by V. Cobe
CHAPTER 25
The Fort of the Faith
The glass doors slid open to let him in. The room was crowded with bored people, even though it was only eight in the morning. Throughout the front wall was a stand of uniformly dressed secretaries who attended the lines.
In one corner, a luminous panel indicated ‘Order of the Hands United at Heaven Introduction Day’. He went over and sat down between a girl with curly hair and a boy with a shaved head, both dressed in the beige cassock of apprentices.
“Well, that hair is really orange,” said the girl.
“It was darker,” Alem replied.
“Really? How strange…. I’m Ana.”
“Alem.”
When they greeted with two kisses, Ana whispered to him, “That’s not my real name. Here I had to make up one that’s biblical or they’ll arrest me.”
Alem’s eyes jutted out.
“Your real name isn’t biblical?”
The girl pressed her lips together and shook her head. Then she stuck her mouth to Alem’s ear once more.
“My name is Melusina.”
Alem didn’t understand.
“But you are institutionalized?”
There was a commotion outside the tower. There was a great buzz coming from the street nearby. Everyone was looking through the glass walls toward the statue of Jesus where a small man kicked and screamed while being held by the Order Brigade. His eyes were huge, bulging and red, and his mouth was agape in delirium. One of the guards put a gray cloth over his head, another sprinkled him with holy water. A red and gold wagon with the word order written on the side appeared in the square. Within seconds, the guards dragged the man into it and disappeared.
“Another possessed man…,” muttered the boy next to Alem, with a shudder.
“No, he’s not possessed,” murmured Ana into Alem’s ear. “That’s called being on drugs.”
Drugs…. It was a forbidden word, of that Alem had no doubt, though he couldn’t remember exactly what it meant.
“What are—”
“When you were about seven years old, they told you that drugs were substances formerly used by witches and wizards to connect with the spirits.”
Unconsciously he moved away from Ana on the bench. She couldn’t use those words. Nor could she have that name.
“Those are forbidden words,” whispered Alem.
“Yes they are! But why? What’s the problem with talking about it? And about all the other stuff! What are they so afraid of?”
Instinct led Alem to get up and walk away, as if Ana’s madness—or Melusina’s—was contagious.
At that moment, a man in a red suit, red shirt and gold tie approached. He couldn’t be much older than thirty. His hair was combed to the sides, leaving a pronounced line in the middle of his head.
“I see you are all here.” He waited, with a rehearsed smile, for the whole group to turn to him. “My name is Daniel Martinho. I’m the one who’ll guide you today.”
He looked at them one by one and requested, “Come with me.”
He led the group through the confusion of people waiting for their call.
One by one, the trainees went through turnstiles guarded by two burly guards of the Order Brigade and walked an empty corridor that ended in a completely white and silent lobby, where an elevator with two large metal doors and the Faithful Cross engraved in gold and rubies awaited them.
With a movement of his arm, Daniel commanded the group to halt.
“This is the Tower of Good Fortune, as you know. The Tower of Good Fortune, built in 1996, houses the basic social services department. Installed here are the areas of citizen management that deal, for example, with the rare cases of reinstitutionalization, address changes, or permission requests for various purposes. The administration of these services requires more laborers, although not as qualified as those in other areas, and so this is one of the buildings with more people.”
The elevator arrived with a sharp, discreet sound but one that startled the group, engrossed in the paranoid silence.
“Let’s go up to the floor that crosses to the Tower of Beatitude, then we’ll move on to the Divine Tower and finally cross to the Tower of Eden.”
“The tower of the Most Holy President?”
“That one. He is waiting for us at the Royal Hall.”
Alem had to take a deep breath: meeting the Most Holy President was the event of a lifetime.
Daniel ordered the students to enter the elevator and followed behind them, blocking any chance of escape, if that happened to cross their minds.
“In the beginning you will be confused by the towers, the courts and the hallways because they all look the same. But I assure you that after a short time you’ll be able to feel, even in the midst of an all-white hall, where you are.”
