Tree of Life

by Sarah Joy Green-Hart

  “Al, where do you want these papers?”

  Alan’s face lit up. "Oh, welcome back to earth! I’ll take that.” He snatched the papers from Cole’s hands. “Goodness, that’s an old letter! I had to rewrite it. Lost it in my chaos.” He shook with a belly laugh. “Repulsive, isn’t it?”

  Cole smiled and shook his head. "What kind of cases do you get around here?”

  Alan sat in a ratty swiveling chair and propped his feet on the desk. "Eh, a smattering of slip-and-falls, private nuisances.” The neat stack of papers splayed out when he tossed them onto the desk. “You know, the stuff that would be a waste of my mind if they didn’t pay me exorbitant fees. Not enough of it these days! My glasses are getting pretty old ‘cause I haven’t been able to afford new ones in a while. Eh, priorities. I can afford books, brandy, and baklava!”

  "Have you ever appealed to the Book of Light?”

  Alan’s eyes widened with surprise and a bit of humor. "Hm, no. I can’t say I have. Since the Kyrios claim they have it, if I were—hypothetically, you understand—to appeal to it, they’d have to ship it across the country, accompanied by a Glorious One to read it for us. Fascinating that you would dare even think of such a thing. You’re quite a person.”

  "Do you know much about it?”

  "Oh, a bit.” Alan scrunched his face.

  Time to hold off. No sense in making the old man nervous. Cole directed his attention to a stack of books in need of sorting.

  "Cole, are you very interested in the Book of Light?”

  "Why?”

  "The speed of your work has increased exponentially since broaching the subject. Seems it’s excited you. No one in law circles has brought it up to me before except to recite the blather about it being the ‘skeleton of Law.’ Did your alma mater teach its contents or about the application in a courtroom setting?”

  "I went to several schools. None of them did.”

  Alan clasped his hands together and rested them in front of him. "It’s dangerous stuff. Why do you want to find out about it? What has made it relevant to you?”

  "Curiosity,” Cole said. "I once appealed to the Book of Light with the hope that it would fight against an unjust verdict.”

  Alan said nothing and stared into the floor for several minutes. Cole pretended not to notice, but if the old fellow had more to say . . . No. This required proper pacing and wisdom, not passionate persistence.

  Finally, Alan spoke. "Brock, m’boy. How much can I trust you?”

  "Why? What do you know?”

  "How much can I trust you?”

  What on earth was the man looking for? Alan possessed so much unknowable knowledge as it was, what was he convinced he understood about the Book of Light? Might be worth finding out. Might be a bunch of nonsense, too.

  "Completely. You can trust me completely.”

  "I believe you,” Alan declared. "I trust my instincts. I fancy myself a good judge of character, and I have, thus far, been wrong only once or twice to my knowledge. I trust myself, and so I trust you.” He fiddled with a box of paper clips, cleared his throat, set the paper clips down with a decisive air, and fixed his eyes on Cole. "According to my studies, the Book of Light has been hidden and possibly destroyed. The Kyrios saw it as a challenge and, well, they erased it, metaphorically speaking.”

  "What are your sources? How do you know this?”

  "My father told me things. It’s been passed along.” Alan swished the list of sources around the air with his hand.

  His sources may have been dubious, but Cole wasn’t foolish enough to dismiss things just because they weren’t written down. "It doesn’t exist anymore?”

  "Well, now, I didn’t say that exactly, did I?”

  "What do you mean?”

  "Hm.” Alan flicked at the tip of his nose with his forefinger, studying Cole. "I think we’ll talk about this another time. You know the saying, ‘If you play with the death-light you might find the afterlife sooner than you’d hoped?’” Alan waggled his eyebrows. "You get too tangled with the Book of Light, and you’re liable to run into the Kyrios and a host of other dangerous people. That’s a fearful thing. A fearful thing. Even talking about it can be dangerous.” A shrewd smile made his face shine. "But I will say that I believe the Book of Light is a powerful force. A holy, mystical relic, perhaps, but it has healed broken hearts and bodies and stirred up dying embers in the soul.” He thumped his chest.

