The Prophet Box-Set: Books 1-4

by David Beers

  “Yes,” the High said. “I want you there when we ambush him.”

  “ … Me, Your Holiness?”

  “Yes, my First Priest. Do you not wish to see the results of your work? If I were to break one of Corinth’s Proclamations, I would certainly want to witness what it brought me.”

  The First was quiet for a few seconds, then slowly tried speaking again. “Your—”

  “No, my friend. I think I am done talking now. I’ve grown tired. Ensure that you lay eyes on the weapon when we attempt to kill him.”

  The green pixels next to the High Priest vanished, leaving him alone in his room.

  He sat for another undetermined amount of time before standing up and walking across the small room. Hardwood floors lay beneath his feet, as well as wood paneling across the walls. The High Priest preferred wood to all other decorative styles. Perhaps because so much of his life had been spent below earth, where wood was nearly impossible to get. Maybe there were other reasons for his preference, though. These things were never easy to tell with the High Priest.

  He walked to the window and looked out of it. Clouds hung around his room, and beyond them, blue sky … though not as far as he could see. The One Path was burning, just as other Ministries surely were. The High could see it from where he stood, far, far in the distance. Corinth would protect him. He’d built his home far enough on the outskirts that he doubted anyone would come this way. Not immediately anyway, with so many easy targets in the larger cities.

  The High had spent many, many years alone. He didn’t know how many anymore, but he didn’t think the number was very important. Others might have, but he hadn’t listened to others’ opinions in a long, long time. He hadn’t always been this way, so needless of the outside world, but perhaps the years without any real contact created this mindset.

  Corinth came to him from time to time … but not in many years.

  The High had not been born the High. He had been a Priest as all others, and only through Corinth’s grace had he risen to this point. His duty had never changed, though—to understand Corinth’s will and constantly move the True Faith toward it.

  What was His will now, though?

  With the world ending, what did Corinth want him to do? He had hoped Corinth would come again—partly for guidance—but there’d been no visit.

  The High Priest’s mind had already discarded the First Priest. The man had little faith, and all with such little faith must be swept away. If the First Priest did not die in his encounter with the weapon, then the High would dispose of him using other means. To break a Proclamation … Never mind. The decision was made.

  The High Priest’s mind fluttered to the weapon, and from there to the woman being brought to him. He wanted to study her brain, and hoped he would have time to do that. The Disciple would carry her to him regardless what the First Priest—or the weapon—did. The High thought something valuable might rest in her brain, though he didn’t think it would help them stop the Black’s return.

  He knew the truth about Rachel Veritros, even if none of the others did. Hadn’t they once, though? Yes. Of course, but they had forgotten, or allowed the truth to be diluted. The High Priest didn’t know which, and he no longer cared.

  The sky outside was something he cared about.

  The woman being brought to him, he cared about her too.

  And Veritros. Her memory. The truth behind it.

  Then why do you want to look at the woman’s brain? he wondered in a rare moment of self reflection. Why is it important to you if it won’t help?

  The High Priest didn’t consider whether he was losing his mind; he thought that only a fact of life at this point. He imagined whispers floated around about him, but besides the one meeting with the other Ministers, he hadn’t left this room in a long, long time. Even the One Path’s Minister didn’t know he lived here, amongst the clouds. He actually thought he had another home inside the One Path. He couldn’t fully remember, but it seemed right—like he’d had one built on the other side, far, far away from the cities just like this one.

  The High Priest was okay with losing his mind, and soon he thought he might not even know it had happened. Perhaps that was the promised land, as those in the Old World said.

  Veritros … The word moved through his mind like a snake through grass. It slid effortlessly, without friction. This man now, he was not Veritros reborn, and what of this new woman? What would her brain show the High Priest? No one remembered how lucky they had been—they all bought into their own propaganda. A thousand years ago the world almost ended, and everyone thought humanity won because … well, they had their own reasons for it, but all were lies.

  The High Priest kept coming back to a single thought: we won’t be lucky this time. The weapon, the Black, the woman—none of them changed his mind. Or maybe they created his mind. He didn’t know the answer to such a conundrum.

  This new woman, though. If you get to her brain in time, maybe something can be done with it. Maybe you can still save the world.

  The thought was a rational one, but it fluttered away from the old Priest, and he forgot why he wanted her brain. He only knew that he wanted it.

  The High Priest remained staring out into the sky until the sun descended and the moon replaced it.

  The woman would arrive soon and then he would remove her brain from her skull … maybe Corinth would deliver them again. Maybe not.

  Rachel Veritros

  The High Priest was right in that the world had forgotten the truth about Rachel Veritros. Whether or not he actually remembered it was debatable, but there had once been truth, even if the world no longer knew it.

  Truth, like morality, lives in all places at all times. Something that holds true today also held a thousand years in the past, and will hold a thousand years in the future.

  Rachel Veritros was that truth, not only her actions, but her heart. Her soul.

