Chapter 40, Nightmare of Dubious Nature

Chapter 40, Nightmare of Dubious Nature

He hadnt known how many years had gone by. It had felt like a thousand, but he knew it couldnt have been more than fifty. His body remained the same age, but his mind felt sluggish. The only thing he was thankful for was that he hadnt been alone down there. There were other prisoners in the catacomb of the Empire.

A few were even from the theocracy. Though they were very, very few. More had been recovered at first, but as the years dragged their feet and tore at his psyche, more and more of these people were taken.

Executed. Killed.

A better fate than remaining in the prison. It was Hell. Food was scarce, drinking clean water even more so. Kreig had believed himself accepting of his new life. He had lived there longer than he had lived on Earth, he had found a love and a purpose in the theocracy, but here, now Now, he uselessly found himself longing for the simple pleasures of his teenage years.

They released him only after his will was shattered a thousand times. Only after he had sworn his loyalty, only after he had spat in their faces, only after he had kissed their boots, only after he had pretended to give up his religion, only after he had been taught the tongue of his captors, only after he grew more silent than not, only after he stopped reacting to their whips and chains Only then did they know that he was truly broken.

He prayed, yes. In his heart, he sang the chants Peter had written. Spoke words of faith and longing.

That wasnt what saved him.

When they pulled him up, dragged him out of his cold, damp cell, he expected torture, isolation or execution. Not release.

He was met with a half-full moon grinning down at him. So bright his eyes felt dry and burning. Stars upon stars shone down in full intensity, as if he hadnt spent a single year down there. Years ago, he might have taken this moment of release, this single moment where the Empires streets were laid bare and the night wind rustled through his unkempt hair and there was a chill in the breeze, to escape. Break his chains and throw the soldiers to the side and run, run, run.

He didnt. He stared up, looked at the stars, and lumbered after his new masters.

He couldnt die. If he tried to escape and he was caught, he would be killed. If he tried to escape and he succeeded, he would be hunted forever. The theocracy had fallen, he was a heretic and if he didnt submit, the faith would die with him. He had to remain alive.

Such a vow lived on in his heart.

And yet, he felt misplaced. The free wind felt wrong, the castle he was shuffled into was cold and foreign, and the lord who presented him to the Emperor in fluid German was a stranger. It was all wrong. Wrong and bad and he was in the wrong place and why wouldnt they take him home yet?

But as he looked at the stars he didnt recognize, in a world he didnt remember, in a city that had forgotten him, he suddenly felt hollow.

He wasnt home. Not yet.

He had to make it home.

And that would take work.

He fell to his knees. The sky was empty, nothing above him. He clutched his hands together, and let the words fall from his glib tongue. It was one of the first prayers hed learned, before he even understood the beliefs of the Holy Order. Before he accepted it into his heart. But he remembered it. Through all these years, it was one of those prayers he wouldnt hesitate to speak in a difficult situation.

It was one asking for guidance.

Oh White Roots, God Below, white snakes of grandest truth. Form into paths, white paths of white gold, and let me walk upon your back. Show me the way, show me the truth. The sun shone upon his back, a single ray of light, like a spotlight for him and him alone. All prayers he knew were in English. He didnt understand it at first, but the mere fact that he and his four classmates spoke English as a first language was seen as a blessing, something fantastic. Only the highest Oracles and cardinals spoke the language of roots fluently. Sure, the Five Bodies couldnt speak a lick of mandarin, but they learnt quickly.

Peter even became a scriber when the opportunity arose, creating lyrics for chants and texts for prayer. He had written many of the prayers Kreig knew by heart.

After Kreig had spoken his prayer, asking for guidance from his God, he stood up.

Unbeknownst to him, he and his display had been seen by a single soul. A single woman saw his prayer and how he lit up the little street. She was a mere prostitute, and a new one at that, one who didnt know the streets yet and had wandered wrong. She wasnt a believer, but now that changed. Now, she had seen a chosen.

Now, she had received her guidance.

Kreig didnt linger in the streets for long. His God remained silent, but he could tell his place was not in the streets, below dull stars. It was inside. In his home. That he knew.

He went home, not knowing how this small display would change his future.