Apostate Konstantin

by Max Kramer

  Deirdre clapped her hands. “I am impressed Inquisitor. Your love for your sister is an admirable trait. Perhaps I have misjudged you after all.”

  He stood, allowing his arms to be bound heavily by the two brothers. Neither man was gentle.

  “Take him downstairs dearest.” She dismissed them. “Ready the men. We leave immediately.”

  Grabbing an elbow each, Naoise and Felix marched to the door. Hobbling between them, Konstantin kept his head turned, meeting his sister’s eye as long as he could. The door closed, leaving the two women alone on their couch.

  Deirdre nodded to herself. “Your brother is very brave. If he is intelligent as well he will not be harmed. By me, or my men. He has a lot of other enemies however.”

  Brita tore her gaze away from the door. “Thank you. For everything.” A moment passed. “Deirdre…where are we going?”

  The beautiful woman’s laughter tinkled again. “Haven’t you guessed yet dear one? We’re going into the wilds!”

  Before

  Forget what you know about learning and the achievements of the human spirit. These are uncivilized times.

  After being left to its own devices for so many years the world had changed. What infrastructure survived the long, harsh winter hibernation was soon erased by the earth’s resurgent life. It seems that plants and animals worked together in our absence to remove all evidence that we ever existed. The city of my birth is gone. A forest has taken its place.

  Reclamation is proving to be a long and bitter struggle. So much had been lost, so much forgotten, some of it for all time. Basically, all we have are our wits and the strength of our backs to rebuild an information age culture in a stone-age world.

  We fought everything those first years. We fought the land, we fought the weather. We fought the animals, beasts that we had never seen before except on digital recordings or in books. We fought diseases that had been eliminated a century before. We fought diseases that had not even existed when our ancestors first went underground. Worst of all we fought people. I don’t know if they were refugees from bunkers similar to ours who had surfaced too early, or descendants of those lucky (unlucky?) few who had survived alone on the surface, but whoever they were, they were primitive, they were numerous (compared to us), and they were insane.

  We tried to capture some, to teach them our ways, to save them, or at least enslave them. Something was wrong inside them however, they proved impossible to reach. Better to kill them when we got the chance.

  Our lives went on. Even against all this adversity, we were surviving. Our crops were finally thriving, our city was being rebuilt, and some old technologies were resurfacing. We had even made contact with a few other groups like us, scattered across the globe! Humanity would persevere. We were sure of it.

  Then we encountered her.

  -Survivors journal

  Name unknown

  7

  When Deirdre Magnusson said that they were to leave immediately, she meant it. Konstantin guessed that she was accustomed to getting her way. After surrendering himself in exchange for help curing his sister, he was hustled into the basement by Felix and Naoise. The area was a subterranean maze of miscellaneous rubble. There was one labyrinthine path through the debris, barely lit by Munich’s grey noon, which seeped in through an open delivery door at the far end. In the few places where broken glass or bare metal were able to reflect the light, dust could be seen hanging heavy in the still air. A biodiesel microbus that was ancient before the Judgment chugged uncertainly at the loading dock wafting blue smoke through the building’s interior. Its original camel-snot yellow color was barely visible beneath an atlas of rust.

  Felix gestured to the open rear hatch. “Up you go.”

  Konstantin glanced into the empty cargo bay. Rot had eaten through the flooring in places, exposing the rear of the van to exhaust from the unhealthy engine.

  “I think I will sit up front, thank you.”

  Felix grinned. Naoise glowered. Konstantin climbed into the cargo bay.

  He shuffled around in search of a comfortable position but his attempts were hampered by his chains. Without warning a heavy plastic bag flew through the hatch striking him on the shoulder. Another followed it, and then another.

  “What is this?”

  Felix’s smiling face appeared at the door. He levered another bag onto the ones partially covering the prisoner.

  “It’s camouflage. I think there would be some inconvenient questions asked if we drove through the city gates with a handcuffed Inquisitor in plain view.”

  Konstantin grunted. “Well what are these bags? They’re heavy and wet.”

