THE COLORS OF ALEMETH
VOLUME I — Red and Orange
V. Cobe
Copyright © 2015
Prologue
Book Red
1. The Glow
2. Undershadows
3. The Procession
4. Sun's Farm
5. Heart of Carmel
6. The Dark Rainbow
7. Tjiq
8. The White Tree
9. Seven Stripes
10. Amen
11. Zazgaha
12. Zilá
13. Clues
14. A More or Less Beneficial Investigation
15. Darkness
16. Mourning
Book Orange
17. The Black Cloak
18. The Papal and Episcopal Art Museum
19. St. Matthew’s Square
20. Bithynia
21. The Redemption
22. The Black Angel
23. Hades
24. The Homecoming
25. The Fort of the Faith
26. The Descent
27. Niche Festum
28. The Mass of the First Month
29. The Distorted Voice
30. Circulus Protectionis
31. The Test
32. The Feminists Niche
33. The Hard Truth
34. The Great Superstition
35. The Color of Power
“Like the appearance of the bow that is in the cloud on the day of rain, so was the appearance of the brightness all around.
Such was the appearance of the likeness of the glory of the Lord. And when I saw it, I fell on my face, and I heard the voice of one speaking.”
Ezekiel 1:28
PROLOGUE
You cannot doubt the Institution.
You cannot defy or disobey the Institution.
You cannot criticize the Institution.
You cannot look beyond that taught by the Institution.
You cannot speak God’s name in vain.
You cannot swear.
You cannot ignore other people’s Transgressions. If you spot a Transgressor, report it immediately.
You cannot hide or shelter Transgressors.
You cannot read inappropriate content you may happen to come across illegally.
You cannot create disturbing art, in any shape or form, that may lead to sinful points of view.
You cannot believe in superstitions.
You cannot practice any form of witchcraft or magic.
You cannot have sex before marriage.
You cannot have sex outside of marriage.
You cannot engage in homosexuality.
You cannot get divorced.
You cannot commit suicide.
You cannot practice abortion.
You cannot wear black.
If you are a woman, you cannot raise your voice to a man.
If you are a woman, you cannot be the boss of a man.
If you are a woman, you cannot bare your shoulders in public.
If you are a woman, you cannot bare your cleavage in public.
If you are a woman, you cannot bare your belly button in public.
If you are a woman, you cannot bare your thighs in public.
If you are a woman, you cannot drive.
If you are a woman, you cannot drink alcohol.
You cannot walk the streets during curfew.
You cannot meet at night with more than five people.
You cannot miss Sunday mass.
You cannot believe in another god.
You cannot deny God.
BOOK RED
CHAPTER 1
The Glow
“Don’t let them see the red,” I whispered to the bishop.
Zalmon nodded, covered the boy’s head with the tip of the white cloth and walked along the gold carpet. The sound of our steps echoed through the church, almost smothering the murmur coming from the outside.
The Cathedral of Carmel was a grand building but practically empty. The wooden pews, which started at the entrance and ended near the altar, were corridors of nothing. Saints, the prettiest, the most adorned and the most suffering were displayed forlorn inside little cavities along the gold lateral walls. The apse behind the altar, made of colossal, colored stained glass, depicted a disregarded kneeling and bloodied Christ raising a Faithful Cross nearly his size with both his hands.
The Order Brigade guards swerved to let us through. The gold doors opened like vertical lips of a hungry mouth, and the bishop exited with Alemeth in his arms.
Alemeth. In the Bible, this word is used three times: it is the name of a Levitical city, the name of one of Jehoadah’s sons and the name of one of Benjamin’s grandsons.
The first name of every single person on Earth had to be biblical—the Institution demanded so. It had been this way since the end of the thirteenth century, when the Catholic Inquisition had largely surpassed the power of the royal houses. They took the world by assault, began to control every aspect of our lives and became the new world government named the Institution of the Faith.
Yes, the first name of every person had to be biblical. But the importance of Alemeth to me was not in the Bible; it was in its etymological meaning: hidden, covered. That was why I chose this name for my first child.
