by V. Cobe
CHAPTER 34
The Great Superstition
Outside the open doors, two cloaked men followed Nimda and Alem toward the monastery forest as soon as they passed them.
The empty eyes of his godfather haunted Alem. He didn’t dare to speak, merely obeyed the orders she gave him. He was well aware she was crazy, it wasn’t worth challenging her.
They invaded the forest under the light of the moon and stars and stopped before a hole in the ground the size of a truck wheel.
One of the men tied Alem’s hands behind his back and pushed him into the opening.
“Mind your head. You’ll start going down some stairs.”
Down there, Alem couldn’t see anything except for a faint glow in Nimda’s eyes.
“Make sure he doesn’t stay behind,” she said sharply.
“Yes, my queen.”
“Yes, my queen.”
The air became stuffy and hot as they went deeper.
More than once they had to stop to help Alem cross the steps they found or to get him up after he stumbled because of the haste in which they walked. But after what seemed like hours, the pace slowed.
A grave but soft noise, like a discrete wind, reached them from ahead. Some light was also beginning to emerge, illuminating the black stone of the subterranean zone.
The noise came from a fire that loomed in every nook and surrounded a ten-foot-high fort, carved from the black marble of the subsoil. A stone bridge crossed the pit of fire and invited visitors to pass to the large doors of the fort. A burning wheel of fire floated at the entrance. Children’s screams of terror, came out from inside.
A moribund and bloody girl was crawling across the bridge toward them. She stretched her arm, without a hand, out to them. Her eyes were only two empty holes, and her mouth was wide open in a constant wail of agony.
If Alem had any idea of hell, that was it.
“Where are we?” he asked.
Nimda looked at him with a sly smile and said, “Welcome to Defectio.”
They left him with two women covered in black veils and disappeared through a corridor. Although built in stone, the interior of the fort was so immaculately polished that Alem could see his reflection on the walls.
Beneath the veils, the women had no expression. One of them raised a knife and cut the rope around Alem’s wrists as the other spoke.
“Take off all your clothes.”
With a black and square device, they photographed him in every possible angle. They took blood from him. They inspected his eyes, mouth, head, chest, shoulders, arms, legs, genitals, belly, upper back, and his lower back. Afterward, they put him in a black cloak with a hood and left the room.
Four armed men entered, surrounded him, pointed rifles at him and ordered him to walk.
He was escorted through the guts of the stone building, which got warmer with every passing moment and every step he took.
When they stopped in front of two black doors, Alem was covered in sweat.
A rowdy crowd awaited him on the other side.
“Take him inside,” ordered a fifth man from behind.
The doors opened, and Alem was pushed into a huge arena.
A defectici ring surrounded him in a circular stall, euphoric and covered with black veils that flapped in hatred and anger. A large fire pit in the center spit flames, through which a stone slab extended like a diving board.
One of the armed men pushed Alem to the pit.
On one side of the arena was a type of throne with three seats that stood above everything. All veils turned to the throne, and a deathly silence fell, broken only by the licking of the flames at the pit edges.
Nimda entered with a little boy by the hand. Both brought crowns of fire similar to those that Alem had seen in his vision. Their veils were pulled behind their backs, but not below Nimda’s blonde hair, which slid across the floor.
The defectici in the stands stood and joined their hands at their chests with their fingertips pointing downward.
A crowned man entered. The veils that covered him were longer than that of the others’ and scattered on the floor around him like eels. The fire of his crown was higher and stronger. His uncovered face was burned on one side and rotten on the other. His sunken eyes were like two black oceans. He approached the throne edge, clasped his hands at his chest and inverted them. He yelled in a thick and harsh voice, “Zahazi Zazgaha!”
“Zahazi Zazgaha!” echoed the defectici.
The king faced Alem and smiled, if one could call that smiling.
“Amen! What an appropriate name.”
The defectici in the stands laughed exaggeratedly as they returned to sit. With a slow gesture of the king’s hand, they suddenly fell silent.
“My name is Vessos V, the reborn. King of Defectio.” His smile intensified. “For centuries we have sought you, and now here you are. At last.”
Alem wanted to speak but couldn’t; fear had taken his voice.
“You may not know the importance you have… but I can elucidate before Zazgaha takes you.”
He stepped back and religiously opened a black box. He took out a yellowish paper roll and brought it forward.
“Ah… the Great Superstition!”
The arena was filled with enthusiastic cries.
“It is no longer a superstition, oh no, and you are the proof. It is the only known translation, and no one knows where the original is. The umbriferam who translated it died long ago. It was ours for many centuries and was then stolen by the Institution. Just before you were born, those religious worms wanted to include it in the Bible, but we could not let that happen. We could not let this be made public. Those lunatics would gain too much strength. Your father was managing the amendment but didn’t take enough care, and we got him. And with him was this.” He shook the paper.
