The Colors of Alemeth - Vol. 1

by V. Cobe

CHAPTER 35

  The Color of Power

  The gold cassock touched Alem softly on his skin, so softly it was annoying.

  Sister Isabel shook the cassock gently, trying to smooth every inch.

  “You’re beautiful,” she said in his ear.

  Alem looked in the mirror in the red room full of velvet, silk and fine wood handcrafted and embroidered in gold – the garb was stunning. The gold shined under the light of the candles, and the red gems embroidered in circles on ​​the wrist and hems emitted a strong glare as if they were alive. It was hard to tell whether it flattered him or not, despite Isabel’s compliment.

  Someone opened the door without knocking, and Father Caleb, wearing a gray suit with gold trimmings, appeared with a wry smile.

  “Are you ready?”

  Alem didn’t answer. He was too confused to react in time.

  “Give us just a few seconds. He’s almost done,” the nun replied for him.

  The priest nodded, clenched jaws, and closed the door as he spoke to someone on the other side.

  “The boy is not ready yet.”

  The boy is not ready yet. The phrase that Alem remembered so well sounded again, carrying him back to the dungeons once more. The sudden revelation that the voice was that same one barely upset him, it merely disgusted him slightly. The boy is not ready yet… Am I ready now? Am I finally who they want me to be?

  “Alem, you know what you have to do, don’t you?”

  He looked at her, half undecided about the answer, but nodded.

  They stepped out of the room into a wide white marble corridor that ended in a flaring area.

  Isabel pushed him slowly, lovingly, and Alem made his way, with a nervous pace, to the magic room.

  When he arrived, he stopped for a moment, too disoriented.

  The room was round and covered in solid gold from floor to ceiling, including the circular benches surrounding an altar in the center. Gold candles were lit everywhere. The twelve cardinals, dressed in white tunics, sat around the altar. Their faces were covered with hoods in the same white color.

  Alem advanced to the center, ascended seven small steps of gold and stopped in the middle of everything, looking around.

  One of the cardinals, carrying a gold hat in his hands, went to the altar from the opposite side. He stood in front of Alem and asked him to kneel. He obeyed. The cardinal then opened his hand over Alem’s head, and golden dust dropped slowly over him and spread gently all over his body, bathing him in light.

  “Christo et Ecclesiae.”

  Alem joined his hands in prayer and said,

  “Christi crux est mea lux. Deo duce.”

  The cardinal, satisfied, raised his other arm, placed the gold cross-shaped hat over Alem’s head and let it fall gently.

  Alem knew now he had to proceed to the next step. He rose alone, walked forward down the aisle to the opposite side of the room and went up through another marble corridor.

  Isabel had already gone ahead and awaited him with a calm smile. When they met, she kissed his hand and gave him a sheet of paper.

  Alem fiddled with the sheet, which contained the script indicating all the steps, gestures, smiles and speech he had to do, and nodded.

  “Everything will be fine,” assured the nun.

  “The whole world is watching me.”

  “And have you thought about how good that can be?”

  Yes, it will be pretty good. He took a deep breath, copying Isabel, and with a forced smile said, “I’m ready.”

  They entered a red and gold corridor ending in a balcony. The gold curtains billowed in the wind, and a muffled rumble could be heard from the crowd waiting outside in the Square of God for the new Most Holy President.

  Despite not having shown up at the Fort of the Faith the previous day, as he had been commanded, no one asked for justification. Was it because now he was supposedly the most important man in the world? Or because they knew exactly where he had been?

  As he approached the balcony, the cry of the people grew louder, unnerving him. The Fort of the Faith was on the other side, and Alem could see part of the Tower of Good Fortune and part of the Tower of Sacrilege behind the giant statue of Jesus Christ kneeling. Stars and the nebula in front of them shined in the sky on the one night that curfew was repealed. That phenomenon had distracted the whole world from the announcement of the new Most Holy President, but only for a short morning. No one knew exactly what it was or from where it had appeared, but the physicists of the Institution had rushed to assure the world that there was no cause for alarm; it was only cosmic dust, of astronomical dimensions but very far from Earth. It should be seen as a gift from God, a sign to exalt this new leader, Alemeth Ricardo Sá, the Colorful, confirming his divinity.

  Alem looked at Isabel at his side, who nodded at him, and walked to the balcony.

  Outside, the people broke out in a frantic cry when they saw him. They cheered, screamed, raised their arms or jumped.

  He was shaking. That huge sea of ​​people loved him without knowing him because they were obliged, or because they really wanted to, and because the omen in the sky compelled them. He walked over to the edge of the balcony and waited for a while as instructed in the script.

  A trumpet sounded strong and prolonged, quieting the people and silencing all other sounds on the planet.

  Alem took a deep breath, tried to control his voice and spoke into the microphone as he read the paper in his hand.