  Felix winked. “It’s fertilizer.”

  That explained the smell.

  Laughing, the wild haired northerner ducked back from the Inquisitor’s half-hearted kick, allowing Naoise to continue loading the van. Konstantin grouched under his breath as he was buried. It was going to be an unpleasant trip.

  While Konstantin was thinking violent thoughts about the gregarious heathen, Brita came downstairs with the Raven. Konstantin heard her ask about him. Felix just laughed. The bastard. The vehicle began shaking and rattling as people found their seats. He was mildly surprised it did not collapse outright. After Naoise grunted an affirmative to the driver, they lurched out into the city with a grinding rumble. Konstantin tried his best to keep track of the turns they made but the combination of choking motor exhaust and fertilizer fumes were dizzying. He crossed himself with a fingertip, worried that if the trip were too long he might suffer lasting damage.

  A peal of laughter rang out through the van. With the exception of the moving patch of ground he could glimpse through the vehicle’s rotten floorboards, there was nothing to see, but he could still hear everything fine. The laugh was his sister. She was talking with Deirdre. Periodically Felix chimed in. Once he felt more than heard someone speak in a deep bass rumble. That would be Naoise. At times, two more voices drifted back from the front of the van. One was the much abused doorman from the club; the Raven had called him Snorri. He did not recognize the voice of the driver.

  The van travelled on. Sometimes it moved swiftly and smoothly. Other times it sat in stop and go city traffic. These parts were the worst for Konstantin; they allowed his hidden nest to fill with dizzying exhaust fumes. Any time they hit a bump, his head thumped against the rusty steel of the floor or sank deeper into the suffocating weight of fertilizer surrounding him. After a particularly long period of jolting stops and shuddering starts his companions grew silent. They were at the city gates.

  Munich was a border city at the edge of the Church’s realm. To the south lay relatively tame lands, if under populated. To the north were the wilds, a dangerous place of outlaws, predators, and worse. At times, these uncivilized peoples inconsiderately forayed into Church territory, spreading terror and dissension among the domestic populace. A series of Church garrisoned fortifications along the border blunted the worst of these incursions, but surprises had occurred in the past. The more prudent Bishops of the frontier cities did well to fortify against external threats. Munich’s Bishop was a prudent man. The city was surrounded by a well maintained and well guarded concrete wall. Outside the wall, ancient urban sprawl had been bulldozed flat into a no man’s land of razor wire and land mines. Artillery and spotlights probed the barren zone for movement. These emplacements could also aim back into the city. The Church feared those living inside its borders only slightly less than those that remained outside of its control. Konstantin knew that leaving the city would be no easy task without official sanction. He wondered what influence, magical or otherwise, the witch had planned for their escape.

  The van stopped. A voice outside barked an order. The driver shut the motor off. Konstantin controlled his breathing. Now would be an inconvenient time to begin coughing.

  Metal tapped on the window, whether a flashlight or a gun barrel he could not tell from his position.

  “Identifizierungspapiere.”
The gatekeeper sounded tired and bored. Papers were shuffled. The driver spoke.

  “Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. I think I forgot our paperwork back at the depot. I’m supposed to take these conscripted laborers and supplies out to the northern farm communes. If we have to go all the way to the depot, we won’t get back before rush hour traffic, and then the gates will be closed for the night, and then we’ll be a whole day late, and you don’t want to be a whole day late, oh no that would be quite displeasing to his Lordship the Bishop, what with the beetroot and potato harvests coming in. Surely just this once you might allow these humble servants of the faith to continue their good works without a tiny bit of paperwork?”

  “Identifizierungspapiere.”

  “Right. Deirdre, your turn.”

  Konstantin felt his hackles rise. The witch was witching.

  “Identifizierungspapiere.” The man was beginning to get annoyed. Worse yet the sound of crunching gravel meant that more soldiers were surrounding the van.

  The Raven’s voice came soft and silky. “You don’t need to see our identification papers.” A moment of silence.

  “We don’t need to see their identification papers.”

  “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.”

