The Fall of Man: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 1

by J. V. Roberts

  The town square was just waking up. Sleepy men, pushing wheelbarrows filled with wood and fresh remnants from the grain harvest, nodded their heads towards Blake as he passed them by. Blake’s chest was tightening up the closer he got to Mother’s residence. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he was passively moving towards his own execution.

  No, he couldn’t think that way, Mother would never.

  He was too valuable.

  Too visible.

  The people of Reeman would never support such a move.

  But they’d cheered the Fall of Micah and Susanna, a couple only eight months into their union. Killing them had been a clear violation of Scripture. Only a small circle had known they were spies for the Union. By all accounts someone in the crowd should have spoken in protest. Perhaps it’d become all about the blood, all about the show. It didn’t matter who it came from, as long as the flow was steady, and it didn’t belong to them. Or perhaps—for better or worse—Mother’s voice now carried a power that compelled only blind obedience. They were so far from where they began. There was once a vision for Reeman, and this was not it.

  They’d once been a small band of survivors; men, women, and a few children. They’d gone north after their settlement had been destroyed during the war. They found themselves starving, their numbers dwindling daily; they were living in flimsy huts, defending themselves with sticks, and getting picked apart by bandits on a nightly basis.

  Enter Mother.

  She came offering food, water, and armed men for protection. Zach and Toby were attached to her hips, mere children at the time. She carried a hand written book bound together with twine; the Gospel of Multiplication. She talked of the old world and how it fell due to the self centered greed of man. She talked of the Curse, mankind’s punishment from the Creator for the disobedience of their forefathers, and how it was their duty to root it out, “It will not be pleasant, but it’s our duty, as His children, to carry out His will. Follow me, obey His word, and I promise, you and your loved ones will survive. Not only will you survive, you will thrive.”

  They were desperate.

  They only had one condition for Mother. The Council: men from the settlement, elected by the people. They would work with Mother, side by side, to implement the Gospel of Multiplication. A way of ensuring that the judgments handed down were fair and that the people understood the new path they were on.

  Ultimately, it was a power check.

  Mother went along with it, though she was sure to make her objections known, “The Father needs no Council. Every utterance from my lips is the unstained word of our Creator. If it brings you comfort, elect your Council, and I will include them to the best of my ability.”

  And so they did. The last thing they wanted was to be under the thumb of a dictator.

  The Gospel of Multiplication laid down a simple and, perhaps, harsh set of laws. Every couple, united before the eyes of the Father, was required to conceive at least one child within the first twelve months of their union. If they could not conceive a child within that time period, they were deemed Cursed and sentenced to take the Fall. It was a punishment that was symbolic of the old world, of the Fall taken by man when the old world was swallowed by fire.

  Taking a partner was optional. But according to the Gospel of Multiplication, if an individual chose not to take a partner, they had to swear an oath of celibacy and multiply through other means. They could join the Watch, farm, build, sew; as long as they were doing something to contribute to the multiplication of Reeman. Many chose that route. Many did not want to risk taking the Fall.

  For a long time things went just as Mother had promised. Walls were built, food was plentiful, and they were truly thriving. Those that had made the covenant were conceiving. It looked as if no one would have to take the Fall.

  Blake felt relief. For the first time, in a long time, he felt peace.

  Then, a stillbirth.

  He remembered the young woman’s name.

  Jillian.

  More than anything, he remembered the terror on her face.

  She’d begged and pleaded with Blake not to tell Mother. Her husband had yelled and threatened, he’d pressed Blake into a corner and shaken a fist in his face as tears streamed down his cheeks. Blake was lost. He was used to death being something he worked to defeat. Not a consequence that he handed out to patients that failed to meet a spiritual criteria. Thankfully, the responsibility was removed from him when Jillian and her husband made a run for the front gate. Her husband was shot down and Jillian, with a bullet hole in her calf, was left to take the Fall on her own.

  After that, things started to spiral. The Council was outraged at the level of brutality demonstrated during the Fall. But it was too late. Mother had amassed a loyal band of followers on the Watch. With a dozen armed men at her back she’d stood in the town square, accused the Council of heresy, and sentenced all of them to take the Fall. There were no objections, not even Blake had possessed the courage to speak out in the face of such force.

  The paranoia set in shortly after she’d disposed of the Council. The Fall became a much more frequent occurrence. The blood lust began to grow within the community. It became a sport; people taking bets on who’d be next. Mother began asking for weekly updates from Blake regarding those with the potential to conceive. “Heresy!” She’d point the finger and over the edge they’d go. If their loved ones protested, they’d follow. No one challenged her. Mother had provided. She’d rescued them from the quicksand and placed them on solid ground. She was the Prophetess. His Word revealed. To thrive, they need but follow.

  Blake didn’t know how much more thriving he could endure.

  Riley and Judith, I endure for them… only for them.

  Mother’s domicile rested back off the main square, just behind the church. It was hard to miss it. It was on stilts, sitting high above the rest of the settlement, giving Mother a bird’s-eye view of the world below. There was a narrow, zigzagging staircase leading up to the front door. It was built from a sturdy wood that never seemed to lose its finish. It appeared elegant when compared to the swollen, waterlogged buildings sitting in its shadow.

