Sondranos: The Narrative of Leon Bishop

by Patrick Stephens

  The village part of the commune was an inner bailey. It was large enough to house four gardens of varying foods. Seven hundred people lived within the castle, barracks, and in various other locations. The rest – those that worked in the yards, or wished to live outside the castle’s safety - came in the number of two hundred. I doubt anyone commuted from the city. It was hard to tell if anyone dared live on the outer bailey, as the ground was as rough and patchy as it had been along the road.

  The rest of the buildings stood behind the Abbey – an almost exact replica of Davion’s without the gift shop – and were situated around the Keep. A barracks, stable, large pens, and one large building that reminded me of a gymnasium at St. Michel’s. Grey was the colour by day; at night, strategically placed torches lent more vibrant colours just as easily as the sunrise. I’d supposed, at the time and even now, that they knew close quarters was a given when joining. Or perhaps some of them chose posts across the crater just to avoid sleeping in the same room as five or six others. Maybe that was why Davion lived out in the suburbs of Sondranos.

  It struck me that all throughout the commune, people shuffled about, carrying baskets, digging into the ground, tending to bushes and livestock, continuing about their lives as if night had never fallen, and Sondranos had never been destroyed.

  When I pulled the car off to the side of the road, just past the first row of trees, I got out feeling rejuvenated. We all walked to the barbican with Davion leading the way. His steps were light, and we all felt like we could breathe again. The sun had long gone, but Davion led us with a brightness in his eyes that could have lit the crater. Kayt slunk close to me and held my hand. Annalise took the other, and Melanie took Kayt’s.

  The barbican stood tall and ominous over the entrance – though, that was our perception, as the doors had been closed and that created a less-than-welcome feeling. Bricks climbed atop one another until they reached the top, where a man peered over and disappeared just as quickly. Davion held out his hands, stopped us, and then surveyed his robes. A dozen patches of dirt stained the white, and lines had formed around his waist, setting into the fabric like wrinkles in skin. He tried to flatten a few out before the doors latched open with loud mechanical clanks and swung inwards.

  If you asked each one of us what we noticed in that time, our answers would have been different. This is my best guess as to what each one thought.

  Davion embraced a man wearing similar robes as him – apparent only because Davion ignored everything else around him. Annalise noticed the curtain wall strung along the perimeter until it reached the Citadel in the back, stroking the bricks and turning slowly around as she traced it along the compound. Kayt eyed the hundreds of people huddled together, some watching the doors, and others patrolling about the grounds as if they had something dreadfully important to do, and she flinched and stepped behind me when they began their approach. Melanie scanned the crowd, and I wondered if she was looking for her father.

  All I can honestly say is that I noticed the light. Torchlight on the outside – and along the keep – had been useful, but it was just a show. Inside, strung along the walls and on posts lining the walkways and homes, were bulbs the size of my fists. Each one was lit, and blazed brightly towards the ground. Bowls hung over the top of the bulbs, keeping them from streaming upwards. It created a sort of domed feel over the grounds. Though, as I write this, I can’t help but feel that I did see a haze hovering above the wall, just barely perceptible. Like a thousand fireflies gathered together in the grounds.

  “Welcome, son,” the man who’d opened the doors said. “Davion, it is so good to see you. After everything we’ve heard, we were sure you’d perished; though, I should have trusted you would accomplish something such as this.”

  “I was in the right place at the right time, Father.”

  “Everyone always is,” he replied.

  “If I had not suffered, I would not have been at the Abbey, and thus I would not be able to bring these into our flock,” Davion turned to us and opened his palm. I felt like I was on the auction block. Or an award.

  “Well, let them come in!” Father ushered us close, and took Kayt by the hand. He led us through the doors. Two young men pushed them shut, then bowed their heads before returning to their duties along the wall – doing what, I didn’t know. They didn’t look like sentries, but could have been in training.