I’ll never forget the day I made that decision. It was after the first ultrasound, the moment every parent anticipates and fears at the same time. For me, it was just disturbing: the doctor fainted and lay sprawled ridiculously on the floor after she pressed the device against my belly. And the useless nurse who was helping her ran out of the room with a muffled scream. Before the screen went black, I managed to see what was displayed. That was when I knew what my son was going to be. Well, maybe I’d known it all along, but that was when it was confirmed. An hour later, during Sunday mass, Bishop Zalmon Costa was telling the biblical story of Benjamin and his grandchildren. When he got to Alemeth and the meaning of his name, I knew it was going to be my child’s name, because it was exactly what I would have to do: hide him.
I nervously followed the bishop outside the cathedral. Alem was wrapped only in a tiny cloth covering his hair, red as fresh blood. If people saw it, they would certainly gossip about the strange fact, and it would spread like wildfire until it reached their ears. That was why I was nervous.
The noisy crowd that filled Beatitude Square turned their eyes to us, from the bottom of the stone stairs, surrounded by dozens of Order Brigade guards, dressed in their tight red and gold uniforms and armed with heavy rifles, ready to thwart any attack brought upon such an important man in the Institution. The position of bishop was not the highest in the curia but it was close. Above Zalmon were only the archbishop of Carmel, the Most Holy President and the cardinals. For such a revered bishop to conduct a baptism was rare, so when that happened, everyone wanted to see who the important baby was.
Of course, I didn’t want any of this – the less Alem was exhibited, the better. But it couldn’t be anyone else but Zalmon to baptize my son: the friendship between him and my husband went back ages. After much discussion—mostly by me, because my husband felt there was nothing to discuss—we chose Zalmon to be Alem’s godfather, which made the ceremony even more popular and practically demanded that he conduct the baptism.
Zalmon stopped on the edge of the stairs and raised Alem in his arms, exposing him to the crowd. Every soul cheered and applauded with an exaggerated enthusiasm.
When the noise subsided, he projected his authoritative voice and proclaimed to the skies, “I deliver this boy, Alemeth Ricardo Sá, to You so that You may guard and protect him. He is now Your son.”
It’s appalling to
confess, but I hated baptisms; it was merely a spectacle, as if we’d just bought a shiny new car and wanted to show it off. And others wanted to show to other others that they knew the prodigal person who’d just bought the shiny new car. For most people, it was a show in which they could play a part. The whole family is there, and lots—suddenly lots—of friends as well. They’d arrive ostentatiously, parading the latest fashion trends, or if their lack of money didn’t allow it, simply their Sunday best. They’d smile and cry with commotion, but only a few would be sincere. I’ve always hated this spectacle, so the only people I invited were Rhode and Ezekiel, but of course, I couldn’t avoid the crowd that awaited outside the cathedral.
All I wanted was for it to be over so I could go home with my son. And I was terrified someone would notice his blood red hair.
The bishop was preaching, but I wasn’t listening. There were more important things to do. There was an entire crowd to inspect.
Bells rang. A few ladies cried and made an enormous fuss, touched by the newborn who had just entered the world of God, the world of the Institution. An old lady waved her handkerchief, with which she occasionally cleaned the tears in her eyes. A child next to her watched the scene dumbfounded while clapping his hands absently, probably trying to figure out what all that show was for.
When the bells ceased chiming, I saw the men. They were tall, clean, calm and silent. Their dark blue suits verged on black, the forbidden color, and their sunglasses stripped their human appearance and made them appear more like robots. But they were not robots.
Two of the men stood near a lateral archway, motionless and serene. After I saw them, it was easy to spot the others spread throughout the entire square. Were they there for me? For Alem? No, that was impossible; no one besides Zalmon and the midwife had seen him yet. And the midwife wouldn’t have told anyone about Alem.
I told myself I was just being paranoid and that those men were probably just security guards for someone important in the area or merely men in suits and shades in Carmel, on a Saturday, at the end of summer.
But my self-induced relaxation didn’t last long. The bishop shouted a few more words to the people, and in the middle of another mass applause, I saw yet another suspicious person.
Things were becoming worse than I’d thought.
She was a restless young girl, dressed in a beige tunic that covered her whole body, as it should. She didn’t applaud and looked around nervously, but particularly at Zalmon.
