Children of the Spear (Novella): Origin

by Gervais, Rhett

  Chapter 1: Original Sin

  2061

  Bobby squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to keep his face still, enduring the pain as the heavy leather stung his flesh. Despite the tears rolling down his face, he refused to scream; he wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction. The others, street kids like him, stood in a silent semicircle at the altar rails, forced to watch. The echo of each slap echoing across the vaulted church ceiling.

  Twelve straps to his open palm for what he did. Most of those receiving punishment broke after the second, sometimes third hit, wailing and screaming, unable to take any more. Once you screamed, Father Gary usually relented with an odd smile on his face, satisfied that the will of God had been served. Bobby had counted seven so far, and the pain was beyond anything he had ever felt. Still, he refused to break, his hate greater than the pain.

  His hands started to bleed at the eighth, his skin a blistering inferno of broken welts. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” he began, mouthing the words of the Lord’s Prayer to give him strength. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.”

  “Silence, boy. I didn’t give you permission to speak” said Father Gary, his eyes like saucers.

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.”

  Bobby cringed, his legs buckling as Father Gray hit him again, harder than the last. “You shall not seek comfort in the Lord’s words. You are shameful, a vile sinner,” he shouted, his thin voice screeching throughout the empty church.

  Bobby ignored him, a sense of calm uplifting him with each word from his tongue. “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”

  “You have Satan’s tongue in your mouth, boy. If you don’t stop it, you’ll receive more than twelve lashes”

  Bobby opened his eyes to see Father Gary holding the strap high over his head, his round face red and blotchy. Knowing the Lord was with him he continued without shame, without fear. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

  With a grunt, Father Gary brought the strap down in a wild frenzy again and again, staining the tan leather strap an ugly red. Bobby’s knees gave way and he collapsed, stars in the corners of his eyes. He slumped to his knees, sweat rolling down his forehead like he had run a marathon. He looked up from the mess that was his hands, locking eyes with the priest and giving him a smile. Father Gary was bent in half, his breath coming in quick spurts, his entire body shaking with exhaustion.

  “You have the gall to smile, you little bastard.” said Father Gary, breathing hard through his nostrils. He stretched to his full height, raising the bloody strap over his head. Bobby bowed his sweat-drenched head, his heart beating out of his chest, knowing he couldn’t take another beating, much less one more blow and remain silent. He closed his eyes, waiting.

  The blow never came. He opened his eyes, not sure if what he was seeing was real or imagined. A towering shadow stood between Father Gary and himself. It was like he was in a dream; words were being spoken without him understanding. He only knew that Father Gary had stopped. He reached out, his hand falling on a rough-hewn patch of denim, sure that his mind had cracked. That was when he saw her face for the first time. Her dark almond-shaped eyes looking at him full of warmth and understanding. Her thin rose-colored lips were moving, and he shook his head, not understanding. Finally, she cupped his face, pulling it close to hers and putting her lips to his ear.

  “My name is Elizabeth. No one is going to hurt you anymore. It’s all going be okay.”

  Chapter 2: Winter in Beantown

  2063

  Bobby strode out of the old church into the bright afternoon sun, grateful to leave the past behind him when the heavy doors slammed shut. He pulled tight his long coat, shivering as he gingerly stepped around the rusted scaffolding that framed the front of the old building. Like everything else in the city, work had been long abandoned when reconstruction money dried up with the change in political winds. It was like that everywhere he looked, shuttered buildings worn down by time and neglect. This part of Boston was once the jewel of the city, where the well-to-do showed off their wealth and power. The affluent had moved on, leaving their symbols, their beautiful homes and buildings, from two centuries ago, to rot and decay. One of the foster homes he had lived in years ago had a worn bronze plaque above the door, proclaiming the rat-infested hole to be a historical building, preserved by the city. There were places like that all over Back Bay, homes covered in grime that still showed traces of a grandiose history. It was long gone now, leaving little more than boarded-up windows and fading stone.

  Despite the fact they were well into April, Beantown was in the grips of one of the harshest winters on record. The square in front of the church was a sheet of ice, making walking treacherous at best. The weather had been different when he was younger, moving from foster home to foster home, but had become more unpredictable in recent years, with massive nor'easters running up the coast even at this time of year. With a shudder, he put the cold from his mind. He had his orders whether he liked them or not: find Elizabeth and bring her home, and if he couldn’t—do what he had to.

  Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he walked briskly, shutting out his other senses, focusing his attention on her trail. It was a strange what he could do: sense people. It was unprecedented in the program. Most Ascended had flashy abilities like you’d see in a movie or a comic. Liam controlled stone and earth, and Elizabeth projected deadly blasts of lightning, but for him it was different. He had gotten stronger and faster, tougher like they all did, and at first there was nothing more than that for him. The reverends had proclaimed him a failure, given that, outwardly, there was no expression of God's gift. There was talk of not permitting him to be part of the strike teams, or simply sending him home. When he started having strange flashes of places and people, he dismissed it as his mind playing tricks, but it grew more pronounced with time. Soon he could sense everyone on base, knew who was on the other end of the line before he took a call—then there was the incident at Blackwood Church. They had managed to cover it up, shift blame, but he still couldn’t believe what he had done. No one could.

