Debris of Shadows_Book II_The Forgotten Cathedral Page 4
Grass. He was standing on actual grass. He looked up. From this side, the shield wall resembled an oily, swirling film. He could just make out the desert beyond, as if it were an image overlaid upon the sky. He listened for the rhythmic noise of the mutants, but heard nothing. He rested his hands on his knees, and filled his lungs with air. It smelled sweet, and pure. He looked down.
The grass at his feet was green, and soft. He thought of his home in the Sage in NorMec, the one he had shared with Alyanna. A bittersweet smile crossed his lips as he gazed at the sun. He sighed. None of it had been his mother’s fault, she had just been trying to do the best she could. He would make things right by her again. Someday, she would understand —
The sun jumped across the sky. Not by much, just a few degrees, but there was no doubt that it had moved. The horizon shimmered with haze, as if a mist had suddenly —
Black.
Everything was black.
A few seconds went by. Then a swirling sapphire ring, streaked with forks of cerulean light, appeared in the darkness. The black circle at its center constricted. It was as if a giant, blue, luminescent eye were staring —
He squinted as light flooded his eyes. He stepped back as he turned his head from side to side. He was back in the same place as before, except…
The sun had moved again in the sky, though he could barely make it out through an opal mist. It was directly above him now. Two or three hours must have passed, if not more. The air smelled acrid and sour, as if someone had misted it with grapefruit juice. The grass below his boots had turned yellow and brown. It lay limp and lifeless on the soil.
What had just happened?
His left shoulder itched. He unbuttoned his fatigues, and pulled back its collar. The division remained closed, but the ever–present, pixelated blur that marked its join looked different. Instead of silver, its glow had a dull, off–white tint. He rubbed it, and stretched out his arm. His bicep felt cramped and slightly stung, as if it had been asleep.
He gazed at the white blob that shone high in the putrid sky. He clenched his hands, and swallowed. He had lost time before, though he could not remember the exact circumstances. However, he did know what it meant.
Outside, in the real world, someone had temporarily cut off his nanomachines from the light that powered them. He peered at his shoulder again, at the unfamiliar glow that came from its seam.
Had someone altered him, somehow? Had they found a way to corrupt his zhivoi–paint?
He thought of the blue ring he had seen, and how it had resembled an eye. The lights that shone within its iris reminded him of something, or someone, but the memory danced away from him. Gold, he thought, the lights should have been gold, amidst an eye the color of coffee…
An intense wave of sadness and longing washed over him as a lump formed in his throat. Whatever he had forgotten, it had meant very much. He wiped his eyes, and took a deep breath.
Whatever it is, he thought, there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re as trapped in this Sage as its unknowing occupants. He wrung his hands, and nodded. All he could do was continue his search for the Cathedral. No matter what, that was the next step, the only step.
He peered through the thickening fog. He could just make out the black ribbon of a road in the distance. He walked towards it.
A yellow, clouded stream ran alongside its curb, gurgling into a grate at its end. He heard the whine of an insect, and tensed his muscles. He looked into the gutter. A chuckle of relief escaped his lips. It was only a dragonfly. It zipped back and forth above the pus–colored rivulet, dipping down to sip at it every few seconds. He stepped over it, and onto the road.
His boots tread upon the asphalt with a mixture of scrapes and thuds. Every step made him feel as if he were a deep–sea diver trudging across the bottom of the ocean. He desperately needed to rest. The clammy air had grown thicker, and now stank like a mixture of rotten cheese and a baby’s diaper. The thought made him half laugh, half choke. Whatever the stench was, it would not kill him. He saw a structure in the miasma, and headed for it.
He could not decide if it were the remains of a building, or some kind of surrealistic sculpture. It was made of brick, and more or less box–shaped. Pipes, ribbed hoses, and I–beams jutted from its sides and roof. They either tapered off into nothingness, or ran into the ground. The pattern of the bricks was distorted and warped. Their rough texture grew smoother along the side of the building until they melted into the glossy face of a sign. A layer of soot and grime coated its surface. Most of its letters were unintelligible, but the last five were “oline.” The words at its bottom were also gibberish, but Matthew could decipher “Regular,” and “Premium.” The plastic gave way to a pitted mixture of gray and brown. He touched it, and bits of it flaked off. It was rusted steel.