Maybe I was the only one to notice her because I was more alert to everything around me, disregarding the exhibition involving my son next to me. It could be that the girl who stood was just distracted, but I knew she wasn’t. It could be that I was reading too much into her behavior, but I wasn’t. Something was wrong, and I felt it. It wasn’t just maternal instinct; it was obvious that something was awry. I could see her watching the top of the stairs with meticulous attention and staring at Alem, at me… but mostly at Zalmon.
The bishop handed me Alem, descended the steps and headed toward the crowd as a small act of feigned humility, a way to demonstrate that he was just like them. A few of the faithful got too excited but were quickly soothed by the Brigade guards who gently waved their rifles.
I was becoming more and more nervous. The girl in beige was not in the same place, she was discreetly piercing through the crowd toward the bishop. The guards didn’t seem to notice her.
Zalmon turned to face me and waved for me to join him at the base of the steps behind the ring of guards.
I descended the stairs anxiously under the gaze of dozens of people.
The girl kept looking at the bishop as she walked straight to him. And I was also walking there. No one seemed to notice the girl. How could nobody have noticed the girl?
When I was less than two meters from them, the bishop opened his mouth to talk but detected the tension in my eyes and followed it. As soon as he did, a hint of adrenaline passed in the girl’s eyes, and an impulse launched her forward at high speed, knocking down everyone around her.
The confused guards wielded their guns and pointed them randomly, while the believers in the square screamed and ran in every direction. One of the captains fired a few times at the sky, which only made the situation worse.
Without taking her eyes off the bishop, the girl threw herself at him and exploded.
I lowered to ground and covered Alem with my chest and arms as fire, people, objects and dust flew all around us.
The noise of cars buzzing and people shouting were loud and deafening, but what made me open my eyes was a light.
Light emanated from Alem’s head and pierced my eyelids. A red glow, so red and shiny that a few people around us managed to pause in their panic and stare equally frightened at him.
The white cloth no longer covered his head, but even if it had, the red glow of his hair would still have been visible.
Then, as soon as it happened, the light disappeared, and Alem’s hair went back to the same red. Everyone who had seen it, woke up and returned to their escape, but their eyes remained fixated on us.
I covered Alem’s head with the cloth but knew it was too late.
Behind me, body parts were spread, people were on the ground, some were lifting themselves and others were still running through the scene. There was smoke everywhere.
The guards were crouched behind the cars, with their guns ready, waiting for more action or still trying to figure out what had just happened.
Only after a while did I feel the pain in my back. When I placed my hand there, I felt a sharp and warm metal blade stuck deep in my back.
Alem started crying. His face was scorched and stained with blood, but besides that, he seemed okay.
I swung my body, trying to calm him down by saying comforting words in the softest tone I could find. But in just a few seconds, I myself was crying. It wasn’t just the pain, it was the panic as well. I was petrified. I knew it was the beginning of a life I had been fearing for a long time.
“It’s okay, Alem,” I said while rocking him in my arms. “Don’t worry. Mom’s always going to be here to protect you.”
I had to get out of there. I didn’t know how, I didn’t know through where, but I needed to get up and run. No one would understand me fleeing; they’d think I was connected to the attack. But I didn’t care. I knew nothing about what had just happened, probably just another attack by Defectio, but I knew a lot of people saw that light coming from Alem, and soon someone would be there to take him. I had to run.
I stood from the ground in pain, my dress dirty with blood, and went through the debris of the explosion with Alem in my arms.
“Where’s your husband, ma’am?” asked someone from behind.
My husband.
“I’m a widow,” I replied to the Brigade guard.
I kept walking as if nothing was wrong, as if that guard could just simply disappear. But he grabbed my arm tightly.
“Come with me and we’ll take care of the rest.”
Rhode showed up from the top of the cathedral stairs. Her clothes were ripped and bloodied.
“Is everything all right, Bethel? Is Alem all right?”
“We’re okay.”
“I can’t find Ezekiel!”
Another guard appeared, and the two dragged me through the bodies and debris on the ground toward an Order Brigade patrol car. An ambulance was parked next to it.
“What’s going on?” asked Rhode as I was taken by the guards.
