Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one

by Rhett Gervais

  The major bishop looked around the room, nostrils flaring. “Get your things, boy. I have had enough time wallowing in this mess.”

  Arthur watched as his father rolled to his knees with a heavy groan, wiping away the blood from his nose with a sausage-like finger. “Dad?” he whispered, taking a step toward the big man, only to have him raise a trembling hand to stop him. Desperate, Arthur turned to his mother, his breath sharp and quick in his ear as the reality of what was happening set in. “Mom!”

  Arthur had clung to a sliver of hope but wasn’t surprised when she turned away, burying her face deeper into the filthy couch. He felt like he had been slapped: vomit threatening to spill as his stomach churned. Looking back to the major bishop, he was not sure what to do. The way the man looked at him made him uneasy, like seeing maggots crawling on his skin. There was just something wrong about him. Gritting his teeth, Arthur reached down, grasping a piece of jagged glass from the shattered bottle and pressing it against his throat, raising his chin defiantly to the man in red. “I won’t go; I’ll cut myself first,” he said, digging the tip into his throat, a single red point blossoming on his skin. “I’ve seen it done lots of times.”

  The major bishop said nothing, simply giving him a smile that made him cringe. When he spoke, his voice was calm and measured. “I was once just like you, Arthur. I had to choose between the safe life I knew or taking a chance on an unknown future. What I learned is that life is about recognizing opportunity, boy, knowing when to take that chance. What I am offering you will be difficult, most certainly, painful, and dangerous, but if you are what I think you are, you will have a better life, I promise you!”

  Mesmerized by the major bishop’s words, Arthur gripped the shard of glass so tightly his palm began to bleed, doubt creeping into the back of his mind. “I’m scared. I don’t want to be, but I am,” he admitted, looking back and forth between his parents and the man who had come to take him away. “What will happen to me?”

  “It is good to be afraid, Arthur. Fear gives you strength, focus. Only fools ignore fear,” said the major bishop, placing his arms behind his back. “I won’t lie to you; you have my word on that. As to what will happen...you will become more than human, Ascended. A living weapon who can change the course of our nation, if you are strong enough.”

  Looking around the room, cracked and worn, the tiny cot in the corner he used for a bed, Arthur furrowed his brow. He understood how small his life was. Nothing he did here would ever make a difference. He could see it in his parents—he would become them one day, an alcoholic or junky. There was no hope in this place. People did what they could to get by, to enjoy the small joys they could get out of this life. Arthur didn’t feel special; he wanted nothing more than to be an ordinary boy, to do his best, to make a better life for himself. He didn’t want to go with this strange man who stood too close…

  “No,” he whispered, pressing the glass deeper to his throat. “If I kill myself—if I’m dead—I won’t be of much use to you, will I?”

  Arthur saw the man’s calm façade slip for an instant, replaced by a torrent of rage as a pistol suddenly appeared. Arthur ducked as a deafening gunshot echoed throughout the tiny apartment.

  “You will come with me, Arthur, or the next shot will remove your father’s head!”

  Horrified, Arthur turned to see his father on his knees gasping in pain, cradling his shoulder, warm blood flowing like water over his fingers as he tried to stem the bleeding.

  Looking back and forth between the major bishop and his father, Arthur knew he’d lost. In a single moment, his life here was over. He let the shard drop to the floor, the sound of the glass breaking on the concrete seeming louder than the gunshot, echoing with finality. “Alright, don’t...please. I will come with you,” he said, blinking away tears.

  “Brave and selfless—you are exactly what we need, son!’’ said the major bishop, returning the pistol to its holster.

  “Will he be…alright?” asked his father, his breathing short, sweat pouring down his forehead.

  “You need not worry. We will change what needs to be changed. You would not recognize him by the time we are done. He will be a better version of himself—the best possible version, I would say,” said the major bishop, unconsciously wiping his hands on his immaculate uniform.

