The Prophet Box-Set: Books 1-4

by David Beers

  She didn’t know what to say. The Priest’s face was a mixture of determination and anger; gone was the kind old man she met in the Council’s chambers.

  In the end, though, Raylyn had been born to say the words that came. Born, then trained her entire life, because the duty of her God trumped anything else she might want, and this was His servant now giving His orders.

  “Yes, Most Holy,” Raylyn finally managed to say.

  Six hours came and went. At the beginning of them, Raylyn had called the attendant to her room and said something simple, but nonnegotiable.

  “You’ve been giving me drugs, correct?”

  “We’ve given you substances to help your recovery,” the attendant said.

  “I want you to keep giving them to me. Even when I leave, I want my nanotech to keep releasing appropriate doses of all of it, okay?”

  “We’ll need to—”

  “No,” Raylyn said, “you won’t need to do anything except make sure these doses keep releasing in my bloodstream. If you have any problems with it, we can ask the First Priest?”

  The little bitch’s face morphed immediately, from one of control to fear—and looking at the attendant, Raylyn knew she’d encountered the First. The two were sisters in that as well as Corinth.

  The attendant left and Raylyn started trying to focus again. She was resigning herself to the First Priest’s demand. She was scared, but the drugs would help with that. And the First? Raylyn would obey him, because in doing so, she was obeying Corinth. Him, personally though? When this was over—if anyone survived—she was finished with the First Priest—the entire Prevention Division. He might be dealing with extreme and dire circumstances, but Raylyn thought a cruelty rested beneath him that would outlive any situation he might come across. She would obey, because she had to, but she no longer revered the man.

  Her room was back to its normal state. The wall that had revealed her burning city now only showed white, and that was fine with Raylyn. She didn’t want to think about the fallen statue or the death racing through her hometown. It wasn’t home anymore, and wouldn’t ever be again unless the Black was stopped.

  She had to go forward. Corinth would deliver them from this, and despite the First Priest’s cruelty, perhaps he was right. Raylyn might be the only one who could do this.

  There was one more thing, though.

  She didn’t know what the First Priest would think about it, but with him no longer staring her down, Raylyn found she didn’t really care. Her city was destroyed. Her home gone. Her closest friend dead.

  Manor, she thought.

  Find him, she told her nano. If he’s alive, find him.

  Manor Reinheld was 29 years old the first time he murdered someone. He had lived his whole life hoping it would happen, because he knew that if he never killed anyone, it meant the Unformed hadn’t returned.

  His wish was granted.

  Manor’s blood had burned like everyone else’s, everyone who accepted David’s blood. He’d known what it meant, and without hesitation, he’d done his duty.

  Three days had passed since the blood spilling began and Manor should have been exhausted, but he felt fine. His city was south of Raylyn’s, and though he had liked his time with her, he hadn’t thought of her since the war began. She was something from the past, a life before all of this.

  Parts of the city he occupied still burned, though most of it was merely smoldering now.

  Manor had no idea how many were dead, and he didn’t really care either. He didn’t consider himself cruel or a psychopath. He was a soldier, and he’d signed up knowing he would one day act as one. In war, soldiers killed and people died. If he’d done it for any other reason, then judgment would be correct. The Unformed was beyond human reason, beyond human morality. He couldn’t be judged by man, because he followed something greater than man.

  He was leaving a meeting when Raylyn contacted him. He’d taken the stairs as the elevators were no longer usable. In the aftermath of the initial attacks, they’d designated buildings that were safe for use, but in all cases, there were still damages.

  The meeting focused on strategizing for what came next. They’d been contacted by one of David’s Generals (a name Manor’s group gave the woman, although she hadn’t referred to herself that way). Her name was Christine, and she was slowly connecting with each city, giving them instructions on what to do.

  They spoke with the woman last night, and today discussed amongst themselves how best to implement her instructions. Manor was only a soldier in this war, not someone creating strategy. He would do as told, and do so happily. He didn’t want any major post within the Unformed’s world; he only wanted it to arrive, and quickly.

  He was three steps from the next floor when he heard her.

  Manor, it’s me, the words rang through his head—the voice still sweet to him. Can you hear me?

  He stopped walking in the stairwell.

  Manor knew who it was; his nanotech recognized hers, but the voice was clear to him as well. Raylyn. She was alive? Manor hadn’t given her much thought, if any at all, but intuitively he thought she must have died at some point after the attack on David’s compound. Her city had been razed just like so many others; he had no reason to think she’d still be alive.

  She survived, he thought. That’s her voice.

  Manor? she asked.

  He couldn’t hide from her, because her nanotech had been able to lock on to his.

  Raylyn? he said.

  Oh, thank Corinth, you’re alive! I thought for sure … Her voice trailed off for a second, and Manor remained quiet. He wasn’t sure what to say, nor what to do.

  They were on opposite sides now. One sworn to some false god, and he … Last night he’d washed blood from his body, standing under the shower and letting other people’s life flow off him into the drain beneath. If he saw her, he’d kill her.

  Where are you? she asked.

