The Conqueror Worm

by Ambrose Ibsen

  Brushing off his cassock, Ossian stepped towards the door. “I came by to check on you one more time, however I seem to recall that you didn't want me here. Sorry to have intruded like this. I'll be going now. I gather you can take care of yourself from here on out, yes?” He pulled open the door and stepped out into the moonlight.

  “W-wait!” cried the boy. “I'm sorry, I... I don't want you to leave.” Rushing through the door, he took hold of the priest's sleeve and met him with a teary gaze. “Stay. Please. I... I don't want to be here alone, sir. Not with something like that on the loose.”

  Ossian smiled and gave the youth's shoulder a squeeze. “I'm happy to hear it, lad. What say we get a fire going? It's going to be a long night.”

  5

  The base rules were rather straightforward. “Don't let the fire go out, and whatever you do, don't open the door for anyone but me.” When he'd gotten that out of the way, the priest had a seat in the old rocker and took to massaging his bruised ankle. From his satchel he picked out a crust of bread, which drew the youth's eye immediately, like a magnet. “I don't suppose you're hungry, are you?”

  He couldn't hide it. Cesare took a step forward, his hand rising towards the offered ration and his eyes springing wide. “Y-you have more? More food?”

  Nodding, the priest handed over the bread, watching as the youth collapsed onto floor and began digging in. He gnawed at the bread like he'd never eaten, and didn't stop even as his dry mouth prevented him from easily swallowing it. Nearly choking, the priest handed him a cup of boiled water, which he drained in a few gulps.

  “You've got a strong appetite,” mused Ossian. “A good sign. I suspect that your condition is related mainly to malnutrition. A starvation response, if you will. I think, too, that you might have picked up a parasite from poorly-prepared water. Rest and proper nutrition should help you pass it.” He produced a small glass vial filled with greenish liquid. “I administered a couple doses of herbal tincture while you slept last night. Basic antibacterials like oil of oregano are in this mix, and should help you to overcome any pathogens.”

  The boy continued to eat guardedly, keeping one eye on the priest at all times. “Oh, yeah?” he said around a mouthful of bread. “Why'd you bother to take care of me? And why'd you come back?”

  The priest chuckled and drew a few steps closer, reaching out to feel the youth's brow. “In my line of work, caring for the sick is routine. Easing suffering is in my job description. And as to why I came back, well, I just had a feeling. It was like the Lord whispering in my ear.” When Cesare didn't immediately pull away, Father McGregor took a few moments to study his features. His eyes appeared clearer, more focused than they had previously been, and the slight swelling in his cervical lymph nodes had gone down. No signs of fever, either.

  Finishing up the bread and looking askance at the leather satchel in the hope of seconds, Cesare crossed his legs. “So... what are you even doing here? You're, like... a priest, aren't you? Shouldn't you be in church or something? There's nobody in this village anymore, and our church is empty. Why did you show up yesterday? And what kind of priest carries a sword like that, anyway?”

  “My,” replied Ossian, “so many questions.” Helping himself to a small chunk of bread, he tore off another portion for the boy before answering. “I was just passing through, to be honest. I met your mother outside and came in looking for refuge from the cold and darkness. My superiors in Rome have sent me on a mission, and I guess that your town just happened to pop up along the way. As for the sword, well... it keeps me safe on the road.”

  “Huh,” said the youth, digging into his bread so fast he almost forgot to breathe. “And what's your name?”

  “I'm Father McGregor,” repeated the priest.

  “No, no. Your name name. What is it?”

  The priest smiled. “It's Ossian.”

  “Oss-ean? That's a weird one. I've never heard a name like that one before. My name is Cesare; it's a pretty common name. Before, I knew two other kids in the village with my name. I've never met an Oss-ean before, though. What kinda name is that?”

  “A family name, as it happens. My ancestors came from Ireland.” The priest took a sip of water and worked thoughtfully over his bread. It'd gone slightly stale, but he savored it nonetheless.

