Chapter (Dreams of Sanctuary)
Back on his feet Angelo battled against the swirling snow drifts and his own desire to give in. One foot in front of the other he clashed against the will of the mountain. Struggling for every centimeter he kept moving forward, pressing himself well beyond what he would have thought possible in his life before the Vicari.
After what seemed like an eternity since the warmth of the voice had left all but the very deepest parts of his soul, the snow began to part. In a minuscule version of what science would have called the storm’s eye, stood an altar.
Waste high and carved from solid white stone it stood within the walls of a three sided stone building. Grass and even a few scattered wild flowers grew all around the dilapidated shanty. It was as though the harsh extremes of the environment refused to touch them.
The light gray stones and white mortar that held it together stood in stark contrast to the almost onyx stone of the mountain on which they stood. Angelo staggered through the veil of snow toward the shambles, his frozen body barely responding to the burning commands of his mind in the cold.
The wind slowed and finally the mountain grew silent and still. Angelo's heavy legs passed over the few meters that separated him from the oasis and the current swelled with joy. It was as if the very sight of the structure had begun a chorus down inside him.
Leaning against the warm stone wall Angelo allowed his frozen joints to give way. He found a warm refuge of sweet smelling hay behind the altar on which he laid his soaking cloths, and made his bed. It was not until he lay down and the updraft of the hay’s sent hit him that he again realized how foul the air of the isle truly was.
He blew the sting of it from his nostrils and inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet earthy aroma of the hay. Within minutes of downing his head to the soft mound Angelo was sound asleep. Deep and blissful, his body rested.
Angelo could feel, and almost see himself dreaming. Curled deep in the natural bed he had built behind an altar, that glowed inexplicably, Angelo stirred in his sleep.
Angelo stood, he could feel himself strain and his legs were still sore. Around him all was dark, save for the altar. The shadows moved like smoke, evasive and alive. Reaching into the current Angelo probed the darkness. He was no longer alone.
He could feel the presence of other life forces hiding themselves in the darkness all around him, distinct and oddly familiar they pulled at strings of memory. He drew the Tears of Eden from across his back and felt the comfort of its heft in his palm.
The shadow parted for the sword, swirling away from the glowing blade. The Tears danced and flowed, more alive now than Angelo had ever seen. The whole blade looked as if it were made of liquid.
He had been here before. Angelo remembered this place. He had had this dream before, except last time the shadows concealed... with that thought came the cold he had felt in his first dream. The dream he had escaped from on his first night on the island of Olympus.
This time however; there is not going to be any knock on the door to save him from the rapidly approaching darkness. Angelo could feel it in the current, the touch of something awful settled into the pit of his stomach like a ball of ice.
Prepared for battle more than he had ever been, feeling the end upon him, Angelo readied his luminescent blade, steadying it high above his head. The Covenant stood his ground against the beast of beasts. His stomach tightened and churned in a way that made Angelo unsure he was still dreaming. And the Morning Star obliged him.
The shadows suddenly exploded, pierced by a column of light so brilliant that Angelo was forced to shield his eyes. Spots blotted in and out of his vision, red, yellow, and orange. Angelo reached into the current to check his surroundings.
Squinting into the light he didn't see the outline of the dragon he expected, but instead that of a feeble old man, decrepit and bent with age. A familiar presence swelled in the current. Angelo lowered his sword, letting it hang lifeless in his hand, its tip pointed towards the ground. He recognized his mentor at once, even before his features came to form.
Angelo inhaled to speak but before the words could cross his tongue the old man began to melt away. The world flashed once more around him, purging any shadow from the tiny building. The featureless old man burst just at the rest of the shadow had before him.
