Apostate Konstantin

by Max Kramer

  Konstantin limped up to the fountain’s rim, pausing beside the old man, who squinted calmly up at him through thick rimmed glasses. Dipping into his vest pocket the old fellow pulled out an antique coin, which he offered to Konstantin.

  After a moment’s reflection the young man flipped the coin into the water, watching it sink slowly to lie among the many others resting on the fountain’s floor.

  The old man cleared his throat. “It’s a barbaric tradition really, offering treasures to the spirits of the well or whatnot in exchange for a wish. Don’t you think child?”

  Konstantin shrugged. He had never been comfortable debating theology, even with those inside his own order. Being told what to think had always been easier than thinking for himself.

  “Some might argue that the Church itself maintains certain…barbaric traditions. Don’t you think so, Father Clement?”

  The old man clapped his hands delightedly. “Quite right my dear boy! Quite right!”

  “So they brought you out of retirement to find me, did they?”

  The old man wagged his finger like a disapproving Sunday school teacher.

  “Now, now Inquisitor-Brother Konstantin, you know that we can never really retire from our job.”

  Konstantin nodded, “I know.”

  Deirdre’s eyes had narrowed, her suspicions piqued by Konstantin’s easy familiarity with the old man.

  “Fred, what’s going on here? How do you know this man?”

  Konstantin pierced her with his dark gaze.

  “Father Clement taught me everything I know about witch-hunting. With his help I’m going to regain my honor, and my place in the Church.”

  Deirdre’s face twisted in horror. “But you turned your back on the Church, you escaped. Why would you go back? Why would they ever forgive you?”

  “Because,” Konstantin lashed out suddenly, striking a savage blow to Deirdre’s temple with his clenched fist, “I’m giving them you.”

  As the dark-skinned young woman collapsed to the ground, the two Inquisitors were joined by a squad of Swiss Guard that had been hiding in the shadow of the fountain. Clement indicated the fallen witch.

  “Tie her up tight men; we’ve been searching for this one for years.” He turned to the tired looking Konstantin as the soldiers set about binding Deirdre and administering the hypodermic cocktail of hallucinogens and sedatives which would keep her incapable of using her power.

  “Welcome home, Brother.”

  ***

  They walked slowly into the citadel, their pace set by Clement’s age and Konstantin’s injuries. With them marched a cadre of the Guard, tasked with transporting the unconscious Black Raven to the Inquisition’s dungeons.

  Konstantin held his head high. He was a warrior-monk of the Holy Inquisition. He had nothing else to live for. Brita was dead.

  The portal to the dungeon rose up before him. Clement gestured for the two jailers to open the door. Konstantin idly wondered if they were the same guards he had tricked when he helped Brita escape. They all looked the same with their helmets on. For all he knew they looked the same with their helmets off too. It probably wasn’t them though. Those two would have been severely punished for their failure. They were just two more souls eagerly awaiting him in Hell.

  Konstantin and Clement stepped into the corridor, their footsteps echoing off the sterile metal floor. Their Guard escort dumped Deirdre into the nearest cell, not bothering to remove her restraints.

  When unoccupied, the cell doors remained open at all times. Sealing Deirdre’s cell door brought the number of closed cells to four. The occupants of three of those cells were silent. One was not.

  In the locked cell at the far end of the hall, muted banging could be heard, punctuated by hoarse yelling. It was a familiar voice.

  “Who is that?”

  “A disappointment.”

  “It’s Solomon Rex, isn’t it? I heard he made it back to the city. He’s been imprisoned then? I should think he would have been rewarded for finishing his mission, and bringing in two additional witches.”

  “He is just another beast bearing the Devil’s mark of mutation. Plus,” Clement gestured at Konstantin, “he didn’t actually complete his mission, did he?”

  “Of course,” Clement smiled knowingly, “there seems to be a lot of that going around recently. Tell me, these twin girls that we are hosting in their very own cells down the hall. Did they look familiar to you?”

