Red Death

by Jeff Altabef

  At the last second, Cormac swerved past Eamon and jammed his blade into Fintan’s chest. The quick thrust took only a few seconds, and then he yanked his weapon free and spun toward Eamon.

  The diversion gave Aaliss just enough time. She reached Cormac before he could strike down Eamon, and made a sliding, foot-first tackle that sent the large man sprawling headfirst.

  His face uprooted turf as he crashed violently into the ground, and his sword tumbled from his hand.

  Aaliss jumped to her feet first and launched a roundhouse kick that connected flush with his face. The blow sent him backwards to the ground, unconscious.

  She stood over his prone body and felt all her anxiety bubble from her. “That’s payback!”

  Dermot and Gemma joined Eamon, and all three siblings stared at Fintan’s lifeless body.

  Cormac had stabbed him through the heart.

  Aaliss would like to have said she felt remorse, but Fintan got what he deserved. The world would be a better place without him.

  After a long silent moment, Dermot held the Sword of Power outstretched, hilt first, to Eamon, and bent on one knee. “The Sword is yours, King Eamon. The heavens have spoken. May the herd forever be strong!”

  The crowd cheered and began chanting Eamon’s name. Each Master around the Circle lifted a torch and knelt in a show of loyalty to the new king. The rest of the crowd dropped to bended knee while still chanting his name.

  “King Eamon! King Eamon!”

  Eamon raised the Sword of Power high over his head, triumphantly, and the chants grew louder.

  Aaliss’s heart swelled. Eamon deserves this moment. He will be a good king.

  Cormac stirred and struggled to his knees.

  Eamon’s eyes narrowed as he marched to him. “As king, I pronounce you guilty of murder. You must pay the ultimate price.”

  Cormac looked at him with watery eyes. “We just wanted to be heroes.”

  “And now you will go to the next life as traitors.” He chopped down with the Sword of Power, and the big blade carved through skin and bone and freed Cormac’s head from his neck.

  The crowd cheered and chanted Eamon’s name with renewed vigor.

  He walked back toward the circle and quieted the tribe by thrusting the sword in the air. “This Sword of Power is not for me. It is for you, Brother, King Dermot. Dermot the Just! The Blade of the Butchers! The best king the tribe has ever known. May the herd forever be strong!”

  When he handed the sword to Dermot, the tribe started chanting, “King Dermot!”

  Aaliss saw strength in Eamon’s face as the torchlight reflected off his blue eyes.

  She could not imagine a more handsome sight.

  ***

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  Chapter 54 – Piers

  Piers smoothed the lines in his robe as he glanced at the digital clock that hung high above the Pantry door. The blue neon numbers read 1:15 in the morning, well past midnight and the usual time the High Priest requested food from the small kitchen. He smoothed his robe again. 1:00 was the time he had set for action, yet he still sat motionless, afraid to move, afraid to act, afraid of what he must do.

  Only five digital clocks existed in Eden. Piers had not given them much thought before, but now this solitary clock in the Pantry stood out as an unnecessary extravagance, contradictory to Jacob’s teachings. Piers had started searching out the contradictions and found them everywhere: the abundant food the Priests ate for dinner, the Monks who favored the Sacred Drink, the electric carts the President and High Priest used. The list stretched on and could be found in the smallest aspects of life in Eden. If one looked close enough they were obvious, and he had started looking.

  He wished he hadn’t.

  The Pantry was as quiet as the Cathedral during meditation, and that silence brought his mind to far-reaching places. Before the fire, he had been a good athlete.

  Before the fire.

  Piers often cleaved his life in two—before and after the fire. The fire changed everything.

  A few years ago, Aaliss had quarreled with him. She shouted for him to snap out of his funk, her face red with anger. She said no one cared about the scars and that it was time for him to start living again.

  If he closed his eyes, the words echoed in his mind. She had been right, but he’d turned his back on her, leaving her angry and alone. The scars did not hold him back. Well, not the external ones, but the internal ones shackled him—the ones that had shaken his belief in himself and God.

  He believed only two explanations for the fire existed. Either he had angered God, or God did not exist. The latter so terrified him that he assumed the fault must be his. He must have so angered God that He caused the accident, and God took his parents, to punish him.

  As a boy, he had no love for religion, shunning numerous rules and beliefs. God took notice and had punished him for his failings, and those he loved most paid the ultimate price. That was why he had turned to the priesthood. He needed redemption. He needed to follow Jacob’s rules, so God would not punish him again—because next time, Aaliss and Wilky might suffer His wrath.

  How could he face the world if something bad happened to them or Rebecca because of his failures? Without a choice, he’d turned to the priesthood and followed every rule.

  Now, Aaliss and Wilky needed him—required him to be the Piers he once was, and not the shaken, scared, shell of a man he had become.

  Without realizing it, he had swung the casing window outward and peered into the dark night. Clouds, heavy and dark, filled the sky, blocking out stars and moon alike. He leaned over the window and glanced down. It was a long way to the ground. No trees or hedges would cushion a fall.