  “Now it is time to go, boy,” said the major bishop in a commanding voice. “Take a moment to say goodbye, but it’s best we do this quickly. Take a few small keepsakes if you like, but the rest will be provided for you.”

  Arthur’s father struggled to his feet, blood running down his shoulder. He stumbled over and fell to his knees once again. With a terrible sadness emanating from him, he embraced his son in a bear of a hug. Arthur tried to absorb every part of the moment: his father’s smell, a mix of sweat and scotch, the rough feel of stubble against his cheek, the strength of the hands that held him tight. Arthur felt him shudder as tears came rolling down his round face. Arthur held it all in, not daring to give in to sadness, burying his fear and anger into a tiny hole deep in his heart. He would be brave. He was leaving his father, the only home he had ever known, for an uncertain future. If he let himself feel anything he would break down, and for the sake of his father he knew he had to be strong. Maybe one day he could come back...he hoped. Hope was all he had now.

  He tore himself from his father’s embrace. They took a moment to look at one another, his father giving him a small kiss on the forehead. There was nothing to say; he knew he was loved and would be missed.

  He took one last look at the place he called home. His mother had not stirred, and although he could see she was crying from telltale shudders in her shoulders, she would not look at him. Arthur didn’t care. She had always been strange, angry, mean, and abusive at the worst possible moments. She was a coward, and he would not miss her. Looking around the room, he wondered what to bring with him, only to realize that he had nothing. On the holo-net, people always had keepsakes and pictures, little portable memories to carry with them. He would have only memories. He told his father he loved him one last time and made his way out of the squat with the major bishop, the heavy echo of the door closing—final.

  He was not surprised when he heard the muffled crash and screams of his father’s rage behind the door. He was tempted to go back, for an instant, but that place was no longer his home. It was strange how quickly he accepted it, but he knew this was the last he would see of this place. He took a deep breath and forced himself not to look back.

  The night outside was dark and humid, the only light coming from the occasional barrel fire that dotted the street, the sickly rancid odor of soot and burning garbage filling his nostrils almost making him gag. The street was lined with makeshift shelters thrown together with old scraps of cloth and cardboard, and the occasional piece of rusted metal that those with means had long ago discarded. Cardboard condos, as they called them. Many families had no choice but to squat outside these days; most of the buildings in Cherry Hill were condemned. There had been one too many incidents of entire buildings collapsing with families inside. Cardboard couldn’t crush you while you slept.

  ***

  The major bishop’s monstrosity of an SUV stood in stark contrast to the burnt-out ancient cars that occasionally lined the dismal street. It was far too clean compared to the filth and grime of Old Baltimore. It stood as a great reminder of the vast chasm between the haves and have-nots. As they walked out toward the truck, the smartly dressed soldier guarding the car jumped to attention, moving hurriedly to open the door while giving the major bishop a sharp salute.

  “I want us at Dover Air Force Base in two hours, Sergeant,” he said without looking at the soldier, who nodded and vanished into the front of the SUV.

  Entering the SUV’s dark interior, Arthur stammered in amazement. It was like nothing he had ever seen or felt. Lush deep leather covered every surface, highlighted with dark wood, and chrome accents glowed warmly even in the low light. Sinking into the s
eat, he couldn’t help but smile. He had never been so comfortable in his life. He settled himself on the bench facing the major bishop. He found the seating very odd, with the driver separated by a divider that the major bishop quickly raised for privacy. He was so comfortable that for a moment he almost forgot that his world had just been turned upside down, that he was leaving home with a complete stranger, and that he had no real idea what was going to happen to him.

  “What will happen to me... I mean, really happen?” Arthur began thoughtfully. “What does it mean, I’m going to be a weapon? Am I going to die? Please tell me the truth.”

  The major bishop looked at him for what seemed a long time, which made him uneasy. Finally, he nodded to himself as though he had come to a decision.