  He felt her suddenly, not far ahead, still in pain. His attack had hurt her, and she was like a wounded animal leaving a clear trail. He set off westward at a jogger's pace down St. James Avenue, in pursuit, weaving in and out of the sparse afternoon crowd, the effort warming him from the harsh winter cold. Ascension had granted him faster ways to travel, but he thought better of it; there was no sense drawing attention to himself.

  He had gotten a few blocks, lost in the steady rhythm of his breathing when he realized her destination was somewhere in Boston Common, one of the oldest parks in a very old city. “What the hell are you doing?” he whispered to himself. Then there was the wild card, Andrew. A living weapon who was distant at the best of times. Bobby had no clue how he fit in to all of this. He could only assume they had parted ways not long after escaping the base they called home; he was not one for loyalty. Arriving at the corner of Arlington and Boylston he could see one of the many entrances of the park, its wide paths and the bare branches covered in a thin coating of snow and ice, glistening in the weak sun.

  He was about to cross the street into the park when he was startled by the ear-piercing wail of police sirens. With a start he looked up to see he a heavily armored SUV barreling toward him, the strobing red and blue lights giving him pause. He waited, the hem of his blood-red coat gusting with the wind as he stood on the corner.

  “Put your hands where I can see them and get on your knees or you will be shot,” commanded an officer exiting the SUV. He was dressed in full tactical gear, with a black camo flak vest and a military-style helmet. Not waiting for an answer, he leveled a standard-is
sue Beretta at Bobby. A moment later his partner emerged, doing the same and using the heavy door for cover.

  Bobby’s hands remained at his side, curling into fists while he stared down the officers, blood pounding in his temples. “No,” he said with a calm he didn’t feel, raising his chin.

  The first officer cocked his head, giving his partner a half smile as he holstered his gun, drawing and extending his nightstick with a sharp snap. “Looks like we've got a comedian here,” he said, strolling around the car. He was a heavyset man with a wide forehead, thick neck and cleft in his chin that hadn’t seen a razor in days.

  “Exactly what is going on here?” said Bobby through gritted teeth. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Doesn’t matter what you think, and unless you want me to curb-stomp your ass, you're gonna get on your knees, and put your hands on top of your head.”

  Bobby hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. The public knew they existed now, and he debated telling the officer who he was. Showing his credentials should be enough to end this, but he thought better of it. While he was technically part of the Marine Corps, he had no official rank, and if he was forced to answer questions about what he was doing in the city, or if somehow the public got wind that some Ascended had fled the program, it would be a nightmare.

  The second officer interrupted, trying to calm the situation. “Listen, son. Someone matching your description assaulted a woman not too far from here: white male, medium height, slim build with light-colored eyes and a red coat. I'm pretty sure that’s you, buddy. Now, you can come quietly, or my partner can make sure you spend the next month drinking all your meals through a straw.”

  Bobby snorted, his nose hairs freezing. A small milling crowd had begun to gather around them, a few people filming the encounter with smart devices. He blew out his cheeks and was about to try and talk some sense into the police when the sky above them darkened, swirling iron-gray clouds with jagged arcs of lighting appearing where moments ago it was bright and sunny. Looking in the distance he could see something was going on in the center of the Common, flashes of lightning striking the earth along with echoes of thunder rumbling in the distance. “I don’t have time for this. Move or I will move you!” he said, running out of patience, striding toward the first officer with deadly purpose.

  The second officer responded instantly to the threat, opening fire without hesitation. The hail of bullets sent the gathered crowd in a frenzied stampede, scattering them in all directions. The shots did little more than irritate him, peppering his chest and shoulders, stinging his skin. Bobby shrugged off the impacts without slowing. He grabbed the officer in front of him, by his tactical vest, lifting him like a small child above his head with a single arm. The panicked man unleashed a flurry of blows to Bobby’s head and shoulders, a wild-eyed look of disbelief marring his face when his nightstick bent in half.

  Ignoring the officer, he hurled the man like a rag doll, sending him crashing into the car door and his partner, both men falling in a heap. Nodding to himself he turned to see another police vehicle racing toward him, lights blazing, siren blaring. Bobby took a quick glance at the sky, cursing when he saw the clouds swirling into a cone, like a crooked finger reaching earthward, forming a violent spiral near the heart of the park.

  Not wanting to waste any more time, he bent his knees slightly, pushing off with all his strength, the air screamed in his ear as he leapt skyward five stories in the blink of an eye. Landing on the roof of a low-rise building, overlooking the Common, Bobby was buffeted by a wave of hot air punching over him. He turned to find the Common engulfed in a blazing inferno, Dante’s vision of hell suddenly made real on earth. Everything burned. At the heart of the maelstrom, a massive tornado churned, spitting out gouts of flame as hundreds of lightning strikes fell in rapid succession, and at the center of it all, amid the chaos, he could feel her, sense her rage and power. Elizabeth. Bobby froze. He had never seen anything like this before, never imagined she was capable of this or why she was creating hell on earth. Worse, he had no idea how to stop any of it, but he had to try.

