Dark Age (2 page)

Chapter 2

S
un struck my
eyes through the curtain, jolting me out of bed. It was late – almost too late. The light was blinding yet illuminating, wiping away the remnants of my dreams, and showing me the grey reality of my barren room. Quickly, I washed myself with a bucket of water that stood ready on my nightstand. To my good fortune, everything lay prepared on the empty bed above mine: A fresh white shirt, dark pants with a belt, and a green vest with a matching beret. The buckle of my belt was shaped as an anvil. No matter how much carpentry work I did for Katrina’s father, I was a blacksmith by birth.

I glanced into the old rectangular mirror in the corner of my room. A disgusted grimace crossed my face. I looked more like a snobby merchant child than a blacksmith. It was the finest set of clothes we owned. I recalled mocking Elias, Benet, and Colin, my older brothers, when they wore this same outfit to their celebrations. Now it was my turn.

Before I left my room, I remembered the eagle. I put on the necklace Katrina gave me, and with it, a smile returned onto my lips.

My parents sat in the kitchen, picking at a loaf of bread. They talked in hushed voices, drowned out by a pot of boiling water. The second they saw me, they got up onto their feet. My mother’s eyes fixated on me for several moments. A smile crossed her lips, but silent tears ran down her face.

“Look at you,” she said. “My darling boy, all grown up. I hardly recognize you. You look just like your father did, a long time ago.” She put her arm around his side. “He was quite a looker back then.”

“Let’s not get nostalgic,” Father said, interjecting.

She ignored him. “I remember him standing in the square surrounded by all those boys. But he was a man – a head taller than all the rest, and composed like he knew it was his time.” She smiled at him, then at me. “And now it’s your turn. It’s going to be a big year for you.”

A quick one, anyway, I thought.

“Are you ready?” my father asked. He towered over me, a huge man carved from brawn and sinew. His full beard and iron expression made him difficult to read. Most people felt uneasy around him, as if a mountain were going to crash down on them.

I nodded. “I’ll make it through. Unseen is unscathed, right?”

He chuckled softly. “Unseen, huh? Sounds like something the old carpenter would say. Us blacksmith’s don’t hide. We fight.” He pressed his finger into my chest, “You may be doing his work… and daughter, but you are a blacksmith, forged in fire. Remember that son. Now go get them.”

I pushed my shoulders back and repeated our motto, “Forged in fire.” With a satisfied nod, he let me go, and I was off to my ceremony.

The streets were busy with traffic heading in the same direction. Generally the people moved quietly along their paths, like cattle, going from station to station, but today was different. Today bright smiles, light skips within their steps, and eased composures marked all citizens; except the veterans, who knew what lay ahead of those
lucky
boys turning seventeen. The first would greet me with excitement while the latter only gave me solemn nods.

For most it was a time to rejoice. These celebrations were a tradition as old as the city itself and occurred only once every full moon. It was a rite of passage into adulthood, ridden by political and religious agendas, yet fancied up as a populist spectacle. No one was allowed to work on celebration days, making it the only day in the month where the entire city would come together and almost unite on the square. It was something unique, because we did not often mingle with the others. We were too different to mix as you could tell a man’s origin by his looks, clothing, walk, and sometimes even smell.

The city split into three main districts. To the West lay the temple district, perfectly manicured and tranquil, ruled by the priests. While spacious, it was dominated by the monumental cathedral, whose spire rose as high as the heavens. The beautiful gothic monastery and convent stood apart from each other, deeper in the district. A lush garden, the only one in the entire city, was in between, only accessible to those of religious rank. At its southern edge was the Inquisitor’s mansion, a colossal structure taking up the entire length of the square, and reaching far behind, all the way into the mountains to which it was connected. When he stood at his balcony, the Inquisitor could survey the entire square… but even when he wasn’t there, his presence loomed.

My family lived in the Works, the northern district, which made up the vast majority of the city’s population. But even in the Works we had a class system, differentiating another as craftsman and industrials, which sometimes were considered districts in their own. While we craftsmen had decent houses close to the square, the industrials lived in the outskirts of town. Be it as a result or by design, the living conditions fell as the distance to the city center rose. Those in the far end of the northern district lived in ramshackle huts, children appearing like rats in corners and darkened holes, parents hoping to hold on long enough to get another pair of hands on the production line. More hands meant more wages, meant more food. God be praised, even the worst of us had hope.

It only took me a few minutes to get to the square as we lived in the better part of the Works. Usually I could hear the ringing sound of iron on steel several blocks down, like a ticking clock reminding me of home. I had the urge to slip away right now, sick of all the false attention, but with everyone’s eyes glued to me, there was nowhere to go. Instead I merged into the sea of humanity pouring towards the square.

The square itself was the heart of the city, literally and otherwise. It connected all the districts, forming the city’s single thoroughfare. In the square the residents of each district would congregate, interact, and almost unite. On regular days, the square served as a place for markets and public addresses. At this time it would already be bustling. Merchants operated their stalls, while countless workers spent their breaks to look around and meet friends. Various artists used the crowds to earn a few extra coins, thereby creating the entertainment that made it such a lively place.

Today, its vast space was decorated with flags and banners, giving a sparkle of color to the grey expanse. With only a few stands operating in the back, thousands formed a seemingly impenetrable crowd. A thin path was kept clear by a group of city guards in full armor.

