by Kir Lukovkin
Rick thought this over as they passed through the hall and entered a spacious room covered with a mesh-like dome. Everything was already prepared for the ceremony. They walked to a free space behind the backs of the congregation so they could see everything that was going on. Paul silently pointed at the altar and the wide table. Rick enthusiastically examined the decorations — he was incredibly interested in who or what exactly was the Holy Maus.
A thick drapery hung behind the altar. The drapery concealed some sort of image on the wall. The altar itself was a stone plinth, carved with glyphs and writings. Kiernan was already here — the Abbot had changed into a long shirt made out of rough-spun wool. It was called a “hair-shirt”, Rick suddenly remembered.
All of a sudden, his temples felt as if he had been struck. Rick closed his eyes and shook his head — the seizure came at entirely the wrong time. His mind burned with pain, overloaded with the knowledge he gained through the Thermopolis rapid learning program, as dozens of fireflies danced in front of his eyes and he heard distant voices. That had not happened for quite a long time. It seemed that interaction with other people was having an effect as it was far less severe in the wastelands and the pain only overcame him when he was reading the books he found among the ruins.
Rick exhaled slowly, calming himself, and cast a sidelong glance at Paul. He was ogling Rick with fear, unable to understand what was going on. Rick looked ahead and saw Kiernan standing in front of the table with his eyes closed. At least that one did not notice anything. Complete silence fell.
Nothing happened for a couple of minutes. Kiernan slowly swayed from side to side and then upraised his hands and started to chant prayers. His voice carried itself up to the vaulted ceiling, reflecting off the walls. It was a high-pitched, somewhat gravelly voice dripping with mystical ecstasy. Kiernan started the service with a traditional prayer for cognition to be granted to humans from on high. He asked the Almighty to preserve the minds of men, so they could understand all of the grandeur of the designs of the divine and follow all the commandments that were given to the people. He also asked for the lives of his order to be prolonged, because it was the only fragile thing of value that remained after the dark centuries of chaos and ruin.
Kiernan asked for many different things, for mercy, for justice, for protection, but every time, his prayers somehow gravitated towards one thing — the desire to live a virtuous and intelligent life that was worthy of a human, not an animal. This was because animals in human form that were possessed by the devil prowled the earth, consuming the weak and tempting the strong. And this was the very reason that every commandment of the Holy Maus must be followed.
Kiernan climbed onto the table and started to perform a dance with complex, jerky movements. His mass had reached its second stage. Now he did not just ask, he thanked and praised God for all of the good things he did. The Abbot clapped his hands and his speech became rhythmical and terse, gradually turning into shamanic song. The smell of burning torches mingled with the smell of sweat.
“Let us praise the Holy Maus!” Kiernan called out and the crowd that had so far been quietly observing the mass immediately reacted. People started to clap together with the Abbot and sing along. Rick carefully observed what was going on, feeling Paul's eyes upon himself.
An assistant gave the Abbot a large vessel full of yellowish fluid and a brush. Kiernan lowered the brush inside and used the liquid to asperse those present, swinging his arms wide. There was a spicy smell in the air. Everyone gladly put their bodies under this rain. They rubbed the elixir all over their skin, licked the drops from their fingers and made jerky movements as part of a rhythmic dance. Kiernan moved around the circle of worshipers, exclaiming invocations.
“Hail the Holy Maus! Let's praise the Holy Maus!”
“Let us praise him!” chorused the congregation.
Once the elixir had run out, Kiernan was unsteady on his feet and made another pronouncement.
“Holy Maus, protect us! Save us from the machinations of the dark powers!”
“Save us!” the congregation chorused in return.
“Keep your righteous sons safe from the evil eye, the evil word and the clouding of their minds!”
“Yes!” a chorus of voices answered him.
Kiernan accepted a new chalice of the liquid from his assistant.
“The mark of the Holy Maus!”
With these words, he started to dip his brush in the fluid and anointing everyone's foreheads, moving along the rows of the devout. The paint flowed down along people's brows and chins and their faces soon turned yellow. It was now Paul's turn. The hand anointed his brow and dripped the paint upon his clothing, as the youth closed his eyes in a paroxysm of transcendent languor. Kiernan continued to mark the flock, moving in Rick's direction.
When they came face to face, Rick firmly told him, “Don't do it, Abbot.”
He wanted to step back, but then felt strong arms grip him on both sides. Kiernan hurriedly swung his hand, aiming for Rick's forehead, but Rick tilted his head back and pushed the Abbot back with a kick. Kiernan gasped and found himself landing on his posterior on the ground. The chalice rolled along the floor, splashing the spicy smelling viscous fluid.
For a second, everything stood still.
Everyone rushed towards the Abbot from all sides, helping him to get up. Someone picked up the chalice and brush. Kiernan passed his clouded gaze over all that were present until it stopped on Rick.
“Let him go,” he ordered hoarsely.
The order was immediately obeyed.
“The Mass is over.”
“I warned you,” Rick told him.
Kiernan looked at him with an expression of stubborn righteousness. Rick needed to get out of there as soon as he could. The din of offended voices could be heard behind him.