  “I am many things, Arthur, but I do not count liar among them,” he began. “You are far wiser than your years would suggest. Most of the children I meet do not handle things as well as you have. They rarely see beyond the offer of escaping crushing poverty.”

  The major bishop patted the seat beside him, motioning for Arthur to come over and sit. Arthur hesitated for a moment before struggling out of the too-plush seat and reluctantly plopping into the seat beside the major bishop while the vehicle suddenly lurched away. “Much of what I have to tell you is complicated and will take time to explain,” he said, reaching into a concealed compartment and handing him a cool plastic bottle filled with amber liquid. “Have something to drink, son, and I will tell you as much as I can.”

  Arthur settled into the seat, opening the soda and taking a long pull of the cool liquid. It burned slightly as it ran down his throat, but it was sweet and refreshing.

  “Wow, this is good,” said Arthur, turning the bottle over in his hands.

  Seeing that Arthur was comfortable, the major bishop nodded to himself, smoothing his uniform before starting. “First I must tell you that I know what you are going through, and what you will go through. Remember that everything you do will be in service to your country, and we will all be very grateful for your service.”

  He placed a comforting hand on Arthur’s shoulder, leaning in close. “The chances of getting hurt are very high, though far less so than in my day, and I survived. Even if everything goes perfectly, you could still die out in the field. I need you to be brave. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” said Arthur. He took another sip of the soda. It burned slightly again, giving him a warm feeling in his belly.

  “Good. You possess a rare gene, Arthur, so rare that only one person in a hundred thousand has it,” said the major bishop. “We will be testing you to see how you react to the basics of the...procedure. We will learn how strong you can become.”

  “Will it hurt?” he asked. He sighed and sank deeper into the soft leather seat, beginning to feel as though the major bishop’s voice was far away. The soda was so good; he felt so calm and relaxed. So warm.

  “No, my son, there will be no pain,” he said, quietly running his hand lightly over Arthur’s thigh. “You will become a hero for the American people, someone to admire.”

  “Here, have another sip of soda,” he said, taking the bottle from Arthur’s hands and raising it to the boy’s lips. “Is that good?” he asked, touching his cheek. Arthur noticed how soft his hands were.

  “Yes,” Arthur replied. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open; he just wanted to curl up and go to sleep. “Why...what...are you doing…” Arthur mumbled as he felt a coolness, his shirt falling to the floor of the truck, the major bishop’s soft hands caressing him.

  “I am simply helping you relax, Arthur. I am sure it has been a trying day, but this will help. As I told you, I will do my best to keep you safe. We are going to be very close you and I, and our closeness will be our secret that you tell no one, alright?”

  Arthur had a brief moment of panic before letting out a deep soothing breath. He felt warm as the major bishop wrapped his arms around him.

  “The silk feels good…” Arthur mumbled to himself. “Secret...secret safe with me, I’m a good boy... Everyone tells me so,” he said, finally drifting off into a deep, troubled sleep where he dreamed of silkworms wrapping him in husks of dark red silk.

  Chapter 2: Ascension

  Excerpt: GNN Article

  President Warren held his first cabinet meeting this morning, introducing the nation to his newly formed Council of Cardinals. The president, eschewing the traditional roles of cabinet secretary to manage federal departments, said that the decision would reinforce the moral and ethical fiber of the nation.

  The president and his Christian Democratic Party won sweeping majorities in Congress last November, gaining a majority in the house and an unprecedented seventy-five-seat majority in the Senate, granting him the ability to finally make much-needed changes to the constitution to “return America to its roots as a Christian nation.”