  He turned and surveyed the Pantry. Everything was in its proper place, as he’d left no food out. Only a paring knife lay on its side on a long oak table. He had almost forgotten about the knife. He’d thought it prudent to bring something he could use as a weapon if need be. He reached the table and took the knife by the small wooden handle. The blade was only three inches long, but it was razor sharp and fit neatly in the pockets of his robe.

  With the knife secured and silence on the other side of the swinging door to the High Priest’s office, he returned to the window and recited Jacob’s prayer.

  Jacob, the guardian of power and might;

  May he guide us to do what’s right;

  He saved us from the Red Death;

  So we can breathe God’s breath.

  He chuckled when he finished. Every child was taught those words among their first, Piers being no exception. Most people believed he was devout, his faith as strong as Eden River, but he knew the truth. He believed in The Book and God, but had a tenuous relationship with Jacob. He wanted to believe, and sometimes that was enough; sometimes he even thought he did believe.

  Tonight was not one of those times. Tonight he’d have to move on without Jacob.

  He swung open the window and stepped onto the sill. The cool night air gusted. The window to the High Priest’s office was only fifteen feet to his right, and the old pitted stone was rough, with many places for him to wedge his feet and to grasp with his fingers. He inhaled deeply to let the cool, fresh air fill his lungs, and searched for his first foothold in the darkness.

  Only three feet away from the window, Piers pushed the tip of his boot against it. He followed with a handhold, and then another foothold and handhold, until he reached the High Priest’s window.

  No light came from the office, just another room bathed in darkness, but he knew truth hid in this office, if only he could reach it. The wind gusted, ballooning his robe outward, threatening to blow him off the wall. He clutched at the stone with all his strength, and felt oddly whole, as he had before the fire.

  He pulled against the window but it didn’t budge. Panic snaked through him. The High Priest always kept the windows open. He could not remember a time when he saw them locked. He searched the window frame with his left hand and f
elt the casing where the window connected to the frame. A small gap separated the window from the stone—the wind had wedged the window closed. He pulled hard with his left hand, but it stayed stubbornly shut.

  Hands sweating, his body started to cramp in his awkward position. Doubt swept through his mind, but he refused to give in to it. He thought of Wilky and Aaliss.

  I am the oldest. It is my responsibility to protect them.

  As he shifted toward the window to try to pry it open again, the sharp edge of the knife stuck him in the side.

  He slid the small knife from his pocket, jabbed the blade into the crack, and pried hard on the handle. At first the window did not give, but he pulled harder and the window flew open.

  The sudden lack of resistance pushed Piers from the wall. He hung precariously by two feet and one arm. The cool wind froze the sweat on his face. He dug the fingers of his right hand in deep against the stone. He looked down and saw nothing but darkness. With courage he thought he had lost, he looked up and stared at the window—the top only a few inches from his hand.

  He summoned every bit of strength he had and grabbed the top of the window with his left hand, and swung his feet into the High Priest’s office, breathing heavily and feeling safe... for the moment.

  ***

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  Chapter 55 – Piers

  Piers’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, which was not as complete as it seemed from the outside, and shapes formed around him. Blue neon numbers glowed from the clock on Jacob’s Desk, and a small, round pinprick of light shone from the computer screen resting next to it. More than enough light for Piers, who recalled every last detail about the room from his visit earlier that day.

  Still, he had never stood behind Jacob’s Desk before. The room looked longer from this vantage point, and felt heavy with responsibility. The paintings on the walls were more imposing, the eyes in the portraits fixed on the desk and the man who sat behind it as if eternally judging events, silently assessing the High Priest but offering no advice.

  For a moment he almost felt sorry for the High Priest, but that moment passed quickly.

  Butterflies swirled in his stomach. He closed his eyes and fought back the acid in his throat. If caught, he would be branded a traitor. He had entered the sacred High Priest’s office without invitation, and had placed his soul in jeopardy of eternal damnation.

  He glanced back at the window. Retreating would be cowardly, and although he might be many things, a coward was not one of them.

  He steadied his nerves and crept toward the desk, its surface smooth and clean. He studied the computer screen, recognized the green on button, and pressed it firmly. A picture of a spinning globe replaced the dark screen, the colors bright, clear, and sharp.

  Piers looked for the keyboard but....

  Does the High Priest remove the keyboard?

  He doubted it. The High Priest would believe his office secure. He would never worry about someone breaking in.

  A green light peeking through the cracks in a thin drawer underneath the computer caught his attention. It hadn’t been there before Piers started the computer. He tugged on the drawer but a simple brass combination lock held it firm. The lock appeared original to the desk. He tugged harder and felt the wood give. He could force it open if he needed, but then the High Priest would know someone had broken into the desk, and Piers would be at the top of the suspect list.

  The combination required six numbers from zero to nine.

  The combination must be a date.

  His head began to spin with dozens of possibilities as he studied the rest of the desk and looked for some clue, anything that might point him to the correct date. The desk’s surface was smooth except for a small engraving on the drawer itself. It read simply: Jacob’s Desk.

  What date would Jacob use? Two dates jumped to mind. What if I use the wrong one? Will it trigger an alarm?

