The Colors of Alemeth - Vol. 1

by V. Cobe

CHAPTER 21

  The Redemption

  Gera parked the car on the sidewalk, like many others had, while the faithful ran past them toward the large cluster ahead.

  Alem went behind Jaala.

  Okay, this day really is crazy.

  As they approached the center, the silence grew. Instead of the sound of a swarm, only one voice was heard, interrupted now and then by the agreeing cry of the people, which soon dissipated so that the voice could be heard again.

  “This isn’t a good idea….”

  “Lael’s right, you won’t like this,” warned Hazael.

  They embedded themselves in the crowd. The sun had already set, and the light quickly fled the square. On a small wooden stage, in a corner, was an old priest speaking in a microphone. His scarlet cassock whipped with the warm wind, and the golden cross on his chest was worn out and blunt. In the center of the stage, stood another cross: a real-life Faithful Cross, larger than any man, made of solid gold and rubies and surrounded by three men of the Order Brigade with guns in their hands.

  “…of this heinous crime,” the priest said. “Violations must be punished, or will spread like a virus in a host and destroy what we hold most sacred: cohesion. The cohesion of this great family that is the Institution!”

  Cries of support and applause sounded.

  Then, in a more somber tone, the father growled, “Bring him.”

  The Brigade stepped onto the stage from the back, dragging a handcuffed man with a gray bag covering his head and a black cloak fastened to his neck. Only then did Alem notice a row of monks in the background, obscured by shadows, who raised their voices in a choir as the Brigade dragged the man.

  He shivered. Lael began to cry.

  “I hate this.” They heard him say before he covered his face with his hands.

  They threw the man at the base of the great golden cross. He remained on his knees, facing the crowd. His tied hands held in prayer trembled wildly at his chest. His green shirt no longer had buttons at the top, his black pants were torn in several places, and the belt that held them appeared to be expensive. He was barefoot.

  One of the guards removed the bag from his head.

  Eyes closed, the man cried and moved his lips in a whisper, a possible prayer to a god in whom he trusted. The wind, becoming stronger, rummaged through his hair and wiped his tears, which were soon replaced by more.

  “This insolent was found by the Night Brigade running in the streets at five o’clock in the morning. Five in the morning! He tried to escape them! Tried to attack them!”

  He picked up a glass bottle and threw the liquid inside on top of the man and the cross. The area fumed, but Alem couldn’t see where the smoke came out from. The crowd became enthusiastic.

  “The bonfire you can no longer escape, but you still have one last chance to redeem yourself before God. Care to try? Why were you walking through the night as a creature of darkness? Tell us!”

  The kneeling man opened his eyes. With them fixed at the sky, he continued to murmur his prayer as tears streamed.

  The priest signaled the Brigade guards to bind the man to the Cross.

  Many people shouted with satisfaction over the whimpers of the monks.

  “Alem, why do you want to see this?” cried Lael.

  I don’t want to anymore.

  “May God’s will be done,” proclaimed the priest.

  Still whining, the monks surrounded the Cross and poured some liquid on it. Flames rose all around it, surrounding and burning the bound man’s feet. There was no longer natural light, only the bonfire lighted the square. The man began to howl.

  “Amoris Christi!” His screams came out like cannonballs from his mouth. “Amoris Christi! Amoris Christi!”

  “What is he saying?” asked Jaala.

  “The love of Christ?” replied Hazael.

  Then the black cloak caught fire, like a fuse. Nobody screamed with satisfaction anymore, though some applause could still be heard.

  “What’s that?” asked Hazael.

  “I have no words for it,” said Alem.

  “That’s not what I mean.” Hazael was trying to hear something. “What’s that? Don’t you hear it?”

  A sudden panic grew in the crowd, and soon after, the chorus was interrupted by the thunder of motorbikes.

  The bikes, driven by people in black uniforms and flowing red cloaks tied at the neck, swept like waves, taking down everything in their path. Hoods framed their drivers' black and green scaly masks.

  The Order Brigade guards in the square raised their rifles.

  The masked driver of the first motorcycle shot two guards on stage, the third and fourth drivers fired at many others as they advanced steadily. As the second bike jumped over the stage, the driver broke the chains that bound the condemned man to the Cross with three shots, grabbed him by the waist with the same arm and lifted him out of the fire. He carried him on his side as the bike landed on the ground in the middle of an empty circle in the crowd, which had opened a few seconds before, and the fire around the man’s body extinguished in smoke. The driver zigzagged through the crowd, behind the first bike, and was followed by the other two. They disappeared in the middle of the city as quickly as they had appeared.

  The priest was crouched on the floor but rose with a jump as soon as he recovered from the panic. He ran to the rear of the stage, stepping over the outstretched bodies of the guards, and disappeared down the stairs.

