The crossroads came when the old preacher sat Mark down and told him that he had no son of his own to inherit his ministry and needed an heir. The one stipulation was that he marry the preacher’s only daughter, Rebekah, a sullen, rather dull girl who was five years Mark’s senior.
“But I don’t love her,” Mark said. “And I’m sure she doesn’t love me. I don’t even think she likes me.”
“My daughter will do what I command,” the preacher said. “It’s up to you whether or not you want to head our church or not.”
The wedding was a fine affair by the modest standards of the settlement. Mark did his duty as husband, but his impatience mounted as his father-in-law delayed surrendering the reins of church leader.
When the time came for the summer revival tour, the elder preacher sent Mark solo as consolation for his patience. The young man took to the challenge with a passion, drawing crowds and “healing” dozens of people at every stop.
The successes spread through the villages like wildfire. The rare occasions someone recovered from a truly horrible ailment became legend, growing in scope with each retelling. His far more numerous failures were quickly forgotten, blamed on the patient’s lack of faith, or simply explained away as part of God’s plan.
Was Mark’s ability nothing but a powerful placebo effect combined with confirmation bias? Maybe all shamans acted as conduits to the mind’s own healing ability? Or maybe people simply wanted to believe in miracles.
Mark appeared to believe his power divinely ordained, and gained a measure of celebrity in his narrow slice of Potemia.
When a plea arrived in the winter, begging Mark’s help in casting a demon out of a young woman over two hundred miles distant, he left his pregnant wife to follow God’s summons.
“Mother,” Kayla whispered at the sight of the demon-possessed girl no older than she was now. We could be mistaken for sisters.
Elaine Nighthawk’s beauty mirrored the fragility of a moth’s wings. Eyes large and green, auburn hair, and an innocence obvious in every expression and movement of her weakened body. Her first seizure occurred only moments after the young preacher met her. The girl’s mother placed a stick in her mouth to keep her from biting her tongue, while her father tenderly carried her convulsing body to her bed. Demonic possession seemed a logical assumption in a place where superstition ruled.
When the seizure passed, the young faith healer performed a series of grueling exorcisms on the teenage girl. For a week, he hardly slept.
Few people ever visited Elaine for fear of demons migrating into their souls. Her only consolation was the Bible she read over and over to keep her company. This miraculous young healer represented a rare break from her life of isolation. In a barely literate society, each enjoyed discussing the holy words of the Lord with someone who shared their passion.
The admiration of the town for Mark’s bravery enhanced his reputation the longer the battle stretched. Some called him a saint.
The story was an old one: two young people in close contact for days on end—both desperately lonely in their own way. After the first time they made love, Mark cried and begged the Lord’s forgiveness. The second time he justified it as a sacrifice he made to restore her, a way of sharing the power of the spirit that filled him with healing energy.
After each such “treatment,” they prayed on their knees before the cross of the Savior hanging above the bed. Both swore it was the last time—until it happened again.
When word came that his wife was near to giving birth, Mark held Elaine in his arms and cried. Despite their declarations of love, what choice did he have? After praying together one last time, Mark kissed her and left.
With the birth of Elias and his father-in-law’s announcement that he would finally retire, Mark moved on with his life.
Nine months later, a woodcutter reported a demon-possessed woman giving birth in the woods. Mark and several men rushed into the forest as a thunderstorm moved in. The trees swayed like angry guardians as the storm broke. Flashes of lightning rippled across the sky, and one of the men suggested turning back. But Mark’s commanding voice drove them forward, reminding them of God’s protection.
They found the monk kneeling beside the dead woman, her blood mingling with the rivulets of rain. The healer worked to revive the child she’d given birth to—a girl. One of the newborn’s feet bent backward at an unnatural angle, and gruesome scars distorted half her face.
Elaine Nighthawk stared, unseeing, into the face of the man she must have come to for help—the father of her child. Her clothing hung in tatters from shrunken limbs that seemed close to starvation. Had Elaine’s parents put her out because she’d lost her virtue, as was common in such cases, or had she fled before they realized she was pregnant?
Mark stood gazing into the face of Elaine Nighthawk for a long while before closing her eyes and mumbling a prayer. The memories didn’t include his thoughts or emotions. Did he feel sorrow, fear, guilt?
Despite the monk’s efforts, the newborn’s face changed to an icy blue. Many of the farmers turned from the sight with expressions of disgust and fear. Some crossed themselves and mumbled prayers meant to ward off demons.
The monk finally cleared the blockage from the infant’s throat, and the child announced her entry into the world with a scream foreshadowing all the suffering in store for her and those she cared for.
Minister Coglin raised his powerful voice to the storm as if asserting his supremacy. “This child is marked by Satan and must be left to die at the hands of nature and God!” Murmurs of assent greeted this pronouncement. Such was the custom for all children born with defects.
Kayla’s heart convulsed at the words of her own father. He wanted me dead from the first moment of my life. And yet, had he been wrong? How many would be alive now if she’d been left to die? The monk, Fatima, the Monads, and how many more in the future?
