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   Chapter 16 A Journey to the Past

Resurrect Thy Heart By JMFelic Characters: 17857

Updated: 2018-09-05 22:13

Northeastern Region

Ancient City of Samaria




Blood, blood and more blood painted the rocky ground. Dead bodies of different genders and age were scattered all over the area. It was a full moon and aside from it, the only thing that showed the grotesque sight in the middle of the night was the large fire burning in the houses, barns and plants.

Not one soul was seen because not one soul was spared. Even animals - pets or livestock - weren't given a chance to live. There was one man however that seemed to enlighten the lifelessness of the place. He was walking around the dead bodies, scanning them through his golden-like hazel eyes until he found one body he was looking for.

It was of a woman bathed in blood. Her knee and elbows had gashes resulting from crawling in panic to escape her captors. Her chest had a long blade slash along the sternum. Her face had an unsightly blackish-blue bruise near her left eye and a nasty cut from her cheek down to the jaw line. Her stomach, near the liver, had a metal sword embedded on it. It still oozed blood.

With one pull of the man's hand, the sword came free, out of the woman's throbbing wound. She cried but it was only brief for the pain shortly numbed.

"Rise woman, " spoke the hooded man with a gentle, lulling voice.

The woman blinked many times, although weakly. She almost thought she was in heaven for the man's eyes looking down at her were as ethereal as the moon shining above his head. She couldn't see his face clearly for the hood prohibited it, but she can see the long straight locks of red cascading down his shoulder. It complimented the scarlet robe he was wearing. If not for the coldness of the soil and the smell of metallic blood in the air, she would have really believed she was in heaven.

"Wh-at...happened..." she asked, blood leaking from the corner of her lips. Dry was her throat, and if only there was another cleaner fluid other than the red liquid in her mouth, she would have swallowed it long ago.

The hooded man answered her with silence. She waited and waited, patiently as much as she could, but he did not. After struggling for clean air to fill her lungs, she finally stood up on her own, slowly, in staggering motions, and that's when she saw the horrific sight before her.

"Oh, God, no..." she gasped, putting a hand in her mouth, willing herself not to vomit.

"Control yourself, " the man said, sensing her panic and growing heartache, "this is not the right time and place to grieve."

"But the-se peo-ple! My father and mo-ther!" she cast a look on him, face contorted with sheer distress. She lifted a trembling hand as if to show what was already visible. "Me..." Routing her eyes on the ground, she remembered then everything that had befallen on them. The sudden attack of her city, the horses, the swords, the vile men's evil smiles, and one soldier's potent lust for her. She fought and fought though, until she drew blood in his face, and that's when he plunged the sword and everything turned black cold. "Why am I still alive..?" she asked with unfiltered tremors of her voice. "I know I died. I know I did!"

And just like that, she remembered a time when she experienced this same confusion. The time when she was but little, trying to fought her way out of her illness, her labored breathing and feverish death. The time when a certain holy man called her forth from the darkness and pulled her out into the light. A time when she was given a second life...

"Woman, the gift of third life is not to be questioned. Do not doubt what the Heavens will so, " the unknown man reproached, sure with his words.

"No... I didn't ask for this!" she cried, broke into short sobs and knelt on the ground. "I don't—I don't want to live when my family is dead..."

Her wounds were still fresh and gaping, and though it was expected that intense pain came along with it, she didn't feel anything at all. All were numb surprisingly. There was an unbearable pain though that she couldn't deny, and it was the pain in her heart.

The man closed the gap and stood beside the weeping woman. He placed his left hand on top her head and gazed at her hopeless form. She'll come to know why she was given another life in the future... she'll come to know what her greater purpose is... he was bound to tell her that, yes, but for now, for now... she will have to be strong and he will guide her every step of the way, silently, hiding behind the clouds.

"Come now, sleep, Ysabelle, " he whispered and right then and there, a golden glow from his hand appeared and the woman felt a warm feeling before she lost consciousness.




"Your Excellencies, " the red-haired man knelt in front of four aging men sitting in an oblong table. They were in a dark room where only torches lit the colossal beams that surrounded them.

One man, High Priest Eleazar, with a black long beard peered through his own hood and looked straight on the strikingly beautiful man kneeling some distance away from them.

Gone was his hood, showing his red, silky hair shining against the torch fire. Everything about his face was symmetrical; beautifully sculpted nose, eyes that pop out like newly-grown palm leaves, and a comely mouth that was a shy red.

"Mikha'el, our most trusted messenger. What news do yo

rying her hair after taking a quick shower, choosing to slip on a comfy silk nightdress and hitting the bed immediately. That's when her emotional breakdown had struck her. She had kept it at bay the whole day after her conversation with Father Marcus and Mr. Grann that morning. It was a struggle. But when the walls of her room now taunted her unending loneliness and the promise of the same ahead of her years, tears spilled continuously on her pillow.

The pain of losing her parents was agony.

The pain of losing the families she had come to care for was the same.

But thinking of the pain she'll get when she loses Marcus was something different. Entirely different. It was more than agony and it was tearing her heart apart.

It was never her intention to... never allowed herself. She had guarded her heart against it successfully for many, many years. But, God, she knew she was falling for him, and it was already too late to stop it.

Unable to bear the facts presented, she continued to express it through her tears, and that continued on until she fell asleep.




"Such a frail woman, " H commented to himself when he materialized inside Ysabelle's room and sat at the side of the mattress. "Even for an immortal, you still think of yourself as a human."

He scanned the length of her and gave out a delighted smirk when he found her nightdress pleasing to the eye.

"Wouldn't it be easier if you would just learn to accept the circumstances of your life and enjoy it? Huh? Ysa-be-lle?"

His eyes glowed red when he moved to touch her bare shoulder. Ysabelle's eyes lightly flinched.

"Do you really want to be a mortal that badly?" H asked and then, on impulse, squeezed her right arm, sinking his nails into her flesh. The tattoo of flames and vines under the sleeves of his cassock immediately moved like it had a life of its own. These vines crept up into H's fingers and crossed through Ysabelle's reddened skin. She whimpered weakly upon contact, but still remained asleep. Just as a thick vine circulated around her arm, H stopped it by releasing his hand.

"Ah, tsk, tsk, tsk, " he clicked, producing a devilish grin, "But no. Oh, no, not yet. I still want to play with you and Marcus." Standing up, he dragged the same chair from the armoire into the foot of the bed and sat there the same as he did yesterday night. "Our game has only just begun."

And then, a similar violet haze enveloped Ysabelle's bed.




"Where—?" Ysabelle whispered, but stopped. She doesn't need an affirmation that this was another dream and that she was right in the middle of a desert with black sand. It was cold, very cold, and the air's coldness as nipping at her helpless skin. Even though it was of no difference, she managed to wrap her arms around her chest trying to warm herself.

Right over the horizon she could see a crescent purplish moon and the sky adorned with a sea of blue and violet stars. Sand dunes were everywhere and she was even standing in a big one too.

A sudden rush of wind got her hair to flow wildly. Groaning, she grabbed a mass as much as she could and clamped it down her shoulders. The wind grew stronger however and this caused her to panic. She doesn't need a millennium of experience to know that sands could be harsh when blown by such a speed.

Turning in circles, she found a small bedouin tent some distance away.

'Lucky, ' she thought and dashed there in the hopes of taking shelter inside.

What she didn't know though was that it was Marcus' makeshift tent.

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