Landfall (The Reach, Book 2) (33 page)

After that there was silence.

Knile kept a tight grip on Roman’s arm as he turned and took in the view that was before them.  The interior of the chapel was gloomy, unlit by candles or any kind of electric light.  The only i
llumination came from the round stained-glass window at the head of the building, through which a shaft of mottled orange-and-
red light streamed down, bathing the altar in afternoon brilliance.  As his eyes adjusted, Knile saw around ten rows of wooden pews on either side of the central aisle, and mounted on the walls were a series of statues depicting strange medieval figures.  There were men in flowing robes bearing tomes, others with shields, and a woman cradling an infant in swaddling.  Their symbolism was lost on Knile; he knew none of them.  The kind of beliefs that had evoked such sculptures had been lost to the world many generations ago.  These might have been likenesses of gods or scholars or holy men or something in between for all he knew.

His eyes dropped back to the altar, and then he saw that Silvestri, Roman and himself were not alone in the room.  Situated in the front row at the far edge of
a
pew he could see the outline of a man, a very large man it seemed, who was seated silently with his head bowed.  The man had not yet turned or acknowledged the newcomers in any way.

Knile glanced at his guide.  Silvestri said nothing but nodded slightly, indicating that he should proceed.

Knile guided Roman over to the nearest pew and eased him down onto it.  The boy’s head lolled and he coughed weakly, and Knile realised that Roman had lost the strength to even sit up straight, so he gently la
id him down along the pew.

“Back in a minute, buddy,” Knile said, brushing a sweaty lock of hair back from Roman’s forehead, but the boy did not respond.  Knile straightened.  “Whatever it is we’re doing here,” he said to Silvestri, “we need to do it quick.”

“This way,” Silvestri said, starting down the aisle.

Their boots echoed through the darkened chapel but still the figure seated at the front did not turn to look at them.  Knile’s eyes darted about the place frenetically – at the seated figure, the altar, the gloomy corners of the room – wondering what he was getting himself into.  Despite his misgivings, he had no choice now but to keep going.

They reached the end of the aisle and Knile turned to walk toward the man on the pew, but Silvestri raised his arm to bar his way.

“Wait,” he told Knile quietly.  Then he turned to the man.  “Lazarus.  We’re ready for you.”

The man on the pew remained where he was, motionless, his eyes closed and his hands clasped before his face as if in silent prayer.   His hair was long and bedraggled and he wore a thick, bushy beard.  Knile waited as more precious seco
nds ticked by, but still the man sat, unmoved.

“Hey!” Knile shouted impatiently.  “I don’t have time to watch you sleep!”

The man opened his eyes slowly and stared at his feet for a moment, then raised himself up.  The pew creaked and strained as his great bulk lifted away from it, a tortured squeal that reverberated around the chapel like the cries of the damned disturbed from centuries of slumber.  As the man drew himself up to his full height, Knile could only blink in bewilderment.

The guy was
huge
, a massive slab of a man with arms like tree trunks and a chest like a granite boulder.  He was dressed in a simple grey tunic that might have served as a tent for a man of more average stature, and as he moved into the light with slow, ponderous steps, Knile saw piercing blue eyes shining behind the tangle of his beard.

Silvestri gulped audibly as the man neared them.

“Aron Lazarus,” Silvestri said quickly, his usual coolness and composure in tatters, “allow me to introduce–”

“A boorish lout,” Lazarus said in a deep, gravelly voice.  He glared at Knile menacingly.  “Why is he here, Silvestri?”

“This is Knile Oberend,” Silvestri said, placing his hand on Knile’s shoulder as if to vouch for him.  “I’ve brought him for your consideration.”

Lazarus looked Knile up and down and then shook his head disdainfully.

“I told you to stop bringing me these mannerless, desperate thieves,” Lazarus said, narrowing his eyes.  “I find it tiresome.”  He began to turn away.

“No, wait!” Silvestri said.  “This is the one.  I’m sure of it.”

“That’s what you said the last time, was it not?”

Silvestri made an exasperated sound.  “How much more time do you have to wait?  How many will you turn away before you find the right one?”

“As many as it takes.”

“Until what?”

“Until I find the one who is perfect for the task.”

“And what if it’s too late by the time that happens?”

Lazarus stopped and seemed to consider this.  He glanced at Knile again.

“I don’t wish to waste my time interviewing one who is obviously not worthy.”

“Interview?” Knile said heatedly.  “Task?  What the fuck is going on here, Silvestri?  I came here for one reason, and that wasn’t to run errands–”

“You will lower your voice, lout!” Lazarus hissed, stepping back toward Knile.  “You are in a place of holiness, and you will show it the respect that it deserves.”

“I don’t give a shit about holiness!”  Knile pointed toward the back of the chapel.  “I have a dying boy over there, and I need to get him treated. 
Now
.  That’s the only thing I care about.”

Lazarus raised an eyebrow and glanced down the aisle.

“What is his ailment?” he said in a gentler tone.

“Poison.  A toxin.  Emil said it was called Brimstone–”

“Brimstone?” Lazarus said, his eyes widening for a second.  “That is dire indeed.”

“Can you help him?” Knile said.  He glanced at Silvestri.  “Is that why we’re here?”

“I am not a healer,” Lazarus said, shaking his head slowly.  He half turned away as if deep in thought.

“Then what’s the deal here?” Knile said desperately.  “If you can’t help me, why am I here?”

“The Infirmary,” Silvestri said, jabbing a finger at Lazarus.  “He can get you there.”

“How?”

Lazarus ran a hand through his beard.  “Silvestri speaks truth.  I have a token that can grant you passage inside the Infirmary.  It will open the doors that you seek.  However, I will not give it away freely.”

“What do I have to do?” Knile said.