  Konstantin wasn’t ready to have that talk with his old mentor. He tried to steer the conversation back to Solomon, but Clement would have none of it.

  “He is scheduled for purification by fire in the morning. Forget him. He is no concern of yours Inquisitor-Brother.”

  Konstantin disagreed with father Clement. Plucking the keycard from the jailer’s hand he strode over and unlocked the cell. The door whooshed open, filling the block with the angry prisoner’s ranting.

  “Solomon Rex.”

  Sweat glistened on the bald Inquisitor’s head. His unnatural bulk was pinned to the ground by heavy chains, secured to hooks set in the cell floor. His ghastly wings had been sawn off near the base, leaving only splintered shards of bone protruding from his wide back, which bore the fresh scourge of the whip.

  Rex’s eyes bulged in disbelief when he saw who had addressed him.

  “Konstantin! You villain, I killed you!” Gnashing his teeth, the bound prisoner flexed his muscles uselessly. From the neck down he was held completely immobile. “I did as they asked! I was chosen by God! I am meant to be rewarded! I’m the hero! I was chosen!”

  Frederick William Konstantin slapped the door control, darting into the cell as the door slammed shut. He still had the keycard, which he dropped into a pocket. Then he removed his vest, tossing it into the corner. He rolled up his sleeves. He had perhaps a minute before Clement retrieved another card. He loomed over the bound prisoner.

  “Surely by now you know how the Church rewards Solomon. If you keep your head down and your mouth shut, you are suffered to live. If you stand out however, they are more than happy to hasten your meeting with the Creator.” He stepped heavily on the back of Solomon’s head.

  “You killed my sister. You killed my friends. You thought you killed me. You delivered the twins to this evil place.” He raised his booted foot.

  “Inquisitor Rex, I give you your reward.”

  With all his force he drove his boot down on the restrained madman’s skull. Again and again he struck, the cold black rage knotted around his heart lending strength to his limbs. He welcomed the berserker trance. It felt good.

  He was still stomping and kicking the corpse when Father Clement got the door open again. He had been inside the cell for less than a minute. It had been long enough.

  The Guards flowed into the cell, truncheon’s swinging. There was no way for Konstantin to protect himself from their barrage.

  As he fell, Father Clement shook his head sadly.

  “Pity. He had so much promise.” He addressed the captain of the Guard “Clean up this mess. Bind Konstantin and bring him to the Chamber. He will stand before the Tribunal.”

  26

  Konstantin awoke to wrenching pain in his shoulders and wrists. He had been shackled, his arms strung up above him to a chain dangling from the ceiling. His vest and robes had been removed, leaving him naked from the waist up. He swung slightly, like a pendulum, his boot-tips brushing against the metal grating set in the floor below him. Directly before him was a glass wall, on the far side of which sat three figures on three identical black thrones. Father Clement stood beside them.

  He was experiencing a familiar room from a new perspective. It was bright. Too bright. Konstantin imagined that he would still be able to see the four across the glass clear as day through closed eyelids.

  The three old men spoke.

  “Prisoner UB8484, you have been accused of the sin of apostasy by one of your own. You have been found guilty and are hereby sentenced to purification by b
urning. His will be done.”

  Konstantin stretched, planting his feet firmly on the grating of the floor, arresting his swinging. He could hear pumps cycling below him, bringing in the gas that when lit would turn his half of the chamber into a raging inferno. Konstantin raised his chin proudly, meeting his executioner’s gazes with a dark glower of his own.

  “You made a mistake.”

  Clement smiled sadly at the dangling prisoner. The gas had already been released. The process was irreversible. In a matter of seconds, his former student would be nothing but a bad memory for the Inquisition to shut away in a closet full of bad memories.

  “What would that be, boy?”

  The hiss of gas became a roar, igniters tumbled, and the floor belched forth its flame deluge. As the maelstrom engulfed Konstantin he calmly replied, “You let me wake up.”

