by David Beers
He sighed, something inside him still not wanting to tell her. Daniel shoved it aside. “We leave him here or we bring him with us.”
“What happens if we leave him here?” she asked.
“He’ll tell them what he knows and then probably be sent after us again, but with more people.”
“And if we bring him with us?”
“He’ll probably try to kill us if he gets the chance. He’ll try to alert the Church if he can.”
They stared for another second, and then Nicki asked, “What if we killed him?”
Daniel’s eyes widened, though he didn’t look at Nicki. It wasn’t bad that she asked, only shocking, and Daniel didn’t want her to think he was judging her.
Because it might come to that. God bless, it really might.
“If we killed him, they’d still come, but he wouldn’t be able to tell them anything.”
Nicki was quiet, but Daniel understood the question neither wanted to ask.
Why don’t we do it, then?
Daniel wouldn’t lie to himself. He didn’t want to kill the man, not now that there wasn’t a present danger. Murder … up until these last few moments, he never thought something like that would take place in his life.
There were other reasons, though, to keep the man living.
“If we don’t kill him,” he said, “we might be able to get something from him. If we take him with us.”
“Okay, then,” Nicki said with a nod. “Then we take him. Let’s start packing.”
She looked to him and Daniel to her. Her face was pale but her eyes were dry now. Daniel hated this more than he could put into words, what was about to happen to his little girl. Things he didn’t know, and probably couldn’t imagine—but the Church was coming and she had the right attitude. They needed to accept life as it was, and not try to force it into something they wanted.
“Okay,” he said. “You pack. I’ll watch him. Then we’ll switch.”
The Cardinal Wen Nitson stood outside the Pope’s chamber.
He had no desire to be here, not under these conditions. Usually, it was in his interest to get face time with the Pope … but not today.
Not about this.
Wen received news this morning that the man sent to pick up the countryside girl hadn’t made a report. He hadn’t returned calls. He had, the report said, gone completely dark.
Completely dark.
Wen didn’t like that term. He wasn’t a military man but a man of God, and had no interest in such terms as that. He had no interest in the sight or anything that came along with it. He’d been given the damned responsibility while being told that it would be an afterthought. Most of those with the sight had already been eradicated. There weren’t many—if any at all—left inside the Old World’s borders.
Yet, here he was, in front of the Pope’s door, about to be granted entrance only to deliver bad news.
The question that scratched at his mind, like some sort of spider crawling across the folds of his brain, was why he’d been called here to begin with.
Wen had reported the news to his direct superior, as he understood the Holy Doctrine of Cover Your Ass, but he hadn’t thought much of it. There was a lot to be done, and one girl with the sight—or the possibility of the sight—didn’t seem that big of a deal.
Yet, within three hours he’d been summoned across the Vatican to see the Pope.
And where was Wen’s superior, that bastard Managlia? Not here. No, he’d given Wen the sole responsibility of briefing the Pope on the matter.
Wen sat with his hands folded in his lap, appearing calm despite the anger boiling inside him.
“Cardinal Wen?”
He looked up to the Pope’s assistant across the room.
“His Holiness will you see you now.”
Wen nodded and stood. He walked to the large, golden doors on his left and waited as they slowly opened.
He’d seen the inside of the Pope’s chambers a few times before, but didn’t have time now to reacquaint himself with the room’s magnificence. He’d been summoned.
Wen stepped through the doors and saw the Pope sitting at his desk. Wen walked across the room and stood behind the chair placed in front of his desk.
“Most Holy Father,” Wen said, bowing his head. “How may I be of service?”
The Pope was in his early 70s, though everyone in the Vatican knew his mind might have been the most agile of them all. He was not a man to trifle with, and that wasn’t only because of his place in the religious hierarchy. His tongue could be acerbic if he thought someone’s idiocy was wasting his time.
“Please, have a seat Cardinal Wen,” the Pope said.
Wen nodded and sat in the chair.
“I received some distressing news this morning. We sent someone to retrieve a Church member who possibly has the sight, but the person we sent is no longer answering us. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Most Holy,” Wen said.
“I think it’s best that I’m walked through what has happened here.”
Shit, Wen thought. He couldn’t tell him the truth, that he hadn’t given this assignment even five minutes’ worth of thought until this morning, when he found out it went badly. There hadn’t been any plan; he’d simply wanted the normal mechanisms to work.
“Of course, Most Holy Father. I was alerted to this situation two days ago, when a report reached my desk which said a doctor may have found someone with the sight. I followed our usual protocol and dispatched someone to collect the woman. These things usually take 24 hours or so to complete.”
“But not this time.”
Wen didn’t think the Pope was asking a question, so he said nothing.
“No,” the Pope said, standing up. “Not this time at all. What is our current situation regarding this woman and our missing acolyte?”
