Prospero's Half-Life

by Trevor Zaple

  “Something bad is coming,” Chris said darkly, when he finished relating this news to Richard. “Keep an eye out for yourself”.

  A few days later the general population was rounded up and brought out to the square parcel of land that had once been known as Victoria Park. The black robes went room to room, gesturing silently and lashing out with violence when people did not move fast enough. The river of human bodies moving through the hallway and out into the street was impressive; Richard had not fully realized how many people were part of Bentley’s mad scheme until he saw them all piled together.

  They were marched silently down the overgrown side streets and brought into the weed-choked ruins of Victoria Park. Richard saw what the others had been talking about when they had mentioned the remains of the statue; the square stone base remained, although the inscriptions that had once spidered along the side of it were painted over with dull white paint. Here and there through the layer of grass that had grown up around it Richard could see remnants of the crumbled statue that had once sat atop the base. In front of the base a rough wooden gallows had been erected; in front of that, bizarrely, a long wooden dining table with a complete place setting for thirteen people had been set up.

  The mass of the grey robed population was herded into place so that they had a direct line of sight of both the gallows and the table. They were made to wait for an hour, standing uncomfortably amongst tall grass and Canadian thistle. The spring weather was relatively warm, although there was a chill to the wind that had everyone shivering slightly and looking around. The black robes stood impassively between them and the table, their arms crossed and their eyes hard and blank.

  Finally a third group made their way into the park, fourteen in all: Bentley, his twelve closest men, and finally James, tied with nylon rope at the wrists and ankles and being led like a slave. The thirteen men in white robes took seats at the table; the ropes that guided James were handed to a black robe and he was made to kneel in front of the table, facing the awkward, grey crowd. Richard observed this all in complete horror, convinced that he and the others would be taken out of the crowd to join him. He felt a nudge at his side and nearly screamed; when he saw that it was Chris he managed to keep himself under control.

  “Keep calm and watch carefully,” Chris said in a whisper that Richard could only barely hear. “Don’t say anything and don’t react too strongly”. Richard made what he hoped was a perceptible nod; Chris did not respond, and so he was not sure whether his nod had been seen.

  The crowd was made to stand for longer, and the white robes seated at the table did nothing. Brother Bentley stared out into the crowd without any sort of expression; the others stared similarly but their expressions were anything but neutral. They looked angry, nervous, and strongly frightened. There was a rustle in the grass at the other side of the park, and a murmur ran through the assembled crowd. Five women were pulling a train of dining carts through the rough path made by the trampled feet of the crowd. They brought these dining carts to the table and began to unload their contents onto the white robed men’s plates. The food steamed heavily into the air and the smell wafted cruelly over the gathered men and women; the smell of hunted game caused a wave of intense salivation. The crowd watched awkwardly as the white robed men tucked in with relish; many of the eaters seemed to be overtly attempting to out-do their fellows in terms of the gusto with which they were eating. The slurps and smacks as they devoured the meat were the only real sound in the park; in the face of a line of imposing men in thick black robes, none of the crowd wanted to make a noise.

  When the white robed men finished eating, Brother Bentley stood; the line of black robes went down to one knee so that the crowd was able to see the table of white robes without obstruction. Bentley raised his hands to the sky and began to pray loudly.

  “Our Father,” he began, his voice ringing like a thick bell in the spring afternoon, “who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. We gathered here thank thee for the feast we have so enjoyed today, and for the bounty of the Earth that thou hast placed before us. In one voice, we give thanks. Amen”.

  “AMEN” the crowd chanted at once, well practiced. Bentley lowered his arms and turned his attention to the crowd before him.

  “Brothers and sisters!” he exclaimed. “We are gathered here in the youth of this new year to give thanks for the bounty we have been given – our lives, that we have shepherded through the harsh winter”. He leaned forward and placed his fists upon the table. “Yet some among us refuse to give thanks. Some among us have turned their eyes from the perfect contemplation of the glory of God, and have taken up arms with that old tempter, Lucifer the Serpent. There are some among us who plot to destroy all that we have worked for”. He gestured towards the kneeling figure of James. “This is one such corrupted being, a foolish human who has abandoned the everlasting love of God for the sensual lies of the devil. He has conspired with others to destroy our wonderful House of God, but he has been ferreted out, by the good works and skill of our fellows, and the grace of the Lord Above. He has not given up his fellow hellspawn, but in time, all of you whom dwell in the Shadow will be rooted out and brought before the white-hot justice of the vengeful Lord.”.

  Richard shifted uncomfortably, the muscles in his feet growing hot and angry. It’s only a matter of time he thought, frightened.

  Bentley straightened himself and his face took on a contemplative expression. “Yet in this,” he continued, “I must shoulder my own share of the blame. In the deep of the night, I must ask myself: does God still wish me to lead His flock in their Holy mission? Does the flock still have confidence in I, their shepherd? I submit the question to a vote of my apostles, they whom speak for the silent, worshipful majority. Do I still have the confidence of the flock?” He gestured to his plate. “Underneath your plate is your ballot, placed there to reflect your private, inner thoughts. On that ballot is a symbol of your vote in this matter, placed with you by the grace and mystery of the Lord God of Hosts. Before these ballots are revealed, how do you, companions of the Lord, vote?”

