Debris of Shadows_Book II_The Forgotten Cathedral

by Tony LaRocca

  “Help,” he shouted into the darkness. His tongue felt numb and heavy. “Hello?”

  “Be quiet.”

  Asher’s stomach dropped. He knew that voice, with its sloppy pronunciation through missing teeth. “Brother Leo?” he asked. There was no reply. “Where are we?”

  “Above the wastelands.”

  Asher realized that they must be in a hovercar. “Will you take this blindfold off?”

  There was a pause, followed by a rustling sound. He felt warm, rancid breath against his cheek. Trembling, skeletal fingers yanked a strip of black cloth up over his eyes. Asher blinked, trying to will the world into focus. Leo returned to the driver’s seat, and piloted the craft with shaking, arthritic hands. A pistol lay on the armrest next to him.

  “Where did you get that?” Asher asked.

  “Military surplus. You’d be surprised what toys the Church keeps hidden for a rainy day.”

  “You stunned me.”

  Brother Leo reached over, and tapped a stud on the weapon in a quick pattern. “Warning,” chirped a tinny, female voice, “you have set me to lethal. Enter confirmation code.” Leo’s thumb rolled across the stud. It let out a long bleep, and fell silent.

  Asher swallowed. “Why?”

  Leo turned his head a few degrees, and glared at him out of the corner of his eye before returning his attention back to the wheel.

  Blessed Ophanim, Asher thought. His shoulders felt as if they were going to pop from their sockets. He took in his surroundings. He had only traveled between monasteries twice in his life. Although well maintained, the abbot’s official car was hardly luxurious. The faux leather seats were cracked, flaking, and stuck to his skin. On the floor was a black case with a hasp. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry that I got San Domenico instead of you.”

  “Don’t lie to me. Just shut up.”

  Asher took a deep breath. This just could not be happening. “Brother,” he began again, but Leo put his hand on the pistol. Asher closed his mouth. I can’t die, he thought, not now. He remembered the story of Corporal Simmons, how when the lawless NorMec vigilantes had captured his platoon, he had insisted that they execute him upside down, because he was not worthy of being killed in the same manner as his commanding officer. Asher had never quite been able to swallow that legend. If someone were hammering spikes into his ankles, the only thing he would beg for is a bullet to the brain.

  He watched Brother Leo drive, saw the tic underneath the wrinkles of his cheeks, and the way his hands shook on the wheel. “Killing me won’t get you San Domenico,” he said.

  Leo let out a disgusted, barking laugh. “You think you’re so important,” he said. “You think it all revolves around you.”

  “No,” said Asher, “no, I don’t.”

  Leo laughed again. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I told you,” he screeched, “don’t lie to me!”

  “I’m not,” Asher said. “Please, I’m not.”

  “Are you intoxicated?”

  His voice was conversational, as if he had not just been screaming. Asher swallowed. The monk’s sudden change of emotion gave him no clue on how to proceed. “What?”

  “The scrolls,” Leo said, as if they were discussing the weather. “Are you lost in them?”

  Asher thought for a moment. “Not now,” he said.

  “But you were before, I could see it. Even stunned, you still felt them, still lived one of their lives.”

  “Yes.” There was no point in lying.

  Leo made a noise. Asher realized that it was a sob. A tear trickled down the cracked leather of his face. “Ophanim, forgive me,” he said. “It’s been so long. It’s been so long since they let me taste it.” He coughed. “They poisoned my children. That’s what happens to them, when the Church doesn’t want you anymore. Funny, how no one ever tells you that. Then you just scoop them out of your body like so many pepper grains.”

  Asher’s mind raced. Was the abbot behind this kidnapping, somehow? He shifted his weight to try to relieve the pain in his arms, but it only made his bindings cut in deeper. He cleared his throat. He had to keep Brother Leo talking. “Why?” he asked. “Why did they take the sacrament of children away from you?”

  Leo’s jaw and cheek muscles seemed to dance. It was as if a myriad of emotions were cavorting beneath his features, and he could not decide which to display. “Did you ever study art?” he asked. He did not wait for an answer. “My full name, before entering the order, was Leonard Dvorkin.”

