Dark Age

by Felix O. Hartmann

  I observed the middle aged monk move through the rows. “How can we know then,” I asked, “if our actions are led by God or cursed by sin?”

  “Your heart will tell you what is right, Adam,” Father Bartholomew responded clearly. “God has his own ways of communicating with us.”

  “Like the Inquisitor?”

  “The Inquisitor speaks face to face with God,” He replied. “But there are ways that he speaks to us all. Softly, like a whisper.”

  “What happens if you and I heard contradicting whispers from God?”

  “God doesn’t contradict himself,” he answered. “One of us would be wrong.”

  “So, I could do something that you thought was wrong, but actually be of God?” I asked directly.

  Father Bartholomew frowned, “One could make that assertion.”

  I nodded, letting quiet take over the monastery hall. He went back to his desk, but hesitated for a moment. “Often times we oversimplify the concept of good and evil. There is a natural interconnectedness between that which is dark and that which is light. They are not two ends of a spectrum, but rather a complex system flowing into one another. There cannot be one without the other, for there is no day without the night and no shadow without a light.”

  When the monastery bells rang, Peter and I walked out together, but did not say a word. We were both thinking about it, but not ready to start another argument. Suddenly, the bells of the big church sounded again but thrice this time.

  “Who do you think was killed?” asked Peter.

  “Let’s find out,” I responded quickly as we pushed our way through the crowd towards the square. All I could think of was Elias, hoping that it was not him.

  Two city guards rolled a cart with a body towards the square. The flags and decoration of the past day’s celebration were still up in the air. The people were there too. Not in dancing circles, but in a circle trying to catch a glimpse of the fallen warrior.

  With my elbows I shoveled people out of my way until I reached the inner side of the circle. Bent over the wagon stood the butcher with his wife and daughter Johanna.

  Within half an hour the space had cleared up again, and everyone was back at work. I walked towards the carpentry, passing by my house. My father greeted me briskly with a nod, hammering on a glowing red chunk of metal. I turned right and passed two more houses until I made it to the carpentry, which in itself was a masterpiece of the craft. The corners of the house were perfectly rounded and soft, while the walls had a wavy appearance to them, throwing ocean like shadows onto the rugged road. While small in size, it surpassed any merchant house in detail. We always practiced new styles and techniques on the shop itself, giving it a fresh look in a deteriorating district.

  Eric was standing in the doorway, talking to an obese man sporting an oversized red beret with three feathers at its top. “Come here boy,” the carpenter waved me towards them, “Mr. Edelstein, this is Adam, my apprentice,” he said. “Adam, this is Jean Edelstein,” he said. “Please take measurements for the good man, so we can get him a gorgeous new drawer within a few weeks.”

  The merchant looked me up and down with a distrusting glare, but then just nodded. They shook hands and the merchant walked off. “Tag along,” was all he said to me.

  Eric grabbed my arm and pulled my head close, whispering in my ear, “Do your job. And do it right.” He pushed me away and raised his voice as the merchant grew suspicious, “And if I see you with my daughter one more time after dark, I will cut more than just your pay!”

  I followed the merchant without a word. With pompous steps he passed the simple wooden houses of the Works, evading the looks of the commoners. After a few minutes we reached the gate to the Merchant District. The structure was more than ten feet deep and built of fortified stone, an immense measure to keep the poor from interfering with their day to day life. The metal grate to close the gate had always been rolled up, but two guards protected the entrance at every time of day. Being Grey Guard veterans, they wore their old armors with added insignias to specify their position. As protectors of the Merchant District their armors were polished and decorated with yellow capes and pointy helmets. Upon my sight, the two bulky guards tensed and crossed their halberds mere inches from Mr. Edelstein’s face.

  “Sir,” one of the guards said, “this boy is following you. Do you know him?”

