The Inquisitor and the Priestess

Tamar sat and gauged Shamuel’s response. She knew he’d come eventually and here he was. In all his Inquisition glory, she thought. The years had not been kind to the man’s frame. Pale skin sagged and his once glorious red hair seemed dim and wiry. It was rumored in priestly circles that he hated when people stood above him. As Boaz pushed him into the room she stood her place. She calmed her thoughts and breathed deeply. She was completely aware of her physical presence.

“Please Tamar, sit” said Shamuel as he motioned to the settee behind her. She breathed deeply again. Aware of the softness of her hair, the fullness of her stomach from the meal she had eaten, and how her skin felt in the air-conditioned room. She did not answer him. She did not sit. “Tsk, Tamar, I thought we had much to discuss. Will you discuss it all standing?” Shamual now had a jovial grin on his face and it portrayed friendship and a good-natured spirit. Tamar breathed and watched him. His face twitched slightly in the corner of his smile- it betrayed him.

She looked away from Shamuel and into his servants eyes, “Boaz, you have started your tattoos?” was Tamar’s only response. Boaz paused not knowing what to do. He was not addressed often. He stuttered, caught himself and responded, “Yes priestess, my training is going well. They are painful but I am blessed for the reminder of limitedness of the physical.”

The canned response was expected and well versed but the interaction was awkwardly painful. She nodded slightly in approval anyway and responded with gentle encouragement. “May you remember your limitedness in the glories of the Tri-verse, young priest. May you not be swayed by the physical desires of this body. I pray you resist temptation of the spirit from those that may pressure you.” The words spoken meant something and Boaz knew it. His eyes widened, but how could she know?! The thought was barely out when Shamuel lost his patience.

“ALRIGHT! Enough Tamar! Sit! You will be questioned and you will obey or you will be dismissed!” It was only when he lost his demeanor that Tamar sat down. She smiled slightly, moved her habit in the fashionable way and sat upon the expensively upholstered seat. Boaz pushed Shamuel in front of her and he was dismissed harshly and suddenly. He left, feeling flustered, shutting the door on the pair he leaned against the outside of it and breathed. His secret, she knew it. How could she know it?

Shamuel placed his hand on his skinny knees and stared into her green flecked eyes. “You do not scare me Tamar,” he said softly. She looked at his pale skin, and weakened body and smiled. With a genuine giggle she said, “Oh Shamuel, you silly old Inquisitor, I had no intention of scaring anyone.” He’d never been spoken too in such a way once again he was off his guard. Who was this priestess?

The Bombing

He stood on top of his dune looked up into the sun, eyes closed, breathing deeply in meditative prayer. The heat of the day pounded his face mercilessly.  He’d gone back and forth a thousand times. Was his act selfish? Was it necessary? Had it been sinful? Had it been God’s will? He did not know but he prayed. The wind swept round his habit but it was dry hot air and it offered no relief from the heat of the day.

They’d been waiting but not a sound had crossed their bandwidth. All there was was silence. Had the Papal Council known where he was all this time? Had they destroyed all but him to let him live through the pain? Had they done it so he would see what his actions had wrought? His own village would starve eventually. He knew it. Did they? Was he being egotistical to think they cared so much about an abbot from the Unconnected that had grasped the weakness of the Tri-Verse? When he thought about it that way… no, he was not.

It was on his dune where the wind brought him warning.  The sound was far far away; perhaps, even beyond the mountain range in the distance. The noise was faint and foreign and it was a buzzing of sorts. It didn’t matter what it sounded like, it only mattered that he’d not heard it before. As though the fires of hell had lit under his feet, he ran. Asa ran and screamed, picking up his staff as he took off, he waved it so that the people would see him from a distance.

“To the shelter! To the shelter!!” and as his village heard him they began to scream and run. Somewhere, a watchman must have heard the noise too and the warning bells rang. They warned those to take cover below the meeting hall. The ancients had built the shelters for warfare but the current tenants had always used them for safety from cyclones. All these centuries later the old stone blocks that has preserved them from the unforgiving storms might now fulfill their old morbid purpose.

As he ran Asa picked up Rachel, scooping her up as she cried for her mother. The children had all been playing in the village during their mid-day break, a stroke of luck really, and they followed him in a river of small humanity to the shelter. As they ran down the main thoroughfare, a townsman and a lesser priest and others joined the moving throng. They entered the meeting hall and began to descend the stone steps into the shelter.

He was guiding people in when the first bombs dropped. He ran in himself when he realized the meeting hall was collapsing. It was then, in the safety of the shelter that he realized the vast majority of those that had made it in were the children. Asa knew the attack dropping at mid-day was no stroke of luck.

