The Black Sentry

by Bernhardt, William

  As they traveled, Xander explained that although it was not known by most citizens, the Arena was actually a two-level structure. On top was the part everyone knew—the center stage where the ceremonies were held and the gallery where the villagers sat. But beneath that was a second level, an interconnected series of rooms and corridors used by the Black Sentry and a selected group of slaves. The tunnel would bring them to those rooms.

  At long last, they detected a tiny dot of light in the distance.

  “I think we’re getting to the end,” Xander said.

  He had never heard sweeter words.

  They crawled out, pushed through a hinged wooden door, and closed the passageway. They were in one of the lower rooms of the Arena.

  Quickly, they walked toward the center, Brita and Daman in front, Xander in back. It was not long before they encountered others.

  The Sentry in the first room gaped in amazement. “The traitor!”

  Two others jumped to their feet. “Seize him.”

  “That will not be necessary.” Before anyone could do anything, Xander pushed Brita and Daman forward. “I have everything under control. Make way.”

  Xander wore the Black Sentry uniform they had liberated from Mykah the night before. Although he had never before worn anything other than a slave’s simple costume, he seemed entirely natural in it. The hood covered the protrusion on his left temple. He’d tied Brita and Daman’s arms loosely behind their backs and tethered to a rope Xander held firmly in his hand. To all appearances, they were two prisoners in Xander’s custody.

  The Sentry eased back into their chairs. “Where did you find them?” the first Sentry asked.

  “In a barn outside the village.” He pushed them harshly through the room, giving the impression that he had no time to stop and talk.

  “But—how?”

  Xander inflated his chest. “This is a matter of critical importance to the Sentinel’s security. I will explain to the Acolyte himself and no one else.”

  “Of course. Proceed.”

  One of the men in the back leaned forward. “But the Acolyte is engaged at the moment. The Ritual of Execution is underway.”

  Xander snapped. “Do you think that I don’t know that?”

  “Of course, of course. Wait here while I make arrangements with the Captain of the Guard—”

  “Are you mad?” He couldn’t help but marvel at how well Xander handled himself. His imitation of an arrogant Sentry was perfect. He’d undoubtedly suffered many years of abuse at their hands. “Do you think the Acolyte wants me to wait?” His eyes locked onto the Sentry. “Do you think he’ll be happy when he learns you’ve prevented me from informing him that I’ve captured the traitor and his accomplice?”

  “Well—no—”

  “If he learns now, before the ceremony is over, he can announce it to the people of Clovis. Imagine the joy and relief that will result. Would you spoil the Acolyte’s opportunity to proclaim this glorious news?”

  “Of course not.” The Sentry nervously stepped aside. “Come this way. We’ll lead you to the antechamber beneath the Arena. We’ll be able to signal the Acolyte before he concludes the ceremony.”

  “Very well,” Xander said. “Lead on. And be quick about it.”

  He concentrated all his powers on suppressing his smile and playing the part of the prisoner.

  They were inside.

  *****

  Daman and the others were led through a maze of rooms and corridors. He tried to take note of their route so he would be able to find his way out later, but he soon became hopelessly confused.

  They passed more Sentry along the way, and each time the reaction was a condensed form of what they’d received from the first Sentry they met. First, seeing the supposed prisoners, they’d gape in amazement. Then, seeing Xander and being persuaded by his brash, confident manner, they’d step aside and let the party pass.

  At last they arrived at the antechamber beneath the staging area of the Arena. It was a large round room filled with wooden rafters and support beams. He felt disoriented. He’d never seen a round room, a room without corners.

  In the center he spotted a burly Sentry who stood before some sort of mechanism. He knew it was a pulley, but he had only the barest glimmer of how it worked. A wooden handle allowed a gear to be moved in a circular direction. A chain attached to the gear rose to the ceiling, passed through some interconnected wheels, then connected to a wooden plank fitting neatly into a hole in the ceiling of the room—which was the floor of the Arena.