Of course, she was shocked I was being taken by the Brigade – that was never a good sign. Even if you didn’t commit a transgression, when you returned home, people stared and gossiped behind your back. Reputation was everything, and your reputation was never the same after you returned from a Correction Center. That’s if you ever returned. But I wasn’t being taken to a Correction Center, I was being taken to an ambulance. But Rhode didn’t know that because she hadn’t seen the piece of metal stuck in my back.
“W
here are you going with Alem? I can stay with him!”
“No, he’s coming with me. Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”
“But Bethel, you’re going….”
My back hurt like a truck was coming out of it, and I knew it was serious but I couldn’t leave my son. Not after everyone witnessed that red glow.
I didn’t want a baptism, let alone one in the Cathedral. I knew it was going to be dangerous. I knew something like that could happen, but the stupid Rules commanded me to within the first year of his birth.
Everyone dreamed of having their children baptized in the big cathedral, not at some secondary church. But not everybody could afford it, and it was always fully booked – it served only an elite few.
I didn’t like to include myself in that elite, but the truth is that my connections—or rather, my husband’s—included me in it. I couldn’t have said no; it had to be at the Cathedral of Carmel and it had to be officiated by Bishop Zalmon Costa. It was precisely because I was part of this elite that I was being assisted, me, among so many injured people.
The guards guided me to the ambulance, and a paramedic reached his arms to take Alem.
I shouted in protest.
“What happened there? What’s going on?”
Zalmon was being assisted with some light injuries on his forehead.
“It was an attack against you,” I said, uncertain. “She went right for you. I knew something was wrong.”
“Those Transgressors! When will they learn not to defy us?”
“Bishop Zalmon Costa, this lady needs to get to a hospital.”
Zalmon nodded, and the paramedic reached for Alem, but I pulled him away with a brusque movement, almost hitting the paramedic with the metal.
“Don’t resist.”
I knew I shouldn’t resist, I should cooperate. But they wanted to take my son.
They grabbed me from behind. Two guards held my arms and hips, and a third pulled my son from my arms. I kicked desperately, but they managed to rip him away off my lap. I started crying.
“Your son’s gonna be in good hands, don’t worry. The doctors need to take care of you,” explained one of the guards.
“What’s going on, Bethel?” asked the bishop in surprise.
They put me inside the ambulance through the back doors and secured my arms.
I no longer felt the pain in my back. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell them they couldn’t take him. I wanted to tell them he was in danger. I wanted to tell them people wanted to kill him. But I couldn’t.
And then they shut the doors.
I woke up in a hospital bed with the sound of the bells announcing the end of curfew. It was six in the morning. Dawn was approaching, shy, through the plain white curtains next to the bed. On a chest of drawers under the window was a transparent jar holding two white roses.
On the other side of the bed, a nun was sitting in a chair. She must’ve been a little older than thirty years. Her eyes were light brown, and she wore a white habit, marked with a golden Faithfull Cross at the nape. A blonde fringe escaped from under her veil, nearly covering her eyes.
“Welcome,” she said, in a jovial tone.
“Where’s Alemeth?”
“Don’t you worry, he’s in the next room. He’s sleeping.”
“Can I see him?”
“Of course you can. Someone will bring him here soon. But now you have to rest. Drink some water.” She took a cup from the chest of drawers and brought it to me.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Do you remember the explosion?”
I nodded.
“The doctors removed a metal blade from your back. The surgery went well. It looked worse than it actually was.” She smiled.
“Am I free to leave?”
“You need to rest. You have a few stitches. But in a few days you’ll be able to go home with Alemeth.” She took my hand and asked, “What do you think of these attacks? It feels like there’s one every month.”
I averted my eyes.
“I don’t know. It’s been like this since I can remember. It’s the Transgressors, right? Non-believers. At least that’s what the Institution says.” I became more nervous as I regained my senses. “But now I really want to see Alem.”
“Yes, I know what the Institution says. But I’m asking you what you think.”
In those situations, you never really know what to say. You can trust only a few people and even then you had to be careful. The Institution had informers constantly listening and alert, ready to report any suspicious behavior or conversation, anything that could disrupt the order. That woman seemed like a good person to me, but I couldn’t trust her.