A mound of concrete protruded from the base of the sign. He sat on it, and placed his face in his hands. The skin of his cheeks felt thick and rough. He pulled out another canteen, and took a long sip. How many cities had he passed through since leaving NorMec? He could not remember. How many relative years had he been walking? He could not remember that either. All that mattered was the Cathedral. Was it in this city? He did not know. He did not even know the city’s name.
A scream echoed through the air.
He leapt to his feet, and stumbled. His aching muscles shook like rubber. He heard another cry. It was high pitched, and came from his right. Pushed on by adrenaline, he half stumbled, half ran towards it.
He passed something that looked like an ancient automobile, one with wheels instead of hover–discs. Its whitewall tires were convoluted rubber coils that dug into the asphalt like roots. Glass limbs decorated with leaves of chrome branched from its windshield.
The drone of flying insects rode upon the wind. He looked to the sky, but could see nothing through the fog. Were they a part of this bizarre city’s ecosystem, or had the mutants somehow followed him through the shield?
He moved on. Past the next intersection was a wall of jagged stone. A wide, open doorway stood at its center. He peered inside, and saw a staircase leading down.
A splintered sign lay at his feet. He picked it up. Its wood was rippled, as if it were made of melted plastic. It read, “City of Phoenix MTA: Blue and Orange lines. 35th Ave and Northern.” Something underneath tickled his fingers. He turned it over.
Albino worms oozed from holes in its surface. A few had squirmed onto his fingertips. He grimaced, dropped the sign, and wiped them off on the wall.
The insects’ buzz grew louder. It did not sound like the rhythmic ticking of the mutants, but he could not be sure. What if they were some new variant, but just as deadly? He clenched his teeth, and resigned himself to the possibility of having to don the life–draining Mirage once more.
He listened for the scream, but it had fallen silent. He slumped against the wall. Whoever it had been, there was nothing he could do, and he needed to find shelter.
The drone rose and fell in a circling hum. He wrapped his arms around his chest. All he wanted to do was rest, just for a little while. He ran his hands through his hair, and groaned. He felt frustrated and hopeless. He would have to separate his arm again soon, he knew it. How many years of his life had he already wasted on this pointless mission? How soon before he was hobbled over, ancient, and unable to walk?
What if the general could hear your thoughts? he chided himself. What if he could hear your whining? Just get moving, and complain about it later.
He turned to the stairwell, and sighed. Taking a deep breath, he clutched the banister, and clumped down into the darkness.
Asher strode through the main hall of the monastery, his face hidden beneath the shadows of his cowl. He passed a stained–glass window depicting the Battle of Kidron, Ohio. WesMec Army Major Peter Malchus had been cast with his bayonet in a down–stroke. At his feet knelt an Abomination. Shards of red streaked the side of its head. Its ear, a chip of silver, hung in the sky–blue air. Asher had always
wondered what had happened to that ear. Was it enshrined somewhere, a relic preserved within a jar? More likely it had been eaten by a coyote, if coyotes ate ears.
His thoughts bounced around the inside of his head like rubber balls. He tried to ignore them, to feel calm and focused, but they kept ricocheting, making little thwacking noises against the walls of his skull. It was so hard for him to sleep, lately.
Could everyone tell?
He passed Brothers… did their names really matter? They nodded at him, and he nodded back. He knew they would whisper about him as soon as they passed. Let them. The city was his. If they had been worthy, it would have been theirs. Let them whisper.
Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was the city. Who cared if some politician had once christened her San Domenico? To him, she was simply the city. Centuries ago, Gold Rush tycoons had laid her foundations. She had survived wars, fallen to earthquakes and bombings, and been rebuilt in an era of technology and achievement. Some of her oldest buildings were monoliths of brick and stone, glued together with crumbling mortar. Others were towers of steel and glass that pierced the clouds. Crystalline arches wove a gleaming web across her Broadway. She was a city of both wealth and poverty, skyscrapers and slums. Like every great city before her, she was a dichotomy of extremes, and he loved her for it.