  "The Kyrios stole the idea and abused it. Over the years, they made it into something it was not and hid it behind a curtain. In time, people came to believe that it had always been that way and that the power now rested in the hands of the Glorious Ones—as if the Glorious Ones could let anything rest. They’re always squeezing power like a bear trap.” Alan clenched his fist and clamped his mouth shut.

  Relaxing, he clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Not another word on it. I say I’m done, but I keep going. Terrible habit of mine. I’m a butter-finger with loose lips. I have no fear of death and no fear of the Kyrios for myself. But for you? I don’t want you to get hurt, son.”

  He picked up his stapler and held it to his mouth. "I know you’re listening, Kyrios!”

  * * *

  Cole followed the sound of the shower and leaned on the bathroom’s doorjamb, loosening his tie. "I’ve acquired interesting information today. If it’s true, that is.”

  Hesper called out from the shower, "Oh, hello! What did you learn?”

  "Alan claims to know about the Book of Light.”

  "What? How?”

  "Strange, isn’t it? Seems planned.”

  "By whom?”

  "That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  Thirty | Post-Conquest: 232

  He was alive? It had to be a miracle. If not, the afterlife hurt an awful lot. David groaned. When Ariana joined in the fight, he was done for. Two against one was lame and cowardly, but effective.

  David’s right eye wouldn’t open. He opened his left eye to see white walls and a tin ceiling. The infirmary. The fact that they didn’t put him in jail stood as a victory. It meant they liked him.

  Despite a corkscrew headache, an aching gut, and sore ribs tossed in for fun, he managed to sit up on the hard cot and push through the pain to put his feet on the floor. His toes shrieked at him. Some, if not all, must’ve been broken. He probed his teeth with his tongue.

  They were all there. "Thank God.” If he lost teeth, he’d lose the will to live. Anything but the teeth.

  As a Meros soldier, he had endured the most rigorous, oftentimes cruel, military training in the world, or so he was told. Pain was a small inconvenience. Right? Right. He attempted to stand, but the throbbing foot nauseated him, and he lowered himself back to the cot.

  "Hello?” A sharp sting scolded his lip. Dry and hoarse, he barely recognized his own voice.

  The doors opened at the far end of the infirmary as Vincent stepped inside and strode past row upon row of white cots to sit across from David. He stared at the floor, a triangle of thumbs and fingers hanging between his knees. With a sigh, he lifted his eyes. "I’m here to make a deal with you.”

  David tried to keep his lips stiff to avoid offending the wound. "What deal? You’ve got me. You cheated—two against one—but you’ve got me.”

  "We need you, David.”

  "You mean that you don’t want Cole. You’ll keep me alive because you don’t want Cole joining the Kyrios.”

  "Your private convictions are disconnected from your work. We need that.”

  "You want me because I’ll roll over and take it. Cole won’t. You’ve never liked him, even though he’s twice the man I am and is the most pious person I know. Why?”

  "He’s not Kyrios material. He has the blood, but not the goods.”

  "What are the goods? A weak mind? An unwavering loyalty to you?”

  Vincent stood. "Here’s my deal. You can take it or leave it. You tell no one about what’s happened, and I’ll spare your life. You’ll spare your brother in
the process as well. This would set him off like a match.” He pointed at David. "And so would we.” Their eyes connected. David understood.

  "If. . . if I agree to keep my mouth shut, how would you ensure I’m keeping my end of the bargain?”

  "Oh, I’m not worried about it. You will. If you think about it long enough, you will.”

  "Fine.”

  "I’m sorry. What’s fine?” Vincent turned his ear to David. "Your grumble is hardly audible.”

  "Fine to your B.S. Fine to your—just fine. I agree to keep your secret in exchange for my life and my brother’s. Are you satisfied?”

  Vincent glanced toward the ceiling as if in thought, then he dropped his gaze to David. "Getting there. Cole would thank you if he knew about this, David. I’m certain his life and his wife are more valuable than the information. Let Cole hang himself if he wants to, but at least you won’t be his executioner.”

  Hesper? Hesper. What would they do to Hesper?