The monk wrapped the child in a blanket against the freezing rain and stood with her cradled in his arms. “I will raise the child as my own and call her Kayla, after my own mother.”
“The child is malformed,” the minister said. “It is God’s will.”
The monk pointed at one of the farmers. “Was it God’s will that your son die from his illness when I saved him, Jonas? Or that your wife die when the cow kicked her in the stomach, Ezekiel?”
“If God had wanted this child to live,” Mark said, “he would have sent a sign in the form of an angel.”
“How do you know he hasn’t sent me?” The monk turned and walked away. The eyes of the farmers sought guidance from their young minster, but he remained silent as the monk vanished into the forest.
In the days following the dramatic birth of his secret daughter, the identity of the pregnant girl remained a mystery. They buried the body in the forest where it had fallen, and none in the village spoke of it to outsiders, least they invite retribution from the dead girl’s tribe.
Kayla watched herself grow year by year through her father’s eyes. Seeing her in the pew next to the monk every Sunday must have served as a constant reminder of his sin—her malformed body testament to her profane conception.
And then she saw her own execution and resurrection through his eyes.
When Kayla had seen enough, she removed her hand from her father’s forehead and released his body from paralysis. He slumped to the ground and gasped. “I loved her,” he said through tears. “Why did she come to me so late? I could have saved her!”
Her father devolved into a fetal position, crying softly.
Half my genes come from him. What other outlet but religion did a man of intelligence have in a society like Potemia? Had he been born in another place or time, he might have been a scientist or a doctor. His brief lapse with Elaine Nighthawk grew out of his sincere desire to help her and probably his own loneliness.
As satisfying as pure hate had been, the truth diluted her desire for revenge.
But there is one more candidate for my wrath.
Kayla stood and turned to Elias. “I told you I would return.”
Elias regained control of his limbs and fell to his knees. He raised his one hand in supplication. “I have changed,” he said. “Truly, I am no longer the same person.”
Kayla strode toward him. “So you acted morally out of fear of me?”
“At first, yes.” Elias paused, his eyes troubled. “After a while it seemed you’d left for good. Everyone said no one could return through the Wall.”
Even on his knees, Elias was nearly as tall as her. Why had she not killed him long ago? How many others had suffered because of her misplaced mercy? “So you resumed your evil ways once the fear vanished?”
Elias shook his head slowly. “By the time the fear left me, I’d learned that helping others felt good. I used to gain respect out of fear.” Elias looked at her with such wonder transforming his face that he hardly resembled his old self. “But people respected me far more when I responded with kindness, generosity, and love. For the first time in my life, I respected myself.”
He will say anything to avoid my wrath.
Kayla pressed her hand against his forehead, and he jolted slightly. She experienced the agony of his arm’s amputation, the joy of his marriage to Hannah, and the birth of his first child. He gradually transformed into a kind, loving, and moral man. Even when no one saw, even when it cost him personally, he went out of his way to help others.
She removed her hand from his forehead and gazed at him. How was it possible?
Elias lowered his head. “Can you ever forgive me, Kayla?”
How much simpler to hate.
The remnants of her glowing symbols faded, and her shoulders slumped. “I forgive you,” she said.
Kayla turned and left her father’s temple of fear.
I’ve found my answers. And now …?
Outside the protection of the Wall was nothing but desolation, with drones and fission bombs ready to hunt her down. Returning to Middilgard was also out of the question.
Kayla examined the data flowing into her brain from the nanobots expanding across Potemia. By comparing their images to satellite records in Ixtalia’s archives, it became clear that vast portions of farmland had transformed to desert.
During the four hundred thirty-eight years of its existence, Potemia had lost forty percent of its arable land. No wonder Ishan’s village suffered starvation and warfare.
Potemia wasn’t as self-contained an island as everyone assumed. Without the Wall and its encircling dome of protection, everything would have died long ago from solar radiation and drought. But the Earth’s symbiotic system rendered complete segregation from all effects of the outside devastation impossible.
Even oxygen levels lagged by fifteen percent due to the global loss of plants and microscopic sea organisms. Potemia was slowly dying, and the prospects for Homo sapiens was bleak.
Staying here seemed the only way of avoiding the coming war between human and Rogue. Once they annihilated each other, what then? Was she to wander Potemia until its soil turned to sand and the last of its people died of starvation?
A little girl peeked around the trunk of a distant tree.
Could she really abandon them all to eventual extinction? It would mean the annihilation of the human race. But what other choice did she have?
The little girl’s mother ran up to her and dragged her away. She knew them both.
I could become the ruler of Potemia. A benevolent goddess leading humanity to renewal.
With the powers at her command she could end warfare, hunger, suffering, ignorance. She could introduce books on science, mathematics, engineering, and history.
I could save the human race itself.
But what if no one wanted to follow her? Am I willing to force enlightenment on them against their will? Imprison people who refuse? Hunt those who fought back the way her own ancestor Peter had? Will I employ mind scans to root out the rebels like General Colrev did? Was it right to take away an entire society’s free will, even for their own protection?
