Father Corin laughed at the end of our story. “Well, I promise our food will be more fulfilling,” he said.
“It was good, don’t get me wrong,” Annalise might as well have been talking to an old friend. Or Robert Bruce back on Covenant Street. “But it will be nice to have something with more preparation in mind. Something more substantial.”
A woman then appeared, attempting to carry two crates, but slowly lowering to the ground under their weight. Father Corin and Davion instantly jumped to help her, and Annalise swivelled to me and whispered: “Just play nice.”
“I don’t know if –” I started, but Father Corin pulled himself back up and into earshot. He’d helped the girl push the crates to the side, and while she picked one up, Davion started to fumble his hands into two grooves on either side of the second.
As the girl came by, I felt something dark bleed through my surface thoughts. I stuck a hand out and touched the girl on the shoulder, stopping her. “Sondranos has been destroyed by the Belovores, and millions are dead.”
She looked at me. Father Corin bowed his head, and Davion set the box down. He pushed it to the side of the wall and started off the way we came. His exit was quick and sudden – all I recall is telling the girl about Sondranos, and then seeing Davion’s robes flowing behind him as he ran off. After a moment, the girl looked at me, unperturbed. “Yes,” she said, and smiled. “All shall be as it should be.”
The girl tilted her head to the side, looking to Father Coring for approval. He waved her away, and she set the crate next to another, contemplated it for a moment, and then set it atop the first. Then she did what all the others did, and left. Annalise wrapped her arm around mine. She felt cold, and I could feel the same chill winding its way down to my stomach.
They were working with the Belovores – every single one of them.
Davion re-entered, huffing. He leaned forward and caught his breath.
“I want you to read this,” Davion held a book out to me. The cover had soiled the linen of his robes. It was old, and he held it with reverence. Before I could take it, a gunshot reverberated down the hall, followed by a scream. The sharp noise startled all of us except for Davion, who took my hand and pushed the book into my chest. Instinctually, I took it as we all rushed to the doorway. Annalise held back, barely moving as we all hoped the shot wasn’t the beginning of something far worse.
Down the hall, two men argued.
“You could have killed someone!” one said.
“I’m sorry. The box splintered!” responded the second.
Two men, both with ruffled hair and sagging clothes leaned down to the crate they’d been carrying. The second one picked up a rifle, and set it within the box. It was large, and the burns on the wall opposite the crate showed that the weapon was plenty powerful. The stone had cracked, and I’m certain that, given the proper tools, one tap to the circular indentation would have created a rather large window into the bedroom beyond. The two men lifted the crate, avoiding where the second had claimed the crate had splintered. I could briefly see five more of the same rifles set within the straw. Father Corin had rushed up to the men to quiet them down, and ensure all was okay.
They carried the box and set it next to another crate, which joined the wall of the same. Four crates like the ones littered outside sat against the wall – some had more piled on top – lining as far down the interior as I could see. That’s what they’d been carrying. Live weapons, ones that had been untouched by the satellite systems. None of us wanted to stay in the hallway anymore.
We all moved back into the room. Annalise – who hadn’t cared much about the noise - Kayt and Melanie took a seat on the bed.
“Please, Leon. Look at the book I’ve given you,” Davion said, entering the room again.
“The Belovores will destroy you,” I mumbled. “They know how to target weapons. That’s how they took out most of the resistance.”
“We can survive; we have faith,” said Melanie.
“The book,” Davion whispered.
“You don’t get it, it will be a slaughter.” I held out my hands, feeling like I was in the classroom once again. “The Belovores are nearly impervious to weapons fire. The older they are, the stronger their plates are.”
Father Corin frowned, and he rasped at Davion, “What kind of brothers and sisters are you bringing into our fold? They have no inclination to listen even though you’ve informed them of the Primary Divinity.”
“You’re working with the Belovores,” I said. The words came out before the logic connected in my brain. I didn’t acknowledge the lie that Davion allowed to stand; he hadn’t told us anything, he’d simply assumed. I also didn’t register the book I still held close to my chest. Instead, I put together what I’d seen. The only cache of working weapons when those would have been the first to go under the Belovores’ attack plan; the lack of concern, or knowledge, for Sondranos; knowing that those weapons wouldn’t hurt a Belovore, but stockpiling them anyway – I couldn’t speak for anyone else in the town, but it seemed a good many had fallen in line with Father Corin, and he was responsible for the massacre.
The truth wouldn’t be evident until later, but now I can say that Melanie had good reason not to listen to 97 Transistor Radio – the station she’d mentioned back in the wine cellar of the Abbey. That station had been the one commandeered and run by Father Corin, and that was how the Belovores had all the information they’d needed.
The MacKinnon Commune of the Primary Divinity had Abbeys all over the map – attuned to whatever God was worshipped in the area. I felt comfortable with Davion because I felt he respected my beliefs, and was a man of God – even though god goes by many names. I imagine that was how many Abbeys operated on Sondranos. At the time, I also felt the ability to communicate by some sort of cloud based signal – a mental connection – was the only way to have organized something like this.
“They are new,” Davion said. “They don’t understand what the Salvation means to the Forgiven. Melanie understands our position.”