When Rick reached the hall where he had left his possessions, there were three strangers busily looking around there. Rick found his clothing among the piles of rags and started to get dressed. After he put on his jumpsuit, he suddenly stood as still as if he had been struck by lightning
His weapon and his travel bag had disappeared.
He looked around. The three strangers looked back at him, silently. One of them walked right up to Rick, scuffing his feet on the floor and spoke, revealing a mouth full of crooked teeth and empty gaps.
“Lost something?”
“Yes. My weapon.”
“None may enter the temple bearing weapons!” exclaimed the crook-toothed man.
“Return my effects to me,” Rick forced out.
“Better go and air out your brain, pagan,” the stranger answered with contempt.
He smirked again. Rick noticed one of the three strangers quickly slide out into the street with a bundle in his arms with the corner of his eye. That settled everything. Rick rushed after him, but the crook-tooth grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Let me go!”
The crook-tooth did not listen to him. Rick smashed him in the ear with his right hand, knocking him off his feet. However, other men who filled the hall blocked the way to the exit. Rick found himself surrounded. He managed to knock down another three, but could not fight his way to the exit as the crowd that poured out into the hall after the mass completely cut off all escape routes. Rick ended up on the floor in the ensuing melee, his legs and arms held tight against the stone. The crowd parted and Kiernan stood over him.
“What happened here?” he exclaimed.
“This pagan maimed Brother Jeremy, knocked Simon's teeth out and broke Blaze's jaw!”
Kiernan passed his cloudy gaze over the crowd and then stared at Rick.
“Take him away,” he ordered.
Rick tried to break free, shouting that it was all a lie, but none listened to him. The crowd carried him out of the hall like a tidal wave.
C
THE SOUND OF STEPS rang out in the darkness of the corridor. Rick warily sat up on the bunk. His hearing was well developed, as it was a v
ital quality in the gloom of the world that birthed him. So, there were two people approaching the cell. One had a heavy step, while the other stepped lightly, limping along. The footsteps fell silent by the door to his cell.
Rick imagined how these two walked along the path he had taken down here on the day of the Mass. While he was being dragged to this place, he carefully memorized the way. He was lowered into the shaft which was under an explosion-ravaged structure. The shaft was twenty levels deep — a huge well, with walls comprised of residential blocks and places that had once been industrial units. Rick was taken down along a spiral corridor that circled the well down to the lowest levels. Once they reached level five, the convoy dragged him along a narrow corridor and threw him into a damp cell which was filled with empty wooden boxes.
There was a clang as the bolt slid open. The light of a lantern dazzled Rick's eyes and he saw the squat outline of a man in the doorway. The stranger waited for a moment before entering, as if he was afraid of his next step.
“Shout if anything happens,” someone grumbled in the corridor.
There was a rustling noise, the clang of the bolt again and the sound of retreating steps.
Rick blinked after the bright light and looked at the door again. Paul was standing there. He looked around helplessly, getting used to the half-light. At last, he noticed Rick sitting on a bunk made out of a row of boxes.
“Come in,” offered Rick, pushing an empty box towards him.
He actually knew that Paul would arrive ahead of time — he had requested the meeting himself.
Paul took a faltering step forward and stood stock still, staring at the box. Rick could not resist smiling — Paul was even more afraid of him now.
“I'm in no hurry,” Rick told him. “I can wait.”
Paul swallowed and got his breath back. He frowned, trying to make his face assume a severe expression, but the way he looked amused Rick even more. Paul carefully lowered himself onto the box, squinting in the gloom.
“A little dark, is it?” Rick smiled again. “I know what darkness is.”
“I have no doubt,” Paul blurted angrily. “What do you want from me?”
“Information.”
“What sort of information?”
“What is in the east?”
Confusion rippled across Paul's face. He was so tense that his fingers contracted into fists. Of course, the Abbot had given him detailed instructions before his visit, so Paul was going along with the guidance from his mentor — be harsh and strict and aggressively provocative.
“Why do you want to know?”
“You're careful,” Rick complimented him. “It's a good quality. A useful one. I observed you on that day. You were the only one that took your horse out of the column, while the rest were still trying to work things out. You were the first to notice the possessed.”
Paul tensed up again, trying to look even more severe.
“I could stop interacting with you,” he replied.
“Was that what Kiernan ordered you to do?” Rick enquired, leaning back against the wall. “That Abbot of yours is a cunning guy. He did a good job there.”
“What job?”
“The Mass and all the rest. He used you as bait. He took advantage of my trust and sent his men to look at my possessions while we were listening to his howlings.”
“That's not how it was...” Paul started to reply.
“I don't want to talk about it,” Rick cut him off, suddenly leaning forward. “Tell me about the east. If you don't want to, leave.”
There was a hard glint in Paul's eye for the first time. He jumped up, closing and opening his fists and breathed heavily as he looked for an insulting reply. But it was Rick who spoke.
“Hey, man, I did not want to offend you. I just spoke straight. Hard times require honest words and actions.”
