The Prophet: Death: A Sci-Fi Thriller

by David Beers

  The First had left the girl there, knowing very little about her, and not caring a whit. Just glad to have saved his own skin. He’d been more focused on Raylyn Brinson and her lover, on getting back here and away from the High.

  Now, it appeared Corinth was forcing him back into the High’s path.

  There could be glory here for you. If the High falls, you will take His place.

  The First pushed such thoughts from his mind, remembering how easily he’d been seduced last time, and in the end had nearly died after thinking them.

  Once the Council left, the First spent a few hours working back channels to find the young man that had sent the message. It didn’t take terribly long, because when the First gave orders, they were immediately obeyed. He never spoke with the young man, but he hadn’t wanted to. Rather, the First wanted every piece of information he could get about the woman.

  He had it all within a few hours, and then went to Hollowborne’s cell. Scoble was playing along, but the First always felt more comfortable around Hollowborne. Scoble gave up information to protect Fain. Hollowborne talked because she had rejected the Black.

  “Look,” he said, entering the cell and not pausing. The room’s walls—all of them—changed to display information. The one behind Hollowborne showed the young woman’s face, name, and physical statistics. To the right was a dossier of her history, combined with pictures throughout her life that changed every few seconds. Bullet points were on the left, outlining what they knew of the woman’s past couple of weeks (which wasn’t much).

  Hollowborne stared at him, surprised at his entrance, but turned slowly as she watched the walls change.

  “Who is she?” the First demanded. “That’s the woman you were after, isn’t it? I want to know everything you do about her.”

  Hollowborne was quiet for a few seconds, but that was too long for the First.

  “Do you hear me?”

  Hollowborne stood and walked across the room to where the woman’s current picture displayed on the wall. She had to look up slightly, staring at the large face. “She’s so young.”

  “I don’t care how old she is. It’s irrelevant.”

  Hollowborne reached up and touched the wall where the woman’s face was displayed.

  “What did the weapon want with her?”

  “She was like David,” Hollowborne said without turning around. “She … She has the same power he did.”

  “So she’s connected to the Black already?”

  Hollowborne shook her head. “No. Whatever she’s able to do, it doesn’t come from the Unformed.”

  “Then where does it come from?”

  “I don’t know,” Hollowborne said and turned around to look at the Priest. “David didn’t know. The Unformed wanted her dead, and that’s why we went to the One Path.”

  “Lie to me again, and Fain’s skin will decorate your cell.”

  “I’m not lying. David didn’t know, and that means I don’t know.”

  The First Priest stared at her, trying to understand if the woman was being truthful. Hollowborne turned back around and started walking next to the walls, reading their facts.

  The First Priest needed to decide how much to tell Hollowborne. He wanted her opinion on whether it was possible, the High Priest’s crazy plan, but to get that from her, he’d have to tell her at least part of what was happening.

  It doesn’t matter if she knows. Her Prophet is dead and she’s a captive here. She can know everything you think, and she won’t be able to do a thing about it.

  “Is it possible to contact the Unformed through her?” he asked. “Would it be possible to create something that allowed the Unformed to see her, reach down and contact her?”

  Hollowborne turned around, her eyes narrow and her mouth slightly open. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Just answer the damn question.”

  The woman stared at the First Priest for a few seconds, her eyes slightly unfocused as she thought. Finally she chuckled once, then looked down at the floor. “You’re not getting it. No matter what I tell you or what Rhett tells you. Or even Christine, if you haven’t killed her yet. You don’t understand.”

  “What?”

  “If the Unformed wants her, It will take her. It doesn’t need any help seeing her. It can see you right now. Me. Everyone.”

  “What would happen if we shined a spotlight on her?”

  “From the Unformed’s perspective?” Hollowborne asked. “I don’t know. I can’t pretend to understand what It will and won’t do. I only know that It doesn’t need a fucking spotlight to see the girl. It already sees her. It told David to kill her.”

  She stopped talking and looked at the wall, staring up at the large picture of the thin, blonde lady.

  “What I don’t understand about her,” Hollowborne said, “is how she did what she did. David said her power was like his, but yet the Unformed wasn’t acting through her. Whatever stupid thing you’re about try with this girl, I wouldn’t be worried about the Unformed. If she’s like David, I wouldn’t want to push her into a corner.”

  “What would you do?”

  “I’d kill her. The power isn’t gone. It’s dormant. Whatever that machine does, if it shoves her face to face with the Unformed, or somehow makes her feel threatened ….” Hollowborne trailed off, only looking up in silence for a few seconds. “A lot of people are going to die.”

  “Did you get enough thinking done?”

  The First Priest nodded, though unsure if that was the truth. Perhaps he could think from now until he died, and still not have a solution to this problem, but his time was up and he knew it. If he told the Council he wasn’t ready, their fear would drive them to act without him, and that was something he couldn’t abide.

  “Well, tell us what you came up with?”

  “The Unformed already knows about her, so that’s not the real issue.”

