The Holy Tudors: End of Ages

By Sharyl Rains

What if eternal life isn't enough to save you?

Edward Tudor once ruled England as Edward VI. Now, he is regarded by God as the most powerful Guardian ever commanded to protect the Holy Grail: the vessel created by God, healing Edward upon his "death" in 1553.

While leading two new Guardians into the next millennium, Edward discovers the true secrets behind a confusing Vatican controversy, mysteriously connected to his past. After the finding the key to the future of mankind, Edward begins to question the fulfillment of his own destiny to God and the Holy Grail. Upon reflection and prayer, Edward finds powers within the Grail that suggest time can be manipulated, and soon enough, he discovers how to travel back and forth through the ages.

Edward's curiosity burns within him, and upon a visit into the nearby future, Edward is shocked to find a post-apocalyptic earth, ravaged by resource depletion and nuclear fallout resulting from a strange pandemic. With most of the world's population wiped out, those that remain are scattered, forming alliances and competing for what's left of earth in a last attempt to survive.

Little does Edward know that the future he visits is only the beginning; the beginning of the end. Earth is headed towards God's final goal for Creation, and in the midst of his crumbling belief in the duty originally placed before him, Edward is fueled by the overwhelming desire for answers. Through the doors of Catholic
conspiracy, the words of a visionary hidden long ago, and information brought back from a post-apocalyptic future, Edward is convinced he is the only one can stop the devastation plaguing the earth. Determined to repair the damage and save the world from its own destruction, Edward and his Guardians embark on a new journey to preserve their future, but as unexpected events unfold, Edward struggles to keep his sanity and his faith intact. Will Edward Tudor ever hand the Holy Grail back to man?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Oct 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9780228829461

Sharyl Rains

Sharyl Rains is the author of the first novel in "The Holy Tudors" series: "Inheritance." She continues to indulge herself in the world of the Tudors and her love for history as she combines fact with fiction and faith.Sharyl makes her home in St. Albert, Alberta with her two children. When not writing, she enjoys reading, traveling, and baking.

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Contents

PART ONE - SECRETS

September 13, 1917: Cova di Iria, Portugal

October 13, 1917

November 2001: Coimbra, Portugal

November 2001: Vatican City – Rome, Italy

The Vatican Apostolic Library: Vatican City – Rome, Italy

December 2001: Vatican City – Rome, Italy

December 2004: Wales

December 2004: Coimbra, Portugal

PART TWO - DIVINATION

June 2012: Wales

Unknown Territory: Unknown Time

June 2049: Bedsands Alliance Territory

PART THREE - SACRIFICES

June 2012: Wales

May 13, 2012: London, England

2049: Bedsands Alliance Territory

PART FOUR - ALIGNMENT

June 2049: Bedsands Alliance Territory

June 2049: Bedsands Alliance Territory

June 2049: Bedsands Alliance Territory

June 2049: Bedsands Alliance Territory

June 2049: Bedsands Alliance Territory

July 2049: Bedsands & Atlantis Alliances Territory

PART FIVE - EPIPHANY

July 2049: United Territory of the Holy Alliance

August 2049: United Territory of the Holy Alliance

August 2049: United Territory of the Holy Alliance

For Jakob and Lily.

To my mother, Mary A. McLauchlin (Addison).

And the temple of God was opened in heaven,

and there was seen in His temple the ark of His testament:

and there were lightnings, and voices, and thunderings,

and earthquakes, and great hail.

And there appeared a great wonder in heaven;

a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet,

and upon her head a crown of twelve stars…

Revelation 11:19, 12:1

PART ONE

SECRETS

"Whoever goes about slandering reveals secrets,

but he who is trustworthy in spirit keeps a thing covered…"

Proverbs 11:13

September 13, 1917

Cova di Iria, Portugal

I have never been called a pretty child. The physical features I possess are not a prerequisite of godly devotion, at least in my opinion. I have always been a child of devotion and a child of God. I do not fancy myself with the sins of pride and vanity, though I do believe I am destined to serve God as it pleases Him. I know I have a calling, and I have done many things to prepare myself for whatever purposes He has ordained for me.

Never have I been called delightful, beautiful, or precious, nor does it matter. Only our Lord and Our Lady can pass judgement upon me, and I am certain that looks are the last things to be considered. God has given me large eyes and lips, and a flat, broad nose. Many have said that my eyes are great black discs, looking like onyx that gaze out from under thick eyebrows. My thick, dark hair falls below my shoulders, covered by the many layers of clothing I wear. No, I am not a child of beauty, but my robust facial features seem to always attract attention.

