The Colors of Alemeth - Vol. 1 Page 15

CHAPTER 10

  Amen

  I descended as soon as the bell rang.

  I found Qepiem in a corner with a black and flaky mask.

  He beckoned me with his head, turned his back and started walking.

  I followed him through the labyrinthine Umbraland, almost deserted at that hour, though it was filling at a frightening pace. We turned at a dark corner and passed a tall boy with very smooth, long black hair who remained standing in a corner and watching us.

  I shivered. I had the strange feeling I’d seen him around before but I couldn’t remember where. Maybe he was a follower of the Great Superstition. Perhaps he belonged to Defectio.

  “You have to walk faster, Cev. I think we’re being followed.”

  I pulled my hood down and ran to catch his pace.

  “The one with the long black hair? Is it him?”

  Qepiem kept his eyes straight ahead under the black mask.

  “No. They’re three. But you won’t be able to see them from here.”

  An arrow to the left informed that the Winners Ceremony was nearby, but we turned right. After a few meters we turned again into an empty and dim corridor.

  “You have to walk faster, Cev.” His calm was fading before my eyes.

  “You’re scaring me.”

  I saw no one. It was just me and him in that wet and dusky stone tunnel.

  “We’re getting too far away from the ceremony,” I warned.

  He stopped abruptly, grabbed my arm and pulled me into a slit in the wall. He took his finger to his lips, gesturing for me to keep silent.

  I sensed steps on the wall above us. Then there was the sound of something crashing on the ground, and a smiling demon passed in front of us. He didn’t seem to notice us. A second later another one passed, but this one turned his mask toward us.

  Qepiem jumped out and pulled two guns from his cloak before the other could do the same. He fired a shot straight in the middle of the mask’s smile, and the man fell to the ground. The other appeared soon after, armed, only to be shot between the eyes and join the other in death. The third showed up with a pistol ready in hand, but the weapons were lost during a clash of arms between the two men.

  I couldn’t move, only lurk between the crack in the wall, afraid to go out. I had a strong desire to help Qepiem, but what could I do?

  A fourth black figure with a mask jumped off the wall and landed with his back to me. He brandished a double-edged sword, ready to throw it to the redemptor.

  I had to do something. All heroes have their first bold act. I leaped from the slit, grabbed the gun of one of the dead men next to me and aimed it at the sword-wielding man, but my hand shook as I fired.

  The shot missed him, of course.

  He turned to me, that terrifying face smiling grimly at me, and raised his hand that held the sword.

  This time I didn’t need courage. But when I raised the gun, trembling, a shot resonated before I could pull the trigger, and the man fell forward, dead.

  Behind him, Qepiem dropped his attacker, whose neck he had twisted in a sinister angle, on the ground. He looked at the top of the wall behind me. When I turned back, I was in time to see the long black-haired man from earlier put the gun down and disappear.

  “I made too many mistakes,” said Qepiem. He shook the cloak, pocketed both guns and resumed walking.

  I followed him but had gotten too nervous.

  “Who were they?” I asked.

  “You know very well who they were.”

  Of course I knew.

  “And he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did you know they were here?”

  He gave no answer and kept walking.

  “We should’ve left one of them alive so that we could find out what they wanted!” I told him.

  “You know what they wanted.”

  We walked, almost running, trying to get back to where the results of the Umbrifications would be announced.

  “Now what? I can’t go home, can I?”

  “You never could.”

  We crossed a corner and hit a noisy crowd that had already congregated in front of the still empty stage.

  “Keep close to me. We’ll try to find that Qefso Nokabo and get out of here quickly. Then we’ll think of what do to next.”

  We followed a group of about fifteen umbriferos who roamed around talking loudly and animated and wearing black mantles without their hoods on. Some smoked, an act prohibited by the Institution more than two centuries before.

  “We’re already late; it’ll be more difficult to find him in the midst of this crowd.”

  The space was large and square, and the seven colors tangled in the cement. Like most of Umbraland, it was full of platforms and projections, some higher than others. Clean water ran beneath some of them, an excuse for some pacifici to bathe as if in lakes and waterfalls.

  “Where are you going? We should try the area closer to the stage, don’t you think? There’ll be someone from the organization there.”