Someone fell into step behind him with soft, padding footfalls. Was it another whisperer? They all pretended to be so pious, to only care about what was best for the Church, and the will of the Ophanim. Bullshit. They were jealous. It had taken them ten, twenty, or in some cases thirty years to reach the fourth circle. How dare he do it in six.
He squeezed his hands into fists. Go ahead, he thought, his heart pounding. Trip me, push me, or pour something on my head. Just do it, so we can get this over with. He stopped dead in his tracks.
Someone plowed into him with a muffled “Wumf.” He whirled, aching to teach the practical joker a lesson.
It was the abbot.
He felt lightheaded for a moment. “Mother Dinah,” his mouth managed to say, “please forgive me. I didn’t realize.”
“Did you stub your toe, Brother?”
Asher studied her face. Though she had the features of a woman his age, the tattooed geometric swirls that encircled them had nearly faded. “I thought I heard something behind me,” he said.
She sighed, and massaged her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. She rubbed her fingertips together, and glared at them as if she had found something repulsive between her lashes. “I must be getting old,” she said. “Come with me.”
He took his place to her left, and walked along at her side. Old, he thought. Who was she kidding? Her augmented muscles and reflexes were as strong and quick as those of a teenager. She could have followed him silently if she had wanted. Did her nonsense never stop? He realized that his hands were still clenched, and forced them to relax.
They came to the garden. It was empty, as if word of their coming had passed ahead of them. The abbot picked out a bench, and sat down. She looked up at him, her thin eyebrows raised. He pulled his cloak aside, and sat beside her.
She let out a long sigh, as if irritated by everyone and everything. “You know,” she said, “I’ve been fifth–circle for twenty years. I was in my seventies when I began the chrysalis. It took two weeks.” She extended a taut arm, marveling at the way her muscles flowed beneath her smooth skin. “I always thought that I would come out of the transformation yelling, jumping, and spinning cartwheels. Instead, I hobbled out like the old woman that I had been. It took me a month just to relearn how to walk.” She shook her olive–skinned head and chuckled, her cowl flapping about her. All Asher could do was smile, like the polite idiot the monastic hierarchy dictated he be. Why was she telling him her life story? She had treated him like the gook she had just rubbed from her eyes since the day he had arrived.
“You had trouble sleeping last night.”
Asher blinked. The inside of his mouth went dry. Did they have a camera hidden somewhere in his cell? A microphone? The corners of her lips curled, just a millimeter. Careful, the voice in his head warned, she wants you to freak out. She wants you to get angry. She wants her bias confirmed. She can probably hear your heart pounding. She’s a snake, and she can smell your emotions like blood. He stroked his chin, as if considering her words. “Thank you so much for caring,” he said. “It’s been a very exciting week.”
Her smile broadened as her pale eyes narrowed. She looked towards the ceiling, and tilted her head back and forth like a bird. “Hnn, hnn, hnnnn,” she laughed in the back of her throat. She shook her head. “You are not ready for this.”
Calm, he commanded himself. He took a deep breath. “Well, Abbot,” he said, “I thank you for your honest opinion. I assume it is my age, or lack of it?”
“Not necessarily,” she said, “but you do lack experience.”
Asher nodded. “That’s true,” he said, “but Monsignor Jair approved my ordination, and assigned me San Domenico. That’s why I was sent here. Surely he —”
“In light of the travesty of Phoenix,” she cut in, “Monsignor Jair has stepped down. I make the decisions for the cities in my parish. And may I say, I am not impressed as easily as he. Perhaps if his judgement were clearer, that city would not have fallen.”
Asher bit his tongue. Not hard, just enough to keep his mouth shut, and give him focus. I’ll bet you were fat, he thought. I bet before the chrysalis, you were a chubby, diabetic, miserable bitch, with chips on your flabby shoulders that would crush an elephant. “I’m sure that my brothers and sisters did all they could,” he said.
