distant at every step.
And then, when they had just about reached him, the monks suddenly
stopped in their tracks. Their obscene shouts all at once turned into frightened
screams of distress. They began to cross themselves feverishly, pointing to
something in front of him, but all he could see there was the wide open gate
and the clear night sky stretching beyond it. The gate no longer retreated
before him, and once again he felt light and fast.
“Time Gifts.” Written in 1997. Originally published in Serbian in 1997 as Vremenski darovi, Polaris, Belgrade, Serbia.
© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018
83
Z. Živković, First Contact and Time Travel, Science and Fiction,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-90551-8_8
84
Z. Živkovic
He was filled with tremendous relief when he reached the arched vault of
the great gate. He knew they could no longer reach him, that he had gotten
away. He stepped outside to meet the stars, but his foot did not alight on solid
ground as it should have done. It landed on something soft and spongy, and he
started to sink as though he’d stepped in quicksand. He flailed his arms but
could find no support.
He realized what he had fallen into by the terrible stench. It was the deep pit
at the bottom of the monastery walls; the cooks threw the unusable entrails of
slaughtered animals into it every day through a small, decayed wooden door.
The cruel priests often threatened the terrified boy that he, too, would end up
there if he did not satisfy their aberrant desires. The pit certainly should not
have been located at the entrance to the holy edifice, but this utmost sacrilege
for some reason seemed neither strange nor unfitting.
He began to sink rapidly into the thick tangle of bloated intestines, and
when they almost reached his shoulders he became terror-stricken. Just a few
more moments and he would founder completely in this slimy morass. Unable
to do anything else, he raised his desperate eyes, and there, illuminated by the
reflection of the distant torches, he saw the silhouette of a naked, bony creature
squatting on the edge of the pit, looking at him maliciously and snickering.
He did not discern the horns and tail, but even without these features he
had no trouble understanding who it was; now that it was too late, he realized
whom the terrified monks had seen. He froze instinctively at this pernicious
stare, wishing suddenly to disappear as soon as possible under the slimy surface
and hide there. All at once the blood and stench no longer made him nauseous;
now they seemed precious, like the last refuge before the most terrible of all
fates.
And truly, when he had plunged completely into that watery substance, it
turned out that it was not, after all, the discarded entrails of pigs, sheep, and
goats, as it had seemed to be, but was a mother’s womb, comfortable and
warm. He curled up in it, knees under his chin, as endless bliss filled his being.
No one could touch him here; he was safe, protected.
The illusion of paradise was not allowed to last very long, however.
Demonic eyes, like a sharp awl, quickly pierced through the layers of extrane-
ous flesh and reached his tiny crouched being. He tried to withdraw before
them, to retreat deeper into the womb, to the very bottom, but his persecutor
did not give up. The thin membrane that surrounded his refuge burst the
moment he leaned his back against it, having nowhere else to go, and he fell
out—into reality.
And with him, out of his dream, came the eyes that persisted in their
piercing stare.
Time Gifts
85
He could not see them in the almost total darkness, but their immaterial
touch was nearly palpable. Suddenly awake, he realized that someone else was
with him in the cell. He had not heard him come in, even though the door
squeaked terribly, since probably no one had thought to oil it in years. How
strange for him to fall into such a deep sleep; the night before their execution,
only the toughest criminals managed to do that. They were not burdened by
their conscience or the thought of impending death, and he certainly was not
one of them.
He raised his head a bit and looked around, confused. Although he felt he
was not alone, his heart started racing when he really did see the shape of a
large man sitting on the bare boards of the empty bed across from him. If not
for the light from the weakly burning torch in the hall that slanted into the cell
through a narrow slit in the iron-plated door, he would not have been able to
see him at all. As it was, all he could make out clearly were the pale hands
folded in his lap, while his head was completely in shadow, as though missing.
He asked himself in wonder who it could be. A priest, most likely. They
were the only ones allowed to visit prisoners before they were taken to be
executed. Had the hour struck already? He quickly looked up at the high
window with its rusty bars, but there was no sign of daybreak. The night was
pitch black, moonless, so that the opening appeared only as a slightly paler
rectangle of darkness against the interior of the cell.
