Apostate Konstantin

by Max Kramer

  “The witches have barricaded themselves upstairs.” He paused, and with a grunt snapped the teen’s neck. “Their family has foolishly chosen to fight to protect them. Let us expunge this evil together Brother Konstantin.”

  Konstantin nodded his agreement before following his own guns cautiously up the dark stairwell to the hallway at the top. Once there, they were drawn to the sound of muffled sobbing behind a closed door. Clement signaled Konstantin into position. Before they could kick it down however, the door behind them burst open, strong hands grabbing at them from the darkness.

  Konstantin squirmed, locked in a burly farmer’s desperate embrace. Beside him, Father Clement grappled with a grey-bearded elder. The man was old, but his voice was strong as he let out a mighty yell.

  “Deborah! Take the girl and get out of here! Save the ba…” His call was cut short when Clement’s clenched fist crushed his windpipe. From the corner of his vision, Konstantin saw the door across the hall bursting open, female figures darting out of the room down the still empty stairway. Father Clement moved to intercept them, but was blocked by Konstantin and his assailant.

  Straining mightily against the outlaw’s steely grip, Konstantin succeeded in freeing one of his guns, and emptied a clip into the man’s unyielding torso. The farmer dropped with a howl, letting the Inquisitor suck in some much needed air. Pushed by the older priest, he stumbled back down the stairs in pursuit of the escaped women.

  They need not have worried.

  In their absence, the soldiers had infiltrated the ground floor, easily capturing the fleeing women as they tumbled down the rickety steps.

  One woman was older; probably the wife of the man Clement had killed upstairs. The younger one looked to be her daughter; the large man Konstantin fought had probably been her husband. She was clutching two bundles to her chest while the old woman shielded her with skinny arms. Konstantin hesitated. The women had been captured too easily. Witches were feared for good reason. Something did not feel right.

  The bundles were crying.

  “Father…I do not believe these women are tainted by the gift. Perhaps we have received poor information?”

  Father Clement chuckled merrily, “We are not here for the women Brother. We are here for the babies.”

  Konstantin stared at his mentor in shock. “But Father, they are infants. How could they have made a pact with the Devil? Surely they are innocent.”

  The priest shook his head sadly. “Do not question your orders child. You can feel the aura of power radiating from these two already. If we were to allow them to grow old, they could wreak unspeakable evil.”

  Konstantin was horrified. This was wrong. This was very wrong.

  “But perhaps if we were to raise them properly. Maybe their power could be used for good? Does their magic have to mean they are inescapably evil?”

  Clement would not hear his arguments. “Yes Inquisitor. All magic is evil. There can be no other possibility. These two will be taken to New Rome and punished for their sins.”

  “But they will be tortured!”

  “It is God’s will.”

  “Father…perhaps you could allow me to…that is to say, witches have died in raids before. Maybe these two proved too dangerous to capture? I would be willing to…to do it.”

  Father Clement regarded him with narrowed eyes.

  “I understand your feelings about this Inquisitor, but you really must learn not to question our Holy duties in any regard.” He sighed, “If this is so very important to you however, you may dispose of the little ones yourself.”

  Konstantin sagged in relief even as his heart was breaking. After prying the screaming women away, soldiers delivered into his arms the two squirming bundles. He began walking back up the stairs as the troopers were enthusiastically disrobing the distraught mother.

  “Stop it you fools!” Clement interrupted their sport, “Just kill them and be done with it. We are civilized men of God. We do not rape women.”

  He turned to the departing Konstantin. “Inquisitor. Kill the babies quickly, I find myself weary of all this excitement.”

  Inquisitor-Brother Frederick Konstantin bowed his head in acknowledgment. “His will be done.”

  ***

  “Frederick?”

  Konstantin snorted, forcing himself out of his painful reverie. His sister’s concerned face hove into view as she rode her mount next to his.

  “Frederick, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  He snarled inarticulately. “What are you doing back here witch? Do your new friends know you’re speaking with the prisoner?”