  Zach was among the guards standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Well, look here. What’s the password, Doc?” Zach stepped forward and nonchalantly set the barrel of his rifle against Blake’s chest.

  “Oh, we have a password now?” Blake chuckled nervously, trying his best to come off as one of the guys.

  “Surprised you actually made it. Thought I was gonna have to go and kick that ass.” Zach said, as he lowered the rifle.

  “Hey, well, no ass kicking needed here. Message received loud and clear.” He’d seen this little bastard wet his bed. He’d walked him through the minefield of puberty.

  Entitled, ungrateful, little piece of…

  “Well, go on then, Doc, what’re you waiting for?”

  I’m waiting for you to get out of my way. “You’re right, better not keep her waiting.” He shuffled around Zach and the other men, with their big guns and their aggressive postures. Blake gave them all the same jellyfish nod, as if he were some kicked dog slinking away with the table scraps. The day was just beginning and he already felt exhausted as he reached Mother’s front door. He knocked twice and a stone faced member of the Watch allowed him entry with little more than a cursory glance.

  The outer room was the same as always; gloomy, despite the candles flickering in the chandelier overhead. Blake knew the drill. Before entering Mother’s chambers one must be summoned. So he stood with his hands clasped in front of him, bouncing up on the balls of his feet, trying to work the tightness from his muscles and the tingling from his bones.

  The door to her chambers opened and deep, dimwitted laughter filled the room.

  Toby.

  “Ah, hey, look who it is. Mother, Blakey boy showed up,” he sucked his teeth and propped himself up in the doorway; Blake’s final obstacle.

  “Send him in,” her voice was s
mooth and hollow.

  “Hey, Blakey boy—”

  “I heard her.”

  “You giving me lip?” Toby squared up his shoulders. “You’re lucky we’re in Mother’s house,” he hissed at Blake and bumped him with his shoulder as he exited the chambers.

  “Yeah, I feel absolutely blessed,” Blake said flatly.

  Mother was in a high backed wicker chair, with the Gospel of Multiplication sitting open in her lap, and a steel chalice hugged tight against her chest. “Please, shut the door, Doctor.”

  Blake did as instructed and then turned to face her.

  The room itself was a minimalist exercise. A single candle burned near the door. There was a small desk she used to write her sermons. Behind that there was a drawing that one of her sons had done of the Scar. It was rubbish, void of any finesse; the work of a bored and easily influenced child.

  Had it been Zach or Toby?

  He couldn’t remember. He just remembered Mother gathering everyone together in the town square to show off the perfectly good waste of parchment.

  Mother was wrapped in shadows. She rarely made herself available to the public. She didn’t even come out for services. Her sermons were all hand written and delivered from the pulpit by one of her sons. She only came out for the Fall. The rest of the time she spent in her chambers, with the Scriptures and the chalice.

  “Not much of this left.” She held up the vessel as if giving him a better view of its contents. “When we found the crates… abandoned like that, I knew… I just knew it had to be from Him, and I was right.”

  Blake didn’t know what was in the cup. He didn’t think Mother even knew. She just said it allowed her to see more clearly. “We can look for more.”

  She shook her head and stared glassy eyed at the shuttered window. “Where would we even begin? No. He will provide. He always provides.”

  “Yes, Mother. He always provides.”

  “Do you believe that, Doctor? Really?” she asked, fixing her gaze on him.

  He felt very alone, standing there in the dark. He quickly checked the door to his left to see if someone had slipped in behind him. “Yes, Mother, I do.”

  She closed the Gospel and set it on the edge of the window alongside the cup. She stood, crooked over, and began moving towards him. The way her robe billowed about her ankles, combined with the thick carpet of shadows eclipsing the floor, made for a ghostly combination; it made her appear to float rather than walk. “Your actions, as of late, have caused me a fair bit of concern.”

  “Yes, Mother, that much has been brought to my attention. But that’s why I’m here; to show you that there is no reason to be concerned.”

  “You’re here because I summoned you here. Am I right?”

  Caught. “I’ve just been feeling a little off.”

  “Explain yourself, Doctor.” The skin around her eyes was red and puffy. Deep creases lined her face. She looked worn down.

  “I don’t know how, really. This last week, I’ve just felt off.”

  “Betrayed, perhaps?” Her voice was soft. So soft. She curled her lips into a small pout and tilted her head.

  “Yeah, maybe a little betrayed.” He was having a hard time forming words, his tongue kept sticking to the roof of his mouth.

  “Me too, Doctor. I felt utterly betrayed… I feel utterly betrayed. Micah and Susanna, who would have thought? They were so young, so promising.”

  “Yes, very promising.”

  “Traitors! Heretics!” She convulsed with each condemnation, as if the words were unwelcome spirits being cast from her body. As quickly as it started, the storm settled and an uneasy calm came over her. “They came in like wolves, and they almost made off with the flock.”