  “And what kind of mission are you on, Oss-ean? Is it a secret mission?” Cesare arched a raven brow. “You know, I used to really like this show about spies. I watched it on TV. The spy in it was a government agent who flew all over the globe, thwarting assassinations and stuff. It was called... uh...” He frowned. “I don't remember anymore. I guess it's been a long, long time since I've been able to watch TV.” Chewing in silence for a time, he gulped down the remainder of his bread and leaned forward. “Do you think we'll have TV shows again one day? Or lights?”

  Ossian shrugged. “I can't say for sure. The world was dealt quite a blow. Our over-reliance on technology was our undoing.”

  “My father used to say that the government didn't do enough to protect us; that they should have seen it coming. My mother, though, she always talked about how it was God's fault. You're a priest, so you talk to God a lot, don't you?” asked the boy.

  “That's right. I talk to Him regularly.”

  “Maybe you should ask Him what He was thinking,” offered the youth. “He did a shitty thing, making the sun go ballistic like that.”

  The priest laughed. The disaster that'd crippled the world was a more complicated thing than this child could hope to understand. Even his superiors at the Vatican had doubts about what precisely had gone on, and how widespread the damage was.

  More than a year ago, society had been warned by the governments of the world that the sun was behaving strangely, and that the probability of a coronal mass ejection the likes of which hadn't been seen in over a hundred and fifty years was high. Within two days of that announcement, power grids the world over were simultaneously fried and electronics were rendered useless. Modern automobiles, whose engines relied in part on computers, could no longer function. Planes were permanently grounded. In the space of an instant, the entire species was knocked back several centuries and could no longer rely on the technologies of the modern age. Luxuries like communication and sanitation were a thing of the past.

  There was a lot of talk and hope in those early days. It was hoped that someone, perhaps in the government, would be able to fix this within a reasonable timeframe. At first, people seemed willing to work together and the general mood in Rome seemed to be one of neighborly camaraderie.

  That is, until food got to be scarce.

  Human beings, reasonable though they are in most circumstances, will betray one another at the drop of a hat when there isn't enough food to go around. And that's precisely what happened. Pandemonium.

  The first to go were those who relied on medical technologies. People with pacemakers, those who were on dialysis and patients on ventilators died very quickly in droves. Then others began to perish; the elderly, people who relied on medications to get by on a day-to-day basis. Without electricity, there was no way to get them the care they needed. Women died in childbirth, and even commonplace injuries became a grave matter.

  And when pantries emptied, the violence started.

  Looting, first. Then riots. When governments were toppled on a local scale, unable to provide sufficient food or clean water for the people, groups of violent raiders banded together to pilfer individual homes. Acts of incredible violence were perpetrated in the name of survival, and it wasn't long before it wasn't even safe to step outside of one's home during the daylight hours.

  It wasn't enough that men were willing to kill their neighbors over a loaf of bread. The Earth itself was poisoned by this disaster as well, for in the months after the event, nuclear reactors in major countries began to overheat and subsequently melt down. Lakes and groundwater were irrevocably tainted and radiation sickness spread.

  Death on a scale the world had never seen took
place within those initial months.

  And when winter came, the tally was doubled.

  Now survivors were scarce, and where they did exist, they tended to do so in tribal units. Some held out hope that, somewhere in the world, populations still had access to electricity and technology. There were vague rumors of old steam-powered machinery being revitalized in major cities, of the situation in South America being brighter. Still, it was universally understood that it would take many years of suffering before society could recover to its former grandeur.

  All of this, of course, was a bit too much to convey to the young man, already overwhelmed by his lot in life. Ossian finished his bread and water. “Someday, maybe, we'll come out the other side of this. And if we don't, take heart; it's God's will, all of this.”

  “I don't buy it,” said the boy. “If this is God's will, then He must hate all of us.”

