Chapter 24

  “Take a deep breath, mi amor. I know these have been hard hours.

  “Keep your eyes on the horizon. The sun rises even on cloudy days.

  “Breath… and know that I am with you. I know this has been difficult. Not much longer until the end.

  “Hope is a stubborn thing.”

  Isabella listened to her husband’s words. He recited the proverbs of her childhood, words her father would use on bad days. And good ones. Hope was a stubborn thing. It stuck around the most bitter people, the people with the most loss, and the people without any reason to feel it. Still, it was there, and things would get better.

  Isabella hoped these Father-dam- blessed babies would get out of her already.

  “Push, Isa!”

  One final heave, a scream, a deep ache in her groin and back, and then…

  A little cry lent an indescribable charm to the room. In darkness, she had pushed and struggled for hours, laboring in birth and pain. That little cry washed it all away.

  “A girl!” Roberto exclaimed and held it up to her. She kissed its grimy head, and the pain returned. Isabella knew there were two. One to go.

  The second came so much easier. “A boy!” Roberto exclaimed in very much the same fashion. The cords were cut, and they sat with each other in the strangely lit room. A woman in a white coat with odd, stretchy gloves cleaned herself in a wash basin at the corner. The lights in the floor reflected on their baby’s heads.

  “I’m so sorry I cannot name you two.” Isabella looked at both the babies with tears. Something in her sparked a terrible fear and anger at the thought of giving them away.

  The woman, so clean, spoke, “Yes, it is a sad thing for blessed mothers. But the joy you must feel at having twins! The perfect pair for the Parents.”

  She walked over to Isabella’s side and placed a hand on the baby. The lights lent a hungry cast to her eyes, but still, they looked caring. Isabella nodded and looked back at her babies. The Parents’ blessings. “I’m happy to have been the mother to them. I hope the Parents love them as much as I do.” An ache in her heart told Isabella to never let these fragile things out of her grasp. But she had to.

  “Yes,” the woman smiled, enamored with the new life, “and how lucky you could come to the Ministry after all. We have more room in the Storm-wing now.”

  “Si, que suerte.” Isabella’s heart sang a melody of joy at the two beautiful faces, so alike, yet so unique. The girl had Roberto’s nose. Isabella would never forget that cute little nose.

  The aftercare was laborious, but the hours passed, and Isabella and Roberto left to pay wagoneers for a ride back home. Isabella could not wait to have a baby of her own to keep and raise with Roberto. Something tugged at her mind about the Storm she’d given the Parents. The boy’s eyes? The girl’s ears? She couldn’t remember. Well, it wasn’t important. She didn’t know why she was emotional about giving the Storm to the Parents. The Father spoke clear during the aftercare. The Storm would have a better life in the Ministry.

  “Can you believe we almost gave the Storm to the Monastery?” Roberto jerked his chin up at the blackened pyramid. It had been burning most of the day, the result of a cleansing by the Ministry. The people in the streets cheered knowing the Ministry had found and eliminated identical demons from within the Monastery’s heretical walls.

  “We were so lucky to serve the Parents as we did,” Isabella responded. “Those monks were monsters.”

  ***

  Oscar flipped a cob on the fire and let the flames lick at the little kernels. Mai?z was such an interesting crop with so many uses. You had your tortillas, obviously, but you could make booze with it, add it to other dishes, or eat it as the Parents intended: grilled and slathered in fat, queso, and chile?. Little squeeze of lime to top it off, and anybody would be smiling and satisfied with the delectable delicacy.

  A harsh and irritating smoke hung in the air. Oscar glanced up at the smoldering Monastery. He used to respect all its inhabitants, the one wild-eyed woman in particular, dedicated to the Parents and serving the community, but the black pyramid stood now as a monument to the sins of the monks and what they’d done. Harboring a Greatstorm. Que lastima. Oscar hoped the Ministry torched every single one of them.

  Good thing was, now less pilgrims would be coming into town and sticking around like they belonged here. Taking a Capital man’s jobs and leaving the place in worse and worse condition. Oscar knew about those types, he and his friends heard from all kinds of people at the bar about them. They wished the Ministry would just focus on the Capital and stop sending so many of the precious resources out to the country. Of course, he was happy when they sent a contingent of men to fight a wildfire spreading in the cornfields that he acquired his stock from, but he was a working man in the city. He deserved that help. What did the rest of those country folk provide but a little wool and tobacco. And, who really needed those?

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He shrugged the wool shawl on his shoulders against the cooling air. Summer was over, and Oscar was happy to get the increased business. People loved curling up by his grill with a warming mouthful of elote? on the colder days. He’d start cooking up some hot chocolate soon, maybe another three or four weeks. That would really draw them in. The young man sitting at the counter leaned over the edge, “Cabro?n, how long is this going to take?” Oscar glanced at him over his shoulder and continued his cooking. Probably another freeloading pilgrim anyway. The kernels looked to be just the right color, sizzling and popping, and the aroma started to turn to a char and caramel. Perfect.