  July 2075

  Arthur woke to a greasy-haired man he had never met before looming over him, tightening thick leather straps over his arms and legs, the major bishop behind him, watching with a hawkish gaze. He wondered how he’d gotten here, having only vague flashes of the interior of a dark truck and red silk before opening his eyes to the small room that he found himself in, which was little more than the bed and some cabinets up against the far wall. Beyond the door he could see a much larger area, stark and white. Above him floated a medical holo of his vitals glowing in blue and red, sensor data dancing by faster than he could read, a sensor clipped uncomfortably to the side of his head. The place was cool and clinical, tiled in white, brighter than he was accustomed to, leaving him feeling exposed as he lay naked on the brushed-metal table. He tried wriggling his arms and feet, testing the leather that held him tightly in place, only to find that he could barely move.

  “What’s all this? What’s happening? Are you a doctor?” he asked in a small voice, trying to sound polite while his heart raced. He pulled again, tugging hard at the straps.

  “What? No, no, I’m not a doctor, my boy. I’m a Christian scientist,” said the greasy-haired man prodding him with a strange needle-nosed instrument. Arthur wrinkled his nose in disgust as the man tried to reassure him with a yellow-toothed smile. “I am here to help you let the holy spirit into your heart and to make all—”

  “What Reverend Carmichael is saying,” said the major bishop, silencing the reverend with a look, “is that this is simply part of the process, Arthur. Everything will be fine, my child. Trust in the Lord.”

  Reverend Carmichael bobbed his head in agreement, his yellow grin widening. “This is the first step of many, but you are a very gifted young man, so the risk will be minimal,” he said, reaching into a cabinet and retrieving a glass canister bigger than Arthur’s forearm, filled with a viscous, blue liquid that seemed to glow from the inside. Arthur began to shake, pulling harder on the leather straps, shuddering while the reverend opened the canister, releasing a tendril of blue liquid that snaked unprompted from the tube onto Arthur’s chest. The liquid was like ice, slowly creeping over his midsection and shoulders. “I don’t want to do this; I’m sorry, I know I said I wasn’t, but—”

  The major bishop was immediately at his side, his voice a soothing whisper. Arthur recoiled from his touch, which felt like ice on his shoulder. “We discussed this, Arthur. You need to control emotions, your fear; focus it and use it to make yourself stronger.”

  Arthur shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. His nostrils filled with the putrid odor of rotting gums and rubbing alcohol from the reverend who hovered too close while applying a swab to his belly, preparing the entry point for the liquid. “I want my father, please. Let me at least make a call; he will want to know that I’m ok.”

  “I called not too long ago,” said the major bishop, frowning, “to confirm that they had received the money. I asked if he had words for you, perhaps to wish you luck. He said it would be better if it was a good clean cut: easier for everyone I believe were his exact words.”

  “Liar!” said A
rthur, lifting his head and slamming it against the table. The straps were beginning to chafe his wrists and legs as he pulled and pushed, baring his teeth.

  The major bishop’s frown deepened. Arthur never saw the blow coming—he was suddenly blinking away stars, the taste of blood in his mouth. When his head cleared, he found the man in crimson leaning over him, breathing heavily through flaring nostrils. “I am a man of God. I never lie boy. If you say such a thing ever again, I will not be so kind. Your parents did not want you; they let you go so easy. It would be best to forget them.”

  Balling his fists, Arthur stared intently at the old man, hate-filled spittle running down his chin through clenched teeth, not believing a word. His father loved him; he didn’t have a choice but to let him go. What could he have done against someone like the major bishop anyway?

  “Well, if that’s all done, we need to get to the business at hand,” said Reverend Carmichael, interrupting. “This might sting a bit, young man, but rest assured it will be for only a few moments. Are you ready?”

  Arthur pulled against the straps with every ounce of strength he had, a low guttural scream escaping his throat, straining like a collared animal on a chain, pulling at the straps until blood was flowing freely from his wrists, and exhaustion overcame him.

  The major bishop watched in detached silence, his arms folded in his crimson robes. “Exactly why didn’t you use a restraining field, Carmichael? Are you an idiot of some kind?”

  Opening the container and placing it on the bench beside the table, Carmichael simply gave him a guilty shrug, the smile on his face never wavering as he watched Arthur struggle.