  He said a prayer, not to Jacob, but an older God, one that felt true and honest. He twisted the brass numbers until it reflected Jacob’s birthday, which was not Jacob’s Day. Jacob’s Day was the day when an angel told him he was God’s divine messenger and the guardian of the human race. The date he was born was older and less known.

  When the last number rotated into place, Piers held his breath and slid the small brass clasp to the left. The lock released and the drawer sprung open.

  He exhaled, removed the keyboard, and placed it on top of the desk. After he pressed the escape key the globe stopped spinning, and dozens of electronic folders popped up around the edge of the globe. He scanned them looking for one named “Poisoned Apple.” He studied every file, but none bore that name. He clenched his hands into fists and tapped the desk with his knuckles.

  Wilky wouldn’t send me here with the wrong file name.

  He scanned the files again looking for a name close to “Poisoned Apple,” something Wilky might have mistaken for that name. Nothing worked. Finally, he studied the familiar globe in the center of the screen. He had seen this picture dozens of times, as they used it in every astronomy textbook. At first glance the globe looked ordinary, but he got the unsettling feeling something looked out of place. He contrasted this globe on the screen with the one from his memory banks. His photographic memory paid off and, finally, he saw it—the clouds in the center formed a small apple shape, which looked as if blood dripped down the sides. None of the textbooks had that cloud formation. It must have been added to this image on purpose.

  He worked the mouse until the pointer covered the unusual cloud formation and clicked. The globe and the folders vanished, and a blank screen stared at him with two blinking prompts: “User Name” and “Password.” He typed in “Jacob1” for the User Name and “Serpent” for the Password, but he hesitated before pressing the enter button.

  Wilky’s message had come with a warning: once you learn the truth, you can’t unlearn it.

  Steeling his nerves, he clicked the mouse and a box appeared in the center of the computer screen. The name “Poisoned Apple” flashed as the header, and the word “PLAY” in all capitals blinked ominously in the center. Piers plugged a small flash drive into the slot on the screen and pressed the copy key. He planned to save the file, retreat to the Pantry via the window, and later find a time to safely study the file with Peter and Michel.

  The plan was a good one, but, as the progress bar marched slowly across the screen, he became increasingly curious as to the file’s contents.

  What could be so important?

  A bell pinged and the screen read “Copying Complete.” He removed the flash drive, tucked it into his pocket, and looked for the exit key. He found it, but his eyes kept returning to the screen and the blinking word “PLAY.”

  It taunted him. He didn’t need Peter and Michel. This was his responsibility. He was the oldest.

  He clicked on the word and an image filled the screen. It started with a picture of a rotten apple with blood seeping from the core—a strange image that looked oddly familiar. He thought hard on it and remembered where he had seen it before—inside the facility at the Orchard. He waited for the rest, feeling woefully unprepared.

  ***

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  Chapter 56 – Piers

  Piers stared at the screen as the video began.

  A woman with long blonde hair and fair skin sat behind a light-colored, sleek, wooden desk. Beautiful, she had bright red lips, a small nose, and high cheekbones. She leaned on the desk confidently while interviewing a young man dressed in a white lab coat, with military medals pinned on his chest, wearing a green and black camouflage beret on his head.

  He recognized the young man immediately. He was Jacob.

  Although younger than in any picture Piers had seen of him, he had the same angular features, the small birthmark on his left cheek, and those bright, brilliant, emerald eyes. This video must have taken place over eight hundred years ago, before Eden was created, a
nd before the Red Death plagued the world.

  The woman asked, “So, Colonel Jacob Smith, you head the army’s scientific research division?”

  Jacob sat comfortably on a couch across from the desk, his legs crossed crisply, an easy smile resting on his face. “I do, Cindy.”

  “You look so young to have such an important position.” She smiled, her eyes wide and her lips moist. “Tell me about your cancer treatment breakthrough. It sounds so fascinating.”

  Jacob leaned forward. “I’ve discovered a trace element that’s embedded in almost all cancer-forming cells. It converts normal cells to dangerous, cancerous ones. Now that I’ve found this element, we’ve developed a counteragent that stops the process. A simple vaccine will prevent virtually every type of cancer from emerging.”

  “So, you stop cancer cells from multiplying before they actually form?” Cindy’s smile widened, her teeth an impossibly bright white.

  “Exactly! With this treatment we can wipe out ninety percent of the harmful cancers. No one will have to be subject to them again.” Jacob leaned back into the couch, looking pleased and confident.

  “Will other researchers use this technology to battle other diseases?”

  Jacob furrowed his eyebrows. “It’s possible. I expect this may lead to many cures.”

  “Amazing. You’ve changed life for potentially hundreds of millions of people.” Cindy’s smile melted from her face. “What about this rumor that the military was going to keep this discovery secret? If it weren’t for the leak, would we know about this breakthrough?”

  Jacob maintained his pleased expression while he spoke. “Utter nonsense. As scientists we only disclose breakthroughs once we are certain they’re repeatable. It was always our plan to release the vaccine. A treatment like this one is too important to humankind to keep secret.”

  Piers leaned close to the screen and scrutinized his face: his smile remained, but tiny crease marks around the eyes had appeared. He was lying.