Chapter One: Soldier of Light (partial)

    Clara stood alone in one corner of the Basilica del Santo Niño, her eyes fixed on the burnished golden altar several feet away. She was silently praying; an act that would have been totally alien to her only three months ago, when she had nearly ended her miserable, graceless existence.

       Mouthing the last of her prayers, Clara turned her eyes on the few people – more women than men – shambling along the lengthy aisle, on their knees. Each little step was slow and labored, but these people didn’t mind. Their eyes were intent on the altar, their lips constantly moving, murmuring woeful laments and earnest advocations. It was like a tradition, a ritual done with strange precision, from making the sign of the cross at the entrance to finally reaching the foot of the altar, knees bearing the brunt of more than a hundred little steps.

        It was nothing to them, these devotees of the Holy Child Jesus. She could never fathom the depth of their devotion; never understand what it was that truly drove them to such lengths of piety. Was this faith? Must she have this kind of faith as well?

       She was a Catholic. She had been baptized when still a baby, as all children of Catholic parents are. It was one of those things that one just accepted without question. She had never felt obliged to be pious or religious. She never really gave it any thought. She was like many young Christians her age – drifting, hovering between what was taught and what they thought – and in the end choosing not to commit to either one.

        Until that moment.

(more…)

GLIMPSES ( A Prologue)

[1]

She stood in the shadows of a stout mango tree, listening to the constant spatter of raindrops on the rough asphalt. It sounded almost musical, like the sound of a thousand tiny drums rising to a crescendo.

She loved the rain. She welcomed the dense, black clouds that blotted out the sun and covered the sky, blanketing the earth in a baleful gray mist. She reveled in the gloom that descended over the city, as it gave her a sense of freedom that could only be hers once night began to fall.

It was not yet night. It was, in fact, early afternoon, though time was hard to tell on such a dark stormy day. It had been raining since that morning, and the streets were empty of people. A few taxis sped by; drivers braving the hostile downpour, hoping to catch some stranded passenger. Even the jeepney drivers surrendered, it seemed, for only a handful were running their usual routes.

She stood in the shadows, waiting until the street was deserted. She didn’t have to wait long. Seeing no single soul in sight, she stepped out into the rain, lifting her pale face up as if to catch every raindrop.

She savored each little drop, feeling the wetness soak through her dress. She felt the cold seep into her very bones.

It was strangely cleansing, and it troubled her.

She was Amara, a Tormentor, a demon of pain. She fed on human anguish and preyed on lost, hapless mortals, driving them over the edge until they take their own lives and damn their souls to eternity in Hell. Born of darkness, her kind did not want cleansing.

So why was she feeling otherwise?

(more…)