Dark Age (4 page)

I could sense his body tense. He wanted me to let the topic rest, but I kept trying to have the last word. His eyes glistened, “You can call foolery virtuous all you want. You should have learned from your history books that the ignorant man lives longer than those that see something where there is nothing. The men history declares heroes are merely heroes because they failed to survive their benevolent acts.”

“The only question that remains then is, what do we live for? Do we just live to survive? We hide like animals inside city walls. If benevolent acts are not worth dying for, then what separates us from the cattle that make this stew?” I responded consumed by passion.

“We live. The cattle don’t,” were the final words on the topic by the Inquisitor.

The room had heated up by at least a few degrees. The servants had stayed away, scared to fall victim to the Inquisitor’s anger. All the while Cecilia had followed the back and forth carefully, observing me intensely, “You have an interesting mind. I like the way you think Adam,” she said. Biting on her finger, thinking, she turned to the Inquisitor, “Uncle, may Adam come to join my classes some time?”

He shot her a bitter look, clearly disapproving of her request. After a moment he succumbed to her pleading face, “Only if your teachers agree.”

Once again our conversation faded. The servants presented the last and final dish of the evening. It was called sorbet, a food I had never seen or tasted before. I took a spoonful of the fluffy substance into my mouth, and felt a sudden cold running across my teeth. Despite the short shock, a delicious taste began to unfold. Within a moment the milky substance turned liquid on my tongue and gave off a sweet taste of orange.

“Well, well, well. It has been a pleasure, Adam,” the Inquisitor said solemnly as he got up from the table. “It is getting late and time for you to depart. I wish you the best of luck in your future with the Guard.”

Putting all my animosity aside for a few more minutes, I bowed in front of the Inquisitor and thanked him for his generous hospitality. Turning over to Cecilia, I bowed down as well and kissed her hand as a formal farewell.

“I shall send a servant to notify you of my classes, Adam,” she said loudly as I was guided out of the hall. Down the stairwell and through the corridor with the red carpet and paintings, I made it back to the door through which I had entered.

“Now take good care of yourself,” the servant said with a sorrowful voice.

“Are you alright… Anthony?” I asked trying to remember his name.

“Yes, thank you for asking,” he said, opening the door. “It breaks my heart to see young fellows like you leave for the Guard. I made it out of the Guard alive just two years ago. But the things I saw, I don’t wish anyone else to see. In the Guard you will live like an old man, watching your friends die off like flies, hoping and praying every night that you won’t be the next.”

“Why do you serve the Inquisitor then?” I asked.

“I was one of many children in the Industrial District. There was no future for me there. I hoped to find answers to all my questions in the Inquisitor’s mansion, but I am no step closer,” he responded with a forlorn face. “I have to go. He will be expecting my return. Take care, Adam.”

Anthony vanished inside, leaving me alone in the cold night air with the only light coming from the two torches at my side. As I trailed back, the square had emptied out. Only a few drunks were still there, but most had passed out on the ground.

I went to check on Katrina. Peacefully she lay on top of her sheets, still wearing the white dress. There was an innocence to her that could not be disturbed. My fingers brushed over her hair, like a fragile piece of art. I would not let him take me away from her. Not until I knew why we were not allowed to leave the valley. I needed to find the truth.

Chapter 4

A
t eight o’clock
the next morning, I walked with Katrina to the Temple District for morning mass. We cut through the Works and across the square, which had yet to be cleaned from the prior day’s festivities. With light steps we approached the big cathedral – whose all too familiar roof was the Mount. The northern end of the colossal church was surrounded by marble stairs, leading up to the great wooden door marking its entrance. On the archway above the threshold the words ‘
Pax Dei et Lux Dei Vobiscum
’ were carved— ‘the peace of God and the light of God be with you’. This was the first line they taught any seven-year old in his first class.

Entering through the great door, all sounds were absorbed into a vacuum. Despite the loud echo inside the church’s thick stone walls, the assembling masses were quieted by the pressing silence that lay in the air. Colorful light beams brightened up the grey church as the rising sun hit the stained glass windows. Yesterday’s fame was short lived. Rudely a man pushed me aside snatching the empty seats I just spotted. Few recognized that I was the boy on the wooden throne, the one for whom they were meant to celebrate.

By the time we found a seat on the overcrowded wooden benches, the preacher, Father Riordan, was amidst his introduction, informing us of the news beyond the wall, “The battle against the demons outside the gates is growing graver by the day. The guards are valiant, but they need your support to fulfill God’s quest.” On cue, the aides handed out baskets that made their way around.

