"Perfect Contrition"
Philadelphia – 1984
The dawn sky lay muffled with clouds. They bounced first light amongst themselves, scattering the sun's rising color from a pleasant, gentle gold into a twisted sea of swirling, ruddy blood. A group of black birds left their roost in the steeple of St. Hubertus, steering themselves through the ugly light like pieces of oily flotsam on the sea. It was not a particularly pleasant sight.
But it was what he was waiting for.
Penance watched the birds take wing above him. They looked like a bunch of ravens.
"That'd make 'em an 'unkindness', wouldn't it?"
That was pretty appropriate. But the birds could also just be crows. It was hard to tell from so far below. Penance forgot what one called a group of crows. It was probably something equally unpleasant, though.
"At least it should be," he mumbled.
He'd held out for this sickly morning light. That much he had to. He couldn't risk being ambushed in the shadows the first moment his feet left holy ground, assuming Mister Steamrolled Peter Lorre was out lurking near the church grounds. Once that crimson sky took on enough light the boy stealthily moved out of the cemetery and into the street. Nobody was out on the streets, yet, although he'd heard the odd garbage truck or two lumbering down the road earlier. Even as the day wore on there'd be precious few people around; the blight here was phenomenal enough that most buildings were like Whip's: empty shells, or at best buildings undergoing extensive, indefinite 'renovation'. With no one in sight his racing heart eased. Penance willed himself to be calm and he walked with an even stride, but he still kept his eyes shifting about, probing every inch of every shadow.
He passed the unfinished library, and just once he briefly looked across the street and gazed at Whip's 'penthouse'. He really wanted to say goodbye to her properly, but that was an impossibility. All things considered, it really was for the best.
He was still distracted thinking about her when he rounded the corner of the library. He bumped headlong into a body, and Penance expected the worst. The boy shied back quickly, reaching into his back pocket while setting his teeth on edge, snarling through flared lips. When he saw who it was, though, Penance quickly backed down.
Father Kenaz took the boy's passionate display in good humor, smirking at Penance's little spout of animal rage. The man was quite early to church today; usually he wouldn't be in until 8:00 or so. Today he wore a hat with a very large brim all around it, pitch black, something like a monsignor might wear. On account of the chill in the air he wore his usual kid-skin gloves and a heavy coat. It came down nearly to his knees and looked very old, almost like a Soviet greatcoat. It was kind of weird, actually: it was cold this morning, but Penance didn't think it was quite that cold.
"Out and about early, are we Penance?" The priest said. "Wherever are we off to, my child?"
Penance's first thought was to lie to the man, but as he stared up at his schoolmaster-like face, framed by those scholarly octagonal glasses, the boy decided not to insult Kenaz's intelligence. It was obvious what Penance was doing, backpack in tow and all, so in departure from character he decided to actually tell the truth. That wasn't the only reason he did it, though. Penance did respect the priest, and not just for listening to his little bitch-fest. Kenaz was definitely what Penance would call an 'odd type', but in a good way. Kinda like Penance was a 'weird kid', but hopefully in a good way, too. Kenaz never really treated Penance like most others did; he wasn't just a run-of-the mill, snot-nosed kid in Kenaz's eyes.
More than anything else the priest had gone out of his way to treat the boy like an equal during his time here. He didn't get that a lot, and even if Penance wasn't really his equal he appreciated that sentiment all the same.
"I'm leaving, Daniel," Penance said. "I have to go away, now."
Kenaz didn't seem to react to this, merely nodding with apparent indifference. The man sighed, slowly walking past the boy and staring down the road, in the direction of the church.
"I see," he said.
"You've been great to me, and all. Vanki, too, but—"
"Can I tell you one thing, Penance? And in truth it is from the heart—"
"Don't try to convince me to stay, or go into the system, Daniel. You know I won't do either—"
"No, Penance. Of course not. No, I think..." Father Kenaz turned around slowly. "I think it is important that you, uh, that you move on. But before you go: do you remember those things you told me when we had dinner together? The way you felt about your life?"
