Dark Age

by Felix O. Hartmann

  For how long could he hold this power? I wondered. The golden miter covered his grey locks, while the holy scepter in his hand only distracted from his bony fingers. I was not the only one whose clock had started ticking.

  The swelling elation was soaked into silence the second he lifted his pale left hand. A collective hush fell over the crowd, with none of the multitude daring to breathe. I sunk deeper into the throne in anticipation. He looked at me sitting there for a moment’s length. One could hear the drop of a pin. In a calculated pace, he lifted his face to address the crowd, “Greetings children of God! It is my pleasure once again to rejoice with you all, and to celebrate what this city stands for - faith, duty, and honor. To celebrate the young men who serve their God, their city, and every single one of you outside these gates. Only the strongest spirits, the firmest believers, withstand the pains and evils that linger in the outside world. Their valor and strength fend off all the demons that haunt our city.” The crowd went into ecstasy with shouts of approval until the Inquisitor once again raised his hand, and this time pointed towards me, “You, son, were blessed to be born of the valiant kind, to protect everything that is dear to our hearts. God has chosen you to be this moon’s only Celebratorio, a rare occasion that speaks in lengths about God’s faith in you. Like all men, you will start your journey one year from this day. Ages ago, even I served the Grey Guard. The Guard is more than just duty. It is opportunity. It is honor. It is everything we stand for. And you, son, are fortunate to receive this blessing.”

  His speech continued, diving into the history of the city. Every month we were told the same story, and every month the same promise was made: For the horrors to end, for our men to stop dying, and for peace to finally break in… the end of the Dark Age, and the coming of the next golden age. And every month the young were said to be the missing puzzle pieces for that long sought escape from dystopia.

  “It is time that you join the ranks of those that came before you, into the brotherhood of men that love and protect this city with all they have,” he spoke as a priest came up beside me with a knife and chalice in his hands. The row of temple-men sang a Latin chant in canon that dug deep into my ears. Their voices mingled into one long swinging sound.

  The crowd hushed. Only the deep voices of the priests filled the square now. My eyes marked the old man in front of me. Carefully I took the knife from his hand. Slow in my actions, a thousand thoughts ran through my mind. I was a clean throw from killing the false-messiah himself. But what if I missed? The priest’s eyes narrowed in on me sternly, holding the chalice underneath my left hand. Or what if I did not miss? An even more outrageous scenario, it seemed. With clenched teeth, I put the blade into my left palm and made a fist. Quickly I pulled it out and watched the crimson drops fall into the old chalice, whose walls had been darkened by blood older than even my father’s.

  Before I could comprehend what had happened, the priest grabbed my bloody hand and lifted it to the heavens along with the chalice. The crowd roared ecstatically. I was their new hope, like every seventeen year old. I could see my parent’s faces in the crowd, my father stoically embracing my sobbing mother. Katrina stood quietly beside them, smiling, but by no means celebrating.

  The applause died down as the Inquisitor moved his lips again, “We embrace you in our brotherhood, son. Come nightfall I shall break bread with you in my humble home, as tradition requests. Farewell my children and rejoice in the splendor of the day.” He bowed, an inch at most, and turned, disappearing behind the red curtains.

  I fell back into the throne and wrapped a piece of cloth around my palm. The trumpets sounded in the background, drowning out the noise of the moving crowd. The real celebration was about to begin.

  While the guards escorted the priests out of the square, I was still frozen in my chair. It was one of those moments, when one realizes that times change. Seventeen years had been nearly identical, and I thought they would always be. Now everything was going to change. I would have to leave all this behind for ten years, and possibly never return. Like a well-oiled machine, the Guard took in recruits in the scores and spit out a few emotionally dead survivors ten years later. A new perspective of future filtered my eyes, and I was both frightened and excited.

