False Dawn

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  She cursed her luck as Father Leonidas stood aside, motioning to them to pass, and all the frail hope she had summoned up for their position with the monks evaporated as she went after Evan; she missed the reassuring weight of her pack.

  They were left in the chapel by the Brothers, with the instructions that they should purify their minds for the questions the monks were bound to ask them for the good of their souls. Brother Odo had closed the door on them, slamming it with a satisfied, fatalistic thud.

  The chapel was small, made of stone, unheated, bare, forbidding. There were a few rough-hewn benches for the monks, set on the uneven stone floor. Lit by a solitary skylight, the altar showed stark simplicity that was watched over by a crucifix that twisted itself in a grim reminder of the Passion. Two small candles burned by clumsily carved statues that flanked the altar. One statue showed a saint holding his flayed skin in his hands. The other was a young woman wearing a martyr’s crown as she was stretched mercilessly on a rack.

  “I don’t like this place,” Thea whispered to Evan as they walked toward the altar.

  “They’ve certainly gone in for all the bloodier aspects of Catholicism,” Evan agreed, trying to keep his voice light. The words came out cracked-sounding, showing his fear. He swallowed hard and spoke again. “You’re right about this place. I don’t like it either.”

  “What do they want us to do?” she asked as they neared the altar.

  “I think we’re supposed to kneel and pray. I’ll show you.” He dropped to his knees and joined his hands together under his chin, remaining that way for some time. “You do it, too.” At that moment he wished he could remember the ritual of the Mass. He had so often heard them sung, the big glorious sounds of Berlioz, Fauré, Verdi, Mozart, and Bach. But he had long since forgotten the ceremony.

  “How long do we stay like this?” she asked after they had been kneeling for a quarter of an hour. The cold came from the floor into their bones, and the uneven stones bit cruelly into her flesh, making her legs and back ache.

  “Ask them,” he said bitterly. “However long it takes.”

  It took three hours. Just as Thea whispered, “My bladder’s going to burst,” Father Leonidas came into the chapel, his robes whispering around his grimy sandals, and his face set in stern lines.

  Evan crossed himself in what he hoped was the right form and rose to face the monk. Pain squeezed his legs as his cramped muscles strove to support him. “Good Father,” he said as evenly as he could, “it was kind in you to grant us this time of prayer and solace.”

  “So it is when one comes to the Mercy Seat,” intoned the monk, who then crossed himself and knelt before the altar. He murmured in Latin, again made the sign of the cross and rose, saying to them, “Are you now prepared for the ceremony?”

  “What ceremony?” Evan asked, schooling his voice to sound respectful.

  “Your marriage ceremony, Father Leonidas said, as if surprised that Evan were not aware of it. “We cannot question you until you are man and wife: man and wife are one flesh, so repentance and contrition must be the same for you both, for you have traveled and sinned, by fornication, or lies, or pride, as one. No, do not deny it. For though you have not polluted your flesh with her, or so you claim, yet you are a man, and all men are stirred by the lusts and the senses. Your thoughts have been carnal. In the world there is no way to escape this sweet poison, the lure of this carnal being. What is this thing you seek, hut carrion and the gates of hell and eternal damnation.” He motioned to the other monks who had come into the chapel. “We will witness your vows and hear your confessions. Then, when you are one in the Sight of God, you will answer our questions, and whatever one is condemned of, the other will be so, too.”

  Glancing at Thea, Evan saw her face had taken on the frozen look of fear. They had been trapped into co-operating with the monks, hut he knew now they had to have time. He turned to Father Leonidas. “Before we place ourselves in your hands for this sacrament, let us attend to our bodies.” He took a chance, adding, “You have the holy strength of your Order in you, but we are not so. For us, the demands of the flesh will distract the mind from your sacrament.”

  Nodding, Father Leonidas indicated the side door of the chapel. “You will find what you need there. Brother Odo will watch from the door, that you do not profane these grounds.”

  So they don’t trust us, Thea thought as she followed Evan into the tiny enclosure where the outhouses stood. She felt herself long for escape and understood the monks’ precaution in putting them under guard.