The doors closed, and the elevator began to rise. When it stopped, they were in a lobby exactly like the previous, all white.
It seems like we haven’t left at all. Silence reigned on the entire floor, as if something very religious was going on, or something very serious was about to happen.
They continued through the white corridors, turning once or twice, going through a few doors and ending up in more white corridors as if going in circles. Occasionally, the ground and the pristine walls were decorated with golden crosses with tips of precious stones, as if to remind passersby that the Institution was still there. They finally spotted a hallway where the walls, ceiling and floor were made of glass, having nothing around them except cliffs.
“This is one of the passing lanes between the towers. These corridors are one of the wonders of the Fort of the Faith, a construction that clearly demonstrates the power and modernity of the Institution.”
They walked in fear, stumbling together in hesitation on the glass floor. Down there were other people, like small insects crawling from one side to the other, very slowly. Even the giant trees now seemed like tiny beings.
“This doesn’t fall?” asked the boy with the shaved head.
Everyone laughed, but everyone had the same doubt.
“Don’t worry,” assured Daniel and began to walk. “Let’s go to the Tower of Beatitude.”
They passed the suspended glass bridge and entered into another immaculate corridor. The corridors imprinted a sense of oppression and imprisonment, as if it were impossible to speak or move freely.
Alem wondered what would happen if he suddenly screamed or burst into running and jumping, but decided not to try.
When they arrived at the Tower of Eden, they caught another lift. It went up and up and stopped on the top floor of the skyscraper, the tallest of the whole lot. They found themselves in front of two large, red wooden doors, guarded by two men in Special Brigade uniforms. They passed the guards and stopped in a small red hall, surrounded on one side by the door they had just come through and on the other by a thin gold veil. Daniel pushed it away and they passed through.
It was a huge room that occupied the entire floor. The ceiling and walls were made entirely of transparent glass, allowing an impossible panoramic view of the city. The lobby and the elevator from where they had come were in the center, in a square of gold walls whose texture was drawn with tens of intertwined angels. There was a fluffy antique gold carpet with a red border stretched in the center of one half of the giant room. On the carpet, in a corner, stood three white fur sofas, surrounding a small white coffee table. A stone statue slightly degraded with time was exposed in the center of that half of the room: a completely naked muscular man, protecting his shameful parts with a perfectly shaped leaf, opening his arms to his left side and bending his legs, as if he was in the middle of some physical activity. Along a glass wall were portraits of former Most Holy Presidents, as well as former popes, when that title had not yet been replaced, framed in solid gold. There was a small fountain on one wall, gushing crystal clear water mixed with gold nuggets.
From the other side of the hall, behind the elevator, a man appeared. He was ju
st over thirty years old. He was tall and plump, so fat that he had difficulty moving. He was wearing a gold cassock and a hat of the same color, tall and in the shape of the Faithful Cross.
Nervousness spread across the group. This was Icabode, the Most Holy President of the Institution; the most powerful man, most beloved and most feared, a man who belonged to another world, the upper world of the saints.
“Welcome,” he said with a faint smile.
All of them made a small bow that he didn’t return.
“Come sit.” He gestured for them to sit down on the sofas. They obeyed in silence.
“So you are the newest members of the Institution, I am told.” The tone of his speech was friendly, but his voice betrayed dryness. “Are you enjoying it?”
They nodded nervously.
“I’m living an extremely enriching experience,” said Ana. “And we’ve just started.”
Alem looked at her sideways. He didn’t want to be around her.
“I sincerely hope you enjoy it. It will be your future, and the Institution is counting on you to make the world’s future better.”
An elderly woman entered through the gold veil carrying a tray filled with pastries.
“I like your hair color,” said Icabode, looking at Alem. “It would go well with this gold gown.”
Alem tried to laugh.
The Most Holy President took a pastry from the table, and Daniel followed his example. None of the apprentices moved until the guide gave them a silent signal telling them to serve themselves, and then everyone ran over to take one.