  Tears welled up in her big blue eyes. Kicking her heels into her horse’s flanks, she startled it into a bouncing trot, leaving Konstantin alone with his thoughts.

  9

  “Brutal.”

  Konstantin was startled. He had not noticed the driver riding beside him. The man was disturbingly sneaky.

  “What?”

  “Whatever you said to the girl. It must have been brutal. I might have to go comfort her.”

  Konstantin definitely did not like the look on the man’s face. It appeared that Brita had another admirer.

  “I thought you were with Snorri.”

  “That I am, that I am, but who’s to say a man can’t enjoy the view?”

  “You grow too bold, Driver. She is my sister.”

  The man nodded to himself, sucking on his lower lip. Unlike the other men, he was clean shaven, and Konstantin was surprised to see that his neatly trimmed brown hair was greying at the temples. He was older than he seemed. “Well that explains it then.”

  “What?”

  “Why you’re not sleeping with her.”

  Konstantin drew himself up indignantly. “I am a monk of the Holy Inquisition. She is a registered nurse and sister of the Franciscan order. We have both taken traditional vows of celibacy, so that we can better focus on the Lord’s work.”

  The man chuckled. “Is that what your teachers told you? You know the real reason priest’s cannot marry is land, right?”

  “Land?”

  “Sure! Way back in the dim and misty past priests could have wives. Your beloved Church put an end to that though, once they realized that the un-ordained sons of ministers and clergy were inheriting Church land. In case you haven’t noticed, your Authority really doesn’t like sharing. I learned that little tidbit from Sturluson there.” He indicated Snorri before leaning closer to Konstantin, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “The man’s a hopeless romantic. Poet. You know the type. He fancies himself an amateur historian too. If you ever feel like engaging in theological debate he’s your guy. Hates the Church. We’ve been together going on six years now, and I’ve still never found out why. What he should hate are witches. One cursed him. An ex-girlfriend, before he realized the error of his ways. Hexed him good when they broke up. An Ex-Hex. It’s funny. Want to know what she did? Every fight he’s in, he gets hurt. Every. Single. Fight. If he got in a slap fight with a baby, he’d be hurt. It’s the hex. The funny thing is, he only ever gets hurt. Even if he should be dead. Nope. Just hurt. So that mean-spirited little bitch accidentally made him functionally immortal. The really sick part is, he loves her for it.”

  He leaned away again, unfazed by Konstantin’s menacing glare. His voice returned to a normal volume. “Where are my manners? We were never officially introduced. James the German, driver, scout, excellent dancer, and sniper extraordinaire.” He held out a callused hand. Konstantin ignored it.

  Crestfallen for only a moment, the driver rallied and resumed chattering at his unenthusiastic audience. Konstantin decided that for a man who moved so silently he sure enjoyed the sound of his own voice.

  “I bet you’re wondering how I came to be the sharpshooter of this outfit.”

  “Not really.”

  “I never had any formal military training. Can you believe that? Unlike these folk, I’m not from this part of the world. There was no mandatory mil
itary service where I grew up. I’ll tell you a secret. It wasn’t really Germany. I’m an American by birth.”

  That got Konstantin’s attention. He had never met an American before. If the man riding beside him was any indication, he considered that a good thing.

  “You know it’s funny, most people don’t think there are any of us left, not since we lost the continent. Obviously we’re not a popular group, what with blowing up half the world. Weren’t really popular before then either, from what I’ve heard. We’re rare, it’s true, but there are some here and there, those whose ancestors were lucky enough to have been travelling abroad at the end. And then there’s Hawaii probably, maybe…” He continued on, oblivious to the fact that he had again lost Konstantin’s attention.

  There was a disturbance up ahead; Deirdre was engaged in a heated discussion with Naoise and Felix. Up to this point their trail had paralleled a small ravine which had a cold flowing brook at the bottom, but it now took a sharp turn into even denser forest. Konstantin turned back to his riding companion.