  After destroying the Citadel, she could not shake the question asked of her. The war waged on, and she commanded armies as if she was born to do it. Her lieutenants brought her problems and she listened, thinking deeply on them, and then acted with a ferociousness that would have made the greatest generals to ever live envious. Once she made a decision, she never wavered, never heard dissent or criticism, and never altered course.

  More and more cities were razed to the ground. Death, always something waiting beyond the horizon for most people, now grew to be all they knew. An intimate family member living in the next room.

  The question, though—it plagued her mind like locusts on crops. It ate at her peace constantly.

  What does It want?

  And even as the question grew in importance, she understood time was coming to a close—at least for the human species as it currently existed. The Union was nearly upon her.

  What does It want?

  The question was ever present, and yet Rachel Veritros didn’t have an answer. Nor did she know how to find one. She couldn’t simply go to the Unformed and ask. One did not stare God in the face and demand answers, let alone think that one could understand any which may be given.

  Another question was also plaguing Rachel, though not asked by herself or the Ministries. Her lieutenants threw it at her.

  “When do we go to the Nile?”

  The question she asked herself—the one about the nature of the Unformed’s mind—did not bother them in the slightest. No, they wanted to stop killing. The Ministries were at bay, and where they did fight back, they made little progress. Her lieutenants wanted the war to end, and the Union to occur.

  “It’s time,” they told her. “Has the Unformed contacted you? Is It ready?”

  The number of questions increased as the weeks dragged on, as did their frequency. Their intensity. Because the people beneath Rachel, they had killed for her. Men and women both died, as did children. They died because they believed—their faith greater than that of those they had killed.

  They had been promised a Unio
n, and they demonstrated their faith by killing those who would stop them.

  Everyone was ready for the Union, tired of the war, tired of the death, tired of the pain.

  Everyone was ready except Rachel.

  She told her lieutenants to hold the line and that she would return in two days. There were questions, but gray eyes and knowledge of true ruthlessness kept those questions from growing. Her lieutenants acquiesced and Rachel left.

  She went back to the woods. The same ones where she had shacked up with undeserving men, living the life of an animal. Winter snow covered everything and bitter cold seemed to rage against the very idea of her existence. As if even the weather understood that she brought death wherever she went, and only its cold embrace was allowed to do that.

  Rachel paid neither the snow nor the vengeful weather any mind.

  She was here to answer the question posed to her. She sat down in the snow, closed her eyes, and when she opened them, flickering gray looked out at the world.

  For two days she sat in that cold, her body neither freezing nor moving.

  Even the need to urinate didn’t affect Rachel, her bladder staining the clothes she wore. Her determination could be admired by anyone, regardless whether they thought her angel or demon.

  At the end of two days, her gray eyes returned to their normal shade. She stared at falling snow and understood that she would never find an answer to the question. No matter how long she spent next to the Beyond or looking for the Unformed—the answer wasn’t meant for her. Rachel Veritros would never know what It wanted, and she’d have to live with that.

  The Ministers could ask their question, but in the end, they would bend the knee.

  Everyone would bow to the Unformed.

  Rachel returned to her lieutenants with answers to their questions, even if not to her own. They would go to the Nile next week, and they would call forth the Unformed. The Union would occur and the bloodshed would end.

  “They’re waiting for you,” her lieutenants said.

  “Who?”

  “Everyone still alive.”

  “Our people? The Unformed’s?”

  “No, Rachel,” her lieutenants said. “The Ministries. They know you’re coming, and they’re waiting.”

  Thirty-One

  Nicki stood in the desert, the sun beating brilliantly down from above. She’d only been standing underneath it for a few minutes, but her skin was already turning pink. The transport lay 100 feet away, and the two men that had kidnapped her stood next to it. Once she landed the thing, they hadn’t bothered her, but simply let her exit and wander out on the sand.

  Where could she run to?

  Is that it, or are they frightened? she wondered.

  Nicki thought one of them might have a healthy respect, if not actual fear. The other, though? She wasn’t sure that man had ever felt fear.

  Nicki closed her eyes tight. She felt like she’d been in some kind of trance for the past three days—unable to tell what was real and what had simply been a feverish dream. Standing here under the brutal sun, she felt like herself for the first time …

  Yet, what the hell had she just done with that transport?

  She opened her eyes and turned to look at it. She could see the bottom from where she stood, a chunk of it missing, revealing burnt and twisted wiring. Someone had shot at them, though Nicki didn’t have a clue as to whom, or why.

  I don’t know anything …

  The thought was terrifying and immediately brought tears to her eyes.

  Because she didn’t know anything. Not where she was, not who these people were, not where she was being taken, nor what they would do to her when she arrived.

  I’m alone.

  Nicki didn’t know what had happened in the transport, the same as she hadn’t in the motel. She’d felt something up there in the sky, an almost electrical power, and now she felt none of it. Her body was what it had always been, and whatever happened above …

  Had she seen her father?

  No. That wasn’t possible either.

  Nicki felt her knees grow weak, and before she could fall, she sat down hard in the sand.

  “Hey.”

  Nicki jumped backward, her face jerking up, looking in front of her toward the voice.

  “It’s okay.”