  All attention seems hesitantly drawn to us, masked in casual activity. A dozen people shuffled towards us. One carried a basket of fruits, and another two had some kind of weaving thrown over their shoulders. Overall, the people who lived in the commune looked healthy. Only a few wore robes, the rest wore long slacks in varying shades of brown and black. Women’s shirts concealed the chest, and puffed out near the midsection. The shoulders of the shirts or dresses often hung loose and revealed clean skin. The men wore the same slacks, but wore tight shirts, ones that hugged their arms and tucked into their pants to create a small bunch near the waistline. The rest - those clad in robes – wandered about the grounds like they’d been given leadership of some plot of land within the grounds. They meant something, but I didn’t – and wouldn’t – discover their purpose in the hierarchy of the MacKinnon Commune.

  The woman carrying the fruits was muscular, and had a meaty build that told me she’d worked in the gardens on a daily basis; the weavers were a man and woman, both young, whose hands looked clean and fragile. Behind them, the shapes and sizes of other’s could have told me their occupations as well – a couple gardeners and farmers, a dozen or so manufacturers, weavers, tillers, and builders.

  “What’s it like out there?” said the first weaver.

  “Is the city as big as the stories tell?” asked the gardener.

  “Don’t ask questions you’ll never be able to prove, Jacey,” bit back the third weaver.

  “I can ask whatever I wish,” Jacey, the gardener said. She wielded something at the two men that looked like a squash, but had been coloured deep purple, like a potato. “You have no dominion over me. Now, I’ve heard the spires touch the skies tall enough to greet the lowest Gods, is that true?”

  “What are you talking about?” Melanie asked. We’d all been taken aback, but the answer was clear. These people had no idea what had happened. I think we were more stunned than anything, and that is why we didn’t respond.

  “Oh, you make them sound weak, and unimportant!” The second weaver broke in.

  “I only meant those who can deal with us directly,” Jacey responded.

  “Yes, of course you did,” said first weaver. Her tone had turned placating, and sardonic. She was about to ask something of us, when a boy no more than eleven came trundling up. He carried a dozen mice in his hands; all squirmed around but didn’t try to run off.

  “Mother, I found them! Cagney had babies!” he cried. The mother turned, and shrieked, dropping the weave that she’d draped over her shoulder, and the rest of the group laughed. Those who were silent, turned away, and started back to what they’d been doing when we arrived; the weaver turned to her boy and started ushering him away. She muttered about cleaning his hands.

  The man Davion called Father introduced himself to us with a proffering gesture. “I am Father Alessandro Corin. You may call me Father, or Father Corin. Either way, I welcome you to our home. I trust you have been briefed on the situation?”

  “Yes, we have,” I said. Father Corin looked gentle, and aged beyond his years. Like, Davion, wrinkles set into his skin, and pressed down the area around his eyes into permanent bruised bags. He wasn’t overweight, but he used to be – loose skin hung from his neck and bunched around his waist. He wrung his hands together, not through nerves, but through habit. I’m certain he didn’t even know when he wrung. As a portion of the populace advanced, Father Corin pulled Davion close, and they both stepped aside. He smiled, having taken my answer to mean that we didn’t need any kind of introduction.

  ‘Situation’ is a dangerous word. In ignorance, it c
an mean many things. Unknowingly, I’d agreed to knowing what the commune had been doing – and more importantly, what secret was being kept from its inhabitants. I’d assumed he meant the state of Sondranos-proper. For a moment no longer than a blink, I considered thinking of them as communists, as that was what the side of my English Professor’s mind insisted they’d be called.

  “Leave us be,” Father Corin said, waving them away. Father Corin placed a hand behind Kayt’s back and we started forward. All around us, the people of the MacKinnon Commune dragged tools through the soil, acting as if it were midday; some walked about, and some admired the scenery. There were a dozen carrying crates, two by two, towards one of the larger buildings near the end of the path. Some of those same wooden crates lined the walls, to all outward appearances holding something that was needed all over the compound.

  “Do you think they know what’s going on?” Annalise asked before I could.

  “The commune is safe from treachery,” Father Corin said. “You are safe.”

