The Holy Man of The Church Creek

9

Sitting atop a stone rock and chewing from a loaf of stale bread, a girl spat out the food in discontent before sighing as she pulled the hood over her head down further.

This girl was Xenovia, and she had long since past the point of simple irritation. In fact, she was increasingly frustrated.
"It shouldn't be that bad, here, look," another girl spoke to her, wearing a similar white cloak to her own.
This was Irina, and currently in her hands was an identical loaf of stale bread. With experienced hands, she quickly dug her fingers near the base of the loaf and tore off a piece which she then stabbed with a stick, roasting the bread near the fire. "Papa used to take me camping in preparation for emergency's and developing survival skills. Although it doesn't change the fact that we don't have much food right now, at least we can eat it better? You know, it softens a bit in the heat after a bit of water."
Is that so?
For a moment, her brows raised, but she then grunted; her tone evidently depressed as her gaze lingered on the empty containers not too far away from the fire.
A flare of anger welled up from within her.
"With the amount prepared, if you didn't eat them so fast and rationed them, we might not be in this situation," she replied heatedly.
Irina could only laugh awkwardly, yet there were no signs of regret on her face even knowing that she had eaten a far larger share.
Irina rubbed her nose before complaining inwardly to herself. "You get to eat it more often anyway."
Unlike her, Irinia couldn't be as shameless to barge in on someone's room for her own selfish demands without reason. Irina's loss then.
Still, those were containers previously filled with mouth watering food that she had insisted Shirou make for her and Irina in large quantities for their previous mission to head for the Holy City within Italy, the Vatican.
The Second Durandal on her waist which she dubbed 'Durandal X' after watching a certain advertisement while walking through Italy, seemed to whine as she used it to cut off a piece of the stale bread. She then, imitating Irina's previous actions, roasted the piece over the fire before putting it in her mouth.
Her face scrunched up in disgust, but at least it was chewable now, like a hard candy with the consistency of sand. She held herself back from glaring at Irina and instead thought back to the results of the mission.
The Vatican, the world's strongest Holy Center of the Church's beliefs. It was there that she and Irina were tasked by Griselda to meet an old friend of hers, named Martha, one of the people that could be trusted with information of Durandal X. Yet unexpectedly, Griselda's old friend was not alone during the reception. Instead, the nun had a troubled and guilt ridden look on her face that spoke of the circumstances. Beside the nun were an entire group of clergies donning the vibrant reds and yellows of high priests.
She had considered and decided to withhold information at that moment, and seeing this, Irina reluctantly followed suit. Griselda had been clear to her of the importance of keeping Durandal X a secret on a need to know basis, and this was why she didn't speak even as the clergymen inquired about Durandal X wrapped in cloth in her hands. Even wrapped, a mere cloth could not contain the Holy Aura the sword naturally exuded.
Speculations had begun to rise at that moment, but the people present were not ill-informed. They already knew of her, the current wielder of Durandal, and how she kept the sword in a sealed state in a pocket dimension. The Durandal X wrapped in cloth exhibited a force no lesser than the original Durandal, and it was not in a pocket dimension.
It was her miscalculation. She had prepared Durandal X beforehand as hard evidence for the explanation she was going to give Griselda's old friend. Little did she expect the situation she would be put in because of it, under constant questioning.
Still, she remained quiet until the time she became fed up and walked out of the room, meeting alone with Martha at another time in secret, and asking Irina to distract the other clergy. Martha then explained the circumstance of the previous situation.
It was all because of the Winged Sentinels that were suddenly brought to the Vatican after the Holy Sword Trials. Even with the Head Priest's explanation, it was clear that many still harboured suspicions about where such a miraculous find was discovered. That, and even with Griselda's pressuring, some of the priests and nuns involved in the Holy Sword Trials felt obligated to share their discoveries. It was fortunate though that she had refused anyone from inspecting Durandal X when she exited the Dimensional Cross in her brooding.
The mission now complete, the two were just on their way back towards the small Church near a creak to report to Griselda when a messenger dove intervened on their return path with a letter signed by the pope.
This led to the current situation.
Chewing quickly through the stale bread, she swallowed the piece down her mouth.
It was a bitter taste.
But this was the only food she and Irina had left after running low on money and using all that was left to procure a meager amount of food. It was also because of their low funds that the two were forced to sleep outdoors. In which case, she could no longer hold herself back from clenching the small stone carving of a saint in her hands.
"Be careful with that Xenovia, it's a statue of Saint Joseph said to have been carved hundred of years ago! Just look at the damaged parts around it, this carving must have been ancient," Irina reasoned with a frantic look on her face as she put down her bread and made her way over to placate.
However, Irina's words were only making the strength of Xenovia grip to increase.
"This was worth half of our money?" Xenovia's tone was clipped, her appearance as if she had swallowed a lemon. Inspecting the small statue in her hand, Xenovia's countenance continually dimmed. "You can barely even see a face on this thing, let alone the clothes."
"Deterioration over time," Irina finally snapped, grabbing the statue of St. Joseph in Xenovia's hands and cradling it near her bosom. "This is an antique with character," she spoke clearly.
Xenovia pinched the bridge of her nose before pointing with a stiff finger. "And those?" She inquired.
Irina was smart enough to stay quiet and slink away to sit protectively in front of the other various items she had procured on the mission to Italy.
Lip twitching, Xenovia calmed herself down by holding Durandal X close. It gave a comforting feeling to her, and it was enough just knowing who she had gotten the sword from.
Yet suddenly at that moment, she felt something strike like thunder inside her as she looked towards the distant East, her hood falling down her face.
Her mouth opened into a large O, her reasoning and rationality suddenly obscured.
"Is there something wrong?" Irina asked as she quickly gathered her things in a bag and place it protectively in front of her.
Xenovia knit her brows, a thumb coming to rest just on top of her lower lip.
"No," she answered, her eyes glancing again towards the distance uncertainly as she pushed herself onto her feet and brushed the dirt off of her clothes. "I just had a strange feeling that we should have had informed mother before taking this mission," she diverted.
Irina was just about to reason that the objective was issued by a leading figure in the Vatican, but Xenovia continued, cutting her off.
"That and…I'm not really sure actually." A strange expression appeared on Xenovia's face, but she then shook her head, her expression returning neutral. "Let's just pick up the pace from here, we have to get to Japan and end this mission already."
Saying that, Xeonvia didn't give Irina enough time to respond and just left in a hurry, her stale bread left behind.
Irina sighed helplessly as she watched Xenovia trudge on without her again before she herself got off from the ground, put out the fire, and then followed. Irina could only smile wryly.
Xenovia had only ever exhibited such behaviour when presented with food, battle, or her self-proclaimed future husband, Shirou; granted it had been a while since Xenovia had seen him.
Looking at the stiffness of Xenovia's gait, and the absentmindedness of her actions as she walked; she butting shoulders with other passerby's in the city, Irina could only uncertainly come up with a single reason while she herself thought about the childhood friend she had left behind.
A woman's intuition perhaps?
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