The boy nodded.
"You told me what you thought 'hell' was, and that you feared this hell, that fear motivated you to avoid the weight of your sins. There's a name for that kind of thing, Penance. Do you know what it's called?"
"Hypocrisy?" The boy smirked, crossing his arms.
Kenaz shook his head.
"No. Not at all, my son. It's actually a very valid motivation for righteous living. In the church we call it 'imperfect contrition'. There really is nothing wrong with it, Penance. In fact it's the route whereby many a wayward soul's been saved. Those who do not understand the path laid out for them— and their place in God's grand design— sometimes can only find grace in their fear of eternal damnation. And there's nothing wrong with that; sometimes the stick can be more motivating than the carrot."
"I don't like carrots," Penance mumbled. "I prefer pineapples..."
"There is, however, another motivation. It comes not from fear, but from understanding. It comes from the knowledge that one's existence is in line with God's grand design, and from the wholehearted acceptance of that design. In this way, one is motivated to live and to act according to their love of God, Himself."
"I think I'll leave that kind of thing to priests, and saints."
Kenaz smiled gently.
"Would it surprise you to hear that's not where I first found grace?" The man shook his head, and as he spoke he began working one of the gloves off his hand. "I think I should explain, Penance, that I understand you. I understand you in a way I don't believe you're aware of. There was a time when I was very much like you, my son; I found myself without a purpose in life, and seemingly abandoned by the world itself. Certainly by God, I thought. That's when I met someone very special, Penance, and I learned so many things about who I was, and what, exactly, I was destined to do in God's grand design."
"Who were they?" Penance asked.
"Their name isn't important," Kenaz shook his head. "What they were, though, was very important. They were like me. I learned then that I was not alone— cast out by God as something 'different' and unclean. No, no there were others like me, Penance— many others— and all of us existed for a reason, like any of God's children, only more so. Ours was a grand crusade, you see, and we were all driven to a single, momentous purpose..."
Penance blinked at the man with uncertainty. The boy furrowed his brow:
"Like, to be priests, or..."
Kenaz's gentle smile returned. The man sighed and again shook his head. He stuffed his glove into his coat.
"No, but we were ordained on high, Penance. We had to be. You see, I first learned of my special place in God's design one sunny afternoon on the road. Have you ever heard of a place called Gerrha?"
Penance shook his head.
"Not surprising. It's a rather far-away place. Well, on that very sunny day I was on the road near there. I had goods with me, being something of an accomplished businessman back then."
"Goods?"
Kenaz waved a dismissive hand. The man calmly paced about as he spoke, his stern eyes now soft and nostalgic eyes.
"Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that. Mostly cinnamon, I think, with a good deal of ginger and cardamom, too. You see back then the prices for all of these things were exorbitant. Quite nearly their weight in gold, in fact..."
Penance again blinked in confusion.
"Y— you're talking about spices?" He mumbled.
"The important thing," the priest continued, "is that I overburdened myself, and thus I had some trouble with the cart. One of the axles was giving me grief, you see..."
"Did...did you say cart?"
"And when I dismounted to try to fix the blasted thing, well, it picked that moment to give way. The whole thing came crashing down and, needless to say, being so overloaded it was a mountain of weight..."
Kenaz stopped pacing, standing right in front of the boy, and slowly his eyes returned to the here-and-now. He looked down at Penance with a cool smile.
"It was quite an experience, Penance, breathing my last mortal breath on that day..."
The nerves in Penance's body sputtered out. A cold and terrible limpness overcame his body and his chest heaved. He felt like he was falling in a dream, and only his trembling eyes showed the dread building within him.
"I… I messed up…" Penance whispered.
Kenaz reached down with his ungloved hand and gently reached out to touch the boy's cheek.
"But I was chosen on that day, Penance, for something more extraordinary than one could imagine. God chooses us all, my child..."
As soon as Kenaz touched the boy's cheek an electric tingle exploded all across his skin. Penance could tell from Kenaz's face that he felt it, too.
