by David Beers
“I’m fine. Is everything ready on your end?”
“Yes, we’ll be launching in the Old World in three hours. Everything’s in place.”
“Good,” Rachel said. “We’ll talk midday, then.”
She ended the connection.
Rachel Veritros closed her eyes and sank down into her couch.
She did not sleep in the morning’s darkness; that would have been impossible. She was relaxed, though. Perhaps more so than anyone else in her organization, because she understood with the faithful’s conviction that Earth was finished. That change had finally arrived.
Twenty-Seven
Raylyn Brinson was curled into a ball on a bed. It was large, with fluffy white pillows scattered across it. Three days had passed since Raylyn returned to the First Council, and she’d spent almost every minute curled up on this bed with a large blanket thrown over her. Every once in a while, she’d open her eyes … but almost always shut them quickly. A few times she left them open, her head under the covers, and stared at the white fabric in front of her.
She tried not to think.
It was too much, thinking. Too many thoughts. Too many memories.
She just wanted to lie in the cool black of sleep. In that darkness, she didn’t have to consider anything.
Not all those ships falling. Not the Disciple’s death, moving like the wind and then simply vaporizing. She didn’t have to consider Lynda, someone she had known for years—didn’t have to relive the moment where Lynda’s arm was detached from her wrist, or the hammock of hell she lay on until her death.
Raylyn didn’t have to think about David Hollowborne (a name that she would never forget) or his gray eyes staring at her like pure, crackling energy.
Looking at him had done something to Raylyn, stuck a sharp dagger deep into her chest. Pierced her heart. That man … he shouldn’t exist, not in Corinth’s world. Yet he did. She’d seen him and heard his voice, been close enough for him to snatch her life away.
When she slept, none of those things were real.
I can do this forever.
I can just lie here and no one will ever disturb me.
Food wasn’t a consideration. She always found a glass of water waiting on her nightstand, and she sipped from it occasionally, but other than that—sleep’s embrace was all she needed.
She didn’t know that days were passing. She didn’t care.
Raylyn only wanted nothing, but she wanted it forever.
The First Priest spent the next 72 hours in a state of constant movement. He had no idea what the High Priest was doing, nor the other head Priests, but he knew his role: try to regain some semblance of order throughout the True Faith.
He had no time to pray, no time to truly strategize about his actions. If Corinth existed, then surely He was watching. He knew what was happening, and to sit and pray right now would only anger the First Priest’s God, because to pray in the face of such destruction was to start drinking water during a flood—instead of at least trying to swim.
The First Priest swam for 68 out of 72 hours. He spent the other four sleeping.
The tide wasn’t turning, but it wasn’t advancing anymore either, and for that the First Priest gave thanks.
The True Faith had established pockets inside certain cities, spaces of relative safety. They were delivering food and military support to those pockets, though the cities surrounding them were still places of death and fire.
The High Priest had not made contact again, apparently content dealing with the Disciple and the woman he held captive. The First would deal with the True Faith’s realities.
“We’re getting nowhere,” one of the Council told him. “Three days in, and we’re barely gaining inches.”
“What of the High?” another asked.
The First turned to him, his eyebrows raised. “Would you like to check in with him? See what he’s thinking?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying and you know it. I’m asking what direction has he given you?”
“None outside of bringing the woman to him.”
“And what of the weapon? What has he said about him?” the Priestess asked.
That triggered something in the First’s mind.
The weapon.
If he were being honest, he’d nearly forgotten about David Hollowborne. All of them had, except for the Priestess, apparently. Three days and all anyone had thought about was trying to throw water on the flames. What about the person setting the fires?
“Hello?” the Priestess asked.
The First turned to her. “The High Priest didn’t say anything about him. He was only concerned with the woman.”
“Well, shouldn’t we be concerned about him, then? He’s the reason all of this is happening.”
The First realized his foolishness. He wouldn’t say so in front of these jackals, but that was the truth. He’d lost sight of the real war here, the atrocity creating all of this, and only gone about trying to save ground. How had Veritros been defeated? How about the girl before her? None of them lost because the Ministries fought foot by foot. This wasn’t a normal war. The weapon was still out there and …
“The weapon has to die,” he said, looking at the Priestess but talking only to himself. “That’s the only way any of this ends. The High ….” He trailed off—not daring denigrate the High Priest to anyone else—but the High was far too preoccupied with things not destroying the world. “… We’ve got to focus on the weapon. Lose the cities. Lose the whole damned True Faith if necessary, as long as he dies. The weapon.”
The First nodded, still staring at the Priestess, but again—only nodding to himself.
“How, though?” someone asked.
The First stood up and left the room. He didn’t have time for consensus.
The First Priest stood at the doorway to Raylyn Brinson’s room. The door was translucent, on his side at least. He could see in, though she couldn’t see out. The bed, blankets, and pillows were all translucent as well—from this side it appeared as if she simply lay on top of air. This arrangement gave Brinson’s attendants a clear view of what was happening without actually having to go inside.
