Ragnarok: The Fate of Gods (6 page)

             
“You may want to reconsider your statement,” resounded a nearby voice.  “The blame does not rest entirely upon the Church.”  It was the Korean priest, a young man with well-defined features and thick black hair.  As he approached them, Zeke could see that his robes were different from the priest inside.  They were tighter.  Flowed less.  Below the waist, they were slit down the sides.  Good for moving quickly.

             
This man was a Slayer.

             
“Jae-Hoon Lee,” he introduced himself, extending his hand.  Zeke made no move to accept it.

             
Charlie set his daughter on the ground.  He knew his friend and the priest may not see eye-to-eye, and didn’t want her to see them fight.  “Emily, you run home now.  I have to talk to the grown-ups right now, but I’ll be home very soon and we can spend the whole night together.”

             
“Okay daddy.”  Her tears had stopped, but her face was still red.  She ran off quickly towards a row of houses. 
Ting, tinkle, tink, tink, ting.

             
When she was out of earshot, Zeke turned to the priest.  “You’ve already claimed the child.  Your business with us is finished.”

             
“Zeke!”  Charlie shouted.  They both ignored him. 

             
“The Armageddonists receive their fair share of criticism,” the priest retorted.  “I see nothing wrong with removing citizens from the slums.  They’ll live a better life on the plate.”

             
“How can you be sure?  You sit down here in hell and trust every word your Hierophant tells you from the plate?” 

             
“He is a good man.  What reason would he have to lie to us?”   Though Zeke became agitated, the priest remained calm.  “He is a man of God, and despite your opinions, he is working for what he believes is a better world.”

             
“A better world?   Where people are randomly selected to be taken from their families?   How does he justify the fact that no one who is promoted is ever heard from again?”

             
Charlie stepped in.  “They got rules up there.  First-class citizens are too important to deal with us second-class folk.”

             
“This isn’t some snobby aristocrat we’re talking about.  It’s your daughter!”

             
“It is unfortunate,” Jae-Hoon continued.  “But your friend is right.  The Hierophant is doing what he can, but he cannot circumvent the Karellan’s edicts.  No non-government personnel may communicate between upper and lower cities.”

             
“And you’re just going to accept that, Charlie?   Sounds suspicious to me.”

             
“Okay, so maybe I don’t entirely trust them,” the big man said, as calmly as Jae-Hoon.  “But look around you.  This place is hell.  We got that damn pizza on top of us, killing off everything around us, and we can’t even go out into the country since the draugr showed up.  Do you realize my little girl has only ever seen the sun from the city walls?   Born in the city after it was shut off from the world.  I have to give her any chance I can for a better life.  If that means I have to trust the Church, I will.  Father Lee here is a good man.  I can believe him.” 

             
Zeke forced himself to calm down.  Charlie was bringing his daughter into the matter.  A nasty trick, since he knew Zeke cared for her as if she were his own family.  Still, he disapproved of the promotion and refused to drop the subject.

             
“Charlie, this man is a Slayer.  His idea of improving the world is to run around staking draugr like they were vampire.” 

             
“If we’re discussing outdated weapons,” the priest said, “I might remind you that we are not in feudal Japan.”  He gestured to the katana.  “The Church has long since recognized draugr as distinct from folk monsters.  But my training and my faith have given me strength.  I’ve returned from many draugr hunts.”

             
A department of the lower-city Armageddonists, the Slayers took it upon themselves to protect the world from draugr.  They routinely went into the hills surrounding the city, looking for monsters to kill.  Every day, they brought back two or three bodies. 

             
But Zeke knew it wasn’t enough.  Human beings had hunted plenty of animals to extinction, but none of those animals had ever been hunting humans in return.  “You’ll never succeed.  There are too many of them,” he told the priest. 

             
Jae-Hoon looked at him as calmly as ever.  “Perhaps we could use some help.  You have spirit.  You might make a fine Slayer.”  He turned away.  “Our goals don’t conflict.  Your fight with me is purely dogmatic.” 

             
Zeke stood silent as the priest walked away.

             
Charlie, on any other day, would have been the first to jump in and support him in his anti-government arguments.  He would have lifted the priest up with one hand and hung him on the cathedral door until he cracked.

             
But today, it was about Emily, so he changed the subject.  “So who’s the runt?” He crossed his arms and nodded at Daniel. 