  Many people were running out of the square, but many others were lying on the ground. Everything was a mess.

  “What was that?” asked Alem.

  “Let’s go!” shouted Lael.

  “Don’t panic. Let’s keep together and let the others leave first,” said Hazael.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Jaala said.

  “I have,” revealed Gera. The others looked at him, waiting for him to continue. People were still running around them.

  “Who were they?” asked Alem.

  The golden Faithful Cross was still burning.

  Gera looked around, lowered his voice and replied, “People call them The Redeemers.”

  When they returned to the car, it was after nine o’clock at night, a time when no one wanted to walk the streets anymore.

  “Who are The Redeemers, and why had I never heard of them?” asked Alem.

  “You never heard of them, and if you want to go on living peacefully, you will not want to hear,” said Gera.

  The magic phrase had been spoken, uttered so often by priests and nuns, and Alem, as if involuntarily, stopped talking.

  “It’s usually family who teaches these things, what may or may not be spoken, or what is or isn’t acceptable to ask,” continued Gera. “In your case, you have Bishop Zalmon Costa. So I don’t know if I should advise you to talk to him. But rules are rules and cannot be questioned; this I’m sure you’ve been taught. Don’t get any of us in trouble.” Gera looked at the silent boys and added, “Okay, I can only say that they save some people from executions. That’s all I know. Now enough on this subject.”

  This has the smell of Umbra everywhere.

  But Alem didn’t have time to think much about it.

  With a huge bang and a desperate squeak, the car jerked, turned and stopped in the middle of the road. Black smoke steamed from the hood.

  “Of course,” said Gera.

  “Oh no,” muttered Alem.

  “Oh no!” repeated Lael.

  “I knew it. I told you. I knew it!” said Gera, furiously. “Everything had to go wrong. I could see it coming.” He took his hands to his mouth, capped it, and gave a muffled cry. “Shit!” Then he turned to the others and said, “You didn’t hear that last part, all right?”

  “What do we do?” asked Hazael.

  “Just stay here.”

  Gera got out of the car and opened the hood, blocking the others’ view.

  “This day must be amazing for you,” said Jaala. “First it was that girl, the
n the execution, then the Redeemers and now this.”

  “I have to start fleeing the monastery more often,” joked Alem.

  Jaala laughed.

  “How can you make jokes in such a situation?” said Hazael, upset. “Do you understand what’s happening, Alem? We’re no longer in the center. We’re closer to the monastery than to the city center.”

  “Good, then we can go sleep at the monastery, if everything goes wrong,” said Jaala.

  “And how are you going to get there, wise guy? By walking?” said Hazael.

  Jaala lost his smile.

  “Well, if he’s still busy with the engine, it must be possible to fix. If not, he would’ve returned by now.” Once Alem said this, Gera returned to the car, discouraged.

  “You’re out of luck. I can’t fix this.” He looked at his watch. “And even if I could, I would no longer dare to go to the monastery and then return.”

  “But then how do we get Alem back?” asked Lael.

  Gera shrugged.

  “I warned you.”

  The four friends couldn’t say anything else.

  Gera sighed and said, “I called a friend to come pick us up. Of course I’m not gonna leave you out on the streets. We can even drop some of you at home if it’s on the way.”

  “Alem can’t stay! Alem must return to the monastery today,” said Hazael.

  “Then I don’t know how you’ll do it. This car isn’t going anywhere, and Peter will almost certainly not take you to the monastery. Try to ask someone else. But fast.”

  Until Peter arrived, several minutes later, no one said anything and no one could think of anything but curfew. Hazael was the first to notice the approaching car.

  “He brought a five-seater car.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Gera.

  “We should go with them,” said Hazael to the others.

  “I can’t,” answered Alem.

  “You have no alternative!” said Lael. “We won’t find anyone to take us at this hour.”

  They got out of the car.

  Gera went to greet his friend, who didn’t move from his seat, and exchanged a few words with him before telling the group, “So what’s it gonna be? Are you coming with us? He’ll leave you at Hazael’s if you want.”

  Alem looked at his friends.

  Hazael was nodding. The other two didn’t move.

  “But it has to be now.” Gera walked around the car and opened the door.

  “I have a friend who has a motorcycle. He could drop you there in no time and then return,” Jaala said.

  “And where is he?” asked Alem.

  “I can call him. Gera, will you lend me your phone?”

  “We have to go,” said Peter to Gera.

  “We have to go,” repeated Gera to the group. “Last chance. Are you coming or will you try to find another alternative?”

  “Come on, Alem!” said Lael.

  “You go. You think I can run there?” asked Alem.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Hazael.

  “I’ll stay if you stay,” said Jaala.

  “But what are you going to do?” Hazael was red with frustration.