The Pair.

No communications had come from Texarkana in months now. Asa sat at his desk, head in hands, praying for the computer screen to come alive. The prayers were answered with the resounding silence. Sometimes, God’s answer was no. What had he done in his selfishness? What pain had he wrought to the people who eeked out their existence in the wasteland of the selfish Tri-Verse? What were they to do? How would they survive? The raids would come here too. He knew it. They would come for him specifically. He stood, took up his staff, wrapped his stole around and prepared for his journey home.

~~~~~~~~

He’d never been much of a speaker. He much preferred the silence, the quiet, the hushed world that had been created for him. It was better this way. Where he often remained silent within the Papal Council Chamber, and his thoughts remained calm within the bounds of the Tri-Verse, he excelled one-on-one. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. It was why he’d been chosen; questioning was his gift. He understood the mind.

He sat there, staring at Tamar and he saw Asa’s face all over her countenance. The set jaw, the green eyes, and the unwavering belief were Asa’s. He knew before the first question was asked that it would not end well for her. It took him back to the days of the Priesthood. Long before he took his seat as inquisitor in the body of the papal council. His frail body shuddered. He hated those memories. They made him weak.

Memories lingered like the tiredness of being in the physical world. They made his body sag further in his chair. He remembered a sandy beach and he remembered Asa. He had been such a wonderful friend. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. Watching Asa dip his toes in the cold waters of Lake Michigan. They’d been so young, just clerics in training. Shamuel felt the edges of his lips turn up as though he might smile. He quashed it quickly. He mentally pushed aside the warmth of Asa’s hands and the long conversations and fears of future tattoos.  He shook his head slowly, eyes closed, faded red lashes strait as boards hovered.

Eyes closed, his thoughts shifted. He remembered Asa’s “epiphany” and his belief that the Tri-Verse was not God given. He remembers Asa’s pleas for Shamuel’s compassion. He remembered Asa’s screams as he begged to see his precious Tamar. The Tamar he’d taken to their precious shores of the massive lake. Oh, Shamuel remembered alright. His slight smile faded into a snear. He looked up at Tamar from below those lashes.

He sighed. She smiled.

“Shall we begin?” he asked.

With a barely perceptible nod Boaz pushed him over the threshold. So it was.

Background: Shamuel

He sat brooding.  The room was darkened with only glints of light filtering through the heavy rich drapery that covered his windows of the penthouse.  The Papal Council always occupied the top floors of the building in New Vatican. Something Shamuel found ironic since none of them really cared for the earthy view.

It had been several months since the virus had infiltrated the Tri-Verse. Now the papal council was constantly trying to keep the new viruses at bay. Once it had gotten through the evil powers that saw the Tri-Verse as a blasphemy followed suit.  There would be no end in sight for years to come and he knew it.  The Connected prayed for miracles; the Papacy prayed for acceptance.

He grunted as he stood. His body was withered, pale and sickly. The shock of his red hair and beard were the only things that made him look alive. As a priest, he was meant to love all the worlds equally: spiritual, physical and virtual. Reality was that he hated the physical world- it was here that he was limited. It was here that his body betrayed his mind. It was, he thought, a beautiful mind.

The dark red habit hung off his frame. The white stole dangled limply. He looked weak and small. It was that Priestess bitch that had forced him here. Too weak to be put back into the Tri-Verse for questioning he was made to come out of his solitude to do the deed. No Priest or Priestess had ever chosen to remain silent- they all spoke eventually. In doing so they were either welcomed back into the fold or excommunicated. But she had been silent for months now and while she remained silent the Papacy remained in limbo. It could not continue much longer. He knew it, she knew it, and the Tri-Verse knew it.

He walked slowly across his hushed apartment and opened the oak door.  His servant awaited him.  Boaz helped his superior into a throne-like wheel chair and, without a word, pushed the Inquisitor down the long corridor. The council had been this way for centuries: a community of priests who made decisions in consensus within the Tri-Verse. Each represented a different part of the body of the church but all with the same mission: to spread the good news of the Tri-Verse Consciousness. Shamuel was merely one part of this papal body.

They moved deeper into the complex. Shamuel, passively sitting in his chair; Boaz, exerting his strength to move the well-respected man.  They arrived at another apartment door. This door had a lock on the outside. The inquisitor stood, pushed his finger into the keypad and waited for the electronic door to open.  It swung in and there stood Tamar. She was in full habit, dark hair flowed loose down to her waist, shining silver connection tattoos gleamed and green eyes sparkled.  She looked directly at Shamuel and said, “Good day Papal Inquisitor, we have a lot to discuss.”