THE SAINTESS AND THE AFFLICTION| ONC 2023

Remnant Patrol

When Wemimo woke up, the golden streaks of a bright day blessed the altar and the whole building of the cathedral, accompanied by a pleasant scent of frankincense and myrrh.

The once moldy bread now looked soft and pure as if it was a new set just placed there for the day’s service. However, the place was still vacant.

She listened to the distant rustle of leaves and movement of creatures – nothing threatening to indicate an affliction and nothing interesting to signal the arrival of the town’s people.

She rummaged through her bag, which was a few feet from where she sat and carefully read through Dominus Candice’s message.

She wasn’t to leave her post.

He instructed her to patrol the area, and that he had received word from Archangel Michael about what happened.

As Dominus Candice was the only deliverer left in the camp he would have to reach out to another camp for assistance.

“Hold the fort!” Wemimo finally exclaimed as that was the final message he had for her.

When she had abided by the calling of a deliverer, never in her wildest imaginations had it ever occurred to Wemimo that on her first mission, she would have to be so responsible.

She was facing fear alone and she didn’t know how her younger self and her present self could compare.

Wemimo had been a fearful child growing up, even before the first dark mist and when she had her first encounter with an affliction that ruined her town and her family, she sought refuge and revenge in Merit town.

As time went on, at the age of sixteen, revenge was but a distant memory and she was so well loved that the pain of her loss was not so afflicting.

She still had nightmares and the screams of her family haunted her.

Could this have been the answer to a long-forgotten cry for revenge, or was this a chance for her to prove herself to Dominus Candice?

How could she not have known that Jeremiah was an affliction disguised as the prophet Dawn’s puff told her about and how could the afflictions possibly know what she was after?

It rattled her mind.

If the afflictions were much more evolved than she thought, assuming the horrifying attack she encountered the day before, what if she was not able to finish her prayers in time and it was just Dominus Candice, who would then have to come to Sfordsfied Gothic and deal with this alone.

What if as she stepped out of the cathedral an affliction disguised as a human came at her or worse if she became an affliction!

The dark mists were nowhere near these parts and the afflictions around here were not as many as the regions closest to the border regions and the saints were taking care of the matter anyway.

She shook her head, in an attempt to dispel her worries.

If she wasn’t careful, her imagination might come true.

Besides, how silly of her to be thinking these thoughts!

Even if all these things happened, she couldn’t run away to face the shame of cowardice.

Mentally, she weighed the shame of cowardice and the danger of the unknown as she knelt to pray and stepped out into the new day’s air.

The atmosphere was fresh and renewed from the previous day’s ceremony.

Blood Scarlett peered at her from the stables, grunting, earning a laugh from Wemimo.

“Lazy are we?” she tsked. “I already gave you hay and the water was so much, you didn’t even finish it.”

Blood Scarlett snorted. Her head disappeared into her stall and her gaze was above Wemimo’s head.

She opened Blood Scarlett’s stall door and went in to rub her coat.

Blood Scarlett shut her eyes, resting her head slightly against Wemimo’s head.

Wemimo dressed her for the journey ahead.

When she saw that Blood Scarlett was ready to mount, she opened the stall door wider, leading her out, but Wemimo’s hold on her was not firm as she was distracted by all she needed to do for that day.

Blood Scarlett bolted out of the stables and neighed and galloped with her hooves in the air.

Wemimo’s released a strangled scream. Sometimes, the thought that Blood Scarlett was half wild and untamed crossed her mind, but then there were times when she was so sweet that it was hard to know that she was still so young and agile.

She calmly went to where Blood Scarlett was waiting; already knowing what was going to happen because it had happened too many times to count.

As soon as Wemimo reached out towards her, Blood Scarlett bolted took a U-turn, and dashed to her with a playful nip on her extended hand.

She galloped a distance, not so far that Wemimo would be too tired to reach her, but far enough to make her sweat.

Wemimo was not feeling cheerful and so was in no mood to play with Blood Scarlett.

They had been acquainted for nearly a year now, during their training for the field and her horse was a playful disposition.

However, Wemimo knew the outcome of not engaging Blood Scarlett; the horse would tire from boredom.

When Wemimo finally mounted Blood Scarlett she headed straight for the gates to the higher plains.

Sfordfield Gothic was vast and rough with abandoned sparse settlements.

Dust gathered, with the speed of gallop, as Blood Scarlett raced urgently to the higher plains Wemimo had viewed through her maps.

The wind brushed through her hair, covering her face at times so that she had to use an elbow to brush it aside.

She spied lower roads on the broad and common road that she took, making a mental note to explore that area the next day.

Her ascension to the plains took a while, but she finally reached the summit, steadying her mount.

The summit was not the highest plain, but high enough for Wemimo who was afraid of heights.

The sparse lands below them were jagged rocks hidden in shrubs and a forest ahead with tall, broad trees that hid smoke.

“Look there Scar.” She pointed in that direction, glancing at her map. “We have company, we have found our runaway towners.” She grinned. “Come on, the day is still early.” She cried as she guided her down and to a fresh route.