“We recovered the Great Superstition and continued searching for the boy who is here prophesied until one day, by the work of Zazgaha, someone told us about a red glow coming from the head of a baby being baptized. It was you. But your mother knew that too and hid you from us for ten years!”
“Let me go! I don’t know what that is! I don’t care!”
“Oh, but you’ll know, you’ll hear the whole story. I want my catharsis. The news that the boy in the Great Superstition had finally been found spread like wildfire, and everyone tried to find you, even the Conclave. When you returned to Carmel, you went to the hands of our beloved bishop, and your mother, as smart as she was, allied with the Conclave to come take this from us in exchange for protection. How stupid! As if the Conclave was ever going to protect you. She died at the hands of my beloved Queen Nimda, and there, we solved the issue. At the same time came news from the monastery that, after our insistence, that rat of a bishop had betrayed the Institution and was ready to give you up. With conditions that we felt were strange but amusing at the same time: you’d have to be tortured in the dungeons for three months. I confess that it was our wickedness that betrayed us, it is true. If we had not given in to the pleasure of torturing you in the dungeons, if we had brought you in right away, you would not have managed to escape. And do you know why your dear godfather wanted you to be tortured? Do you? Because the Institution demanded so. But why, you ask? Why is it that they kept you locked in there and took advantage of our name? Why is it that they wanted you to see the ritual in the woods and allowed us to torture you?” He shook the paper again. “Because of this. For you to fulfill this. They wanted you to hate Umbra. Do you hate it?” He laughed, and the rest of the defectici laughed with him. “Of course you had to run away. You couldn’t make anything easy for us, could you? And after you ran away, the bishop withdrew from the plan, claiming that he had been punished by the Institution and that the barriers would have to be raised again. It became impossible to get in there through the forest, and the nuns didn’t dare to take you. So we waited for you… for you to come out of the monastery as you would’ve eventually had to do one day. The problem was that, by that ti
me, you had such a strong circle of protection that no defectius could get close enough to touch you. Disgusting security guards with straight suits followed you everywhere. But fortunately, you came to us. It’s fate, you know. Zazgaha protects us and guides us and occasionally rewards us for our efforts. Tjiq almost caught you, but even though she was unable to, she gave you everything you needed to go to the monastery to seek clarification. Your security guards followed you but they must now be panicking realizing that you’re not getting out of that territory. They didn’t think we’d be here. And we thank them because now you are here. The boy of the superstition.” He moved closer to the throne edge and unrolled the scroll at eye level. The room closed in a deep silence. The flames doubled in size. He began to read but soon put away the piece of paper and proclaimed the words by heart.
‘The child will come with unmistakable signs.
His hair will be the blood of the marks on the cross,
and two creatures will guard his back:
one will have three heads, the other will try his spine.
By these features, you will know who he is.
Help him and guide him warily,
and he shall spill the light over the revealed night,
ending all colors of evil.
The shadows shall rise from the underworld only to be destroyed;
and the cult of darkness shall cease.’
Beneath the black veils, the defectici screamed hysterically.
Alem thought he was going to faint. The heat was suffocating him, and his heart wasn’t facilitating the entry of air.
“Defectio are the protectors of Umbra, from the start! That is our role, which is why you must die.”
With effort, Alem managed to say, “You are crazy.”
Vessos motioned for the others to quiet down.
“Crazy or not, this ends today, Amen.”
He raised his hands above his head and closed his eyes.
In the stands, the others stood and joined their hands in front of their chests with their tips facing down. They began to sing.
“Zazgaha, come, we serve you!” Vessos shouted over the other voices. “Consume him in your fire, deliver us, your servants!”
The sinister chanting of unrecognizable words had a palpable power.
The black flames licked in the pit. A burning circle crossed the stone slab and trapped Alem within.
He ran to gain momentum to jump through the flames to the other side, out of the fire ring, but gave up mid run. Even if he could cross the fire, the guards would bring him down.
And then the ground began to shake. An invisible force pulled Alem backward to the fire pit like a magnet. It was very strong, much stronger than he, too strong. Step after step, it led him to the cliff.
On the throne, Vessos’ crown was still burning, but its color had darkened to the color of the veils that covered the king of Defectio and revolved wildly. The man opened his mouth and spoke, but the voice that came out was not his, it was rough and distorted.
“You will not save the world, Amen!”
At the border of the pit, Alem was struggling with the force that was pulling him. One foot stepped back and found no ground. With a cry of horror, Alem fell into the abyss of fire, the fall accelerated by the magnetic force. His skin burned from the heat, the black cloak inflamed in free fall, and his orange hair caught fire between the walls of flame.
A scaly thing undulated at his side and wrapped itself around his waist. A second later, the fall halted and Alem, suspended in the air, was thrown back up as quickly as he had fallen.
The creature that had wrapped around him hissed aggressively. It pulled him out of the circle of flames with a loud bang and attacked the stands.
Alem got up, and coiled around his torso was the snake with its neck thick and raised several feet above Alem’s burning orange hair.
