Chương 5: Chapter 4: Slums (4)
Even without voicing it, Noah always knew that John wanted to be of help. He was well intentioned and kind, a miracle considering the environment of the slums, but that was all thanks to Noah who had shouldered everything from a young age.
"John! John!" Leah kept pointing, guiding Noah through the streets as he'd long since picked her up and ran with her in his arms.
Noah wasn't thinking any longer, Leah's desperation and urgency bleeding into him.
He should have seen it coming from the moment Noah fell sick from overwork. John as the second eldest must have been shocked the most, and felt guilty about being a burden. John was nine, the same age Noah had been when he started taking care of them on his own.
Noah's sudden decision to get back to work moments after he'd gotten better from sickness would have surely spurred John to act. If Noah got sick again, John would not have been able to bear the regret.
"L-Leah," Noah stammered, trying to compose himself. "What happened?"
Leah sniffled, doing her best to explain. "John want work. Leah said Noah said no, but John older than Leah! John said Leah listen to him. We go market."
Noah felt his heart sink as he drew the picture in his head.
It was no secret that Noah found work at the marketplace request board rather than stay in the slums. No one living in the slums had the capital to pay any wage. The economy there was based solely on trades, and depended wholly on what a seller and buyer valued.
The market was different. At the very least, those who were able to post a request on the request board had a monetary reward to give.
It was why Noah had always said the market was his go to method of securing a livelihood and getting his family out of the slums.
However, Noah was fourteen and John was nine. At nine years old, Noah never entered the market area because it was a whole different street system. Rather than people idling by, the middle of the roads were paved with stones, and people were trained to clear to the side at the sound of clopping horse shoes.
"Carriage! Carriage!" Leah's words caused Noah to shiver as he pushed through a break in the crowd.
Noah froze, numbly placing Leah down next to him while staring at the scene ahead of him.
John had been hit by the carriage of a passing noble who'd long since left the scene without remorse. His clothing was torn at the seams, ugly bruises coloring his skin blue, the largest of which was centered on his bleeding chest.
John was sprawled on the road, a crowd of onlookers murmuring with pity and inaction at the poor slum boy. The most they did was roll him off the main street before other carriages could come by.
Leah burst into tears again at the sight, and naively stared at Noah with child-like innocence to make it better.
Noah broke into a sprint, pushing through the crowd before kneeling by John's side.
"No no no," he rambled, uncaring of the blood staining his hands and clothes while holding John up.
Carelessly moving John would only do more harm than good. Noah could already see it. John's chest was caved in, unable to withstand the force of carriage with his small body. Wheezing breaths were all that John was managing.
Hearing Noah's rambling, John roused the effort to open his eyes.
"..N..o.ah.." John rasped, vision swimming.
"Stay with me." Noah immediately willed light over his palms and placed them over John. "Keep awake."
The light drew many eyes, but Noah did not have the leisure to care. The entirety of his focus was on how that light was affecting John. The bleeding gradually stopped, but the skin remained bruised and the depressed ribs in the chest area showed no signs of a swift recovery. The effectiveness was not enough for recovery, and Noah knew time was not on his side.
A bout of dizziness struck Noah, but he forcibly blinked it away.
"...S..o.r.r..y." John was crying, unable to move and feeling his consciousness slipping away.
Noah didn't respond, desperate for a miracle that wasn't coming. Seconds ticked on into minutes with the recovery getting slower and slower as the light in Noah's hands fizzled out from his exhaustion.
John's eyes closed, breaths growing faint.
"John! John, open your eyes!" Noah panicked, but his words were met only with silence.
Noah swallowed, grief shifting into despair as he felt John's blood over his skin and heard Leah's crying in the background.
All at once, everything became white noise, a keening drum echoing the hammering of his heart.
In death, was there not heaven?
Noah could admit that his past life was not one lived without misdeeds and offense, but it shouldn't have been to the point of torment after death. Others in his modern society had lost faith, but Noah at least adhered to the qualities he'd read in the bible that brought him strength of character.
Where were the fields of plenty and warm winds?
Do not do to others what you would not do to yourself. Noah was not a bad man. Rather, he was weak, cherry picking what to believe in based on his circumstances.
In the end, that wasn't faith.
Watching John die, Noah's eyes caught sight of the cross sigils on the back of his hands, a symbol of the Lord's work done to him without warning or sign of purpose.
This damn mark! What use was a light that could not reach?!
Noah craned his neck up to the crowd in a distressed fluster. "Someone, pleas-!"
His mouth closed audibly at the gazes of contempt staring back at him as if he were dirty. Others just didn't care in a world where death was a constant.
He laughed hollowly.
No one was going to help.
He clenched his teeth, gaze focused on John and what Noah could do where others could not.
Not yet. Never. He couldn't give up. Not on Leah, and not on John.
Light stubbornly re-emitted from Noah's palms, startling those who saw it again and mistook it for mana, the source of magic.
Noah clenched his hands into fists as nausea assailed him. He continued to push himself beyond his mental fatigue.
This stupid light. If this light was truly that God's light, then how can it only be this?!
"...I wound and I heal." He spoke the words written in a parable of the prophet Isaiah. "There is none that can deliver out of my hand."
He'd read it. He'd read it! So work dammit!
Noah could feel his senses dulling, sweat matting his forehead with beads of perspiration before he finally reached his limit. His body swayed, his mind growing numb as a final thought came to him.
All along, was it him that was wanting?
The light of his hands was limited to his own belief. Weak in faith, weak in output. Something like that. Noah wasn't putting much consideration into the logic, it was intuitive. However, one's faith can never just grow from necessity.
