His eyes dropped back to the altar, and then he saw that Silvestri, Roman and himself were not alone in the room. Situated in the front row at the far edge of a pew he could see the outline of a man, a very large man it seemed, who was seated silently with his head bowed. The man had not yet turned or acknowledged the newcomers in any way.
Knile glanced at his guide. Silvestri said nothing but nodded slightly, indicating that he should proceed.
Knile guided Roman over to the nearest pew and eased him down onto it. The boy’s head lolled and he coughed weakly, and Knile realised that Roman had lost the strength to even sit up straight, so he gently laid him down along the pew.
“Back in a minute, buddy,” Knile said, brushing a sweaty lock of hair back from Roman’s forehead, but the boy did not respond. Knile straightened. “Whatever it is we’re doing here,” he said to Silvestri, “we need to do it quick.”
“This way,” Silvestri said, starting down the aisle.
Their boots echoed through the darkened chapel but still the figure seated at the front did not turn to look at them. Knile’s eyes darted about the place frenetically – at the seated figure, the altar, the gloomy corners of the room – wondering what he was getting himself into. Despite his misgivings, he had no choice now but to keep going.
They reached the end of the aisle and Knile turned to walk toward the man on the pew, but Silvestri raised his arm to bar his way.
“Wait,” he told Knile quietly. Then he turned to the man. “Lazarus. We’re ready for you.”
The man on the pew remained where he was, motionless, his eyes closed and his hands clasped before his face as if in silent prayer. His hair was long and bedraggled and he wore a thick, bushy beard. Knile waited as more precious seconds ticked by, but still the man sat, unmoved.
“Hey!” Knile shouted impatiently. “I don’t have time to watch you sleep!”
The man opened his eyes slowly and stared at his feet for a moment, then raised himself up. The pew creaked and strained as his great bulk lifted away from it, a tortured squeal that reverberated around the chapel like the cries of the damned disturbed from centuries of slumber. As the man drew himself up to his full height, Knile could only blink in bewilderment.
The guy was huge, a massive slab of a man with arms like tree trunks and a chest like a granite boulder. He was dressed in a simple grey tunic that might have served as a tent for a man of more average stature, and as he moved into the light with slow, ponderous steps, Knile saw piercing blue eyes shining behind the tangle of his beard.
Silvestri gulped audibly as the man neared them.
“Aron Lazarus,” Silvestri said quickly, his usual coolness and composure in tatters, “allow me to introduce–”
“A boorish lout,” Lazarus said in a deep, gravelly voice. He glared at Knile menacingly. “Why is he here, Silvestri?”
“This is Knile Oberend,” Silvestri said, placing his hand on Knile’s shoulder as if to vouch for him. “I’ve brought him for your consideration.”
Lazarus looked Knile up and down and then shook his head disdainfully.
“I told you to stop bringing me these mannerless, desperate thieves,” Lazarus said, narrowing his eyes. “I find it tiresome.” He began to turn away.
“No, wait!” Silvestri said. “This is the one. I’m sure of it.”
“That’s what you said the last time, was it not?”
Silvestri made an exasperated sound. “How much more time do you have to wait? How many will you turn away before you find the right one?”
“As many as it takes.”
“Until what?”
“Until I find the one who is perfect for the task.”
“And what if it’s too late by the time that happens?”
Lazarus stopped and seemed to consider this. He glanced at Knile again.
“I don’t wish to waste my time interviewing one who is obviously not worthy.”
“Interview?” Knile said heatedly. “Task? What the fuck is going on here, Silvestri? I came here for one reason, and that wasn’t to run errands–”
“You will lower your voice, lout!” Lazarus hissed, stepping back toward Knile. “You are in a place of holiness, and you will show it the respect that it deserves.”
“I don’t give a shit about holiness!” Knile pointed toward the back of the chapel. “I have a dying boy over there, and I need to get him treated. Now. That’s the only thing I care about.”
Lazarus raised an eyebrow and glanced down the aisle.
“What is his ailment?” he said in a gentler tone.
“Poison. A toxin. Emil said it was called Brimstone–”
“Brimstone?” Lazarus said, his eyes widening for a second. “That is dire indeed.”
“Can you help him?” Knile said. He glanced at Silvestri. “Is that why we’re here?”
“I am not a healer,” Lazarus said, shaking his head slowly. He half turned away as if deep in thought.
“Then what’s the deal here?” Knile said desperately. “If you can’t help me, why am I here?”
“The Infirmary,” Silvestri said, jabbing a finger at Lazarus. “He can get you there.”
“How?”
Lazarus ran a hand through his beard. “Silvestri speaks truth. I have a token that can grant you passage inside the Infirmary. It will open the doors that you seek. However, I will not give it away freely.”
“What do I have to do?” Knile said.
“You must first convince me that you are worthy of this undertaking.”
Knile glanced between the two men, perplexed. “What’s he talking about?” he said to Silvestri, hoping for a straight answer.
“Tell me,” Lazarus said, folding his arms across his chest. “What kind of man are you?”
