“Do the best you can.”
“Yes, Matt. Hypermode is now in standby. Matt, I – “
“Ivan, could you be quiet for a while? I need to think. This is kind of, well, overwhelming.”
“I do not understand, but I will comply.”
Then Matt became too upset to hold it in, and he blurted: “This is insane! Remember curing the plague our first night on the planet? People tried to worship me, I wouldn't let them. This guy wants people to worship him. How can he be me?”
“We have discussed how it would be necessary for an immortal being to periodically cull his memories. As memories are foundational to personality, it is possible that he has significantly diverged – “
“And the people in Britan, they had their superstitions but they were happy. These people look miserable. You can tell they're being repressed. I always thought my history teachers were being unfair when they said that no founder of a religion ever believed in his own teachings, that it was all for social control. But now . . . I don't know.”
“Yes, Matt.”
“Anyhow, we'll take the tour and see if it tells us anything about where he is. I'm sure the stories are mostly fiction, but maybe we can find some truth in the crap.”
“Yes, Matt.”
Impatient, Matt let his gaze wander up the steps to the front doorway. A life-sized statue solemnly gazed back. The plaque at its feet read: SAINT STOKER.
“I wonder who he was.”
“Given the appellation 'saint,' he is likely to have been a disciple of the Star Wizard. Also likely, given his placement at the front of the cathedral, he is the leader of the founding church hierarchy.”
Around three o'clock, a young woman dressed smartly with a small round hat embroidered with the word GUIDE removed the rope barrier. The line filed inside. Coins and bills were stuffed into a donations box at the door. Matt wanted to blend in, but also didn't want to support what he knew – more so than anyone else on the planet – was an enterprise of deceit. He compromised by tossing in loose change only.
The inside of the cathedral seemed larger than the outside. The tinted windows, so dark from without, glowed brilliantly when seen from the interior. Pillars of colored sunlight spilled upon the pews and aisles down the length of the main chamber. The illustrated scenes in the stained glass were cartoonish, yet the vibrancy of the colors made them seem alive.
The guide stood straight and held her hands primly, waiting until the tour group gathered and stilled.
“The Cathedral of the Star Wizard,” she said, her words echoing upon the high rafters, “is the largest Church of the Star Wizard in the Attainable World, and likely anywhere in the entire world. The ground upon which it is built is considered sacred, as tradition states it was the last place the Wizard was seen by his followers before ascending to Aereoth over a hundred years ago. The artistic depictions which we find in the cathedral depict the major known events in the life of the Holy Matt, Wizard of Aereoth, and are intended for the uplifting and edification of all believers who make the pilgrimage to the Abbey of Klun. We will now walk through the stations of these depictions, experiencing for ourselves the Wizard's life on Ne'arth.”
She gestured to the first stained glass window on their left. “We start with this portrayal of the Arrival of the Star Wizard, as he emerges from his Celestial Egg – “
Matt surmised the scene represented his clone emerging from his OSV. As the artist had only fourth- and-more-hand accounts to go by, the OSV was portrayed as a winged chariot surrounded by a halo of fire. Instead of climbing out of the vehicle, the Holy Matt was levitating. His expression was serenity bordering on stupor, and his head was encompassed by an aura that made his head seem like it was inside a translucently-gold fishbowl.
I feel uplifted already, Matt thought. Edification, though, seemed to be taking its time.
The group moved to the second window. The Wizard was seated among children who, unlike real children, were sitting still and listening raptly to religious instruction.
“Here we see that wherever the Wizard went, children wanted to be around him so that they might learn of his truth and love. Yet even today, parents restrain their children from coming to the church, out of ignorance and fear.”
And justified concern, Matt thought. His history teachers had warned of how religious leaders would invoke demands of blind faith and absolute obedience to exploit and abuse children. He hoped that was one tradition that hadn't been copied from Earth.
The tour followed the windows on the left, and their guide related the illustrated events.
