The Sinner King: Book of Fire

by D. R. Crislip

  *******

  Rory turned to Dohlman and spoke to him exclusively: "I'm sorry sir, but your host requested to meet with Mr. Coulee in private. If you would like, you can wait in the study where there are refreshments."

  Dohlman sighed at the news and then glanced over to me. He looked as if he wanted to say something but then hesitated. "Fine."

  Rory nodded and gestured back down the hall. Dohlman slowly walked out of sight.

  "Now, for you Mr. Coulee," Rory said while he walked over to a linen closet and opened the double doors. "You will be needing a medical mask . . . ah, right here." He pulled out what looked like a white surgical mask and handed it to me. Rory then began showing me how to place it on my head. "Unfortunately, because of his poor health, any visitors need to wear a mask like this to protect him from germs. You see, your host is in a very frail state at the moment and needs as much precaution as possible. So for that reason I must request that you not take this mask off for any reason whatsoever."

  I suddenly felt not only the anxiety of meeting this legendary man but the weight and responsibility of keeping him alive during my visit. Rory gestured to the large double door in front of us. "They're waiting through there." Rory then walked away and back down the hall.

  I felt very apprehensive about what was in store for me through the doors. I took a deep breath and turned the handles, swinging the doors wide open.

  *******

  Overhead the green light flashed on and the railway slowed to a stop. Rebecca looked around and saw that she had arrived at her destination. Reluctantly, she closed the translation and picked up her workbag. Despite the impending terribleness of the situation, Rebecca was growing more and more intrigued with the translation. The good news was that maybe she would get some answers from her mother. Rebecca took a deep breath and exhaled before standing. It had been months since she last saw her mother in person. Nervous butterflies began to flutter in her stomach as she exited the train. All she hoped for was to get something of an answer, some kind of understanding of the situation. Rebecca felt prepared for anything as long as it helped explain what was going on. Unfortunately, preparedness could do nothing for what she was about to hear.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The walk from the Railway platform to the Western Village, the underground apartment complex her mother lived in, was not a pretty one. Unlike Rebecca's neighborhood, which was along Lake Callidas and lined with midsize trees and colorful apartment buildings, the land surrounding The Western Village was a barren wilderness, all the way to the base of the Mazlo Mountains. There was nothing but dead grass, rocks and the occasional snake or scorpion. The Ministry had constructed a guarded path that led down into the underground village in order to protect people from becoming victims of a deadly sting or bite. The doublewide path was lined with an electrical mesh that was so dense that not even a pin could squeeze through without getting a healthy shock. But the mesh was no real danger for humans. The voltage running through it was equivalent to a static carpet shock. However, it was enough to keep the critters away.

  While Rebecca made the long walk, which was approximately two hundred yards to the village entrance, she thought about William's mentioning of a pyramid buried inside a hill. He said it in a manner that implied that pyramids were not common to find. This struck her odd because pyramids played such an integral role in her world. The shape was considered the cornerstone of all architecture. Every single Ministry headquarters was designed as a pyramidal structure. Pyramids weren't buried but proudly displayed. Even their social structure was based on the pyramid. The Minister made up the tip, which was the First Tier, and every tier that followed widened the shape until it made up a pyramid. She wondered if the author of the text was trying to imply that the pyramid was meaningless. Maybe it's the political statement I was expecting to find, but she doubted it.

  When the walkway reached the village gate, a titanium arch that had bars spelling out The Western Village, it then declined into what appeared to be a massive miner's tunnel into the earth. In actuality, it was the main drive that parted the two neighborhoods carved out of stone. Both neighborhoods had tight alleyways, each made up of sixteen blocks—thirty-two total. Each block had nine buildings and each carved out building housed nine flats. The flats were an amazing architectural achievement considering every wall, floor, and ceiling was chiseled out of single slabs of rock. But despite the amazing achievement, The Western Village was an equivalent to a lower-status neighborhood. The people who lived there were mechanics, manufacturers, plumbers, and anyone else who worked with their hands for a living. How Francesca Badeau ended up living there was due to her slight learning disability.

  When Francesca took the Cognitive Examination it was discovered that she mixed words up in her mind, thus giving her a disability. The Ministry didn't take kindly to mental disorders and did little to correct them. So even though Francesca was every bit as smart as her daughter, she was given an Eighth Tier status and worked next to her Ministry approved husband, Francis Sommers, as a plumber. Until Rebecca learned of her mother's dark secret, she always thought that Francis was her biological father. So when Francis died of a heart attack a year earlier, Rebecca took it quite hard. Everyone knew that Francis had a heart condition that gave him only fifty-one years to live, but it didn't make his death any easier for Rebecca. Francis was her father. Because of that, she still held anger toward her mother. Something inside Rebecca told her that Francesca still felt for Corbin Byrne, wherever he lived.

  When Rebecca arrived at her mother's flat, on the third floor of the building, she found the door open. The reason why Francesca was home that day was because she worked a slightly different schedule than most. Since plumbers were needed around the clock, Francesca worked the third shift and had only been off work for two hours before Rebecca's arrival.