  He looked at me from behind the mask and nodded. At this point, the audience raised their arms and shouted as a band appeared on stage.

  On a bench perpendicular to the stage sat the eight leaders of the Conclave. Nimda had loosened her blonde hair and rested it curled up on her lap. The old Nefafe was nodding off, but Efpa woke him up with a slap on his face when the band started playing.

  The music disturbed me; what was heard above ground was in no way similar. It didn’t seem to bother the umbriferos, however, some of whom smoked and drank, and everyone danced. Although fumbling at random, together they formed a beautiful interconnected movement, like a shoal of fish sliding through the dangers of the sea, which complemented the music being played perfectly. They were smiling, many of them with their eyes closed, while their bodies swayed, hands and feet, head and pelvis, in fast and slow movements.

  What I would’ve given to be as happy and relaxed as they were….

  We cut through the crowd to the center of the hall.

  Qepiem looked around, probably making sure everything was fine.

  “Dance! It’ll do you good. This just started.” A cross-eyed man, who was barely over thirty, came over and shook my shoulders while smiling. “In the next few moments don’t think about your worries, take it all out of your head and move your body. Or better: don’t move it, let it move as it wills.”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  Qepiem already had all his attention on us.

  The man writhed in a long, sharp laugh. When he finally stopped, he replied, “I know your face. Do you not know mine?” And again he broke into laughter. “Here, take it. But be careful.” He handed me a glass filled with a slightly effervescent, violet and grainy drink.

  The drinks in the hands of the partygoers, like the one he had given me, were different from the drinks that existed above. Some were a neon green, others were as violet as the violet on the walls and floor, others were red as blood, others were a blue so strong and defined as the clear and high sky on a summer’s day. But it wasn’t just the colors; their tastes were unique, as well as the effect they had.

  I had come down to uncover clues about the persecution that Defectio was exacting on my son, not to party with strangers I just met in the tunnels.

  “I don’t want it, thank you.”

  “I brought you meditation juice.” More laughter. “Is it not ironic? Meditation juice for you! It has a relaxing effect.”

  “Should I know you?” I asked.

  His demeanor suddenly became serious. Someone was speaking on stage.

  “Yes and no.” He passed by me and gestured to follow him.

  We followed, elbowing through the crowd. At some point, a shower of bright violet confetti fell on us and captivated the audience. The lists were being announced.

  I glanced at the stage where a giant screen displayed, against a violet background, the number three and the face of a twenty-something-year-old boy by the name of Koté
Raktacoq below.

  Koté, who ranked third in niche Pax, took to the stage to receive the medal, which was merely a sphere surrounded by the petals of the pacifici’s symbol, to the applause of the audience.

  “Do you know my face now?”

  “I’m sorry; I really don’t know who you are….”

  “Of course they wouldn’t tell you. Not after that blood, no, it doesn’t matter anymore. It has served its purpose. I’m out!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They’ll do the same to you.” He paused and got close to my face.

  Qepiem approached too, ready to defend me.

  “Mother of the boy.” Then he withdrew and started walking again.

  “Qefso Nokabo,” Qepiem said while opening a path through the crowd behind the man.

  We followed him to a couple of sofas on a raised platform, beneath which two umbriferos were bathing in clear ponds, inattentive to the announcement of the rankings.

  First place for niche Pax was being called to the stage.

  Qefso sat down and took three short hops on the sofa.

  “Are you Qefso Nokabo?” I asked.

  He nodded frantically.

  “They told me to talk to you.”

  “Who? The fallen gods? Those filthy, disgusting, fallen-in-disgrace gods?

  “The Conclave.” I lowered my voice. “I will continue your mission.”

  He laughed. “I figured. I know all about you. You’re the mother.” He touched my face with his fingertips. “Flee while you can. They’ll take everything from you.”

  I ignored the madness.

  “Have you been to Territory 47?”

  He winced at my question and turned his face to the side.

  “What did you find there? I need to know. Is that where Defectio is?”

  The audience clapped enthusiastically as yellow confetti fell from the sky. The feministriae rankings were being announced.

  “There’s fire everywhere. There are undead being burned eternally; they burn but do not die!” He lost his voice in a squeaky cry and covered his face. Then he laughed.

  “Where is it?”