It humored me to see people reach for their pouches. As if a dime went a feet further than the Inquisitor’s dining table.

“The Lord sees us,” Father Riordan shouted. His eyes were turned towards me. “And he sees our struggle to survive. How long, oh children of the city, will your wickedness cause our future to die? The Voice of God tells us that our sin draws the demons to us. You know this to be true. How many days has your sin outweighed the love you ought to feel for another? How many times have you done wrong, and justified it, thinking to yourself that ‘No one sees me’? Your sin is paid for in the blood of those holy warriors sent out to keep the city safe. And yet, you continue in your ways. Why? What can be gained that is more valuable than life?
These men turn night into day; In the face of darkness they say, ‘Light is near.’
This siege will be broken, but who will be victorious: those in the light, or those in the darkness that surrounds us? Do not abet the darkness, children. Do not join the side of the destroyers. Flee from sin and save your life.”

“Save me!” A woman shouted a few seats down, cowering with her head bowed. The masses clamored in pain.

“Only you can save yourselves, my children,” Father Riordan insisted, “The Inquisitor and his rightly guided troops protect you in sunlight and by moonshine. His wisdom and their faith is what stop the terrors that haunt the valley from breaking into our beloved city.” He walked through the aisle, making intense eye contact with every person he passed, “Men, you have seen what the outside holds, and it is nothing I wish any of you to see,” he put his hand on the shoulder of a veteran. “Honorable men, with wives and children waiting for them to come home, fight day in and day out… only to be torn to pieces by these monsters, severing arms and legs from our heroes’ bodies and eating their flesh that was born to be holy.”

Children shrieked in fear. That was all it took for them to forget about the hunger, inequality, and secrecy. The thought of rebellion certainly crossed some people’s minds, but the unknown alternative was just too terrifying to risk.

After the sermon, those of pre-service years remained in the Temple District. While the veterans and women returned to their work, any child ages seven to eighteen had to attend scripture study for another hour. I dropped Katrina off at the convent and headed for the monastery. They kept us separated, for the boys’ teachings were meant to inspire while girls learned to obey.

At the entrance of the monastery I crossed paths with Peter again. He leaned against the archway, waiting for me.

“How was the feast?” he asked as I walked towards him.

“Let’s just say the food made up for the company,” we passed through the archway to the inner courtyard. “What do you think about the Inquisitor’s ward, Cecilia?”

“The pretty little witch has a name?” he asked. “I did not hear much of her. She didn’t exactly talk to us at our feast…”

“She definitely has a tough shell,” I remarked walking up the monastery steps. “But I want to get to know her better. She must know more about the Inquisitor and this city than anyone aside the council and eldest temple-men.”

“Good luck with that, peasant,” he said trying to mock her tone.

“She asked me to see her again.”

“What?” Peter cocked his head.

“I will be joining her private lessons… she asked for it.”

“Oh, I’d give her private lessons,” he laughed. Observing no shift in my countenance he stopped walking, “In all seriousness Adam, are you telling me that you will be in the Inquisitor’s mansion again?”

I nodded, standing straight under his intensive stare.

“I may have been drunk yesterday and proposed this as a joking matter, but you mark my words right now.” He stepped closer to me, “No one sets foot in that mansion after their seventeenth birthday. You have been given a chance you cannot ignore. Fate has given it to you, of all people, for a reason. I don’t say this often, but forget the damn girl. Do you know the power this gives you? Are you aware of what you could do?”

The implications of his words were so close to my deepest desires, yet the fact that they came out of his mouth frightened me. “Do you suggest that I…”

He glanced around and lowered the volume of his voice, “Yes Adam. That you slit his bloody throat, and put an end to it all. Remember how you asked me yesterday if there was another option? Well here it is.” His right hand clenched my shoulder increasing the intensity of his words, “Imagine your life without the Inquisition. Imagine all the things you could do and all the things you would not have to do. Think about your girl.”

The bells of the monastery rang, signifying the beginning of class. “Adam, don’t mess this one up. It is your last chance.” The pressure of his fingers vanished and we rushed inside to take seat on the old creaking benches.

“Barber, Blacksmith, you are late,” Father Bartholomew said sternly. “Today we are reading ancient scriptures again. We shall start where we left off in the
Old Testament
. I believe it was
Job 17
. Barber you read.”

Almost every other day we read old scriptures. Those were the holy books of religions long gone. We studied them to learn from their mistakes, to see why they fell and why we persevered. Our holy book was called the
Final Testament
, which according to our priests was the final and only true interpretation of God’s will.