“All they could was not enough. I do not settle for ‘all they could.’” She let out another annoyed, nasal chortle. “You’re new to my order. You should consult your brothers and sisters on how I run my monastery. Otherwise…” She shrugged and chuckled again, her inane grin stretching her cheeks until Asher thought they would burst.
He kept the expression of calm obedience on his face, and bowed his head. “I will, thank you,” he said. “It sounds like fun.”
The abbot’s nostrils flared. He could see tiny hairs bristling inside. “You will voluntarily relinquish your charges,” she said, “and turn your scrolls over to Sister Theresa. If she approves you may assist her in the resurrection, but she will be the one to do it. Perhaps, after you have assisted others for a few years, you will have earned the chance for a small neighborhood or street of your own.” She stood, turned her back on him, and stalked back towards the hall.
“No.”
She froze. “Excuse me?”
“No… Abbot.” A delicious sense of confidence that he had never felt before flowed through his mind. The right words leapt to his tongue. “You decided from day one that you did not want me for this assignment. You decided that from the day Monsignor Jair sent me here. Let me guess. You tried to go over his head, and fought for Sister Theresa to perform the resurrection then, but the cardinals turned you down. Am I right?”
She turned her head. Her near–gray eyes bulged from beneath her faded tattoos. “That was before Phoenix,” she said. “Don’t be so sure that they won’t change their minds.”
“Oh,” he said, “so they haven’t actually reversed their decision. That’s why you need me to volunteer. What about Boulder, Denver, and Salt Lake City? Were any of those failed resurrections your responsibility, or were they all the faults of others too?”
Abbot Dinah stepped up to him. Her right eye twitched. “And what if you fail?” she asked, her voice a harsh whisper. “What if your pride destroys everything? ‘And no one will wonder, for even the Clown masquerades as an angel of light.’” A line of spittle dripped from the corner of her mouth. She wiped it off with the back of her hand. She turned to go, but he grabbed her arm.
“Then tell me,” he said. “Seventeen cities with poisoned Sands, and failed resurrections. Why? Stop making this personally about me, and tell me what happened.”
She lo
oked at his hand. He let go of her warm, smooth flesh, and took a step back. He had never talked this way before, as if a fire were raging inside of him. Where had the words come from?
Her cheeks turned a pinkish orange, her lower lip trembling like a twig in a windstorm. “Outside of your duties, you will confine yourself to your cell, where you will fast on bread and water in solitude. You have yet to receive the holy sacrament of children. Cleanse your mind, and prepare.”
“One more thing, Abbot,” Asher said. He was enjoying this. “The thought of someone watching me in my cell distracts me from my studies. I think every precaution should be taken to make sure that the Life Sands are protected, don’t you?”
Abbot Dinah stared at him, and then laughed, her perfect teeth glistening in the diffracted sunlight. “Brother Asher, you’ve been watched since your first day as a novice in Monsignor Jair’s monastery. It obviously has not hurt your progress so far, so I don’t see why you should care now.” She smiled with satisfaction at his expression and then stormed away, her fleshy cloak swishing in her wake.
Chapter 3
Matthew walked through the pitch–black subway station with slow, cautious steps. He removed his flashlight from his pouch, and flicked it on.
It cast a flickering, feeble shaft of light across the murk. He checked its battery. It had maybe half a minute of life left to it. All that time in the desert, and he had not thought to use his solar charger. I’m getting senile, he thought. He put it back in the pouch, and stretched his arms out in front of him.
What if there was a river of lava beneath the floor? I could pop a hole in the tiles…
The flash of recollection whirled away from him like a forgotten dream. Did it have something to do with dark brown eyes that shone with amber fires? Probably. He shrugged off the fractured memory, and continued walking.
He froze as something sharp pressed against his abdomen. It felt like a horn that had been forged from steel. His hands shot down. Without thinking, he grabbed it and pushed.