Changing of the Glads (17 page)

CHAPTER 17

A spire rose above the tops of the buildings, guiding Max’s path.  The cathedral was two streets over, just as Zebrone had said.  Large wooden double doors stood open, and at the top of the stairs leading to them, a priest waved to those on the street.

“Come and worship,” he called. 

An Empire guard grumbled and turned the other way, but the majority of those on the street simply ignored the call.  Max hesitated at the foot of the stairs and glanced down at his uniform.  Would he be able to convince the priest to show him a hidden prophecy when he appeared as one of the Empire’s loyal servants?  But if he revealed who he was, he might end up in the dungeon beside Zalphia.  Then how would he save her? 

The priest motioned him forward.   “My son, come.  Enter and worship.  All are welcome here.”  

“Hello, Father,” Max said as he climbed the stairs. 

“Hello, my son.   Please, enter.  Worship.”

Max hesitated just shy of the doors.  “I have some questions.  Is there someplace I may speak to you in private?” 

The priest shuffled his feet.  “What do you wish to talk about?

“I would rather discuss this inside.” Max glanced at the crowded street. “Where we will not be interrupted.”

The man’s brow creased.  “Have I done something to displease the Emperor?”

“No, nothing such as that.  I have just come from the arena where a crowd has gathered.  They speak of a prophecy.  Do you know of such a thing?”

The priest’s face paled, and then he seemed to regain his composure.  “I don’t know which prophecy they are referring to.  There are many in the good book.  Do you wish to read?”

Max’s eyes narrowed.  “I have read the book you speak of.  However this prophecy is different.  I sincerely believe this one is not in the book.” 
The Emperor would have made sure of that.

“All prophecies are in the book, my son.  Come, I will show you where you may read.”  He motioned for Max to follow him and entered the church.

Max stepped inside then paused.  The interior of this cathedral was very different than the little one-room church he had attended with his father back home. Rays of sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, lighting the aisle flanked with rows of ornately carved benches.  Three or four people per side sat with heads bowed. Max wondered if they prayed to the large golden statue sitting in the alcove at the front of the church or if they actually knew of the one true God.  He shook his head, clearing the thought away.

The priest beckoned to him from the altar sitting at the foot of the idol.  Murals covered the walls.  To the left, he saw paintings depicting the first man and woman placed on this earth.  As Max’s eyes traveled along the walls, the history of this planet played out in picture form.  Near the far right corner, he saw the Great War and a Selestial ship bearing two men.

“Karaticus and Vitus,” he murmured under his breath.  As he wandered slowly up the aisle, rainbows of light danced across his shoulders.  He paused in front of the golden man.  He’d recognize those features anywhere.

The priest nodded to a stand that held a large book just to the right of the altar.  “Here you may read about all that has gone before, prophecies recorded from all the ages, and how the great Emperor came and saved us from destruction.”

Max studied the priest, who now refused to meet his gaze.  “Are you Father Michael?”

No,” a voice rang out from the archway off to Max’s left.  “That is Father Gabriel.  I am Father Michael.”

A bald man, round as a ball and smiling, waddled over to them.  He barely reached Max’s waist, but that didn’t deter him from slapping Max on the lower back.

“It’s nice of you to join us, Armor.  Don’t worry, Father Gabriel, I’ll take care of this one.”

The priest Max had been speaking with nodded to them and hurried back toward the open doors.

“Well then, what can I do for you, sir,” the small priest said, beaming up at Max. 

He reached out and grabbed the man’s hand, turned it over, and dropped the tarnished ring into his palm.

“Ah.”  The priest narrowed his eyes.  “I see.”

“Someone gave that to me.  Told me to come and ask for you.  He said you would enlighten me about a
certain prophecy
.”

The priest glanced around then nodded at Max and whispered, “Well, we best discuss this in my office.”  He smiled and slipped the ring into the pocket of his black robe.  “I hope Father Gabriel was showing you all you’d come to see,” he said much louder.

“He was.  I have never been in a church such as this.”

“I should think not.  There are only four of these old cathedrals left.  Most were destroyed during the Great War.  Fortunately, ours survived, but it is the only one on this continent.”  He led Max through the arch and down the hallway, then opened a door, and motioned for him to enter.

Gasping at the opulence, Max took in the room.  A large mahogany desk monopolized one side while two floor-to-ceiling bookcases graced the walls on the left and the right.  A stained-glass window opposite the door shed colored lights across a tan carpet.  One large overstuffed red chair sat just inside the door, and a wing-backed leather seat nestled behind the desk. 

Max stood in front of the red velvet of the chair while Father Michael gently closed the door, locked it, and settled in his place behind the desk.

Seeing such a short man behind the imposing breadth of the desk was almost comical, like a three-year-old at the dinner table without a booster to sit on.  Anyone sitting opposite him would have difficulty seeing more than the top of the priest’s bald head.

Father Michael took the ring from his pocket and deposited it in the top drawer of his desk.  “So then, my friend, tell me how an Armor from the arena comes to have the ring of a believer?”

“A what?”

“That ring belongs to someone who believes in the one true God.  So again I ask, how do you come to have such a ring?”

Max fell into the chair.  “Zebrone gave it to me.”

Father Michael’s brow furrowed.  “He would never part with it.  Not for all the riches someone, such as yourself, might offer.”

“He gave it to me of his own free will.  I seek to know of The Prophecy.”

“There are many.  As Father Gabriel was saying, a whole book of prophecies sits on a stand beside the altar.  You may read all you want while here at the cathedral.  But that still doesn’t explain to me why Zebrone would part with his ring.”

