Thanks for the kind words SCD! ^_^
A Hero’s Death
Part 3 of 4
The three stain glass windows beyond the knave were large and tall. They shone brightly for they faced west and the sun was falling at the touch of dusk. The light was bright and heavenly of yellows and oranges in hue. The left most window looking upon the altar was a stern St. Peter with one hand raised high in blessing and the other holding the key to heaven’s gates. In the middle of the three windows was a beautiful piece of the immaculate heart of Mary. In the window furthest to the right Jesus stood blessing four young children, one of which cradled in his arms. Renart felt his body flush with heat as this symbolic stained glass piece of art hit him hard; he knew he would never see his son and never have the chance to cradle him in his arms.
Aside from the bright streaks of natural light that pierced through the stained glass windows, the church was dim. Roman Catholic churches seemed scarce in Newcastle, and the age of that church was evident. The church was situated in a quieter outer part of the city that was of older fashioned morals. Though churches were sparse, and attendance of the Catholic kind was uncommon in Newcastle – or all of England for that matter –, the church was in a community of many Roman Catholics who were truly serious about their faith.
The churches priest, Father Carnell, stood off to the right of the knave. He was not willing to sit in his thick high-backed chair. He shook violently and could not calm himself to a steady state. Renart felt ashamed, but kneeled proud and straight for his confidence in the cause would heighten the confidence in others. Renart watched as the priest muttered prayer between his lips.
The two men at Renart’s sides stepped back as Aros gave them a steady nod. Aros looked down at Renart with an odd, but serious, disgust and a mere smirk crept up his left cheek. Aros waved Kronus over towards them. Kronus walked steadily and calm with his head high on his tall broad shoulders. Never once in his life had Kronus walked with his eyes towards the ground, and even in Renart’s death he walked without regrets. Kronus believed in the faith of fate and it was the choices himself and Renart made that led them to the end of one’s long, hard-fought journey.
When Kronus reached Renart and Aros he knelt down beside Renart and whispered wisdom in his ears, ‘fate is the path which we followed and for another generation the way of God has been restored and maintained.’
Renart nodded and lowered his head, ‘my son.’
‘It is taken care of,’ Kronus replied without hesitation.
‘Are you sure? It is a burden, I know.’
‘This is my word.’
Kronus reached into Renart’s back pocket and grabbed the rosary; he soon was slipping it into his own pocket. Although it had been the most serious and saddest part of both of their lives, it felt right. Renart lived the path he chose. It was God’s path, the path of the Holy Spirit, the way in which fate intended, as it was for his father and the father before. Both Renart and Kronus knew it was better this way.
‘Keep your hands off my wife,’ Renart said as he looked over at Kronus. They both smiled gently and Kronus winked. Kronus then gently slapped Renart on the shoulder before getting up, taking two steps back and proceeding to walk away.
Renart closed his eyes for a moment and felt them begin to swell with tears. His only son, his loving wife, his best friend and his short lived life all came to mind for a split second. When he reopened his eyes he looked pass Aros at Jesus blessing the young children just as the sun fell under the horizon.