  “Excuse me,” Annalise called to Father Corin. “You have to know what’s going on outside. We’ve just been running for hours, and every time we come across the Belovores, people died – they’re bound to come here eventually.”

  “Oh, they are on their way,” Father Corin cut across a small patch of grass and brought us to a pathway that had been ridged with inconsistencies in the pavement. It humped in the centre, each side greeting the grass like a stone anthill. Ahead, the barracks stood tall and blocky at the end of the path – that was the building I’d seen the crates coming to and from. “But there is nothing we can do, except move forward with what has to be done. We refuse to allow anyone who’s been saved fall into death.”

  “What will be done is death,” I said. The words sounded clunky, but so did the idea of keeping the Belovores a secret. I tried to clarify. “Sondranos is gone. This planet is gone, all the resources you use to keep yourself running will dry up and you’ll starve to death.”

  “If the Belovores don’t annihilate you first,” Kayt said. We stopped just shy of the middle of the path.

  “Look around you. We are self-sustaining. Davion, I thought you could vouch for these people,” Father Corin said. “Don’t

  Davion bowed and blushed.

  “It’s okay,” Melanie said quickly. “We’re just stunned. And tired. We’ve been going since the attack began. It’s not every day someone is accepted into salvation.”

  I looked to Melanie, who walked closer to Davion and Father Corin.

  “I could call this place home,” she said. “I can see why Percival Nesbit would have called this place home without a word to any of us.”

  “That name sounds familiar. Is he a friend of yours?”

  “He was my father.”

  “There are only two here that hold the title of Father,” Corin said. “The other does not go by that name.”

  “Blood father. Little ‘f,’ not the big one.”

  “Ah, forgive me. His name does sound familiar, though. Do you wish for me to ask around about him?”

  This was the game, my mind said. Feigning a delusional state and pretending not to care was how she’d get the information. She got close to Davion using his own passivity and religious beliefs as a way of striking deep into the information he held back. I started to feel relieved. However, then she said: “No. It’s not important; it’s nothing that can’t wait.”

  My spine tingled. A shiver escaped, and Annalise looked at me quizzically. Kayt held on to my arm, and I could see her trying to understand why Annalise and I were so confused. She had deeper things to worry about – but then again, maybe this was the moment Annalise mentioned about Kayt having a moment in which she wouldn’t think about Lancaster.

  “I am proud of you, Melanie,” Davion said. “Never have I seen you discuss your father with such restraint. You are on your way to discovering the path of the Primary Divinity. Our Lord provides miraculous things.”

  My first thought was that she had meant what she’d said. It wasn’t a diversion; she had changed. What hung around her normally - the wrinkles about her eyes, the drop of her hair, and the weight that clung to her waist – had a different quality to it. Anger had fled, and youth had come in. Annalise, Kayt, and I exchanged glances next.

  During all of this, do you know how many times I looked at them?

  How many times have I written the words ‘looked,’ ‘gazed,’ ‘saw,’ or any variation thereof? I can’t remember. So maybe I’m to blame for what I didn’t see. A teacher: that’s what I’ve always been. I can observe and adapt. So how had it happened that I’d missed so much?

  When had this happened?

  False Daniel whispered, ‘So self-absorbed, except for the ones that don’t suit you.’

  Melanie smiled. She reached off the pavement to touch a bush that sprouted flowers that wouldn’t open until the morning. She smelled them and closed her eyes. Davion set his hand on her back. She turned to face him and bit her lower lip. Somehow, in this mess, she’d found serenity. Where was the frustration? The anger and the hatred for being given the run around?

  Where was the absolute certainty that her father – the man who’d abandoned her and her mother without ever saying goodbye – was alive and well within the curtain wall of the Commune of the First Divinity?

  The new Melanie smiled and looked to the ground while Father Corin put his arm around her and led us to the barracks.

  On the way, Annalise and Kayt leaned in close.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” Kayt said. “How can nobody be afraid? Amazing men are dying out there. You’d think something like the destruction of a major colony would be even a little bit on their radar.”