  “…Computer games. That’s how I learned to shoot if you can you believe it. Computer arcade games, I used to love them…”

  Konstantin interrupted his babbling monologue. “Driver, what are they are arguing about up there?”

  The slender man scratched his chin, squinting into the darkness. His eyes were even better than Konstantin’s. “Deirdre wants to stop for the night. Naoise and Felix vote that we continue. They’re worried that there might be a tribal presence in the area. Watch this, Deirdre will win.”

  The American named German proved prophetic, as both Naoise and Felix soon threw up their hands in surrender. Dismounting, they led their animals between the scratchy boughs of a dense pine grove.

  “How did you know she’d win?” Konstantin asked.

  Shrugging, the driver followed their lead. “She always wins.”

  ***

  “What do you think of him?” Naoise asked his wife.

  “What do I think of who?” Dierdre responded.

  “The Inquisitor. Konstantin.”

  “Ah. Honestly, I’m not certain,” she glanced back at where the man was riding beside their chatty American sniper, an unhappy scowl on his face.

  “He’s impossible to like. There is no humor in him. Jim is probably the only son of a bitch dumb enough to actually want to talk to him. Those eyes…they’re not right. He doesn’t exactly cultivate confidence in those around him. Even Brita fears him, but…”

  “But?” Naoise prompted.

  “There is something about him. Some charisma. He’ll never be an inspiring leader of men, but he’s no follower either. He is willing to disobey orders, if it is for something important enough to him. We’ve seen that. I think he would do anything to protect his sister. Anything at all.”

  “I agree,” Naoise said, “that’s what I’m afraid of.”

  The big fighter’s feelings were clear. He didn’t trust the Inquisitor, and he never would. Inquisitors were evil.

  ***

  Brita’s cold hands fumbled with the clasps on her horse’s saddle, stiff fingers slipping on the oiled leather. Panting in frustration, she leaned into his comforting bulk, burying her face in his bristly mane.

  “May I help you?” her brother laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She jerked away from his touch.

  “Why? So you can lecture me some more and tell me what a terrible person I am?”

  “Brita…” He looked anguished, his manacled hands still half raised toward her. “Brita, I came here to apologize. I am sorry for what I said. Sorry for the way I have treated you. I…know you sister. I know your heart. You are no more wicked than a newborn babe.” His face twisted in a pained grimace. “It seems impossible, but I think…the teachings could be wrong. I just don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  He paused, his fingers searching through the pockets of his rumpled coat. “Brita, I want you to keep this. It’s yours.”

  She stared. It was the crucifix he had taken from her back when she had first asked for his help.

  “I don’t have a chain for it I’m afraid, but I thought you would want it back anyway.”

  “Oh Freddy…” She wrapped her arms around the man who had sacrificed everything to save her. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry too, that this has been such a trial for you. I wish you would have just let me be executed, so you would not have to be here now.”

  He rubbed her back with his chained hands. “Don’t say that Brita. Don’t ever say that…Brita?”

  “Yes Fred?”

  “Could you do me a favor?”

  She nodded against his chest.

  His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “Could you pray for me?”

  Voices rose in argument from the interior of the grove. Konstantin helped Brita pull off her animal’s saddle and bit, freeing it to graze on the dense underbrush.

  He looked around, unsure of what to do with the beast next. “Umm…stay.”

  Taking Brita’s hand, he pushed through the prickly trees toward the others. The center of the grove proved surprisingly cozy; there was a small clearing with room enough for everyone’s sleeping bags.

  The object of contention was a neatly laid circular fire pit rimmed with stones, proof that people had been in the area recently. Deirdre was of the opinion that they were close enough to Church patrolled territory to avoid large or aggressive tribes. Naoise played the devil’s advocate until the driver and Snorri were sent out to canvass the area, scouting for further signs of human habitation.