  “Of course I know him, you smelly industrial scum,” the merchant hissed exasperated and spit at the guard’s feet. “I am paying him, just like I am paying you. If he was following me, and you are concerned, you punch him in the gut and hold him down. But don’t you ever cross your halberds before my face again. Now keep your mouth shut unless you are talked to and do your job, or I’ll have you hung.” Without a comment they removed the halberds and stood straight like statues as if nothing had happened.

  The moment we entered through the gate, the vicinity turned into a whole different world. Clean air filled my lungs and beautiful sights were all around. The long elevated boulevard lay ahead, leading all the way to the mansion. Reddish stones paved a gorgeous even street, which could not be compared to the improvised paths in the Works.

  To the right of the terracotta boulevard rose the district wall as high as a house, removing the sober reality of the average life from one’s eyes. To the left of the boulevard, rows of two story houses were aligned, tended with a lot of time, care, and money. All the balconies were decorated with colorful flowers that outshined their neighbors’. Everything and everyone in this district looked clean, affluent and healthy, and yet some of the merchants were of the driest and most sullen spirit.

  Mr. Edelstein turned left towards a yellow villa with a green balcony and door. He grabbed a ring from his belt which carried half a dozen keys. They all appeared identical but as he entered the key into the lock I noticed a bit of green paint on its handle.

  “Come on in,” he said opening the door, and put the key ring back on his belt.

  Walking in, I tripped over the carpet and bumped into him, “I’m so sorry,” I exclaimed, “We just don’t have those back in the Works.”

  “Almost knocked me off my legs you useless son of a –” he raised his hand at me.

  “I’m sorry!” I backed up.

  “You’ll be eaten alive within a month of your service, you weakling,” he lowered his hand and fixed his vest. “Now let’s get to work. I would like the drawer over here,” he said pointing to an empty space, “But I want you to note that the look has to match the ambiance. I was looking for something with smooth curves and a rather shiny dark colored type of wood. Something classy, but young. Antique, but modern in its own way. Do you understand what I mean?” He asked a little exasperated thinking that I did not pay attention.

  I put my palm on his back for reassurance, “I understand exactly what you mean. This would take approximately four weeks.”

  “Two weeks,” the merchant said.

  “Two weeks, twice the cost.”

  “Excuse me?” the merchant muttered, “take those measurements and get out before I send you back to your Master without a tongue. I’m sure he would not want me to raise the rent on him.”

  “Two weeks it is, sir,” I abided and went right to work.

  The man sighed and hung his hat by the door, “I am taking my afternoon nap, get out as soon as you are done.” Slowly he worked his way up the stairs to his chambers, leaning on the handrail with every step.

  Carefully I unfolded my measurement stick and checked out the room. Just décor in the living room was worth more than what my family and Eric owned combined. Golden carpets, paintings, vases, sculptures… he had it all. I got on my knees and measured the empty space in depth and width. Even the floor was carefully crafted, and despite its beautiful tiles, was covered by rugs. As I got up from the floor to measure the height, my eyes caught sight of a glass cabinet containing a collection of three dozen golden and silver chalices. Each of them must have been worth a month’s labor. I never unde
rstood how an object that does not aid survival in any way could be worth so much. With the numbers chalked down, I folded up my stick and hurried out.

  The sun was starting to sink. In the carpentry we sat around the fireplace chewing on a few dried berries while I told Eric about Edelstein’s request.

  “Enough business for today,” he said, leaning back in his armchair. “What’s really been on your mind?” he asked. There was clarity in his eyes. I knew I could trust him.

  “I have been thinking,” I said leaning forward, “whether we could end this all.”

  “There he goes again,” Katrina said. “He won’t let it go.”

  “It’s alright Adam, what do you mean?” Eric insisted with a calm tone.

  “You are encouraging him?” Katrina was turning red.

  “I want to find a way to end the Inquisition… even if it means killing him.”

  “That’s suicide!” she insisted. “With all those guards you won’t come near him.”