One of the attendants stood next to the First Priest.
“We give thanks,” he said.
“We give thanks.”
“What’s she been doing?” the First asked.
“This is pretty much it, your Holiness. She sleeps a lot. She hasn’t eaten, and if she doesn’t soon, we’ll have to make her.”
“Three days, no food?” the First said.
“Yes, your Holiness.”
He sighed. This was less than optimum, to say the least. Yet, what other choice did he have?
“I want you to get her up and ready,” he said.
“I’m sorry, your Holiness. What do you mean?”
“Dressed. Washed. Cleaned. Fed. All of it. I want her up and ready to leave,” the First said.
The attendant was quiet for a second, not looking over at the Priest, though he sensed her apprehension. “Your Holiness, I … I mean no disrespect, at all, but she is going to need more time. To push her right now, she might not come back from it.”
The First Priest turned to the attendant, and she to him so that they looked at one another. “Have you viewed anything outside these walls, Sister? Have you seen what’s happening?”
She dropped her eyes to the ground and nodded.
“Tell me, what’s happening?”
“I’m sorry, your Holiness.”
“No, Sister. That’s not what I asked. Please tell me what is happening outside this infirmary.”
The attendant was quiet for a few seconds, and then started talking. “The Black. I-I-I know that it hasn’t been officially announced, but the Black has returned. It’s killing everyone.” Tears filled her eyes and her voice broke on the last word.
“Yes, Sister. It is the Black and it has returned. Officially, as I’m telling you now. So the woman in there, Raylyn Brinson
, I don’t care what happens if we push her. I don’t care how much time she needs. She might be able to help us, Sister, and that means I need her up and ready. Do you understand?”
The attendant nodded. “Yes, your Holiness. I understand.”
“We give thanks, Sister. Now, please, don’t let me keep you from your duties.”
“We give thanks.”
The attendant scurried down the hallway and the First Priest turned back to the door, looking in at the sleeping woman.
Raylyn was awake and sitting up. She knew she was drugged, though not with what. Her mind was working better than it had been six hours earlier, and the only explanation was that the attendants had given her uppers.
They’d put food in front of her, too, though she hadn’t been hungry.
“Sister, if you don’t eat, we’ll hook a tube to your stomach, and feed you directly. If that’s what you prefer.”
Raylyn knew that wasn’t necessary, that opening her up and sticking a pipe in her was ancient and barbaric. Nanoparticles could do everything they needed, but this attendant was sending a very clear message: you’re going to obey.
The uppers helped clear up the fog around that decision. Raylyn ate the soup they placed in front of her. She wouldn’t endure surgery just to get calories in her body.
“The First Priest is coming to meet with you again,” the attendant said. “It’s important that you’re fed and thinking clearly.”
Raylyn had said nothing, though she felt her heartbeat accelerate.
The First Priest.
She never wanted to see him again, not as long as she lived. She hadn’t thought about him since she first returned and was forced to sit in front of him, reciting what had happened—all while trapped in the nightmare of a mental breakdown.
Had Raylyn thought her part was finished? No. She hadn’t thought at all. She’d been wrapped in darkness and content with it. The uppers now pumping through her blood refused to let that happen anymore, though.
I’m not done, she thought. Corinth bless me, I’m not done.
More hours passed and the attendant made Raylyn do physical drills. Nothing too strenuous, but definitely ensuring that she’d be able to move if the First Priest demanded it.
“He’s on his way,” the bitch attendant said.
Raylyn didn’t respond, was simply grateful to be done with her. The nanotech was still delivering the uppers at a constant rate, and Raylyn though they might be delivering a calming agent, too. Fear definitely surrounded the First Priest, but Raylyn wasn’t crippled by it.
She sat in her room, waiting. She thought it funny how quickly this had become her room, given she’d only been here a few days, and awake for so few hours.
The First Priest entered, standing just inside the doorway.
“We give thanks,” he said.
“We give thanks,” Raylyn responded. Her hands were still, and she seriously did thank Corinth for that.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay, your Holiness.” Do you still have a drone floating in the sky above? If so, then you should know I’m only sitting up because of all the drugs in me, and that I’m actually terrified of you, your Holiness.
“Good. The attendants said you’ve made a lot of progress over the past few days.”
Raylyn said nothing. The First Priest looked on for a few awkward seconds and then walked across the room. The left wall changed as he moved toward it, the white panel disappearing, a video replacing it. Raylyn understood the calming agent was definitely working, because she felt no real horror at what she saw.
Her city sat across the wall.
She saw the Corinth Monument, or what was left of it.
The statue had stood over 300 feet tall, stretching from a platform at the bottom of the New Corinthian Central Building. The statue had faced outward, Corinth’s eyes looking slightly up to the sky.
His eyes were no more, though.
His head either.
All that was left of Raylyn’s God were his knees and everything below them.
Her emotions cracked through the drugs. “No,” she whispered. “No, that’s not real.”
“It is, Sister.”