             
“He’s okay.” 

Daniel didn
’t understand, but seemed grateful that he was being accepted as an ally.  “We’re doing a mission together,” he said.  “For the Supervisor.”  As soon as he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“
Supervisor?” growled the giant.  “You turning on me, Zeke?” 

Zeke flashed an angry look at Daniel, then turned to appease Charlie. 
“No.  Of course not.  It’s . . . well, it’s for a good cause.  Medical supplies and what not.” 

The big man laughed heartily. 
“A good cause!  Excellent.  There may be some of the old Zeke left in you yet!”  He pounded his friend hard on the back, then grabbed his shoulder affectionately. 

The smaller man coughed from the impact of the pat. 
“If you’re going to be like that, let’s say it was blackmail.” 

The giant looked confused.  They had been good friends for nearly a decade.  Zeke liked him for his strength and loyalty, but couldn
’t speak much of his intelligence.

“
Oh.  Sorry.”  He turned to Daniel.  “So what’s your name, runt?”  He put on his tough-guy act.  He crossed his arms, rose to his full height, frowned, and tilted his head slightly back. 

Charlie was normally very friendly with strangers.

“Uzuki.  Daniel Uzuki.”

“
One of Dumah’s men, eh?”

“
That’s right.  I recently transferred in.”  Daniel felt a rush of shame.  He held a prestigious job.  He wasn’t hired because he let himself be intimidated.  But it was a hazard of being young.  No respect, despite his skills or knowledge. 

Charlie turned to Zeke. 
“You want me to come along.”  It was not a question.

“
There are two more of them.  I don’t want to be stuck with a bunch of G-men for three days.”

“
What!”  Daniel protested.  “He’s coming too?”

Charlie turned on his tough-guy act again. 
“We been watching each other’s back for some time now.  You got a problem?”

“
Tell your friends tomorrow that Charlie and I are running this mission.  Dumah can spy on us all he wants, but we aren’t taking orders,” Zeke added.

“
Well, of course, but . . . well . . .”  The boy struggled.  He felt he should protest.  Someone may be unhappy about another team member.  On the other hand . . .  “He does look strong.” 

“
I could crush your skull with my bare hands, runt,” growled Charlie.  Daniel stepped back sub-consciously.

“
That’s not going to help,” Zeke said, keeping his massive friend in check.  “He’s a good fighter.  I’ve seen him, earlier today.  He’ll be an asset.”  He turned to Daniel.  “Just as long as you understand the arrangement.”

“
It won’t be a problem.”  It was more of a decision than a statement.

“
Fine, whatever,” said Charlie, dropping his act.  “But I’m going home now.  I gotta spend the night with my little girl before they take her upstairs.”

“
You two have a good time!  I’ll meet you at the south gate tomorrow at six!”

Charlie set off, taking his first steps backwards so he could still talk. 
“Make it seven and you’ve got a deal!”

“
You’re on!” 

Daniel groaned.

Chapter Four: Night

             
“Wake up!”  called a voice.  “We’re leaving!  Get up!”

             
The fourteen-year-old boy rolled back and forth until he had enough strength to sit up groggily.  “Micah, what time is it?”

             
The older boy didn’t answer.  He looked worried.  “Get up, Zeke.  We have to leave.”

             
He noticed a small pack on his friend’s back.  “What’s going on?” 

             
He  didn’t answer.  Instead he turned, motioning for Zeke to follow.

             
Micah led him through the darkened bedroom of the orphanage.  At one end of the room, he pushed open a window and climbed through it.  “Don’t wake anyone,” was all he said.  They disappeared into the night.

             
The forest at night could be a powerfully frightening place to children.  Ages ago, the boys may have been raised on stories of ghosts, witches, and wolves.  Venturing into the woods would have been a rite of passage.  A test. 

             
A boy goes into the woods.  A man comes back. 

             
But the two boys had never known such a time.  Ghosts and witches had nothing on soldiers and malak.  They knew what went bump in the night.

             
Zeke knew enough to be scared, but Micah, as always, was fearless.  Almost ready for a fight.  He led them towards a glowing window.  It was where Sister Mary Anne lived.  She ran the orphanage. 

             
In the soft glow, Zeke stared at the older boy.  His friend.  His brother.