I live a life of devotion to the Lord, Our Lady, and to my family. I am diligent in my religious study, receiving First Communion when I was only six. I still swear that at the altar of Our Lady of the Rosary, the statue smiled at me, though no one believes. I recall the delights of my First Communion at my leisure, losing the attraction and desire for many things about the world and preferring to be alone, seeing and hearing the Lord with my own bodily senses.

I put my most earnest effort into teaching my two closest cousins, who live near me. We are a close-knit family, and the three of us are inseparable. We are always out in the flocks tending to the sheep my family raise, and even then, we are in prayer. My cousins are as devoted to our Lady and our Lord as I am, with little need for pastimes that do not serve Their purposes. My cousins display their vanity less than I, for they know I would chastise them for their sin, after which our Lord would display His own wrath upon them. After all, He is always watching.

My cousins are younger than me. They are both musically inclined, and whenever I compose devotional ideas of my own, they are eager to join in. They are said to be the pretty children in our family, but neither relate nor compare their appearances to their devotion to God. We are children of God, and we take our devotions and duties to Him and our family with most sincerity.

Perhaps that devotion and that sincerity has taken us into a realm so unimaginable that I can barely put it into words, but I must try.

The last few months have been confusing for all three of us. Confusing, enlightening, surprising, and frightening; we have awakened to a new realization, and we have been forced to re-evaluate our value to the Lord and to Our Lady.

We have been visited a number of times by the Blessed Holy Mother of God. She appears to us in a luminous display of light that is sometimes so bright I have to squint at first, but it is so beautiful that I am humbled to be blinded. I cannot forget the look of Her, our beautiful, Blessed Virgin. I think of Her all the day, and sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night feeling cold and clammy; other nights, I awaken almost with fever, feeling hot and unable to cool myself. I sit up, and I am wide awake, and after lighting a candle, I discover beads of sweat populating themselves all over my body. Such perspiration permeates from my skin that I have to change the sheets on my bed before going back to sleep. I have not told my family nor my cousins. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Even in the dark of my small room, I still see Our Lady: brighter than the sun, wearing a long white robe trimmed in gold, holding a rosary in Her hand, Her skin gleaming and shedding light clearer than any crystal object filled with the most sparkling of any water on Earth.

It was enough to tell my family of the visions my cousins and I witnessed of Our Lady. At first, She commanded us to pray the rosary every day and to perform acts of penance for the sake of sinners from all over the world. We acted upon these requests as we became terrified of several secrets bestowed upon us only two months previous. My cousins were so frightened by what Our Lady shared that they eagerly performed self-mortification in order to save the world from its impending destruction.

Each day my cousins and I begin by walking towards our waiting flock. We are peasants, but we own a great deal of land in the area, so we are not poor by any means. It is during the day, and the sun is shining, bright, and hot. The air is humid and almost suffocating; it is difficult for me to breathe. I am accustomed to the warm climate of my home, but whenever Our Lady has appeared before us, the heat is nearly intolerable. I keep walking, trying to ignore the feeling of my clothes sticking to me like glue. I shake the sweat off my head, wipe it from my face with the back of my hand, and keep walking.

There is a ridge ahead of us, and as we climb it, we see a flock of unknown birds sweep away from us in fear. Their numbers fly off, attempting several times to come together in unison, but they are not successful until the third or fourth try. We watch as they come together a final time, their wings flapping frantically, and leave us standing at the edge of the ridge watching as they disappear towards the horizon.

We look down to see the herds of sheep we have been assigned to attend. There aren’t many, perhaps fifty or so, all grazing and walking leisurely through the meadow. Some have fallen asleep in whatever shade they can find beneath the sparse number of trees scattered throughout the field. It is a rocky, rolling meadow, the ground very uneven and almost misshapen. Despite the humidity in the air, the grass is still dry and patchy. My cousins and I are dressed in our usual endless layers: long heavy trousers with several linen shirts and an overcoat, or cloaked in long, heavy dresses, our hair bound in cloaked headpieces, our shoulders draped in heavy cloth. We are sweltering in the heat.

As I watch over the flock, I look to the left and see our small village. Strangely, I see no people; only sheep in the meadow, grazing. Everyone in the village must be inside, hiding away from the sun and performing the necessary tasks every family requires in order to survive and prosper. My cousins and I are the only people daring to brave the heat.