Knile stared at him, disbelieving, then shook his head.
“This is bullshit.” He turned on his heel. “I’m wasting my time.”
“Knile!” Silvestri said, clutching at his arm. “If you walk out that door, it’s over. You might as well put your hands around Roman’s neck and end it for him now, save him the suffering.”
Knile shrugged his hand away. “What does this guy want from me? What do I have to say?”
“Answer his questions. Speak the truth. The only way forward is to play the game.”
Knile sighed, feeling at his wit’s end. This man Lazarus seemed utterly indecipherable. Knile wasn’t sure how to appease him, which words he wanted to hear. And the stakes couldn’t be higher. If Knile took one misstep it might mean the difference between life and death for Roman.
Still, Silvestri was right. There was no other way to proceed. He had to do this for Roman’s sake. He had to try.
He walked back to Lazarus, who stood waiting before the altar.
“What kind of man am I?” Knile said, thinking quickly. It was clear that Lazarus was a man who valued holiness. Perhaps if Knile convinced him of his most admirable virtues it might impress him. But what qualities did Knile possess that could be considered virtuous?
“I’m waiting,” Lazarus said in his low, booming voice.
“Uh, resourceful, I guess,” Knile offered. “I think on my feet. I can handle myself around the Enforcers, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“These things mean nothing to me,” Lazarus said.
“Goddammit, what do you want me to say?”
“Do not take the Holy One’s name in vain.”
Bad start, Knile thought bleakly.
“All right, I’m sorry. Please tell me what you want to know.”
“I want to know why you will succeed in this mission.”
“I’ll succeed because uh… I’m honest, and I’m…” He looked around, exasperated, then pointed toward the back of the chapel. “I’d do anything for the people I love.”
“This tells me nothing,” Lazarus said, shaking his head dismissively. “I see a man who does not even know himself.” He looked to Silvestri. “He is not worthy,” he said. Then he b
egan to walk away.
“Hey!” Knile yelled, furious. “Don’t you turn your back on me, motherfucker! Don’t you dare judge me! You don’t have that right!”
Lazarus swivelled, his eyes flashing. “Then tell me of something you’ve done of which you are proud. Something that speaks to me of your soul.”
Knile racked his brain. “I climbed to the top of the Reach,” he said, clutching at straws. “I was hunted by the Enforcers, by a madman and his henchmen and by practically everyone else. But they didn’t catch me. I outlasted them all.”
“And for what purpose?”
“To leave Earth. To escape.”
Lazarus spread his massive hands. “And yet you are still here.”
“I…” Knile shrugged helplessly. “I couldn’t leave.”
“Why not?”
“Because I couldn’t leave them behind. Roman and Talia. They needed me and I…” Knile was overwrought, on the verge of tears. The thought of his two closest companions threatened to tip him over the edge. He had failed them. Roman was dying, and Talia was stuck in a strange place with no friends, her future uncertain.
“Go on,” Lazarus said unsympathetically.
“I gave the passkey to someone else. I gave up my chance to leave. I came back for them.”
“You did this all for the boy?”
“For him and for Talia. My friends.”
“Sacrifice,” Lazarus said slowly to himself. He stroked his beard as he seemed to ponder that. “Yes,” he said, drawing the word out. “That is noble. That is worthy.”
“What?” Knile said, confused.
“But are you telling the truth?” Lazarus said, his gaze hardening again.
“Yes.”
“Then tell me,” he said, stepping up to Knile and fixing him with an intense stare. “How many of the Crimson Shield were protecting the Wire?”
“Two in the Atrium,” Knile said. He thought back to the meeting on the roof with Ursie and the man in aviator sunglasses, her Sponsor. “Five more on the roof.”
“And what did the Crimson Shield say to you when you arrived? What was their greeting?”
“Nothing. They just stood there like statues.”
“Who else was there?”
Knile pictured the railcar in his mind, tried to recall every detail. “There were people in white coats. Technicians. I saw two of them.”
Lazarus listened intently, searching Knile’s face and hanging on every word. Then he stepped back and nodded.
“You have seen it,” Lazarus said. “It is true.”
“Yes. I was there.”
Lazarus locked gazes with Knile. “I look into your soul and I see truth there. You have known pain, and yet you have come through it intact. You have known sacrifice.”
Knile nodded. “Yes. I have known those things.”
“I do not know if you are worthy,” Lazarus said to himself, lost in thought. “Perhaps no one is worthy.” His eyes took on a faraway look as he seemingly grappled with the turmoil within him.
“What does that mean? Are you going to tell me how to reach the Consortium Infirmary?” Knile said. He looked to Silvestri, but the other man did not meet his eyes.
Lazarus clasped his hands before his face and closed his eyes for a few moments, then seemed to come to a decision. He looked at Knile and nodded.
“This way. Follow me.”
33
Lazarus led Knile through a doorway behind the altar and into the sacristy of the chapel. It was a small, modest room with a thin sleeping pallet in one corner and a chest of drawers and a cupboard along the wall. The room was illuminated by the flickering light of a single candle that sat in an ornate iron holder on top of the drawers.