  Even though he did not perfectly understand how it worked, its purpose was obvious. As the man turned the handle on the gear, the platform would move. A man standing upon it would be raised or lowered. Add a cloud of smoke and this explained how traitors “disappeared.”

  The Old Man was not there. Apparently, he had already been raised to the surface of the Arena to await his sentence.

  “Wait here,” their Sentry-escort said. “The Acolyte will return soon.”

  “Very well,” Xander snapped back. “I want all extraneous slaves and Sentry removed from the premises.”

  “But—”

  “There are no buts,” Xander said, cutting him off. “This is a matter of vital importance. I will not take any unnecessary risks.”

  Reluctantly, the Sentry gave the nod, and all but a skeleton crew of slaves left the antechamber.

  He and Brita sat on a bench that allowed them to see and hear through a barred vent in the ceiling.

  The Acolyte led the Celebration. Beside him, they saw the Old Man.

  He was still alive.

  They could also see that both he and the Acolyte were surrounded by a Black Sentry platoon. There was no chance they could snatch the Old Man without being seen.

  The Acolyte conducted the Ceremony of Passage. All the villagers who had turned fifty during the past year were gathered together, honored, and granted passage. The Acolyte anointed them with the unction of transcendence, which symbolized their removal from village life and guaranteed them passage to Balaveria, the Sentinel’s paradise. Their jobs would be assigned to younger men passing their Winnowing, while they were assured an eternity of pleasure and contentment.

  Down below, Xander remained standing, pacing, making a great show of guarding his prisoners. But he noticed that the Sentry who had led them here did not depart. Perhaps he was not foolish enough to leave strangers so close to the Acolyte. Or perhaps he wanted to stay nearby so he could claim some credit in the capture of the prisoners. For whatever reason, he remained.

  That was a problem, one they would have to deal with before they could try anything.

  Through the vent in the ceiling, he saw that the Acolyte had finished the Ceremony of Passage but was not proceeding to the Ritual of Execution. Apparently he had some unscheduled business on his agenda.

  “Children of the Sentinel,” the Acolyte chanted, his arms outstretched, “we live in troubled times. I feel your unease. I know your unhappiness and fear. I know you worry about the enemies of the Sentinel, those who would destroy the Laws and Ways that we good citizens cherish.”

  “Long live the Sentinel,” the people in the Arena shouted.

  “Rest assured that the Sentinel cannot be defeated. He cannot be overcome. The Laws and Ways are the true ways. The only ways.”

  “Long live the Sentinel,” the same voices chanted.

  “And yet, the Sentinel knows you are troubled. He knows you sleep with fear in your hearts. And so he has sent you...this.”

  In the antechamber, two slaves loaded something onto the moving plank. It was at least twice the size of a man, but Daman could not make out what it was because it was cloaked. After it was in position, one of the slaves turned the gear handle and raised the draped object up to the Arena. From vents on all sides of the opening, an eerie orange smoke emerged.

  “The Sentinel has been served for years by the Black Sentry,” the Acolyte continued, “and they have served him well. But many of
you have asked if there should not be more protection for the Sentinel in these troubled times. And so I introduce to you a new policing force, one certain to protect us all from the enemies of the Sentinel—such as he who stands before you now awaiting his punishment.”

  He grasped the bottom of the cloak. “Behold! The Silver Sentryman!”

  The green cloak slid off, and along with the rest of the village he viewed for the first time what the Acolyte had unveiled. He did not know what it was–except that it was the most hideous, most frightening, evil-looking creature he had ever seen.

  It was silver, from head to foot. Sunlight reflected off the shimmering surface, making it difficult at first to get a clear view. It was shaped like a man, a tall man, and yet it was clearly something else. It had a face, although that might be the wrong word. Its features were square and flat, unreal, suggesting human features but at the same time being nothing like them. It reminded him more of a Construct than a man. The fact that it was so clearly not human but so unnaturally simulated human features, the cold eyes, and the huge size made it terrifying.

