Preserving the Ingenairii by Jeffrey Quyle Page B

was transfixed.
                  “Hello?” Alec called out again, hoping that perhaps one of his companions was already inside as well.   The building and its environs remained silent though, except for the sibilant sound of the violent shaking of the tree branches.   Alec edged further inside, and began to cautiously walk along the wide nave of the building, weathered columns defining the approach to the spot where a high altar should have stood.
                “Hello?” Alec called one more time, less loudly now, voicing an announcement more than a request for a response.   Something was happening, he could tell by the feel of the rising hair on the back of his neck, and he pulled his sword out of the scabbard on his hip.   He held the reassuring weight of the sword in front of him, the point aimed low, and jumped back in startlement as a small, bright light suddenly appeared behind the altar.
                “Armilla?   Delle?” Alec asked tremulously.   He wasn’t aware of anyone among his followers who had brought a candle.
                There was no answer, and the flame jumped at his voice, then disappeared behind a column.   Alec looked around, but saw no one else or anything else to examine, so he carefully stepped through the weeds and debris on the ground and worked his way up to the altar, then past it.
                The space behind the nave was divided by walls.   Alec saw a flicker in one direction, where a stairwell twisted downward off to the left.   He moved slowly in that direction, and paused at the top of the stairs.   “Armilla?” he called one more time, not expecting a response, but wishing for one.   Alec adjusted his grip on his sword, then treaded downward into the dark catacombs of the ruined cathedral.
                “Thank you for joining me,” a voice said calmly behind him, and Alec whooped in fright as he spun around.   Behind the stairs stood John Mark.
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 11—Descent to the Crypt
     
                “What are you doing here?   Is this one of your holy sites too?” Alec asked in befuddlement.   His heart was still pounding inside his chest.   He realized again how vulnerable he felt without his ingenairii abilities to rely on, how frightened he had been because of that sense of mortality, and how glad he was to see the saint’s spirit.
                “Can you help us?   How do we fix the ingenairii power?” Alec further queried.
                “You are in a powerful place, Alec.   But it is not one of mine.   Only by the help of others am I able to show myself here,” the venerable saint replied.
                “How can you need help from anyone?   You are the prophet and the saint,” Alec responded.
                “This is a very holy place, but it is from a different face of God,” John Mark said cryptically.
                “How can it be a different God?” Alec asked, his perplexity momentarily overcoming his other concerns.
                “Not a different God, Alec,” John Mark corrected.   “This was raised by people who knew and worshiped a different face of God.   Just as in my own land of origin God was first worshipped as Yahweh, until he sent his son and was then known by that face.
                “In this land, he was first known long before he was Yahweh in my world.   He was known as Resper-Ka,” John Mark added.   “He was perceived differently, and he provided differently.
                “That means that my relationship with this site is not as natural as it is in those sites where I experienced his love through the form I knew before,” the saint continued.
                “Is this where I need to be?   Can I find the cure to the ingenairii illness?” Alec asked, as his mind focused on this opportunity.