“Is this where you live?” Knile said, mildly surprised. He had assumed that this was a meeting place Lazarus and Silvestri had chosen rather than a place of residence.
“It is an austere place in which to settle, is it not? And yet it is holy. In that regard it suits my purpose.”
“Are you some kind of priest or something?”
Lazarus smiled sadly. “Not at all. I once worked for the Consortium.”
“The neighbourhood kids seem to think of you as some kind of monster.”
“That is by design. Those who are afraid do not come looking at things that are better left alone.”
“So why are you here? Why aren’t you in the Reach with your Consortium buddies?”
Lazarus leaned back against the chest of drawers and settled himself there.
“That is something I must tell you. I must tell you everything from the very beginning, so that you may understand the importance of this mission.”
Knile glanced back out into the chapel, conscious that Roman was waiting.
“Listen, no offence, but I don’t have time to hear your life story right now.”
Lazarus took a deep breath and shook his head, clearly disappointed.
“It seems that each time you open your mouth, the noxious fumes that spill out threaten to douse the tiny flame of my faith in you.”
Knile pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, exasperated. Then he shrugged.
“Okay. I’ll listen to you if that’s what you want.”
Lazarus nodded, seemingly placated by this. He settled again as he gathered his thoughts.
“I only ever loved one woman, but that was one too many,” he began. “Her name was Edyta, and she was a Consul for the Consortium. She was a tiny thing, a woman small in stature but with a spirit that could fill a cathedral. Her laughter was like the peal of a sharply plucked string of the harp, her smile brighter than a Mercurian sunset.
“We didn’t mean to fall in love,” Lazarus went on wistfully. “Perhaps we weren’t meant to. Regardless, it could not be helped. I saved her life, you see. I took a bullet in my arm that was intended for her. It was by sheer luck more than anything else.” He rubbed at his bicep distractedly. “I accepted her thanks and moved on, but her debt of gratitude extended farther than I could ever have realised. She began to send me gifts, small artefacts at first. Things of insignificance, it must be said. A bird made from folded paper. A handwritten note. A sugary treat wrapped in scented paper.” He smiled to himself. “She would manipulate her schedule so that she could spend time with me – ten minutes here, half an hour there, and gradually we began to chip away at the stony exteriors that each of us had erected through our roles with the Consortium, and we uncovered what really lay beneath. We found two people who were meant for each other.
“All the while I told myself that these things meant nothing to me, that she meant nothing. But little by little my resolve crumbled away. Over time she wove the tendrils of her soul deeply and inexorably within me, and it seemed that I had done the same to her.”
Lazarus bent and pulled open a large wooden chest and gently rummaged inside. He drew out an origami crane and turned it over slowly in his hands.
“Why did you resist her?” Knile said.
“Because our love was forbidden,” Lazarus said without looking back. He placed the crane back inside the chest.
“Why forbidden? That–”
Knile broke off, spotting something in the back of the chest that glinted softly in the candlelight. It looked like a suit of armour. Although covered in dust, Knile could see the deep red of the material beneath. He realised with a start that he had seen this kind of armour before, and suddenly he understood who – or at least what – Aron Lazarus was.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. “You’re one of the Redmen.”
Lazarus hissed as if he’d scolded his fingers on a red-hot poker.
“How dare you assault me with that vulgar slur,” he said, turning sharply back to Knile. “I am one of the Crimson Shield, Protector of the Outworlds, knight of the most holy and sacred order. I will not hear it denigrated by such gutter talk.”
“I’m sorry,” Knile said earnestly. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry I offended you.”
L
azarus drew back again, nodding.
“Be sure to remember it.”
“I will.” Knile glanced at the door again, still thinking of Roman. “Please continue. Tell me what else I need to know.”
“Edyta and I… our love, it was forbidden, as I said. For her, it was a rule amongst employees of the Consortium that they were never to mingle with the Crimson Shield outside of an official capacity. To do otherwise meant immediate expulsion from the organisation. And for me…” He closed his eyes, pained by the memory. “I swore an oath, like all who are initiated into the Crimson Shield, that I would devote myself to the order, forgoing the pleasures of the common man. I could never take a wife. A lover.” He smiled bitterly. “But I did, you see. Edyta was both my salvation and my undoing.”
“What happened?”
“When they found out I had lain with Edyta, I was… dishonoured. Cast out of the order, sentenced to Landfall.”
“Landfall?” Knile said. “What’s that?”
“Landfall is the greatest disgrace a member of the Crimson Shield may suffer. It means to set one’s feet on the corrupted soil of the Earth, to be banished to this forsaken place for eternity without hope of ever leaving.”
“Landfall,” Knile said, turning the word over in his mouth, savouring the unfamiliarity of it. “Interesting concept. If it’s any consolation, there are plenty of others here who have been given the same sentence. Look out in the street. Everyone you see has been condemned to wander this forsaken place until they die.”
Landfall (The Reach, Book 2) Page 23