  While they were gone, Felix and Naoise busied themselves tending to the rest of the horses. Deirdre sent the girls looking for firewood while she and Brita unpacked some cooking pots for dinner. When Brita asked if it was safe for the girls to go off alone, Deirdre reassured her that the children were quite capable of taking care of themselves. Those left at camp were actually more vulnerable to attack while they were gone.

  Deirdre, spotting Konstantin lurking between two of the bushy pines, tossed him a pair of empty plastic milk jugs.

  “Would you be my hero and get us some water? I want to boil up some rice.”

  Konstantin shrugged. Choosing discretion over valor, he gathered the bottles and trudged back up the trail to the fast moving brook. He had no desire to be the witch’s “hero”, but he was hoping for a share of the dinner.

  He was bent over the rocky stream, filling the second bottle, when he heard screams. Dropping the jugs, he bulled through the undergrowth, protecting his face from low hanging branches with his chained hands. Reaching a clearer area his strides lengthened, covering distance as quickly as his battered body would allow. The screams were growing fainter, moving swiftly away from the camp.

  Stumbling through a last bushy thorny prickly patch he came upon obvious signs of a struggle. The undergrowth was broken and bruised from something heavy being dragged through. He noticed a glint in the low light. It was one of Jim’s rifles, cast aside where it’s carrying strap had snagged on a jutting root. Konstantin quickened his pace, the cold air burning in his lungs. There was blood. A lot of it.

  The gruesome trail led to the base of a huge oak, one of the old grandfather trees of the forest. He looked up and felt his heart lurch into his chest. Staring back at him from its perch on a thick limb twenty feet in the air was a fully grown tiger, one enormous paw casually pinning what was left of the driver against the tree. A wheezing, gurgling whimper reached Konstantin’s ears.

  Merciful Heaven, the man was still alive. The great cat was almost invisible, its sleek white-yellow and black striped body fading into the shadows. Konstantin could see little but moonlight reflecting off of its golden eyes.

  The cat bared its dagger-like teeth in a menacing snarl, unhappy that its meal was being interrupted. Konstantin felt a rumbling deep within his chest. With an amazed detachment he realized that he was growling back at the beast, approaching the tree even as logic dictated he should be retreating. Over the past se
veral days, events had spiraled continuously out of his control. With the appearance of this newest threat, his rage and frustration had apparently reached a critical level. It now demanded to be released.

  Black eyes locked with gold. The animal stood on the limb, arching its back in warning. The storm of anger swirling inside Konstantin washed away his concerns for self-preservation beneath an overwhelming desire to cause harm. He kept closing the distance, fully expecting his troubled young life to end at any moment in a fury of teeth and claws, but promising to bring the pain as he went down. His rage clamored for release. It wanted, no, it demanded the dark ecstasy of bloodshed. He prepared to give the darkness free reign.

  Incredibly, the cat did not leap down and tear Konstantin apart. Instead, it lifted the paw holding the savaged American hostage, allowing his body to tumble back to earth with a wet thump. Giving Konstantin a disgusted sniff, the feline bounded out of the tree, disappearing into the forest.

  “Holy shit, did you see that!” The others had arrived in a rush. Guns drawn, Felix and Naoise ran after the departing animal, though Konstantin knew they would never catch it.

  Deirdre marched over to the unsettled Inquisitor, grabbing his chin in her slender fingers. He winced at the electric burn of her touch.

  “How did you do that?” She demanded. “How did you send the cat away?” She stared at him accusingly. Brita stared at him with a mixture of relief and concern. Snorri stared at the gristly remains of his boyfriend staining the forest floor. The twins’ blind eyes stared at nothing in particular, but linking hands they backed away slowly.

  His anger screamed for release. Even shackled as he was, he knew he could snap the pushy woman’s neck like a twig before anybody reacted. With an enormous effort he resisted, fighting to regain control over his emotions. He had always been known for his temper, but never before had he come so close to losing complete control. Never before had he so wanted to. Gritting his teeth, he instead turned his gaze to the broken man lying at the base of the tree.