I turn my head to the left, and suddenly, as though he has appeared out of nowhere, a man is standing on the opposite side of the ridge. Even though I should not, I feel titillated by this man’s presence, for I have never seen any man like him before. He appears tall, pale-skinned, with reddish-gold hair and piercing blue eyes enhanced with a silver lining that looks almost like diamonds. He is young looking, but he appears wise, and for some reason I can detect the pain in his shining eyes. My bodily senses detect an aura above him that suffuses a certain holiness I cannot explain, for I have never in my young life seen a man such as this. My senses tell me this is a man of God, but I wonder to myself where he came from. Where did this man come from? Why do I sense purity and pain from him simultaneously?

He stares in our direction. He appears frozen in the very moment we are sharing, occupying the same space but seemingly from a great distance. We both exist, but from afar. I see him call something out, but I do not hear him. I turn to my cousins and ask if they see him, but they tell me they see no one but Our Lady. She is there, gleaming as She always does, brilliant like She always is. I ask who the man is and why he has appeared; they cannot see him. Our Lady tells me he is indeed a man of God. She tells me that the man has been loyal to God for many years. I ask for his name, and our Lady says, His name is Edward, and God has given him a great duty with great power. He will be the one to save humankind; but he cannot do it without you. Turn back to him, my child, for you are now connected. You have been brought together by this great miracle, with another yet to come.

I know nothing of the connection between myself and this Edward. My only deduction is that we are both children of God and followers of His great word. I am confused at the description of his duty, yet I detect similarities to my own.

I’m starting to sweat more and more; the heat is becoming worse, and I’m trying to think of some way to escape it. But I soon forget the heat as I turn myself around. Just before he turns his head back towards the village, I am able to fully catch the precious silvered eyes of the man named Edward. Our Lady tells me he will not see Her the way I see Her; that She appears to him in a different manner. I call out his name, slipping its unfamiliarity over my lips, but he cannot hear me.

His eyes widen at my acknowledgement of his presence. He shakes his head in disbelief, and then suddenly, his gaze averts to Our Lady, for She has presented herself in a brilliant, blinding display of light. The mesmerizing radiance of Our Lady floats several feet from the ground, Her colours of white, bright yellow, and silver gleaming. She is the most natural and beautiful thing ever to appear in all my life. I see the man blink twice, and I assume he does so in order to convince himself that Our Lady does not exist, but She does. He shouts a series of words to me though I still cannot hear him. He is then captivated by the blinding light of Our Lady. He tries to shout to me once more. I think he is trying to ask what it is he is seeing, but I cannot answer him. I look up at Our Lady, smiling. Finally, I turn back to him, and I raise my right hand, not in a wave, but as an indication that I am aware of his presence and his acknowledgment of the phenomenon he is seeing. With great joy I realize I have found another witness: another person to account for what my cousins and I are seeing. The elation seeps from my eyes through salty tears.

I pivot back to the beautiful form of the Blessed Virgin, kneeling, and as She begins to disappear, She tells me, Bless the man that stands such a distance from you. Bless the man named Edward; for you will see him again. She fades away slowly with every passing second, until nothing is left.

I accede to Our Lady’s wishes, and I stand to face Edward — this holy man who has come from God. I raise my hand to him once more. I stare directly at him, and he stares back, watching for a sign. I draw my hand over his face as if to tell him to close his eyes, and for some reason, I do the same.

I open my own eyes slowly. My hand has dropped to my waist, and the man named Edward is gone. I feel a chill in the air; a dampness from a place of which I cannot explain. I feel as though I am not where I am supposed to be; the great iciness in the air surrounds me like a freezing blanket, and I do not feel like I am at home any more. I turn back to my cousins, and they stare at me in wonder, but I say nothing of the man I saw; the man named Edward.

*       *       *       *       *       *

October 13, 1917

One month later, Our Lady returns to perform the miracle She promised. She wanted to prove to the world that all should believe in the visions my cousins and I saw of Her, and that we are not spewing out nonsense just because we are children who know no better. We have been ridiculed by the people in the village and detained by local priests. The secrets bestowed upon my cousins and me several months ago by Our Lady remain locked inside our heads. I have been instructed by Our Lady to learn to read and write, for it has now become my responsibility to share those secrets with the world when the time is right. I cannot tell you what those secrets are, as they are not meant to be heard just yet. The secrets I have are good for some and bad for others, but there are other secrets I must keep to myself for almost my entire life, as I am obliged to wait for the man named Edward to find me once again.

