Free The Archivist by Tom D Wright Page B

boulevard. Danae and I are among the few townsfolk out in the open. A few blocks ahead of us, several caped Disciples intercept a man running down the street.
    Two of the Disciples hold his arms while the man cries out that he was responding to the fire bell. The third Disciple, apparently unsatisfied with that answer, uses the luckless fireman as a punching bag while several other volunteer firefighters stop and turn around to go home.
    Danae quickly strides up to the door of a wooden building that must be at least a hundred years old. The structure is built on a small tract of land lined with dozens of weathered headstones. She pushes on the door, and we slip inside.
    The interior of the building is a single large room, perhaps fifty feet long and twenty feet wide, filled with pews that face an altar at the far end. An elderly man in brown robes who is about my height but stouter in build looks up from the altar as we enter.
    Danae dips her head and I follow suit. Then she leads us toward a small shrine on one side, where a bank of votive candles sits on a ledge facing a statue. The figure resembles the Virgin Mary, but standing in the midst of waves instead of clouds. Only a few candles are lit, but Danae kneels down and uses a wick to light a new one.
    The priest turns back to tending the burned-down candles on the altar while Danae and I put our heads together. This town is crawling with Disciples, and I have no desire to take them on. I just need to avoid them long enough to get back to the travois and get the hell out of this area.
    “We can’t stay here,” I whisper in a voice so low the words barely float out of my mouth.
    “I know, Father Alendo closes the chapel after the evening bell,” Danae answers.
    “No, I mean the town. We need to leave for Entiak.”
    She hisses back, “Yes, but how are we going to get there?”
    “I have an idea, but first we need to get past the Disciples,” I reply as the front door swings open and the two Disciples who were following us enter. I watch from the corner of my eye as they step inside the chapel and the door thuds closed behind them.
    Whoever designed this chapel was an architectural genius, I think, because I notice that the wall surrounding the entrance has a fresco with a slight parabolic curve. We happen to be in the right spot to catch the acoustic echo of a low whisper from the taller and older of the men.
    “These might be the two blasphemers that EV warned us about. We should test them.”
    There is that reference to the initials ‘EV’ again. I tighten my grip on the knife I keep in a shoulder holster. It is not my favorite weapon, but it is the best I have handy at the moment. The Disciples have taken several steps in our direction when the priest at the altar calls them out.
    “Greetings, brothers of a different cloth. What brings the brethren in black to my humble chapel? Have you come here to worship, in accord with the Coeur D’Alene Agreement?”
    The two men stop, and the short, pudgy one grabs the arm of his companion and whispers something in his ear, which I cannot hear because they have moved out of the acoustic sweet spot. Then the tall man responds, “That agreement only applies with respect to ceremonies. It appears you are not in service, so we are not interrupting anything. We will be brief.”
    “Do you have a plan?” Danae whispers urgently. This is one of those rare occasions when I have no clue what to do, and my deer-in-the-headlights look answers Danae’s question.
    “I have an idea, but you need to trust me,” Danae whispers and stands, pulling me to my feet. Father Alendo glares at the pair of Disciples, then turns his gaze to us as we walk up to the altar.
    “My child, it has been awhile since you’ve been here,” the priest says to Danae. “I trust you have completed your grieving rituals?”
    “Indeed I have, so now I am free to take a new husband,” Danae loudly proclaims. “Father, we wish to be married right