"...and we must all embrace that choice, made for us so long ago!"
Penance slowly stepped backward; his breaths came in ragged gasps. When he spoke it was in a panicked whisper:
"I really messed up!"
Father Kenaz stood between the boy and the safety of holy ground. The man unbuttoned his coat. Huddled up in its folds, pressed tightly against his chest, was a longsword. The thing was battered and timeworn, gnarled like a raven's beak, but it still looked sharp.
Sharp enough for what the man intended, at least.
"Don't be afraid, Penance," Kenaz whispered.
The boy took off like a shot. He raced in the other direction, and in his panic he worked out a rudimentary strategy: he needed holy ground, now. The church would be best, of course, but Penance doubted his ability to outpace the man around an entire city block. But there was a little something Kenaz had forgotten: the library was blessed with holy water, consecrated by Daniel, himself. Even if that wouldn't do for purposes of 'holy ground' (admittedly, the concept was always a little vague to Penance), there was always that bank of windows on the far side of the building; they faced the cemetery.
Penance could make his stand there. And if Kenaz came after him on the church grounds, well, then they could watch the city burn together.
The boy put all his weight into a desperate leap, and he careened headlong into one of the library windows. His body managed to burst through that glass and he land in a cut-up and bloody heap on the floor inside. Penance got to his feet, yanking a few stray shards of glass from his knee and cheek, and then he raced down into the musty dark of the stacks. The paltry early morning light barely illuminated anything in here, and he stumbled as he ran.
Finally he found his way to the bank of windows. He could barely see the cemetery wall beyond, pale and distorted in the warped and dirty glass. Penance grabbed the first window he came to and yanked up on the handle.
When he did this he heard a peculiar noise, something like a zipper opening up really quickly. He noticed a strange black cord looped around the base of the window, and it was connected to the frame. Below all that, at the base of the window itself, there was this strange, tubular box-like thing. Penance was about to squint at it in curiosity.
He didn't have time, though; the thing exploded in his face almost instantly.
His ears rung; wicked swirls of white light clouded his vision. When he managed to actually open one of his eyes he saw he was on the floor, a good ten feet from the window, and lying on his side. A mess of scattered books lay before him, some roiling with flames, and others merely smoldering. Penance instinctively started crawling back into the stacks, trying to keep from shrieking in agony. His left eye and most of that side of his face were gone— turned to a terrible, sticky jelly, all fused together like a horrible pudding. One of his collarbones was exposed to the air, dented, busted, and burning like hellfire.
Penance struggled onto his stomach and rode out the agony, finally reaching a bookshelf. He lay huddled against it and bit into his hand; he screamed only in his mind. After a moment strange colors started swirling on the periphery of his ruined eye, and seconds later Penance could see out it, again. He felt his face take form, and when he touched his upper chest he could feel his collarbone tucked safe and sound beneath a milky white bed of flawless skin.
The library doors opened with a reverberating boom, echoing in the stale, musty air. Light from the street outside pierced the gloom, illuminating the far wall beside Penance's book stack. A body was silhouetted there, tall and terrible, and it brandished a fearsome sword in one hand.
The doors slammed shut. Instantly Penance could hear nimble feet move through the stacks. The boy stayed where he was for now. Even in his frazzled state he knew where Kenaz was going, first.
The footsteps stopped at that ruined window, and Penance heard feet shuffling as Kenaz looked around him. When those footsteps grew quiet again there was nothing to be heard, other than a few books quietly smoldering in the smoky gloom. Kenaz's soft, deliberate voice echoed through the library:
"Got a little taste of the 'toys', did we, Penance?"
The man's footsteps echoed as he began stalking through the stacks.
"Forgive me for being so flamboyant," the man said. "But those are just to lay out the boundaries. And the windows aren't the only thing so guarded, so if you insist on trying to make it to the churchyard you might lose your legs to a landmine, or two. I can only be so sporting, you see..."