“I think it might be just that. That woman who exploded, she was unhappy with God. Got lost, as they say.”
She released my hand and stood. She approached the window and looked outside.
“Before I became a nun, I was a primary school teacher at a convent in the south, you know. I loved my job. I loved the kids.”
I didn’t know what she was getting at but I didn’t have time for that, nor the patience. Fear was returning to me, the fear of them taking my child. But what could I do? Run away from the hospital? No, that would be stupid. I wondered whether they already knew where we were, whether they already knew about his scarlet hair. Certainly. I had to act fast.
The nun turned to me and got closer to the bed. She lowered her voice and asked, “Have you heard of Umbra?”
I shuddered. Umbra was on the list of forbidden words. The concept couldn’t even be discussed, ever. Nonetheless, there were always the bold ones who dared to speak about it; those who didn’t care or knew they had nothing to lose if they were caught. But there were others, connected to the Investigation Brigade, who talked about it to test their listeners and try to figure out what they knew.
The young nun could’ve been connected to the Brigade. She could’ve been testing me, trying to find out if there was any connection between the attack and Umbra and if I knew anything about it. Well, I wasn’t sure about that, but I knew well what Umbra was: the underworld; a secret society operating apart from the Institution and fighting against it on every possible front.
“That’s just a myth,” I answered. “Sister, I would really like to see my son.”
“A myth? Umbra is a legend, you say? Let me tell you a story. A story that you won’t see on television or read in the newspapers or on the Internet. I shouldn’t talk about these things; it’s not allowed, ‘for the good of the Faith’, but I don’t care anymore. Don’t worry about your son, I’ll get him soon. Now you’re gonna eat breakfast.”
She grabbed a little plastic box and moved her chair closer to me. Her hands were delicate, and her movements controlled. She removed the lid of the box, stabbed a piece of scrambled eggs with a fork and brought it to my mouth. She asked me if it was good. It was tasteless, but I told her it was good.
“Three years ago, I was happy. I had two beautiful sons, a respectful husband, and a job I loved. But most of all, I felt good. I never hurt anyone, and I didn’t have any enemies. I still don’t know why it happened. I was home preparing lunch for my kids. They were so young, four and six years old. I left them playing in the garden while I cooked. It took me about an hour to prepare the meal with care and patience. I’m not the best cook in the world, not even close. But on that day, the meat had been phenomenal.”
She pushed the fork into my mouth. I chewed a bit of sausage and swallowed. She gazed pensively through the window for a few seconds. Then she stuck the fork into another chunk and continued, “When it was ready, I called them. But they weren’t in the garden. The toys they had been playing with were on the grass, abandoned. I went up to their room, but there was no sign of them anywhere. I panicked of course. From here on, I don’t remember much. I know I took the car keys and ran outside, but I have no idea where I was heading. I obviously wasn’t going to drive, being a woman. But when I went out the door, I saw in the
middle of the path between the entrance and the car, something that looked like a deformed and dirty soccer ball. It was the head of one of my children. The shaved head of my oldest son was there on the ground, eyes and mouth opened, and covered in blood.”
A bit of egg fell on her lap, and she stopped to carefully clean the grease stain.
“They’re called Defectio, and they’re a subgroup of Umbra. In just one hour, they did that to my kids, and I didn’t even notice. They left a note in front of my son’s head. It read: ‘The Institution is not the solution. Enjoy your lunch, Defectio’.”
She stopped talking. I didn’t know how to react.
Defectio were known for their terrorist acts, usually against children. No one knew what they wanted with the children. Some mentioned slavery, others were more imaginative and suggested things like witchcraft and sacrifices. But nobody could speak of it. For the good of the Faith really was what the priests would tell you during mass. Or the Brigades, if someone didn’t comply with the order of silence.
Defectio were going to want my son, and it wouldn’t be for any of those reasons. Discounting them would’ve been senseless. However, I suspected they were too strong for me. I’d hide, then. As best I could. I’d disappear off the map and take Alem with me. I’d just have to get out of there.
“After that, my husband and I weren’t able to function together, and the marriage fell apart. Of course, we’re still married and live together; I’m not a Transgressor.”
She raised the fork with food to my mouth and asked, “How’s breakfast?”