Chapter 3: Prisoner of the Desert
«Memento mori,» the inscription above the entrance to the massive old cathedral, was the only thing I could make out. The sun was blinding his eyes, scorching his flesh, wanting to squeeze every drop out of his still-living body. The wanderers skillfully made bionic prosthetic arms were bound, his legs, deprived of strength, refused to move, but the discharges of the stun gun and the encouraging shouts of the cassock-clad pursuers forced him to take another painful step.
The entrance archway was left behind. The thick stone walls kept the desired coolness perfectly. The prisoners body reacted immediately. A shiver ran through him, his eyes opened and looked up languidly. Beneath the high vault of the dome there were puffs of smoke from hundreds of lamps and thousands of candles. Their scent, sweet but not cloying, tickled the sense of smell, stupefying, making him see images and pictures that did not really exist in the rays of the sun, breaking through the murky multicolored stained glass.
The captive was so weak that he could no longer walk on his own. His legs had collapsed, but he did not fall, having been picked up by two pairs of strong arms. Now he was dragged across the cold stone floor like a sack of something of little value, and carelessly dumped at the altar, as if to confirm this comparison. With a groan, the captive leaned on his mechanical prosthetics and looked in front of him. Behind the massive golden altar stood a man in red religious robes his captor and the hated enemy he wanted to destroy. There was no strength now to even stand up. Fate had turned its back on the captive. He had come into the desert with a small band, driven by pride and belief in his own omnipotence, and now all his men were dead. Only he was left, barely alive, barely breathing, but still unbroken.
The clergyman closed the scripture with the big «V» on the cover and leaned over.
The wisdom of the prudent is to know his way; the folly of the foolish is to wander in all things,» said the old man in a hoarse voice, leaning toward the half-living mans ear.
He continued to stare in front of him, not showing any emotion. Noticing this, the priest continued.
You are Marcus the Armless, leader of the godless Capers, your name is known in many parts of the new world, you are often spoken of on the sidelines of New Babylon. Have you been so foolish as to go after my death on your own and without an army? I had a better opinion of you, but now I see that you are no different from other ignorant men who would die for prejudice. Youve been here almost a month,» he went on to say. All your friends have long ago learned the truth, joined the Order, and now carry its banner with honor and dignity. We are here to save people,» the Bishop added a little more gently, with feigned concern. We give their lives meaning. Despite your past deeds and terrible desires, I truly believe that your life has meaning too. I will help your lost soul and save it.
The captive couldnt help himself and, coughing, laughed.
Youre nothing but a fantasist, a psycho in bling,» he said with dry throat. You cant help my soul. You cant help yourself. Youre right, I am Marcus Armless, and Im not spoken of for nothing, you foolish pawn Stephany. Your order will fall because theres nothing behind it but words. Your goddess is fiction, and the one who allowed me to rise is real. So laugh at me all you want. It wont change the future. Ill predict it for you, though I dont usually do that. Come here, bend over a little lower. You dont want to? Well, then Ill tell you, for all your wingmen to hear, youre gonna die and Im gonna live. And thats not gonna change. We all serve someone, and every service has a price. Your price is a fat belly and a bunch of idiots around you believing your every word, and mine is the flesh and soul you care so much about. But, know this, you give as much as you get in return. You havent sacrificed anything, youve only taken. But dont worry about that, Franco. Your goddess couldnt have given you anything if youd sacrificed everything you had. You know why? Because shes Stefanias idea. Veritas is a fairy tale for pathetic, battered and broken people.
Heresy! The Bishop couldnt help himself. How dare you defame the name of the great Goddess in her temple!
Oh, spare me your stupidity and shoot me in the head. Youd be a bad name to besmirch.
Franco slapped his palm on the altar irritably, but immediately pulled himself together and, adjusting his cassock, replied:
Youre incorrigible, Armless. You lack the wisdom to admit defeat. Goddess knows I meant well. I forgive your rash words, for you know not what you say. But Veritas sees everything. After this worldly life comes eternal life, and your suffering will be eternal, for no ones prayers can save a sinner from just punishment. You will work out your sins by becoming part of the corps of the Knower. And know this, Franco leaned toward the prisoner again, I will rejoice when I see you obey my commands without thought,» he whispered, then straightened up and waved to his escorts. The initiation ritual will take place today! he said loudly. Prepare yourselves, brothers and sisters, for on this day the legend of the godless world will become part of our sacred circle for the glory of the goddess and the truth that she brings with her!
Marcus was lifted from the cold floor and dragged back to the cell that had become his prison. As they dragged him, he laughed. He was gaunt, his face gaunt, his muscles withered, but his faith was strong.
You hear that, Franco?! he shouted, his throat tearing up. Youre dead and thats not going to change! You are a slave to Stefanias fairy tales, and I am a free privateer! Capers serve no one! We pay blood for blood and death for death! You dont understand this, you fat bastard, but a free man cant be forced to sell his freedom, he can only be killed!
The gates of the temple slammed shut. The dry air filled his lungs again, tickled his throat again, causing nauseating coughing fits. Marcus was dragged down a long path with no shadow, a twisted kind of revenge of men incapable of decisive action. At the end he was thrown to the floor of the cell. The massive door rattled, the old electronic locks came into motion and closed, leaving him alone.
The dungeon was not as cool as the cathedral, but it was much better than the blazing sun. He had not been fed for more than twenty-four hours and was tied to a pole in the middle of the square. What the fiends had tried to do to break his spirit, but he was more than just a man. He was still Marcus Armless, the great leader of the Capers, destined to become the most powerful ruler of the survivors of the Day of Reset. He tried not to think about the initiation rite into the Corps of the Cognizers. He knew it was impossible to resist the rite, but deep down he felt confident of a better future. Marcus crawled to the bowl of murky liquid and emptied it greedily.
The initiation rite of the Order of Truth was nothing more than a spectacle built around zombifying people with psychotropic drugs. In this way, the Order added to its ranks those who were needed, but refused to share beliefs in the goddess voluntarily. The Order was a large and powerful organization with a center in the mysterious city of New Babylon. The sermons of its leader, St. Mark Stephany, echoed through the communication channels every day, easily instilling faith in the downtrodden minds of the survivors. Stephany promised everyone and anyone peace, food and shelter, salvation of the soul and, of course, the protection of the Goddess of Truth Veritas. Because of these broadcasts, tens of thousands of people, full of hope, were rushing to New Babylon.