A GREAT MILLSTONE

Temptations to Sin

"If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea. If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire."

—Mark 9:42-43

—

SEPTEMBER 24TH 2039

10:34PM CST

TORREÓN, COAHUILA

The girl was utterly useless.

Our Father, Who art in Heaven…

He pressed a finger against the sharp edge of a tooth. Once the skin broke he moved on to the next and restarted his prayer. Then again: the press of a finger, the sting of pain, the soothing ache of benediction warming him from the top of his head to the bottom of his heels.

When he finally opened his eyes again, the girl was still in the same spot, curled in the corner of the filthy basement, hands over her head, eyes blown wide.

Praise be unto the lord that her horrid screeching had halted while he'd prayed.

The dark-skinned man stood toward the edge of the room, the perfect soldier, with his gray hood pulled up and his gaze averted. The instant the praying had begun the man had hung his head and stood by, quiet.

"Are you baptized?"

It took the Volturi guard member a moment to reply. "No."

The answer was all the proof he needed. Another heretic. Another sinner without salvation forced into his proximity. He thought back to the grinning messenger and imagined him burning in hell to soothe this frustration.

They had been down here for four days. For three of those days and twenty-two of those hours, the girl had screamed and cried and fought. She was peculiar in that restraining her had been straight-forward. But silencing her had forced his rosary into his hand, his prayers into the forefront of his mind, and his followers' discomfort. They'd been unsettled. Angry, even.

All of his followers had all earned their place at his side. They'd confessed their sins. Completed their penance. Given their bodies and minds to God. Promised their souls to the mission. But the three bodies he'd been given were undeserving miscreants, standing on ground that did not belong to them and trespassing against a group that had been blessed with the holiest of absolution.

If the girl weren't a gift from the Volturi kings themselves, Father Esteban would have killed her within the first hour. Unless she pledged herself to God. Which he knew she wouldn't. She did not understand faith nor God. She did not know fear the way a woman like her should. She shouted and cried and cursed with the tongue of wicked women before her. The evil within her only one spoke on the wheel that spun and spat out sinners faster than he could send them back for judgment.

For now, he reminded himself. When all was said and done he would get what he wanted. He'd be gifted the tools to bring this world to salvation. To rid the rot and sin and evil from these lands once and for all.

Esteban had scoffed at the supposed benefits that the girl's presence provided. His faith was all the protection he needed against the devil's creations. For the Volturi to hand him one of those very creatures and expect him to keep it alive could only be a test from God. She had dozed off like a human, some time after the forty-ninth hour, but had snapped awake, only minutes later, hysterically screaming like the wicked creation she was.

The girl sniffled and Esteban gripped his rosary again, restarting another prayer on another bead.

There were conditions to the deal he had made. No killing the gifts. No attacking the Volturi soldiers. Cooperation with subsequent instruction from the messenger was necessary. Only then would he be allowed to cleanse the South. Soon, but not yet.

Esteban only made vows to God.

He pondered the boy that lingered somewhere at the edge of the property they occupied and let the boy's presence calm him. Now that was a weapon. A true instrument for justice. Esteban had changed seventeen over the course of a fortnight and had been forced to dispose of three soon after their awakening. The boy had kept Esteban's rejected recruits still and quiet before their deaths. Their panic and thirst had been removed from them along with all of their other hysterical senses in their final moments.

He would have considered it a gift from God Himself if he didn't know any better.

The loaned guard member before him reminded him of the savages he'd once helped cleanse from these lands. But only in pallor. This man was respectful and obedient and spoke back to Esteban using whatever tongue he was spoken to in.

Esteban did not yet comprehend this loan, Rohit, or his ability. But the instructions had been clear: keep the girl by him at all times. She was the loan's responsibility as much as she was Esteban's.

But that would not do. The girl would have to fear and obey Esteban, not the loaned soldier before him. So Esteban stayed and waited for her to cry herself into a stupor, and when she was finished with her tantrum, he would start again.

Converting her wouldn't be an easy task, nor was it a priority, but he'd faced harsher resistance in his life before.

The girl's tears started back up while he prayed silently, and because of that he began to speak out loud. "Hair Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…"

He prayed for strength. He prayed for patience. He prayed for guidance.

Esteban also prayed in thanks.

Six weeks before, the grinning messenger had studied Esteban's expression. "Do you recognize the name, 'Jasper Whitlock'?"

Esteban had demanded more. Sought answers. Forced the Volturi messenger to fully gaze upon his face. His disfigurement was the result of someone else's sins. Sins that had yet to be absolved. Sins that would remain until he was allowed to purge the lands from Sonora to San José.

His torturers must repent. Maria of Monterrey must repent. The Major must repent. He would see to it that they were brought before God. Only He could cast them into Hell where they belonged. Sinners and demons alike.

Esteban had been granted weapons and protection. He'd been told that the Major had been in hiding for the past century. He'd been gifted maps, bodies, and clemency. If he killed the Major, he would be allowed to kill Maria.

If he killed them both, the absolution of Mexico could finally begin. He sighed at this thought. He smiled at the hope granted to him by the Lord.

God was good. And Esteban was his hands.

A/N: Listen. I came up with the tooth rosary and the God's hands/God's wrath motif before I read the Locked Tomb. If you don't believe me, ask volturialice. She'll vouch for me. (I hope.)

I guess sometimes mentally ill gay girls with Catholic upbringings have the same ideas when it comes to designing their horror aesthetics. It just happens, you know? (The one thing I did borrow from Ms. Muir is that funky little pre-act Death Countdown.)

Now that we've established our POV characters, I want to give quick sources for all of their epigraphs:

◆ Jasper's are all quotes from Letters to Felice by Franz Kafka.
◆ Alice's have two separate epigraphs for the tarot card being referenced in each of her chapter titles. The first quote is from The Complete Guide to the Tarot by Eden Gray, and the supplementary card information is from Learning the Tarot by Joan Bunning.
◆ Maria's are all quotes from Sun Tzu's The Art of War.
◆ Father Esteban (the source of most of the fucking nightmares I've earned myself since I started writing this) has bible quotes from the New Revised Standard Version.

Anyways, I hope the non-linear stuff hasn't thrown you off yet, and don't worry, we'll head back to the Cullen homestead at some point. Until then, I hope you can keep up.