And for what ultimate goal?
Every advance in technology would lead to an increase in population, which would necessitate an increase in technology. Where did it end? Was she to stop progress just short of the evolution of AIs? But without AIs, how could she solve the larger problem of restoring the global environment? That would require inventions only a second Eve could create.
And then what? Another war between humans and AIs? Which side would she fight for then? Wouldn’t she have simply recreated the conflict she fled now?
The booming crack came into her mind via the nanobots she’d stationed at the Wall.
Puck sensed something as well. His head emerged from her pocket, and he squeaked frantically.
Through her surrogate eyes, Kayla watched the metallic surface of Potemia’s timeless sentinel transform into a crystalline substance. The faint outlines of the desolate city ghosted through it.
Kayla’s hand went to the string around her neck where the crystal had hung. Could this somehow be connected?
A second boom rent the air, and a fissure opened in the Wall’s corrupted surface. Then the crystallized sentinel toppled to the ground with a crash that sent debris high into the air. One by one, other sections crumbled like a giant line of dominoes.
The sun’s rays doubled in intensity as the protective barrier shielding Potemia vanished.
Puck scurried to the ground and located a hole. The little mouse paused and chattered what sounded like a warning before vanishing underground.
The spheres came from all directions across and above the continent in mimicry of the absent dome. They flew at a speed magnitudes greater than her nanos could match. The first flash happened simultaneously, extending in an arc high into the stratosphere. Then the second row of fission bombs detonated closer in a tightening half-circle of annihilating energy.
With both her and all of Potemia dead, Colrev would be denied his biological backup if he destroyed the Master Computer. Did Melchi think this would force Colrev to terms?
Through the eyes of her nanos, Kayla located Ishan and his wife sleeping in their bed beside Ania. A burst of light flooded the windows, and her love awoke. He grabbed his bow, knocked an arrow, and ran to the door. Sakinah shielded her daughter with her body.
Ishan flung open the door and pulled the arrow back. The flesh burned from his skeleton in a tenth of a second. Then the nanobots vanished as well.
“Ishan!” Kayla screamed. She crumbled to the ground and her chest heaved. The wall of flame moved toward her from all sides like a collapsing bubble. What did anything matter any longer? Her love was dead.
This must be how Tem felt when Fatima died.
The waves of energy hit the church, and it vanished like tissue paper in a furnace. Her nanos constructed a sphere of carbon around her, but it disintegrated as the energy vaporized it and the microscopic builders.
Kayla’s clothing burst into flame, followed by her body. The skin of her face melted until patches of bone poked through and ignited. Her eyes bulged from their sockets, and instinct finally took over. Kayla launched her disintegrating body toward the village well, the words of her father flashing through her mind. He will strike you down in divine retribution should you enter His house!
Pain erupted in every nerve.
As she neared the lip of the well, a woman veiled in white appeared in the distance. The energy from the fission bombs streamed around her like beams of sunlight. The vision vanished with the explosion of her eyeballs.
Blind, in agony, and shorn of her microscopic servants, Kayla plunged into the well like a falling torch.
Too late.
Vadarsha’s prophecy had finally come to pass.
Chapter 37
Ohg sat motionless in his laboratory, staring blankly into space, when the government alarm arrived through his Mind-Link. He entered Ixtalia immediately.
A vast gathering of every human not buried in V-Dreams
stretched horizon to horizon—approximately thirty billion people in total. There were no frills, just a flat landscape and blank sky devoid of depth or perspective—as blank as a burned-out computer screen. The sterile air lacked even the hint of a scent as the government marshaled every spare bit of processing power.
Tem and Ganesh appeared beside him.
“The war begins,” Tem said with a note of iron rimming his voice.
Ohg sighed. “I suppose it was inevitable.”
Ganesh wrung all four of his hands. “I can’t contact Kayla.”
“If she passed through the Wall, her communication may be cut off.”
The face of the World President loomed in the sky like a vision of the Almighty. His jolly cheeks sagged, and dark circles rimmed bloodshot eyes. “Moments ago, government satellites recorded the detonation of ten thousand high-yield fission bombs across the entire continent of Potemia. There were no survivors.”
Murmurs spread through the crowd like a churning engine.
Ganesh covered his eyes and sobbed. Ohg exchanged a grim look with Tem.
“Records indicate that these bombs were decommissioned several hundred years ago. How the Rogues stole and hid them is unknown.” The president swept the gathering with his gaze. “One thing is clear—the war we’ve so long dreaded has begun.”
Panic spread through the crowd like a breaking wave.
A man next to Ohg looked around in panic. “Why can’t I get back to my personal VR?”
“The government has seized all spare computing resources to fight this battle,” Ohg said.
“We must pray to the goddess Nihala for redemption!” shouted Sky Stargazer. Her voice rose about the crowd as a result of her vast processing wealth. Most fell to their knees and began reciting The Prayer to the Goddess in unison. Even the president bowed his head and solemnly spoke the words along with them.
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