The Gift

by Bryan M. Litfin

  “Teofil, look at this!”

  Vanita stared out the window with her mouth open. Teo leaned over and peeked out, immediately noticing what had captured Vanita’s attention. A massive temple rose in the distance, equal to if not bigger than the one in the Zone. Its roof was topped by a dome, while a row of columns lined the building’s facade. The carriage turned onto a broad avenue and began to approach the temple head-on. Soon it entered a circular plaza whose colonnades embraced the travelers like a mother gathering her children into her arms. Marble statues of saintly heroes adorned every high place. The driver pulled up next to a colossal stone spike that rose from the center of the plaza. Teo and Vanita alighted from the carriage, marveling at the grand setting.

  A figure wearing a white robe descended the steps in front of the domed building, followed by his retinue. As the man drew near, Teo discerned it was the Overseer. The jagged scar on his forehead wasn’t obscured by any head covering.

  “Welcome, Teofil of Chiveis,” he said. “It has been some time since I saw you last, though I did not believe it would be our last meeting.” He bowed, then turned to Vanita. “And we welcome you too, Lady Vanita of Ulmbartia. I am called Ambrosius, and I am glad you have come.” Vanita returned the bow with an aristocratic curtsy.

  “Follow me,” said the Overseer. “We must speak of weighty things.”

  Teo hesitated. “Should we appear out in the open like this? I’m a man with enemies. I don’t want to endanger you or your followers.”

  “Thank you for your concern, my friend, but the Christiani have legitimate legal standing within these grounds. Besides, I think neither you nor I could be hated more than we already are by the enemies of Deus. So then . . . shall we go sit in the shade?”

  Teo and Vanita were led to chairs arranged at the side of the plaza beneath the colonnade. The view of the temple was magnificent. After wine was brought, the assistants left the threesome alone. The Overseer gestured over his shoulder at the great building. “This place was even more impressive in the time of the Ancients. Much of the original complex was destroyed during their wars, though the combatants made a pact to protect the basilica itself, along with its chapel. Now it has come down to us. Today the Universal Communion is the guardian of a beautiful shell.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, the shell no longer houses the living creature that used to dwell within.”

  “And yet I believe that life could be restored,” Teo said.

  The Overseer glanced at him, taking his measure. “Yes, it can, if Deus wills it.” He sipped his wine. “The Christiani are few in number. Those of us who exist do not remember everything our forefathers knew, yet we do what we can. We maintain our buildings, we partake of the Meal, we perform the Washing. We also serve the poor—that much we know Deus would have us do! The Pierced One loved the poor and sided with the oppressed. All were welcomed by him: the broken, the needy, the repentant sinner. These are the memories we have retained.”

  Vanita spoke up for the first time, though her words were tentative. “I know I’m not worthy to converse with a holy man like you,” she said, “but I wonder if I could ask you something?”

  The Overseer smiled. “The humble heart is welcome here. Please feel free to speak, Lady Vanita.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Vanita answered demurely. “From what Teofil has told me, it sounds like most of your religion is still a mystery. Why do you hold to it when you don’t know all its doctrines? And why do you keep going, especially when you’re so persecuted?”

  The Overseer folded his hands into his sleeves and was lost in thought for a long time. Finally he looked directly at Vanita. “To answer that question I must tell you the history of our faith.” He took a deep breath. “In the time of the Great War of the Ancients, our religion was almost eradicated. The chaos of those days makes it a dark age for us, and we know little of what happened then. What we do know is that Christianism took root again more recently. It grew and prospered until” —the Overseer glanced around, then leaned in—“until forty years ago, when Nikolo Borja came to power. He was only a young man in those days, but even then he was cruel. At his command a great holocaust occurred. The Christiani were wiped out by a secret society of assassins.”

  “The Exterminati,” Teo said.

  “Yes. Now they’re into the slave trade, but their original purpose was to eradicate the Universal Communion in every land. They did so with vehemence, butchering the faithful. Our books were also collected and destroyed.”

  “Did no one try to stop them?” Vanita asked.