The others shouted in terror. The snake lunged forward and pulled Alem with it, closer to the black doors.
The guards raised their weapons and fired at it.
The snake was moving its neck right and left, tearing all the guards down. Many fell into the pit. With a final tug, the snake broke the doors and took Alem to the hall.
Alem ran without wondering where he was going – he just knew he had to get away from there. As he ran, the snake crept back into his spine. He finally found the last door and went outside the fort across the bridge of stone surrounded by fire. In front of him were two large black wings spread out across the entire cave, waving patiently. The winged man was crouched with his back to Alem, but with watchful eyes. When Alem came out, the man waved with his head and said, “Get on!”
Alem jumped onto the man’s back and clung to his wings. He was transported through the dark sewers at wind speed, passing through cliffs, caves and caverns, tunnels and arches, colored and colorless. The black wings creased, compressed by the small spaces they passed, but that didn’t seem to bother the man.
When they stopped, Alem was sick.
“Get out through there!” shouted the man, panting. “There are some stairs that’ll take you to the top. There’s no danger in the streets in this area.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Hacsiem, and I’m a friend. There’s no time to explain anything. What was down there is powerful and can find you easily. You have to get out of here.”
“But who are you?” asked Alem again. “Why did you take me to that square? Why did you want me to find Umbra?”
“I didn’t lead you to the square so you could find Umbra; I led you there so you could find Bithynia. But there’s no time to explain now!”
Her name felt like a stab.
“What about her? Why does she trigger that reaction in me? What creature are you and what are those wings? What is this snake on my back? What was that horrible voice?”
“Some things take a long time to explain, Amen. There’s no time now; you’ve seen what they are capable of. They will do anything to kill you.”
“But I’m not the boy in the prophecy! I don’t have all the marks….” He lowered his voice and stopped. Not even he believed what he was saying.
“Even if you don’t have them, you are the boy in the prophecy now. They turned you into it. Both Umbra and Defectio, as well as the Institution. They turned you into what they wanted. For Defectio, it was someone to focus all their efforts on, for the Institution it was the announced savior. For the Conclave… well, the Conclave is another story. But don’t worry about any of them, go and fulfill your destiny.”
“My destiny? What does that mean? I don’t want this to be my fate. I don’t want wars with Umbra and the Institution!”
“Forget the Institution and forget Umbra! What’s happening is far superior. It is much greater than a piece of paper. Can’t you see what’s happening in the world? They think they know but they have no idea. This is bigger than Umbra and the Institution, bigger than me or than you. It’s bigger than all of us. Do you understand that, Amen? Do you understand that within you?”
Without knowing why, he nodded.
“My role here is done. Now go!” And with a push, he sent him to the closest exit and disappeared in a blur of light and shadow.
Alem climbed out of the sewers and staggered into the hot night.
So it was because of a superstition that his mother had protected him that way. That was why they had fled to Sun’s Farm. That was why he had to stay in the monastery. That was why his mother was on that poster. That was why Umbra wanted her and why she died.
Thank you, Mom.
Umbra had taken everything from him: his mother, his father, his girlfriend, his best friend. Even his godfather had been taken, consumed by that evil. Irrationally, he also blamed Umbra for Hazael’s death, for Redemptio not having saved him, like they could’ve.
But the Institution was no better, apparently. They had orchestrated his kidnapping. What for? To force what a piece of paper said? Stil
l, he could stand that better than the loss of all the people who Umbra had taken from him.
In that moment, he had no one.
The tears that had been struggling within him came out at last. He ran barefoot and naked, without thinking where he was heading. His hair was intact, even though just a few moments before, flames had been burning on his head.
He wasn’t afraid of Brigades of this or that – nothing mattered anymore. Not after that night.
He dropped onto the tar, without worrying about his knees that were being scraped, and cried with his hands covering his face. Something hurt inside his chest. For the first time in his life, he felt truly alone, truly lost.
Help me. I don’t want anything else, I won’t ask for anything else from You, just that You help me. I don’t know what to do.
He looked at the sky after thinking those words and stopped crying. He saw colors over the stars: a kind of rainbow in the night sky, there up high but right in front of him. It formed a cosmic cloud, some colorful nebula that seemed to be made of dust. The colors, very bright in the center and gradually fading toward the edges, were not disposed in an orderly manner but rather as if they had been thrown at random. The stars shined behind that resplendent blur – thousands of stars in distant galaxies, indifferent, with their own lives.
Alem didn’t know what that phenomenon was but shivered with the beauty and clarity of the colors that exploded in the distance, in the black of the Universe – red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet.
He noticed, for no apparent reason, the warmth of the tar on his knees and toes.
A warm and gentle wind enveloped him and dried his tears.
Tree leaves rustled in the silence of the night, but apart from that, no other sound was heard.
He smiled, realizing the presence.
He wasn’t alone. Something was there with him.