“You must first convince me that you are worthy of this undertaking.”

Knile glanced between the two men, perplexed.  “What’s he talking about?” he said to Silvestri, hoping for a straight answer.

“Tell me,” Lazarus said, folding his arms across his chest.  “What kind of man are you?”

Knile stared at him, disbelieving, then shook his head.

“This is bullshit.”  He turned on his heel.  “I’m
wasting my time.”

“Knile!” Silvestri said, clutching at his arm.  “If you walk out that door, it’s over.  You might as well put your hands around Roman’s neck and end it for him now, save him the suffering.”

Knile shrugged his hand away.  “What does this guy want from me?  What do I have to say?”

“Answer his questions.  Speak the truth.  The only way forward is to play the game.”

Knile sighed, feeling at his wit’s end.  This man Lazarus seemed utterly indecipherable.  Knile wasn’t sure how to appease him, which words he wanted to hear.  And the stakes couldn’t be higher.  If Knile took one misstep it might mean the difference between life and death for Roman.

Still, Silvestri was right.  There was no other way to proceed.  He had to do this for Roman’s sake.  He had to try.

He walked back to Lazarus, who stood waiting before the altar.

“What kind of man am I?” Knile said, thinking quickly.  It was clear that Lazarus was a man who valued holiness.  Perhaps if Knile convinced him of his most admirable virtues it might impress him.  But what qualities did Knile possess that could be considered virtuous?

“I’m waiting,” Lazarus said in his low, booming voice.

“Uh, resourceful, I guess,” Knile offered.  “I think on my feet.  I can handle myself around the Enforcers, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“These things mean nothing to me,” Lazarus said.

“Goddammit, what do you want me to say?”

“Do not take the Holy One’s name in vain.”

Bad start
, Knile thought bleakly.

“All right, I’m sorry.  Please tell me what you want to know.”

“I want to know why you will succeed in this mission.”

“I’ll succeed because uh… I’m honest, and I’m…”  He looked around, exasperated, then pointed toward the back of the chapel.  “I’d do anything for the people I love.”

“This tells me nothing,” Lazarus said, shaking his head dismissively.  “I see a man who does not even know himself.”  He looked to Silvestri.  “He is not worthy,” he said.  Then he began to walk away.

“Hey!” Knile yelled, furious.  “Don’t you turn your back on me, motherfucker!  Don’t you dare judge me!  You don’t have that right!”

Lazarus swivelled, his eyes flashing.  “Then tell me of something you’ve done of which you are proud.  Something that speaks to me of your soul.”

Knile racked his brain.  “I climbed to the top of the Reach,” he said, clutching at straws.  “I was hunted by the Enforc
ers, by a madman and his henchme
n and by practically everyone else.  But they didn’t catch me.  I outlasted them all.”

“And for what purpose?”

“To leave Earth.  To escape.”

Lazarus spread his massive hands.  “And yet you are still here.”

“I…”  Knile shrugged helplessly.  “I couldn’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because I couldn’t leave them behind.  Roman and Talia.  They needed me and I…”  Knile was overwrought, on the verge of tears.  The thought of his two closest companions threatened to tip him over the edge.  He had failed them.  Roman was dying, and Talia was stuck in a strange place with no friends, her future uncertain.

“Go on,” Lazarus said unsympathetically.

“I gave the passkey to someone else.  I gave up my chance to leave.  I came back for them.”

“You did this all for the boy?”

“For him and for Talia.  My friends.”

“Sacrifice,” Lazarus said slowly to himself.  He stroked his beard as he seemed to ponder that.  “Yes,” he said, drawing the word out.  “That is noble.  That is worthy.”

“What?” Knile said, confused.

“But are you telling the truth?” Lazarus said, his gaze hardening again.

“Yes.”

“Then tell me,” he said, stepping up to Knile and fixing him with an intense stare.  “How many of the Crimson Shield were protecting the Wire?”

“Two in the Atrium,” Knile said.  He thought back to the meeting on the roof with Ursie and the man in aviator sunglasses, her Sponsor.  “Five more on the roof.”

“And what did the Crimson Shield say to you when you arrived?  What was their greeting?”

“Nothing.  They just stood there like statues.”

“Who else was there?”

Knile pictured the railcar in his mind, tried to recall every detail.  “There were people in white coats.  Technicians.  I saw two of them.”

Lazarus listened intently, searching Knile’s face and hanging on every word.  Then he stepped back and nodded.

“You have seen it,” Lazarus said.  “It is true.”

“Yes.  I was there.”

Lazarus locked gazes with Knile.  “I look into your soul and I see truth there.  You have known pain, and yet you have come through it intact.  You have known sacrifice.”

Knile nodded.  “Yes.  I have known those things.”

“I do not know if you are worthy,” Lazarus said to himself, lost in thought.  “Perhaps no one is worthy.”  His eyes took on a faraway look as he seemingly grappled with the turmoil within him.

“What does that mean?  Are you going to tell me how to reach the Consortium Infirmary?” Knile said.  He looked to Silvestri, but the other man did not meet his eyes.

Lazarus clasped his hands before his face and closed his eyes for a few moments, then seemed to come to a decision.  He looked at Knile and nodded.

“This way.  Follow me.”

33

Lazarus led Knile through a doorway behind the altar and into the sacristy of the chapel.  It was a small, modest room with a thin sleeping pallet in one corner and a chest of drawers and a cupboard along the wall.  The room was illuminated by the flickering light of a single candle that sat in an ornate iron holder on top of the drawers.

“Is this where you live?” Knile said, mildly surprised.  He had assumed that this was a meeting place Lazarus and Silvestri had chosen rather than a place of residence.

“It is an austere place in which to settle, is it not?  And yet it is holy.  In that regard it suits my purpose.”

“Are you some kind of priest or something?”