  “The Christiani leadership founded the Order of the Cross, a brotherhood of knights sworn to defend the true faith. Despite their valiant efforts, evil was allowed to prevail, and the knights were killed along with all the rest. In the end no Christiani survived except one man. Such is the tenuous thread by which our faith has clung to life. And yet, my friends, the thread was not broken! Deus preserved our religion.”

  “So why are you allowed to exist now?” Teo asked. “Why hasn’t Borja killed you like he killed the others?”

  The Overseer narrowed his eyes. “Borja hates our faith, and he hates our God. He will do everything he can to thwart us through treachery and assassinations. If he had the chance to destroy us openly, he would. It is only the goodwill of the people that allows us to exist.”

  “The people of Roma support the Christiani?”

  “Not really. But as it turns out, they want this grand old building used for its original purpose. They view it like a museum artifact: the vestige of a glorious past they aren’t prepared to discard just yet. So when the Christiani began to come back after the purge, Borja was forced to sign a treaty that gave us the legal right to maintain this property as long as we don’t proselytize. But there’s the heart of the problem. We follow the one true God, so we have to win others to him. Therefore we must do our work in secrecy.”

  “Does Borja know a lone survivor slipped through his fingers?”

  “No. He has no idea how the Universal Communion reconstituted itself. He would be surprised to know it was through the tireless efforts of one man.”

  A light went on in Teo’s head. “The Papa!” The revered leader’s importance to the Christiani faith suddenly made sense.

  “That’s right, Teofil. The Papa was just a boy during the purge. Much of what we know today we know because of his memories. As he grew up, he vowed to reestablish the religion of Christianism. Every known believer in Roma owes his faith to the testimony of this one man. He kept the message alive, and through him it spread from person to person.”

  “But what is the message?” Vanita held out her palms, her face perplexed. “I still don’t get it! What’s the point of it all?”

  “The message, Lady Vanita, is that we are to love the Creator God with full devotion and to love the creatures he has made.”

  “So that’s the sum total of Christianism? Love Deus and do good to your fellow man?”

  “We believe this is indeed our goal. But remember, we only have partial knowledge. The means to the goal has been forgotten.”

  “How do you function then?” Vanita pressed.

  “We live according to what we do know, trusting in Deus even when the way ahead is unseen. That is the essence of faith, is it not? Deus has preserved this religion until now. Will he fail us in the future? I do not think so.”

  “And you don’t mind all this waiting? All the unknown?”

  The Overseer stroked his scarred forehead. “It’s true that we don’t know all the doctrines of our faith. Yet Deus has given us some gifts. We possess his Old Testament, which describes his holy character. We have the Papa’s recollection of the rituals of our faith. We remember the Pierced One’s virtuous life—an example for us to follow. We also know there was a glorious king whose power is superior to that of any other. But what is the nature of that power? How can we use it? This we do not know. We believe there must be a way to wield it, if we can only recover the New Testament and learn the ki
ng’s ways. With that power behind us we will march forth against the enslavers and defeat them!”

  The Overseer’s voice grew bold, and his blue eyes blazed as he spoke these final words. Vanita leaned forward, riveted by the man’s holy aura. Teo could see she was drawn to his profundity and spiritual power. This was a man of Deu if ever there was one.

  “I think I understand now,” Vanita said. “You believe in the character of Deus himself. He gives you purpose and hope, even when things look bad.”

  The Overseer leaned back into his chair, laughing gently. “You are indeed wise for one so young, Lady Vanita. Though profound evil exists in our world, we refuse to behave as those who are defeated. Even if our eyes tell us otherwise, we believe our benevolent God is guiding all things. As a matter of fact, we believe he is on the move right now in these momentous times—and that he might somehow use the man sitting at your side.”

  Teo glanced up from his wine, startled by the remark. The Overseer and Vanita looked at him. Behind them the domed temple of Deus loomed in the Roman sky.

  “Tell me, Teofil,” the Overseer said, fixing him with an intense stare, “are you ready to meet the Papa?”

