memories

[vitainmorte]

idk i'll post em here as i think of em

oc suffering

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memory #6

[vitainmorte]

The church was brightly lit, when Val arrived-- as it always was, during evening mass, and even outside the large, imposing building-- Gothic Revival, she recalled-- she could hear the voices echoing in song beneath the vaulted ceilings. It warmed her, some, and there was a pull that desired to join them, but she turned and continued around the outside of the building and around to the back, where a lone door marked with a faded "EMPLOYEES ONLY" sign stood lit only by a dim bulb.

She knocked, and the door immediately swung open to reveal a young man with a torn, ragged scar from ear to lip: the Lawsons' son, Zeus. The one who had to take his test twice.

"Miss Valencia Lambe," he said with a frown, but stood aside to let her in nonetheless. "You're early."

She stepped in so he could close the door again, and offered her usual polite curtsy to greet him. "Of course, sir. Good evening."

"Good evening." A pause, before he continued, "Excited to prove you're worth that lofty title?"

Val frowned, embarrassment and offense visible on her cheeks, but responded, "Only that I am of use as a hunter, and willing to help those in need, as I should."

"Practiced that one, huh?" Zeus said with a roll of his eyes, and gestured down the hall. "Your parents are already waiting for you at the altar, so don't get held up on my account."

She nodded, and headed that way, with Zeus following; down the modestly lit and undecorated hall, and down a set of steps into what would have been part of a cellar, if it had not been converted some decades before. Another door, at the bottom of the steps, unmarked; this Val turns herself and enters, quickly and quietly shutting it behind her.

The room itself is not overly large; it had maybe half a dozen pews, and the available standing space found itself with a handful of people milling about. All recognizable to Valencia, of course, as these were almost all of the hunters she'd known since she was a child: Sandra McKee and her son Morgan and his wife Dahlia, who both waved Zeus over to chat; both of the Lawsons, who sat quietly talking with an older man she didn't know as well named Noah Lindquist. Her mother stood at the altar with an elderly man Val didn't recognize, Father Erickson, and her father, who smiled and motioned for her to join them when he caught her eye.

"Valencia," he said, offering a gesture of introduction to the elderly man, "This is Cyrus Olson. You won't remember him; he's retired from hunting. He's the one who sets up the tests."

"That's right," Cyrus said, his voice slightly slurred with age and missing teeth, but jovial. "Been at it a bit too long, but I'm still young 'nough to tell the youngins how I want a test run, heh. Nice meetin' our little lamb all grown up."

Val curtsied to him, and he took her hand in both of his for a brief shake. "Not grown yet, sir," she said politely, blushing, but he only laughed.

"Old 'nough to hunt! Not to worry, Miss Lambe. You're your ma's daughter, after all. I helped set up her test and I got faith you're up to the same challenge."

"I hope," her mother interjected, with a slight edge to her voice, "you didn't go too easy on her with your choice of challenge."

"'Course not," Cyrus said, unbothered. "I'm no fool. She goes the same as the lads, young or no."

Her mother's lips parted, as if to say something, but Father Erickson's stern but gentle tone cut through the conversation before she could speak. "Well! It looks like everyone's here, and it's almost seven, so I think now's a good time to get started!"

...

The service started much the same as it did in the main hall above, to much smaller scale; Val stood between her parents as their small group sang with Father Erickson and said their prayers, and sat quiet and attentive as the Father read the story of Abraham and Isaac, smiling at her as he read, "... and Abraham answered, “God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.""

And it was not much longer before the Father eventually said, "Valencia, come forward." And she obeyed stopping an arm's length before the priest and the altar he stood next to.

The altar itself was a small affair; the one in the main hall above was a large, lovely thing, in brightly-stained wood. This one was just enough to hold its contents, old and scuffed in places and a bit dull with age, scarcely carved with decoration. A strip of bright red altar cloth ran over the edges, and in a nest of dried thorny vines sat the skull of a creature long-faced and wickedly fanged, covered with the remnants and drippings of the yellowed candles that were situated around and atop it. Behind it sat a small, unassuming chalice in gold, its luster slightly faded; to the left, a decanter of wine and a hand-bound leather journal Val knew to be the history of the hunters. To the right, a round censer smoking with fragrant incense, a small gold bowl, and a deadly-sharp knife hewn from bone, its handle only wrapped with hide.

"Though this one has been part of our flock and hunting alongside us for some time," the Father said into the quiet, his hands open, "today is the day she officially joins us.

"Will you continue in the apostles' teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?"

Val's heart was beating hard-- with anticipation or anxiety, she didn't know. "I will, with God's help," she said softly back.

"Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?"

"I will, with God's help."

"Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?"

"I will, with God's help."

"Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?"

"I will, with God's help."

Father Erickson nodded, smiling, and continued with, "And you will vow to pledge your life in pursuit of that most honorable of deaths in service to the Lord, and be sacrificed as our lamb."

It was not a question. It was never in question, but she responded nonetheless. "I will, with God's help."

The Father clasped his hands together and quiet fell in the room once more as he turned to the altar and pours a bit of wine into the chalice, bring it to the front to set down, and picks up the knife.

He holds his hand out. "Your hand, please," he says, and Val offered hers with only the barest hesitation as he continued, louder to the congregation, "Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving, and make good your vows to the Most High." She winced when he sliced into her finger, tugging her hand over the bowl to drip a couple of drops of blood into it before offering a cloth, which she gripped firmly to the small wound.

He took the bowl into his now-free hand, and raised it. "I appeal to you, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present yourselves as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual Worship..."

Father Erickson's voice continued into prayer as the other hunters stood and made their way up, Valencia taking a step to the side to make room; once there they received their communion of bread and a sip of wine, and were bled into the bowl in turn, one or two offering a whisper of congratulations or a smile to Val as they passed before sitting again.

Valencia received hers in hand last and placed it carefully on her tongue and dutifully sipped the wine. And she then flustered, when she felt an unexpected touch press against her forehead-- no: smeared in a cross-- a cold liquid dripping down her nose with the unmistakable iron tang of human blood as the priest's hand fell away.

"Let us with gladness present the offerings and oblations of our life and labor to the Lord," Father Erickson says, "Amen."

"Amen."

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-Val is about 16 here and in the previous memory.