  “One thing is for sure. The Belovores won’t leave this place alone,” said Annalise.

  The barracks smelled of sweat and metal. Father Corin led us there without another word while Davion mentioned allowing us to rest before we were served a meal. Annalise nearly mentioned the manifold meal we’d had hours earlier, but stopped when I gave her a look that pleaded for real, stove-cooked food.

  The barracks door swung open. It was held eagerly by a young girl who’d watched us arrive. The walls were lined with more crates, and staggered between doors that led into what I assumed to be bedroom or chambers. The walls stretched for at least twelve or thirteen rooms on either side, at seemingly impossible length. I felt like we’d entered a prison. The stonework was smooth, and the only imperfections in the waved stone surface came from where the doorframes had been carved into the edifice. Strings of lights draped down the hallway, and turned down a corridor on the far end.

  “How do you have lights and power here?” I asked. Staying behind, I approached one of the crates, and picked at a piece of straw poking out from the crease in the wood. It hadn’t been locked, but something told me I shouldn’t open them anyway.

  “We run our systems independent of the Sondranos national grid,” Father Corin led down the hallway, came up behind me, and ushered me away from the crate. “We are self-sustaining. It is easier that way. We draw no undue attention to ourselves.”

  “What are your defensive capabilities?” Annalise asked.

  “Tell me about your journey,” Father Corin said. He stopped just shy of an open door and waved us in. Inside the room were two cots set against the stone walls. A single window hung high in the room between the beds, closer to the ceiling than the floor. Thin bars had been set inside the frame, too small to consider protective – mostly decoration, I thought – but why? Davion urgedus into the room, and Melanie went willingly. Kayt followed, but with the attitude of a shy little girl, holding her hands forward and looking around without moving her head. Annalise, however, put her hand on my chest and stopped.

  “I’m not going in there until you answer me,” Annalise said. I stood behind her, and she looked at me through her periphery. “Us, I mean.”

  “The MacKinnon Commune of the Primary Divinity does not worship th
e methods of violence, as you would,” Father Corin said. “We make our choices, and stick by them.”

  “But is it a choice to be oblivious about the destruction of your home?” I asked.

  “I am not oblivious,” Father Corin said.

  “Then you’re being ignorant.”

  “You would do to watch your tone, young man. What we do here is for something greater than you can ever hope to achieve. If you do not believe, then I will ask you to leave our compound.”

  “He’s just trying to ask what’s going on,” Annalise said. “We’ve had a long day. We didn’t expect to come here only to see that nobody’s concerned about this commune getting overrun.”

  A man carrying a crate stumbled past, pushing the crate alongside the wall. The man didn’t flinch when he heard Annalise speak ofthe Belovores. He walked to the end of the hall and placed the crate alongside another. He pulled open the top, checked its contents, closed it, and then left. The scene stuck in my head while Davion interrupted the turmoil brewing between Father Corin and I.

  “Father, this is Lise. Without her, we would not be here,” Davion said, proffering her as if she was his prize. Annalise blushed and stepped back, carefully missing stepping on my own foot and knocking into Kayt.

  “It is so good to have Davion back,” Father Corin said. It was as if my outburst hadn’t happened. “And for him to have brought four new souls into our flock? I have said the word miraculous before, and I should only say it again.”

  After being asked for a second time, Annalise told Father Corin about our journey. Having lived it, I watched the hall. She spoke about the car, about the darts coming out of the sky and strafing any weapons stores; she displaced facts to make it quicker. She left out a few choice moments: leaving the Belovores to be slaughtered alongside her neighbours; killing the Belovore in the woods; and anything else that would make her look welcome to violence. When she spoke about Lancaster’s death, she made him sound like a hero. Kayt appreciated that much. Annalise finished by discussing our impromptu meal on the engine of her car. The entire time, passers-by ignored us, even though I knew they listened. Men and women – some with more crates, some empty handed – all passed by and registered nothing.