“Most Holy Father, I did not proceed further once I received your summons. I wanted to ensure I fulfilled your wishes before acting.”
“So, right now, we have someone with the sight possibly moving about the Old World, and no one trying to bring her in. That’s the current state?”
Wen now knew with certainty how stupid his decision had been, though not until this moment. “Yes.”
“Well, Cardinal Wen, what do you think we should do to bring this woman in? What is the plan that you wished to discuss with me?”
“I feel that sending a larger group after the woman would be appropriate.”
“So send more?”
“Yes, Most Holy Father.”
“How many more?” the Pope asked.
“Five to ten,” Wen said.
“Why that number?”
Wen knew what was occurring. The Pope was simply pointing out, through his questioning, that Wen had no idea what was happening.
“I feel that ten should be adequate to bring the woman in.”
“Do you know her location?”
Wen shook his head.
“No. No. I didn’t think so. Which means you want to send ten people to her house, though I doubt she’s there any longer.”
The Pope walked slowly across the floor to the middle of the room. A large bay window sat to his left, the entrance to his right. He looked down at the floor.
“What do you know about the sight, Cardinal Wen?”
Honesty or lies? Wen chose quickly, knowing that to lie to this man would be disastrous.
“Very little, Most Holy Father. The assignment of monitoring sight reports was given to me with instructions that there were very few of them, maybe a couple each decade, and that it was not something that would require much attention.” Wen had turned in his chair so that he could see the Pope, and watched now as the old man nodded.
“Perhaps that’s as much my fault as yours. I’ve ignored them as well because there haven’t been many of them. Because for 1,000 years, there hasn’t been any thought that they might actually be important. Not outside of challenging our own authority. It seems that fate may be con
spiring against us, though.”
Wen didn’t know what the old man was talking about. He remained quiet.
“The sight was poor judgment from my predecessors and thus something we’ve both inherited. There’s nothing we can do but shoulder this inheritance, even if we do it grimly.” The Pope sighed. “Ten isn’t going to be enough, not nearly. Send a thousand acolytes, if we have that many. If we don’t, find more. Send a thousand and find this woman, then bring her directly to me.”
The Pope turned and looked at Wen.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, Most Holy Father,” Wen said, shuddering.
The Pope’s birth name was Yule (pronounced You’ll-lee) Goran. He was old and not happy with the current situation. He had hoped that he could spend the next ten years as head of the Catholic Church in relative peace, and then pass the mantle to someone else. His rule as Pope had been uneventful, and he considered that a success. Many Popes wanted to leave a mark, something that asserted they had been here. This was true both before and after the Reformation, but Yule never wanted such a thing.
He wanted to worship God, and do his best to help bring those under his rule closer to Him. He thought he’d been able to do that, at least up until now.
He’d heard the news of the Black’s return earlier in the week (and how Yule hated that name—the Black, as if a color could adequately summarize what was happening). Apparently, the True Faith’s (And he hated that name, too. Out of the four Ministries, that name was the most antagonizing when alongside the other three.) domain had a new religious cult, though not like the ones it was usually chasing.
Yule figured that was a pretty good clue to how true their faith was as well, the fact that they had an entire organization constantly chasing down religious offshoots. The Old World had problems, no doubt, but none like that.
God, please help me stop bringing up petty squabbles, the Pope silently prayed. He was on a transport and heading to meet with the other three Ministries. He’d left shortly after speaking with the Cardinal about this woman with the sight. It wasn’t something he’d wanted to hear before leaving, and now he had to decide how to spin it.
The other three Ministries would likely be more worried about the Black than Yule, because their faith differed from his. Their faith was younger, and false. Yule recognized the seriousness in what the True Faith claimed was happening, but he also kept his faith in God the Almighty. His will would be done, regardless of how humans toiled here on Earth.
It was the combination that worried Yule. The combination of the Black’s return and this woman with the sight.
How much do the other Ministries know?
His assistants had brought him everything the Church possessed about the sight program, though it originally had a different name. Officially, it probably still did, but Yule didn’t care. It was what it was, and layman’s nomenclature fit as well as anything else. There wasn’t any briefing of the other Ministries when the program first started, nor when it was shut down. No communication at all was documented, but that didn’t mean the other Ministries weren’t aware.
Yule needed to understand what they already knew, and then he could decide how much to tell them.
If he received word that the woman was captured first, then he could keep quiet about it. He looked at the clock on the transport. He’d arrive at the meeting in three hours. Yule wouldn’t fool himself into thinking she’d be apprehended by then.
He considered Jesus’s prayer in the garden.
My father, if it is possible, let this cup pass by.
Yule thought about saying the same prayer, but didn’t. If the True Faith’s High Priest was right, and the Black had arrived again, then he wouldn’t hide from his calling as his predecessors had done a thousand years before.
Mistakes had been made for millennia, but Yule was in a place to try and fix them.