  They entered two of the stinking, cold stalls side by side. Evan tapped the wood, whispering, “I don’t know what they’re up to, but I know it’s bad. I wish I could see our way out of it. If only I could figure out what they want to hear.”

  She snorted. “It doesn’t matter what we say, does it? They’ve made up their minds.”

  “Thea, you’ve got to be careful’ he said to the thin wood that separated them. “This is my mistake. I assumed that we had only to keep our distance and we’d be safe, but I was wrong. We should have pushed all the way through the valley last night. That way we could have avoided them altogether.”

  She was tempted to agree with him, remembering the ice that had filled her spine when she had caught sight of the spires of Sierraville; she was tempted to lash out at him. But he had not blamed her when she had been wrong and had not condemned her for the dream she had lost at Gold Lake. She also admitted to herself that he knew much more about these strange men with the burning eyes than she did.

  “Thea?”

  “I’m thinking. Maybe you’re right. But we’re here now. We can’t change that, not now, anyway.”

  “I’ll come up with something, Thea. I promise you. I won’t let them go through with this.”

  “You might not be able to stop them,” she warned.

  Brother Odo tapped ominously on the door, his staff making the cramped cubicles echo like the inside of a drum. “It is time for the ceremony. You must not delay.”

  Evan emerged, trying to hide his worry. “Ready, Thea?” he called, pretending not to notice the glowering Brother Odo at his side.

  Thea appeared, keeping her eyes downcast as Brother Odo led them the little distance back to the chapel.

  “Here are your garments,” announced Father Leonidas. He held out two shapeless robes of rough sacking. From their smell, they had once held grain. “It is fitting that you should be new-dressed, for we are all to be new-dressed at the Wedding Supper of the Lamb. What you have been shall then be judged, and upon your expiation of sin, shall be blood-washed in the sight of Heaven. Thus will you be worthy of salvation.” He made a gesture and three young monks came forward. “Strip them,” said Father Leonidas.

  Thea’s stricken eyes met Evan’s as the clothes were pulled from them. The icy air of the chapel bit into her as much as the eyes of the gathered monks, those eyes filled and drugged with denied hunger. When Thea’s underclothes were taken off, Father Leonidas approached her. “A devil’s mark, and in a place of Lust,” he said, fingering the scar where Lastly’s knife had cut away her nipple. “A lure, a lure to take men from purity. See this, my brothers, and be warned of the lure that is woman.”

  With his clothes half torn away, Evan pulled himself free of the monks, moving between Father Leonidas and Thea. “You must not do this, Father. In your compassion”— he spat the word—”you cannot do this. She has been raped. That is the mark of a brutal man, not the devil.”

  An expression of pity came into the monk’s flinty eyes. “So she has deceived you, my son. Her words of honey have led you into error. There is no rape, my son, there is only the Sin of Eve. For why does a man surrender to the flesh but that the woman tempts him to it. Woman is the seat of Sin, my son, and her ways are full of lies and wiles. If she was taken as you say, it was she herself who caused the crime.”

  Evan choked back a retort as he saw the glint that came into Father Leonidas’ eyes when he saw his regenerat
ed arm. “So,” whispered the monk. “So the unpure has come again, full blown with pride as a corpse with flies.” He stared at the tawny orange skin below the scar, and a scowl darkened his face. “I have prayed that we might see the Impure brought low. This is the great Sin of Pride, for it is against the will of God. That which is dead must not rise again but in the Name of the Lord, for it was Jesus who called Lazarus from the tomb. All else is wickedness. This is the work of the Anti-Christ, who has come among us in the last days.”

  Both Thea and Evan were naked now, their bodies shivering in the cold, which did not come from the air alone. Father Leonidas made an abrupt gesture and the two shapeless garments he had called their wedding clothes were thrown over their heads and pulled roughly into place. The habits were surprisingly warm, but were woven so coarsely that they chafed the skin wherever they touched.

  One of the monks began to chant, the others joining him. Among the voices were the high, strong sounds of castrati. Evan shuddered as he heard them, knowing what had been done. “I did not know you took such young men into your Order’ he said carefully to Father Leonidas, for he was aware that the sweet, sexless soprano voice could only be kept if the singer was castrated before puberty.

