Iron Gray Sea

CHAPTER 10

La Plaza Sagrada del Templo de los Papas

The Holy Dominion

Signals Ensign Kari-Faask, attached to USS Walker ’s Special Air Division, sat huddled in a corner of her iron cage, glaring hatred at the stares from the surging mob of dark-skinned humans beyond the bars. She’d been there long enough that few usually seemed to notice her, and fewer poked or threw things at her anymore. She’d become a fixture; yet another curiosity within the vast plaza surrounding the massive, severe, pyramidal temple to whatever wicked gods were worshiped in this evil land. She knew little about those gods; she hadn’t heard a word she understood in weeks. She’d once been under the impression that the people of the Holy Dominion revered essentially the same God, or Maker, as her human friends, but now she knew that couldn’t be. The Doms used a barbaric caricature of the cross worn by Sister Audry and a number of the human destroyermen, but that was apparently the only similarity after all.

The attributes and virtues of her friends’ God were almost the same as the Maker of All Things, whom she’d been raised to revere, and many had begun to suspect that He was, in fact, truly the same supreme being, despite some liturgical differences. From what she’d seen, just from her cage, whatever creature or creatures demanded the faith of the Doms could not possibly be more different.

He/it/they possessed so many different, conflicting attributes that it was impossible to reconcile them all. Apparently He was all-powerful, yet required the assistance of a huge panoply of frightening creatures to impose his will-the plaza was festooned with carvings and sculptures of all manner of beasts-who seemed to require similar devotion. He was supposedly merciful, yet besides her own suffering, she’d witnessed monstrous barbarity on the high steps of the temple, acts committed in cold blood that rivaled the horror of battle. And the people here seemed convinced that those acts were not only endorsed but required by their God. It was abominable. Twice now, once a month she supposed, she’d seen hundreds of naked humans herded, shrieking, up the steps of the temple, where they were slaughtered in the most hideous fashion. She couldn’t see everything from where she was kept, but she saw the heads come tumbling, bouncing down the steps, followed by rivers of blood-all amid the desolate cries of the victims and the approving roar of the crowd. Not even the Grik could be so loathsome, and she wondered how anyone could worship such a terrible, bloodthirsty God.

One day, they would probably take her to the top of those steps, she suspected, and when they did she would not wail-she would fight them. Her nail-claws had been torn from her fingers and her sharp canines had been broken off, but now that they’d begun feeding her and keeping her cage cleaned out, she exercised as much as she could within her small enclosure to maintain her strength. She’d wondered once what she was doing in the new war against these people, but they were her enemies now, as surely as the Grik. When they came for her, she would surprise them with her strength and kill as many as she could.

Some ceremony was underway-they happened all the time-and though she didn’t think a slaughter would ensue, there was a… different kind of excitement in the air. Hordes of people swelled the plaza; more than usual for other festivals she’d seen. Gradually, she noticed that fewer crosses were in evidence, compared to the number of other icons; strange little figurines dangling from thongs around necks that looked oddly like the small cat creatures that ran loose in the New Britain Isles. She knew those animals came from the old world of the destroyermen and had inspired the friendly diminutive of her own people, even if they weren’t really that similar and seemed little smarter than bugs. They were rather attractive little things, she thought, and they came in all sorts of colors, so the comparison wasn’t without some merit. But the cat icons worn by the Doms were all black, or yellow with dark spots. Strange. Even stranger, she realized: she was drawing more attention than usual that day, and some of the spectators seemed to be comparing their icons to her own nearly black, tan-blotched pelt.

A commotion began directly in front of her cage and people started practically climbing over each other to make way for… something. Brightly uniformed guards with red neck cloths forced their way to the bars with muskets, plug bayonets inserted in their muzzles, forming a gap in the throng. Kari tensed. Maybe the time had come? She discovered with a thrill that she wasn’t even afraid. Her father had been a great warrior in Aryaal and had died a hero’s death. She’d never considered herself brave, but she suddenly realized that maybe his blood ran thicker in her veins than she’d ever suspected.

Two figures moved toward her between the barrier of troops. As they drew near, she recognized one as that Blood Cardinal, Don Hernan, who’d caused so much turmoil on New Scotland and then somehow escaped. He wore his usual bloodred cloak and strange, ornately decorated white hat. Despite the rest of the mob, he still wore the garish gold cross he’d always worn as well. She’d seen him twice since she was captured. He’d never spoken to her, even though she knew he spoke English and she’d yelled enough of it at him that he had to know she spoke it too. She’d expected to be tortured for information, but though she was tortured, no one ever asked her anything! It was as if they heard her… but didn’t! In their view, she was an animal. She couldn’t possibly speak, so they couldn’t hear her when she did. She wondered what he was doing here. Then she recognized the second figure.