Almost naturally, the districts segregated. At the very front sat the leaders of the Temple District. Priests, monks, and the Mother Superior sat comfortably on hand-carved benches, while everyone else stood. God bless the other nuns, who were never even allowed to see the daylight beyond their convent and gardens. Only the helplessly poor and lost souls of the city chose such a life to escape their misery. Female criminals were often offered to join the convent over execution. Some found the latter to be the lesser evil.

Behind the Temple District’s rows stood the families of the Works, with the properly dressed craftsmen in the front and the rather unwashed industrials in the back. We craftsmen were well off compared to those unlucky many, making it to adulthood while they often died young. But even we were poor compared to the merchants.

The Merchant district was conspicuously different from the rest of the city. It sat secluded behind its own gated walls. Besides residents, only invited guests and priests were allowed inside the district walls. Their families were small with two children at most, just enough to bring forth one male heir. Those children left the district sparingly, preferring the rarified company of their peers. I made sure to spit in their general direction whenever our paths would cross.

There was a saying amongst the craftsmen: the gold flows uphill. I stared up the hill to my left, watching the main boulevard rise away from the square. At its far end, glorious mansions towered above their neighbors.

If the Inquisitor was the voice of God, the merchants were God’s dirty fingers. They paid the Inquisition well, and in turn owned most of the Works. While they provided protection and materials to the craftsmen in their employ, the proceeds from the exchange left us barely holding on. Still, as much as I’d have liked to, it’s hard to bite the hand that feeds you.

Off to my left, atop their wall they stood now, gazing down as I approached the front of the square. Stares from all sides pierced through me. Some saw Adam. Some saw the blacksmith’s boy. Some saw a dead boy.

“My blessings to you, son.” An old priest pulled me by the sleeve as I passed him. “You are the only Celebratorio this moon! I have never witnessed such a thing in my long life.”

“What do you mean, father,” I asked the high temple-man.

With a tranquil nod he pointed towards a single, high-backed wooden throne that stood by itself between the people and the Inquisitor’s mansion. It was blackened by age, but hints of the inlaid gold still glinted in the sunlight. Typically, there were a score of thrones set up in the expanse. Sometimes as few as half a dozen. But not today. Today there was only one, and it was for me. Every eye in the entire city would be on me.

“The plague,” another said. “I remember countless mothers and newborn children dying many years ago around this time of year. You must have been the only one that made it.”

It was odd news to congratulate someone for, I thought, but thanked them for their attention. I stepped towards the throne and let my fingers run over the century old mahogany. Following tradition it was placed in the very front with no one in between the Inquisitor and the boys. No one was there to hide behind. Growing increasingly nervous under the notion of being the only Celebratorio, and with that, the center of attention, I immediately sat down.

I tilted my head slightly and enjoyed an unhindered view onto the Inquisitor’s grand balcony. Impressive ornaments of pure gold decorated both corners. I had seen them so many times before, but now they meant something. Today they were dedicated to me.

While the crowd was busy chattering, the Inquisitor’s council quietly came through a side door and took seat on the right of the balcony. The Inquisitor’s ward, a girl of maybe sixteen, followed closely and took a seat on the left. Blankly, she stared off into the distance, bored and bothered at once.

When they were all settled, the trumpets sounded. The crowd quit their talk and applauded on cue. Upon this signal, the Inquisitor’s herald knocked on the marble ground thrice with a big wooden stick. With a booming voice he exclaimed, “Citizens! The Inquisitor!” Upon his name, the crowd turned their applause into a roar. It had begun.

The red curtains behind the balcony flushed to the sides. With arms spread as if embracing us all, the Inquisitor stepped onto the balcony towards the banister. His burgundy robe dragged over the smooth marble surface, while his slow steps rang in beat with the noise of the crowd. His face looked determined, stern almost, radiating both terror and power. But those were mostly the same.

For how long could he hold this power? I wondered. The golden miter covered his grey locks, while the holy scepter in his hand only distracted from his bony fingers. I was not the only one whose clock had started ticking.

The swelling elation was soaked into silence the second he lifted his pale left hand. A collective hush fell over the crowd, with none of the multitude daring to breathe. I sunk deeper into the throne in anticipation. He looked at me sitting there for a moment’s length. One could hear the drop of a pin. In a calculated pace, he lifted his face to address the crowd, “Greetings children of God! It is my pleasure once again to rejoice with you all, and to celebrate what this city stands for - faith, duty, and honor. To celebrate the young men who serve their God, their city, and every single one of you outside these gates. Only the strongest spirits, the firmest believers, withstand the pains and evils that linger in the outside world. Their valor and strength fend off all the demons that haunt our city.” The crowd went into ecstasy with shouts of approval until the Inquisitor once again raised his hand, and this time pointed towards me, “You, son, were blessed to be born of the valiant kind, to protect everything that is dear to our hearts. God has chosen you to be this moon’s only Celebratorio, a rare occasion that speaks in lengths about God’s faith in you. Like all men, you will start your journey one year from this day. Ages ago, even I served the Grey Guard. The Guard is more than just duty. It is opportunity. It is honor. It is everything we stand for. And you, son, are fortunate to receive this blessing.”