HOLY NATION
The Living Stone and a Chosen People
"But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy."
—1 Peter 2:9-10
—
AUGUST 29TH 2039
SANTA RITA, DURANGO
The thunder of feet was a familiar sound. After the quiet of the past several months it was almost welcome.
Not quite, but the watcher never truly enjoyed being interrupted.
They didn't have to do much—the assembly knew just what to do with the adrenaline kicking into overdrive at the sound of the approaching feet—and they watched as the group mobilized and moved into formation swiftly despite the disruption to their evening.
The watcher smiled and allowed themselves the pleasure the sight brought them. Then they looked down at the kneeling body before them.
The girl's head was turned toward the noise, and they could tell she wanted to stand as well, to move alongside the others she'd come to familiarize herself with over the past couple of months. But she quickly regained her self-control and turned her head back down, her gaze focused on the booted feet of the watcher.
Since they'd started this practice it was always a thrill to watch the powerful newborns, with their bright red eyes, bend and obey. They possessed a power that had to be fine tuned and carefully controlled. Power that was all for the taking, and waiting to be used by someone with a plan.
"State your name," they purred down to the girl. When she shuddered in reply, shaking with the adrenaline and anxiety and excitement, she leaned down further and pressed her hands into the soft dirt of the lands the watcher had fought for and earned.
"Avery." There was an attempt at holding back the gasp that followed, but the promise of reward was now thrumming through the girl's brain and the urge to fight surging through her limbs. The watcher nodded once and hummed.
"Are you ready for your new life?"
There wasn't much time to spare. It was already bad enough that tonight had been interrupted. Before the girl could speak the watcher reached into their pocket and pulled out a small, hard object. The teeth clanked noisily as they wrapped their fingers around the carefully bound length. The wire that held the teeth tightly together creaked as they moved their fingers down each one. They gripped the sharpest one at the end; a stolen canine.
With two swift movements that the watcher tore into the face of the girl.
A new name fell from their lips: "Justa. are you ready to serve?"
The girl gasped in pain but nodded, not flinching as the venom dripped down her face. The watcher took pity then, grabbing the edge of their long, elegant sleeve and leaning forward, wiping across the fresh wound, letting the venom bleach the edge of the dark fabric. It wouldn't help the girl to have venom burning her eyes during this battle.
"Let us fight."
It was easy to fall into step behind the congregation that ran forward. Twenty-two people growling and vibrant and ready to fight and kill those who were bold enough to approach them on their own land. It would be laughable if the irritation from the watcher's interrupted night wasn't still prevalent in their mind, but the promise of a fight they would barely need to lift a finger for was more than worth the disturbance.
The wind whipped by, hot and dry, and when they moved up another hill, ready to descend on the intruders heading their way (six, no, seven pairs of feet would be no match for them) everything vanished.
No wind. No moonlight or growling of the newborns or hard packed Earth beneath the watcher's feet to push them further and faster and forward.
The world vanished from sight and sound, and for an infinitely impossible stretch of time, existence ceased to be.
Sound and sight all returned at once.
The watcher stumbled to their feet, turning blindly, surveying the bodies that surrounded them, and in half of a second they knew that this was it: the end of the line.
The Volturi were recognizable even to someone who had never met them.
"At ease, soldier," a man, tall and lean, smiled with both eyes and teeth. The twist to his lips mocked them as he gave the title without care. The watcher could do nothing but stand quietly, pretending not to notice the bodies of their followers prone on the ground around them. Dead, perhaps. Or stripped of their minds or souls or both.
The grinning man approached, dark grey cloak billowing behind him.
He spoke a name that haunted the watcher, and observed with pleasure as the frown emerged unwillingly from their face.
The watcher spoke: "Why do you ask me this?"
The man replied: "Would you be interested to know where he is?"
The watcher said: "I would sooner continue praying him dead than entertain games of this nature."
The man asked: "What do you desire?"
The watcher purred: "His head. Is that what you're offering?"
"I come to make many offers." Then, "Would you like to do it yourself?"
The watcher gestured to their expression, and the man followed the slow trail their hand led across their face. "I would like to do worse."
The grin widened. "Come then. We have much to discuss."
"No," spoke the watcher. "There is only one thing." The man with a grin waited. "I only seek his death."
"Then I have everything you are looking for." This time, when he turned to walk away, beckoning them onward, the watcher followed.
Salvation would be worth the wait.