  He sprinted back from the roof's edge before turning back, hoping he had enough room to do what he planned. Bouncing on his heels like a sprinter preparing for a race he intended to long jump directly from the building to deep in the park. He knew he couldn't cover the entire distance, but the less time he spent exposed the better. He had no clue what a lightning strike would do to him and didn’t want to find out, so he would try to move quickly to reduce his chance of being struck.

  He sucked in a lungful of oxygen, asking the Lord to watch over him, when he felt a sharp pain in his lower back, and all his strength vanished, his legs buckling under him. He blinked, suddenly finding himself facedown on the frigid rooftop, his mind reeling from the pain. Grunting hard, Bobby rolled over clutching his side, hot blood spilling over his fingers from a gaping wound.

  Bobby squinted in confusion at the man-shaped burst of light that hovered above him, not sure if it was real or a figment of his imagination. The shape began to flicker, coalescing into flesh and blood, transforming into a young man in a red coat with a black stain over the heart. Dark eyes full of resentment that he knew too well. Andrew had not fled. He was here, standing over him, about to end his life, and there was nothing he could do to stop him.

  Chapter 3: Hero

  2061

  Bobby had never seen anyone like her. She had eyes that drew him in, almond shaped, black like the sky on a moonless winter night, making her seem cold and distant at first, but then she smiled at him. Her smile was like a summer morning, full of warmth and the promise of hope. Her name was Elizabeth, and she worked as an assistant with Bishop Fitzpatrick, who was nominally in charge of the Trinity Church restoration project, but he left most of the day-to-day operations to people like her and Father Gary. He found it strange because she was only a year or two older than him, yet she stood on equal footing with Father Gary, which meant the bastard couldn’t bully her like he did everyone else.

  “The balm should hurry along the healing,” she said, rubbing a cool clear gel onto his palms, numbing the throbbing pain. She worked diligently with her attention focused on his hands, giving him a few stolen moments to stare without fear of being awkward. They sat alone among the restored pews of the drafty church speaking in whispers, close enough for their knees to touch, everyone else having retreated to warmer parts of the old structure.

  He nodded, mumbling, “You don’t have to do that. Someone like you shouldn’t waste your time with me.”

  She turned her radiant smile on him. “Oh, don’t be silly,” she said, closing the cream and slipping it into a pack off her hip. “Besides, who else was gonna do it? For people who claim to love Jesus, the folks around here don’t seem to know what he stood for, now, do they?”

  Bobby could only shrug, glancing away now that she was looking at him. “There is lots to do, and Father Gary pushes everyone to work their hardest, and there isn’t time for much else beyond fixing the church.”

  “With hands like that, you won’t be doing much,” she said, tucking a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. “Now, exactly what did you do to deserve a beating like that?”

  Bobby felt his cheeks burning, his pale face flushed. Only Father Gary and one other person knew what he did, and everyone involved promised never to speak of it, so long as Bobby took his punishment and promised never to do it again. His mind raced as to what he could tell her that wouldn’t reveal too much, or make him look like a vile sinner as Father Gary had called him. “Father Gary uses the strap anytime we get out of line, and most of the time he’ll hit you only once or twice. Once you’ve screamed he believes that you’re remorseful,” said Bobby licking his lips. “Most of us scream after the first strap. I didn’t scream, so he kept hitting. The longer I didn’t scream, the more it pissed him off.”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. We’ve heard stories before, but we thou
ght they were exaggerations, bullshit from homeless kids who didn’t want to do the work for the roof we put over their heads and the hot meals we put in their stomachs.”

  Bobby shook his head, knowing the truth. “No, I deserved it. Father Gary was just doing God’s work.”

  Elizabeth put a hand on his shoulder, locking eyes with him. “No one deserves that kind of abuse; you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. The way Father Gary runs this place is barbaric, and it stops right now,” she said with heat in her voice, her eyes narrowing.

  With a shuddering sigh, he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders as he bobbed his head in thanks. Bobby watched in awe as she stood with purpose and stormed to the antechamber where Father Gary spent his free time, motioning for him to follow. In a fury she slammed open the door, entering without pause, Bobby fresh on her heels.

  They walked into a shocked Father Gary tumbling over in his chair with a massive crash, causing them both to flinch, their shoulders hitching up. Bobby’s jaw hung open at the sight of Father Gary splayed on the floor, his pants around his knees with his hands covering his privates.

  “What the hell!” Gary screamed, red faced and fumbling to pull up his pants as Elizabeth whipped out her phone, snapping picture after picture. “You little whore. You have no business coming in here like this, especially with that skinny little pervert,” he said, pointing at Bobby with a shaking hand.

  Elizabeth burst out laughing, bending in half while she covered her mouth. Bobby giggled quietly into his hand, unable to tear his eyes away from the spectacle. The antechamber was little more than a storage room that had been used for some of the church's more valuable pieces, things that needed to be kept under lock and key during the restoration: alabaster statues and busts of religious figures, chalices used for communion. Gary had turned a small section of the room into an office, with a rickety old desk, along with a folding chair.