  “But say he does,” Eric wondered. “I have always been curious what would happen. Would the Council elect a new leader? Would the Guard take over? Would we choose a leader amongst us, or finally disperse beyond the valley?”

  “I am not staying for this,” she gave me a kiss on the forehead and disappeared into her room.

  “Every option sounds better than this,” I said.

  “Think about it carefully. Do not act rash, your life is too precious for it. Talk me through it if you ever do feel compelled to follow through. I will have your back, but I want to make sure that it is what you really want.” Eric said in a warm tone.

  “Why do you support my insanity?”

  “Because I know you wouldn’t do it unless you thought it would be the best for her,” he said earnestly. “That’s something we have in common. And if she knew the truth about her mother, she would feel the same.”

  “What happened? I thought Elena died giving birth.”

  Eric was quiet, staring into the fire. “Shortly after Katrina’s birth, she grew sick,” he said. “She had an acute fever one night, and I wanted to get help,” his eyes fixated on the flames. “I ran out into the streets to wake the medic, but the night patrol grabbed me and beat me to the ground for violating curfew.” He got up from his armchair, “By the time I returned she was dead. Katrina was all I had left.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  He nodded in silence.

  “I better get home.” I said, seeing that he needed rest. Quickly I grabbed my belongings.

  “It’s already ten,” he noted, walking me to the door. “Oh, and Adam did you get what I…”

  “Yes, I did my job, and I did it right,” I winked and handed him the imprint of the key to Mr. Edelstein’s villa.

  Chapter 5

  The daily routine had kicked in again. Between studies and regular work, I was planning a break-in to take some of Mr. Edelstein’s chalices. We regularly stole from the merchants and secretly sold it off, using the profits to feed the poorest of the poor, who were getting starved to death by the system. It was our way of reinstating justice, when no one else would.

  But at the same time I was breaking my head over a much bigger task: Overthrowing the Inquisition.

  Two weeks had passed since my Celebration, when the routine was finally broken. I lay in bed with open eyes, staring at the dark wood above me. Fine rays of light crossed over the ceiling as the sun hit the blinds. It was one of those moments I tried to hold on to: Resting in the safety and peacefulness of my room.

  Suddenly there was a knock on my door, “Adam,” my mother said, opening it just a crack, “there’s someone here to see you.” Her voice sounded distressed.

  “Who is it?”

  “The Inquisitor’s chief servant,” she said in a whisper.

  I panicked and threw on clothes as quickly as I could. It was a good sign that the Inquisition didn’t simply come in the night and take me away. But I wasn’t going to antagonize anyone by making them wait for me.

  Anthony was waiting in our small kitchen, while my mother uncomfortably tried to hold a conversation. He had adapted a true noble posture for an industrial boy, I thought. His black tunic was in sync with his dark pants and black leather boots. His hair was combed to the back.

  “May I offer you a beverage?” she asked.

  He smiled and shook his head. Courteously he turned his attention towards me, “Adam, it has been a while. Her ladyship requests your presence.” He kept a clear expression, but I could sense he was amused by the situation.

  My mother looked at me in disbelieve, “What’s going on, Adam?”

  I shrugged. “I think I’m going to class in the Inquisitor’s Mansion. History.”

  “We must go now,” Anthony said, stepping out the door. “Her ladyship’s prayer starts before mass.” He turned towards my mother for a brief moment, “Thank you Mrs. Blacksmith for your kind hospitality, I promise his safe return back to you.” Quickly he shut the door behind us and walked off.

  Without much of an argument I followed him onto the square. The cold morning air cleared my eyes and wakened my face. At this time of day the merchants were already out preparing their stalls. Everything had to be ready once the other districts left morning mass. One of the merchants carried a large container while one of his servants pushed a cart toward his stall. Another decorated the display of a tool collection to make it look more appealing. More merchants passed us, traveling down the terracotta boulevard of the Merchant District. The carts seemed emptier than usual, and their faces more grave.

