UNSEEN

Missed tale that comes after WHEN WHAT IS RIGHT IS WRONG

Esther was basking in the divine light of prayer. It infused her body. Like sinking into a hot bath, it cleansed, soothed and inspired.
The serenity came from a new sense of deep purpose and belonging. Then, the tone rapidly switched to alarm, disorientation and guardedness when next to her a man’s scream jarringly belted out to be as quickly cut short.
Her eyes popped open. Hand went to the hilt of her falcatta.

She was still in front of the Altar of Lanaril, a place of safety and peace. The terrified scream, now quiet, had clashed with the location. She pushed away her blissful mental fog.

Had she dozed off? It had been a couple of wild days. 
She saw the scrawny Xapii acolyte backing away. With this, her senses instantly tempered back into the space of no known threats. Her guard was not down.

“Oh, you startled me Chaplain.” The pimple ridden pubescent acolyte said in quiet relief. “I…” he paused looking perplexed, “I didn’t notice you there. May you be peace.” Taking a deep breath and holding it, he continued sweeping the small, tucked away, transept chapel dedicated to the Lady of Valour they were in.
“Pardons acolyte, I was deep in prayer. The Lady must have taken me so far.” Esther explained. 

These waifs of the temple were endlessly intimidated by her. Itinerant, militant and Nandernii; a chaplain of a mercenary company with an unknown agenda or allegiance in the morass of church politics.
He let out a deep breath “Praise and blessing sister. It was almost as if, as if you were… invisible, immaterial even.” He paused staring as the real possibility washed over him. “I did indeed sweep where you now kneel.”
They held each other’s eyes for a long moment. Esther released her hilt and rose with a stern penetrating gaze that held then humbled the boy.
“Think nothing of it. Dendritii is it?” Esther calmly whispered with a smile, patting his shoulder.

“Yes Chaplain, I am Dentritii. Like the river.” He said as he unconsciously shrank away.

“Blessed be those who walk in the truth.” She replied.

He gulped.
Esther’s gut groaned with hunger. The both looked at her belly and chuckled.

The long slanting sunbeams indicated it was late morning. She must have dozed off. Indeed, the floor was swept of the dust she knew she had brought in. She had noticed and had felt a tinge of shame. Now, where she had kneeled and prayed, was as spotless as the rest of the floor. 
She heard someone singing the hymn Glory Is, the hymn of Midday. 
“What day is it Dendritii?” she asked. 
“Midday Chaplain.” He said a bit perplexed obviously wondering how could she not know this. “Just before lunch.” He added as if in case she was that daft.

Curtly saying “Good day then Dendritii” she hustled towards the nave.

So, she had been there for 27 hours… Her spine tingled and goose bumps rose as the disturbing revelations of the previous morning came to her. 
She realized something divine had also just happened. 
Twenty-seven hours in prayer, twenty-seven, the sacred number of Lanaril. 27 hours kneeling in her brigandine armour and presently feeling fully rested.
She quickly patted her chest rig with the conflict of sin and righteousness tearing at her feeling for the stolen book. It was still there. The scents of the Bishop, his whore and that strange powder came from it as she patted her chest. Still, she looked into the pocket. There is was a small red leather book that held such threat. She had to believe it with all her senses.
Books and writing were still a mystery to her. She vowed to learn reading and writing. Two things that seemed impossible to her.

She had memorized scores of verses and many scripture from listening to her mentor Chaplain Barthoom, may he rest in peace, long ago… during the terrifying nights of that cursed war. 
One holy verse then came to mind. 
Edict twenty-seven (Routing Out the Wicked); verse 27 from Edicts of the Warrior Maiden:

Their desires and their implements of ungodliness are precious to them beyond all else. 
With the right bait, patience will reveal the hidden actors and their hierarchies. 
The hunter with the right bait moves hidden in silence ready for the prey to come searching. 
Cowardly are the wicked, they will send minions first. 
Stay hidden and follow them. 
If discovered take them. 
Beware their clever ruse and appeals to mercy.
Convert them, make them confess and keep them ever guarded.
If this is not possible, then, without guilt, extract what is useful and Break them.
Beware their children, with them have no mercy.

With a sudden sense of needing to be away from the Cathedral, she skulked out a side door alert with paranoia. Once away from the Cathedral she went, like a homing pigeon, towards Stockman’s Row. When still a block away from HQ, she stopped and blinked a few times. 
Leaving HQ was a person that didn’t fit her reality. The face, the gait and the figure were of her half-brother Ricky. The outfit was not. 
It was a more ridiculous version of one of the already ridiculous outfits the local dandies wore.

The ensemble: A flaring crimson waist coat embroidered with pink flamingos, tight leggings one leg blue and green argyle with the other leg in black and white stripes, high heeled white boots, ruffled white shirt, white gloves, an orange and brown paisley ascot and, most absurdly a small white bowler cap with a gaudy explosion of feathers perched askew atop a voluminous wig of ebony ringlets clashing hard with his blond beard. 
Over his shoulder he twirled a pink lacy parasol ringed with sky blue dingle berries. 

Paralyzed with befuddlement, she watched him move away and disappear around a corner.
She jotted briefly in his direction almost calling his name before feeling the weight of everything on her shoulders. This was too much. To find out more would crack her egg. 
Ricky wouldn’t do that without a good reason.
She knew she could always trust him. They were on a covert mission after all.
Now she needed to rebuild; prayer, food, prayer, bath, prayer, sleep, prayer. She had a feeling that there would soon be plenty of tests to embrace. 
She knew her duty to report. She questioned if this was even where she should be now. Perhaps she should be in hiding… or starting an inquisition.

As she approached HQ, the smell of corn bread, hibiscus, cumin and simmering tomatoes came from within. Her stomach made the decision for her. “Go with your gut. It is the Nandernii way.”