Faith grew from conviction, and Noah was never the most devout.
Even still-
Left with nothing, Noah arrived at a final answer in his helplessness.
The symbols of the cross thrummed as he solemnly clasped his hands and bowed his head. He prayed, prayed for deliverance through an unseen hand.
-An earnest prayer of compassion for a miracle.
He did not know the words, nor did he claim to register them in his head. Rather, they came gently whispered into his ear by a woman's serene voice filled with heartfelt sorrow and comforting reassurance.
Behind the backs of everyone is said to be a guardian angel, he or she that unfailingly watches over you. A guardian both to rule and to guide upon the proper path.
The ruffling of feathers fills the background noise, a pair of ephemeral white doves playing tricks on his eyes. He felt the weight of a hand upon his shoulders, soft tresses of sweet scented hair blowing in the wind, and framing an illusory winged woman's face.
He alone was the only one who could see her for the first time.
Although her mouth moved, there was no sound. Rather, Noah could understand as if the two had always been intrinsically linked. No matter what, she would always be on his side. It was that kind of exceedingly warm sentiment.
The symbol of the cross upon Noah's hands was the bridge between him and the heavenly host.
The words came unbidden, imploring Noah to listen, to feel, and to see the wonders of he who sits up high.
His angel clasped her hands, urging him to pray with her.
If praying could save John, then Noah did not hesitate.
"The Lord's light shines down over all, giving warmth, giving strength."
Noah began to speak, voice barely above a whisper, yet it was the start of a phenomenon others could only contribute as the emergence of a natural magic user, a gemstone.
Wind began to blow, generating air currents that tousled back hair and caused alarm to the surroundings. Many raised their arms to cover their faces, others utterly baffled and standing in place.
Once more, light began to shine. This time, from the sigils of the cross upon Noah skin.
John was Noah's focus.
"The weak, the feeble, the lame, there is no distinction."
An aura of serenity surrounded him. Noah let go of doubts, of worries, and cares as his guardian angel grew more and more distinct. All along, she'd always been there, in this life and in the past.
"All are delivered through thy hands."
All that suddenly existed in Noah's world was himself, John, and the Angel praying at his side.
"All are equal. All are wanting."
His features tightened, his eyes squinting as the intensity of the light grew.
The angel unclasped her hands, and stretched them out over John.
Noah imitated the actions, speaking all the while.
"Grant peace. Grant Solace."
The light shone over John. His wounds began to visibly heal, the large bruises and abrasions over his skin receding back into a normal pallor. Even the depression of his caved chest began to rise and mend back to proper order. The whispers and murmurings of the crowd grew into exclamations of disbelief and astonishment.
Yet Noah could hear nothing except the words mouthed by the angel.
"To we who are unworthy of your forbearance."
The angel's expression grew more and more animated, eyes vibrant, determined.
"To we who amble through the dark, let your will be done."
The winds intensified before ceasing all together, tiny motes of white dancing in the air like stars. The motes sparkled as they gathered once more over John.
"Light upon light, and grace upon grace, there is no better."
The angel looked imploringly now at a distinct place Noah could not see.
"Before the day of judgment comes, O heavenly father, please!"
The angel bowed her head, calling towards the clouds.
"Have mercy!"
Noah's heart and mind shook in nervous realization. The place the angel faced but he could not see, and the words of the prayer echoed through his mouth that he merely followed, it made him doubt his dwindling faith.
To believe once more, or continue in a state of limbo…
The angel continued unbidden.
"O God, have mercy!"
The angel's prayer grew clearer and clearer, concluding with a cry of the damned seeking salvation.
"Kyrie Eleison."
The light of the cross was now blinding.
A boy at the brink of death brought back to life at the touch of a hand.
/-/
As the light dimmed before his eyes and sputtered out, Noah's vision was swimming. No amount of blinking or head shaking could correct it, and that was when he first realized that he was in trouble.
Not only could he no longer see the angel, but he was tired, deathly so, and that would have consequences. He'd have to deal with them, but above all John was healed, and that's what mattered. His younger brother's breathing was steady, and the expression on his face was serene. John was just unconscious; the light had performed a miracle.
Weakly glancing around him, Noah could see armed vagrants moving at the periphery of the busy main street near the entrance to the slums. He recognized them as the arms of the old witch, her informants and enforcers.
Noah's stomach twisted as he realized the old witch's people would now eye him and his siblings. For John's sake, Noah kept no consideration for the secrecy of his abilities. Most, like John, would definitely consider it a type of magic. Normally, this would bring benefit and prestige, but unlike other magic practitioners, Noah and his family lived in the slums. All it meant was danger.
The sale of a magic user in the black market was astronomically high, especially gemstones not born to nobles.
They couldn't stay in the slums any longer.
Noah's mind processed what needed to be done, but his body refused to coordinate. The moment he tried to carry John, he tipped forward and fell over him instead, his breaths growing short and labored. The burden of the miracle he'd performed through prayer was too great in his current condition.
He pressed his hands to the crowd, fingers curling while trying to find purchase or enough leverage to lift himself up. His elbows gave out quickly, dropping him back down over John.
For a terrifying moment, his senses left him before he bit down on his inner cheek so hard he tasted blood.
Not here. He couldn't pass out here!
No one would care for him or John to defend them if the old witch's vagrants kidnapped them. Leah would try, God's sake she would try! But it was too unrealistic to expect much of her when she was just six!
"D-Dammit," Noah rasped, trying to keep himself awake, only for his conscience to finally give out.
His movements stalled all at once, his eyes closing just as he saw Leah running towards him.
"Noah! John!" Leah screamed, grabbing onto her older brothers and swallowing back tears.
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