Penance slowly got to his knees and focused, trying his best to keep track of Kenaz's location based on his footsteps and his speech. It was rather difficult, however, given the layout of the stacks and the many odd corners of the building. The boy changed positions, but not before grabbing a stray book off the shelves.
"Are you not going to thank me, by the way?" Kenaz asked. "For going to this trouble, I mean. There were so many times— so many— I could have taken your head without any trouble. But I would have it no other way. I have too much respect to do things that way, Penance. Not for you, so much as for the will of the Lord."
Penance again crouched down behind a stack. Well, that was much was good: it looked like Kenaz was going to insist on giving a rambling monologue while he hunted the boy. That would help Penance keep track of the man's position. That was an advantage, at least.
The bad news is that this was the only advantage Penance could think of, at the moment.
"After all," Kenaz continued, "the Immortal Game we play is ordained by God. Who else has the power to grant immortal life?"
Penance quietly tore out a sheet of paper and used his little knife to slice open one finger. He wrote something in his blood on the page and left it lying conspicuously on the floor of the stacks, and then he quietly shuffled off.
After a few minutes of cat-and-mouse skulking Penance heard the distant sound of paper being pulled up off the floor.
"'Holy Water'." The man read. He said nothing for a time, as if considering the words, and then finally Penance heard him snapping his fingers. "Ah: of course. 'Holy water'. Do you really think, Penance, that my sprinkling a little holy water inside a building makes the building itself holy ground? I certainly don't."
Penance furrowed his brow and grit his teeth.
"And," Kenaz said, "even if I did believe that, there's another matter. Namely that I never actually sanctified this library, my child. You only think I did because I told you that I did..."
The boy winced, his eyes tearful and angry. He balled a fist and struck himself on the forehead, mouthing the word 'stupid'.
"Maybe I should have; perhaps it would have suffered a better fate; who knows? And I am sorry for the lie," Kenaz said. "But, even if this library were on holy ground then I'd still have no trouble pursuing you, my child, because I do not believe in that silly little prohibition. Why should we be prohibited from carrying out the will of God on sacred ground? It's nonsense, pure and simple. I could have easily dispatched you while you slept in that cemetery; the only reason I did not is because I prefer to meet you one-on-one in this matter, and man-to-man..."
Kenaz stopped walking, and Penance could tell he was looking around as he spoke:
"Will you really not dignify me with a response? You'd hold your tongue, even now? Very well; I can respect that. So, you'll listen, then..."
Kenaz started walking again, and he kept speaking as he moved:
"When I said that I understand you I was not lying. I have a deep understanding of you, and I respect your situation..."
Penance wrote out another bloody note and left it on the ground. Again, Penance heard the man's feet come to a stop as he found it. The man chuckled as he read the words.
"You know, Penance: I've taken a little yoga, but I don't think I'm quite that flexible..."
The boy peeked out from his stack and flung his book as hard as possible. It slammed into a stack on the other side of the library, scattering books as it fell. This made Kenaz turn on his feet, but the man stood in place. Penance could visualize the man narrowing his brow and darting those cold eyes about, analyzing the sound.
"Do you know when it was that I first found you out, child? You must be curious, at least. No doubt your mind's racing right now: 'where did I mess up? How did I give myself away'? I'll tell you. It's probably not what you think. It isn't your knowledge of Latin, and the old church nocturnes. It wasn't you knowing the words to a 17th century ballad like 'Matty Groves'— although that was certainly a red flag. Now, you probably think that it was when you told me about your family's fate: how they all were killed, and you were somehow spared. But no, that wasn't it either."
Kenaz spoke louder now, and he used the sound of his echoing voice to hide his footsteps; he was moving faster now, bounding down the stacks. Penance kept the pace, occasionally tossing books in various directions. This didn't seem to stop Kenaz from keeping to a certain deliberate, methodical route, though.