  ***

  The fires burned hot. Konstantin’s rage burned hotter. The conflagration bathed his body, but he refused to let it find purchase. Searing heat tried to scorch the air from his lungs, but he refused to let his breathe be taken away.

  “No.”

  The chamber filled with flame. He let it.

  The tribunal leaned forward on their wretched thrones, drunk off the power they had unleashed. He let them.

  The Hatred inside him, that dark and clammy thing with its claws in his soul and its roots in the abyss yammered for release. Konstantin agreed. Now was the time.

  Focusing his iron will, he pushed.

  Out. Out flowed the fires of the Inquisition, through the suddenly feeble barrier of glass.

  Out. Out flowed the fires, cascading down upon the ancient tribunal and Konstantin’s accuser.

  Out. Out flowed Konstantin’s hate, his anger, his pain. The fires raged on and on, unchecked and unabated, blasting through the chamber with a vengeance.

  When it was over, and the flames had burnt themselves out, Konstantin alone remained. The fires had burnt so hot that nothing was left, not the chains that had bound Konstantin, not the glass wall or the three dark thrones. Of their occupants, there was not a trace. The very metal of the walls and floor had warped and bulged, witness to the impossible temperatures.

  The room was empty. So was Konstantin.

  ***

  He felt old. Old and tired. He made himself place one foot in front of the other, to start the long walk back to the surface. He had a job to finish. Then he could rest.

  Konstantin left the chamber, letting himself out the same door he had been brought in through. The door locked automatically whenever it closed. It should have been impossible to pass back through. When the naked prisoner approached it however, its latches clicked, and it groaned open with the unhappy complaint of warped metal. There used to be an iron crucifix above the entrance. It was gone now.

  On the other side of the door was a corridor, wide and featureless, which led straight back to the dungeon. There was no one to stop Konstantin from entering this way, no guards to force him back, no locked doors to slow him down. The journey from the dungeon to the Judgment chamber was a one way trip. It was inconceivable that someone might return as more than just a wisp of ash.

  At the end of the corridor, separating it from the dungeon proper was the guard’s antechamber. Here Konstantin paused to collect his vest and some spare pants and boots, his having been burnt off in the fire. The boots were too large.

  He next stopped at Deirdre’s cell. He still had Clement’s keycard in his vest pocket. He opened the cell.

  “Deirdre, wake up.”

  She was awake, and by the expression on her face, angry. Someone had finally gotten around to removing her restraints, and when Konstantin entered the room she flew at him with fists up and teeth bared. Konstantin stood his ground. He received a violent left hook for his trouble, one that twisted his head around, but didn’t cause him to step aside.

  “If I wasn’t doped to fucking shit, I’d roast you where you stand,” she snarled.

  “They already tried that,” he said quietly, “I might surprise you.”

  “So why are you here now you fucking traitor? To gloat? To apologize? What do you want!?”

  “Calm down. This was the only way I could get us both into the basilica alive. It worked, didn’t it? The girls are right down the hall,” he passed her the keycard, “I’m not sure what condition they’re in, but you three need to get out of here.”

  “Us three? You’re not coming?”

  Konstantin was slow in responding, “Tell the girls I can’t leave just yet…there’s one more thing I have to do.”

  Deirdre gave him a long look. He had aged horribly in the past two days. His skin looked paler than ever, and she noticed a good amount of grey in his unruly black hair that hadn’t been there before. Something had changed inside him as well; the insane rage that had sustained him during their flight south was gone, leaving him empty with its passing. His dark eyes held no spark.

  Deirdre clenched her jaw, and nodded. She knew it would be up to her alone to get Hrist and Mist out of the fortress safely.

  “Okay.” She gave him a quick hug. “Take care of yourself Fred.”

  Giving him one more squeeze, she jogged down to the last pair of locked cell doors. Konstantin trudged off in the opposite directing, continuing his journey back up through the Basilica.