  “No. They’ll use you!”

  “Who will use me? Defectio? Did you find them there?”

  He shook his head.

  “The disgusting colorful gods!”

  “The Conclave?”

  He nodded.

  “The demon of a thousand heads needs to be fed. He wants your son.”

  I turned my gaze to Qepiem, but he didn’t return it.

  “What is the demon of a thousand heads?” he asked.

  I was about to tell him that the man was insane, but he replied immediately.

  “The tree, of course!”

  “The Black Tree of Light?”

  Qefso seemed to notice him for the first time, despite having answered him before.

  “Yes! Black and putrid and malignant, as they say above. It’s true!”

  “The Black Tree wants my child?”

  “Yes, fool! Why do you think they’re in the middle of this?”

  “What did the Conclave do to you?” I asked.

  “No!” He shook himself. “They laid me down there in it….” He broke down and cried.

  I was afraid he wasn’t crazy after all, and the look on Qepiem seemed to show he feared the same thing. Perhaps the Conclave wasn’t as innocent as it looked.

  A picture of me appeared on the screen as indigo confetti fell from the ceiling. A sound of shock ran through the audience when the umbriferos recognized the face.

  I was ranked third. Not bad. But I wasn’t going to go up on stage, no way. I pulled the hood further down and waited for everything to return to normal.

  “How do we get to Territory 47?” asked Qepiem.

  “No, no, I’m not going back there. No.”

  “You just have to tell us how to get there.”

  “You’re leaving already? Aren’t you staying for the Circulus Protectionis? The magic ritual that keeps Umbra protected in the shadows will commence soon!” He laughed.

  “We’re not going right now,” answered Qepiem.

  Qefso raised his crooked eyes to me. They seemed to be quivering.

  “It’s near the South Gate. There’s a mark of the hell to come. It’s always west, west, west. Seven spirals of fire, the seven spirals of fire, below the burning wheel. I will not go, no, no, no.”

  The South Gate was Umbraland’s entrance farthest to the south of Carmel, but there was practically nothing there.

  “How is he?” he asked, fully recovered from the anguish.

  “Who?”

  “Him. So be it!” He laughed again.

  I shook my head in confusion.

  “Your son,” clarified Qepiem and lowered his eyes.

  My son?

  “Don’t worry too much about this. Go to him, you fool. Play with him and spend as much time as you can with him. Teach him what you know; you have good values indeed.” His voice showed less lunacy with every word he spoke. The expression on his face became sane. “I know it’s easier said than done, but sometimes we give more importance to things than what they really deserve. He’s safe, isn’t he? Then enjoy your time with him. It’s not worth losing time over what we cannot change.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Him! I told you.”

  “What do you know about my son?”

  “He is red.” The madness had returned to his face. “He has such a good name!”

  “Alem?”

  “Not that one!” He began to laugh again.

  I glanced back at Qepiem, confused, to see if he could enlighten me.

  “In Umbrish,” he said.

  And then I realized what he was talking about.

  The formula was to keep the vowels and replace the consonants with those that they precede in the alphabet. A metaphor for the world down under. The A remained, the l was replaced with m, the e was kept and the n substituted m. As surprising as it may sound, I had never thought of that. After making the translation, I shivered. It seemed like a joke from Fate.

  Slightly stunned, I muttered the result, “Amen….”

  “Where do I go now? I can’t go home. They must be waiting for me,” I asked as I followed Qepiem out of the hall.

  “I agree. You have a good alarm system, but we know that wasn’t enough ten years ago.”

  I didn’t know he knew that.

  “And what do you suggest I do?”

  “I could tell you to disappear for a while, leave Umbra, change homes, change your appearance. But you won’t do that, and I understand.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “I’ll take you to one of our shelters.”

  “What about Alem?” I refused to refer to him by Amen. “I can’t leave him at the monastery. And next weekend he has to come home!”

  “You don’t have to leave him. I can arrange things. This is temporary, right? After we bring back the Great Superstition, you and Alem will stay protected by the Conclave.”

  I wanted to vomit, but I controlled myself.

  “Yes… and until then?”

  “Until then, you stay hidden, and I’ll bring him to you.”

  “And how are you going to do that?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Trust me.”