"It was when you talked about the 'skipping LP'. Do you remember that, Penance? That was the moment I knew what you were, because that is exactly the way I felt in those first few years after I received my own blessing. A needle skipping endlessly on the intro to a song: that's very like an Immortal's attempts at a normal life, isn't it? But, dear Penance, the truth is this: we are not meant to have that 'normal life' at all. By our very existence we are made to be players in the grand Game— holy crusaders on a quest ordained by Heaven— and only when the last of us stands, alone, will God's glory be at hand for all the world to see.
"I, myself, am no narcissist, child. I have no illusion that I'm the one who is absolutely fated to be left standing in the end, but I do know my place in this world: it is to do holy battle until I am the only one left, or until I fall..."
Kenaz's pace grew ever faster; he was practically sprinting, now. Penance struggled to keep out of sight. The man continued his route, and Penance fell into place somewhere behind that route, keeping at all times at least one bookshelf between them.
"I accept God's design, Penance, and in doing so I love him for it. But you lack this love for God's design. In your imperfect contrition you fear the terror of what you call a 'hell'. What I can do for you is nothing more than a gift from God himself, Penance: I can remove that fear from you..."
Suddenly Kenaz's sword came right through the bookshelf in a confident, brutal stab. Penance, moving at a full sprint, gasped as one of his lungs suddenly collapsed, run through and exposed to the air. He tumbled head over heels, rolling on the ground, until he came to rest against the stairs to the second floor. He struggled to suck in air and held his wound tight with one hand.
Footsteps sounded around the corner. Kenaz moved very slowly, and when he stood before Penance, bloody sword in hand, the man was all smiles:
"You don't need to run anymore, my child. And you needn't fear that hell."
Penance began a desperate crabwalk backward, hissing through his teeth, still struggling to draw breath.
Kenaz rested his sword against the boy's neck and leaned down near him, whispering to the boy:
"Don't worry. Your family is waiting for you."
Kenaz raised his sword to strike, and Penance took the opportunity to pull out his little knife and leap up, lunging for the man. Kenaz deftly avoided Penance's strike and, as the boy sailed past him, swung his blade down cleanly on the boy's neck.
Penance screamed as a spray of blood erupted all around them, covering the stairs. Kenaz managed to get one of the boy's carotids, and at least part of his windpipe.
All the rest, however, was blocked by a fierce little lightshow of sparks and metal-on-metal clanging.
Penance fell to his knees and gripped his throat. His dog collar sloughed off, broken cleanly apart, and it landed at his feet even as the boy raced up the stairs, taking them in threes. That severed carotid artery was talking its toll, however, and Penance's vision swam. He got all tingly from head to toe, and his limbs turned to rubber as he lost his coordination.
He made it to the middle of the large, empty floor. Naked concrete pillars loomed all around here, and in places exposed rebar supports jutted out like the bones of a massive beast. Darkness ruled the place, broken only by faint rays of light scattered through the piecemeal outside walls. After only a few steps Penance was in no shape to continue. He fell onto the hard concrete. With his last ounce of strength he begged his neck to heal, but it wouldn't heal in time.
Father Kenaz knelt down beside the boy and rolled him over, effortlessly restraining Penance as he tried clumsily slashing at the man with his knife. Kenaz twisted Penance's arm until the boy dropped the knife on the ground, mewling like a wounded kitten. The priest put one knee on Penance's chest and rested his sword on the boy's throat. He held the back of Penance's head in a comforting embrace, and the man's eyes were somberly cold:
"Nolite timere..."
At least he'd get to go out with the solemnity of Latin in his head. Penance felt the blade pressing against his throat. He held his breath and waited.
Suddenly Kenaz doubled over, shrieking, and he landed beside the boy. The man struggled with some unknown weight on his back. He thrashed about with this unseen person, bellowing all the while, and when he finally got ahold of their body he threw them against a concrete pillar, holding them up in a ray of light.
Whip struggled in Kenaz's grip, trying to force the man's hand off her throat. Kenaz, however, easily held her up against the wall with one hand.
"Run, Penance! Go!" Whip screamed.