  The Acolyte boomed forth in his most dramatic voice. “Come forth, Silver Sentryman!”

  The hideous object on the platform moved.

  The crowd gasped. There was a horrifying noise—part creaking, part whirring, part grinding. It set his teeth on edge and raised goose pimples on his skin.

  One heavy foot lifted, then slammed down on the earth, making the ground shudder. The other foot did the same, then over and over again, gaining speed.

  This unnatural creature could walk.

  “Stop!” the Acolyte commanded, and the creature immediately obeyed.

  The Acolyte turned proudly to face the crowd. “Children of the Sentinel, see what your kind and loving Master has sent to protect you. There is no escape from the Silver Sentrymen. They do not tire. They do not disobey. They cannot be fooled by trickery or lies. They are invulnerable to the weaknesses of the flesh. They can perform all the functions of the Black Sentry and more, but have none of their imperfections. They are unstoppable. Nothing can escape their control.”

  The crowd cried out—whether in relief or terror he couldn’t be sure. As the noise of the people died, the voice of the Acolyte soared. “Let this be a lesson to all those who would transgress against the Sentinel. Let this be a warning to all those who would resist him or rebel against his Laws and Ways. Resistance is futile. Repent now, lest you face the unstoppable might of the Silver Sentrymen.”

  The Acolyte pointed toward a medium-sized wooden wagon on the floor of the Arena.

  “Target the wagon.”

  Again they heard the horrible grinding and whirring noise as the unnatural man lifted its arm and extended it toward the wagon.

  “Destroy it,” the Acolyte said.

  An instant later, a stream of blue-colored light burst out of the Silver Sentryman’s hand. It flew across the Arena directly toward the empty wagon. The instant the light touched the wagon, it burst into flames. In a few moments it was completely incinerated.

  Cries rang out from the gallery. Women screamed. People rose to their feet, clutching their children in their arms.

  “The Sentinel has given this new Sentryman his own power to fight this holy fight,” the Acolyte continued. “The enemies of the Sentinel will fall before his mighty hand. This is just one Sentryman, but more, hundreds more, will be created and scattered throughout the Sentinel’s great empire.”

  The commotion in the gallery continued. More people rose, some in fear, some in panic. Some ran toward the back exit.

  Watching from down below, Daman’s throat went dry. These monsters must be the new enemy Drake had mentioned. How could the Resistance ever hope to defeat these invincible creatures?

  “And now,” the Acolyte said, “the time has come to deal with one particular enemy of the Sentinel.”

  He gestured, and the Black Sentry dragged forward the Old Man.

  “It is time for your day of reckoning–Rico Dandel!”

  The Old Man’s surprise was evident.

  “Yes,” the Acolyte said, “I know your name. I know everything about you. You and all your traitorous companions in this so-called Resistance. You may wonder how I came by this information. Well, let me tell you then. Your friends gave it to me.”

  “It isn’t true,” the Old Man said, but his voice sounded weak and thin.

  “Oh, they didn’t give it to me right away, but eventually I was able to persuade them to talk. I know everything about you. Your Resistance is at an end.” He turned back toward the gallery. “And should any other twisted traitors think to rise up against the Sentinel, they will meet their punishment too. At the hand of the Silver Sentryman.”

  The Old Man’s eyes widened. He had undoubtedly expected death, but not to be obliterated by some unholy silver monster.

  “Rico Dandel, you are cut off from the Sentinel and his people. Consider yourself shrouded.” He snapped his fingers and several Sentry lifted the drape and placed it over the Old Man. It covered him completely, from head to foot. The wind blew the cloak back and forth, keeping it in constant motion around his body. He was maneuvered to the raised platform in the floor, presumably so his corpse could dramatically disappear after he was executed.