  Behind him he could hear the sounds of a joyful reunion taking place. He didn’t look back.

  “You too Deirdre.”

  ***

  What are you going to do now Deirdre?

  “First, I’m getting you girls to safety. We’re going home.”

  And then?

  Deirdre thought about the uncounted masses of humanity bent under the merciless weight of the Church. She thought about her raider army, and the weapon caches her people had been stocking for years. It was said that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Ha. Hell couldn’t hold a candle to an angry witch. “And then? And then, this entire fucked up empire is going to burn.”

  ***

  Konstantin walked for a long while. The fortress was humming with the hustle and bustle of thousands going about their daily routines, but Konstantin was ignored. He rubbed elbows with nuns, priests, a bishop, and countless soldiers, and he was spared not a glance. The man who was once one of the most recognizable weapons of the Holy Inquisition was being ignored because the person he had been was already dead. The body just hadn’t caught up yet.

  Too soon, he reached his destination. He stood before a familiar door. Konstantin brushed the smooth wood with his knuckles, hoping nobody was inside. It was quiet in this hallway, the majority of its occupants out tending to their duties for the day.

  He stepped into the room, avoiding the low hanging light bulb, and let out a breath that he hadn’t noticed he was holding. When he wiggled the loose bulb in its socket the room was suddenly bathed in light. It was unchanged. The cot and footlocker still rested on their faded square of rug, and the single shelf still bore its bounty of books and medical paraphernalia. In fact, judging from the light coating of dust over everything, nobody had been in Sister Brita’s room for some time. Konstantin figured it was due to be assigned to a new Franciscan nurse any day now.

  That was okay, Brita certainly didn’t need it anymore, and he only needed its seclusion for another few moments. Locking the door behind him, Konstantin did a lap of the room, running callused fingers lovingly over his sister’s meager worldly possessions. None of it looked particularly meaningful to him. The memories they had shared as children had not made it into this room. Konstantin was saddened. He had failed. He had failed his father when he couldn’t keep his promise to protect Brita. He had failed Brita when he had told her everything was going to be okay. And he had failed himself; long ago he had failed himself. Stopping at the medical kit he poked around for a moment, grabbing a few items, which he took over to the cot.

  Balancing on the metal edge of his sister’s bed, Konstantin made his preparations. Lying back he got as comfor
table as his bruised body would allow. When he was ready he took one more look around his sister’s room, and pressed the needle into his vein. As the sharp prick in his arm gave way to the cool burn of the drugs, Frederick William Konstantin was already gone.

  Brita, I’m coming.

  ***

  Felix sat slumped in the cheap chair, his elbow resting on the padded armrest and his fist supporting his drooping chin. The magazine that he was reading earlier had fallen to the ground, but that was not what had awoken him.

  Lying amidst her tangle of blankets on the hospital bed, the lamps making her blonde hair glow like a halo, Brita had made a sound.

  “Merlin!” Felix thumped the old man resting on the bed behind him, “She’s waking up!” “Well good,” he fake grumbled, “it’s about damn time. She’s been in that coma for weeks.”

  Brita made another soft moaning sound, and as Felix leaned forward, her eyelids fluttered open. She seemed confused, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. It was a moment before she noticed the young man leaning anxiously over her. Recognizing him she smiled sleepily.

  “Hi.”

  Felix grinned his barbarian grin.

  “Hi.”

  The End

  Epilogue

  Something would have to be done about the mess. The laboratory was dangerously cluttered with arcane machinery, useful bits distinguishable from discarded junk only by their various beepings and whirrings and blinking lights. Honestly, Pope Innocent suspected a number of the “working” devices were doing little more than draining power, if not being used for altogether incorrect applications.

  He sighed, cautiously stepping over another snake-like coil of wiring, using his cane like a blind man to feel for secure footing in the trash covering the floor. An ominous burning smell emanated from the teetering pile of paper charts and diagrams the wire’s far end laid buried under.