He knew they would not take him to the stake before dawn, so he stared at
the immobile figure uncertainly. Why had he come already? Would they be
burning him earlier, perhaps, before the rabble gathered? But that made no
sense. It was for this senseless multitude that they organized the public
execution of heretics, to show in the most impressive manner what awaited
those who dared come into conflict with the catechism. The sight of the
condemned, his body tied or nailed to the stake, writhing in terrible agony
while around him darted fiery tongues of flame, had a truly discouraging effect
on even the boldest and most rebellious souls.
Or maybe this was a final effort to get him to renounce his discovery. That
would be the best outcome for the Church, of course, but he did not have the
slightest intention of helping it; on the contrary, had he come this far just to
give up now? If that was what was going on, their efforts were in vain.
“You had a bad dream,” said the unseen head.
The voice was unfamiliar. It was not someone he had already met during the
investigation and trial. It sounded gentle, but this might easily be a trick. He
was well acquainted with the hypocrisy of priests. His worst problems had
been with those who seemed understanding and helpful and then suddenly
showed their pitiless faces.
86
Z. Živkovic
“Why do you think that?” asked the prisoner, stretching numbly on the
dirty, worn blanket that was his only bedding.
“I watched you twitch restlessly in your sleep.”
“You watched me in the total darkness?”
“Eyes get accustomed to the dark if they are in it long enough, and can see
quite well there.”
“There are eyes and eyes. Some get accustomed to it, others don’t. I ended
up here because I refused to get accustomed to the dark.”
The fingers in the lap slowly interlaced, and the pris
oner suddenly realized
that they looked ghostly pale because he was wearing white gloves. They were
part of the church dignitaries’ vestments, which meant that the man in the cell
with him was not an ordinary priest who had been sent to escort him to the
stake. So, it was not time yet.
“Do you think that you will dispel the darkness with the brilliance of your
fiery stake?” The tone was not cynical; it sounded more compassionate.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t think of any other way.”
“It is also the most painful way. You have had the opportunity to witness
death by burning at the stake, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, of course. While I was at the monastery they took us several times to
watch the execution of poor women accused of being witches. It is a compul-
sory part of the training of young monks, as you know. There is nothing like
fear to inspire blind loyalty to the faith.”
“Yes, fear is a powerful tool in the work of the Church. But you, it seems,
have remained unaffected by its influence?”
The prisoner rubbed his stiff neck. He could still somehow put up with the
swill they fed him, the stale air and the humidity that surrounded him, and the
constant squealing and scratching of hungry rodents that he’d been told were
liable to bite the ears and noses of heedless prisoners. But nothing had been so
hard in this moldy prison as the fact that he did not have a pillow.
“What do you expect me to answer? That I’m not afraid of being burned?
That I’m indifferent to the pain I’ll soon be feeling at the stake? Only an
imbecile would not be afraid.”
“But you are not an imbecile. So why didn’t you prevent such an end?”
“I had no choice.”
“Of course you did. The only thing you were asked was publicly to
renounce your conviction and to repent, which is the most reasonable request
of the Court of the Inquisition when serious heretical sins are involved. If you
had done that, you would have kept your title of royal astronomer and been
allowed to continue teaching students.”
Time Gifts
87
“Who would attend the lectures of a royal astronomer who had renounced
his discovery out of fear?”
“There is a question that comes before that. Why did you have to announce
it in the first place? What did you want to achieve by that?”
“What should I have done—kept it a secret, all for myself?”
“You were aware that it goes counter to the teachings of the Church. You
should have expected her to take measures to protect herself.”
“Of course I expected that. But I was relying on her hands being rather
tied.”
“It doesn’t look that way, judging by the sentence you were given.”
“Oh, you know perfectly well that the stake is not what the Church wanted.
It was a forced move after all attempts to talk me into cooperating failed.”
“Based on your condition, I would not say that they tried all possible means.
You do not look like someone who has been given the Inquisition’s full
treatment.”
“Well, I’m not a witch. They didn’t have to force me to agree to some
meaningless accusation. I did not deny my guilt. That is why the whole
investigation proceeded like some kind of friendly persuasion, even though,
probably just to impress me, in the background stood the power of all the
devices to mutilate, quarter, cut, break, and crush. But I was not even
threatened with one of them, let alone put to any device. You do not torture
someone who is valuable to you only as an ally. What good would it be if the
royal astronomer were lame or blind?”
“Not even after the alliance has been irrevocably called off? The Inquisition
can hardly boast of the virtues of forgiveness and compassion.”
“That is why it is renowned for its patience and acumen. The sentence was
passed, but I have not been burned yet. There is still time. Attempts to win me
over to the Church’s side will continue to the very end. In any case, that is why
you are here, isn’t it?”
