My gaze slowly lifts to meet his. “Father?”
“It’s the last task I would ask of you. To send me to meet my maker so the secrets I carry die with me. Then you must, along with the other chosen, as I instructed earlier, do the same with the rest of the Order. End it and end it quickly. All who know of this place and the divine secrets must face their end tonight. All but you chosen three. And then only you. You are the reason for all of this, and it’s time you accept the role I have selected you for.”
He reaches down and removes the dagger from the book. He first tests its weight by bouncing it lightly in his hand, and then he pricks his finger on the pointed end. Blood immediately pools from the wound. Lifting his finger, he inspects it before rubbing it with his thumb and smearing the blood across both.
Then he flips the blade deftly and holds it out to me. “I am ready.”
He may be, but I am not. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around all that I have learned tonight. My faith is being tested more than in all the years I have spent in the Order combined. I believe, because I have seen them. The four devils on horseback. But my faith has been a little shaken by the magnitude of what the grand minister has laid out for me.
And this, how can he ask this of me?
Without waiting for me to make up my mind, he begins to take off his collar. Once it’s removed, he unbuttons his shirt, baring the upper portion of his chest.
“Up, child. On your feet.” I obey. Of course I do. I stand before him, and become a statue as he places the dagger in my hand and taps on his chest, the place directly over his heart.
“Strike hard and strike true. Just like you must do to them. Hesitate, and they will kill you. Doubt my words from this day forward, and you will fail. Fail, and humanity will be extinguished from this plane of existence. To fail me is to fail this order. And this is what I ask of you. Are you prepared to fulfill your duty?”
It takes me longer than it should to come to a decision. But the Grand Minister is patient with me and speaks no more as unruly thoughts bounce around inside my head.
Ultimately, it is he and his faith that lend me the conviction I need to see this through. I don’t want to do this, but the love for him, whether right or wrong, that I hold in my heart, can not deny him anything that he might wish of me. So this is what guides my actions and my hand.
I spare him the mercy of knowing the blow is coming and do as he says. I strike like the most deadly of serpents. Within the blink of an eye, the blade rests deep in his chest.
A second later, his mouth parts on a gasp. His beautiful blue eyes flare wide, and then a sort of peace settles over his features as dawning realization settles in. I have done it. Driven a knife straight into his heart. His body slackens. Then he begins to fall. A corner of his mouth hikes up and to the right—a smile is gracing his mouth for the last time.
I catch him before he hits the floor and lay him gently on the beige, red, blue, and gold Persian rug.
For a long while, I stay, kneeling next to him. Grief takes hold of my heart. The tears come as I comb his soft, dark-blonde curls away from his face. I close his eyes and lay his hands over his chest. I keep his rosary and trade it for mine to lace over his hands. I place the cross between his index finger and thumb. Then I take a mental picture of this moment, so this sacrifice is one I will not forget, nor his faith, as I believe I will need to borrow it many times over in the future to do what it is he has asked of me.
I won’t forget, and I won’t fail. He will remain forever in my thoughts and be what guides my actions from this day forward.
The last thing I do is place my own lips against his. It’s brief and entirely selfish, but I won't let him leave this world and set me on this path without acknowledging that he stole my heart many years ago, and what I do from this day forward will not be entirely for the Order.
It will also be an act of love for him.
Year 2243
After dressing in layers, I don a few pieces of armor. Not all of it, but enough to protect my vital organs without limiting my mobility. The armor is light in color—a pale, off-white with silver accents—finely made to fit my shape. Then I secure the mask over my face. My vision is somewhat hindered by it, as is my breathing, but it’s a necessary evil since I don’t know what I’ll face on the other side of the door—whether the air will indeed be toxic or not.
It takes a great deal of effort to wedge the door open. The heavy metal protests as it grinds against the rock. When the gap widens, bits of the carved entrance break off, tumbling into the doorway. But it gives me my first real glimpse of the outside world in forty-one years.
And what greets me is a world of ash.
The ground isn’t just covered in it—it rides the breeze like a steady companion and coats the sky, dimming the sun, which is barely visible through the shifty veil. In a way, it reminds me of snow. The kind I played in as a child, on the rare winter days Sister Odessa allowed me beyond the monastery gate.
But this is not ordinary ash. It holds no purity of fire. It drifts in thick, choking sheets, swirling like monstrous dust through the air. The world is colorless, and though I should have expected it, it still takes me by surprise.
When I step out, it clings to me. The ground gives beneath my weight as if it’s made of powder. My first steps down the mountain sink knee-deep, ash shifting around me, swallowing my footprints as soon as I make them.
I try not to think about what it truly is.
But the thought creeps in anyway—traitorous and merciless.
The world burned while I was locked away. This is what remains.
A cold weight settles in my stomach.
I tighten my grip on the strap of my pack and lower my gaze. I let the thought of all that has been lost fuel my steps and keep me moving. I have to. All the while, I keep telling myself not to imagine faces in the drifting clouds of white.
