With a sigh, the major bishop took Arthur’s hand. “Listen to me, boy. I told you this will hurt, but I will be there when you wake up. I promise everything will be well, and if you remain calm and let the reverend here do his job, you are about to receive the holiest of communions. The blood of Christ will flow like a river inside you. Now hold on to my hand, and I will see if your parents will take your call when it’s over. Do we understand each other?”
Arthur nodded, not having a choice, grateful to have someone with him while hating the pale man who had stolen him from his life. Then, with the touch of a button at the base of the container, the viscous liquid came to life, rising like a serpent mesmerized by a snake charmer’s song. He screamed as the blue liquid snapped forward, tearing open a hole in his belly before plunging like a hungry predator after his innards. Arthur screamed then, wailed until every drop of air in his lungs was gone from his small body, screamed until his voice fled, the major bishop’s skeletal hand in his was the last thing he felt before the world went dark.
Chapter 3: New York — Bright Lights, Big City
Project Divinity Interview — Subject: Rowen Macdonald
“Not too many girls in the service these days,” said the oversized captain, scraping away beneath his fingernails with a paperclip, not bothering to look at her. “Most of ’em with any sense stay home, do their duty and raise little ones, take care of their husband, just as the Lord intended.”
Rowen gritted her teeth, desperately fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the sad excuse for a soldier lounging in front of her.
“My momma did that, bless her heart, raised six of us, raised us right too!” he said proudly, puffing out his chest, pounding a meaty paw on his desk. “Pushed us out, made sure we were fed and clothed, and despite it all she knew her place.”
Clearly she overfed you, Rowen thought, frowning in disgust at the captain’s massive gut and swinging jowls. His hands were smooth and soft, clearly not having touched a weapon past basic.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm, locking her hands behind her back to prevent her from leaping over the desk and pounding his fat face. This bloated pig of an officer was meant to evaluate her potential for entering the program. After what they had been through, it was important, so she would, for once in her life, control her anger and not kill a man who clearly deserved it. “Well, sir, we all serve this nation with the gifts God gave us. I am a soldier, sir, a damn good one. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do with my life. I just want to serve my country.”
“I can’t argue with that to look at you,” he said, finally looking up at her. “What the hell did you do to your face, girl? Shit, lookin’ like that you’re better off fighting than fucking, right! Any man who would have to wake up to that, well...at least you won’t be getting married anytime soon, right?”
Rowen unconsciously raised a hand to her face, only to catch herself in time to shove them again behind her back. She knew what she looked like, her face a mess of scars over dark freckled skin, framed by a wild nest of red hair that she constantly fought with, forced into a ponytail. Her nose was wide and flat with lips too thick for anyone’s liking. Her green eyes flashed with fury as she stared down the captain who leaned back with a smug smile on his face, watching to see if his words had struck a blow. Seeing she didn’t take the bait, he cocked his head and sat up in his chair, which screamed against his bulk. “Alright, enough pussyfooting around, let’s get to it. I ain’t got all day to mess around here.”
“First off, how the hell does a fifteen-year-old get into the United States Army, and why the hell do you think you deserve to be part of our little operation here?”
“Cardinal Washington, sir, but it’s all in the file in front of you,” she began nervously.
“Washington’s a real cocksucker, ain’t he, but everything in there seems to be mostly horseshit to me,” he said, pushing the file away from him dismissively. “There’s no way any of what I read on the shitter this morning is true. I almost wiped my ass with it. I want to hear it from you—all of it—so let’s get to it.”
Steeling herself with a deep sigh, Rowen began her story.
August 2073
The day was too beautiful, the clear blue skies with only the occasional puffy white cloud feeling like an insult. The sweet smell of magnolias drifting on the summer breeze, her mother’s favorite, only upset her. Rain would have been better to hide her tears; God should at least have the courtesy to cry with her. She was comforted that she wasn’t alone. There was a deluge of tears from the gathering, waves of pain mixed with tears falling from red-rimmed eyes. Her mother had been loved. The funeral was an unusual sight. Her entire family was here, a strange mix of pale-skinned southerners and dark-skinned northerners: their differences, real or imagined, cast aside in their moment of grief.
The sobbing at her side shocked her the most. For her entire life he had been an unbreakable titan, but today her father wept like a broken man as they lowered the coffin, his formal navy blues soaked with sweat from the heat of the day, shuddering bodily with each ragged breath.
There was a sudden gasp from the onlookers as the titan fell to his knees, deep voice hoarse as he begged them to stop lowering the casket. The flag handed to him only moments ago spilling red white and blue on the green grass. Somber faces transformed into masks of horror and wide-eyed shock when he pried open the lid, revealing her mother’s beautiful features. The bio-suspension field and the mortician had worked their magic: her pale cheeks still had a touch of blush, her blazing red hair looked like it had just been styled, and she looked almost alive, sleeping perhaps, not two weeks gone from their lives. Her father kneeled at her side, tears streaming down his face, and kissed her mother gently before her brother, unable to bear any more, forced him roughly to his feet, whispering harsh words in his ear. She shared a look of disappointment with her brother. Her father had promised. He had failed, failed them all, and she couldn’t help in the moment but hate him for it.