  “These aren’t the droids we’re looking for.”

  These aren’t the droids? What was she talking about? Lord help them all, she was insane. Konstantin could feel the rear seat hitting against his head as Felix shook with poorly contained mirth.

  “We can go about our business.”

  “You can go about your business.”

  “Move along.”

  “Move along.”

  Their driver turned the ignition. Konstantin let out the breath he had been holding. Nothing happened. The Volkswagen’s battery was dead. The driver began swearing eloquently. Felix stopped giggling. The witch spoke again. It sounded to Konstantin like she was now outside of the vehicle, so he supposed she was leaning out of the open window.

  “Excuse me darling, our vehicle appears to be misbehaving. Would you and your men be so kind as to give us a push start? I would be ever so deeply indebted to you.”

  The gatekeeper was only too happy to oblige. “It would be our pleasure to help a respected member of the Church such as yourself milady. Perhaps the next time you speak with his lordship the Bishop, you could spare a kind word for us here at the North Gate?” He and his men began pushing the van ahead at a trot. Working the throttle and the clutch skillfully, the driver was able to bring the machine back to smoky life.

  “Oh I am certain that when the Church hears about how you helped us, you will be heavily rewarded. I can almost guarantee it.” Deirdre sounded as sincere as the Virgin Mary. Konstantin was glad games of chance like poker were verboten; she was one person he would never want to play.

  Ahead of them, the great steel doors of Munich’s North Gate ground open, recessed machine guns tracking the van as it rattled through the unlit passage under the wall. The van huffed and puffed while the gate closed behind them. In the darkness, there was laughter.

  ***

  Inquisitor-Brother Solomon Rex barely slowed his pace at the heavy doors, blasting them open with a lowered shoulder. Striding into the Frauenkirche’s nave, he ignored the hundreds of shocked eyes turned in his direction, instead directing his attention to the robed men standing behind the pulpit. One, dressed in the black and silver of the Inquisitorial order was staring at him like he was a poisonous snake. Solomon bared his teeth in a grin. The man had cause to worry. Without breaking his gaze, the other Inquisitor leant in to whisper to the man reading from the open Bible beside him. Marcus Krueger, Prince Bishop of the Munich diocese straightened from his reading, a superficial smile stretched across his wrinkled face.

  “Inquisitor Rex, I had heard you were in the city. You are most welcome in this house of worship. Please, stand by me as we celebrate the blessed Eucharist.”

  Solomon Rex stopped beside the lectern, candlelight glistening off of his bald scalp and bared chest. The fearsome head of his hammer poked out from his robes where it was slung between his shoulder blades. Whispers broke out behind him. The people here knew what that weapon signified.

  “Forgive me my Lord Bishop, but time is not an ally at the moment. I must speak with you about the fugitive I seek.”

  The old man huffed and puffed for a moment, and then beckoned for the tattooed Inquisitor to follow him. As they walked back through the sanctuary a younger priest stepped up to the Bible and smoothly took over the reading.

  Back in the presbytery, Solomon confronted the local Inquisitor.

  “Frederick Konstantin and his witch sister have been seen in this city, and you have failed to detain them.” He ignored the man’s sputtering arguments. “Your failure has been noted by the Vatican, and you are hereby relieved of your duties in the North. You will return to Rome immediately for review and retraining. His will be done.”

  The man stood still, gasping like a fish until his face turned a mottled purple. Bishop Krueger brought him back into motion with a gentle push. “You have received your orders brother. Be about them.”

  He bobbed a bow. “Yes Lord. His will be done.” Turning he began shuffling woodenly toward the door.

  With a deep breath and a roll of his shoulders, Solomon Rex pulled free his favorite weapon. Without warning, he swung viciously at the departing inquisitor, the impact snapping the man’s neck with an audible crack. The man dropped onto his chest like a sack of jelly. Gruesomely, his head had turned around completely, the remnants of his face staring up at the shocked Bishop Krueger.

  Solomon shrugged at the Bishop’s accusing glare. “He had outlived his usefulness to the Order.”