  “People of the world! I am the chosen one for this age, the Colorful, as they call me and as the harbinger in Heaven suggests. And here I am before you, to be your guide.”

  Behind him was Father Caleb, who would now be seen as his right arm, Ézer de Bora, Carmel’s archbishop, and Gade Solano, the Unum minister of the country, fixed to a balcony corner.

  A television at the other end of the square broadcasted live Alem’s controlled gestures inside the gold cassock.

  “And it will really be a colorful era. One more divine, safer, quieter and more religious. God will be closer to all of us than ever. Rejoice! Goodness and freedom will walk hand in hand with the people for a better world. This is what I bring you, for I am the Faith.”

  “We are the Faith,” said the world in unison.

  A trumpet was heard again, and immediately another one joined in a soft melody, full of grief.

  At that moment, Alem picked up a red candle and lighted it. Across the square, and in all the main squares on the planet where the ceremony was broadcasted live, the people imitated his gesture and thousands of golden flames gained life at the same time.

  Then the world began to sing. It seemed nothing else on the earth was happening besides that, the united and synchronized voices of humans. The power of the Institution was really extraordinary, a power that was now, apparently, Alem’s.

  The song ended, and he looked at the script confirming what to do next.

  “It is my mission to promote the Faith; it has always been. Unite the world in God and give all people a life full of peace, love and freedom.”

  The words left his mouth with effort.

  “And for that to be possible, it is important that everyone work together: the integrity and cohesion of the Faith cannot be shaken.” In the script, the paragraph ended, but Alem added, “Nowhere.”

  Father Caleb looked uncomfortably at the archbishop, at the people and then at Alem.

  “There are evils around the world,” he continued reading from the paper, “evils that, if not prevented, can consume us quickly. That was why God created the Rules. Without them, we would be helpless.”

  A trumpet was about to start playing as planned, but Alem interrupted it and continued his speech, which was now coming directly from his head.

  “Still, the evils are here, and despite all the defenses we may have, we do not always manage to protect ourselves from them. And there are no Rules that can be of use.”

  Caleb came to the front, ready to whisper something in
to Alem’s ear, but he stopped him with an outstretched arm.

  “Throughout the world, there are so many people harming one another. And for what? Something has to change. Enough is enough. I want this to be the cry of a generation!” He raised the candle as if making a toast.

  The people shouted in agreement, and millions of candles throughout the world were raised in the air.

  “Until now we could not speak about the evil, we could not give it a name; it was the best thing to do. But not anymore. It is time we use all the weapons we have to end, once and for all, the darkness, that great nightly evil, that hell called Umbra!”

  From the audience came startled and horrified cries. On the official side stands and behind Alem on the balcony, no one moved. He supposed that the blood of Father Caleb, of the cardinals, the archbishop, the Unum minister and many other seniors of the Institution had frozen at that moment and smiled at the thought.

  “We cannot ignore it anymore! We must recognize it. We must identify it. We must eliminate it! The Institution knows it. That underworld exists, yes. But if it’s up to me, it won’t for long. It is time for this to end; it is time to finish Umbra!” he shouted, raising his fist so violently that the flame of his candle went out.

  Finally comprehending that new reality that had come so suddenly, the people roared with excitement. Part of it, at least.

  Probably seeing all the support that statement had garnered, someone behind the scenes decided it was the ideal time for millions of gold and red confetti to be released over the square.

  As the confetti spread across the sky, Alem’s straight hair began to brighten, as if suddenly the yellow color wanted to sweep the orange, as violently as the sea sweeps the sand.

  It’s happening again, he thought immediately.

  The people, seeing Alem’s hair turning yellow—some in the audience, others from television—accepted that as another sign from Heaven, a confirmation that the fight that the Most Holy President announced was the fight of that era.

  Down below in the square, someone shouted, “Amen!” And soon the rest of the world repeated in unison, their cries full of life and hope, “Amen!”

  Alem scanned the people, then the colors over the darkness of the sky and finally muttered to himself, “Amen….”

  ###

  Thank you for reading!

  I hope you've enjoyed The Colors of Alemeth - Red and Orange. And the sequel is on its way! That's right, the next volume, Yellow and Green, is coming soon.

  What do you think of Alem? And Jaala? Which one is your favorite niche? And which one do you hate the most? As an author, I appreciate every feedback you can give me. It's for you that Alem will continue his destiny. So, if you have something to say, don't hesitate to contact me through thecolorsofalemeth@gmail.com or www.thecolorsofalemeth.com .

  Lastly, I have a favor to ask you: a rating of The Colors of Alemeth. As a reader you have the power to sink or break a book, and that is why every author thrives for some feedback. Wether you liked the book or not, I'd be very thankful if you could spend a few minutes rating it where you got it.

  Thank you for staying with me!

  We'll see each other in Umbra,

  V. Cobe