Afterward she stood in line beside him, arm in arm, numb, trying to lend some comfort, failing miserably. Jonah, her brother, refused to stand with them, instead staring blankly at the jagged hole in the earth where his mother now lay. From the back he was built like their father, with narrow hips and broad shoulders, but his face was more like hers, with brilliant green eyes and angular features that made him look older than his eighteen years. People, friends, family often said he was the best version of her parents, inheriting all that was good from them, and she knew the same couldn’t be said for herself.
She spoke softly, thanking everyone as they passed along their condolences, tears still bright in many eyes. She was envious of them; they could go back to their normal day-to-day lives intact. Her mother was a respected officer who had spent her life in service to her country. She was too young, too brave for her own good, they said. Ever since she could remember, Rowen had wanted to be like her, like her father, standing up for those who couldn’t. She was still too young, but she—
A harsh voice, whispering too loudly, brought her back to reality. Rowen looked up to see a thick-waisted woman wagging a sausage-like finger in her father’s face. “Joshua, you should be ashamed of yourself, behavin’ the fool in front of people, embarrassing your wife like that in her final moments. That woman was too good for you!”
Her father let out a deep sigh, giving the woman a polite smile. “Rowen, this is my Auntie Glenda. I stayed at her place often growing up in Queens,” he said by way of introduction, clearly wanting to change the subject.
Glenda twisted her lips before looking to Rowen and giving her a simpering smile. “Pleasure to meet you, girl. Your father was always such an emotional boy, always carrying on about something. I tried to toughen him up when he was a child, but it looks like he didn’t learn his lessons well enough.” Although she had never met the woman, Rowen could see she meant to insult, throwing salt on an open wound, trying to build herself up while tearing him d
own.
“You’re right, my dad has a big heart,” she said, fighting the impulse to slap her wagging finger out of the air. “I guess that’s what makes him such a good soldier, why the men in his unit look up to him so much, trust him with their lives,” said Rowen.
The big woman frowned, not liking what she heard. Her father had told her that his side of the family disliked showing emotion, that a black man should be strong, not soft like white folks. They never liked him marrying her mother and liked the idea of his mixed children even less, but they had grown to love her with time, and mourned her loss harder than most.
Rowen was about to thank her and move along when a young woman attired in a tight-fitting dress squeezed in beside her. She was mesmerizing, with ebony skin and full pink lips that had the slightest sheen of lip gloss. Just looking at her full breasts made Rowen cross her arms, desperate to conceal her own shortcomings.
“Oh, hi, cuz. So sorry for your loss,” she said, trying to look somber and failing. She was too pretty to look sad. Rowen was taken aback. The woman in front of her was her cousin May, a girl barely older than her. It wasn’t that long ago that they were playing at being princesses or damsels in distress in the woods behind her house, stuffing their shirts with socks and pretending to be grown. When May gave her a warm smile and big hug, pressing breasts that were definitely not socks against her, Rowen couldn’t have felt more like a child, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes in self-pity.
May held her close a few seconds before pulling away, giving her a few empty promises about seeing each other later this summer if she could find the time, as she had a boyfriend now and might be spending the holidays with his family in Upstate New York instead of her usual summer visit to Colorado.
Later, sitting across from her father and brother in the back of the limo, she couldn’t help but cross her arms, stealthily feeling her chest. It had been two months since she had started feeling the soreness. Her mother had told her it was a sign she was beginning to mature, and breasts would soon follow the tenderness. She had been so excited she could hardly contain herself, waking every morning and staring in the mirror looking for any sign, every day being disappointed that nothing had changed. Seeing her frustration, her mother had promised they would shop for a training bra, but that would never happen now.
“Daddy, I want a bra,” she blurted out, breaking the grim silence in the car. Her father’s eyes went suddenly wide before a line appeared in the center of his forehead. Not wanting him to say no, Rowen pressed on, “Mom promised me we would go bra shopping, but she’s gone, so you’re going to have to take me now.”
Her father blinked, looking like he had swallowed his tongue. “What?”
Her brother sitting beside him snorted. “You need boobs to have a bra, sis”
Rowen gritted her teeth, leaning forward and ignoring him. “I’m serious—they’re growing; I need a bra. Tomorrow is my birthday. Can we go shopping?”
Her father ran a hand along his jaw before nodding noncommittally. “I promised my sister we would have lunch in midtown tomorrow, near Times Square. I’m sure we can find you something, ok sweetie?”
She grunted, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin. Maybe wearing a bra would encourage them to grow. She was tired of looking like a little girl, and hopefully this would be a step in the right direction.
***
Times Square, New York City. The greatest place on earth, with dazzling lights and Broadway shows and musicals; her father thought it was the capital of the world. Rowen hated it! To her the entire city smelled like piss, so much so she could almost taste it on her tongue. The city was a stifling furnace without a hint of a breeze, and the August humidity made the mop of curls she called hair wilder than normal. The people were pushy and rude with an entitled air of self-importance that made her feel like a small-town hick at every turn.