  I’m … I’m in my city. My home is…, he paused, unsure how to answer her question. How would those he’d been attacking sound? How would they feel? How would they communicate? … It’s gone, Raylyn. I don’t know … I’m alive, but I really don’t understand how. Where are you? Are you okay?

  I’m at Corinth’s Shrine. I’m safe. I’m just so glad to hear you’re not … that you’re okay.

  The First Council’s Shrine? he asked. His assumptions had been correct, then. This woman was someone high in the Ministry’s structure, at least now. Most likely, she had helped lead the attack on David’s compound.

  Yes. It’s safe here. I … I want you to come. I can make sure you get here safely.

  Manor said nothing, though his mind was racing. Part of him—a part he hated—didn’t want her to know the truth. A part of him still cared about what she thought, even though it didn’t make sense. He had murdered people just like her and would do so again. He shouldn’t care what one person thought, not even someone he had cared for—yet he still did.

  None of that matters now. Your side is chosen, and so is hers. Unless she takes the Blood of the Touched, she’s your enemy.

  There’s more here than that. The war isn’t over and the Unformed hasn’t returned. The Union hasn’t occurred. Inside that Shrine, you could do a lot more, Manor. You could wage war where their Priests sleep.

  Still standing in the stairwell, he took a step closer to the window on his left. He looked outside. A broken tower hung in the distance, one that once housed some of the city’s wealthiest people. Jagged pipes and steel poles stuck out at the bottom, pointing toward the Earth’s core. You could get me there, Raylyn? You’re sure? It’s dangerous here. Going outside … You can’t do it.

  Manor moved a little closer to the window. Only one transport was in the air, flying north. It was one of David’s, otherwise it would have already been shot out of the sky.

  Yes. The First Priest will make it happen. Will you come to me? I can keep you safe.

  If he said no, then she’d know why. Wh
at he still felt toward her would be finished, completely and forever.

  Don’t be stupid, he thought. This was over from the beginning. Telling her no has nothing to do with it, and you need to get that out of your head. There’s no love here. There’s no ‘making this work’. She’s an enemy, and Hollowborne’s blood flows in your body. You’re being foolish.

  And so he was. If he said no, the truth was he lost a chance to help David. He lost an opportunity to propel the war forward—and that’s what the Christine woman had directed. The war was to continue. To escalate.

  Okay, he said. Come get me, Raylyn. If we can do it safely. I want out of this hell.

  “I want someone to go get him, and I want them to bring him here.”

  Raylyn met the First Priest’s eyes and didn’t waver.

  “This man? The one that was courting you?”

  “Yes, your Holiness,” she said. Her voice was firm, gone the tears and fear from earlier in the day.

  “Why?”

  Raylyn hadn’t thought she would hear that question. They were courting, the answer was obvious, but now that the First Priest had asked it—she had to answer.

  So let it be the truth, she thought. For Corinth’s sake, tell the First Priest the truth.

  “I love him, and I don’t have anything else left. No home. I tried contacting my family. We weren’t that close, but they’re gone, too. He isn’t.” It was true. Raylyn hadn’t been close with her family for years, but she had still tried to find them. She knew the loss of so many would grow inside her as the situation’s reality took hold of her mind, but for now--with the help of drugs—she could handle it. She just wanted Manor next to her.

  “We’ll be putting people at risk going to get him. You know that, right?” the First asked.

  “I’ve risked everything, and I’m going to do it again. I want him here, and I want him safe.”

  The First Priest looked at her for a few seconds, saying nothing. She stared right back at him. This wasn’t negotiable.

  “Okay,” he said. “Give me his location and I’ll send someone. I can’t guarantee anyone lives, though. You know that as well?”

  She nodded. “I know you can’t guarantee it, but you can do everything in your power to keep them alive.” It was the boldest thing she’d ever said to the First Priest—the boldest she’d ever said to any Priest.

  “Okay,” he said. “We’ll get him back here. I need you working, though. Now.”

  The First Priest had transports programmed with the man’s location. He wasn’t going to send people, regardless what he told Brinson. Enough had died, and for this one man he wouldn’t commit more to it. He would try to get him back because he needed Brinson pliable. He needed her to continue doing as he wished—working to find the informant again … and he thought he might be pushing her to her limit. The attendant had warned him of such, though she meant physically as well. The First wasn’t concerned about that, only her mental state.

  Her face today said he might be pushing her to a point where she told him no.

  And that couldn’t happen. Brinson was key to this working, at least until contact with the informant was made.

  Transport leaving, his nanotech told him.

  Manor Reinhold, the First Priest responded. Find out everything you can about him and let me know when it’s compiled.

  If he was bringing someone into the Shrine, then he would know the man’s history.

  Raylyn Brinson might be in love, but the First Priest wasn’t. People had died up and down the True Faith territory, but this man … he hadn’t. He was alive, and willing to risk a transport picking him up and taking him out of his city.

  The First Priest had seen transports blasted straight out of the air, watched them fall to the burning earth beneath.

  But this man felt safe leaving?

  Perhaps he was naive. Perhaps he still held strong faith in Corinth and the Priesthood’s ability to deliver him from death. Perhaps the First Priest was being overly critical of this young man, and everything was on the up and up with him.