  The other white robes looked nervously to each other, fear writ large upon their faces. They smiled awkwardly, and one of them rose tentatively to their feet.

  “We, the gathered apostles, pledge our unanimous endorsement for your continued shepherding of this flock,” he said. He was a pudgy, middle-aged man with a banker’s smile. He spoke calmly and confidentially, but was betrayed by the shake that his hand had picked up at his side.

  “I thank you for your endorsement,” Bentley said gratefully. “Let us see what God reveals your innermost thoughts to be”. He gestured towards the man furthest to his left. “Reveal, please”.

  The man moved his plate and flipped the piece of thick paper that was located beneath it. He stared at it, obviously agitated, and then let out a gigantic sigh of relief. Richard could not see what was written on the paper, but he decided that it must be good news. This ritual continued down the line of white robed men: Bentley called upon them, and they flipped their ballot with shaking hands. Each of them appeared to pass, one overfed face after another expressing gross relief. Bentley’s attention turned to the man with the banker’s smile, who had stood to speak for the rest.

  “Turn your card, Brother Wade,” Bentley said, his voice hard. Brother Wade’s eyes widened slightly, and he turned his paper over; it took him longer than the others, since his hands were shaking nearly uncontrollably. He stared at the paper and his eyes went even wider.

  “No!” he shouted, oblivious to the shocking crack of the volume he used. Bentley’s face tightened and he clasped his hands behind his back.

  “SO!” Bentley shouted. “Here is one whom speaks from both sides of his wretched mouth! Here is one whom pledged their endorsement and loyalty to me as their shepherd. Yet it is revealed by the Lord Almighty that he pledges differently in his heart! He has given his unswerving allegiance to That Which Dwells In The Pit, and his soul is as black as the twisting c
atacombs that tunnel within the bowels of Hell itself! God hath spoken with undeniable clarity today! Both of these traitors shall hang before the setting of the sun!”

  Richard glanced out of the corner of his eye to Chris; the thin, dour man had his hand to his mouth. He whispered something into his hand that Richard did not catch. Four of the black robes broke from their kneeling position; two of them took the guide ropes of James, and the other two approached Brother Wade, who was protesting loudly.

  “No!” he screamed. “I am nothing if not faithful! I am the most faithful of men! No one believes in the leadership of Brother Bentley more than I!” The black robes did not seem to care what he said, or even hear him. They grasped him by the elbows and hauled him to the gallows, where he joined James at the base of the stairs. Bentley watched as they climbed those stairs, and as they were guided into the nooses by the black robed men he turned back to address the gathered crowd.

  “As these traitors leave their earthly shells to face judgement before Our Lord, we must fill the vacuum that has been created by the black deeds of Brother Wade. God has chosen to reveal the identity of the person that He hath chosen to take up the mission that Brother Wade has chosen to sully. All, please kneel before the Word of God”.

  The assembled crowd of grey robed people knelt in near-unison, their knees popping loudly and their muscles creaking as they lowered themselves into position. Richard noticed that many of the others around him were bowing their heads to look at the ground. He followed along with the crowd, noticing as he did that Chris was staring at the scene unfolding before them with burning intensity. There was a look of extreme concentration on his face that Richard found disconcerting.

  “Let us offer up a silent prayer for the sanctity of whatever souls these two unfortunates have remaining to them,” Bentley said, and bowed his head. A deep silence settled across the assembled individuals in the park. Richard felt a chill breeze sting on his cheek and tousle his hair. After it died down he heard two soft thwumps. He looked up and both James and Brother Wade were swinging lazily back and forth, their heads at that peculiar angle that indicated a dead break in the neck. He felt a sick feeling begin burrowing into his stomach. He looked to Chris, but the expression on the man’s thin face had not changed. He was waiting for something, to the point where he did not even seem to let the death of his friend effect him.

  “Brothers and sisters!” Bentley proclaimed. “God in His infinite wisdom has chosen the next man to take up His eternal burden to bring salvation to Mankind!” He stretched his arms out to the sky, his fingertips stretching as far into the air as they could go. “Brother Jacob, God Himself has chosen you to fulfill his work! Rise, so that the light of His sun may shine down upon you”.

  From the line of impassive black robed men, Richard saw the familiar face of Jacob rise and stretch into the sky. A shock ran through Richard’s nerves, and then his mind began to chatter excitedly with itself. This is the best thing that could have happened! he exulted. We finally have a man in the white robes! He turned to Chris to try to share a secret, excited smile, and suddenly his good mood vanished entirely.

  Instead of seeming pleased, Chris looked angry. The anger surprised Richard, but the part that truly unsettled him wasn’t the rage crawling across the man’s wide-eyed face, warring for supremacy. The part that unsettled him was the naked fear.

  NINE

  Richard spent most of the next two weeks preparing for his own death. Unable to react strongly due to the constant watchfulness, he went about his routine as though nothing were outwardly wrong. He went out for three trips to destroy books and electronic devices; Chris was not his squad mate on any of these expeditions. The others that he knew to be a part of the conspiracy kept silent, avoiding conversing with him unless it was absolutely necessary. He had not had informative contact with any of them; he was completely in the dark about what their chances for survival were.

