Prokhor Ozornin - On the Wings of Hope - Prose

I still couldn’t recover from surprise, embarrassment, confusion … during that time that aforementioned doubt started overcoming me once again.

- I will overlook up to the end your manuscript … my son - and inform you of my decision in ten days. But don’t even dare to hope that I am going to give you a chance to publish it without some essential … modification … and, possibly, to publish at all. Besides, we will perform the inquiry with your … hm …mentor, as well as with you, - and he coldly stared at me. And for now go in peace, my son, - his highness regained self-control. - Walk in peace.

In confusion and doubt I left the temple. This was truly a day of sorrows.

Leaving the church I noticed how one of my brothers, who have just left the church, was approached by khanji - so we named the enslaved men-derelicts, who have been growing in numbers ever since our Holy Empire began a war two years ago. We treated them with great … favor … some of them have been granted a right to live in cities, yet they certainly have been living hard - however this subject was never brought up in the speeches of our Patriarch.

This particular khanji approached my brother-in-spirit and started asking him about something, apparently. And then my blissfully smiling brother without a second thought and hesitation kicked him with foot so strongly that khanji has been thrown aside and head over heels having swept on ladders …

I have been watching all this scene while my flynear - one the transportation vehicles, invented by confidants of our Deputy, working on the energy of a solar start, - was carrying me away from the spot. And I could no nothing to help the khanji …

A pain, immense and incredible stirred up in my soul that moment, - a sympathy to this little brother, being thrown aside, rejected, kicked off! - filled my heart. That very moment gave a birth to further painful and intolerable doubts inside me.

* * *

I had ten days before the new meeting with his holiness Alex II regarding my manuscript - and had no desire to waste them in vain. A pain, enormous, indescribable pain - it tore and crumbled my heart. I didn’t understand - had no ability to! - how is that imaginable for my brothers to be so … so … cruel - how? why? what for?

All the grace has gone to free the road for the pain. And after the pain doubts followed.

I have heard earlier about that Holy War, that great war, that just crusade. Still remembered how the Patriarch addressed us all … how loftily did he speak about those under-humans with no faith in the Father that we were fighting with … of those murderers … of those sinners. He said that by killing their bodies we save their souls … I trusted his words that time - I cannot deny the faith in my Patriarch ! - but now … after the event with that khanji - I started to doubt. Hour after an hour, day by day that cursed doubt has been growing - I could sleep no more, I rushed in nightmares during sleepless nights. I oversaw hundreds of those poor khanji - and legions of holy brothers dressed in white robes, slaughtering them with a single blow of maces, shouting “in the name of the Patriarch!”, instantly making a cross sign - and marching on further, further, further …

And then I woke up, having no more powers to behold that massacre. And then I reflected.

Ten days after I once again came before the eyes of his holiness - and there was not a slightest sign of joy, shining in my eyes. As well as in his.

- We found your … teacher … my son - and his highness choked a thousand time. - And studied your manuscript up to the end. And now hear our decision! - and he solemnly raised a hand. - For the spreading of false gossips, for attempts to make our beloved children go astray from the true path and into the bosom of Antichrist, - a man named Chris is sentenced for imprisonment into the catacombs of the Cathedral of the Patriarch forever, up to that day when Antichrist will come for him to take his dark soul! The sentence is signed by the Highest Patriarch himself and is not subject for appeal!

I was stupefied. Chris, my teacher who has taught me so much in that spiritual school - he’s sentenced to imprisonment. Never, never, never in my entire life did I hear of even a single case of similar action … and now … before my very eyes … how is that even possible?!

- Escort the sinner! - the voice of his highness rang out.

And then they - several brawny men in white cassocks - pushed him outside. I didn’t recognize him - I would most certainly never recognize him should we meet in different circumstances - he looked like the former Chris I knew since childhood no more. He awfully grown old and hardly dragged his feet, so four assistants had to constantly jog and push him - there was a blood visible on his face. “Tortures?”, - a thought flashed in my mind.

- Teacher, Chris! - I cried out loudly, trying to overcome the noise of the strengthening wind.

He turned back. A weak smile appeared on his dried up lips.

- Peter, my sonny, is that you? They caught you too, yes? Forgive me, sonny … please forgive me … I should foresee that that will once happen.

- Teacher, but why?! Why everything has come to this at last? Did they … have they been lying to us all that time?!

It was still visible that Chris smiled once more with his not obeying lips.

- And here and now, my sonny, you have awakened at last, - he muttered, - and during that same instant a roar of the gushed wind silenced all other sounds.

I saw, how four men dragged my mentor somewhere in the direction of a building’s corner - I tried to rush for aid, only to have been instantly seized by same three men, dressed in white cassocks.

- Stop twitching, oh brother, - smiled one of them.

When several seconds after his holiness appeared before my eyes once again - I was surprised no longer.

- And as for you, my son … we must perform the procedure of … cleaning, so that your brain can become sacred and holy once more and not a single demon even had the chance to crept into it! - and he smiled. - Seize him! In the name of the Patriarch!

My entire world ruined in a single flash of time. Everything I trusted, all that I hoped for - everything became nothing. All was in vain. And when my … brothers … seized me - I resisted no more. That was no longer necessary.

“May the Divine will guide me forevermore”, - a thought came an instant before a weighty wooden club of one of white brothers landed on my head …

25.06.2011

He opened his eyes. Both sight and hearing were coming back to normal, very-very slowly - but were returning. For many days he has still been recovering …

A push of hand - a sharp pain in the broken knuckle - and he has risen. He is alive and he will sustain - despite of everything.

Despite dregs in eyes and broken knuckle, acknowledging itself with a pain during each movement of hand. Despite hateful shouts and most severe abuse, flowing around. Despite the threats from his “neighbors”, which they intended to put in action if he doesn’t share his part of that skilly that was brought to them - so that they haven’t starved to death. Despite the methodical and giving a ring on an iron floor footsteps of the approaching guard. Despite the sun which he haven’t seen for such a long time … only the weak light beam of which he had a chance to notice in the mornings - a light, hardly passing through strong iron plates, sealing windows in this stronghold of grief. In this stronghold of sorrow … and sometimes, only sometimes - repentances.

“Chumbrik, fuck you! We’ll cut you on giblets! Do you hear me, bastard?! You’ll lick our heels, bough!” A shout came somewhere from a distant chamber and sank in the silence.