THE UNDYING | TWILIGHT

13. Last Rites

The hour was late, but Santiago lingered within the great hall until all the lesser guards had left. One by one, they strode out of the room, and one by one, each of the doors slammed shut, leaving the hall in complete silence. Then, only when he was certain he wouldn't be disturbed, Santiago undid the top buttons of his long, black coat, allowing a white collar to peek through the opening. From his pocket he pulled out his rosary and knelt beside the pile of ash.

"Eternal rest, grant unto them, O Lord," whispered Santiago, "and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace." He waved his hand over the ashes, performing the sign of the cross. "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."

The solemn silence was interrupted by Heidi's heels rapping against the stone. The mahogany-haired beauty had slipped into the hall during his prayer, but she was respectful enough not to speak until he was finished. She was one of the few who still respected his traditions. Everyone else urged him to abandon them.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," said Heidi with a playful smirk. "It has been three hundred years since my last confession. But tell me, Father, even though I bear no soul, should I still fear damnation like my good mother taught me?"

"Perhaps we are already damned," answered Santiago as he climbed to his feet and buttoned his coat once more.

"You are such a pessimist, Santiago. You always have been. Honestly, I don't know how you became a priest with that attitude."

"I'm not a priest, technically. Unfortunately, I was unable to finish my studies due to my affliction."

A brief moment of indiscretion, Santiago called it. It was the turn of the 15th century, and Santiago, a strapping young man of twenty-eight, was well into his fourth year of study at the monastery. It had always been his dream to enter the priesthood and devote his life to God, and not once had he faltered in his resolve.

But then he met her.

She was such a pretty little thing, blonde haired and blue eyed, fragile and timid like a glass doll. On rainy nights, she could be found dancing barefoot around the village square in nothing but a blue underdress. An orphaned child from a strange foreign land, they thought she was, for she spoke in strange tongues, if she said anything at all. Mostly, she just giggled and hummed to herself and went on her way.

But on this particular night, when Santiago crossed her path, she stopped her dancing and looked right at him with a curious expression: innocent and childlike.

"Do you have family?" Santiago felt compelled to ask. "A warm place to sleep? A child like you should not be out in this late hour. The cold, damp air will make you sick."

"Sick?" replied the girl, like she had never heard the word before.

"Yes, sick. Now, tell me where you live, and I will see you home."

"I live nowhere." Her pink lips curled into a toothy grin. "And I live everywhere."

Santiago's brow furrowed in confusion. "You cannot live everywhere. No more games, child. If you have no home, I can take you to the church."

"Church? What is church? Is it a house?"

"In a way, yes. It is a house of God, a house of worship and prayer."

"God?" She suppressed a giggle with her pale, petite hand. "Would you like to hear a secret?" she asked, and then she made a beckoning motion with her fingers. "Come, come," she had to say before Santiago did as she asked and stooped down to her level.