  Oscar pulled the cob from the grill and took up a spatula of his mayo. He felt the degenerate watching him prepare the elote?. He would do the best job he could, even for people he didn’t like, because that’s the kind of man Oscar was. Not like these types. He scoffed at the man and disguised it like a cough but didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to start any arguments.

  Time for the queso. He dusted it on, and it stuck to the corn in an even, practiced layer. Crumbly and salty and delicious. Oscar snuck pinches of it every couple minutes. Cost him extra over the month, sure, but he liked his treats. His stomach was evidence of that! Dried chile? and lime and then the dish was perfect. Oscar wrapped some thin paper around the stick stabbed into the base of the cob and handed it to the pendejo. “Two pieces.”

  “The other places are all one piece.”

  “Bien, I’ll take the corn back then.”

  The man sucked at his teeth then threw two copper pieces to the counter. “Gracias,” Oscar responded straight. He swiped the pieces into his coin purse and turned away from the man. He whispered under his breath, “Cheap pilgrims, too lazy to make real money for their corn.”

  “What was that?” The man had turned, a smear of mayo on his nose and a cocked head. He wiped it and sauntered back to the counter.

  “I didn’t say anything,” Oscar hadn’t meant the man to hear him. His heart pounded.

  “You said something to me, amigo.”

  Oscar’s eyes darted around, and he raised his hands, “No, I didn’t say anything.” His voice was a little shaky. He hoped this wasn’t one of the criminal types from the country.

  “Fat, old man,” The pilgrim scowled at Oscar then walked away, taking huge bites of the corn.

  Oscar took a deep breath. This city was falling apart. A new waft of smoke hit his nose from the black pyramid. Those monks were always letting the pilgrims into their halls, no wonder they’d become so evil. He shook his head in disgust and spat into the coals of the grill. “Those monks were monsters.”

  ***

  “Hola, papi?. You looking for a good time?” Isidora cooed at a passing grotesque man.

  His cheeks were splotchy red against sun-darkened skin, black hair and a thick mustache making his cheeks look even more starkly disgusting.

  He scratched at his sweaty head, “Cuanto?”

  “Oh, we can talk about that after I’m done with you.” Isidora looked him up and down and bit her lip. He was revolting. He appeared to consider before swatting his hand in her direction and waddling away.

  “Thank the Parents.”

  But she needed the money. Her boss took a flat cut, and she needed enough to feed her son. Isidora hated the job. She hated these men. She hated her boss. She was told she would just be dancing. She was lied to. The other girls moved their hips to allure the men that passed, and they took slow steps around the brothel. Isidora couldn’t get the gait quite right. She hated not being able to make as much as those young girls. She hated that they were throwing their lives away in this place.

  A scrawny man, opposite in every way from the one before, walked up and spoke with a squeaky little voice, “I’ll take whatever you’re selling, mami?.” He smiled, mouth half filled with rotting teeth, the rest with chewing tobacco.

  “Oh, si?? Come right in.” Isidora held his hand behind her and took him to her room. Girls faking moans and disgusting grunts leaked through the walls.

  The smell of her room was all off. That fire at the Monastery was stinking the place up past the regular assortment of stenches. Isidora looked up at the opening in the ceiling of her room. She couldn’t afford to fix it. The smoking pyramid stood, now a black scar on the city. The man followed her gaze. “You hear what they got done in for?”

  Isidora nodded, she’d heard about the Greatstorm they had hidden from whispers on the street, and replied, “Si?. Those monks were monsters.”

  ***

  Vincenzo laid as still as he could in the infirmary. The doctors had lowered the floor lights in the room to ease the strain on his vision, nice people. His armor lay in a bloody heap in the corner of the room. Bandages covered a goodly portion of his body, and he tried not to look at them. He could feel the sword biting into his shoulder, and it made him queasy. His stomach had been gashed by a spear right after the sword, then an arrow caught him in the calf. The doctors said only the Parents knew how he didn’t bleed out. Vincenzo thanked the Parents for his life.

  His comrades dragged him to the back of the battle after his injuries, and there he laid watching most of the men ripped to shreds by that beast of a Storm. Everyone thought that was the Greaststorm attacking. They realized it wasn’t soon after. The Brother told the survivors not to speak of it. He claimed the Greatstorm was dead. Vincenzo was worried he was wrong. What would demons be able to do if that calamity was just a normal Storm?

  Stabs poked at his lungs and accompanied each breath, and his boredom raked at his brain. He’d been lying still for hours, trying not to inflict any more damage on himself. His room was bare, polished stone. The same black as everywhere else in the Ministry, the same lights as everywhere. It could be pretty, but not when you were confined to a four-pace by four-pace box of it. Vincenzo was told he would live, and he felt like he would. He fought valiantly for the Parents and the Ministry against the host of heretics that had infested the Monastery. He smiled as he watched the Brother burn that black pyramid to the ground.

  They’d left none of those monks alive.

  Not the men.

  Not the women.

  Not the children.

  By the Parents' guidance.

  He sighed a contented breath and shut his eyes to rest and heal, “Those monks were monsters.”