“The day of the Introduction to the Order exists to give you knowledge of what is done in various areas of the Institution, especially in your Order, of course. It will obviously be insufficient for you to get to know everything, but it is still important, though. It is important that you pay a lot of attention and ask all the appropriate questions you may have, satisfy all your doubts. You are the elite of the world, and as such, will have access to things that are closed to the general population. So, I want to emphasize the important notion that this day serves as a kind of pact between you and the Institution, a covenant of trust and commitment. It is important to realize that you are now part of it, and therefore, more than ever, we can trust each other all.”
“I have full confidence in the Institution,” said a young man named Paul, resolute.
“Now you are the Institution,” Icabode said without taking his eyes off him. “That is precisely what I’m trying to make you understand. There is no longer an external entity; as of today, you can no longer see the Institution as something that is separate from you, that is apart. You are now the Institution.”
Paul looked at the floor but nodded vigorously. The others nodded too.
Icabode arrived at the top just over ten years ago. Alem vaguely remembered the time of his consecration. There had been parties worldwide for a week with a single theme: the Most Holy President. The television channel had aired documentaries about his life, with old and new interviews, and broadcast news coverage of the festivities around the globe. And although Alem knew those who commanded the world were the cardinals, not the Most Holy President, that was kept behind closed doors.
In front of them, whatever Icabode asked was provided; whatever he ordered was readily executed; in what he showed interest was in what everyone became interested; and whatever he condemned was immediately doomed by the whole world. Or at least, apparently – the people also had their own interests backstage, Alem suspected.
“Well, I’ve given you the sermon.”
“Let’s leave the Most Holy President to work,” Daniel said.
He took them back to the gold veil and bowed to the President, which the others imitated.
“Thank you, your Most Holy President,” he said. Each of the apprentices echoed his expression of gratitude.
“Go and learn a lot. The world is counting on you. And remember: God is watching everything.”
And with another smile, he turned and headed for the back of the room, flapping his gold cassock behind him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Hazael asked Alem, while the echo of the bells still rang.
“Of course he is,” answered Jaala.
“We are for the Faith and for God,” said Alem. “And investigating Umbra doesn’t mean the opposite. We don’t know if it even exists.”
“If we get caught, we’ll be burned alive like that man,” said Lael.
“No one here is going to get caught,” Alem said.
Jaala’s bedroom window overlooked a long avenue that, after more than a mile, ended at St. Matthew’s Square.
Mr. and Mrs. Color had no idea that Alem, Lael and Hazael were there. They had entered secretly in the afternoon and hadn’t left Jaala’s room since. And now the night was settling, curfew had started and Jaala’s parents were sleeping.
“I just think this makes no sense,” said Hazael. “I mean, if he wanted to show that the fountain was the entrance to Umbra, why not say so? Why leave a piece of paper in a monastery’s vase? Why say ‘Revelation 1’? Why be so vague?”
“A lot of things are intriguing in this story,” said Alem.
“Starting with the man with the wings,” said Lael.
“We’ll become more enlightened now,” said Jaala.
He passed a black cloak to each of them.
“Where did you get this?” asked Alem.
“The less you know, the better.”
“Is it really necessary? The Institution prohibits them.”
“Yes, and it also prohibits going out after the curfew bells. And prohibits secret meetings. And prohibits investigating more than what it teaches. And it seems that we’re going to do all that,” said Jaala.
“But walking the streets at night may be because you got lost or any other excuse like that. Wearing a black cape is like saying you’re a rebel,” Lael whispered.
“If they catch you, say you were cold,” cut Jaala.
Hazael rolled his eyes, but Alem wanted to laugh.
They put on the cloaks around their shoulders and tied them around their necks. Jaala led them out of the room, into the hallway, down the stairs to the lobby and stopped at the door.
“Put on the hoods,” he said.
They obeyed him. They almost couldn’t see each other’s faces.
“You know how it’s going to be now,” he whispered. “When I open this door, we go out into the garden and we run as fast as possible down the avenue to the corner of the square. Run through dark areas. We’ll be—”
“Undershadows,” ended Alem.