5
According to the proper interpretation that K once learned, the “Book of the Seed” from the Southern Scriptures strictly prohibits sex acts for the sole purpose of carnal pleasure. A papal proclamation declared that the sole purpose of sex is conception, which must be duly regulated. This proclamation simply followed the path of righteousness shown to all by The Holy Igitur himself, who committed himself to a life of celibacy by never marrying. Naturally, the alignment of this principle with interest in controlling the planet’s explosive population growth only served to increase its support among doctrinal scholars. Of course, marriage can legitimate the love between a man and a woman. Even then, such a love must be entirely spiritual in character, permitting only a kiss as an expression of affection.
However, Darko Dachilko advanced ideas in his “On Hedonistic Nature” that run counter to the interpretations of the “Book of the Seed.” He espoused the cause of contraceptive freedom, contending that sex had a dual function: reproduction and carnal pleasure. For example, according to the court documents that Mullin happened to glance over, before his execution he sent a woman a letter—scandalous at the time as sending letters to those of the opposite sex other than one’s spouse was considered immoral—writing the following:
The pleasure of sex is one natural attribute of the human body and should thus not be disdained. Insofar as conception resulting from sexual intercourse is considered the proof of the human body’s natural providence, then the pleasure of sex must also be understood as a sensation that itself belongs to nature. I find no merit in the insistence of many of the Papal Court’s doctrinal scholars that contraception is contrary to natural providence. No, contraception is a sacred act that we undertake in the name of God’s mercy. Inasmuch as this world is a hell of starvation, why would God prefer to see those made in his image and spirit be born in this material world?
Much of this letter is no longer extant, and what parts of it that still remain have been subject to all manner of redactions. But even these remaining fragments shed light on the key facets of his doctrine. As Mullin explains, there’s a clear logic to Darko Dachilko’s thinking. However, an important point of contention was his characterization of the Holy Empire as a hellish world. There was no way the Papal Court could ever abide by such an assertion, thus compelling them to treat his argument as a heretical doctrine.
“We all know the rest of the story—Darko Dachilko was pronounced guilty at the papal inquisition and sentenced to life imprisonment,” Mullin says. “Now where do you all think this prison was located?”
Mullin pauses to survey the room.
“Right here at the Holy Igitur Monastery,” he finally says.
There is no concealing their gasps of surprise. None could deny the truth of Mullin’s words though. The ruins of a brick tower lurk in the northeast corner of the crag. There, the remnants of a prison still linger.
“Do you mean that place?”
“That’s correct,” Mullin says. “Now, all this happened seven hundred years ago, so the details are quite murky, but the torture he endured there was apparently quite brutal.”
The story goes that Darko Dachilko was locked alone in a pitch-black cell, isolated from the rest of world for years upon years. Some believe that the real aim of the Papal Court was to simply let him die of natural causes. Yet somehow he kept living on. Despite the fact that all he received for food was a glass of water and a thin slice of bread daily, he did not lose any weight. Despite the fact that he did not see any sunlight this whole time, the healthy glow of his face and body made it seem like he had been free to bathe in the sunlight anytime he wanted.
Finally, on July 14 in the year 313 of the Sacred Era, the court dragged out Darko Dachilko, chained and manacled, with an iron muzzle over his face. They brought him to the plaza in front of the prison, where countless sentries kept a close watch on his every move. Having vividly displayed his seeming immortality, Darko Dachilko left the leaders of the Papal Court no choice but to concoct a scheme at the very start of the Papal Conference. They called into session a special trial, concluding with the sentencing of Darko Dachilko to death.
The executioner’s block they used to behead him that day still survives within the monastery.
“You know that half-buried rock at the center of the plaza? That’s the one. They say that when the massive axe fell on his neck, a geyser of blood sprayed everywhere while his head flew straight into the air over everyone else.”
Mullin’s next words hush everyone gathered in the lounge that night, until all become silent as a grave. He finally tells them the still unsolved mystery at the heart of his historical account. Darko Dachilko’s head vanished into thin air on the day of his execution.
“That’s what I heard too,” one of his listeners whispers. “My father told me the story. He said that his headless corpse did not die, even after all that.”
“I heard that too!”
Another two or three more confirm that Mullin isn’t just making up a story.
K too recalls hearing similar stories. In his younger days back in his hometown, neighbors would regularly frighten unruly children with stories about Darko Dachilko’s ghost, who might just visit them to suck out all their blood if they didn’t behave.
Mullin has just one more thing to add.
“You should all know that everyone present at the execution found it all very eerie, not the least among them the chief executioner. Quite perturbed by the turn of events, he ordered the headless corpse be dismembered. But within a year’s time, every single one of those gathered at the execution met mysterious deaths.”
“Is that true?” someone asked. “Not a single one survived?”
“Yes. Everyone died.”
“How?”