  Asher tried to think of a reply. He had never heard the name before. Should he pretend that he had? Brother Leo looked back at him. “Yes,” he said, “I had a different life. I was never brave, never lionhearted the way my name implied, but I was there. I saw the Shadows. I saw what they really were.” He sniffed. “I had a brother in NorMec. He’s probably dead by now, if he survived the war. Everyone’s dead.” His bloodshot eyes narrowed. “It’s all painting,” he said. “It’s all art, no matter what they say. That’s all God is.”

  Asher’s skin broke out in gooseflesh. He wanted — he needed — to scratch every inch of his body. “What does that word mean?”

  “I don’t remember, that’s part of the problem. My brother was some grand–high–muckamuck in the NorMec science community. He got a message through to me, before the grand finale of the war. He warned me what WesMec Gov. was planning to do. He wanted me to get out, but how could I? He told me that there is a sanctuary, a base that they hid away. That’s where the curtain can be pulled back. That’s where we’re all dreaming.”

  “Dreaming what?”

  Leo turned his head away. “I’ve forgotten,” he said. “They made us forget, any of us who knew. But they couldn’t erase everything. I saw it, I painted it, and even sold it. I don’t think they ever realized. Maybe that’s why I painted it. Maybe I wanted to leave breadcrumbs for myself to follow. I don’t remember what it looks like, or where it is, but I remember that I painted it. Maybe I painted even more breadcrumbs, who knows? There are things trapped in our memories, secrets that always float to the surface.” He spat onto the folds of his filthy cloak. “These vestments, this religion, it’s all part of the lie.”

  “The Ophanim —”

  “Fuck your Ophanim,” Leo cut in. “You couldn’t give two shits for the will of your Ophanim. The Ophanim isn’t even real. Besides, you have your own ambitions.”

  “No,” Asher said, shaking his head. “No, that’s not true.”

  Leo scowled, and then chuckled. “You think you really mean that, but you don’t. Not yet, anyway. But you did stand up to the bitch, that’s always a plus. If you hadn’t, then Sister Theresa would be the one here instead of you.”

  “If I hadn’t, San Domenico would be lost.”

  Leo laughed again. “Is that what you think?” he asked. “Mother Dinah appealed to the Magistrate himself, proposing that she and Sister Theresa would resurrect San Domenico together. She was just biding her time, and looking forward to seeing your bowels get blocked for nothing.”

  Every muscle in Asher’s body grew rigid. “Why?” he asked. “Why is it so important to her?”

  “Amongst other reasons, because she can see through you.” Leo smacked his lips together a few times, and wiped his nose with his fingers. “Let’s talk about something else,” he said. “Tell me of the life you just saw.”

  Asher forced himself to relax, and shrugged. “There was a guy,” he said. “He felt like his life didn’t matter to anyone, especially himself. He felt so isolated. It wasn’t even like he was a tiny cog in a machine that would have made him part of some grander purpose. He was just a surplus life, and he knew it.”

  Leo snorted. “And you never realized that some people feel that way?”

  “Not really,” said Asher, “not like this. It’s his certainty that I can’t get over. He was convinced that his lonely life was pointless, and no one was ever going to talk him out of it. It was a fundamental, fractal seed within his psyche. If he had been a doctor, o
r a movie director, or a general, or a president… Even then, he still would not have believed that he mattered, and it made him feel dead inside. It didn’t even frighten him. It would have once, but that part of him had burned out long ago.”

  “What do you think will happen when you resurrect him?”

  Asher blinked. “What?”

  Leo glanced back at him. “When you resurrect him, will he still just off himself?”

  Asher’s mouth opened and closed. “I don’t know.”

  “That would be cruel, wouldn’t it? Here this poor schmuck finally has the peace he had always sought, just seconds before actually having to do it himself, and then you come along, and undo it.”

  Asher stared at him. “What are you saying?” he asked.

  “You understand.”

  Asher’s stomach swam. “Understand? I don’t understand at all. And I’m not supposed to, am I? I have a duty to resurrect —”

  “Oh stop it,” said Leo. “You know that’s all bullshit, deep down. You’ve seen how they act, you know this is a snake’s world.” He turned back to the wheel. “Shut up now. I thought there might be hope for you, but I was wrong. The lesson’s over.”