“Fred!” she blurted, unable to restrain the shout. Some of the soldiers twitched, surprised, then studiously ignored her. Lieutenant (jg) Fred Reynolds was her pilot and her very best friend. She hadn’t seen him since they were forced down in the Caal-i-forniaa surf and taken prisoner by the retreating Doms. She’d figured he was dead.

“Fred!” she cried again, scrambling across the floor of her cage to crouch nearer as he approached. Then she saw the dull look on his face; the sunken eyes; the scabbed, shaved scalp. His cheekbones stood out in bruised relief and he looked half-starved. He was dressed in a long white robe that covered his feet. He halted beyond the bars-and he was standing, without restraint, beside Don Hernan. She was stunned. Could her friend be dead, after all?

“Here is the creature we found you with, my son,” Don Hernan said in his deceptively gentle voice, his black mustache quirking upward at one end of his mouth. “I preserved it, as I promised.”

“Of course, Your Holiness. I never doubted,” Fred whispered. His voice sounded… strange, rough, unused.

“Look upon it,” the Blood Cardinal commanded softly. Fred obeyed, and his eyes passed across Kari, but his expression never changed. “You realize now that it is a mere thing, an animal unworthy of thought or concern? One cannot befriend an animal. They have no place in the kingdoms of God, but to serve Him as the beasts they are, as they are made to do?” He gestured around. “This festival commemorates the service of one such beast, and some heretics”-he glowered around-“still cling to the belief there is thought behind that service.” He shrugged. “But there is not. No thought crosses their minds beyond their own comfort and what they will eat. They have no room in their minds and hearts for God. They serve God and us as draft animals, guards, and even such as the small dragons that brought your flying machine down because we feed them and make them comfortable!”

“Of course, Your Holiness,” Fred agreed in a firmer tone.

“Excellent. Then you cannot object if I do away with this… thing?” The question seemed almost a test.

“I have no moral or spiritual objection, Your Holiness,” Fred replied slowly, and Kari’s heart skipped a beat. She was stunned not only by Fred’s words, but by the utter lack of inflection. Oh Maker! What did they do to him?

“Not anymore,” the former aviator continued. “But from a practical standpoint…” he looked at the crowd beyond the barrier. “Since… it was placed on display and some have grown accustomed to it, there may be unrest if it’s destroyed. Besides, the Empire is allied to creatures like it. Having it captive here, for God’s soldiers to see in its vulnerability, may reduce the shock or even fear of meeting them in battle.”

Don Hernan’s eyebrow rose. “Most interesting. I had not even considered that.” He appraised Fred for a long moment. “I believe you are sincere.” His tone sounded surprised. “The Cleanser said you had embraced the faith with unusual earnestness, but I was skeptical at first. Since then, you have unstintingly assisted with our project to build our own flying machines, and held nothing back that I could see. It is rare enough for the heretic to gain true salvation, but to then go forward and strive so hard to perform God’s work… I am proud of you, my son!”

“Thank you, Your Holiness. I am yours and His to command.”

“And yet you still think!” Don Hernan enthused. “Very well. We will preserve this specimen until the enemies of God are destroyed; then we shall wipe it away along with all vestiges of this infantile predisposition of some of our flock to cling to ancient habits and associations!” He sighed and glanced at the sky. “With the death of this creature, even this silly festival will pass away at last! Come, my son. Let us go to the temple. It is almost time to pray-and I think you may be ready to be presented to His Supreme Holiness at last!”

Don Hernan and what had been Fred Reynolds quickly retreated, and the armed cordon closed and vanished behind them. Kari was still too stunned to speak, and even though she wanted to scream and bash through the iron bars with her bare hands, all she could do was crouch there, numb. She was stung and hurt, but mostly she felt a welling rage. Not at Fred or what she knew would be her ultimate fate, but toward the monsters that had already destroyed her friend.

“Oh, Fred!” she keened to herself.

“So you do speak,” came an English voice with no accent she could place, and she almost jumped out of her skin. The crowd had reverted to what it had been before, but one man, more bedraggled and disheveled than most, peered in at her like the urchins of the city often did. He had dark hair and dark skin like the multitude around him, but it was he who’d spoken, and he held her gaze-which was more than most would do.

“Of course I speak, you dope!” she flared, and caught herself when he shushed her and looked around.

“You… your species… truly is allied with the Empire?” the man asked urgently.

“It… I am.”

“The war goes badly?”

“Not when I left it,” she quipped. “The attack against the Imperial Isles failed, and we were going to the aid of the colonies.”

“Not what they tell the masses,” the man said ironically.

“Who are you?”

“No time. I cannot linger here. Just know that you have friends, and we will do what we may for you.”

With that, the tide of humanity swept the strange man away.