“I would hope so,” Father Corin said.
“But you killed one,” Annalise chimed in. Her tone was hard to read, quick and stuttering. “You crushed its head with a rock.”
“I did no such thing,” Davion said. He refused to meet Father Corin’s curious gaze.
“We all saw you,” Annalise jumped up from her seat on the bed and approached him. Father Corin stood in the way. He raised a hand and set it on the center of her chest. She jerked his hand to the side, glaring. “Don’t touch me.”
“Davion may have doubted his faith, but he would never intentionally harm a creature such as the Belovore, unless he was acting out of mercy for the creature,” Father Corin said. “You would do well to recall history the way it happened. Not the way you think it happened.”
“How could you bring us here?” I asked Davion.
“I follow the Lord’s plan,” Davion said. “And you have been, too. You have been looking for safety; I brought you to the safest place on Sondranos. Here, you will not want for food or question if you will fall victim to the world around you. You are amongst family now. The Belovores will not touch anyone who wishes to join the Forgiven; it was part of the agreement between our people.”
I turned to Annalise, who twitched nervously. Melanie paced near the end of the room, and Kayt sat on one of the beds. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wept silently.
“We’re going to die here,” Annalise whispered. Then, louder, “Why?”
Neither Father Corin nor Davion could hear us. Father Corin spoke vehemently at Davion, whispering his words violently.
“We just need time to think. This is a lot, all at once,” I calmed her down.
Annalise took my hand and squeezed it. She pursed her lips together and took a deep breath. “Time. We need time to think,” she said. She then rambled, stepping away from me. “Of course we do. Everyone needs it. I’ve done my time; I just need a little more.”
&
nbsp; I turned to Father Corin and smiled. I could sense Annalise was about to have a breakdown. I could hear her claiming responsibility on the road for all of this, her words echoing as if I was hearing them on repeat. Part of me wanted to accept everything, but another wanted to protect the person who was about to blame herself for something she had no control over. I wish I knew now why I said what I had – which reason had been true? “I’m sorry. It really has been a long day. What do you need us to do?”
He arched his eyebrows and looked to Davion. Davion nodded, agreeable. “First, we are going to prepare you something to eat. Then, we will rectify the mistake Davion has made. With your distressing amount of ignorance, I will suggest you stay here.”
“Do I have to?” Melanie asked. We all turned and faced her.
“You knew about this?”
She didn’t answer. Davion put out his hand and offered it to her. She slid past us. Her face was blank, and she joined Davion like she’d been rewritten over mentally. She refused to make eye contact with me and anyone else in the group. Davion took her hand in his and gripped.
I was too stunned to speak. They left, clamping the door shut. We all heard the sound we’d expected to hear – a lock twisting into place. I could just hear Father Corin speaking brashly to Davion. I looked back at Annalise and Kayt. I couldn’t help but feel a stab in my chest.
False Daniel whispered in my ear, ‘You could have seen this coming.’
Annalise walked to the wall beside a bed and hit it. She punched until her knuckles bled. Each sickening, thick blow resounded in my chest. She then backed up against the wall, closed her mouth and eyes, and fell into a seated position.
Kayt moved to sit next to her, and swallowed breaths so deep that I felt she’d hyperventilate. “If it helps,” Kayt whispered. The room was so quiet and closed that I could hear her as if she was next to me. “You were right about being angry. And forgetting. Now I don’t want to forget. I want to remember what they’ve done to him.”
I leaned against the wall. I expected the False Daniel idea to start chiding me simply because I didn’t know what to do. The book fell out from my hands, and the spine impacted the ground, cracking the book open. Most were loose, but the final few pages were clipped together. They hung together like a large packet. Long ago, someone had bound the book by hand, only they hadn’t done a good job. Over the years, the creator must have tried roughshod methods of keeping it together. I knelt down and picked up the pages, surveying them.
“I suppose I’m the one who got us here,” Annalise said.
I didn’t have an answer for her. Kayt snuggled up to Annalise. Her tears were silent, and Annalise’s were the same. I sat down, too, and set the loose pages in my lap. Every now and then a crate scraped against the stone outside.
After what seemed a lifetime, I took the pages that were clipped together and started reading.
“Why did he give me this?” I asked, not expecting a response.
“It’s just a story,” Annalise said.
“No,” I continued scouring the pages. “This is what he’s been telling us, the stuff about Admiral Perry and Velric. I thought Davion said it was a book he’d come across – it was written by him.”
I flipped through the first few pages, recognizing word for word what Davion had told us about the landing of the ship, even Admiral Perry’s first attempt at communicating with Velric. To say the professor side of me had come out was an understatement. I knew then that everything I’d done at St. Michel’s had been important. Subsequently, I knew how stupid it was for me to run from a simple change in title; the subject matter didn’t change. My abilities to see what was beyond the story wouldn’t cease, and that was proven when I looked at Davion’s manuscript.
“It’s a man reasoning with himself,” I said. “He’s finding a way to explain what he has done and why. Using the past to explain what he’s going through right now – turmoil, or what have you.”
“Like a Present Moment?” Kayt asked. She abled over to me, knelt down, and looked at the pages as well.