  Perhaps.

  But the First Priest didn’t think so.

  Because people had lived during this brutal attack, but most of them were on the Black’s side. The ones that might feel safe leaving on a transport, because they told their pals not to shoot it down—because that transport was taking this man to Corinth’s Shrine. And wouldn’t it be great if they could get someone inside of it?

  The First Priest thought Sister Brinson’s lover might be a member of the Damned, a follower of the Black. And if so, it might not be so bad to bring him in—this Manor Reinheld—as long as the First Priest knew.

  Twenty-Eight

  Daniel Sesam thought they would beat and torture him. He’d refused the Pope, and then kept refusing him for three days, each time certain that when he left the Pope’s office, they would start in on him. Hit him. Electrocute him. Perhaps even peel back his skin while making him watch. Each time though, they only walked Daniel back to his room—a small, but comfortable space. He was given food, water, a private bathroom and shower. He wasn’t allowed to leave, but still, no torturous instruments entered the room. No strong men with large fists, and no silent ones with small, beady eyes that held hard, metal tools in their hands.

  They left Daniel alone.

  For hours at a time.

  Always, though, the Pope called him back. A Priest would come to the door, knock, wait a few moments, then enter. Daniel left willingly, and they would walk the building’s long halls.

  The Pope was always waiting. Pope Pius XX.

  He gave his speeches, trying to cajole Daniel into telling him about Nicki. Trying to learn more about his daughter, though Daniel always rebuffed him.

  Daniel didn’t know where Nicki was. He didn’t even know if she was alive, but the Pope’s constant questioning gave him hope. The Pope simply wouldn’t care about a dead girl, not even one who had the sight. Daniel didn’t know a lot about what had happened in, or after, that room. He sustained some minor wounds, but the Church attended to them with care. Since being pulled out of the motel’s wreckage, Daniel was in the dark about almost everything … and when he was alone in his room, he felt that darkness. He felt the loneliness, the unending thoughts about where his daughter might be. Was she really alive? Were people taking care of her or hurting her? In his room, Daniel asked more questions than the Pope, and the answers never revealed themselves.

  He had a window in his room and he spent time staring out of it, looking at Vatican City. Large funnels of smoke billowed into the air at irregular intervals beyond the gates. Daniel didn’t know what to think about them. He’d never been to the Vatican before, and didn’t know if they were a regular occurrence. Maybe something that happened all day, every day. Or maybe it was seasonal.

  He didn’t really care, either. The smoke columns just gave him something to think about other than Nicki.

  For the most part, Daniel sat in his room and thought about his daughter, but remained resolute in his decision not to tell anyone in this place a single thing. He knew what they’d do if they found her … or if they already had her. Anything he gave them would only help their endeavors, and those endeavors weren’t virtuous.

  Silence for as long as they kept him here.

  Silence, even if they tortured him, and Daniel knew that’s where this was heading. The Pope’s good will would eventually wear out, and then the Church would resort to its usual means of communication. A one-way type of thing.

  The next knock came first thing in the morning. Daniel had been awake, but they hadn’t come this early before.

  He left the room but wasn’t taken to the Pope’s office. Instead, the Priest who came for him took them both outside—the first time Daniel had stepped out of the building since being brought here.

  “Hi, Mr. Sesam,” the Pope said. He was standing about 10 feet from the door, the walkway beneath his feet marble squares. A railing ran on either side of it, and st
airs were just beyond the Pope, though Daniel couldn’t see what was down them.

  “Hi,” he returned.

  “It’s time for our conversation again, but I thought we could have it in a different place, if that’s okay with you?”

  Daniel walked forward, saying nothing. The Pope’s kindness—the entire Vatican’s—was all a sham, and Daniel wouldn’t forget it. He wouldn’t be unnecessarily obstinate or rude, but he didn’t have to be unnecessarily kind either.

  “I’m a captive here,” he said as he reached the top of the stairs. “I don’t have much ….”

  He’d wanted to finish with choice, but what he saw at the bottom rearranged his thoughts. Daniel didn’t know what he was looking at, not exactly. He knew about planes, of course, though he’d never traveled in one. This wasn’t a plane, but it certainly wasn’t something that moved across the ground..

  The end had come.

  It would be in the air. They would fly him up high and threaten to toss him out if he kept silent, then, when he didn’t answer them, they’d probably do it. Maybe they no longer needed him, or now realized that regardless of what they did, he wouldn’t talk.

  Daniel didn’t finish his sentence; he only stood in silence, and the Pope finally spoke.

  “I thought we could go for a ride. That down there is a drone, though it can be manned. We buy them from the True Faith sometimes, though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread the word too much. These are different than planes, and even transports—they can fly higher and they’re much harder to detect. How much do you know about transports?”

  Daniel shook his head, not caring in the slightest.

  “The True Faith designed transports primarily for beneath ground travel, these drones are meant to spy on their population, so they fly way up above the clouds. Sort of like our planes, only you can’t fit as many people in them.” The Pope looked up. Daniel didn’t move, but kept his eyes on the black object below him.