  "Hello?" Rebecca called out after walking inside. A Western Village flat wasn't very big. The front door opened into a closed-in living room that led into the smaller of two bedrooms and a hall that led to the kitchen, bathroom, dining room and master bedroom. Unfortunately, all of the flats were primarily dark. Each building ran three flats abreast and three stories tall. Most flats only had windows in the front and the back. Francesca's flat was one of those unlucky ones. She did her best, though, to lighten the place by using bright colored paint to reflect as much light as possible. Painting the walls was one of the only individualistic choices people in The Collective were allowed to make.

  Francesca came walking out of the kitchen. She was wearing a common cooking apron. Rebecca forced a smile. Francesca looked as beautiful as ever. The two of them were almost mirrored images of each other. They both stood at about five feet, four inches; both had blond hair, light freckles on their faces and arms; and they both had light eyes, although Rebecca had green eyes while Francesca had blue. The biggest difference separating the two was that Francesca was twenty years older.

  "Hello Rebecca," said Francesca in a formal tone.

  Rebecca suddenly took notice of how sterile their relationship had become over the years. "Hello mother."

  The two of them drew toward each other for an awkward embrace. Rebecca then quickly receded and asked: "What are you making?"

  "Just the usual, cucumber sandwiches and carrot sticks."

  Rebecca loved her mother's cucumber sandwiches. It was one of the few instances when she could escape the Ministry controlled diet, which always consisted of meat.

  "I made one for you," Francesca said and then led her daughter into the kitchen. "So what's making you so nervous that you needed to come all the way out here?"

  Rebecca wasn't sure how to explain the problem. They promised each other that neither would ever bring up the affair again. But Rebecca reminded herself that it wasn't her bringing up the affair so much as it was the translation.

  "Mother," she said carefully, "I didn't come here because I'm feeling nervous about the wedding."

  Francesca didn't look surpr
ised. "No?"

  "No." Rebecca then reached down to her workbag and pulled out the massive manuscript. "I'm here because of this." She placed it onto the table.

  Francesca looked at it and then back to Rebecca, her face was covered with confusion. "What's this?"

  Rebecca took in a deep breath before explaining. She told her mother the tale—meeting Jillian, the safebox and how to open it.

  "That's not possible," said Francesca with disbelief.

  "I wouldn't have believed it either," said Rebecca quickly, "but I keyed in his last name and the locks opened."

  Francesca quickly rose from the table and backed away. "This isn't possible. No one knows about it. I haven't told a soul."

  "But maybe he did," said Rebecca as she stood up too. "I'm sorry mother, I didn't want to put you through this but I didn't know what else to do."

  Francesca nodded and calmed herself a bit. "Okay . . . okay . . . I understand."

  "You're certain you never told anyone?"

  "Positive! I wouldn't have told you if I had not felt it necessary for you to know. Everyone should know who their biological parents are."

  "Then it has to be him. Corbin must have told someone."

  Francesca began shaking her head. "I don't think so."

  "Why? How can you be sure?"

  "Because I know Corbin. He wouldn't put our lives in jeopardy like that."

  "You haven't spoken to him in twenty-eight years, how can you be certain?" But then it clicked for Rebecca. "You have spoken to him."

  Francesca looked ashamed by her daughter's revelation. "It's not how you might think. We've only had short correspondences. We just made sure the other was okay."

  Rebecca was the one in shock now. "Even when you were married to father?" But of course she didn't need to ask. "Does he know about me?"

  Francesca hesitated before answering. "He does."

  Rebecca looked up to the ceiling and gasped. "You have to be kidding me! Mother don't you see! This text is from him! He had Jillian deliver it to me!"

  Francesca shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

  "How can you say that? It's so obvious now. He's playing some kind of game with us."

  "He wouldn't do that Rebecca! You don't know him! Corbin is a good man. He has no reason to be playing games with you. You're his blood."

  The two of them sat in silence for a moment before Francesca spoke again. "What's in this thing anyway? Maybe your answer lies inside."

  Rebecca sighed and began explaining that William's chronicle was somehow meant for her despite being 3,500 years old. "Supposedly I'm the only one who will know what to do with the information inside." Rebecca then told her about Theoman's supposed partnership with Vermil and his murder.

  Francesca looked worried now. "It actually says that in there?"

  "Yes mother. Can you now see why I'm in so much trouble?" Rebecca then explained how all translations go to Quality Control and how they can be red flagged pending on the content. "Look, I don't know if this William guy really wrote this book or what is meant by it. I don't understand how Benjamin Vermil would have known about it or why Jillian Heddington killed herself. And I really don't understand what all of this has to do with me. All I know is that if Corbin didn't send this then your affair was obviously known by this Benjamin Vermil. So someone talked about it and if it wasn't you then it must have been him."

  Francesca was silent, deep in thought. Then her eyes lit up. "Second Duty!"

  Rebecca looked at the time and saw they were due to login. "Oh my!"