  Asher resisted the urge to scream. It was not his fault that he had been born with the talent to resurrect San Domenico, nor was it his fault that Leo had been passed over. He felt a shift in gravity as the nose of the car dipped. He could not see the ground, but through the windows, he could see the clouds move upward. An oily swirl of light appeared as a shield bubble parted to let them pass, and closed again. Wherever they were landing, it was somewhere kept safe.

  The craft shook, buffeted by turbulence. The view outside grew dark. Sand and dust pelted the sides of the car, beating against it in a staccato. The vehicle touched the ground with an inelegant thud.

  Brother Leo took the pistol in his left hand, and swung it around on him. He stared into Asher’s eyes, leaned into the back seat, and untied his restraints with his right. Asher could smell liquor on the old man’s breath. His cloak stank, as if he had not washed in days. He gestured to the case with his pistol.

  “Look inside,” he said. “Move slowly.”

  Asher’s wrists and hands prickled from lack of circulation. He rubbed them. The straps had cut into his flesh, and his skin was lined and raw. He winced as pain shot through his cramped muscles. Leo’s wild eyes kept staring into his, and he poked at the case with his pistol again. Asher reached down, and opened it.

  In the dim, overcast light of the sandstorm, it was hard to see what was inside. Whatever it was, it was black. He ran his fingers through it. The container was filled with flakes of soot and ash. Why had the crazy old man wanted him to —

  He brushed against an object that had not entirely charred. It was, perhaps, a square quarter–inch of parchment. It came alive in his mind. Her name had been Catherine, and she was an administrative assistant for the Department of Environmental Protection. She worked at a water–treatment facility, and the smell of sewage every damn day made her sick to her stomach. She had just gotten out of her car, when a swarm of midges flew into her face. She shooed them away, whispering a thankful prayer that they did not bite. She gave the admin building a dirty look. Tammy would be here early, she was always early. If she tried to —

  That was all.

  Asher felt for her in the depths of her incinerated glyph, but that tiny glimpse was all there was. Her face was a gray, featureless mask. She was ageless, without any memories, family, or needs. She was just a secretary who felt anxiety at seeing a coworker, or was Tammy her boss? Lover, maybe?

  He jerked his hand away from the scrap, and sifted through the ashes. He touched fragments that had survived the burning — a touch of loving passion here, a dash of frustration there. But for all intents and purposes, the scrolls of San Domenico had been destroyed.

  His stomach flopped and rolled. His eyes brimmed with tears as he looked up to see the pistol inches from his eyes.

  “Why?”

  The gun cracked across his cheek, sending a jolt of pain through his skull. “Get out,” Leo said, gesturing to the door. He looked out the window at the sandstorm that scraped the windows. “We may be too late.”

  Too late for what? Asher wanted to ask, but he did not feel like having his cheek broken. He opened the door. At first, the dust devil pushed it back, but then its wind flung it open. It bounced on its hinges, rocking the car back and forth.

  He climbed out, wishing that he had a mask to filter the air. The wind whipped around him in a dank fog. From beyond the swirling, sandy veil, he could hear the echo of a buzzing drone. He felt a hard jab in the back of his ribs. Leo pushed him with a slap on his shoulder, and he stumbled forward.

  The dust stung his eyes, and he blinked to clear them. An assortment of pungent odors besieged his sinuses. He could detect blood, feces, sugar, and copper. The ground was rough, and scraped the callouses of his soles. He looked down. He was walking on concrete that had been coated in a grimy film. His shuffling bare feet had left white footprints behind him.

  “It’s just a sidewalk,” said Leo as he prodded him with his gun. “Keep going.”

  He moved forward again, trying to ignore the pain that bloomed on the side of his face. He gingerly touched his cheek, and jerked his hand away.

  The sandy fog was not consistent. Asher could just make out the silhouette of a jagged skyline through its billows and swirls. It was melted and twisted, as if someone had pulled at the cityscape with a tremendous magnet.

  The droning grew louder, accompanied by the sound of thunder. He looked to his left in time to see some sort of structure fall, but it did not so much collapse as disintegrate.

