by David Beers
Manor moved a little closer to the window. Only one transport was in the air, flying north. It was one of David’s, otherwise it would have already been shot out of the sky.
Yes. The First Priest will make it happen. Will you come to me? I can keep you safe.
If he said no, then she’d know why. What he still felt toward her would be finished, completely and forever.
Don’t be stupid, he thought. This was over from the beginning. Telling her no has nothing to do with it, and you need to get that out of your head. There’s no love here. There’s no ‘making this work’. She’s an enemy, and Hollowborne’s blood flows in your body. You’re being foolish.
And so he was. If he said no, the truth was he lost a chance to help David. He lost an opportunity to propel the war forward—and that’s what the Christine woman had directed. The war was to continue. To escalate.
Okay, he said. Come get me, Raylyn. If we can do it safely. I want out of this hell.
“I want someone to go get him, and I want them to bring him here.”
Raylyn met the First Priest’s eyes and didn’t waver.
“This man? The one that was courting you?”
“Yes, your Holiness,” she said. Her voice was firm, gone the tears and fear from earlier in the day.
“Why?”
Raylyn hadn’t thought she would hear that question. They were courting, the answer was obvious, but now that the First Priest had asked it—she had to answer.
So let it be the truth, she thought. For Corinth’s sake, tell the First Priest the truth.
“I love him, and I don’t have anything else left. No home. I tried contacting my family. We weren’t that close, but they’re gone, too. He isn’t.” It was true. Raylyn hadn’t been close with her family for years, but she had still tried to find them. She knew the loss of so many would grow inside her as the situation’s reality took hold of her mind, but for now--with the help of drugs—she could handle it. She just wanted Manor next to her.
“We’ll be putting people at risk going to get him. You know that, right?” the First asked.
“I’ve risked everything, and I’m going to do it again. I want him here, and I want him safe.”
The First Priest looked at her for a few seconds, saying nothing. She stared right back at him. This wasn’t negotiable.
“Okay,” he said. “Give me his location and I’ll send someone. I can’t guarantee anyone lives, though. You know that as well?”
She nodded. “I know you can’t guarantee it, but you can do everything in your power to keep them alive.” It was the boldest thing she’d ever said to the First Priest—the boldest she’d ever said to any Priest.
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll get him back here. I need you working, though. Now.”
The First Priest had transports programmed with the man’s location. He wasn’t going to send people, regardless what he told Brinson. Enough had died, and for this one man he wouldn’t commit more to it. He would try to get him back because he needed Brinson pliable. He needed her to continue doing as he wished—working to find the informant again … and he thought he might be pushing her to her limit. The attendant had warned him of such, though she meant physically as well. The First wasn’t concerned about that, only her mental state.
Her face today said he might be pushing her to a point where she told him no.
And that couldn’t happen. Brinson was key to this working, at least until contact with the informant was made.
Transport leaving, his nanotech told him.
Manor Reinhold, the First Priest responded. Find out everything you can about him and let me know when it’s compiled.
If he was bringing someone into the Shrine, then he would know the man’s history.
Raylyn Brinson might be in love, but the First Priest wasn’t. People had died up and down the True Faith territory, but this man … he hadn’t. He was alive, and willing to risk a transport picking him up and taking him out of his city.
The First Priest had seen transports blasted straight out of the air, watched them fall to the burning earth beneath.
But this man felt safe leaving?
Perhaps he was naive. Perhaps he still held strong faith in Corinth and the Priesthood’s ability to deliver him from death. Perhaps the First Priest was being overly critical of this young man, and everything was on the up and up with him.
Perhaps.
But the First Priest didn’t think so.
Because people had lived during this brutal attack, but most of them were on the Black’s side. The ones that might feel safe leaving on a transport, because they told their pals not to shoot it down—because that transport was taking this man to Corinth’s Shrine. And wouldn’t it be great if they could get someone inside of it?
The First Priest thought Sister Brinson’s lover might be a member of the Damned, a follower of the Black. And if so, it might not be so bad to bring him in—this Manor Reinheld—as long as the First Priest knew.
Six
Daniel Sesam thought they would beat and torture him. He’d refused the Pope, and then kept refusing him for three days, each time certain that when he left the Pope’s office, they would start in on him. Hit him. Electrocute him. Perhaps even peel back his skin while making him watch. Each time though, they only walked Daniel back to his room—a small, but comfortable space. He was given food, water, a private bathroom and shower. He wasn’t allowed to leave, but still, no torturous instruments entered the room. No strong men with large fists, and no silent ones with small, beady eyes that held hard, metal tools in their hands.
They left Daniel alone.
For hours at a time.
Always, though, the Pope called him back. A Priest would come to the door, knock, wait a few moments, then enter. Daniel left willingly, and they would walk the building’s long halls.
The Pope was always waiting. Pope Pius XX.
He gave his speeches, trying to cajole Daniel into telling him about Nicki. Trying to learn more about his daughter, though Daniel always rebuffed him.