  “What was Qefso saying about the Conclave? Was any of that true?”

  “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” he replied.

  “But I don’t understand. The Black Tree of Light… that’s just a symbol, an abstract idea. He was talking about demons and sacrifices.”

  He kept on walking without looking at me.

  “You saw it.”

  “The Black Tree? Where?”

  “In the Fort of Covenants. In the hall.”

  I tried to remember. “That altar with three columns?”

  “The three coiled trunks.”

  “What do they do with it?”

  I couldn’t g
et him to answer me.

  I took refuge in the east part of Umbraland, in a kind of underground warehouse where, according to Qepiem, no one would look for me. He asked me for some time to investigate the information given by Qefso on the location of Territory 47 before venturing in there with me. I spent the rest of the week reading everything I could find on the Great Superstition, which was almost nothing.

  When the day that Alem had to leave Heart of Carmel for a few days finally came, I was already going crazy and could no longer distinguish what could be related to the prophecy from what had nothing to do with it.

  Students returned to the city on one of the three monastery buses that took them to Dead King’s Square, in the center of Carmel, where their parents and chauffeurs awaited them. But I thought this could be too dangerous—Defectio might use the opportunity to catch him—so I arranged for him to come by car directly to the warehouse. Ezekiel and Rhode devised a plan to bring him to me after taking many turns with the car to deceive whomever might be following. I asked them to cover Alem’s head with a cap.

  They went to pick him up in a gas delivery truck they’d borrowed from a friend. I was still wrapping a book to give him when the cellphone Qepiem had given me rang.

  “We have a punctured tire. But stay calm, we still have a lot of time,” said Rhode.

  “Where are you?”

  “We didn’t manage to get beyond the center, but we’ve already called a wrecker to come help us. They’ll be here in five minutes, and then we’ll immediately proceed to the monastery with the other car. Everything’s under control.”

  I tried not to get alarmed. I continued wrapping the gift for Alem, but my heart was telling me that something wasn’t right.

  When Rhode and Ezekiel finally reached the monastery, the last bus had already left, and a nun assured them that no child had stayed behind. Rhode was panicking as she tried to explain this to me, but I had to stay calm to be able to think. I told them to return to the city as soon as they could to get to Dead King’s Square before the buses.

  I left the warehouse without caution and took a taxi to the square. It was the longest journey of my life. When I arrived, I didn’t see any of the monastery buses, but there were still some parents waiting for their children, which was a comforting sign.

  I waited in the taxi with my heart in my hands and didn’t take my eyes off the streets from where the buses could come. Everything was normal around me; the people in the square were oblivious to the fact that my world was very well about to crumble.

  When those red rectangles appeared in my field of vision, slowly coming down the road around the square, full of excited children, I jumped out of the car with an explosion of relief.

  The children came out stumbling toward their parents. All of them, then no one else. And Alem was nowhere to be seen.

  I ran around the buses, turning my head in every direction, and called out to a nun who was talking to the parents of another child.

  “My son, Alemeth Sá, I don’t see him. Where is he? Did he not come?”

  She looked down, then to the sides and then down again.

  “I don’t know. I’m new at the monastery. I don’t know their names yet, I’m sorry.”

  Something was wrong.

  I got dizzy, and the air seemed to thin as if I’d been put in a plastic bag and someone was spinning it around, but I couldn’t pass out.

  Jaala walked behind his mother a few meters ahead of me. I ran toward them, lowered myself to his height and grabbed his arm.

  “Where’s Alem?”

  After recovering from the surprise, he looked at his feet.

  “I don’t know, Ms. Sá… he didn’t come with us.”

  “Did he stay there, Jaala? Do you know if he stayed there waiting?”

  “I don’t know, Ms. Sá….”

  “How can you not know? Didn’t you see him before leaving? Were you not with him?”

  “No.” He looked up from the floor at me and said, “Nobody knows of Alem. No one knows where he is.”

  I tried to take a deep breath, but the air was not coming. No one knows where he is.

  No one knows where he is.

  No one knows where he is.

  No one knows where he is.

  The phrase never lost its meaning.

  I looked around, trying not to lose balance, but everything was spinning. Down the street was a sewer lid. I looked at it, terrified. There it was, still and quiet, staring back at me.