First of the Fallen (Neophyte Series 1)

19. The Waterfront Festival

        MANY HEADS TURNED AT the sight of the odd-looking group walking amongst the humble townsfolk, sticking out like a sore thumb. Michael had grown accustomed to their general Viking-band appearance, but amongst the normies and rural visitors the difference was stark to say the least. Their venture was a much-needed break from the hectic training and studying schedule, and the unofficial three who took charge in Samael's absence unanimously agreed that a reminder was in order—a reminder of what they were fighting for; a cause beyond the comprehension of the very people who crowded the streets that day.

    They watched them go about their leisurely ways, merrily visiting shops and picking out trinkets among the vendors without a care in the world. They sipped their craft beer and cider, dancing to the beat of live street performances and admiring the artwork set out to view on the sidewalks just outside the Empire Theatre, courtesy of the Quinte Arts Council.

    As they moved about the crowd Michael wondered if any of them were aware of just how close they were to the end. He tried not to think of the potential chaos that would ensue at any given moment—how half of them might not even be there the following year, others marked or enslaved by a coming new world order. The prophecies of Revelations truly were a ghastly thought, one that would only cement the prudency of victory in their coming mission. It was the families that irked him most, mothers and fathers, children and loved ones gone in a blink of an eye, vanished and taken to the heavens, says the infamous scripture. It was said that no man would know the day or hour, the infamous Rapture coming like a thief in the night.

    But now was not the time to fumble into the downward spiral of spiritual turmoil and worry; he was there to observe—to watch and listen to the people, and remember that their cause was much bigger than himself, or any one person—even Samael. Their goal was to stop the madness before it was too late, if it could be stopped at all, and with every laugh or newly created memory, he felt all the more determined to see their mission through. Michael had to keep reminding himself not to focus on the entirety of the metaphorical staircase; only the next step mattered, bringing back their leader in once piece, come Hell or high water, and the rest would have to be sorted out later.

    Though this was his first visit into town, the historic buildings that surrounded either side of the street felt just as familiar as the Sanctuary, quite positive he had walked them many times before. The historic main street had been closed to all vehicle traffic in order to accommodate the annual festival, and droves from all walks of life mingled and enjoyed the comradery and hospitality of the quaint shops and vendors along Front Street.

    The planned renovations had been completed for quite some time, the curbs reformed, old asphalt replaced with interlocking stone and traditional turn-of-the-century street lamps, each dressed with coiling iron and painted black, which added to the historic feel.

    The harbour town of Belleville was small, its population growing steadily but still considered miniscule compared to its gargantuan big brothers who stood on either side. Toronto was two hours drive west, the Canadian version of the Big Apple, and Ottawa, the country's capitol, was not too much further to the east. New York State was on the opposing shores of Lake Ontario, the Bay of Quinte along the historic trade routes, which made the harbour a hotspot for nautical trade for a blooming industry back when the primary mode of shipping relied on the waterways.

    It was a quiet and peaceful place to live, but came alive during certain times of the year. The picturesque locale on the north shore of the bay was known as the Friendly City, but the Neophytes had experienced their share problems just about every time they had visited, Shay explained as they walked. The group generally kept their distance from the locals due to their seemingly innate curiosity, inquisitive citizens who couldn't help prying.