All of it worked to make her feel like a frumpy little troll, constantly sweating, drenched to the bone as if she had just climbed out of the East River. She wanted nothing more than to go home to Colorado to where the weather was at least tolerable and forget the last few days. But her father insisted that they stay, wanting to show them where he grew up, and chattered on constantly about this or that. Looking at his red-rimmed eyes, Rowen could see he was trying to distract himself, avoid the pain of going home. Nothing he showed her seemed any different from any other big city, and she couldn’t understand what he saw in this place. It was like living in a giant commercial, every inch of the Square—and the city, for that matter—covered in every sort of billboard or holo-advertisement, all promising you the world. Trying to make you believe life would be perfect if you just bought whatever crap they were selling.
After buying her bra, which had taken all of five minutes, Rowen was ready to leave behind the smell of pee when her father reminded her they were also here to see his sister. “Rowen, come meet your aunt, my sister Vanessa.”
Rowen looked over to see a tall dark-skinned woman with a smoothly shaved head. “Oh my, Rowen, I haven’t seen you since you were a baby; look at all that hair, just stunning,” she said with a brilliant smile. Her aunt made Rowen immediately jealous. With her dark flawless skin and high cheekbones, the family resemblance with her father was astounding, only where he was square and angular, she was smooth and round, simple and elegant all at once, and looking fresh despite the heat.
Rowen gave the woman a brief hug and endured her flattery with half smiles and hidden smirks before fading to the background, wanting to be forgotten as her aunt and father chatted about nothing. Bored and wanting to distract herself, she gawked at the vast array of costumed characters wandering around the Square taking holos with tourists for cash. There were popular characters from every TV show she could think of, superheroes of all kinds—even the old Disney mouse that no one but her grandparents remembered was in attendance. Not too far away she saw Batman taking a picture with Elmo and a small family of five beside them. Superman and Iron Man were flexing with the Hulk and an old retired couple. Finding the whole situation ridiculous, Rowen discreetly pulled out her smart device, wanting to capture the moment, when the damn thing just flickered and died on her.
“Hey, is your phone working? My battery’s dead,” she said, turning to her brother who looked as though his head was on a swivel, his eyes bulging at every woman that passed.
“What, no, I don’t know; Verizon again. You’d think in the center of the world things would work,” he said, smiling at a tall blond breezing by him, his tongue almost hanging from his mouth.
“You’re just gross; keep it in your pants,” she said, shaking her head. Jonah had turned eighteen a few months ago and was just a raging bag of hormones, as their mother had called him.
“Hey, you haven’t hit puberty yet, so you wouldn’t understand,” he said, waving her off and blowing out his cheeks at a passing brunette this time. He was five years older than her and wouldn’t let her forget it most days, especially now. He had just qualified for the Special Forces Assessment and Selection course, the first step in becoming a Green Beret and following in their parents’ footsteps, and although she would never admit it, she was proud of him. It was a tradition in their family, and they both wanted to do some good in the world.
“Hey, Rowen, check this out. It’s pretty cool,” said her aunt, waving her over. Both she and her father stood beside a scaled-down version of the Statue of Liberty, childish grins plastered on both their faces. Rowen felt her jaw drop as she walked over. The hologram was so flawless she could see the pages of its book ruffle with the wind, perfect even down to the flowing dress and billowing torch held in hand.
“You know your great-great-grandparents came through Ellis Island in the roaring ’20s before settling in Brooklyn. Lady Liberty has always been good to our family,” said her aunt.
“Yeah, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. Her father had told her the story one too many times of how his great-grandparents had come to America from
Jamaica, like so many, wanting a better life. Starting their own business not long after their arrival, introducing New York to spice buns, coconut drops, and all manner of Caribbean treats, they quickly became part of the fabric of the neighborhood. Their son, her great-grandfather, had joined the military during the Second World War, making the ultimate sacrifice for the country that had given his family so much, and starting the tradition of service that she and her brother would one day continue.
“Can we get a picture?” she asked softly to the hologram, who nodded quickly. Tossing her phone into the air, they lined up on either side of the statue for a group shot. “Hey, Siri, take a couple of shots of us, please.” The phone hung in the air momentarily as its micro-propeller system and actuator adjusted to position itself properly, then gave a small chime confirming that it was ready to shoot. Her father put his arm around her with Jonah and her aunt on the other side. “Alright, everybody, say ‘New York City!’” The phone began to snap away, its powerful flash blinding her momentarily.
Just as the last picture was being taken, the hologram began to flicker, alternating between the graceful image the Statue of Liberty and an older woman with graying hair and tired eyes. She wore a sweat-stained T-shirt and faded blue jeans with a battered pair of shoes that had seen better days. She seemed momentarily stunned as she realized that the hologram had vanished, leaving her true appearance in place, blinking about in confusion, not sure what had happened. She began fumbling with the holo-projector on her belt. “I’m so sorry, so sorry; this never happens,” she said with a raspy voice that had smoked one too many cigarettes.
“Don’t worry about it. It happens,” said her father. “Thanks for the pic,” he said, stuffing some money into her hand and giving a kind smile. Just as the old lady was about to wander off, she grabbed his hand.
Ascension: Children of The Spear: Book one Page 4