  "And his wife,” David said. "I keep silent for his wife’s life and safety, too, or no deal. I’ll fight you ‘til you kill me.”

  Vincent laughed. "I have no interest in killing innocents. I'm interested in maintaining peace so that the Kyrios can focus on what’s necessary for the health of our nation. Truly.” He reseated himself, his eyes intent on David’s throbbing face. “Listen to me, I know things you don’t know. Things you’ll never know and don’t need to. Glorious Ones bear the burden of a truth that requires secrecy. I have nothing against you or Hesper or Cole. Cole impresses me, honestly. He’s courageous and sharp and I have always thought well of you two.

  “Not everyone is meant to be led or accept authority blindly. I understand that.” He smiled. “However, we cannot just smile and nod at your antics. We have to protect the weaker minds from people like you and Cole because they would destroy themselves and our nation by following your example, thinking they’re wise.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Vince, but all I can hear-hear is that you’re a guy who claims not to want to kill innocents and hopes to protect weaker minds, but you have no qualm with destroying minds and hearts in your bedroom and courtroom.”

  Eyeing David with a slight smirk and a puff of laughter through his nose, Vincent licked his lower lip and said, “That’s what you think I do? Angry housewives tell you their side of things, and you just . . . believe them?”

  This conversation wouldn’t be worth it. “Maybe I’m a weak mind after all.”

  The infirmary walls echoed with Vincent’s genuine laughter. “You’re not weak-minded. That’s not what it is. You’ve got a big heart and strong intuition—not unlike a dog. That’s all a part of the mind.” He slapped David’s knee. “Well, David, I’m glad we’ve spoken. I suggest you claim you went into the city for a few drinks and got caught up in a fight like the good old days. I’ll send Dr. Kratz to bring something for your pain.”

  David went home to rest, allowing only Lorelei to enter his room with food and drink while he sat at his desk, staring into the grain of the wood for hours, thinking.

  He should be with Tom. Poor Tom. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

  In moments such as these, his wine cellar beckoned, but he had a strange desire to be sober.

  Aloneness tortured him, but Dulce would be little comfort for this.

  Anise, please, come out of that room.

  * * *

  Early on the second day of work, Cole accepted Alan’s offer of a thin slice of cassata and a cup of chicory tea. Alan leaned against his desk in his conversational pose, nursing a mug in his hands. "So, Brock, tell me about yourself.”

  "Well, that’s a vague question I’ve never been good at answering.” He took a gulp of his tea and sat back, his ankle across his knee.

  "Okay.” Alan thought for a moment. "Where do you come from?”

  "Born and raised in Section One.”

  "Which gate?”

  "Cove Gate.”

  The base, really, but he sure couldn’t tell him he was raised on the base. The situation was risky enough.

  Alan gave a devilish grunty laugh. "Oh, dear, Cove Gate. That explains things. You’re right in there with the Kyrios. How do you feel about them?”

  "Explains things? What things?”

  "I can smell religiosity and strict upbringing from a mile away, son. So, how do you feel about them?” He picked at his nose and flicked something off his finger.

  "The Kyrios?”

  "The Kyrios,” he repeated.

  "I have no problem with the Kyrios, per se.”

  Alan sniggered, rubbing his belly. "Ah, I see. You appreciate the positions and loathe the persons.”

  "I didn’t say—”

  "HA! M’boy, you say plenty you don’t mean to say. It’s written all over your face!”

  Cole’s lips cracked with a false smile as he forked the last of the cassata into his mouth. It unsettled him to be read and interpreted by someone he didn’t realize was capable of doing so. Now that he recognized the old man’s sharp observational skills—or dumb luck—he’d have to be more careful.

  Alan grew serious. “Heard any word on whether the Kyrios are dispatching a purging crew to Pomo Gate?”

  There had to be a hefty leak in the Bastion for him to catch wind of that.

  "No. No word of a purging crew. The Kyrios usually keep their affairs private. Do they have a reason to send one?”

  "Ah! I heard a rumor of reports to the Kyrios that Pomo Gate allows illicit births.” Alan flicked at his ear and the tip of his nose before he settled his gaze on Cole.