  Both of them retrieved their handheld notebooks and logged in. The camera on the notebooks came to life and began recording their faces as they prepared for meditation. Rebecca forced her mind to clear and began to concentrate on the East Quarter of the Ministry complex. She had trouble, at first, getting the thoughts of Corbin from her mind, but she eventually was able to visualize the East Quarter structures and visualized them looking new and strong, beautiful and full of life. She did this for the full half hour required by the Ministry. Rebecca had no idea what her mother was meditating on and they were strictly forbidden to tell.

  After the half hour was up, both Francesca and Rebecca logged off. "Make sure you turn your notepad completely off," warned Rebecca.

  Francesca nodded and did as ordered by her daughter. The two of them sat there silently and began to pick at their food that was growing stale. It was Francesca who finally broke the silence. "This is really bizarre: the manuscript I mean. I've been sitting here trying to figure out how so much could be known. What were those places it mentioned—Iraq?"

  Rebecca shrugged. "I have no idea."

  "It's so very odd."

  "I know. And I'm being targeted for some reason. A lot of thought went into this—but why? I can't help but to think it's Heretique propaganda—like the time long ago when they tried to infiltrate The Collective by using art."

  Francesca thought about it for a second and then shook her head and said: "I don't think so."

  "How can you be sure?" challenged Rebecca.

  "Didn't you say the text was carbon dated to a much earlier time?"

  "It dated to The First Time. But it has to be a fraud; the text has not only our names, but many others."

  Francesca looked deep in thought and then shook her head again. "I really don't think the Heretique have anything to do with this."

  "Why not? Isn't this the kind of thing they would want us to be reading? A mysterious book designed to strike fear into the Collective's heart. A text created to appear ancient and mystical in form just so we challenge the Ministry's truth, to challenge everything we know about our past as if there is some huge conspiracy to cover it up."

  Francesca frowned. "I just don't think the Heretique would do something like that."

  Rebecca was shocked by her mother's naïve perspective. "The Heretique hate the way we live. They hate everything the Ministry stands for and they will stop at nothing in order to bring us down." She then shook her head and said: "You can't afford to be so ignorant on the subject."

  Francesca's face hardened, surprisingly. "I'm not ignorant, Rebecca, despite what those tests try to reveal. I know far more than you will give me credit and I'm telling you that the Heretique did not write that book."

  "How do you know?" Rebecca fired out.

  "Because!" Francesca shouted with frustration—her eyes trembling as she choked back her next few words.

  Rebecca could see pain in her mother's eyes and was deeply confused. "What's the matter with you?" But as Rebecca asked the question she understood suddenly. "You know someone who is a Heretique . . . don't you?"

  Francesca hesitated a long while before answering. She slowly nodded her head, mouth opened slightly. "Rebecca, your father is a member."

  Rebecca's eyes widened and her expression froze. She couldn't believe what her mother just confessed. It was possibly the worst thing she had ever heard. My father? "What did you just say?"

  Francesca sighed and nodded sadly. "Your biological father is a member of the Heretique."

  Rebecca's face went stark white. She began to shake her head, "No."

  "I'm sorry to tell you like this, but it's true. I wanted to tell you before but I couldn't find a good way to explain."

  Rebecca couldn't think of any good way to find out that her biological father was a Heretique. A person couldn't be associated with anything worse. "He's a Heretique?"

  "I know what you must be thinking," Francesca said carefully, "but he is not how you know them."

  "Mother! They are liars!" hissed Rebecca with disgust.

  "Corbin is not a liar."

  "Wake up! They are the enemy of everything we believe in! They are the scum of the Earth!"

  Francesca's face turned bold. "Rebecca, Corbin is not the scum of the Earth."

  Rebecca couldn't believe her ears. Everything her mother was saying was treason. Her father was an enemy of the Ministry. "What's going on here?"

  "Now
you listen to me, and you listen well," Francesca ordered, "Corbin is an honorable man who is fighting for what he believes in. He is no sadist and he is no monster. He is a loving, caring, peaceful man that only wants to reform how the Ministry runs The Collective."

  Rebecca was utterly stunned. "You sound like one of them. You sound like a Heretique." She then began to cite the Ministry decree regarding the forbidden organization: "All members of the Heretique are banned from ever stepping into any Ministry controlled Sector. They are official enemies of the Ministry. All that serve and protect them will be executed on the spot."

  Francesca sighed and gave a look of disgust to her daughter. "You sound like a Ministry puppet. Have you lost all individualism?"

  "Individualism? What are you talking about? This isn't about being an individual; this is about our way of life—our world. This is about respecting the Ministry and everything they have done to provide for The Collective. The Heretiques want nothing but disorder—chaos. How can you sit here and talk as if you approve of this?"

  "You only know what the Ministry has told you," Francesca fired back. "I never said I was against the Ministry for goodness sake. I was only saying that the Heretique are not what you were led to believe. Are they trying to create chaos: no. Are they trying to hurt people: no. Are they a danger to the Ministry: yes. Everything else is Ministry approved propaganda. Corbin and the rest of his Heretique only want the right to live an individual life. Is that so bad? All they want to do is live a life that doesn't require five Ministry meditation sessions. A life that is not planned from the day one is born. They want to live life as they choose, with no Ministry interference."

  "THAT IS CHAOS MOTHER!" shouted Rebecca.