  “We take all who come to us purely. If you remark our choir, nothing is done without the conviction for faith and a willing heart. The monks do this as a sacrifice, keeping themselves forever beyond the chains of the flesh. At the same time, they preserve the glory of their song for the Most High.”

  Thea stared. “You mean they do it to themselves?”

  “It would not truly be a sacrifice otherwise, would it?” Father Leonidas asked gently.

  “…misericordiae, vita dulce…” the choir sang. Two of the monks came forward to face the altar. They held up a chalice as they sang.

  “You prostrate yourselves before the face of God,” Father Leonidas informed them, motioning Brother Odo to force Thea and Evan to the floor.

  “Ad te clamamus exulis filii…”

  So they lay on the uneven stone floor, face down, arms outstretched with the fingers of one hand touching the other. The monks marked out their places with candles, as they would for the dead, singing still as they worked. “…gementes et flentes in hac lacrimarum vale. Eia ergo advocata nostra…”

  “What do we do?” Thea whispered to Evan, and before he could answer, Brother Odo cuffed her ear. “You must remain silent, meditating on your sins,” he said angrily, his huge hands clenched over her head.

  “Et Jesum benedictum fructum ventris tui, nobis post hoc exilium…”

  “Wait,” Evan said.

  “0 clemens, 0 pia…”

  “Wait,” he repeated, more loudly now. The singing stopped raggedly as Father Leonidas turned on him savagely.

  “You interrupt the Praise of the Lord and the Holy Virgin!”

  Evan pulled himself onto one elbow. “I do not wish to profane the House of the Lord. I cannot marry this woman, not here and not in your way.”

  “Heresy!” cried the terrible old man.

  “No.” Evan held up his hands in proper supplication. “No, Father Leonidas. This is your rule, not mine. Were I free to do so, I would be glad to marry this woman, for we have endured much together and she has the warmth of my heart, though I have never taken her body.”

  “Free?” asked Father Leonidas, and the other monks waited, eager.

  “I cannot marry this woman because I already have a wife.” As he said it, he felt ironic satisfaction in knowing that it was the truth.

  7

  They waited alone, scarcely breathing. Sound and light left the chapel and it grew colder in the gray stone room, adding to the discomfort they already felt. Only the light on the altar flickered, a baleful eye hanging over them.

  “I hate them,” Evan muttered at last, pulling his beard where Brother Odo had struck him with his crucifix. There was blood matting the hair, making his face stiff.

  “What will they do now?” Thea watched him uncertainly. There had been venom in him that she had only glimpsed fleetingly before; now his face was rigid and his eyes colder than the stones of the chapel. “Evan?” she ventured, lifting her hand toward him.

  “They have no right. No right!” Furiously he wiped at the blood with his sleeve. “Isn’t it enough that they ruin themselves? Castrati, in this world, in this place. And they call that a sacrifice. Filthy, stupid, sadistic…” He spoke softly, the words hardly carrying as far as Thea, but each was laced with acidic hatred.

  She pulled herself nearer him, taking his hand. “Don’t let them see your anger. It gives them strength against you. They’ll twist it, Evan. Don’t show your anger. Please.”

  He ground his knuckles together as be watched the candle waver in the drafts which teased through the chapel. “We should have stayed away from here. We should have gone through the valley if it took until after dark.”

  “Look,” Thea said softly, “there might be enough time for one of us to get away, hide out in the mountains until the other can—”

  “Shit, Thea, they’d be after us in a moment. And if one got away, you know they’d take it out on the other. They’re looking for an excuse to do that right now.” He softened then. “If you think you can get away, go on: this was my mistake and I’ll pay for it. They want more than ten Hail Marys, though.” His 1augh was achingly sad.

  “Evan?”

  He moved away, sitting heavily on one of the benches, his head lowered and his eyes hidden. He sat that way for some minutes, not looking at anything but some indistinct spot on the floor. Thea watched him, knowing that he had isolated himself and wished to keep her away. She made herself as comfortable as she could, tucking her legs under her and pulling the rough garment more tightly around her. Silent, worried, she waited.

  “The monks really scare me,” he said at last, like a small boy admitting to breaking something valuable. “I’ve seen this kind before. Some of the Pirates are like this Cox, Mackley, that crew. They’re fanatics and because of that they feel totally justified to force their position on others.” He shook his head, keeping his face turned from her too-probing eyes.

