VI. It was night, and unlike most nights that come and go during a priest’s lifetime, it did not bring repose. Maraksus could not help but feel restless as his partner carried on with their investigation of the slums, their hours—as they have expected—stretching out into midnight. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Dylan laying his hand upon a scrawny child’s forehead, his prayers breathing strength into the child’s emaciated body. It was only a passing gesture for Dylan, and sure enough, the older priest straightened up and walked away as if nothing happened.
As if he doesn’t feel anything odd, Maraksus thought irritably. Lost in thought, his fingernails dug deeply into the quite unstable wooden street post he was leaning onto, the sudden sharp pain that eventually shot from the tips of his fingers finally making him let go.
Excusing himself from the others, he wandered off on his own and not long after he found himself in a deserted, decrepit alley not unlike any others one would see in that particular corner of Prontera. The crunch of crumbling asphalt marked his every footstep, stacks of useless old junk piled high on either side of him. There were windows, but most of them were dark. No one in this side of Prontera could afford enough oil to illuminate their hours of darkness.
A wispy, white cloud of breath signaled the sharp drop of temperature. Maraksus jammed his hands into his pockets for warmth. Just one more minute and I’ll go back, he promised himself. One more minute.
He walked further into that alley, his shadows lengthening as he passed by the last working streetlamp. It was approaching pitch-black when he heard a soft humming from the far end of the path. A woman’s humming. Curious, the priest picked up his pace, going straight to the end of the alley. The thickening fog obscured his vision, showing only a silhouette of a woman walking slowly away from him.
What could someone be doing out here in this hour? Maraksus wondered. A shrill cry of a demented from inside one of the tattered houses punctuated his thoughts. Especially in this situation? “Er, excuse me?” Maraksus said as he approached the woman whose back was towards him. There was no response, and the woman continued humming. “What are you doing out here in the dark? Don’t you even realize the gravity of the—”
“Situation?” The woman murmured as she turned around, her eyes reflecting scarlet. “A good evening to you, Father.” Kurosawa bowed her head stiffly in cold greeting.
“What—” Maraksus bit his lip, stopping the outpour of questions that flooded into his head. What is she doing in here? Wasn't she one of the acolytes who were dispatched here earlier? Is yes, then why wasn’t she…? He instead looked at her from head to toe, looking for any signs of abnormality or sickness. None. Even her acolyte’s uniform looked immaculate and crisp in the scant light afforded by the distant streetlight. Very suspicious.
“You’re not affected,” Maraksus said finally, his eyes narrowing at her. “What are you doing here, Sister?” It turns out I’m right in suspecting her after all.
“Doing what a woman of the Faith should do, Father Aralnae.” Kurosawa answered, her lips pursed. “Is that wrong?”
“Is walking around alone at the witching hour one of our duties, Sister?”
“No.” A flip of the hair.
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I know where you’re getting at, Maraksus Aralnae,” Kurosawa said in contempt. “You sought for assistance. I did not give it. Now you’re suspecting me of something. But you will not prove it.” She chuckled derisively. “Some agent provocateur you are.”
The priest looked at her in disbelief. “Now how—”
Kurosawa started to walk away into the fog. “I have my ways.”
Impulsively, he grabbed her arm, not letting her go. “No, you’re coming with me for further interrogation.” He was about to pull her with him when he felt a foot kicking at his shins. “Ow!!”
“Let Sister Tomoe go!” a child’s voice cried out.
“Huh?” Confused, Maraksus looked around, until he saw the child who tried to get between him and the acolyte. The little girl was hugging Kurosawa’s waist protectively, her eyes throwing daggers at him.
“Let her go! She was helping me get my baby brother to sleep!” The girl was pointing to an infant’s basin a few paces away from them, lying on the pavement. “Don’t hurt Sister Tomoe!”
“Uhm…” Maraksus raised his palms, giving up. He looked incredulously at Tomoe, still perplexed with the turn of events.
Kurosawa crossed her arms. “Answered your question, Father?”
Maraksus bit his lip. “Gah.” In defiance he pointed his finger threateningly at Kurosawa. “You may have gotten away this time, Sister. But mark my words, I’ll be watching you if I can help it.” He finally turned and walked away, face reddening, leaving Sister Kurosawa and the children behind.