  The only thing that he knew was the Jacob had somehow betrayed them. Chris had been expecting a completely different result than the one that had occurred, and now Jacob was slowly whittling down their numbers. Since he had joined the white robes, Richard had watched members of the conspiracy disappear. He and Chris were still active and circulating through the schedule that continued to be posted daily, but he watched as other names he knew simply stopped appearing. Whenever Richard saw Jacob, the man had a shark’s grin on his face, topped with a shark’s eyes; there was no mercy or pity in that look, and Richard felt small and humbled when it turned to him. Your time is soon that look said, and Richard knew that the man meant it.

  In the entire fortnight he only saw Carolyn once, and that from a distance. His heart hurt to see her, and he noted with a chill that there was a look of fear held fast to her face. She hadn’t been ‘rooted out’ by Jacob yet, but Richard knew that it was only a matter of time. She may have been the intimate confidant of the white robes, but she was ultimately replaceable – especially when any number of secrets might die with her. He longed to grab her and run; they could make it out of the city without anyone finding them, he thought. They could find their way somewhere else, where they could live in peace.

  These thoughts were not entirely spun out of moonbeams and cobwebs; after the twin hangings, a rumour had begun to grow. There were whispers among the grey robes that another settlement of people, well to the west of them, had banded together and become a strong force in the region. They were pushing outward, it was said. Gathering up everyone they found into their army, which was growing bigger all of the time. There were not many details to these bits of gossip; they were simply secretly whispered stories passed between people while they watched for the black robed men’s attention. No one knew where the gossip had come from, either. It seemed to appear fully formed from the lips of everyone at once. Richard wondered blackly on a number of occasions whether the white robes had simply started the rumour to add more paranoia to an already potent mixture. He couldn’t bring himself to believe the rumours, in the end, but it didn’t stop him from fantasizing about them.

  The community was beset by fear from within and without; everyone was tense and there were nervous tics beginning to form on the faces of some. Richard found that he could not sleep more than a few hours each night. After he drifted into sleep a slight noise would inevitably awaken; they were the sorts of noises that would never have awoken him before. He felt exhausted, drained to the core. He began to peer into the faces of everyone that passed him, expecting at any moment to see the face harden into action; arms would encircle him and he would be dragged off into darkness.

  In the end, that very action occurred. One evening, about three weeks after the hanging, he was returning to his bunk room from the herb gardens. He was exhausted to the point of madness, stumbling in his steps and watching everyone approach with a feeling of utter dread. He saw a pair of black robes approaching. Their faces were cast down at the ground, and Richard felt a heart-spasm of fear upon realizing that he couldn’t see their faces. As they passed each other Richard closed his eyes; the anticipation was so great that he fancied that he could feel the hands grabbing him. Then he realized that it was no fantasy: rough hands were grabbing him and hauling him off of his path with brutal efficiency. He panicked and opened his mouth to scream, but one of the hands closed over his mouth before he could expel it.

  He was dragged into an empty room and held down. One pair of hands kept him in place while another pair of hands fastened what felt like a silk tie over his eyes. Blindfolded, he was dragged back to his feet and hauled away. They dragged him for a long time, going outside and down the street, cutting across weedy patches at times and hustling down cracked pavement at others. He was brought up a series of small steps at one point and it clicked in. He was being taken into the building where he had originally been abducted and taken into Bentley’s cult.

  He began to struggle but it was completely in vain; the two black robes had him in a tight grip. They frogmarched him in through th
e doors and he felt them drag him off to the right. He was soon being dragged up the stairs, and he stumbled badly over many of them. His feet and ankles were masses of bruises by the time they got to the top of the stairs. He was paused at the top of the stairwell, and then from above him there came the complaining screech of a metal hatch opening. His hands and feet were guided onto a ladder and he began to climb very slowly up, feeling numbly for each rung. When he neared the top he felt large, strong hands grab his wrist and haul him up into the night air. Those same hands threw him onto the ground, which was rough and covered in jagged gravel. He winced painfully after he landed, and curled up reflexively.

  The gravel crunched around him, as though groaning under the weight of many heavy pairs of boots. There was another scuffle, and a similar thrown crunch as another body hit the ground with painful force. This other unfortunate person tried to crawl away from their assailants, at least from what Richard could hear, but it was a vain attempt at escape. There was a heavy thud, as from a boot digging into flesh, and the sound of struggle ceased. Richard remained curled up, praying to whatever deities might be listening to let the agony be brief.

  There was low muttering around him; in Richard’s current state he could not make out what anyone was saying. He ached all over and his head was throbbing with a nauseating headache. He wanted to sob but made himself keep quiet, gritting his teeth until it hurt. There was the crunch of a boot right next to his ear; he could feel the sole brushing his skin. The person next to him squatted down; he could hear the creak of ligaments, barely imperceptible amongst the volume of the night-sounds. A hand grasped the collar of his robe and he was dragged to his knees.