  “Careful,” warned the priest. “Don't pretend to know God's mind. Your mother walked that path and she ended up letting the darkness in. Don't make the same mistake.”

  “You know,” added the boy, “if that God of yours is listening, He ought to send you a horse. Your bosses must be real tightwads not to have given you a horse. Making you walk so far on foot is brutal!” said the youth.

  “Oh, they did give me a horse,” replied the priest. “Unfortunately, I had to eat it. Cut the poor boy down and roasted him up with a group of pilgrims I met.” Though the boy chuckled at first, it soon became clear that Ossian wasn't lying.

  “Wait... you ate your horse? I mean, seriously?” When the priest nodded, Cesare shook his head in disgust. “That's really messed up, Ossian. What kind of man eats his horse? A horse is a companion, it's... I mean, think of the bond between a cowboy and his horse. They're partners, stick together through thick and thin.”

  The priest laughed heartily, cocking his head to the side. “Cowboys? And what do you know about cowboys, lad?”

  Cesare demurred. “W-well, not a lot. My dad used to really like those American cowboy movies. The old ones, with John Wayne? But that's not the point. Eating your horse is super messed up. That horse was supposed to be your friend! It'd be like eating a pet dog!”

  Ossian rubbed at his stomach and sighed. “What I wouldn't give for a stray dog right about now. They cook up rather nicely; the lean ones taste better, I've found.”

  The boy's jaw dropped open and he scooted a few feet away from the priest. “You're a maniac. Seriously. What kind of holy man are you, anyway?”

  “What, were you expecting someone more mild-mannered? Reserved and professional? A man like that―like my bosses in Rome who've grown fat after decades of political theater and self-importance―could never do what I'm doing. I don't wear silly hats, don't much care about landing myself a comfortable appointment or gaining status. It's not me. My interest has always been in pushing evil back from the frontiers of the church, in doling out God's judgement. Ours is a savage time, lad, and it takes a savage man to answer the call.”

  The youth nodded weakly. “So, you enjoy your work? Killing people, that is?”

  “That's rather an oversimplification of my role in the church, but I'd be lying if I said my duties didn't fill me with a certain degree of pride. Striving for righteousness and punishing the wicked does bring me a certain degree of enjoyment, but only because it brings me closer to God.”

  “So,” began Cesare, “does that mean that you enjoyed killing my mother, too?” He gulped, staring into the fire.

  Rather than give the expected answer, Ossian folded his arms. “It was nothing personal. Just something that needed to be done.” He cleared his throat. “How old are you?” asked the priest, looking to change the subject.

  “Technically,” replied the youth, “I'm fourteen, though I don't really count that last birthday. It wasn't a very memorable occasion.”

  Ossian laughed. “What, you mean to say that this ruined little village didn't have a party store? No balloons? No cake?”

  Cesare's smile faded. “My brother died around that time. And not long after, my father went. That was when my mother lost hope, too. When she began to change.” He bunched up his knees and curled up into himself. “I know you say it's God's will and that you don't wanna question it, but... why do you think this happened? Why did the world end?”

  The priest took a deep breath and held it before responding. When he spoke, it was with a good deal more vitriol than he'd intended. “You know, when people see the tall man in the white collar walking down the street, they're quick to ask that blasted question. 'Why has this happened to us, priest? Why has a pall of suffering fallen over the world?' And the answer I give to that, truthfully, is that this is the world we deserve for our sinfulness. When men turned their backs on God, on His church, they made a terrible mistake. Human decency fell through the cracks and was lost long before the power went out, before the riots began. The species has been in decline for many decades, and this is the Lord's way of showing us where we went wrong. It is the Great Deluge of our time. A worldwide cleansing of sin. When the degenerate strain in our society has been cut down and men turn again to Christ, only then will God restore order. It is for that reason, in an effort to speed the healing, that I now go on crusade to Avignon. There's good reason to believe that the second church, and their pope, have been tainted by heretical thought and are working with the Devil in their ear.”