             
Micah was only seventeen, but his hair was thick and white.  Not light blonde.  Not gray.  White.  It often made him think of pictures of men from ancient colonial times, the men who wore the curly powdered wigs.  Their hair was also thick and white.  But theirs was long and curly.  Micah’s was short and straight. 

             
Zeke never understood his hair.  He knew what made hair turn white.  Fear.  Trauma.  Something terrible that happened to him.  But Micah never spoke about his past, before he came to the orphanage.  Even Sister Mary Anne didn’t know what happened to him. 

             
Micah was popular.  Everyone at the orphanage liked him.  He was smart, and even Sister Mary Anne would ask him for help sometimes.  He was young, but with his hair and his sense of responsibility, he seemed much, much older.

             
But sometimes he would go off on his own.  He would go into the forest for days on end.  And sometimes he would be surrounded by the other children, but not seem to take note of them, as if they were in separate worlds. 

             
Then there were the fights.  He never argued like the other children.  He never acted out violently, like one would expect a seventeen-year-old to do, but everyone knew when Micah was upset.  There was a fire in his eyes that could burn a hole through anyone.  When he was angry, the other children knew it.  They kept their distance.  One glance at his eyes and anyone would back down.  He seemed like he might attack at any moment.

             
Yet for some reason, he was always fond of Zeke. 

             
He didn’t understand why, but he was grateful.  Micah cared for him.  Looked after him.  Like he was doing now.  He only wished it could wait until morning. 

             
He remembered his old friend and loved him.  More than ever, he wished Ariel’s premonition was true.

             
And in another world, the adult Zeke became oddly aware that he was dreaming.  He was watching his past.  Something was being shown to him.  He could feel it.

             
The boys stuck to the shadows as they approached the nun’s window. Crouching below the glass, Micah raised a finger to his lips.  “Shhhh!” he whispered. 

             
They waited a long time.  There was no sound. 

             
“Damn it!”  Micah said.  He leaped up and glanced in the window.  “She’s gone.” 

             
“Gone?   Where would she go at this time?” 

             
“Shh!”  he urged.  Zeke instinctively ducked back down. 

             
“It’s not where she went.  It’s where they took her,” he explained in hushed tones.  He glanced nervously around the woods, looking for signs.  Shadows.  Anything.

             
Zeke didn’t feel safe in the glow of the window.  Even with Micah.

             
“Where who took her?  Tell me what’s happening?”

             
“Sister Mary Anne was an official member of the Unified Theocratic Church, but she supported the rebellion.  She’s been arrested by inquisitors.”

             
“Inquisitors?  Here?”  Zeke didn’t believe it.  The war was usually so far-off.  “What are we going to do?  All the others?  What about them?” 

             
“I don’t know,” he confessed.  “If they’re lucky, nothing.  They’ll be left to either fend for themselves or die.  If not, they might take the older ones to fight for the Theocracy and kill the younger ones. .” 

             
“They?  What about us?”

             
“I’m leaving tonight.  I can’t stay and wait for what might happen.” 

             
Zeke’s stomach felt heavy at the thought of being abandoned.  “What?  You’re just going to leave?  What about the others?  What about me?” 

             
“I’m not leaving you.  I want you to come with me.” 

             
He felt honored to be invited along on Micah’s adventure.  But it was a big decision.  “We can’t just leave the others.”

             
“I know.”  He glanced back at the children’s quarters.  “But we can’t stay here tonight.  The inquisitors might come back, and I can’t help much if I’m drafted into the Theocratic army.”

             
“So we come back for them?  When it’s safe?” 

             
“Right.”

             
Suddenly, there was a sound from the other side of the small house.  The bushes began to rustle.  The boys heard voices.  Men’s voices. 

             
“ . . . torch ‘em.  Kids ain’t no good to us anyhow.” 

             
“Right, boss.  What do I do if they try to run?”  called a second.

             
The boys were both thinking the same thing.  Inquisitors.  They shot a nervous glance at each other. 

             
“Hold the doors so that don’t happen, ‘kay?  But if it do, shoot ‘em.  They won’t survive long anyhow.”

             
“Right boss.” 

             
The red light of a torch flickered around the side of the house.  A tall thug appeared.  The torch light hit the spot where the two boys crouched in the shadows.

             
“Huh?” said the Inquisitor.

             
“What’s that?”  called the first voice.

             
“Someone’s back there?” called another. 