Our Lady appears to my cousins and me in the midst of a great rainfall. We are drenched as it pours rain onto the fields where we normally keep our herd of sheep. Our animals have taken cover wherever they can to escape the downpour. Instead of a hot, dry field patched erratically by sparse grasses, there is a pasture of mud up to our ankles. Standing upon our ridge, we see that the surrounding fields are covered almost entirely by thick mud, and that no sheep will linger to fill them with the prints of cloven hooves. This time, the fields are full of people. They are here to witness the miracle that Our Lady has promised. We told them She would be here; they are praying to believe.

Suddenly, through the fog and the pelting rain, the sun parts the clouds. It dances in circles, erratic and uncontrollable. It moves in ways I never thought possible. The sun is brilliant, bright, and blinding all at the same time. The sky gives a contrasting backdrop as one I’ve never seen, with hues of purple, blue, green, and even pink flowing as if they were waves over the surface of the ocean. The sun grows smaller and then bigger, even coming so close it looks as though it were about to sear the earth. I hear screams from the people down below the ridge, and I also hear prayers of hope and faith, incantations of despair and gratitude, and the sound of a thousand or more rosary beads clinking against each other. The sun then begins to spin and rotate like a wheel, and as it shines its miraculous light upon the thousands of faces below, the rain stops.

Thousands of faces. I cannot decipher one from another. They are a sea of faces: men, women, and children. Even the animals come out from undercover to look at this wondrous event, but they become bewildered and confused before fleeing to take cover once again. But through the sea of faces, I see the tall man with the red-gold hair and the diamond-like eyes. He is standing on the opposite side of the ridge, just like the first time I laid eyes on him. He sees me again and once more, I call out his name, Edward.

He is the one who must know what will happen. He is the only one to whom I can tell my last secrets. Some I shall reveal to the world, but there are others I can reveal only to him. We are connected by this Miracle of the Sun, and all that is left to do is wait for his return. I had been commanded in the past by God and our Lady to remain here after my cousins are gone. I must devote myself to God, protect the secrets I hold, and protect myself in the process. These are my duties now.

Edward will hear my secrets, for I have been convinced by Our Lady he is the one who can save humankind. I believe in my godly heart and virtuous soul that he is the only one who can save us: the faithful and those who follow God. The man named Edward is doing God’s work, and I will trust him, for he is one guided by God; and I am the girl who raised her hand and drew it down to bless him back to his own world and his own life.

I do not see him again. Our Lady says I shall not see him for many years, but someday, Edward will come.

November 2001

Coimbra, Portugal

There was a great bell contained within the central tower of the convent, and it clanged over and over, the sound resonating through the hallways of the great white-washed building. Smaller bells from multiple locations inside the convent divulged their own distinctive sound as they travelled through the hallways and corridors, signaling those inside that it was time for individual prayer and reflection.

Life in the convent was quiet. Each residents’ energy was specifically oriented to the salvation of souls; all sisters were called to live in allegiance with God. They served Him faithfully with pure hearts and good consciences, intending to follow the evangelical counsels as perfectly as possible. Through the vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience, they promised to give all without reservation to the end.

Outside of prayer, meditation, communion, and solitary reflection, the sisters enjoyed the many qualities and interests they had in common through recreation after lunch and dinner. They were a community, and together they relished in the spontaneity of each other’s company as they celebrated the company of God. The sisters worked together to maintain the well-being of others inside the convent, and together they kept everything running: gardening, candle making, kitchen duty, and other assorted tasks that filled the daylight hours. Those that had been members of the community for the longest helped to integrate the newer residents once they entered convent life; it was not always an easy transition.

One of the tasks assigned to the newer postulants was that of dusting the many wooden shelves, figures, and ornate carvings lining one particular long hallway. It wasn’t a hallway that was used often, for it was closed off by a large door at the top of a set of platform stairs. The floor was of a glossy hardwood, and murals on the ceiling depicted scenes from the Bible. They were a sight to behold: painted with perfect precision using intricate artistry and bold, beautiful colours. The murals covered the ceiling in its entirety all the way to the end, where drapes of a deep amaranth red hung from the opposite side of the hallway directly facing the doorway to the stairs.