Daniel didn’t know where Nicki was. He didn’t even know if she was alive, but the Pope’s constant questioning gave him hope. The Pope simply wouldn’t care about a dead girl, not even one who had the sight. Daniel didn’t know a lot about what had happened in, or after, that room. He sustained some minor wounds, but the Church attended to them with care. Since being pulled out of the motel’s wreckage, Daniel was in the dark about almost everything … and when he was alone in his room, he felt that darkness. He felt the loneliness, the unending thoughts about where his daughter might be. Was she really alive? Were people taking care of her or hurting her? In his room, Daniel asked more questions than the Pope, and the answers never revealed themselves.
He had a window in his room and he spent time staring out of it, looking at Vatican City. Large funnels of smoke billowed into the air at irregular intervals beyond the gates. Daniel didn’t know what to think about them. He’d never been to the Vatican before, and didn’t know if they were a regular occurrence. Maybe something that happened all day, every day. Or maybe it was seasonal.
He didn’t really care, either. The smoke columns just gave him something to think about other than Nicki.
For the most part, Daniel sat in his room and thought about his daughter, but remained resolute in his decision not to tell anyone in this place a single thing. He knew what they’d do if they found her … or if they already had her. Anything he gave them would only help their endeavors, and those endeavors weren’t virtuous.
Silence for as long as they kept him here.
Silence, even if they tortured him, and Daniel knew that’s where this was heading. The Pope’s good will would eventually wear out, and then the Church would resort to its usual means of communication. A one-way type of thing.
The next knock came first thing in the morning. Daniel had been awake, but they hadn’t come this early before.
He left the room but wasn’t taken to t
he Pope’s office. Instead, the Priest who came for him took them both outside—the first time Daniel had stepped out of the building since being brought here.
“Hi, Mr. Sesam,” the Pope said. He was standing about 10 feet from the door, the walkway beneath his feet marble squares. A railing ran on either side of it, and stairs were just beyond the Pope, though Daniel couldn’t see what was down them.
“Hi,” he returned.
“It’s time for our conversation again, but I thought we could have it in a different place, if that’s okay with you?”
Daniel walked forward, saying nothing. The Pope’s kindness—the entire Vatican’s—was all a sham, and Daniel wouldn’t forget it. He wouldn’t be unnecessarily obstinate or rude, but he didn’t have to be unnecessarily kind either.
“I’m a captive here,” he said as he reached the top of the stairs. “I don’t have much ….”
He’d wanted to finish with choice, but what he saw at the bottom rearranged his thoughts. Daniel didn’t know what he was looking at, not exactly. He knew about planes, of course, though he’d never traveled in one. This wasn’t a plane, but it certainly wasn’t something that moved across the ground..
The end had come.
It would be in the air. They would fly him up high and threaten to toss him out if he kept silent, then, when he didn’t answer them, they’d probably do it. Maybe they no longer needed him, or now realized that regardless of what they did, he wouldn’t talk.
Daniel didn’t finish his sentence; he only stood in silence, and the Pope finally spoke.
“I thought we could go for a ride. That down there is a drone, though it can be manned. We buy them from the True Faith sometimes, though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread the word too much. These are different than planes, and even transports—they can fly higher and they’re much harder to detect. How much do you know about transports?”
Daniel shook his head, not caring in the slightest.
“The True Faith designed transports primarily for beneath ground travel, these drones are meant to spy on their population, so they fly way up above the clouds. Sort of like our planes, only you can’t fit as many people in them.” The Pope looked up. Daniel didn’t move, but kept his eyes on the black object below him.
“I’m really rambling, aren’t I? The older I get, the worse it gets.” He turned back to the drone. “Are you ready?”
Daniel was quiet. If he was going to die, he wouldn’t be garrulous as he did.
The Pope started down the stairs, not looking back, his robes billowing slightly behind him.
Daniel looked back to the building. Only a single Priest stood there, alone. Daniel could run if he wanted, but where to? Back inside the building? Or maybe dash past the Pope and out into the garden beyond the drone?
Daniel had nowhere to go, and he knew it.
He followed behind the Pope, down the steps. They reached the small plane, the doors sensing them and automatically opening on both sides.
“It doesn’t matter where you sit. It flies itself.” The Pope sounded almost giddy about getting in the thing, as if it was some kind of rare treat.
Daniel took a seat, not bothering to make eye contact with the Pope. The older man walked around to the other side and got in.
The doors closed, ending any chance of fleeing. Daniel kept his eyes forward and the drone lifted off the ground, moving straight up into the air. Despite his impending death, Daniel felt a sense of wonder. He watched the ground beneath him fall away, and the air above quickly become his home. He’d never experienced anything like it before.
Daniel watched objects on the ground grow smaller and smaller, and then as the surrounding metal of the plane turned translucent …
His mouth opened slightly.
How? he wondered. How is this possible?
“Yes, it is quite powerful seeing it for the first time, isn’t it?” the Pope asked, still sounding as if he wasn’t about to commit murder.