The Final Testament took place around the year 2050 which was the oldest account of a time after the Renaissance. It told the story of the Inquisitor who was raised in an age of sin and destruction. One day, God contacted the Inquisitor, telling him that he is planning to once again eradicate mankind. Being one of the few pure beings left in this world, God chose the Inquisitor as his prophet, and renewed his covenant with man. He gave him the mission to travel through various lands, to select other pure families that would join him on his journey. Heroic deeds glorified this epic journey over hundreds of pages. Before Judgment Day, God led the Inquisitor into a valley, in which he found a vacant castle resting upon a mountain.

There, man was able to live in peace and harmony until the day he fell for his same old weaknesses. And God in his anger cursed the castle. As a reminder of their sinfulness, he set demons around the valley, so that mankind could never leave until their spirits were pure once again. Every night the demons came into the valley to kill helpless farmers, lumbermen and miners. So it came to pass, that the men ordered the children, women, and elderly to remain inside the castle while they worked alone outside the gates. As their leader, the Inquisitor fought alongside other brave men against the demons. After years of blazing sun, blood, and dirt, their armors had lost their luster and turned into a dull grey. Ever since we called them the Grey Guard, as the ten years of service robbed the luster out of every young man’s eyes.

“…
where then is my hope? Who can see any hope for me? Will it go down to the gates of death? Will we descend together into the dust?”
Peter finished reading the passage.

“Well read, Barber. Tailor you are next,” Father Bartholomew said shortly while looking up from his book through his spectacles.

“I have a question, father,” I interrupted. “Earlier on Peter read a line that Father Riordan used during the sermon:
These men turn night into day; In the face of darkness they say, ‘Light is near.’
I understand that they talk about the cycles of dark and golden ages, but would this mean that it lies in the power of man to bring forth the day, or is it simply a matter of time?
”

“
Post tenebras Lux.
I’m glad to see you paid attention.” He smiled and began, “There has been much conversation among scholars about this passage. With varying translations come various interpretations.” Father Bartholomew responded while getting up from the desk he sat on. His white robe dragged over the monastery floor as he approached me with the book in his hand. “But the answer to your question is a simple counter question: What is the difference? If the time has come and God sees it fit, he will grant certain men the power to bring forth the next golden age. The real question is do we have any power? Or are we merely the chess pieces of God?”

I observed the middle aged monk move through the rows. “How can we know then,” I asked, “if our actions are led by God or cursed by sin?”

“Your heart will tell you what is right, Adam,” Father Bartholomew responded clearly. “God has his own ways of communicating with us.”

“Like the Inquisitor?”

“The Inquisitor speaks face to face with God,” He replied. “But there are ways that he speaks to us all. Softly, like a whisper.”

“What happens if you and I heard contradicting whispers from God?”

“God doesn’t contradict himself,” he answered. “One of us would be wrong.”

“So, I could do something that you thought was wrong, but actually be of God?” I asked directly.

Father Bartholomew frowned, “One could make that assertion.”

I nodded, letting quiet take over the monastery hall. He went back to his desk, but hesitated for a moment. “Often times we oversimplify the concept of good and evil. There is a natural interconnectedness between that which is dark and that which is light. They are not two ends of a spectrum, but rather a complex system flowing into one another. There cannot be one without the other, for there is no day without the night and no shadow without a light.”

When the monastery bells rang, Peter and I walked out together, but did not say a word. We were both thinking about it, but not ready to start another argument. Suddenly, the bells of the big church sounded again but thrice this time.

“Who do you think was killed?” asked Peter.

“Let’s find out,” I responded quickly as we pushed our way through the crowd towards the square. All I could think of was Elias, hoping that it was not him.

Two city guards rolled a cart with a body towards the square. The flags and decoration of the past day’s celebration were still up in the air. The people were there too. Not in dancing circles, but in a circle trying to catch a glimpse of the fallen warrior.

With my elbows I shoveled people out of my way until I reached the inner side of the circle. Bent over the wagon stood the butcher with his wife and daughter Johanna.

Within half an hour the space had cleared up again, and everyone was back at work. I walked towards the carpentry, passing by my house. My father greeted me briskly with a nod, hammering on a glowing red chunk of metal. I turned right and passed two more houses until I made it to the carpentry, which in itself was a masterpiece of the craft. The corners of the house were perfectly rounded and soft, while the walls had a wavy appearance to them, throwing ocean like shadows onto the rugged road. While small in size, it surpassed any merchant house in detail. We always practiced new styles and techniques on the shop itself, giving it a fresh look in a deteriorating district.