  “What do you mean?” one of the members asked. “How do you know?”

  “The weapon was intercepting her. That’s why he went to the One Path. You might think my interviewing the prisoners is wasted time, but without it, we would know nothing.”

  He paused, looking around the group; they seemed cowed for the moment.

  “You’re going to have to back up a bit,” the Priestess said. “The Unformed knows about her? How?”

  “I’ll have a report sent to all of you. Read it, and it’ll explain the details,” the First said. “If she’s like the weapon, then It already knows she exists. Whatever the High Priest is doing, as much as it pains me to say it, there’s nothing rooting him in reality anymore. The thing to worry about is what the woman might do if she feels threatened—”

  “Feels threatened?” another Priest asked. “She’s being held captive and they’re running tests on her. Wouldn’t you say that’s enough to make her feel threatened?”

  The First Priest was quiet for a moment. This was dangerous ground they were treading, and the Priest who just spoke didn’t seem to understand that. They were all standing just to one side of a line marked ‘treason’, with each person considering stepping over it.

  Though, it would only be treason if they lost. That was something to be remembered.

  “I can’t say exactly what will frighten her,” the First Priest finally answered. “However, I do think there are some real issues that we need to work out.”

  “And where would you start?”

  Are you going to do this? There isn’t any coming back, and if you lose, you’re going to die.

  The First Priest stared at the other four, his mind still and his face showing nothing.

  You were just granted life by this man. You broke Corinth’s Proclamation—

  I broke his Proclamation to save the world.

  —And the High Priest gave you virtual rule over the True Faith. Are you positive the next words are the ones you think are best?

  The other four weren’t yet frightened, but the First Priest thought they w
ere bordering on it. They didn’t know he’d broken the Proclamation, and none of them appeared to be plotting. Their concern was genuine; it was the First Priest using this as an opportunity—

  No, that’s not necessarily true. Just because you’re most likely to take over his spot, doesn’t mean you’re not concerned as well.

  His conscience battled inside his head, but the four in front of him awaited an answer.

  “This woman can do serious damage. You saw images of the weapon. She is like him, and her power will be similar as well.” The First Priest leaned back in his chair. “Before we say anything else, though, do you all understand what it is we’re discussing here?”

  No one moved, nor said anything, and the First understood that was affirmation.

  “If any of you don’t want to discuss this, then it’s best you leave now.”

  No one stood. If they had, the First Priest would have had a serious choice to make: let them go, knowing that he would be reported, or …

  Or what? What is it you’re willing to do here?

  The sound of his hand slapping Rebecca Hollowborne’s face echoed across his mind.

  “Okay,” he said. “Then we’re all in this together, from now until completion. Any objections?”

  Still, no one said anything.

  “Then we start by removing the High Priest from his position. While I believe his heart is in the right place, I don’t think he’s mentally fit to serve Corinth any longer. Once he is no longer in power, then we immediately move on the girl.”

  “What do we do with her?”

  I’d kill her, Hollowborne had said.

  The First Priest wouldn’t. He would bring her into his fold, just like the three he now controlled. The problem with Hollowborne, just like the problem with his four colleagues, was that none of them had vision. They couldn’t see the future, though they had just lived through it. The future would be more of the same, unless someone did something to stop it. Corinth had placed the First Priest in this position—of that he had no doubt. He would be the one to stop it.

  “We’ll subdue her, and then we’ll study her.”

  Manor had seen absolutely no one since Raylyn last visited him. He thought that had been two days ago, but it could have been as long as four. Time was fluid in his cell. The lights never turned off, so there was no indication of day or night. He slept when he felt tired … though he wished he could sleep more. Sleep helped with the boredom, but sometimes his body simply refused it.

  He wasn’t seeing apparitions or hearing voices yet, but he thought that might be possible. Something was happening with him in this cell.

  It’s because you’re alone. No human contact. Nothing.

  His thoughts came to him in bursts.

  That, or they played out in long, slow, visions. The Prophet falling from the sky. Raylyn sleeping next to him as he reported what she’d told him. His original conversion with Rhett Scoble.

  They have to kill you or they have to let you out. You can’t continue this for much longer.

  That was the truth. Two days. Four days. Manor didn’t think he could last ten more—though how would he even know when they passed?

  Just recognize when you finally go insane. That should give you a good indication.

  He didn’t know if it was morning or night when Raylyn came next. He was staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts circling back to the Prophet. They always returned to him and his fall from the sky. Manor had never even considered that the Prophet might die, but now that it happened, Manor thought something should feel different. The Blood of the Touched no longer existed because there was no one else Touched. Yet, besides this room slowly destroying his sanity, he felt the same.

  Deep in thought, or simply not aware of his surroundings, he didn’t see Raylyn enter. Didn’t hear the wall fade away then reform behind her.

  “Are you awake?” she asked.

  Manor’s head snapped over to her, shocked.

  Relief washed over him, and he quickly spun around on the bench, sitting up. He was about to stand when he saw her take a step back, fear plastering her face.