  A warm hand seized mine. Katrina pulled me out of the throne and out of my thoughts with a tug. With delicate fingers she fixed my vest. Her auburn hair was in an artful ponytail, contrasting the rather simple, yet beautiful white dress. “You look different,” she said observing me carefully, “but impressive”. My parents stood a few yards behind her, and were of no help to calm me. My mother was affected by it more than I was, while my father tried to comfort her.

  A few friends and strangers came up to congratulate me. Some even presented me with gifts that came out of their profession: A pair of sandals, a leather pouch, and a loaf of warm bread. While I thanked them, Katrina was pulled away from me into a circle of friends.

  “Tonight?” I called after her. She looked back and smiled.

  Around us, much was happening. The tailor took out his guitar and struck a few chords that rang across the square. Shortly after, one of his sons joined in on the flute. In harmony, the song filled the air, completed by the soft strings of his daughter’s harp. With the help of a few kegs of beer, the festivity was well on its way. Men and women were sitting in their groups eating and drinking, discussing the latest gossip. Children chased another across the square, often running into the few brave dancers that moved to the tailor’s melodies.

  After a while I sought quiet. I preferred watching the others since I had been the center of attention for the entire day. My eyes drifted to the clock tower above the Mount. In little more than an hour, I would be escorted to the Inquisitor’s mansion.

  “It’s a lot to take in,” said a voice from behind me. I turned around and saw Peter, the barber’s boy. “Mind if I join?”

  “Please,” I pointed at the block of wood next to mine. “When will you be summoned? Your celebration was just a few moons ago, am I right?”

  “In 273 days,” he responded. There was no dread in his voice, but he wasn’t joking with me either. “I’m running out of time,” he said, stretching his long legs, “and so are you. We all are.”

  There was a unique realness to him. He didn’t seem to buy into the spectacle like all the others. “Tell me,” I asked, “how much do you know about the Guard?”

  “Only a little, what do you want to know?” He took a sip from a flask and handed it to me.

  “Anything, really,” I took a sip. The repelling smell was indicative of the strong taste. “I know nothing at all. My dad doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “It’s an acquired taste,” he took the flask back and downed a big gulp. “Anyway… in a year you will leave the city, go through training, and then join a camp in the woods, mines, or fields, based on your profession.” He brushed through his curly dark-blond hair, “That way we can draw on our existing knowledge and expand our skills for when we return.”

  “So what exactly does a barber do in the Guard? Cut grass?” I asked with a smirk.

  “Good one,” he said with a chuckle. “My father ended up in the woods, so you are not too far off.”

  “And I’ll serve in the mines,” I realized.

  “From there on, you work day in day out, and try your best to not get eaten alive by those demons. You count your days, and before you know it, you are either dead or back home.”

  “Lovely…” I said reaching for the flask again at the thought of my rosy future. “Is that all you got?”

  “You are a curious one, eh? There isn’t much else I know either. You see, when you spend ten years fighting for your life and watch many of your friends die, the last thing you want to do is talk about it. So the old guys generally don’t give away too much.”

  “I know. My father has not said a word, but ‘I will see for myself soon enough’.” I put down the drink, “I just wish there were another option.”r />
  Peter looked around with focus in his eyes, “We all wish that.”

  “So why don’t we do something about it.”

  “Like what? Kill the old bastard?” he laughed. It was frightening that he dared to say it out loud, “Then what?”

  “I don’t know… leave this valley?” I said, “Perhaps find a place where we are neither getting slaughtered on the outside nor starved from the inside.”

  “You have a point, brother,” he said. “But the time to make secret revolutionary ploys was three gulps ago.”

  “I would have challenged your mortality if all that shine didn’t make you woozy,” I laughed. Part of me was glad that the conversation lit up, part of me wished he had said more.

  “What I know though are three things. First,” he raised his index finger, “you only have little time before your dinner with the Inquisitor. Second,” he pointed at Katrina, “that girl over there has been eyeing us this whole conversation. Either you or me, hard to be sure. And third,” he stood up holding out his hand, “if you are not going to dance with her, I surely will.”

