Unreconciled by W. Michael Gear

Author:W. Michael Gear
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2020-05-11T16:00:00+00:00

TRAP

I live in a state of confusion that I cannot confide to anyone. To do so would be a sign of weakness. If there is anything the Irredenta do not need at this point, it’s even the suggestion that I am not in complete control. That I doubt—in any way—the Will of the universe.

That’s on the surface. The façade I present. The persona that I adopt.

Inside, I wish I could drop to my knees, raise my hands and implore the universe: Did I not sacrifice everything for you? I murdered my fellows, ate their flesh and organs in an act of holy sacrament. I committed myself, without reservation, to your Truths. I followed, without question, the wisdom of the Prophets. Endured the hideous agony of scarification as I sliced my skin and repeated the process time after time. Used a cleaver to amputate the soft flesh of my nose. Made my body a repository for the dead and destroyed relationships to ensure the dead I harbored would be reborn in the next available female.

How is my faith and sacrifice repaid?

Fatima continues to suffer. Three more people are missing, two of them children.

And still another child, young Pho, is dead. This time, we know what happened. Manram saw the plant reach down, wind itself around the screaming child. The little boy was lifted off the ground and the plant began eating him. Manram ran forward, tried to pull little Pho away, and was grabbed up herself. She barely managed to tear free; large chunks of her arms, the flesh of her hands, a large patch of her shoulder are missing.

Another, Renzo Demopolis, age six, was found at the edge of the escarpment. He was in convulsions. Something blue staining his mouth. He’s now laid out in the cafeteria in hopes the Prophets will, through some utterance, tell us how to cure the boy.

The impact is devastating. The children are the reborn souls of the dead. Purified. The universe promised they’d be immortal. That the Irredenta were the way—the vehicle through which all of humanity, the universe itself, would be purified.

I am achingly, painfully, aware that each of these children who dies at the hands of Donovan will be lost. For them, death is once again eternal and absolute. Renzo and the slug-infested Fatima, we can save. We can consume their remains again and insure their eventual reincarnation.

At least, I hope so.

I need the Prophets! I need their counsel. But to my absolute frustration, Irdan is mute this morning. Won’t eat. His breathing is shallow, his limbs barely twitch. Callista and Guan Shi are mumbling so softly I can’t hear, seem to be fading just as fast. I really look at them now, realize how wasted their bodies are. Living skeletons draped with sallow and loose skin. Their eyes have sunken so deeply into the sockets, they remind me of those Mexican Day of the Dead masks.

And what happens when they die?

With people bustling around the cafeteria, I dare not show despair. I cannot drop my head in my hands.

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