Artifacts, Chapter Two: Interruption

Chapter Two: Interruption

In the dark and momentary silence of the Ritual, Milena sat obediently. She took a rare moment to examine her surroundings in the Sanctuary with its elegant architecture and ornate design. Beside the full pews to her left, wooden columns rose to the high ceilings, its upper corners littered with cobwebs. Staring back ahead, she noticed Head Bishop Jaromir finalizing the Provision, and he began the chant. Then Jaromir stood underneath the gargantuan bronze statue, copying the image of the Great Riv. Everyone stood with this ritualistic invitation and joined in Jaromir's reverent pose.

A familiar tightness gripped Lena’s stomach as she remembered that even as she stood in the Riv’s presence, she knew she was not worthy. How appropriate had it been, Bishop Jaromir’s sermon – letting your past lay and not being beholden to it. However, Lena knew there were some sins even the Great Riv could not wipe clean.

In her moment of distraction, Lena jumped as she fell out of vocal synchronization with everyone else. Beside her, Zena jabbed her ribs, hard. Lena winced, felt her mind snap back into focus as her heart began to race and knew her face was bright red. And now she wasn’t really saying the words coming from her lips, merely speaking from memory. She shook her head in frustration at herself.

Another tightness reminded her – where was Milo? She kept trying to find a moment where she could steal a glance to examine the pews behind her, but none came. The last thing Milo needed was another excuse for a public cleansing. Just as the chant ended one of the gigantic, wooden doors at the back of the Sanctuary creaked open, its ancient hinges in desperate need of some oil.

Complete silence. Sudden and sickening. Every single attendee – Lena’s classmates, people she’d always known, some she only knew by face – turned around, fixing their eyes on the intruder; most of their eyes narrowed and focused with no intention of looking away.

“Milo,” Bishop Jaromir’s voice seeped through his breath mask, echoing and bouncing off the wood enclosures around them. He wasn’t yelling, but the force of his voice was enough to make Lena imagine it was reverberating through her head.

Lena watched as Milo’s face transformed from expressing shock to rage but overall this whole charade didn’t seem to be bothering him. Perhaps it was how quickly he seemed to disregard the stares; perhaps it was the way he didn’t offer the congregation a litany of exaggerated, insincere smiles or apologies.  He simply shuffled as he slipped along the walls and entered Lena’s pew. Lena’s eyes opened in fury as he finally came to a stop next to her. She took her gaze off of Milo and looked around her to find everyone had turned their attention entirely to Lena, some of them shaking their heads. She felt her pulse quicken and her palms immediately grow sweaty. All she could think of were the stares and how to make them stop.

“What are you doing?” Lena hissed.

“We need to talk, Leens,” he kept his voice and his head low, “you know, if you want”

Lena’s stomach churned and suddenly she wasn’t as able to breathe. She still felt the gazes like lightning and wanted nothing more than just to close her eyes to force herself awake from this nightmare. She scratched her head, then folded her arms a few different ways, “Yeah. Fine. Okay. Sure. We’ll talk after”

Lena looked back up at the altar. Head Bishop Jaromir simply stood, his ornate robes seeming not daring to move an inch, as if the vestments themselves were waiting for permission to continue the Ritual. His narrow eyes and wrinkled face bled contempt as he pointed to the pews in the back. Milo made a face and skirted past Lena, Zena, and the others in the row, walking along the walls again as he took a seat in the back.

Lena hung her head as she felt her chest begin to ache. This is not the way the daughter of a Priest behaves. Nor is it the kind of way she draws attention to herself. In the pit of her stomach, she knew she wouldn’t be able to shake this feeling of disappointment in herself for hours, perhaps days.

As Milo walked to the back of the Sanctuary, Bishop Jaromir lowered his gaze even further and scanned the entire congregation, the dark-skinned students closer to the front, “The Words are very clear; it is through our separation that we are reminded who we are.”

Lena dared not look forward as she chanted the response under her breath, and while the rest of the congregation sat back down, she quickly looked back to see that instead of taking a seat in the back, Milo had vacated the Sanctuary altogether. In a momentary rage against her better judgment, Lena felt her face snarl. First an interruption, and then leaving altogether? Unthinkable. Insulting. After standing up for him so many times?  She turned back around to see that Jaromir had also noticed Milo’s departure.

“And there are those among us who will never be able to understand, or change their fortunes.”

Lena found herself unable to keep Jaromir’s gaze, and instead looked at the floor, the dull wood dimly reflecting what light happened to enter through the stained glass windows on either side. She looked back up at the Great Riv, trying to decide if he was disappointed in her too. She remembered trying to strike the same pose at the Riv when she was little – her father had gotten after her for that one. He had seen it as mockery.

As the Ritual finally concluded, Zena walked with her in silence and the multitudes as they departed. Back to class. Together they passed the guarding Enforcers, their deceptively white robes matching the snow on the ground, until they exited into the frigid, biting wind. Once outside, Lena politely disengaged from her several friends in tow and walked to where Zena was standing, a sizable distance from the rest of the crowd. Zena’s arms were tightly folded across her chest.

“Do you think people are still thinking about Milo?”

It quickly became obvious why Zena’s arms were crossed so tightly. Her eyes darted right and left and then looked back at Lena without immediately answering, as if the very question were ridiculous, “What do you think?”

She drew the question out and raised the pitch of her voice to indicate her sarcasm, which Lena chose to ignore.

“Do you think they care?”

“I don’t know! Probably! This never happens!”