  “She’s with me.,” I said with a grin, “But I am sure Katrina has some friends that would be to your liking”. He was right. I was going to spend ten years out there in the cold pondering about ways to get back in the city. Now was the time to live. “Let’s go Peter.”

  Approaching the group my eyes immediately met hers. We both smiled. “The man of the hour decides to join us,” she teased. “What an honor.”

  “Let’s dance. I only have a few minutes left.”

  She grabbed my hand and ran through the crowd, away from our friends. In the middle of the square she took my other hand and started to spin. It felt different having her near me. It felt as if my mind was filing away every smile and every word she said to me, like a historian afraid of losing access to a revered piece forever. Boldly I took her face in between my palms and pulled her close to me. I escaped my fate, even if it was just for the elusive moment of a kiss.

  Slowly she ran her fingers up my neck, letting chills run down my spine. Her lips softly touched my ear, “You should come over after your dinner.” She pushed me away just enough to look back into my eyes.

  I stood there looking at her, twisting the eagle necklace between my fingers. I had to make a choice. If I wanted to stay with her and end the broken system, I had to take things into my own hands.

  I had to find a way to kill him.

  Chapter 3

  “Adam Blacksmith?” a man called after me as I left the square. He had an odd accent, a genuine noble sound, unlike some of the pretentious merchants I had met.

  I turned and found a middle aged man surrounded by four guards in full armor.

  “I am Anthony, the Inquisitor’s chief servant. Follow us please,” he instructed without further ado and showed me the way. The guards took a diamond formation around the two of us and marched in unison. We approached the gate to the Merchant District at the western end of the square. Like statues, two district-guards stood to each side of the gate — unmoving yet menacing.

  I often spent time in the Merchant District, as they were our most frequent and best paying customers. Any other day I was treated like the lesser, yet something was different. Their generally stuck up expressions had vanished. They stood at the side of the boulevard, watching me with eyes that reflected nostalgia, bitterness, and respect. It was a short moment later that one of the merchants started clapping, quickly joined by all the other men. At first I thought it was mockery, but looking along the path I saw some of them saluting me the way a soldier salutes another soldier.

  This gesture — touching and troubling indistinctively — made me think. Walls and fortune might have separated us. But deep down we were all the same. Too often our perceptions of another were based on idle appearance and status, but we forgot that under every cover lies a human heart and soul. Tonight this cover was lifted, and we were one. No matter how deep class warfare would run among us another day, there would always be the essence of humanity in the end, reaching surface, binding us together with an unbreakable thread. Sometimes it took war to make us realize our brotherhood.

  With every step I grew fonder of the Guard, driven by the dark mysteriousness that came along with it. There was a look in their eyes, a look that said they knew something I didn’t, or saw something perhaps. Whatever it was, I would find it, and I would learn why we were forsaken in this castle…

  Once we reached the southern end of the Merchant District, Anthony led me onto a path further up the hill. The mansion loomed high above, making even the merchant villas look tiny in comparison. At last a rounded, bolted door awaited us at the foot of the palace. Two torches hooked into the wall to the right and left, illuminated the pitch black darkness. Anthony knocked in a rhythmic pattern on the door. A second later another servant opened up.

  Ahead lay a long corridor trenched in the color red. The walls were painted in a terrifying crimson, while the carpet was lighter yet fuller in color. It felt as if I was walking through a sea of blood. Left and right, the walls were covered with paintings; Antiques and contemporaries alike. I had only seen a few antique paintings in the Temple District in the various churches and monasteries. But none like these. We now dated the year 2154, and some of the drawings ranged as far back as the 15th century. In class I once learned that this era was called the Renaissance. The Renaissance, like the epoch of ancient Rome and Greece was an age of light. An age of harmony. A golden age. After any golden age followed a dark age that was filled with evil, sin and pain. But darkness was not exclusively known for evil, but also for the oblivion it created. Our priests could not teach us of the events of the dark ages, as the knowledge of the dark ages had been forever lost. All that remained were the loose memories of our fathers. The Inquisitor however has promised the coming of the third golden age to arrive soon, wherefore our existence, like Julius Caesar’s or Leonardo da Vinci’s, shall be carried into eternity.