  Her father stood there, or … not exactly. He was ephemeral; Nicki could see through him, the sand and blue sky behind him. Yet, he was there, too. She couldn’t deny it, the shape of his face, the color of his hair—all of it almost as real as …

  “Dad? Are you alive?”

  She watched as he chuckled. “Yes. I’m not an angel, Nicki.”

  Nicki shook her head, not understanding. Her hands were dug into the sand and she finally realized the heat of it, lifting them up and shaking them off.

  “How are you here? It’s you? It’s not a trick?” Nicki didn’t know what to think, let alone believe. The insanity of it was as apparent to her as the sand’s heat, but was it any more insane than the transport she’d landed minutes ago? Because if she didn’t believe that happened, she only had to turn around and look.

  “It’s a long story, and we don’t have time right now. It’s me, though. Do you remember your mom’s favorite color?”

  Nicki’s eyes narrowed, but only for a second. “Yes. Do you?”

  “She didn’t have one,” her father said. “She said she wasn’t picking just one so that people could have something to talk about.”

  A smile sparked on Nicki’s lips as she remembered her mother, but it died quickly. Even her memory couldn’t force away this chaos. “How? How are you here?”

  “There isn’t time, honey. I’ll explain later. First, are you alright? Have they hurt you?”

  “I … I don’t know,” she said, answering honestly. “I don’t feel any pain, but I haven’t … I haven’t been here, Dad. For days, it feels like. I can’t remember the last time I just sat somewhere, being fully there. I’m scared, Dad. I’m ….”

  Nicki tried to say scared again, but no sound came out. Her voice broke and she looked down at the sand between her knees. Her hands dug back into it, anger and frustration turning her knuckles white as she pushed down on the flinty earth.

  “I need you to focus, honey. You’ve got to be strong right now. I know you don’t understand any of this. I don’t either. It’s easy for me to say because I’m not sitting there in a desert, but that doesn’t change the facts. You’ve got to hold it together if I’m going to be able to help. Now, I need to know where you are. I need you to try to tell me. I’m with people who can come get you.”

  “Who?” Nicki asked. “Are you safe, Dad?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but I’m fine. Now, quickly, what does the place look like?”

  “Can you see me?” she said.

  “Yes, you, but not much else. It looked like you were flying over sand in the transport, but I can’t see very far beyond you. I think your sight is controlling this, not mine.”

  Nicki looked at the ephemeral figure in front of her, realizing for the first time that her mind might actually be creating it. That maybe her Dad wasn’t there at all, but this was just a hallucination.

  No, she thought. No. He knew Mom’s color.

  Or maybe you knew Mom’s color, and you were simply telling yourself it.

  “Nicki?” the floating figure said.

  “I don’t know what’s real anymore. You. This place. The people I’m with. It could all just be in my mind.”

  “Okay, honey. Okay. Look, right now, just tell me what you see. We can deal with the rest later, but I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay here with you.”

  Maybe he was right. What other choice did she have? To sit out here in this desert with these strange men? If they were all only in her head, then maybe her make believe father could come save her from these make believe kidnappers.

  Nicki looked around the desert, trying to see anything that might give a clue, but the
re was only sun and sand stretching in all directions. She’d only read about such places in school. “All I see is desert, Dad. That’s it.”

  “Are there any physical markings? Any buildings? Anything at all?”

  “No. There’s nothing out here.”

  Nicki heard someone else talking, though it wasn’t her father. The voice sounded distant, as if a door or wall might be between them.

  “Ask her if she can see the sun. Can she describe where it is in the sky?”

  “Honey—”

  “I heard him,” she said. “It’s a little bit above the horizon.”

  Rhett stood next to the Disciple, unbound by either physical restraints or hijacked nanotech. His shoulder didn’t hurt, though he still had a bullet lodged inside it. Rhett thought the Disciple must be doing something with his nanoparticles, using some kind of pain dulling medication. He didn’t care—was actually glad for it.

  Rhett felt the heat from above and silently missed the True Faith’s SkyLight. The two of them were staring at the girl who sat 100 feet from the transport.

  Rhett had thought only one person controlled the power he’d seen minutes ago. He didn’t know what the Disciple was thinking, but neither of them did anything as the girl exited the transport and walked out into the desert. She had landed it, her eyes blazing with David’s gray. The door next to her opened without any input from the Disciple or Rhett, and she’d simply stepped out.

  Rhett couldn’t see her eyes now. He didn’t know if they were gray, but he saw her nearly collapse on the sand.

  “She’s talking to herself,” Rhett said. He could hear the girl’s voice, though not the exact words.

  It was odd speaking to the Disciple as if they weren’t diametrically opposed. Both would kill each other without hesitation, but … even with the Disciple’s otherness, he wasn’t like her. His eyes didn’t spark gray and he’d only been able to watch as the transport plummeted toward their death.

  The Disciple didn’t respond. Rhett looked over at him … and forgot about the girl for a second. He saw a focus that he hadn’t ever seen before. The Disciple might not even know Rhett stood next to him. Rhett was completely forgotten, only the girl held any space in the Disciple’s mind.