“He and others from town are gathered at the arena.  They whisper of this prophecy being fulfilled.  It was plain to me that he spoke of a specific prophecy, not one of the many you mention in this book.”

Father Michael leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, resting them on the ledge formed by his rounded belly.  “I see.  Did they tell you what prophecy they were referring to?”

Max rolled his eyes.  “Of course not, that is the reason I am here.  Zebrone imparted his ring to me.  He instructed me to come to this cathedral, ask for Father Michael, and present the ring.  Then I was to ask about The Prophecy, simple as that.”

Laughing, Father Michael rose from his chair and stepped from behind the desk.  “Zebrone must be confused.  He knows very well
that prophecy
was fulfilled by the Emperor.”

“Really?  How so?”

“He came direct from Selestia, stopped the Great War, and instituted the peace we now enjoy.  As an Armor of the Empire, you already know all this.  Zebrone worships Vitus, the one true God, just as everyone does here in this cathedral.”  He smiled and leaned against the corner of his desk.  “So you see there is nothing new for you to learn here.  I’m sure while training in the Armors camp, everything was explained to you.”

Max smiled.  “I know you are not telling me the truth.  Zebrone hinted that The Prophecy has yet to be fulfilled.  So I ask you again.  Where is it?  I desire to read it for myself.”

Father Michael paled just as Gabriel had outside.  “I have no idea what prophecy Zebrone speaks of.  You see, the good book is full of them, and how could I possibly know which one he is referring to?”

“There is a crowd huddled outside the arena waiting to see if a Glad called No Mercy Zalph will be the one to fulfill this prophecy,” Max said.

Father Michael’s hand snaked across his bare head.  “I’m sure I have no idea what he is talking about.”

Max leapt from the chair and took a step forward, his nose mere inches from the priest’s.  “There is a secret room hidden in this cathedral, and there I am to read this prophecy.”

The priest’s eyes widened.  “Wha...” He regained his composure.  “I have no idea why Zebrone would say that.  No idea whatsoever.”

“I do.”  Max dropped his projected image and let his normal appearance shine through.

Father Michael slid off the corner of his desk and sprawled across the floor.  “It can’t be.  Why you’re... you’re him.”

“Him who?”  Max narrowed his eyes.

“Maximillion, the Glad.”  The priest struggled to get to his feet.  But like a turtle upside down on its shell, he couldn’t seem to get into a position to right himself.

Max held out his hand to help the man up.

“Thank you,” Father Michael said as he straightened out his robes.  “You are Maximillion, aren’t you?”

“That I am.”

Father Michael fell to his knees.  “Zebrone is right.  The Prophecy has yet to be fulfilled.”

“Now then,” Max continued, “I wish to see it.”

Springing to his feet, the priest nodded.  “Of course.”  He returned to his desk, opened the drawer, and slid his hand inside.  The bookcase to the right of Max swung open.  “Follow me.”

Max tagged along behind the waddling priest but jumped when the bookcase slid back in place, plunging them into darkness.

“Not to worry,” the priest’s voice echoed in the darkness.  “In a moment, the lights will come on.”

As if that were their cue, four bulbs burst to life, shedding light across the room.  In the center sat an altar draped with lace.  All four sides sported a cushioned kneeling platform.

“Come, see.”  Father Michael peeled back the lace, revealing a golden plaque.

Max drew closer.  The words etched into the metal made no sense.  He turned to the priest.  “What does it say?”

“You can’t read it?”

“No,” Max said, shaking his head.  “Should I be able to?”

“Hmm.”  Father Michael looked perplexed.  “Did you not know of the one true God?”

“Yes, I know the stories told by my father, but this?”

Realization spread through Max’s mind.  “Oh. It is written in the Selestial language, is it not?”

“Yes, it is.  But you are rumored to be from Selestia, so why can’t you read it?”

Why didn’t Simeon teach me that?
Max shook his head.

“It is true that I hail from the Selestial sphere.  However I came as a child and lived on the plains with my human family.  No one there knows the Selestial language, so I never learned it.”

“If you never learned the language or heard of The Prophecy then why would you want to see it?”

“The crowd gathered outside the arena whispered of it. That Zalphia the Glad will be the one to fulfill it. I asked Zebrone, and he sent me to you.  Will you read it to me?”

“Of course.  It says:

When devastation covers the land,

And it seems that all is lost.

When the one in power turns away,

leaving mankind to suffer.

Then two will be sent from on high,

and the firstborn child

will save humankind.”

“That is it?  Then how does Zebrone think that No Mercy Zalph will be the one to fulfill this prophecy?” Max asked.

“I’ve heard rumors circulating to that effect.  But it couldn’t be.  She is human and a stone-cold killer.  Everyone has seen how she is inside the arena.”

“I, too, have been forced to fight.”  Max studied the man’s face.

“That is true.  But everyone who watched knew that you took no pleasure in it.  Zalphia, however, seems to take great pleasure in her role.”

“Who says so?”

“All who have witnessed her fight believe the same.  That is until the two of you escaped.  But she was captured and returned to the arena.  No, I don’t believe one so depraved could be sent from Selestia.”

“Is that so?” Max said, fighting the anger growing inside.  “And why not?”

“There are ways that Selestia governs the spheres below them.  A mere human from this world could not fulfill The Prophecy.  It just couldn’t be.”

“You are –” A powerful voice pierced Max’s mind, ringing in his head like the giant church bell in the steeple of the cathedral.

“I’m what?” the priest asked.

“You are wrong.” Max stammered.  “Selestia –” Severe pain thundered inside his skull, and the intensity drove Max to his knees.

Then he recognized the voice.  Karaticus.  How could this be?  Karaticus’s mind wasn’t that powerful on its own.