  “No,” she said. “Don’t you move.”

  Manor, his ass a few inches off the bench, paused. Still staring at her, he sat back down. “I’m sorry. I just … I haven’t seen anyone since you were here last.”

  “You stay on the bench,” she said. “If you do anything, I promise, you’ll be in a lot of pain.”

  He nodded, realizing he must look like some kind of animal. He was leaning forward, his hands gripping the bench, his eyes hungry for any interaction.

  Get a hold of yourself. Act like a human.

  He slowly released his grip on the bench and forced himself to lean back against the wall.

  “I’m sorry. Just don’t leave. Just stay for a bit, okay?”

  He knew what he sounded like, though he couldn’t help it.

  “You’re in the early stages of deprivation,” Raylyn said, sounding almost clinical. “We try not to do this to people under usual circumstances. These aren’t usual circumstances, though, and we don’t have the personnel to come down here.”

  He nodded, oddly feeling relieved to have someone actually diagnose what was happening to him. He let his head lean back against the wall, thinking that he might start crying and desperately not wanting to.

  “I wanted to talk to you about …,” Raylyn’s voice trailed off. Manor thought she might say something, but as the silence lingered longer, he looked up.

  Her eyes were on the ground.

  The first time she came here, she’d been destroyed. Last time, angry. And when she entered now? She’d been looking at him clinically, but here she was, staring at the ground like some kind of ashamed little girl.

  “Raylyn?”

  “Hush,” she said, and though Manor couldn’t see her eyes, he knew there were tears in them.

  He said nothing, only waited. After a few moments, she reached up and wiped at her eyes, then looked at him again.

  “I want you to tell me why you hate Corinth.”

  Manor’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t move at all. “Why?”

  “What does it matter to you? If you’d rather be alone, I can leave.”

  He shook his head. “No. No. I’ll talk about it. It doesn’t really matter now. I can say whatever I want, the end is going to be the same.” He looked over at the other bench. “Do you want to sit down?”

  Still looking at the bench, he laughed, realizing how stupid it sounded.

  Raylyn made no noise, only went and sat down.

  “Tell me. Why?” she asked.

  Manor looked at her for another second, then leaned back against the wall and stared across the empty room. The answers she wanted were numerous, and the philosophy behind them deep. He didn’t really even know where to start.

  “I didn’t do any of this lightly, Raylyn. Every step I took … it was with a lot of thought behind it.”

  She said nothing, letting silence fill the room when he finished.

  So that’s how it would be. She truly just wanted him to speak. She didn’t want to converse, only to hear why he hated her god and had chosen another over him.

  Manor started talking, and once he did, he found it very hard to stop.

  Nine

  Was it worth it, Rebecca? Was killing your brother worth it?

  The question was an albatross on Rebecca’s mind. She spoke with the First Priest; she told him the things he wanted to hear, and the things he didn’t, but that question reigned as a merciless king.

  Was it worth it?

  She didn’t know how Rhett felt, nor Christine, but she couldn’t remove David from her mind for even a second. Her dreams were filled with him, and her waking moments? She was forced to talk about him, and when she was given respite, her mind refused to stop thinking of him.

  Was it worth it?

  The question plagued her, unanswerable. She sat in a cell, her only company her sworn enemy. Those she lov
ed and cared for were either dead or being tortured. Rebecca had once heard a quote that existed before the Reformation. Something like, what good does it do a man to gain the world, if he loses his soul?

  The world had been gained, and now she lived on—saddled with the heavy debt from such a gain.

  Rebecca wanted to stand from her small cot, but there was nowhere to walk. Nothing to see. So she lay on it and stared endlessly at nothing, while thinking of her dead brother.

  I’m sorry, she thought. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. It wasn’t your fault and I have to keep telling myself that it wasn’t my fault either. You were lost and when I understood the truth, what choice did I have?

  And then, another side of her spoke up, the one from which all her guilt and self-loathing sprang from. You could have told him the truth you were shown.

  No. David wouldn’t have listened. Once the Unformed held someone in Its hand, there wasn’t any escape; and that’s what Veritros had come to realize. It’s why Rebecca ultimately decided he had to die.

  What about Veritros then? If that’s true, why was she different?

  Rebecca tried pushing the thought from her mind. She was different because she wasn’t David. She was different because she didn’t grow up beaten and bullied, watching her parents gunned down. She was different.

  Only one question mattered: Was it worth it?

  The destroyer of everything she loved, Rebecca didn’t have an answer. The world had been gained, but her soul no longer belonged to her.

  Without knowing it, Rhett was asking himself the same question, though he felt extreme guilt even considering it.

  Was it worth it?

  Rhett felt no pain, and for that, he was glad. David had tortured people and Rhett had watched, but it wasn’t something either of them enjoyed. It was done for a simple reason: David had needed something, and torture had been the most efficient method of getting it.

  Now, though, Rhett was receiving first hand knowledge that certain people did enjoy it—the First Priest being the greatest example.