  “They got what they deserved,” he said, with as much conviction as he could muster.

  She put her hands together as if she were preparing to pray, pointing the tips of her fingers towards his chest. “You understand why your actions have been disconcerting for me, yes?”

  He felt the sudden urge to clear his throat. “I, uh…”

  “They spent countless hours under your roof. Their words dripping into your ears like poisoned wine. But that’s not the problem. The problem is the behavior you exhibited at the Fall. It’s familiar.” She swam in close, as if checking him for a scent, as if lies and deceit carried a particular odor.

  “Mother, I assure you, my behavior during the last Fall, while unusual, was simply—”

  “You felt pity for them? For their cause?”

  “The violence was unexpected, I will admit.”

  “Unexpected? The Scriptures command that we cut the Curse directly from the womb of the afflicted.”

  “Yes, Mother, I am aware. But you promised them a painless death in exchange for their cooperation.”

  “I know what I promised them. But the people of this community were there to witness the Fall. They were expecting that tradition to be adhered to. Do you know what would happen to this settlement if the people knew that we’d been infiltrated by spies, and not only that, but that we were unable to detect them for eight months? It would shake their faith. It might even cause them to lose faith. It would put everything we’ve built in jeopardy. So, we keep up appearances. No one can ever know what really happened, Doctor. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Which brings me back to my question. Did you feel pity towards them? Towards their cause?”

  “No, Mother, I did not. They were Union scum. They betrayed you. They betrayed the people. They betrayed our Father. The Fall was the only appropriate outcome. I was dehydrated, that’s all. The heat has not been treating me kindly in my old age.”

  “You knew nothing of them being Union?”

  “I promise you, I did not. I swear it, before our Father.”

  “Okay, Doctor, okay. You speak it and I believe it.” The words leaving her lips and the tone in her voice seemed to be of two different minds.

  “You have my loyalty, Mother. What can I do to prove it?” He knew the awful realm of possibilities that such a question opened up, but they paled in comparison to the potential consequences that accompanied her mistrust.

  She nodded curtly, as if that’d been what she was waiting to hear all along. “Tell me, do we have anyone approaching the end of their conception period?”

  “Gregory and Charlotte Rowson, they’re the closest we’ve got. But they’re only seven months into their covenant.”

  “Hmm, I sense the curse on them, but still, we must abide by Scripture.” She turned from him and began gliding towards her desk, the shadows receiving her like an old friend. The blades of her shoulders jutted out against the thin surface of her robe. How could a woman so small and frail invoke such fear?

  “I will keep a close eye on them. I will pay them a visit this week.”

  She waved him off. “Yes, of course.” She stared up at the crude drawing behind the desk. “Tell me, do you know Colton Otterman? His father is Terrence, he’s in charge of the wells.”

  “I’m familiar with them.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve been getting some rather distressing reports regarding young Colton. He took the Oath of Celibacy last year. However, someone told me that they spotted him exiting the home of Kati Zulma, it was well past the appropriate hour. See what you can find out and then report back to me.”

  “How old are they?”

  “They are both seventeen; old enough to know better.”

  “And what will happen if they are… breaking the oath?”

  “You know the rules, Doctor. To break the Oath of Celibacy carries the same penalty as a barren womb; they will both take the Fall.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “You may go now.”

  “Yes, Mother.” He should have been floating on clouds, a stupid grin on his face. He’d been granted a reprieve. Yet, somehow, he felt worse.

  “Oh, Doctor, one more thing.”

  He stopped, holding the door back with one arm
.

  “Do you know how I found out about Micah and Susanna?”

  “I hadn’t given it much thought, Mother. You are His prophetess. I do not question your power.”

  She removed the Gospel and the chalice from the window sill, unmoved by his attempt at flattery. “I have eyes and ears everywhere. You’d do well to remember that as you go about the task I have given you.”

  8

  It was early morning; the sun was rising quickly at their backs and already sporting a mean glare. There were no paths, just the occasional strip of faded black concrete snaking up out of the sand, remnants of the old roadways. There were no signs pointing the direction. No markers of any sort. Just flat dusty earth blemished by unidentifiable pieces of debris poking up out of the ground. All they had was the map and Dominic’s knowledge of the terrain.

  “Is it always this hot?” Lerah grumbled.

  “It gets hotter.”

  “I can’t do this, I’ve gotta shed some layers.” She started to remove the travel pack.

  “You’re not shedding anything. The jacket breathes, it absorbs the heat, it’s made for this, let it do its job.”

  “It’s not breathing fast enough.”

  “Taking it off won’t help; your skin will scorch and blister. You’ll be even more miserable and I don’t think I can handle your whining.”

  For a moment she looked as if she might shed the jacket as a simple form of protest. Instead she settled on huffing and puffing and shooting daggers with her eyes.

  Dominic raised his collar against a fitful gust of wind. “Not much else you can do out here but duck and move. You’ve gotta be careful with your eyes and the grains of sand flying around. You get one of those bastards wedged up under your lids and it’ll curl you up like a baby.” He didn’t know if Lerah heard him.