There was an indistinct commotion from the end of the hall, followed by
the sharp sound of a key unlocking a door and someone groaning painfully as
he was thrown into a cell like a bag of potatoes. The Inquisition’s investigators
did their work primarily at night. The main interrogation room was in the
basement; in spite of the thick walls, horrible screams could be heard period-
ically, weakening the last remains of will and resistance in the other prisoners
awaiting their turn to be taken down there. As they moved off after closing the
door with a bang, one of the guards muttered something to the other, making
him laugh raucously. For a long time his burst of laughter echoed like thunder
through the stone hallway.
88
Z. Živkovic
“But you, of course, will not relent?” asked the voice from the darkness after
the echo finally died out.
“Of course.”
“What is the real reason for that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You certainly are not a simpleminded idealist who has gotten involved in
all this because you don’t understand how the world works, what forces set it
in motion. On the contrary, everything you have done from the beginning
seems to have been carefully planned. You have lit a fire that only you can put
out. It takes great resourcefulness to turn the tables on such an experienced
service as the Inquisition, to tie its hands, as you say. And it takes the courage
of a fanatic that is always lacking in idealists at the crucial moment, the
readiness to go all the way, no matter what the cost. You, naturally, shy
away from the pain that awaits you at the stake, but you will go to your
execution nonetheless just because that will harm the Church the most. What
is it that she has done to you?”
The prisoner started to rise into a sitting position on the hard bed, feeling a
stab of pain run all the way down his stiff back. As he did so, a scene from his
dream suddenly rose to the surface of his memory. It was very vivid, although
fixed, like some sort of ugly picture: the twisted faces of the monks lustfully
reaching for his tiny, helpless body.
“Isn’t it still early for my last confession?”
“I’m not here to listen to your confession.”
“Oh, yes, I almost forgot. You are here to prevail upon me to change my
mind. But if you truly believe what you just said, it must be clear to you that
it’s impossible.”
“It is clear to me.”
“Then why are you wasting your time?”
There was no immediate reply from the other side of the cell. A hand rose
and reached for something that was lying unseen on the wooden bench. A
moment later it returned to the flickering shaft of light from the torch in the
hall. It was now holding a slender black cane with a carved white figure on
the top.
“I have more than enough time.” The voice seemed to become muffled,
more distant.
“But I don’t. My hours are numbered.”
“That’s right. Soon they will come to take you to the stak
e, but before that
you will be given one last chance to accept the Church’s offer. But, as we
know, you will refuse. Although it makes no difference, really.”
Time Gifts
89
“It does make a difference. If I accept, everything I did will have been in
vain.”
“No, it won’t. The damage was done the moment you announced your
discovery, and it cannot be undone. The fluttering of the butterfly’s wings
should have been prevented before it initiated the storm. Even if the Church
made a sincere ally out of you, it would only slow down the harmful
repercussions.”
“Do you really think that this is sufficient to make me change my mind? I
expected you to come up with something more convincing.”
“I have no intention of dissuading you. But that is the way things stand
nonetheless. Heresy has been sown on fertile ground. Neither the stake nor
repentance will turn your students away. They will start to spread forbidden
knowledge, to add to it. Once set in motion, this course cannot be stopped,
even though the Inquisition will take every measure to obstruct it. You have let
the genie out of the bottle, and he can no longer return to it. The Church will
finally realize this inexorability, but it will be too late then.”
The prisoner strained to make out the hidden face in the impenetrable
obscurity, but without success, even though his pupils were completely
dilated.
“Isn’t it unbecoming for a man of God to have so little faith in the future of
the Church?”
“Why do you think I am a man of God?”
A shroud of silence suddenly descended on the cell. Several long moments
passed before the prisoner realized what was wrong. He had spent many nights
alone in this place, and he could always hear some sort of noise: moaning from
one of the neighboring cells, the screech of rusty hinges, the murmur of the
guards, muffled cries from the basement, the rustling of mice and rats, the
creaking boards on which he lay, distant sounds of the outside world. Now all
of that had mysteriously disappeared.
“Who are you?” he said, finally mustering the courage to break this tomblike
silence. The darkness did not answer; suddenly, once again the prisoner felt the
stab of the piercing eyes that had followed him out of his dream. “The
Zoran Zivkovic - First Contact and Time Travel Page 14