  He sat comfortably in one of the richly appointed chairs scattered through the room. “Tell me about this boy who claims to have seen Inquisitor Konstantin. Then we will talk about certain…inconsistencies that have been noted in your accounts.”

  ***

  Konstantin felt a hand smack the surface of his hiding place.

  “Wakey wakey sweetheart! You can come out and play now.”

  He growled, and then forced his way up through his pungent camouflage. Sliding over the back of the rear seat, he squirreled into position between Felix and his sister, who were sharing the rear row. That took away the fool’s smirk. Brita was the only one with the grace to not grimace at his strong odor. It served them right for hiding him back there.

  Naoise and Deirdre filled out the middle row, Deirdre sitting side ways across the bench with the back of her head resting on the window and her feet up across Naoise’s lap. Naoise’s mohawk was slowly wilting from brushing against the van’s sagging headliner.

  The front of the van was populated by the bruised doorman, Snorri, riding shotgun, his large hand clasped comfortably with the driver’s on the center console. The driver was unfamiliar to Konstantin, all he could tell from the back of his head and the glimpses of face he could see in the rear view mirror was that he had short brown hair, he was clean shaven, and he had mirrored sunglasses on.

  Konstantin looked out of the window over Brita’s head. They were traveling north on the remains of the ancient A9. This close to the city, it remained a multi-lane roadway used by both the forced labor gangs working the Northern farm communes and Church soldiers on patrol. Half-hearted maintenance had resulted in crude gravel patches over the worst potholes, making for a teeth loosening ride. Further up the road he knew even these efforts were suspended as the protected farm fortresses gave way to new growth forest. This truly was the edge of civilization, for all practical purposes. He leaned closer to his sister’s ear, ignoring Felix’s constant glare.

  “The roadway becomes unusable a few dozen kilometers up, what is the witch’s plan then?” He almost had to yell to make himself heard. The driver had a portable music player next to his seat, and he was not shy with the volume. Konstantin could not understand how everyone seemed to be enjoying the noise; it was just
making his headache worse. Even Brita was tapping her foot rhythmically.

  She turned to him. “Deirdre says that we are meeting some more of her friends, and that they have a way to keep going.” Her brow crinkled with concern. “Freddy, are you alright? You do not look well.”

  He did not bother to answer her, instead leaning his head back against the soft backrest. He doubted she would look happy if she had been stuck breathing exhaust and fertilizer for the past two hours. He had a pounding headache, he was dizzy, and he hadn’t eaten. He contented himself with watching the cultivated countryside through drooping eyelids.

  At the moment they were rolling past a large orchard, the skeletal trees bare and swaying in the cold wind. Pruned branches lay in large piles between the rows, waiting to be collected and burned. Konstantin opened his eyes a little wider. The branches were not quite bare. There were hundreds, possibly thousands of crows sitting in the trees, like ominous black fruit ripening in the setting sun. Not a single bird took wing as the van rattled past; they just stared with their beady eyes and croaked their displeasure. He glanced forward at the witch as she snuggled against Naoise’ thick arm. She didn’t seem to be bothered by the avian harvest growing beside them. Noticing his look, she winked and gave him a grin. He wondered if they were hers. Crossing himself, he muttered a prayer for deliverance. Calmed by the familiar words and the rhythmic chug of the van’s engine he was able to quiet his seething mind. Eventually he slept.

  ***

  Konstantin woke with a violent lurch, only Brita’s quick grab keeping him from breaking his nose on the seatback in front of him. Resituating himself, he looked through the van’s window. Judging from the weak sun he had been asleep for a little over an hour. They were now off of the autobahn, on what must have once been a road, moving through dense forest. Years of neglect had not been kind to the rural route. The asphalt was cracked and pitted, with bushes and sapling trees growing up through the seams. The lurch that had awoken him had been the result of the Volkswagen hitting one of the surprisingly resilient shrubs. Peering into the forest, he could see the remains of buildings, their walls and roofs long ago destroyed by the encroaching wilderness. The forest they were passing through had once been a prosperous town. Little remained.