  Cole straightened up, rubbing the spine of the book he held. "Mongrels?”

  "Yes, mongrels, as you say. I prefer to think of them as illicit. That’s all they really are. Humanity supersedes the laws we create to demean it.”

  "Interesting perspective for a lawyer, Alan.”

  "Ha! Naw, m’boy. Not entirely.” Alan blew his nose with a handkerchief. "Normal lawyers—not those vacuous lickspittles of the Kyrios—often have a fairly decent grasp on legal versus moral. Unfortunately, vacuous lickspittles are now the ones teaching the up-and-coming lawyers. The daddy of them all being that honored Senior Officer Cole Chandler fellow.” He pointed at Cole. "Born and bred in a Kyrios test tube, living on privilege and maybe a prayer. I went to hear him speak at Sacred Gate University a few years ago. Seems quite bright, knows his stuff, but a coward with strong opinions he won’t share. Just toeing the Kyrios line. I smelled it all over him, even from the back.”

  Must have sat w-a-a-a-a-y in the back. Cole pushed down a laugh.

  "I suspect he’s religious,” Alan said. "But that’s beside the point. What it comes down to is . . . I’m wondering, son, if you are for God or the Kyrios?”

  "I’m not going to report anything, if that’s what you mean, sir.”

  Alan glanced at his wristwatch. "Well, goodness me, look at the time! I’d say we’ve worked ourselves silly. How about a break?”

  Despite having done next to nothing, the men lounged in comfortable chairs and discussed frivolous things unrelated to mongrels, the Kyrios, or books of any sort. For the remainder of the day, they discussed women, the wonderful world of salmon, and how potatoes grow. Whenever Cole tried to work, Alan distracted him, preferring conversation over having an organized office. So, they talked and twiddled.

  Near closing time, Alan let out a great sigh. "Business is down. It’s so down. It’s that lawyer—good for nothing—he’s ruined my reputation.”

  "How?”

  "He spreads rumors. He’s just a . . .” Alan shook his fist and clenched his teeth.

  "Alan”—Cole smiled and propped his feet on the half-cleared book table—"What else do you do with your life?”

  Alan jerked his head backward. "What do you mean? I’m a lawyer.”

  "It’s not busy here. You said it yourself. You’ve got to have a hobby or something you enjoy. You obviously like books, and not all these books here are about law. What is it? Sk
ydiving? Mongrel rights activism? Vigilante crime fighting?”

  Playfulness glittered in Alan’s eyes. "I’m a vigilante crime fighter.” Hands in the air, he surrendered. "You’ve caught me. My secret identity is out. With this body and these skills, it’s hard to hide.” With a grand rub, he presented his poochy paunch.

  Cole laughed. A serious answer would be nice, but a friendly relationship was more important. As outspoken as Alan was, he had a secret. Clearly, he wanted to be found out, but it would take time and trust.

  As the shadows shifted and the light in the house grew more golden than white, Alan’s tales of university exploits lurched to a halt an hour before closing, when Cole’s insides struck a match and lit a fire inside of him. The burning radiated through his chest cavity and into his throat.

  Alan stopped talking, sat up straight, and looked around as if he heard something. He studied Cole, almost suspicious, but gave it up to look toward the door a moment before it opened.

  "Hello?” The strong male voice rode low over a gravel road.

  An intimidating figure clomped around the corner in old, dirty boots. His knees showed through the holes in his faded jeans, and a black spiral tattoo wrapped around his left arm from somewhere under his shirt down to his wrist, where a leather glove hid the rest. It appeared he had torn his shirt’s sleeves off to tie them around his right bicep. A standard military knife hung off his belt.

  When the young man saw them looking him over, he slid his backpack off and set it at his feet as he pushed a smile to his lips.

  Cole rose to get a glass of water to cool down the burning in his chest.

  Alan stood, his hands resting on his belly. "May I help you?”

  "Um. I hope so.” The strange man’s eyes dodged about as he blew out a few small laughs and dragged his fingers through his black hair. "I heard you give folks a place to stay sometimes.”

  "Certainly, son.” Alan coughed and clutched his chest.