  The door to the mansion looked much less intimidating now, without the flickering torches to its sides. After we walked down the red corridor we took so many turns until I forgot where I was. The mansion was nothing but a maze, with hundreds of doors, stairs, and corridors. Some rooms were even designed identically making orientation yet so much harder. It wasn’t long before I lost all sense of where I was.

  At last we reached a study whose doors were left ajar. One long empty desk stood in the middle of the room opposite to a chalkboard filled with notes and scribbles. No one was there and yet the room was filled with so much authority and untouchable wisdom.

  “Please, take a seat. Her Ladyship will be with you soon,” Anthony said. “I will be getting back to my duties. Take care my friend.”

  Friend. There was an odd tone in his voice when he said it. He must not have gotten to know many people since he started working and living in the mansion.

  Instead of taking a seat, I started exploring the room. Antiques, statues and inventions filled the study’s walls. Objects with wings, constellations of the stars, and various maps lay across a drawer to the left of the large desk. Next to the chalkboard on the wide windowsill stood a yard high marble statue of a man sitting on a throne with his head rested in the palm of his hand. Silently I read the lines that were located at the base of the statue: “I know one thing, that I know nothing”.

  “Socrates,” Cecilia said, entering the room. “He could have fled from his death but chose poison over ignorance; One of the few men that adhered to his own teachings.”

  Upon her presence I bowed down.

  Giggling, she waved me to get up, “Please stop that, you are embarrassing me.”

  The priest followed behind Cecilia. To my surprise it was Father Riordan himself. While the rest of the city got ready for his sermon, the very same man held a private session with us.

  He nodded graciously in my direction. “I was surprised to learn of your excellent literacy, Adam.” He said. “I must admit to my anxiousness to discover if the stories my young mistress tells me is true.”

  “I think the stories may have been exaggerated,” I said. “But I’m grateful for the opportunity to learn more. I have listened to all your sermons in the district.”

  “I am sure you have,” the priest said. “Take a seat and bow your heads.”

  It was just Cecilia, the priest, and me. The experience was entirely different.
We were not sitting on the rock-hard benches but comfortable armchairs, and the pressing silence and impersonal rhetoric of the big church was gone.

  While the priest cited a long prayer in Latin, I could not help but peer over at Cecilia every other moment. Everything about being in the mansion seemed so surreal that I constantly needed to make sure I was not dreaming. Looking over, her eyes caught mine. For a moment we just observed another, until she smiled and looked down again.

  A book smashed loudly onto the table in front of me. “Eyes down and pay attention,” the priest said. I heard a subdued giggle next to me but kept my head bowed.

  The hour went by and the priest left the room. Anthony came in offering us something to drink while we waited for her literature teacher. My eyes drifted around the room observing the many things that were kept in the study.

  “Is that a telescope?” I asked.

  “Yes, but don’t look into it now, or you will go blind,” she said. “Come by at night sometime and I can teach you about the stars.”

  I ignored her subliminal arrogance and agreed to meet her one night when I was off work. The Inquisitor had to be busy that night, so Anthony could let me in unnoticed. It would be a good time with a friend, but an even greater time to kill a monster.

  Through the door came a rather old man with long hair that was fading grey. His beard was just as long and wild as his hair and yet overall the man maintained certain composure. He put a stack of books onto the desk from underneath his arm and placed his spectacles on his nose. “Greetings,” he said briskly while flipping through some papers. “There you are,” he pulled out a sheet which he scanned with his eyes. “Today we will start reading The Tragedy of Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare.” He handed out two slim booklets and noted, “How wonderful that you are joining us today Adam. We will be splitting roles then. You are Brutus.”

  For the rest of the morning we read literature, discussed various philosophies, and analyzed social hierarchies. I was captivated by the vast amount of knowledge Cecilia’s teachers had. Being exposed to these ideas and concepts opened my mind, and now I craved more.