat of the motorcycle, his gloved hands curling over the handles, some of his old confidence returning as he surveyed Priestess anew.
"Can I ask you something?"
Priestess looked to the sun. It was close to the horizon, very close. Vampires, foul creatures that they were, would even prey on the bodies of their dead. And God, there were a lot of bodies.
"You need to go," she replied.
Hicks started the motorcycle, the engine coming to life with a series of computerized clicks and whirs. "I only wanted to know," he said, "why you came after us, why you went against the Church."
Shame. It pooled in her mouth, tasting of copper and all bitter, bitter things. She could not answer Hicks.
Instead, Priestess glanced at Lucy, seeing Shannon there, the dead mother, the woman she had envied because she had been blessed enough to love Priest and have him love her. For a time, anyway. And now, and now….
"Go," Priestess ordered Hicks, this time more firmly.
The Sheriff obeyed, flattening his torso against the front of the motorcycle, Lucy clinging to his back. They both drove off into the night in a blur, Lucy's white dress fanning out behind her like the smooth wings of a dove.
As they rode away, Priestess realized that they had never bothered to thank her.
No one ever did.
The dark was nearly upon her now, the black pressing close, trapping the heat of the still-burning fires beneath the dusky sky. Lingering by the train, with the stench of blood and burnt bodies and spilled fuel clouding her nostrils, she could only look up and search for the rare scattering of stars that dotted the uneasy heavens.
They were strong this night. Bright.
Bright, bright stars. Priestess stood beneath them, beneath the swirling, breathing galaxies. Beneath the planets and the moon and the sun that hid behind a veil of black. The plain stretched out before her in hues of gray and dust and muted gold. The wind, moving through the night, whispered wondrous things in her ears.
Priestess smiled.
I love him,, she thought, answering Hicks's question although he was far, far away. That's why.
Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! If you have a free moment, please leave a review. I love any and all feedback.
Part three is in the works and should be posted next week. Take care and be well!