Both the girl and the man looked back to where the boy had been; only a small pool of blood curled over the ground. There was no sign of Penance.
Whip took the opportunity to pull out a small switchblade while Kenaz was distracted. She slashed his face with it, causing the man to yelp in surprise and restrain her knife hand. He leered at the girl, his face inches from hers, and he spoke even as the slash would on his cheek melted away into nothingness:
"That hurt," he growled.
Whip's lips trembled; the girl's large brown eyes quivered in their sockets. She was clearly beyond the ability to form proper words.
Kenaz took the switchblade from her hand and pressed her tight against the pillar:
"Penance, dear," he called into the darkness of the room. "If you are still here with us, maybe you'd be so good as to walk into the light? If nothing else, for the sake of this poor, wayward little Jezebel?"
Nothing from the shadows. Whip still trembled in Kenaz's grip, staring at his now-flawless cheek.
"Surely if you don't have any love for Christ, my child, you can at least follow his example? Try sacrificing yourself in order to save your little friend, here. Penance? Penance!"
Still nothing from the darkness.
Kenaz looked at the girl, teeth grit, and he shook his head:
"Unfortunate..."
He set Whip's own blade against the girl's throat.
"Go with god, my child."
Small footsteps echoed behind him. Kenaz was prepared for this, and he quickly started whipping his arm around, ready to catch Penance with the switchblade as the boy reached him.
But Penance wouldn't be the first thing to reach him.
The boy expertly threw his little knife as he ran, and it streaked through the air in a fast, deadly blur. Before Kenaz could turn around the knife found his back, and the force was enough to make the man collapse onto Whip; his legs became useless rubber. Kenaz forced one hand under his body and struggled up, but then he could only limply reach behind him with his free arm, trying in vain to pull Penance's blade out of his spine.
By then Penance was there. He ruthlessly pounced on the man's back, kicking his knife even further down into Kenaz's flesh. This brought the man down completely. Penance kicked his skull once, twice, three times, screaming all the while, and when he heard the man's neck snap Penance eased up.
The boy wiped snot and tears from his face. His blurry eyes were little more than red and malevolent slits. He found Kenaz's longsword and picked it up calmly, hefting it over his head. Whip could only watch the boy in incomprehensible horror, but Penance didn't even notice the girl, or at least he chose not to. He stood over the priest, who only spasmed helplessly on the ground. When Penance dug one foot against the man's back Kenaz found the strength to look up, and he stared at the boy with empty, bloodshot eyes.
"M... m— my chi— child!"
At the very least, Penance thought, the man deserved to go out with the solemnity of Latin in his head. Penance gave him some:
"Globos meos lambe, cacator!"
The blade fell; Kenaz's head came off; the lightshow started.
The force of the Quickening blew Penance's small body completely clear of Kenaz's corpse. Lightning ran up and down all the concrete pillars, casting wild shadows. In all this chaos Whip curled up in a ball and hid her face, wincing as streaks of energy flowed around her and over her.
She didn't need to worry about them; they weren't after her.
In the aftermath smoke curled all around the headless priest. The smell of electricity, blood and sweat swamped the place, mixing with the musty odor of the library downstairs. It took Whip several minutes to get to her feet, and even then she stumbled uncertainly as she walked about the room, her mind in a daze. It took her even longer to find Penance.
Whip stopped beside a bank of exposed rebar struts. One of the struts was terribly bent, and it bore a certain weight that the others lacked. Penance had been blown clean across the room, skewered into the rod, and now lay on his back on the floor, pierced by a good six feet of bent rebar running clean through his gut.
Really, in any other context that would've been hilarious.
Whip stared down at the impaled boy as he tried to pull himself up the bar, made all the more difficult by the slippery mess he'd left on the bar as he passed through it. It was like trying to climb a greased flagpole. If you were also impaled by it, that is.
Penance looked up at the girl. He gave her a calm, cool smile and licked his lips delicately. He spoke in a voice that was as friendly as possible:
"'Kay. Now I know this looks a little weird..."