Emelie had only been at the convent for a few months. She had been assigned mostly kitchen duties, but for a change of pace, she had asked for something a little more menial, and something peaceful in order to absorb the will of God through patience and persistence. The task of dusting and polishing in the unknown hallway was one given to her only on the condition that she touch nothing else nor enter any rooms. She was to keep whatever she saw to herself, as her superiors claimed it was a sacred hallway but in need of diligent care. The girl never questioned her assignment, and she was escorted by two sisters every day to care for the hallway before being escorted back to her room or to the gardens where she joined the other novitiates.

A week after she had begun polishing the hallway, Emelie found herself at the opposite end, close to the next set of amaranth red drapes that hung in soft folds; drapes she was not permitted to touch or clean behind due to their age and delicate material. Along the hallway were several doors, and she assumed they were either meeting rooms or old cells, though the residents of the convent stayed in rooms below that were contained within plain, sparse hallways. It seemed unusual for any of the sisters to be lodged in any of the rooms in this particular one, but Emelie decided that the task assigned to her was of more importance than her curiosity.

As she ran her dust cloth against the woodwork of the opposite wall, quite by accident Emelie’s hand slipped slightly behind the drapes. Tripping over her own feet in an attempt to correct her trajectory, she fell against the wall and planted herself firmly on the scratched wooden floor. Emelie looked up and felt a pang of panic and shock.

There was a door.

Immediately, she looked back towards the entrance of the hallway, wondering if anyone else was present to witness her discovery. Unable to contain her curiosity, she stood up and shuffled behind the soft material as it overlapped itself repeatedly across the door. Turning the old, rusted doorknob — surprisingly without a sound — Emelie opened the door and peered inside.

Sunlight poured through several badly soiled windows. Particles of dust floated through the musty, stale air and fell onto another set of stairs, this time with a small landing followed by another set of stairs that turned to the right. Still curious, Emelie looked through a crack in the drapes, and back once more at the entrance of the hallway she was supposed to be cleaning. Summoning up a little more courage, she slipped through the unknown door, closing it behind her.

I’ll just take a minute, Emelie thought. They’ll never know I’ve been up here…what could be here?

Climbing slowly up the steep set of stairs, she passed the landing and turned to climb the last set. The walls were white, though there were chips, scratches, and holes cluttering the perfection of the paint. Emelie assumed they were caused by the moving of furniture or woodwork, for space was limited along the stairway. The landing itself was painted a light blue and littered with scuff marks and small scratches, making her wonder what had happened.

Finally, Emelie reached the top of the stairs, where she discovered another wooden door. She paused to look at it for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to continue her explorations. After a second or two, she reached out once more towards the doorknob, turning it to make the door open, still without a sound.

The girl entered a carbon copy of the floor she had just left. It was another long hallway decorated in the same way, and at the end, another set of velvet drapes in the familiar colour of amaranth red hung in gentle folds from the brightly painted ceiling. The only difference was that all the woodwork bore a layer of dust, as though the walls within this particular hallway hadn’t been cleaned in some time.

Ignoring the thought as to what could portend over her inquisitiveness, Emelie slowly walked along the hallway curious to see what hid behind the drapes on the opposite end. As she carefully ambled over the wooden floor, she noticed the same layout as the hallway underneath: rooms with no indication of anyone inside of them, and similar intricate woodwork. She felt a shiver run down her spine, and she detected a mysterious, lonely feeling. She was almost tempted to turn back, but the curiosity of what could be revealed behind the drapes overshadowed her fear of being discovered in an area she was explicitly told not to explore.

To her disappointment, when she reached the opposite wall and felt behind the folds of drapes, she found nothing but a bare wooden wall. There was no decoration, no carvings, and no woodwork; only a simple wall covered with the common coloured material found in the same hallway down that winding set of stairs with the light blue landing in the middle. Recent memories of the scuffs, scratches, chips, and holes made her shiver again, this time unpleasantly.

The young girl sighed and, deciding it was best to turn back and return to the hallway she was supposed to be in, she spun around and felt her way through the darkness behind the velvet material. She peeked through the drapes and immediately noticed that the floor was spotless, but it was worn in a pathway towards a room in the corner to the left of where she was standing. Deciding to stay no longer, she emerged from the material, then she froze, for the door at the opposite end of the hallway suddenly opened.