“Davion knew what was coming, and this story – Admiral Perry – was what he connected with. That’s why he’s given it to us now. Why he’s been telling us the story on the way here. It probably made him feel better about what he was about to do,” I said.
“Just stop, Leon,” Annalise urged. “This is pointless.”
“He wrote it,” I started. This was when I felt like I could have been back in the classroom. Me-Gen Literatures, regular Ancient Lit – it all told me how to interpret what Davion had written. I felt the happiness I did when I was back at St. Michel’s, simply teaching what I loved. “He had access to a typewriter, and something to print with. But he made sure to write it by hand so everyone would know it wasn’t part of the original story. Pen writing takes precision and time. He had to mean everything he wrote. I’d even venture a guess that he tilted the writing to the side for a reason – to add that extra step. Whether or not it was a subconscious choice, I don’t know.”
“And the tense is different from everything else,” Kayt said.
She would have done well in my class.
“Present tense. When postmodernism was defined as nothing more than a literary tool designed to make the writer stand out from thousands of similar stories, it was discovered that these tools came with a dozen other utensils. One of them was tense because it explained the writer’s state of mind. The past is something you can’t change. The future is something you can’t control. The present gives you the illusion of power over your own story.
“It’s comforting – even if you have to exaggerate a little.”
Annalise rolled her eyes.
“Which means Davion might not entirely believe in what he’s doing. We might have a way out through him after all,” I said. Whether or not I believed that, I still can’t say. It had been a few short moments since I’d last thought about False Daniel and listened while he tried to tear me down. I wished he’d been there to do it then, because it felt uncomfortable thinking about what I was about to say.
“Sometimes you just have to stop fighting,” Annalise said.
“There’s rescue coming,” I said. “There’s insight in here.”
“Father Corin did say that Davion had been sent to the Abbey after a great shake in his faith,” Kayt mumbled. “Maybe this was it.”
“Whatever happened to standing up and fighting back?” I asked Annalise. “We can get out of here. We have to, before the Belovores arrive. We have to warn the Cooper. I don’t know what they’re planning, but I know it will be a slaughter. You don’t stockpile on weapons when you’re working with the enemy.”
Annalise looked at me. In her eyes, I saw Lancaster, the people of Covenant, the man in the truck who got killed by the dart at the beginning of the day, and even Melanie – she may not have been dead, but she’d gone over to Davion’s way of thinking, and none of us had thought it possible. The difference was that Annalise’s greatest fear had been realized.
Davion had unwillingly written his own Me-Gen Literature; he’d recorded his own Present Moment, and handed it to me hoping it would explain what he couldn’t. I hoped so too. But, I also hoped that in those pages, Davion would be explained. I have to believe that I couldn’t see the whole truth then, even though it was scrawled out on the pages. I also hope that, if I was truly blinded to Davion’s intention then maybe the end isn’t my fault.
His eyes are drawn to the dozens of flags belonging to the Earthen United Nations - and a smattering of other outland colonies - planted in the Citadel grounds. Each one hangs limp against its pole, hushed in the windless morning. He feels the warmth of a metallic, alien storm lingering on the horizon, threatening from the east. He senses an electric breeze prematurely shocking his bones, throbbing up his back, reminding him that he’s well over fifty, and he should get back to the celebration before he feels even older.
The Admiral strides back inside and finds a spot in an alcove of the
Citadel's southern foyer, where hundreds had already gathered for what was called the ‘sunrise ceremony’. The Belovore Ambassador had been invited to speak, but his inclusion seems like a mere moment compared to the life the human settlers hold before them. This party, Perry realizes, is the first morning of a new and lonely, but human home.
Yet, it still reminds him of the guilt niggling at the base of his skull. No more interference by those who can't decipher the meanings of property or ownership; no more worry about potential class war, or cultural faux pas. The thought is followed by a question: whose worry is that, really? This belongs to the future, not a settlement no more than a few years old.
The alcove Perry stands in is a comfortable spot - concave, bright, and in full view of everyone - until Annika Granger arrives, handing him a glass of Blanc de Noirs like a peace offering. He gulps half his glass of champagne like a swig of oak aged whiskey and interrupts her greeting: "You don’t need to speak to me. Things change, Miss Granger," he says. "Not everyone wants to be like you anymore. Even the ones who made you." He rasps a hearty cloud of alcoholic breath and sucks it in through his teeth.
"And you aren't the expedition leader, anymore," she responds, immediately defensive. Two lightning bolt streaks of red colour her blonde bangs, pointing him to the centre of her eyes; the colour matches the silk, ruby dress she's hung loosely over her body. "You can't talk to us like we don't matter, Perry. Trust me or not, some people still believe in you."
Perry glares silently down at her, attempting to make her leave of her own volition, but she doesn't take notice. Instead, she drones on and on about politics, the Belovores, and other subjects Perry had wanted to believe were dead. A sense of obligation drives his attempt to listen for cues in her voice, past the din of crowd, but he eventually chooses to hear the soft, vibrant strains of a violin quartet playing over the loudspeakers instead.
Sondranos: The Narrative of Leon Bishop Page 19