Fire burned across the city, but Raylyn paid no attention to any of it. She couldn’t pull her eyes from the statue that had dominated so much of her life. It had always been there, looking down on her. She’d been able to see it from nearly anywhere … and now it was simply gone. Destroyed as if it’d been nothing more than the stone it was built from.
As if it hadn’t been an ideal, a faith.
“This is just one statue in one city. Yours, yes, but still—only one city. What you see here is happening all over the entire True Faith. Corinth statues have been destroyed in nearly every major city we’ve ever built, as well as the smaller towns. Sister, looking at this statue, what do you think happened to the people in your city?”
Raylyn closed her eyes, trying not to think about the flames.
A single word flashed through her mind, one that she hadn’t thought of in days.
Manor.
Her suitor.
No, more than that. Your lover now.
Her eyes flashed open, tears flooding them.
The First Priest was looking at her. “You don’t have to answer. Your face says you know the truth.”
Raylyn wanted to ask about Manor, but she kept her mouth shut. One didn’t ask the First Priest about a single human, not with the significance of what was happening so much greater.
Manor’s fine, she thought. He’s fine, and you can find out as soon as the First leaves. You’ll make that bitch attendant tell you.
“The Black has returned, Sister. What you’re seeing now, this is the same thing that happened during Veritros’s time. I can show you holographs if you like; we have some preserved.”
Raylyn shook her head.
A chair unfolded from an opposite wall and floated quickly through the air to the First. He sat down a few feet from Raylyn.
“We talked about the Black when we first met, didn’t we?”
Raylyn nodded.
“But we didn’t go into much detail. I think, perhaps, now is the time for such things.”
Raylyn said nothing. The Priest leaned back into the chair, it unfolding underneath his thin frame.
“I’m going to speak frankly with you, Sister Brinson, because time is short.” He crossed one leg over the other. “I’m unsure what the masses think the Black is. Each Ministry has made up a story for it. The Old World says it’s the Devil. To be completely honest, I’m not 100% sure how we describe it, because it’s never mattered to me. I never thought this would happen during my lifetime, and if I can be even more honest, I’m not sure I believed the seriousness of it at all … If I had, none of this would be happening, would it?”
The First Priest looked back to the wall for a second, as if taking it all in again. He didn’t turn away as he resumed talking.
“The Black, the best we can tell, is a physical creature. We believe It actually exists. A major problem with It, besides Its desire to come here to Earth, is that when people find out about It, they want to join the cause. I don’t know why, but that’s what’s happened each time. So every Ministry created a name and a mythos to scare people away from joining.”
He gave a single chuckle.
“Apparently, it didn’t work. The important thing to remember, Sister, is that this creature is a physical being. We don’t know where It is, and we don’t know how or why It selects who It connects with. We really don’t even know what It wants, not in the end … Though, if this is any indication, it’s not good for us. We think this being wants to come here, to Earth, and we think It’s using the weapon as a conduit to do so.”
The First Priest turned back to Raylyn.
“I’m going to continue being honest with you. The High Priest … He’s not exactly … connected right now with what’s happening. There’s nothing I can do about that, or anyone e
lse for that matter. I also don’t have contacts within other Ministries, so while I know they’re burning down too, I can’t do anything there, either. All I can do is try to kill this weapon. Each time we’ve stopped the Black, we did it by killing Its conduit.”
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
“There was a traitor in his flock, yes?”
Raylyn nodded.
“And we weren’t able to kill a single person at that compound? The same one the traitor resided in?”
Another nod.
“Then, unless Hollowborne discovered the traitor, they’re alive. And unless this whole thing was a ruse, they will still want him dead. Are you following me, Sister Brinson?”
“I … I’m not sure.” Raylyn was having trouble keeping up, even with the drugs pulsing through her. The statue, broken. Crumbled. Lying at the core of the Earth, where it melted. Burned alive. The Black? It had returned?
“Focus,” the Priest snapped, and Raylyn’s eyes did just that with perfect clarity. She saw the First looking at her, his own face hairless, fierce. “This traitor is still alive and still wanting to give up the weapon. Perhaps they never believed in Hollowborne, or perhaps they’ve had a change of heart. I don’t care, Sister, not one damn wit. What I do care about, is making contact again, and finding the weapon. Then killing him. That’s why I came to you, because you’re going to do it.”
Raylyn shook her head, tears rushing to her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. “No, no, I can’t. I can’t look at him again. I can’t even try.”
“Sister, you will, and you want to know why? Because there’s no one else. I can’t send some other Prevention Division employee to make contact with this informant. They wouldn’t respond, and we don’t have the time to get anyone up to speed. LOOK AROUND YOU.” The Priest stood, his left arm extending forward, showcasing the wall. “There isn’t time for your tears or protestations. This is not me asking you, this is Corinth commanding you, Raylyn Brinson. And you’re going to answer Him.”
The Priest’s arm dropped to his side again and the two met eyes, the Priest’s cheeks dry and Raylyn’s wet.