The knot in her stomach tightened.

“I’m just really worried that that’s all they’ll be thinking about.”

Zena visibly relaxed, “I wouldn’t worry too much – Milo’s going to get the brunt of it, anyway. You handled it pretty well, actually. Not really saying much to him”

Somehow the knot tightened even more. To the point where Lena felt the need to bend over to relieve its grip on her insides.

“Do you think he’s mad at me?”

Zena looked incredulous again, “Who cares?” She paused, “Could you at least look me in the eye?”

Lena felt a pang of guilt jab at her sides as she lifted her head to meet Zena’s blue gaze as she continued, “This is bigger than you, Lena.” She kept her voice at a whisper, “If Milo keeps this up, he will be purged”

Lena blinked, then shook her head.

“He’s just a kid”

“Yes, a kid. Also a Niz”

“What should I do?”

Lena didn’t wait for an immediate answer and broke eye contact. She looked back at the old Sanctuary; the tall, wooden steeple had become darker with age and dirt. It towered over every other building in town - no other structure was allowed to match its height. A smaller statue of the Great Riv hung near its top, its golden bronze long replaced by a soft green slowly dripping onto the steeple itself. It was the only structure not to have the crudely written banners and posters hanging from it. The other buildings had layers and layers of the posters, some of them advertising someone’s innocence, others their guilt – like memories of past purges.

“You’re not going to like my answer”

Lena looked back at her friend. Zena continued, “And besides, you already know what I’m going to say”

“It’s funny to me that you think it’s that easy”

Zena unfolded her arms and instead let them hang in front of her as her mouth fell agape. “How hard could it be? Just… stop talking to him. Stop letting him follow you around, at least. It really wouldn’t be that hard.”

Lena chortled to herself. Some of us have a conscience; the problem is that I can’t get mine to shut up.

“You’re going to have to make a choice, Lena. Milo is dragging you down. And soon your house will be the next one covered with those,” Zena pointed at the posters, plastered over some poor soul’s home. Lena could make out some of the terrible epithets scribbled in large, blocky text, but because so many other posters overlapped each other, it was difficult to make out full sentences.

Lena inhaled the constantly filtered, metallic-tasting air that filled her breath mask. As the stomach knot continued to jab at her insides, she realized the pearl of truth contained within that statement. Milo was already on thin ice and his little farce was only making it worse. She knew she had to do all she could to make sure that never happened.

“This is not your first absence, Milo. Nor is it your first insult against Head Bishop Jaromir. But you already knew that”

Milo didn’t answer. Priestess Zora slammed Milo’s already-throbbing hand once again with the wooden paddle. Her eyes tried to pierce his own, but he did not meet her gaze.

“And what’s this I hear about you savagely ripping off Adam’s breath mask and then running away for him to fend for himself? Is that how the Great Riv wants us to treat others? Especially those among the chosen”

Finally Milo decided to answer. But he still didn’t look at her.

“I thought purple looked good on him”

In a fraction of a second Zora had lifted her hand and swatted it across Milo’s cheek, his face flying so fast he heard his neck pop. Her hand had barely missed his face mask, which now dug into his nose and chin from the force of the blow.

“He could have died, Milo”

Her voice wasn’t threatening, but almost pleading. As if Milo hadn’t understood that. Milo looked away from her, resolving not to concede anything else.

Without another word, the Priestess dug her nails into Milo’s wrist and tugged with more force than he thought possible. His world spun as she pulled him from his chair. Milo struggled to stay on his feet, but by the time he regained his orientation, they were already in the hallway, and Zora was flinging open the main double wooden doors.

The Priestess continued to drag him around the corner. As she stopped, she kept a stern grip on his burlap collar and stopped walking in front of a small, wooden room. Two Enforcers guarded it, unmoving and disciplined. Milo couldn’t help but notice their rare metal swords dangling from their belts.

“The Cabinet again, huh?”

Even as he spoke Milo had no clue as to why he chose to goad the Priestess like this. Maybe if he begged for his freedom, talked about how much he had prayed to the Great Riv about his mistakes, she might even grant him mercy. But the list of grievances against him was too long as it was already, and he doubted he could fake repentant penance that well without suppressing the need to roll his eyes.

The Priestess unlocked the wooden latch to the Cabinet and unceremoniously tossed him inside. No sooner had he turned back around to face the door that he found it inches from his nose, accompanied by the sound of the latch being re-engaged from the outside. The small, rectangular window near the top of the door remained open and was now the sole source of light.

“It would be wise for you to seriously reconsider your attitude, Milo. They generally don’t purge kids your age, but perhaps you would be the first”

Even during this discipline, her voice was low, disappointed. Without even giving him time to respond, the window was closed, filling the entire enclosure in pure blackness. The structure itself was too thin to sit, or even to crouch or lean. Milo was forced to stand.

In spite of his close quarters, Milo had adapted a way of contorting his body to help him lean on his knees, which locked against the structure of the Cabinet, creating an uncomfortable mix between a crouch, a lean, and a squat that he could manage to fall asleep to. He’d wake up with his legs deprived of blood and his knees bruised, but at least it passed the time. That was worth the pain.

For a sickening moment, Milo thought about the horrors witnessed during other purges. People forced to write “confessions” to the multitudes, a public “trial” that normally ended in execution. How many heretics had the Riv killed?

But even as he considered Zora’s words, another thought continued to lurk in his mind. As his hands and neck throbbed he couldn’t get it out. What would Lena say about the purple rock he had found?