Paul calmed down somewhat, but did not sit back down on the box.
“A ruined canal leads to the east and there are the Tombs beyond that.”
Some facts at last. Rick carefully pulled on the string to unravel the ball.
“And further along?”
“I don't know. None of the brothers ever went that far, of those that returned.”
“So there were some expeditions?”
“Yes. Borislav, who was our previous Abbott, left with three dozen men and vanished without a trace. That was almost twenty years ago. We have been wary of the east since then.”
“I see. What about the north and south?”
“Mountains to the north, wastelands to the south.”
“Did anyone come to visit you from those directions?”
Paul thought on it for a moment.
“Some sort of nomads,” he tentatively ventured. “I think they were wild tribesmen. Pagans. Those that live at the edge of the Abyss.”
“Did they try to attack you?”
“Some did, but many of them just went away.”
Now it was Rick's turn to think about what he just heard. It seemed that his way lay in the direction of the Tombs. The canal was the main point of reference that he should not depart from. The canals were dug by the Ancients to connect the domes and the big cities. Over his weeks of wandering, Rick could count the number of domes inhabited by humans on his fingers. Most of the settlements were more like sepulchers. Coming across the caravan from the Retreat gave him a new hope.
“How long has the Retreat existed?” he asked.
“No one knows for sure. Ever since the first adepts escaped here from the nearby cities.”
“So the dome already existed,” Rick muttered to himself. “Then everything matches... Was there anything left of those who inhabited the dome before?”
“Nearly nothing. The Abbot might keep some important things to himself, but no one knows what exactly they are. Only the Abbot's successor is initiated into all of the mysteries.”
Rick thoughtfully scratched his chin through his unkempt beard.
“Do you know why you are going to help me?” he asked Paul.
Paul kept quiet.
“You are driven by curiosity. An inquisitive man can never calm down until they get to the bottom of things.”
“You can say whatever you want,” Paul looked past Rick into empty space with complete indifference, as if he did not even notice him.
“Fine. Then remember this: Kiernan is lying to you to maintain control of the Retreat and keep me here. It is all about my weapon. Did you see it in action at the canal?”
“No,” Paul admitted.
“Well, the second survivor saw it all. He told Kiernan everything in detail. A sword can be used to kill one, two or three enemies, while my blaster can cut down dozens of enemies when it is set to wide beam dispersal. I see you don't understand some of the words I'm using?”
Paul was frowning, trying to pretend that he did.
“A blaster is a weapon created by the Ancients,” Rick began to explain. “It was made in the ages when man could command machines and change this world. A blaster radiates energy similar to sunlight that has been intensified several thousand times. Do you understand what I am talking about?”
Paul ground his teeth. It seemed that he understood.
“When you own such a weapon, you can destroy the possessed and also make all of your enemies and all who disagree with you bow before you. It is absolute power.” Rick accentuated the last word. “Have you ever thought about who built your Retreat and why people suddenly go insane?”
Paul's lips twitched, so Rick continued, having caught the initiative.
“Let me guess — the people of the Retreat are forbidden to go outside it when they wish to without escort. Because none of you have ever seen the outside world and gone beyond the domed cities. The majority of you are illiterate. The orders of the Abbot must be obeyed to the letter. No initiative, only discipline and obedience. They indoctrinate you by saying that this is the way to get closer to God. Is that right? Touching ancient mechanisms and learning to rea
d signs is forbidden under pain of death. Am I correct? You live in isolation, thinking that the universe is limited by the horizon, and that everything beyond is just emptiness.”
“Do you have any more questions?” Paul almost shouted.
“You suffer from the cold,” Rick concluded. “I know how to bring the heat back.”
“Questions! Ask me questions!” Paul demanded.
“I can make it so that you will not have to travel along the canal to get supplies and risk your lives. You will no longer suffer from hunger and you will have a normal life.”
“Questions!”
“But to do this, you will have to take a risk and get rid of your cult.”
Paul staggered away, trying to hold his ears shut with his hands. He swayed towards the wall.
“I know that you regularly attend all of the Masses and services, Paul,” Rick told him harshly. “But it isn't because you believe in your Maus so much.”
Paul stared at him in horror.
“It's only because you need the holy elixir. You only feel well when you receive it.”
“You are the spawn of hell,” Paul whispered.
“I know,” Rick laughed. “I have one last question.”
Paul contracted, as if he was expecting to be struck.
“What does the Abbot intend to do to me?”
“I have no idea,” Paul exhaled.
Rick tried to catch his wandering eye for a second. He failed.
“Then be on your way.”
Paul glanced at Rick with distrust. He backed away towards the door.
“You should not have done that,” he mumbled sadly. “You should have obeyed him.”
“Obedience is the death of will,” Rick replied with disgust. “Subservience is a sign of weakness. That is not my path.”
“I must go. Unlike you, I have many matters to attend to.” Paul turned towards the door and knocked, calling the guard. Unhurried steps rang out from the corridor again and Paul kept completely still as the guard approached. He just stood there, hunched over in silence.