  The Acolyte continued the ceremony, recounting a long list of crimes supposedly committed by the Old Man. The crimes were more numerous than anyone could possibly commit in a single lifetime. According to Brita, some of them occurred in places hundreds of miles away. It seemed the Old Man had become the scapegoat for any setback the Sentinel had suffered during the past several decades.

  At last the time for the completion of the ceremony arrived. The Acolyte held his hands over the head of the draped Old Man.

  “The Sentinel is a good and just Master,” he chanted.

  “The Sentinel is a good and just Master,” came the response from the gallery.

  “The Laws and Ways of the Sentinel are good and just.”

  “The Laws and Ways of the Sentinel are good and just.”

  “May the guidance of the Sentinel be with you, always.”

  “And also with you,” the crowd responded.

  “His will be done!” the Acolyte shouted. On that cue, the evil Silver Sentryman whirred into action. He pivoted, then walked a few heavy steps until he faced the draped figure of the Old Man.

  More whirring, and the Silver Sentryman’s arm rose till it pointed at the Old Man.

  A collective gasp emerged from the gallery as the Acolyte shouted: “Destroy the Rebel.”

  24

  The instant the Acolyte spoke, Daman saw the deadly blue light burst out from the Silver Sentryman’s hand. The instant the light touched the drape, it burst into flames.

  Many of the villagers in the gallery turned their heads away. It was too terrible to watch. Even if the light did not obliterate the Old Man on contact, the heat of the flames would send him to a tortured, painful death.

  Several moments passed in tears, horror, sadness. Until at last, one voice spoke. The voice of a child, a small boy seated on one of the lowest rows of the gallery. A boy brave enough to lift his eyes and his voice.

  “Look!” the boy cried. “He isn’t there!”

  Every eye in the gallery turned. The Acolyte whirled around, as did the legions of Black Sentry surrounding him.

  A fierce wind had blown the burning drape almost completely off the platform, exposing what lay beneath.

  All they could see was a high-backed chair, one that had been tilted and wedged so that it straddled the hole in the floor and held the drape in place even after the platform was lowered.

  The Old Man was gone.

  *****

  A few minutes before:

  Daman knew they needed to make their move quickly, but the Sentry and the slaves kept a careful eye on him.

  “I need more rope,” Xander said, addressing the Sentry who had remained. “Please fetch it for me immediately.”

&nb
sp; The Sentry’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I think this would not be a prudent time to leave. The Acolyte might need assistance.”

  “The Acolyte will need rope. These are dangerous criminals. Go!”

  The Sentry drew himself up. “No.”

  “I insist.”

  His lip curled. “I refuse.”

  “Very well then. I guess I’ll just—”

  Xander swung around, his fists clenched like clubs, and hammered the Sentry right in the face. The Sentry fell to his knees. Before he could respond, Xander hit him again, this time at the base of his skull. The Sentryman fell forward onto the floor and stayed there.

  Daman’s jaw dropped. He knew his slave was strong–but he had no idea how strong. All those years performing menial tasks seemed to have given him incredible physical power.

  Brita tied and gagged the Sentry while Xander raced toward the two slaves who had remained in the room to operate the pulley.

  “I am one of you,” Xander said. He removed his hood so they could see the bulge over his temple. “And I need your help. Quickly.”

  They did not say anything, but their expressions changed. It was almost as if Xander continued talking to them, persuading them, even though not a word was spoken.

  At last, one of them replied. “We’ll do whatever you ask.”

  He couldn’t believe Xander had been so successful so fast, but he didn’t stop to question it. He knew they had precious little time. He climbed up the pulley mechanism till he was close to the ceiling of the antechamber. Xander passed him a tall high-backed chair.

  He eased the chair beside the Old Man to hold the drape up as Xander lowered the platform. Fortunately, the constant movement of the drape in the wind disguised the substitution. Once the platform was low enough, he wedged the chair over the opening and helped the Old Man off.

  “Daman!” the Old Man said. “Brita! And—”

  “His name is Xander, and despite his uniform, he’s with us. We must go.”