“Their bodies were found mummified the next day. Not a single drop of blood remained in their bodies. Some sharp object tore through their throats and dug out the carotid artery as if it had been surgically incised. Abandoned next to the corpses was a bloodstained straw.”
An eerie tale indeed.
“We were right! The ghost we’ve been seeing has to be Darko Dachilko,” someone said. “All of our stories add up—the hand and all the other body parts make a complete set.”
“Except none of us has seen Darko Dachilko’s head yet,” Hoffman interjected. “Whatever happened to the head after it disappeared into the air, anyway?”
“That’s where the story ends, Hoffman.”
“So, are you saying that no one alive today knows what Darko Dachilko’s face looks like? I mean, it’s not like there are any statues of him or anything like that around anymore.”
Mullin gives Hoffman a questioning stare.
“Sounds about right. Your point?”
Hoffman shrugs.
“No, no point at all, really. Just curious about what he might have looked like.”
He tries to force a chuckle. But all can see his face go pale.
“If you say so,” Mullin says.
Someone else begins speaking with Mullin, so he turns his attention to the other man.
The night grows late. The dim light of the room’s lamp shudders slightly.
“Uh, Hoffman?” K whispers. “You’ve been acting a little strange. Is something wrong?”
Something is different about Hoffman. He’s not his usual unflappable self. Deep in thought, he does not hear K speaking to him. His fists, resting atop his knees, tremble.
“Hoffman?” K repeats.
“Hoffman?”
It takes a few more tries before Hoffman finally answers.
“What is it, K?”
Mullin must have overheard them. He fixes his eyes on K.
“You haven’t said a word tonight, K,” he says. “If you have something to add to our discussion, then speak up.”
“Ah, well.” Suddenly put on the spot, K finds himself at a loss for words.
“Come on, don’t be shy.”
Finally, K speaks.
“Can you elaborate?” Mullin urges K.
K continues.
“Suppose that Darko Dachilko had in fact figured out the structural secrets of hyperspace. Wouldn’t that make it a simple matter for him to link together the world of the year 313 with our present time? I mean, they do say that Darko Dachilko was some kind of time traveler. That’s why he wouldn’t die, even when they kept him locked up in prison. What if he had the ability to escape prison at will by using his knowledge of the structure of hyperspace?”
“That makes sense. If you’re right, then that would also explain why he had a healthy glow all that time.”
Mullin’s answer pleases K. It’s not every day that the de facto chairman of their gathering agrees with his contribution.
“One other thing—I have to wonder, I don’t know, but there’s a part of me that thinks that these strange occurrences are somehow connected to the disappearance of that Hieronymus Bosch painting, the one called The Garden of Earthly Delights.”
“Wait, didn’t they burn that painting?” an older man says.
At first, the rest of the group nod in agreement, but Mullin shushes them.
“No, K is right. The painting may have been stolen,” he says. “Do you know much about Bosch?”
“Not really,” K answers. “I’m no expert. But my roommate, Abir, once mentioned that theory to me.”
“Oh, him,” Mullin says. “He’s an art professor, right?”
He gives everyone in the room a quick glance. Not finding Abir present, he returns his attention to K.
“So, what did he tell you?”
“He said that all this was written about in the book The Enigmatic Heretics by Bervera or some such. Of course, the book is banned, so most people don’t know anything about it. Apparently, the Papal Library keeps a copy of it though.”
“And Abir has seen it?”
“Yes, that’s what he told me.”
“Okay. I wasn’t aware such a book existed.” Mullin tilts his head back. “So how do you think these two events are connected?”
“As I recall, there was a Second Papal Conference held to discuss the proper interpretation of The Garden of Earthly Delights. I don’t want to get in trouble here, but . . .”
“You have nothing to worry about, K. We’re already discussing the heretic Darko Dachilko, so no one here is free from guilt at this point. So, quit with the hedging, and just tell us, will you?”
“Okay, if you say so. What I heard is that The Garden of Earthly Delights was stolen by the disciples of Darko Dachilko after he died. So the painting that was destroyed in the year 567 was a forgery. The original is still somewhere out there.”
“I see. But wasn’t that painting displayed in the Papal Court’s special gallery? Only the most highly regarded works were kept there, so I imagine the security was rather tight. Stealing it would have been a real challenge.”
“Sure. I mean, all this could just be idle speculation. But what if it’s more than just that? There really is no way to know. I mean, all this happened more than four hundred years ago. But even at the time, rumors were already in the air. One dark night, a junior cleric was doing his rounds in the building when just as he was approaching the painting, a bloody hand suddenly materialized from out of the wall and grabbed hold of the painting, only to disappear into the wall again. The cleric who witnessed it all fainted right there. But once he recovered, he found the painting right back where it should have been.”
“Now that’s an interesting story,” Mullin says as a smile forms on the edges of his lips. “So you’re saying that the Bosch painting was replaced?”
“I think so. Well, Abir thinks so, anyway. This is really his theory.”
“Got it. Abir’s theory. Sounds like he knows quite a bit.”