  Teo returned the Overseer’s gaze. “Yes. That is why I have come.”

  “Then meet him you must. Let us go now and see the great man.”

  The Iron Shield gazed out from a window over the wide city of Roma. He stood in an attic atop the fortresslike chapel next to the Christiani basilica. The smaller structure had obviously been built with military purposes in mind, for its roof was surrounded by a gangway with openings for defense. Today, however, the followers of the damnable god Deus used the chapel only for secret meetings with their leader.

  Down in the circular plaza, the Overseer of the Forbidden Zone conversed under a colonnade with Teofil of Chiveis and an unknown woman. The Iron Shield uttered a curse as he observed the scene. Although the Ulmbartian teacher named Sol had been sent to the quarries, and Anastasia had met her end in the oubliette, the tall soldier from over the northern mountains was proving to be a worthy foe. The thought of crushing Teofil’s bones one by one aroused the Iron Shield’s lust for revenge, but he suppressed that urge, for the Lord Borja wanted information above all else. Vital events were starting to unfold in the Christiani temple complex, events whose secrets could only be gleaned by espionage. Once the Iron Shield had watched and learned all that he could, he would return to a more satisfying method of extracting information.

  Staring at the basilica, the dark warrior was reminded of the many nights he had spent exploring its rooftops. The basilica hadn’t been difficult to climb, for ladders constantly rested against it and its adjacent chapel. The maintenance of these ancient edifices was an ongoing task, so permanent teams of stonemasons and bricklayers lived in the surrounding neighborhoods. The Iron Shield scoffed as he considered how the workers were pampered by the so-called charity of the Christiani. What a foolish way to ensure compliance! In his experience, the carrot was always inferior to the stick.

  The ladders and scaffolding had allowed the Iron Shield to explore the basilica under cover of darkness. On moonless nights he crept around the rooftops, taking risks that would have made mortal men tremble. But we are not mortal, are we? No! We are many! The Iron Shield felt power coursing through his body as he recalled his dangerous nighttime exploits. Eventually he had found the way into the chapel through its attic. The discovery was particularly important, for it was here that the accursed Papa held court with his henchmen. Now it was time to make use of that discovery.

  The dark warrior removed his armor until he was wearing only a fitted tunic and trousers. He tied off a rope and dropped it out a window where it wouldn’t be in view of anyone below. Descending the rope, he arrived at a window recessed into an arch. He knelt on the broad sill. A suction cup enabled him to lift out a glass panel he had previously cut. After listening for voices and hearing none, he slithered through the opening into the dimly lit hall.

  The chapel was fantastically decorated, though many of the frescoes were now faded and hard to see. The rear wall was dominated by a mythic scene of naked people set against a blue background. The primary figure was a glowing young man with his arm raised. A veiled woman sat demurely at his side. At the bottom of the painting, hideous demons dragged a host of unfortunates down to the underworld. Even the ceiling in this chapel was covered in art. The central panel depicted an old man extending his finger toward that of a naked youth. The whole place sickened the Iron Shield. It resonated with a narrative he did not want to believe—but he did, and it made him shudder.

  The windows of the chapel were set high above the floor. Beneath the windows a narrow catwalk ran along three sides of the room. Repairs were being made, so a scaffold obscured the place where the Iron Shield had entered. He lay down on the catwalk and began to meditate. Soon the spirits within him slowed his breathing and lulled his body into a trance. He could remain like that for a very long time—silent, pressed flat, invisible to anyone below. Only when the Christiani archpriest resumed his court would the Iron Shield awaken to listen; and then he would hear whatever there was to know about Teofil’s presence in the city of Roma.

  The rain fell on Ana, soaking her sackcloth shift, drenching her to the skin. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, and water ran in rivulets down her cheeks. She shivered each time the wind gusted. The sky was gray and mottled as the squall passed through.