Daniel said nothing, only watched as the drone rose higher into the air. It started moving forward, taking them across the Vatican, the speed increasing with each second.
No one said anything as they moved over the Vatican walls.
Daniel saw the devastation immediately, the drone high enough in the air to show him everything. The drone didn’t slow down, but kept moving forward, and Daniel saw more and more—though he didn’t want to.
The destruction swept across the entire land before him.
“I …,” he started, but had no words to finish the sentence. The feelings in his mind couldn’t be communicated.
What he saw was unimaginable. The smoke columns weren’t seasonal; they were massive burning buildings. Roads beneath him were clogged with cars, none moving, and dead bodies littered the highways. Some on top of cars, some right on the asphalt. Daniel couldn’t see what had happened to any of the people, not from so high, but he knew they were dead.
“I’m going to show you the world now, Mr. Sesam. I’ve been dealing with this the past three days, and that’s why I haven’t given you my full attention. The fact that I have dealt with you at all shows your importance, however. Because I’ve spent many hours over the past few days trying to convince you to talk with me. When I do that, though, it pulls me away from trying to help everything you’re seeing now.”
Daniel shook his head, his eyes narrow. “I don’t understand.”
It was all he could say.
“Those people that came for your daughter, at least some of them, I sent them. You know that. But they weren’t there to kill her. They were under strict instructions not to kill her.”
The Pope was silent for a second as they passed over a hill of dead bodies. There must have been a few hundred, stacked on top of one another tens of feet in the air. Five or six people circled the pile, wearing thick suits and carrying flame throwers. Fire burst from their weapons, scorching the dead, creating a burial of only ashes.
“It’s the Black, Mr. Sesam. There’s no sense in avoiding the truth. I think we have avoided truth for too long, if you want my honest opinion. The Black is returning and this is only the beginning. Those people down there burning their brothers and sisters, they’re part of Its army. There isn’t anywhere you can go, Mr. Sesam. I’m sure you want to leave the Vatican, but you have no home anymore. There’s hardly a city untouched by these roving armies.”
Daniel’s eyes were wet and the scene beneath him blurred as they passed beyond the hill of bodies.
“I need to know about your daughter, because she might be able to help stop this.”
The Pope leaned back in his chair and looked out his side of the drone. He was quiet for a few moments.
“You haven’t said much since we brought you in, but let’s go ahead and get everything out. The first person who came to find your daughter, he would have killed her. None of that was at my direction. I didn’t know that man existed, nor that he’d been sent for your daughter. It probably wasn’t even an edict given by my predecessor. The hunting of your daughter’s kind, of your kind, goes back a thousand years. During my entire Papacy, I honestly never thought about the sight. When I found out we didn’t kill her, I said to bring her in without harming her … I am sorry you were roughed up, but that’s the truth of the matter, Mr. Sesam.”
Daniel didn’t know what to believe. He was listening, but hardly able to process, not with what he saw below.
“Do you know where she came from, your daughter? What gave her her abilities?”
Daniel shook his head, though he didn’t know if the Priest was looking at him.
“She was made to contact the Black. Her purpose, the point of the sight, was originally made to mimic what Its weapons did. We wanted to understand It better. To use It if possible. To fight It … I don’t know; that’s what I’ve been told at least. It all seems insane to me, except now we’re sitting here looking at a dying world and your daughter has a gift that might be able stop all of this.”
The drone flew on, starting to bank right. Daniel looked at everything beneath him, his brow furrowed and his mind only a notch or two above completely blank. Thoughts were there, but nothing concrete.
“I need your help, Mr. Sesam. The world needs your help. We don’t have your daughter, regardless what you may think. Someone else does, but if you help us, we can get her back. And, I promise, if we do, we won’t harm her. She may be our only hope.”
I’m getting too old, the Pope thought, but knew it wasn’t the truth. He was getting nothing; he’d been too old to ever start this. The lack of sleep was weighing on him; he could feel his mind’s pace slowing, not reacting or picking up things as quickly as it should.
He knew he could get amphetamines if he wanted, but he’d gone his whole life without taking such things.
You’re being a teetotaler, he thought. Ridiculously dumb. You won’t be sentenced to hell for ingesting a few pills, especially if you’re trying to hold off Armageddon.
Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.
Yule sat in his office, the lights off. The tarp had dropped from his ceiling as well as the projector, and he was waiting on three faces to fill it. The representatives of the other Ministries. They were all still alive, as far as Yule knew. It wasn’t the powerful that died in war, only those who lacked that singular currency. Power.
True, but when the currency runs out for those that have the most, they often face harsher penalties. Those who hold the largest reserves of that currency end up beheaded in front of thousands.
The tarp came to life, dashing the old Pope’s thoughts. The top half filled first with the High Priest, though faces would change at the top depending upon who was speaking. The bottom half was cut in half again, the One Path’s leader on it, and the Constant’s Representative on the right.