He stared out the transport’s window for a few minutes and then decided to pray. He was only able to manage a few minutes before sleep overtook the elderly Pope.
Yule looked at the other three representatives.
The High Priest from the True Faith, which was a blaspheming title if ever there had been one. Priests belonged to the Catholic Church, and none other.
The Constant had what they called the Most Revered Representative. Yule wouldn’t even comment on how silly that was.
The One Path, which Yule considered the most insignificant of all the faiths, had their One Minister.
All of these people were imposters, and Yule sometimes wondered if they knew it. They had come about after the Reformation, because the world needed order and something to believe in, so governments morphed and gave people false gods.
They’re the descendants of decisions just like you are, Yule’s better side said. The Catholic Church was complicit in many of those things, just as you are still. Judge not, lest you be judged.
The High Priest was the only one of the four without a name, which if Yule was being kind, fit his personality—both were out of the ordinary.
The four sat at a square table. Each had a glass of water, and each looked as different from the next as could be imagined. Three were men, with the One Path being the only female minister. Yule had met her at the beginning of his papacy; her name was Trinant One, as every predecessor since the beginning had been.
One, always with the Ones, Yule thought.
The True Faith’s Priest had walked in a few minutes after the others, completing the four (and trying to establish dominance). Pleasantries had been exchanged but a chill still resided over the room.
Because there is peace in the world, but how much of that is because of this common enemy? It’s amazing peace has lasted as long as it has, truly.
The four knew the peace existed only because of the Black’s last two attacks. It existed because if they fought one another, and the Black returned, it would mean the end of humanity. Still, like all people, Yule knew the other three wanted to expand their reigns—both geographically and in the number of people that worshipped.
“We’ve traveled a long way,” the Constant’s More Revered Representative said, his name Benten Connor—which Yule appreciated, as it was something a bit like the Old World. “Perhaps you’d like to begin, High Priest.”
The High Priest’s hood was removed, revealing the shaved head that was the style for all True Faith Priests. Yule found it grotesque. He hadn’t spent a lot of time around the High Priest, but he found much about him grotesque. He was odd in a way that left Yule feeling … disturbed.
“We believe the Black is returning,” the High said simply, looking at Benten.
“Yes,” Trinant responded. “We’ve gathered that. It’s why we’re here. How long have you known?”
“About seven days.”
“And what’s been done?”
“As of now, not much. We have our Prevention Division working on locating the leader.”
“You mean the weapon?” Benten asked.
“Yes. The weapon,” the High Priest answered.
Trinant spoke next. “Given the dangers here, your lack of progress is more than a little frightening. What else can you tell us?”
The High Priest spoke as if he was answering a robot—something from the Constant’s Ministry that had no soul, nor true emotion. It needn’t actually be answered, but was only done so out of habit.
“The weapon may have been gestating for the past 20 years.”
Yule’s eyebrows rose. “Will you say that again?”
The High Priest looked to him. “The weapon has possibly been gathering people for the past two decades.”
“And you didn’t know about it?” Yule asked. “You with the ThoughtDrones? The Ministry that is supposed to be able to best monitor its subjects? You must be kidding.”
The High Priest held his eyes. “It’s been a thousand years since the last attack. We’ve learned a lot since then.”
“About the black?” the woman, Trinant, aske
d.
The High Priest shook his head without looking over at her. “No, not about the Black.”
So he knows, Yule thought.
“About the Old World.”
Yule watched as the other two turned their eyes on him.
“You call it the sight, correct?” the High Priest asked.
“How long have you known?” Yule said. He didn’t move an inch. The High Priest might look and act abnormal, but Yule understood the man held no power here. He held no power outside of his own territory—and from what Yule understood—perhaps not even there. He was a recluse, and the day to day details were run by something called their First Council. The High Priest could give that forever stare, but he wasn’t in control here, and Yule wouldn’t be bullied.
“A while,” the High Priest answered.
“What are you two talking about?” Benten asked.
“A fool’s errand. Something I think your God would not have approved of, either, Yule. Am I right about that?”
“I won’t try to know every piece of God’s mind on every action that man executes,” Yule said.
“Enough,” Trinant said. “Tell us what is going on.”
Yule broke eye contact with the High Priest and looked at the other two. “He’s talking about an idea that came about after Veritros.”
“Not an idea,” the High Priest said. “It was more than that.”
Yule nodded, still not looking at him. “It was. We did our own studies on Veritros, and we combined that with what we knew about the girl that came before her. We looked at the similarities between their brains. We wanted to find a way to connect with the Black. Well, my predecessors wanted to.”
“What do you mean?” Trinant asked.
“We began a genetic engineering program. We wanted to entice the creature to return sooner, and then try to understand how it worked and what exactly it was after.”
Benten laughed. “The Old World? You refuse all technological advances. All of them. Yet you wanted to try and connect with the Black?”