A man dressed in amaranth red robes emerged through the doorway with a slow, deliberate gait. Folding a part of the drapes at the left edge to create a peephole, Emelie immediately recognized the man as an archbishop, as he wore the traditional colours of one, though overtop he wore a long, flowing black cloak with a large hood. She stood there confused, as archbishops would never wear a cloak over their cassock — a servant’s robe — for it was modeled after the robe worn by Jesus, and something that should never be concealed.

There was little time for confusion, for the girl watched in shock as the archbishop performed the sign of the cross exactly in time with his slow-moving pace. The sedate movement of his arms along with the prolonged stride made Emelie even more nervous, thinking he could detect her presence. She could not see his face, and even when he stopped at the door directly beside the girl and to her left, she could not make out an appearance of any kind. She heard the man unlock the door and slip inside the room, whatever room it was. After waiting for a few moments just in case he decided to leave abruptly, she came out from behind the drapes. She could hear the man’s voice through the door. Throwing all caution to the wind and not thinking of what could come out of it, the girl quietly and carefully pressed her ear to the door.

*       *       *       *       *       *

One of the archbishops from the Vatican was a man from Italy named Tiberio Bianchi. A previous archbishop had visited only weeks before, accompanied by an Italian journalist specifically assigned to record the events of the meeting. The woman had barely been able to speak, see, or hear, but she had told her story — again. They had trouble communicating so the archbishop had relied heavily on the journalist to help decipher what she was saying. He was surprised he had gotten the information he obtained.

Archbishop Bianchi had been brought in to visit the woman once more in hopes that a new face could bring about new information. Bianchi replayed the conversation he had had with the pope over and over in his head. It had happened just before he left the Vatican…

She is failing, Your Holiness…

God is near, but He will wait. Just one more visit. There must be more.

Your Holiness…she has been asked already; she claims to have told us everything. She claims she has nothing more — she has sworn to Him and to the Blessed Holy Mother…

She will tell you more…the Virgin will command her, you agree?

Your Holiness, I swear that I do align with your position. If she indeed hides a portion of the third secret still, may God guide me to the truth.

There is more. We must know the truth. We have no power without the truth…

Yes, Your Holiness…

Entering the cell where the old nun stayed, Bianchi slowly closed the door behind him, locking it with a loud click. In the last few years, because of her declining health, she had been confined to her room, unable to say much of anything to anyone; though no one knew if it was through ability or by choice. Doctors had come and they had gone, only saying that her heart was failing, but could give no explanation as to why her sight and hearing were declining as well. The sisters at the convent simply dismissed the doctors, for they wanted no one seeing the old woman as she sat alone in her plain cell. It had been weeks since the last visit by any doctor.

The room was bright in comparison to the dark hallway the archbishop had just walked through. Upon removal of his hood, Bianchi had to squint at first while his eyes adjusted to the change in illumination, and after a few blinks, he was able to see inside the cell with less difficulty.

It was a small room with minimal furnishings: only a small, single bed frame with no headboard and a gold cross hanging above. There were no bookshelves; only a small nightstand sat on the left side of the bed with a single white lamp. To the right of the window was a small desk and chair. The desk had papers strewn around the top, and a pencil cup with three pencils sat on one corner. Bianchi looked towards the desk at the papers sitting there, but he saw no writing. All the sheets were blank. A newer-model typewriter sat dejectedly on the desk. It was dusty and looked like it hadn’t been used for some time. The nun had stopped writing with conventional instruments due to arthritis, her Mother Superior had claimed.

There was another chair to the left of the small window that looked over the gardens within the walls of the convent, and sitting in it was a small figure dressed in the typical black and white habit; a woman, staring out through the window. She was of petite form and still carried the same extra weight as Bianchi had seen in pictures, though not terribly obvious through the baggy, bulky habit all sisters were required to wear. Her headpiece and veil framed her wrinkled yet plump face, and her glasses were thick and round. Behind the think lenses were a pair of dark brown eyes, the colouring framed with glints of bronze upon closer inspection. She had a large, flat nose, and thick, dark eyebrows. She moved her head from side to side, looking as though she were listening to music even though the room was deadly silent. The windows in front of her were shut tight, and no sounds from outside were able to penetrate the thickly-paned glass.

Despite the claim that her senses had been failing, she could detect an appearance in the room. Looking back to the events of the last few weeks, she didn’t need to see or hear to know who it was, or where they had come from.

You come back again, she spoke feebly in Portuguese with a voice that faltered easily.

I am Archbishop Tiberio Bianchi, he declared in the same language, looking around the sparse room. I have been sent by His Holiness.

The