“
Yeah, two kids.” 

“
You know what to do.”

             
But he never did it.  The boys had already disappeared into the woods.

              As Zeke sat upright in bed, startled by the strange feeling he got from his dream, another man in the city couldn’t sleep at all. 

             
High up in his tower, the Supervisor paced through his darkened living quarters.  He wandered to the window and drew back the curtains to look out. Instantly, the room filled with harsh fluorescent light.  He lived high in the tower, near the bottom of the plate.  It was always brighter there, since the lights were always on. 

             
It was brighter, but it still wasn’t the sun.

             
“Adam, come to bed,” moaned the voice of his wife.  “You know I can’t sleep with that wretched light.”

             
“Sorry dear,” he said meekly.  He dropped the curtain.  The room became black again.  “I’ll take it in another room.” 

             
He turned to go, but she stopped him.  Sitting up, she groaned, “It’s that matter with the ex-soldier, isn’t it?”  She sounded like she was complaining.  Like she felt obligated to speak to him. 

             
Dumah didn’t care.  His wife, Lilith, was the daughter of a renowned politician, an upper-city governor during the days of the Theocracy.  One of the few theocrats who was permitted to keep his post after the war. 

             
Most were executed for their part in the inquisitions. 

             
Lilith knew more about the political world than Dumah.  The Supervisor felt grateful she had been close to her father. 

             
“I’ll never understand this job,” he told her.  He accepted the position of Supervisor because the war was over.  That’s what old soldiers did—they became politicians.  It was an ancient tradition, leading back to the warrior kings of the earliest civilizations.  But he couldn’t figure out why.  How the two jobs were related was a concept beyond his imagination.

             
“You did the right thing,” she consoled, already knowing what was on his mind.  “It’s what the Karellan wanted.”

             
“Still, I can’t help but think I’ve just sent four men to their deaths.”

             
In the light leaking under the curtain, he could vaguely detect a snarl form on her face.  She obviously didn’t feel like being supportive tonight.

             
“It could be worse.  Didn’t you say the Karellan wanted to run the test in the city?  You talked him out of that.  Shouldn’t that count for something?”

             
“I think you’re missing the point.”  He tried to be tactful, trying not to upset his wife.  “From every soldier right down to the last infant, every person in the lower city is my ward.  It’s my job to protect them, not to send them to their deaths just for the sake of following orders.” 

             
He thought again of the warrior-kings and ancient times.  Back then, there were those who fought, and those who worked.  The fighters defended the workers and the workers fed the fighters.  Government was much simpler than 26th century society.  Lilith, however, felt right at home around contemporary politics.  She didn’t care for the tradition of the noble-warrior kings, instead favoring ideas that were less-than-noble.

             
The kind that, unfortunately, yielded better results.

             
“Adam, it’s very commendable that you care so much, but don’t neglect your orders.  You’re the Supervisor, not the Karellan himself.  Respect the chain of command.  You overstepped your authority enough already by demanding he change his plans.”

             
“Do you know how many innocent people would have died under his plans?”  Immediately, he wished he hadn’t been so blunt.

             
Lilith smiled mockingly in the darkness, under-lit by the leaking fluorescent light.  “You think you, of all people, are fit to worry about innocent deaths?  You know what he’s doing up there.  Most of these people hate him for simply being a scary overlord.  You have every right to hate him, yet you say nothing.”

             
“Don’t you think that doesn’t bother me every waking minute?” he replied to his wife.  His position required him to maintain silence about the Karellan’s experiments.  If he exposed what he knew, he’d be fired, banished or killed for treason.  Either way, he’d be taken out of power.  Then he’d be in no position to help anyone.

             
But as it was now, he was nothing more than an ineffective figurehead.

             
Lilith didn’t care about his problems.  He was reminded of her loyalty to the overlord on a daily basis.  It was he who pardoned her father when he was awaiting execution.  It was he who permitted him to continue his work as a governor.  The Karellan was the only one who gave him a fair chance. 

             
He also introduced Lilith to Dumah.  “Every good leader must appear a family man,” he had said.  “This girl comes from a good family.  She’ll do you well.” 

             
Dumah had been grateful.  She had proven indispensable.  But he had realized now she had initially been placed by the Karellan to keep an eye on him. 

             
All because of his pesky devotion to being a man of honor.