“He sure does. I mean, the Papal Court summoned him specifically to take this year’s exam. I guess they think Abir has specialized knowledge that will be crucial to solving the mystery of Planet Bosch. That’s what I would think, at least.”
With those words, the bells of the monastery chime. That’s the signal for the scheduled lights-out. Leisure time at the lounge now ends. One by one, the students arise from their seats.
Will Darko Dachilko’s ghost make an appearance tonight? I wonder . . .
If it’s going to show up, now would be the right time.
Everyone in the room makes a show of their unperturbed composure. But now that they all know the stories, they must be filled with fear buried deep in their hearts. It’s no surprise that not a single one of them makes a move to return to their rooms all alone.
6
The passageway is long and dark. With a new moon that night, only the stars cast a pale light over the inner courtyard. A single underground passage serves as the only route between them and their dormitories. All the students maintain a stony silence. Now that they know the truth, their fear of the ghost becomes more palpable. Events from seven hundred years ago chip away at the walls of time to drill directly into the present, with Darko Dachilko freely crossing these barriers back and forth.
How does a man whose body has been dismembered into five separate limbs continue to live? This matter became a point of contention within the Papal Court. Scholars have offered various explanations, each one with its own merits. Many of the specific points of discussion escape K’s understanding, as these theories are premised on a grasp of the fundamental structures of the space–time continuum. Nevertheless, he does understand this much: Darko Dachilko’s flesh has transcended into a hyperspatial plane. His mode of being is no longer anything like their own. Each one of Darko Dachilko’s limbs that K and the others had encountered exists as some kind of temporal mirage. Even though they do not exist in this world, they exist nonetheless, albeit in a different plane, in a different state of being within this world. These are matters of debate under the purview of the discipline of Universal Phenomenology, which ranks among the highest of the Holy Disciplines. Current thinking on this subject posits the existence of four modes of being in the world, with Darko Dachilko existing in the fourth mode.
K catches up with Hoffman at the top of the stairs leading into the underground passage.
“Hoffman,” K calls out. “You seemed quite startled back there. Is everything all right?”
Hoffman does not utter a single word.
“What was up with that exchange with Mullin about Darko Dachilko’s face?”
Finally, Hoffman responds with a heavy voice.
“K, maybe you should stop by my room later.”
Just as I thought. Something is going on here.
No one encounters the ghost that night. Once they make it back to the dormitory, Hoffman invites K into his room, immediately locking the door behind them. After checking the other bedroom to confirm that his roommate is deep in a snoring sleep, he closes its door and offers K a chair.
With a knowing look to K, Hoffman takes out a bottle of tequila from under the table. K declines Hoffman’s invitation, so he takes a swig of the strong drink right from the bottle without saying a word. The drink seems to calm Hoffman’s nerves a bit. After taking one deep breath, he finally speaks but still with hushed tones.
Just as K suspected, Hoffman is a member of one of the secret heretical societies that follow the teachings of Darko Dachilko.
“Please, K, don’t let any of this leave the room,” he pleads.
Hoffman’s secret society is known as “The Flower of Life.” The
ir symbol is a cross with a rounded circle on top, a symbol for eternal life once known as an ankh. It originates from a civilization that emerged in northern Africa during the Twilight Era, whose ruins have since been excavated.
“I’m not studied enough to know all that much just yet,” Hoffman says. “But from what I know, this symbol represented the renewal of all living things. The goddess of resurrection known as Isis and the god of fertility, Osiris, were quite popular among the people at one point during the Twilight Era, with cults forming around their worship.”
Hoffman continues.
“Our group’s doctrinal interpretation of Darko Dachilko’s esoteric teachings draws inspiration from the worship of Isis and Osiris.”
According to Hoffman, echoes of the stories about Darko Dachilko’s miraculous survival in spite of his decapitation and dismemberment are everywhere in the histories and myths of the Twilight Era. All of these stories are new to K, so it’s not surprising that he is so easily drawn into Hoffman’s tale. As Hoffman tells it, Darko Dachilko must have somehow learned the secret of the mystical mechanism of resurrection, just as the likes of Christ, Isis, and Osiris before him did back in the Twilight Era.
K speaks with Hoffman in his room for quite some time. By the time he returns to his own room, the long night is already breaking into dawn. He immediately falls into bed. But so worked up is his mind that he finds himself unable to fall asleep, instead continuing to ruminate over the various stories Hoffman told him.
That must be why Hoffman was so spooked back at the lounge. There’s only one explanation. Hoffman knows what Darko Dachilko’s face looks like. He told K about a portrait he glimpsed once at a secret gathering of the members of the Flower of Life he attended. What if not all of Darko Dachilko’s images were seized and burnt in the wake of his execution? What if his remaining disciples hid a few of them somewhere? One such portrait must have been what Hoffman saw that time.
The Sacred Era: A Novel (Parallel Futures) Page 11