  “Welcome to Phoenix,” said Brother Leo.

  A high–pitched cry, like that of an animal brought to slaughter, cut through the ever–growing hum. Something galloped through the miasma. Half of its back was missing. Tree branches, tangled and gnarled with knots, sprouted from its exposed vertebrae. Its head was a Cubist juxtaposition between a horse and a rattlesnake. A ruddy mucus bubbled from the seams that joined its hair and scales. It reared and screamed again, black foam spraying from its lips and nostrils. Asher threw up his hands as its patchwork head lunged for his throat.

  The buzzing noise rose in volume as a swarm of children tore through the fog. They enveloped the creature as it charged, shredding it into a bloody mist. Then they devoured the spray as well, until there was nothing left of the beast but a pile of red Life Sands.

  Asher sank to the ground, the gun and its bearer forgotten. He sifted through the pile of sharp, scarlet crystals. They seemed to vibrate against his skin, as if charged with electricity.

  A familiar figure stepped out from the fog. His face was heavy and wrinkled, his eyes peering at them from above a bulbous nose. His cloak was spread wide, revealing his ancient body. The distended wasp sacs along his ribs were parted like tiny, pink mouths.

  “You,” said Brother Leo from behind Asher.

  Brother Jacob said nothing. He regarded them both in silence.

  “He has a gun,” said Asher. With a kick, Leo sent him sprawling to the sandy concrete. The millimeter–sized wasps examined him for a moment, then returned to hover at Jacob’s side.

  “See?” shouted Leo. “Do you see?” Asher could not tell which of them the old monk was ranting at.

  “Leo,” Brother Jacob said, “what the hell is wrong with you? Put that thing down before you hurt someone.”

  “Do you understand?” Leo asked. His eyes, fringed with yellow, darted back and forth between Jacob and Asher. He jabbed his gun in Jacob’s direction. “I told you that Brother Silas was full of hurt and pain. I told you.” Something cried out in the distance, a mixture of a tiger’s roar and a baby’s wail. “I wanted to make things better. I wanted to heal. You all wouldn’t let me, but you let him.” He reached down, and grabbed a handful of the red crystals. “Look at them,” he said. “They’re poisoned. The Sands are poisoned.”
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br />   Asher looked up, and saw Jacob glancing into his eyes. His swarm of wasps darted and swirled in the air. It took Asher a second, but he realized what the other monk wanted him to do. He pushed one foot beneath him, its toes pressed against the ground. He tensed, preparing to lunge, and throw Leo off balance.

  Brother Leo swung his pistol around on him, and placed it against his temple. “Keep your children still, Jacob,” he said, “I can burn wonder–boy here long before they get to either of us.” He tapped Asher’s head with the barrel. “Tell him.”

  Asher’s breath was heavy. “He burned the scrolls for San Domenico,” he said. “It’s only in my head now.”

  Brother Jacob held his hands out, and licked his lips. “Leonard,” he said, his voice soft. “Leonard, you’re sick. We can help you. We can heal you.”

  “I wanted to heal, but you wouldn’t let me,” Leo said. His gun pressed harder against Asher’s skull. “I have so many memories, they’re tearing me apart. I tried explaining, but you wouldn’t listen. She’ll never let it be found, you know that. We have to pull back the curtain. We have to see.”

  Brother Jacob’s eyes grew wide with exasperation. “They’re only dreams, Leo. I told you, they’re just nightmares.”

  “This is the nightmare!”

  A creature appeared from the depths of the fog. It stood about three feet tall, hopping on giant claws as it fluttered useless wings. The lower half of its body was that of a robin, its chest decorated with lush, red feathers. It had a young girl’s face, her auburn hair thick and wild. Her plumage ran up her neck and cheeks, but ended before her glistening eyes. They swiveled from side to side as she took in the trio of monks. The robin–girl hopped, turned her face to the sky, and sobbed in a lilting birdsong. Asher recognized it as the theme of a cartoon countless children in San Domenico had watched and loved. The girl’s contorted throat made the chipper tune sound like a lament of bewilderment. Jacob opened his mouth.