  Puzzled, she moved closer. “They think they’re right: it makes them crazy.”

  “They don’t think they’re right; they know they’re right. No doubt about it, no questions, no unpleasant suspicions that other people might have something for their point of view, too. They have their damned Truth with a capital T to back them up.” Bitterness came from him like an infection.

  “There’s more, isn’t there?” she said, as much to herself as to him. “What is it? What happened?”

  He didn’t answer immediately, and when he did, it was in short, bruised words. “There was a time, maybe thirty years ago, when most people knew that things had gone wrong. The air was bad, the food was lousy and jammed full of chemical garbage, there wasn’t enough power, there were too many people, and the backup systems were breaking down faster than new ones could be thought up.” He stopped, thinking back to his childhood. He felt young and old at once then. “I was a bright kid. I traveled a lot with my father. I don’t think I spent four months of the year at home after 1978. Between school and his work, I went everywhere. When I was about fifteen, in ‘82, things began to get very bad in Europe. Everyone wanted the easy way out, and why not? No one had told them there wasn’t an easy way out, or revealed the scope of the problems we all faced. So they gave up some things and rode the bus to work and washed their dishes only after dark and grumbled about the utility service and the phone and the taste of the water. And they thought it made a difference.”

  Thea moved back as he got to his feet. “That isn’t all, is it? That isn’t what hurt you.” She knew that he had talked around his pain so that he could bear to speak of it.

  “No. No.” He turned away from her again. “Anyway, a lot of people decided to take another way out, and revel in their guilt. That also kept them from having to do anything. My older step-brother got religio
n. He found the Truth, capital T, and after that, he knew all the answers and didn’t have to worry about things, because no matter what new atrocity occurred, he had handed out the guilt and that negated any responsibility he might feel. He knew sin when he saw it, and he convinced a lot of people. They kicked him out of the Church the week of the bombing of Montreal. His Madrid followers got killed in the Power Riots in ‘94.”

  While Evan paced, Thea watched him, her mouth set and her body held tightly against itself.

  “It wasn’t that he believed in guilt, or that he had faith. That wasn’t it, Thea. Most people that cared about anything survived on faith alone, in the worst years, when nothing else could save them. They found a strength to hold out. I admire that strength. But Raoul didn’t have strength, he had arrogance. And he made his followers arrogant as well. These monks are like that.” He stopped pacing to glare at the altar. “They know their austerity, their perversity makes them superior. They feel that they have the right to judge the world by their standards and their conditions. And they know, they know they need never show compassion or kindness or charity or love because their one right way exempts them from their humanity. They need not be responsible. They aren’t affected by anything hut their own narrow world.” His hands were knotted at his sides, and he was breathing quickly. Then he bent over as if he were in pain, and when he spoke again, it was in a tone Thea had never heard him use before, coming out of a sorrow he had kept locked inside of him for too many years. “Jennifer believed him. And Eric, too. After he was horn, she believed.”

  “Jennifer? Eric?”

  “My wife and my son.” The words were harsh.

  For a moment they were both still. Then Thea rose and tentatively touched his arm. It was an uncertain gesture drawn out of her fright and his suffering. Her eyes strayed to the bolted door of the chapel. Then you are married. It wasn’t a lie.”

  “I was married twenty-two years ago. In Milan, in April, during the opera season, where Jennifer was singing. We were married in the cathedral, a year before it was wrecked.” He remembered the huge building and the sound of the choir and the glorious happiness he had felt on that warm day as the Nuptial Mass was celebrated. Jennifer had been wearing ivory lace over creamy silk, and her eyes were as bright as the brilliant windows. “We were quite happy for a year. My career was doing fine, and hers was beginning to branch out. She was singing internationally. Then we had Eric.” The muscles in his jaw worked, standing out under his beard. “Eric was badly deformed…and after a while, Jennifer began to listen to Raoul and his talk about sin and guilt. She came to believe with him.” He forced himself to look at Thea, to let her see his face as he said, “She came to believe that our marriage was a sin and that our son, because of his deformity, was her punishment.”