Window #3: The Wizard is given the great commission by the Lords of Aereoth to reconcile the sinful people of Ne'arth to righteousness.
Window #4: The Wizard arrives on Ne'arth and gathers His disciples, anointing Saint Stoker as the first Archbishop of His Holy Church.
Window #5: To the awe of multitudes, the Wizard performs great works of healing the sick, raising the dead, enabling the blind to see.
Nothing to worship, Matt thought ruefully. It's just molecular medicine.
In forty minutes, the guide's patter took them window-scene by window-scene down the rows to the altar at the end of the great chamber, then back on the other side of windows to the entry. Scenes of healing and teaching gave way to battles against demons and monsters.
The 'Boss Monster' of the Final Battle was a flying cube the size of a house that flailed tentacles and shot lightning bolts. The guide referred to it as 'The Pandor-Beast.'
The final window-scene portrayed the Wizard rising into the sky as his followers devoutly knelt. The guide concluded: “And so the Star Wizard has ascended to rejoin the Lords of Aereoth, yet will come again soon, reborn as the Star Child to right the wrongs of the world and gather the select who believe in him to share in his eternal kingdom. Are there any questions?”
A man timidly raised his hand and asked contritely, “”I've never been able to fully understand the Doctrine of the Holy Duality. The Wizard and the Star Child are two different people, yet the same person. How is that possible?”
The guide smoothly replied, “That question is often asked here. One simply must accept the doctrine on faith, because the reality is beyond human understanding.”
He's my freaking archival clone, Matt thought. How hard was that to understand?
Another hand rose. “What about 'Mentorism?'”
“Church Doctrine regards Mentorism as a heresy.”
“But – “
“I'm sorry, because of the divisiveness of the issue, I cannot comment further.”
Matt pondered: If the Mentors had become official non-persons, they must have resisted the Church. But why would they do that, if they were followers of the Wizard?
Another hand. “What about the so-called 'Accompanying Spirit of Holiness?'”
“Basically,” the guide replied, resuming to the same calm voice as before, “there is the sectarian belief that when the Wizard ascended to Aereoth, he bequeathed the holy power of his Accompanying Spirit, to his chief follower, Saint Stoker. The Accompanying Spirit empowers the 'host' to perform great deeds. While the early Church taught that the Accompanying Spirit was passed exclusively from Archbishop to Archbishop, today all believers may receive the Accompanying Spirit when they accept him in faith.”
“This is not helping,” Matt subvocaled.
“Your blood pressure reading is abnormally high,” Ivan said.
“I'd like to punch my clone in the face. Look how serious these people are! They're not stupid, they're well-intentioned, they're probably good people, but they've been programmed to believe this crap.”
“By 'programmed,' you mean cultural immersion as well as doctrinal instruction during childhood.”
“Isn't there a quote by Voltaire about absurd beliefs?”
“'Those who can make you believe in absurdities can make you commit atrocities.'”
“That's where this is going. If it hasn't gone there already.”
<
br /> The tour group's questions continued, but Ivan intervened: “Matt. My olfactory sensors detect the presence of additional chemical kinetic weapons and dogs on the grounds outside. This combination indicates that a security sweep in progress.”
Matt tried to see through a window. Between the staining and warping of the glass, he saw only blurs. Ivan's image processing was equally unsuccessful.
“Okay, let's act natural. It might just be a routine security patrol.”
He surveyed the interior of the church. Other than the tour group and a girl scrubbing the floor before the altar, it was empty.
“We might be safe in here,” Matt said, “They won't come into the cathedral because it's sacred ground, right?”
“There are numerous historical counterexamples of political violation of church sanctity,” Ivan said. “Archbishop Thomas Beckett was assassinated before the altar of Canterbury Cathedral in Standard Year 1170. During the Battle of Chapultepec, in Standard Year 1847, Captain Ulysses S. Grant placed a howitzer in a church bell tower to – “
“Numerous examples. Got it. We're still in hypermode standby, right?”