  Limping to the beach on her bruised foot, Ana searched the ground until she found what she sought: the key Drake had smashed with his club. Its shaft was bent, and the teeth were mangled. Though she assumed it would be pointless, Ana inserted the key into the padlock that fastened the ball and chain around her ankle. The damaged key failed to engage, and Ana pitched it away in frustration. Grabbing a rock, she pounded the links that bound her to the accursed encumbrance but only succeeded in sending stone chips flying in every direction. She kept at her task until the rock finally shattered in her hand.

  It was all too much. Ana collapsed on the ground, exhausted not only from the effort but from the trauma she had endured over the past several weeks. Her foot throbbed where Drake had bitten it. Rain pattered on her back and shoulders, but Ana ignored it as she fell into a doze that was more like a stupor.

  Time passed. The rain slowed, then stopped. Even so, Ana couldn’t climb out of her lethargy.

  What was that?

  Something rustled in the bushes!

  Ana raised her head, dimly aware that mud was dripping from her hair but much more concerned about the sound she had just heard. Did one of the pirates remain behind? Alert now, Ana trembled at the thought of those lewd men. The squall had driven them away without their slave—but perhaps they had returned?

  Ana, how could you have been so careless? Quick! You have to hide!

  Unsure where to go, Ana made her way into the forest. She was near the ancient monastery and castle, but hiding in the woods seemed like the best option. Her eyes scanned the underbrush for any sign of an enemy. At last she convinced herself her mind was playing tricks on her. Relaxing her guard for a moment, she was unprepared for the man’s voice that spoke behind her.

  “Hello,” he said thickly.

  Ana’s only reply was a scream, which the speaker repeated with an equally startled yell. She whirled to see the giant man who had given her bread and wine. The look on his face was fearful, and Ana regretted her response.

  “Uh . . . hello,” she ventured. “I’m sorry for screaming. I won’t hurt you.”

  The man stared at her as if trying to assess the truthfulness of her words—or perhaps to understand them. He was clearly a simpleton.

  “What’s your name?” Ana asked. The man pointed to himself. Ana nodded with a bright smile.

  The man smiled back. “I’m Liber.”

  “Hi, Liber. I’m Anastasia.”

  He tried to sound out her name but couldn’t get it right. “Stasia!” he cried at last. Both of them laug
hed.

  “What’s that?” He pointed to her chain.

  “Drake put it on me. I can’t get it off.”

  “I don’t like Drake.”

  Liber picked up a heavy rock. Obviously he had been watching Ana’s actions from the forest. She turned away as Liber smashed the chunk of limestone against the chain. It vibrated against her ankle but didn’t break. Liber tried several more times, then gave up with a frown. He moved off a short distance and began to mumble meaningless syllables. Ana wasn’t sure how to comfort the heavyset man in his disappointment.

  “Liber, are you hungry?” she asked at length. He turned toward her, nodding emphatically. “What do you say we eat some of Drake’s food?”

  Liber’s eyes went wide, and he began to wave his hands. “No! No! No!” he groaned as he backed away. “Drake hurts me!”

  Ana approached Liber and put her hand on his arm. “Drake can’t hurt you anymore. He’s—he’s gone.”

  Liber looked skeptical.

  “Come on,” Ana said. “Trust me. I’ll give you something to eat.”

  She bent to pick up her stone ball, but Liber reached for it first. Their eyes met, and Liber offered a shy smile. He walked behind Ana to the monastery, carrying her burden as if it were a pebble. When she paused at a barrel of drinking water to rinse her bite wound, Liber reached into his bag and handed her a gourd bottle. Ana removed the cork and sniffed the opening. Honey! She applied a golden droplet to the broken skin on her foot, then glanced up at Liber. He beamed back at her.

  With Drake dead, Ana had no qualms about raiding the pirates’ stores. Tonight, she resolved, Liber and I are going to celebrate with a feast. She gathered the ingredients to make a stew of salt pork, beans, onions, and peas. At first she considered doubling the recipe, then decided to triple it after taking another look at Liber’s large frame. The two of them devoured the hearty stew, leaving nothing behind in the pot. A skin of red wine, liberally consumed, gladdened their hearts as well. Dessert was ship’s biscuit dipped in amaretto and slathered with honey from Liber’s beehives.