  “You like art, son?” the dominating voice of the Inquisitor asked. A sudden shiver ran down my spine as I turned to face him. He must have come down the stairs while I was observing the paintings. The guards left us without a sound. It was just me and the Inquisitor.

  Shaking from his presence I quickly took off my hat and kneeled before him. “Yes father, excuse my curiosity,” I said obediently as if my body forced me to show respect. The Inquisitor wearing the same robe, with a small cap instead of the miter, extended his hand toward my face. Without hesitation I kissed the holy signet ring to demonstrate my subordination to God and the church.

  “Good,” he said in a slow approving manner, “come on and follow me to the dining hall.” After the long corridor, many great halls followed. Having walked up a flight of stairs, I stood in a room half the size of our house and workshop. A gigantic table covered with steaming greasy foods, delicate fresh vegetables and colorful fruits, stood in the center of the elegant dining hall. Clear marble decorated not only the floor but also the walls, which were hung with more paintings and crimson curtains. More intimidating than all the decoration however was the vast amount of space. In the Works, space was so scarce that most homes were crammed. Unused space was unimaginable.

  I stood in the entrance of the hall, waiting for the Inquisitor to make a move. His back was facing me, unafraid of anything. My hand slowly slid down to my leg, approaching the boot in which I hid my stiletto. Suddenly a door to my left flung open, and out rushed two servants. Simultaneously they pulled back two chairs on the opposing ends of the table. The Inquisitor took a seat at the end closer to the door, while I uncomfortably walked around the long table, realizing that I had wasted my few minutes alone with him. More than a dozen chairs remained empty in between us. “What an unusual sight,” he remarked, “It has been decades since a Celebratorio had the honor of dining with me alone.” A servant came and poured a thick red soup into his bowl, “Tell me, what is your name, son?” It was hard to distinguish his questions from
orders.

  “Blacksmith. Adam Blacksmith, son of Edward,” I responded automatically, staring with sharp hunger at the hot soup I was about to shovel down the moment the conversation stopped.

  “Blacksmith… Blacksmith… I think I have had the pleasure to dine with some of your older brothers before. As a matter of fact, now that I think of it I still remember your great-grandfather sitting right where you are. It must have been the late 70’s. He was one great young man. It was quite unfortunate that he never returned from the Guard to meet your grandfather,” The Inquisitor stated clearly delighted by his accurate memory. “How are your brothers and father doing?”

  “Two of my brothers died in service, and Elias has been serving for seven years now. My father is alright,” I responded coldly at the ignorant nature of his question.

  “What a shame,” he sighed, “but I suppose you will be seeing your brother Elias again in the Guard.”

  Surprised I lowered my spoon. The thought that our service overlapped by two years had never crossed my mind. I would be seeing him again after all. Somewhat relieved my body relaxed and the numbing tensions were gone.

  Before I could even finish my bowl of sweet and salty tomato soup, a servant came and took it away, just to replace it with a big covered plate. Underneath the cover, lamb cutlets were staggered, mingling with spicy sauces and herbs. All the dishes that I had seen at first waiting on the table were just sides to be eaten with the main menu. I could have complained about the injustice of having such a meal while whole families in the Industrial District shared half a loaf of bread for a night, but I just ate as much as I could.

  “Please excuse my tardiness uncle,” the ward said, entering through one of the many side doors. She spoke in a high pitch at first, as if to make her seem younger and more innocent. Her midnight blue dress shimmered in the candlelight, while she graciously approached one of the chairs halfway down the table. Once she sat down she started eating without even acknowledging my existence.