“Yes, Matt. However, I must remind you that hypermode standby also depletes hypermode resources. We have approximately twenty more minutes before I must discontinue standby.”
“Ivan, you're displaying the hypermode timer. I can see it. It's floating right there in front of me.”
“Yes, Matt.”
It occurred to Matt that by stating the obvious, Ivan was manifesting the AI-equivalent of nervousness. Then it occurred to him that he was the one who had asked about standby status in the first place, despite the prominence of the hypermode timer in his field of vision.
In the world outside Matt's skull, the guide was providing another canned answer: “– And such creation accounts are meant to be taken metaphorically, as allegorical tales for spiritual uplift. Anyone else with questions? All right. Thank you for visiting. The gift shop is ahead and down the steps.”
The group shuffled into the shop. Matt examined the trinkets, especially a glass globe containing a tiny model of the cathedral. When a tourist picked up the globe and shook it, the tiny cathedral disappeared in a flurry of white flakes, much like the real building would do in a full-scale blizzard.
“Huh,” Matt subvocaled. “What do you think that thing is for?”
“Given the meticulous detail,” Ivan replied, “it is likely to have a practical scientific purpose. Perhaps it is an educational tool for meteorological forecasting of snowfall patterns.”
“I'm guessing it has religious significance. You pray to it or something.”
“Matt. My sensory indications are that the men, weapons, and dogs have taken position outside the gift shop exit at this time.”
“I'm still hoping it's just a routine patrol. But I'm in disguise and you changed my scent, so we should be okay.”
“Yes, Matt. In anticipation of the need for rapid escape from the Abbey grounds, I have mapped a potential escape route from the gift shop exit, over the wall and into the forest. Given the foliage density, I believe it will be possible to easily evade our pursuers.”
“We'll be be all right if we just act natural.”
Matt was impressed with how confident he felt. It was too bad, he thought in the back of his mind, that confidence doesn't alter reality.
He browsed the titles on the book tables: The Holy Chronicles of the Wizard from Aereoth. History of the Holy Church. The Five Spiritual Laws. He paged through, letting Ivan scan while he made sidelong glances at the other members of the group as they drifted outside. When half the group had gone, he followed.
The egress from the gift shop funneled into a stairway that led to a side exit, which led to a garden with high hedges. As Ivan had detected, armed security guards with leashed dogs were waiting outside the door. Matt strode toward the dogs.
Nothing to worry –
The dogs looked at him with alarm and Matt instantly knew he was in trouble. The dogs barked and strained at their leashes and the guards glared and trained their weapons.
Matt shouted, “Hypermode!”
Light and sound and gravity altered. Ivan's IR scan became an augmented-reality overlay and showed warm bodies hiding behind the hedges – more guards, Matt realized. He retreated from the garden, up the steps to the gift shop. He wove among the slow-motion customers, back toward the main chamber.
There his time-distorted vision caused the windows to glow psychedelically upon the empty pews. Security guards blocked the main entrance, with a clear shot at him if he tried to break past. Reacting to his anomalous speed, they were already drawing guns.
“Ivan, how do I get out?”
“The windows appear fragile enough to crash through.”
“No, the crash will alert the guards outside. Maybe there's a maintenance tunnel, or sewers.”
Worked last time, he thought.
He spotted a door near the altar. In flying hops across the length of the aisle he reached it, yanked at the knob. Locked. He looked about frantically. He saw no other doors. Then he again noticed the cleaning girl kneeling in the center of the aisle. She was staring dumbfounded at what would be a blur to her time-sense.
Matt faced her directly. “Ivan, scan for a key.”
“There is a key ring in the left pocket of her apron.”
Matt flew over and started to crouch. He heard a thunderous rumble. Something tiny and black whizzed past his arm. It struck a pew, chipping a cloud of splinters. Matt pushed the girl to cover behind the pews, reached into her apron pocket, extracted the key ring.