  “The other church... is evil?” asked the boy.

  Ossian reached over and nudged at the fire with a stubby branch but didn't reply except to grunt. Some moments of silence passed, and then the priest asked, “How are you feeling? Once you've rested, we'll need to get moving quickly. I don't want to leave before you've had a bit of time to recover, but there isn't enough time for a lengthy convalescence.”

  “W-wait, you want me to go on the road with you? Like, to Avignon? I dunno about that, man. I'm not... I'm not really interested in leaving the village. I was hoping you might stay a while... or...” Cesare trailed off.

  The priest stood, taking up his sword and approaching the front door of the abode. “Is that right? Well, if I were you, I'd think long and hard about it. There's nothing left for you in this village, and I can't in good conscience leave you here to die. In your state, you'd perish within days. I went for a walk around earlier and couldn't find a whole lot in the way of food. More than that, the well your mother was using has nearly run dry. I'll bring you along with me, at least as far as the next city. Perhaps there will be a good family there who can take you in.”

  Cesare thumbed his nose. “I appreciate what you did, protecting me from that thing. And I liked the bread, too. But I may as well drop dead right here rather than leave the house with you. It's not safe to be around you. How do I know I can trust you not to turn that sword on me, huh? You seem to like using it a little too much.” He waved at the door like he was shooing a stray animal. “No, thanks.”

  Ossian chuckled. “If I desired it, killing you would be a simple matter, child. But as it stands, I want you to live. Don't give me reason to change my mind. You're pushing it,” he said with a wink. Stepping through the door, the priest took a look around. “I'm going for a quick jaunt around the property. I want to make sure that creature hasn't returned. Keep the fire going.”

  “Some priest you are,” said the boy, rolling over.

  6

  Cesare had gained enough strength to walk around in short bursts by Ossian's third day in the village. They had passed that time in relative peace, working through the priest's store of rations and getting to know one another. On the morning of that third day however, the leather satchel was growing light and Ossian knew it time to get moving. If they did not get out of the barren village, and soon, they would die of thirst before hunger even became a problem.

  The village offered nothing. Drinkable water was rare, and that very morning Ossian had drawn up what little he could in the nearby well. Except for a few small birds, he hadn't seen any other living things
. Worse still was the available foliage, which Gianna had been correct to deem mostly inedible. Searching abandoned houses he'd found plenty of spent food containers, along with skeletons belonging to former tenants.

  Somewhere along the way, the boy had agreed to come along with him on the road. It wasn't that the youth trusted him; quite the opposite, he never seemed to take his eyes off of the priest, actively feared him. Loneliness took its toll however, and having no one else in the world with which to spend his time made Cesare more pliable than he otherwise would have been under the circumstances. He insisted that he hated the priest, would never forgive him for what he'd done, but still found himself following Ossian like an obedient duckling during short walks around the village.

  The time had come to leave. They idled for a time that morning as the youth took to packing a small bag with his personal effects. There wasn't much to take. A few articles of clothing, a weathered photograph of his family and a red baseball cap comprised the whole of his earthly belongings. While taking a final tour of the family home, Cesare regaled the priest with a few anecdotes about life before the disaster. He pointed out the rickety bunkbeds he and his sibling had once slept in, insisting, “I slept on the top bunk because I wasn't afraid of heights.” He mentioned, too, his memories of a certain Christmas dinner, where his mother had cooked a giant meal and the entire family had spent the day in the kitchen, enjoying roasted turkey, fresh bread and other delights.

  Wishing to clear the air, the priest stood in the front doorway and asked the youth a question. “Tell me, Cesare, were you aware of what your mother had done? Of what she had been feeding you all these months?”

  Cesare bristled, immediately averting his gaze. “I don't want to talk about it,” he said at first, though the pair weren't a few steps out of the house before he grew more forthcoming. “It wasn't like she had a choice, you know. She wanted to live. We all did.”