learner. She smiled smugly all the way to Brennan’s apartment.
Chapter Thirteen
The cathedral stood proudly against the colorful backdrop of the setting sun.
St. Agabus’s was one of the oldest buildings in Odols, having been originally founded alongside the rest of the town during colonial times. Its original purpose had been to convert natives to Christianity and provide traditional services for the frontier settlers. As the country expanded and time passed, it underwent several reconstructions until it became the enormous monument that it was today.
Stained-glass windows soared thirty feet high between thick columns of weather-hardened stone. There were wings off to either side of the main great hall, resembling a giant cross as seen from the air. The pair of staggeringly large wooden doors that completed the building’s entranceway looked like they could withstand a heavy siege from bloodthirsty orcs; Noah could have used them as rafts and still have accomplished his mission.
He could have even saved the unicorns, Brennan thought as he looked up at the overzealous craftsmanship. He made use of a smaller set of doors that were carved like a mouse hole from the larger pair. Inside were several statues, all of the same young woman. Her face was fair, and a hooded robe concealed much of her hair and figure. In the cupped hands of each statue was a shallow pool of water. Brennan walked past them and into the great hall.
Two columns of pews lined each side of the carpeted central procession walkway, and the rows extended all the way from the entrance to the altar. Thousands of people could fit without ever touching elbows. High above, Brennan saw the crucial arches that held everything together, as well as endless decorative embellishments that served no function.
The cathedral was mostly empty, as it was a Thursday evening, but a few dedicated worshippers still kneeled with their eyes closed and hands clasped. Brennan walked quietly down the aisle. Even though he had abandoned the faith many years ago, his time around Bishop had rekindled a healthy respect for those who at least believed in something. He felt it would be wrong to intrude any more on their privacy than was necessary.
His feet carried him off to the side, beyond the altar and into one of the wings of the cathedral where the more private chambers were located. He passed the kitchen where the Eucharist was prepared, then turned into Father Dylan’s office. It was the only one that had a door to it, a privilege of being the most senior priest.
Brennan knocked on the door as he pushed it open, and Father Dylan looked up from the papers on his desk. He was a small man, roughly sixty years in age and as active as anyone within the community. His hair had long since gone gray and thin, but his eyes were clear and alert. A toothy smile breached his lips as recognition raised his thick eyebrows. “Arthur,” he said. “Please, come, sit down.”
The old priest’s enthusiasm made it easy for Brennan to return his smile. “Thank you, Father.”
“How are you?” The last time he had seen Father Dylan, he was burying his sister. Before that, their last face-to-face interaction was when Brennan had been just a boy, still doe-eyed and attending mass with his parents. Still, Father Dylan spoke warmly, with the kind of casual familiarity that all old priests seemed to possess.
“Good,” Brennan said automatically. “How has the church been? Bishop tells me good things.”
“Noel is a good Christian, and her presence here is a blessing to all of us. You didn’t come here to ask about my congregation, though. Noel gave you my message?”
Brennan nodded. “The homeless guy. How is he?”
“ Harold is doing fine. He told me what you did for him. I’m impressed and touched that you thought to send him here,” Father Dylan said. “I have been reaching out to the local community to help him find work, and meanwhile he has been sleeping on one of
Chapter Thirteen
The cathedral stood proudly against the colorful backdrop of the setting sun.
St. Agabus’s was one of the oldest buildings in Odols, having been originally founded alongside the rest of the town during colonial times. Its original purpose had been to convert natives to Christianity and provide traditional services for the frontier settlers. As the country expanded and time passed, it underwent several reconstructions until it became the enormous monument that it was today.
Stained-glass windows soared thirty feet high between thick columns of weather-hardened stone. There were wings off to either side of the main great hall, resembling a giant cross as seen from the air. The pair of staggeringly large wooden doors that completed the building’s entranceway looked like they could withstand a heavy siege from bloodthirsty orcs; Noah could have used them as rafts and still have accomplished his mission.
He could have even saved the unicorns, Brennan thought as he looked up at the overzealous craftsmanship. He made use of a smaller set of doors that were carved like a mouse hole from the larger pair. Inside were several statues, all of the same young woman. Her face was fair, and a hooded robe concealed much of her hair and figure. In the cupped hands of each statue was a shallow pool of water. Brennan walked past them and into the great hall.
Two columns of pews lined each side of the carpeted central procession walkway, and the rows extended all the way from the entrance to the altar. Thousands of people could fit without ever touching elbows. High above, Brennan saw the crucial arches that held everything together, as well as endless decorative embellishments that served no function.
The cathedral was mostly empty, as it was a Thursday evening, but a few dedicated worshippers still kneeled with their eyes closed and hands clasped. Brennan walked quietly down the aisle. Even though he had abandoned the faith many years ago, his time around Bishop had rekindled a healthy respect for those who at least believed in something. He felt it would be wrong to intrude any more on their privacy than was necessary.
His feet carried him off to the side, beyond the altar and into one of the wings of the cathedral where the more private chambers were located. He passed the kitchen where the Eucharist was prepared, then turned into Father Dylan’s office. It was the only one that had a door to it, a privilege of being the most senior priest.
Brennan knocked on the door as he pushed it open, and Father Dylan looked up from the papers on his desk. He was a small man, roughly sixty years in age and as active as anyone within the community. His hair had long since gone gray and thin, but his eyes were clear and alert. A toothy smile breached his lips as recognition raised his thick eyebrows. “Arthur,” he said. “Please, come, sit down.”
The old priest’s enthusiasm made it easy for Brennan to return his smile. “Thank you, Father.”
“How are you?” The last time he had seen Father Dylan, he was burying his sister. Before that, their last face-to-face interaction was when Brennan had been just a boy, still doe-eyed and attending mass with his parents. Still, Father Dylan spoke warmly, with the kind of casual familiarity that all old priests seemed to possess.
“Good,” Brennan said automatically. “How has the church been? Bishop tells me good things.”
“Noel is a good Christian, and her presence here is a blessing to all of us. You didn’t come here to ask about my congregation, though. Noel gave you my message?”
Brennan nodded. “The homeless guy. How is he?”
“ Harold is doing fine. He told me what you did for him. I’m impressed and touched that you thought to send him here,” Father Dylan said. “I have been reaching out to the local community to help him find work, and meanwhile he has been sleeping on one of
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