He bounded back to the door and twisted the key in the lock, mindful that he was in hypermode and could break the key if he twisted too fast.
The lock throatily clicked. Matt flung open the door. The steps went up, not down. An angry black bee dug a crater in the masonry near his chest. Hesitation vanished, he bounded upward.
“Hypermode reserve at twenty percent,” Ivan announced.
Have to conserve. “Terminate now.”
The world shuddered back to normal light, sound, and gravity. Huffing under normal strength, Matt reached the top of the steps. Another lock, another key on the ring.
The upper door opened to sky and a narrow walkway between the slanting roof and the facade of gargoyle statuary. Fifty meters below, the Abbey sprawled as a maze of buildings, gardens, orchards, and hedges. Above loomed the spire, a needle of white fire pricking the sky.
Keeping his head low, Matt stole along the gallery. He turned the corner, heading rearward along the perimeter of the roof. Midway along the side of the building, he stopped and pulled off his jacket. Surveying the landscaping below, he dropped the jacket over the side. It fluttered into the bushes. He continued rearward.
“Matt,” Ivan said. “I don't understand. Why did you throw away your jacket?”
“You'll see.”
Barking came from where he had dropped the jacket. The dogs clustered around the bushes, yapping furiously. Security guards formed a semi-circle, guns extended in shaking hands.
“You have diverted their attention,” Ivan said. “But how are they attracted to the scent, when I altered your scent?”
“Savora didn't give them a sample of my scent. She gave them a swatch of the clothing she made for us.”
“I cannot alter the scent of your clothing.”
“Yeah, and she knew that. Now, to stop the dogs from tracking me, I've got to change out of the rest of my clothing as soon as possible.”
Matt reached the rear of the cathedral. As he had hoped, at the corner was a drainpipe from gutter to ground. Gripping the pipe, he slithered ground-ward with his remaining reserve of hypermode. The world shuddered back to normal when his shoes touched the lawn, but a few steps later he was past a hedge and onto a narrow pathway, out of sight of the guards and regaining his breath.
“Which way . . . to your . . . escape route?”
“Turn right at the next corner.
However, I anticipated utilizing hypermode to jump from a rooftop to the top of the wall. As hypermode has been depleted for this day, that will no longer be possible.”
“We'll manage. Try to find a rope, a ladder, something. Damn, we've got to warn Prin and Andra too!”
They passed a teenage girl with a pail. Then another teenage girl bearing a basket. Then several more. A lot of teenage girls, Matt thought, for an Abbey operated by men.
“Left at the next corner.” Then: “Matt. I am detecting the scent of your archival clone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, the genome is identical, but there is sufficient epigenomic variation.”
At first he feared that his clone was in pursuit. Matt looked about frantically. The path was deserted.
“Where?”
“The building ahead.”
The one-story building was squat and ugly, with thick stone walls and tiny windows. It didn't strike Matt as the place that the leader of a major religion would sequester himself. Then he saw the bars on the windows, and at once his anger toward his clone was thrown into confusion.
“It's a jail,” he said. “He's not running this place. He's a prisoner.”
Matt stole toward the building, approaching the door.
“I sense that you intend to free him,” Ivan said. “What is your plan?”
“To act drunk and obnoxious.”
Matt knocked on the door. The peephole slot opened and eyes squinted.
“Gawd,” Matt slurred as he swaggered. “You're so ugly!”
With a loud sigh, the slot snapped closed.
Matt pounded on the door. Slurring even more: “Hey, ugly boy! I bet I could take you in a fight!”
“Go away, sir!” came the muffled voice.
Matt pounded repeatedly as he shouted: “Coward! Coward! Ugly coward! Stupid ugly COWWWWW-AAAAARD! No wonder you're stuck in this stupid dead-end job – “
The door swung open with the fury of a spring-loaded mouse trap and the guard glared down and snapped, “Now, look, sir, either go back to your tour group or I'll have to arrest – “
The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2) Page 35