  “We’ll figure out an alternative to get Alem to the monastery!” shouted Jaala.

  “Seriously, go with them,” repeated Alem.

  “Wait just a bit,” Hazael begged Gera and Peter.

  Peter shook his head no.

  “We really need to go. For the last time, does anyone want to come?” asked Gera.

  “Go with them!” said Alem to the other three.

  “Hazael, I’m not responsible for you, remember?” said Gera.

  Hazael looked at Lael, then at Alem, then at Gera. No one moved.

  “Three, two, one, goodbye.” And the car took off. Alem could hear Peter say in the car, “They’re nuts”.

  “This is crazy. Where’s your sense?” asked Hazael.

  “You could’ve gone with them,” countered Jaala.

  “We won’t discuss this now. Is there any friend you can talk to? Is there a phone booth here?”

  They looked around. Night had fallen, and they couldn’t glimpse any movement beyond the movement caused by the wind. That area was merely residential, with wide streets lined with rows of three- or four-story buildings.

  They split to explore around, but only after a long time were they able to find a pay phone they could use.

  Jaala dialed his friend’s number, but no one answered. He tried again, and then once more, but the result was the same.

  “Do you have friends who can help us?” Alem asked Lael and Hazael.

  They both shook their heads.

  “Really? Do you have any friends?” asked Jaala sarcastically.

  “We study at the monastery! The friends I have are from there,” said Lael.

  “Yours is not being of much help either,” said Hazael.

  “Stop arguing!” asked Alem. “What about a taxi?”

  “No taxi will take you to the monastery now having to return to the city after,” said Hazael.

  A chime echoed everywhere.

  “The first warning,” muttered Lael.

  “No one will take you to the monastery now. This has just become a one-way trip.”

  “That’s it, I’m screwed.”

  Jaala kept trying to call his friend, without success.

  “We have to start thinking about finding someone who’ll take us to the city center,” said Hazael. “We should’ve gone with them,” he scolded between his teeth, more to himself.

  They’ll notice my absence, thought Alem.

  “No one will notice you’re gone,” said Jaala.

  “Are you silly? How will no one notice he’s not there?” asked Hazael.

  “He’s been living there for years! You think they’re still monitoring him all the time, at almost eighteen?”

  “Jaala’s right. There are weekends where the nuns only see me once or twice when I go get the rest of their meals.”

  “The only way you’ll get away with this one is with a lot of luck,” said Hazael.

  Alem took his hands to his face.

  “Okay, where can I stay tonight?”

  “It’s not where you can, it’s where we can,” Lael said.

  “You catch a taxi to your homes. I’ll go with one of you.”

  Hazael laughed.

  “Yes, a taxi at this hour. How much money do you have with you?” He asked sarcastically.

  “At this hour, even into the city, a taxi would be more expensive than all the money we have in our wallets,” said Jaala.

  Alem could feel the silent panic.

  “We’ll be executed like that man!” shouted Lael.

  “We will not,” cut Jaala.

  “We will have to look for a place to stay,” concluded Alem.

  “There must be a Last Minute Shelter around here,” suggested Hazael.

  They continued to explore in search of one of those shelters, fit for people in their situation, or even for a building with an open door.

  Some people peered through the windows; it was kind of the end-of-day entertainment to watch the brave or lost who were still in the streets. But as soon as the boys made signs asking for lodging or asked them where the nearest shelter was, they’d close the curtains.

  The fifteen-minute bell rang.

  “This won’t work.”

  “What do we do, Alem?” asked Jaala, lost.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How is it that there’s no shelter anywhere?” wondered Lael.

  “You’re not at the center of Carmel, that’s why.”

  The ten-minute warning sounded and then the five, and they were forced to give up.

  “We’re going to spend the night outside. We have to hide,” concluded Jaala.

  “I can’t believe this is happening to me,” Lael shrieked, panting. “They will see us!” He turned his head in all directions.

  “It’s just a few hours of curfew. Every
thing will be fine,” said Alem.

  “We can stay down that alley; those crates will cover us,” said Jaala, running there.

  “Don’t you think the alleys are often searched by the Brigade?” asked Hazael. “They are the perfect place for someone to hide.”

  “We always have this wall back here to jump over,” said Jaala.

  Alem had to approach the end of the alley to be able to see the wall in the midst of all the darkness.

  “And do you know what’s behind the wall?”

  Jaala shook his head.

  “We have no other choice anyway,” said Alem.

  The alley was so narrow that if the four placed themselves side by side, they’d not be able to enter. Waste containers were standing along one of the walls, from the entrance to the end.

  It’s only a few hours.

  They crouched behind the last of the containers, their bodies petrified from fear. Lael whimpered.

  Alem closed his eyes and waited, in silence, for the terror of the final warning of curfew.