Part Eight: In the valley of the shadow of death.
My fingers crawled the hallway's walls, my steps unsure in the dark. Down the hall, Stephen said. So down the hall I went.
The hall twisted, turned, like a snake in the holy Sancturium. I was inside the snake, hearing it breathe, hearing its hisses radiate through the heavy, cruel silence. My fingers on the wall found a break, the hinges of a door.
My heart stopped. From under the door itself, a flickering light was evident. Shadows blocked the glow every now and then, the proof of movement behind the wood.
My hand found the knob, and I pushed. The door swung open. My eyes scanned what my mind couldn't believe: children, boys, strapped to the walls by leather and metal chains, nude, mute. They were alive, I could tell by the rhythm of their chests. They were alive, but none of them looked up. They didn't hear me.
I ran towards the first kid, and tugged at his chains. He has been whipped, I see, by the red marks on his pale gray skin. The scent of semen attacked my nose, and I couldn't bear to imagine what went on in this torture room. My eyes watered when the first chain broke, and his hand came free. It slumped down, defeated, tired, aged. These boys have grown up in a world of hatred and lust, their dreams of priesthood overrun by a lustful madman, a heretic, a hypocrite.
The boy looked up at me while I was tugging at his other arm.
"You're not Father," he said, in a sweet tone, "You're not supposed to be here."
I didn't reply. I was weakened from the murder of Rubalkubara, the fight with the four monks, and from Leno's toxins, but the sight of twenty children, and the weight of their pain, gave me a renewed stone resolve. My arms found the strength to pull the other chain from the cement wall. The kid crashed to the floor.
"Wait here, kid," I said. I couldn't pull all the chains of all the children, not in my condition. My best bet would be to take this kid outside, call for help from the Knights, but they were probably on their way, if anyone heard Rubalkubara scream.
I reached for the kid's hand, I wanted to help him up and we'd blow this hellhole and wait for help to come. If the Knights would arrest me, the kid would explain it all. Then we'd rescue the rest of the children, and there'd be puppies and rainbows and cookies for everyone.
How many times in a day could I be wrong?
My hand was inches from his, when an arrow struck my palm, dead-center. Shit.
The spray of blood glistened in the wall. My head cocked at the direction of the arrow, and my lips whispered, "Leno."
Leno lowered his bow. "Old man," he returned my greeting, "Three hits of sidewinder concentrate, and you're up and about already, saving other people's rejects," he motioned to the kid. "You know, with you taking out the priest, I can help myself to whatever's in the treasury."
"You didn't have to shoot me for that, backstabber," I said, bitterness obvious in my tone. I looked at the kid, told him not to be scared.
"I'm not scared," came the reply.
"Well, you look scary," said Leno, unsheathing his falchion. He sat down, cocky and proud, on a desk littered with surgical tools, blood staining the instruments, scratch marks on the table, a candelabra covered in wax holding seven candles, the source of the light in the room. It was the first time my eyes took in the room – a guillotine stands erect in the center, a mattress on the floor, chains, whips, a chair, keys, the surgical table, boys chained to the cement walls.
"Anyway, I couldn't have you badmouth me when you return to the bar, can I?" Leno said, now waving the falchion in front of my face.
"If you did steal the treasury, you'd never need to do a contract again," I countered.
"Yes. But then, my reflexes would be shot. So, how do you want to go? I see a lot of beauties in this room," he said.
I broke the arrow's wood an inch from my hand, and pushed it through so it would topple to the floor. I covered the wound with a tattered towel on the floor. I tied the knot, and my bleeding stopped.
Leno was fiddling with the surgical tools on the table. "I wonder what Rubalkubara uses these for. Tell me what he does with all this shit, kid," Leno said, his back turned to us.
"He cuts us and puts stuff in us sometimes. If we're bad," the child replied without hesitating. The other children are now stirring, their thin bodies frail, weak, cold. Heads turned to the sound of tinkling metal, Leno's fingers on the surgeon's tools. "Some of us, he cuts out or hands and puts knives or scissors on it."
"Whoa," Leno said, more out of attempt than surprise, "What a creep. I saw what you did to him, Regan. Quality stuff."
I held my broken palm in the opposite hand. I'm too tired to fight. Kill me, Leno, get it over with.
He turned around with a small, sharp knife in his hand, the edge of which was curved, with miniature saw-like teeth.
My legs pushed me up, my back using the wall as a guide so I stand up straight, and not sideways.
He thrust the blade and caught me upper left chest. My back slammed on the wall. My bad hand grabbed his shirt, and I pulled him towards me. I groped for his daggers, and I found one on his belt. I used my good hand to stab him in his side, and I didn't let go of him.
He grunted in pain, but pulled the knife on my shoulder and thrust it again. It caught me once more. I countered by doing the same, pulling the blade out and piercing in him a new opening, still near his side.
We continued knifing each other.
As a Knight, you were trained to think defense first. But I'm old, there was no point in dodging or saving myself anymore. Miki was my reason for living. She's gone now, and I didn't fail her after all.
Leno was the first to fall. He took a few steps backward, then toppled to floor. The knife he held in his hand, which pierced my chest and arms numerous times, rattled on the floor. I could still hear him breathe, but I knew he was dying.
I dropped too, leaning on the wall.
I was sitting on our puddle of blood, and the kid crawled up to me.
"Are we safe now? Can we leave?" he asked me, "I can look for the keys and unlock all our chains, mister."
I looked in his eyes. There was something stirring in him – the excitement of freedom from years of chains and whips and abuse. I nodded. Go have fun, kid. Forget all this happened.
"Thanks, mister," he said, "hey, can I ask what your name is?"
I smiled the best smile I could. "Regan Tyriem. You?"
He smiled back, then headed for the door, the gate to freedom. "I forget my real name. Father named me Rybio."
I saw him walk down the hallway, in search of the keys. My last thoughts wandered on Miki, and Jaclyn. My daughter, my wife, taken from me, like a thief in the night. There were no words to express how happy I was to have the assurance that I avenged them, and that I would join them in Heaven. Because if there was a Heaven, there's no one else who deserved it more than my beautiful Miki and beloved Jaclyn.
Me? God decides that.
Amen, I thought. Amen.