Penury City: Ire of the Shekel

By Thomas Nastek

In the first volume we travelled with a group of people seeking to escape a fallen and corrupt world. Through the help of a mystical guide named Maria, they journeyed through a hidden system below the worldly cities. In this second volume, our adventurers make it to the fabled city

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wounded Crow Publishing
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955383059

Book preview

Prologue

~ Paul ~

We left the canton of Pietas, where Papa narrated the story of the evil Shekel’s hunt for the last devotees of the One. George and Saul led their team of wary travelers through the tunnels until they reached its end in the Grand Cavern. It was there that they boarded a large underwater vessel. Papa left off the story with George and Saul commanding the subsurface watercraft into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean; heading towards a mysterious, turning vortex.

Sclip, shnoosh, sclip, shnoosh defines the irritating sound of my shoes echoing through the silent, darkened streets of Europe as I trod along behind Papa. I exhale heavily into the night air, trying to see my breath. I am certain that the temperature is well below the four and one half degrees Celsius that Papa suggested. However, there is not even the slightest hint of haze coming from my attempts. A shiver walks up my arms and across my back. The chills move over my body like an invading army of crawly creatures sent to drive the hair to stand petrified on end.

Although it seems like we left in the middle of the night and have walked for hours upon hours, in truth we have only been traveling for two and one half hours. I do, however, have to take my hat off to the old gent, as he never complains. I can see in his face the pain and suffering he endures. Why do you put yourself through this? I have asked him. Simply stated, he does it for the people he loves. In his case, that covers all people wherever they are to be found, which is the reason that he is called Papa. It is how he came to be the top doctore in all the land. He is wise like the most learned professor, stable like the thickest granite rock, and faithful like no other that I have ever met.

Of course, I’m one of the more wretched creatures who hasn’t quite found the place of humility and complete servitude. The air is too chilly, the walk is too long, and the ground is too hard. There is much dust and dirt in my throat. My fingers tingle, my legs hurt, my back aches, and there seems to be a flutter in my chest that is completely in sync with the twitchiness in my left eye. I can’t bear it. Papa, stop. Wait! I have a stone in my sandal.

He turns, a slight smile and gentle eyes in his aged face exude the love for me despite my display of irritation and hostility. After pulling off my sandal, I find there isn’t a stone to be found. I brush across my foot anyway, just to have a break. Papa shows no sign of being annoyed with me. His patience has no limits. After a few minutes, I put the sandal back on.

Papa extends a hand to help me up. You are a good man to suffer so much on my account. You are always in my prayers.

My chin drops to my chest, my eyes are drawn to the street, and my heart sinks to my knees. I wonder how he does it. How does the Doctore keep his vision so focused on the One? If I knew how to do this, I know I could be a better man. Additionally, this perfect humanitarian has some kind of power that defies science. I do not even know how to put it into words. For whatever reason beyond my understanding, I have seen him change the nature of substances, cure an ailing child, and read into the mind of a person in deep mental anguish. It sounds totally implausible I know; however, just the same, I’ve seen these things with my own eyes. He is a mystery, this aging Jesuit.

The Doctore and I enter into the canton of Consilium (Counsel) under the cover of dawn, so as not to draw attention to ourselves. We have returned to this urban hillside to fulfill a promise made nearly three weeks ago: to continue the revelation of the historical record and to teach the good folks of faith. Upon our last visit, as I recall, Papa had enlightened the crowds until the sun was near overhead in the sky. With his voice nearly vanquished, he gave them his final blessing, vowing to return again soon. Though the people of the city groaned, disappointed that the Doctore could not continue their education, they bowed their heads in acceptance of his blessing of peace and prosperity. They would need to be patient until his return.

Walking along Aquinas Street, we pass through the town undetected. The streets are empty of life and the windows darkened and closed. Dampness and coldness hang in the air as we make our way into town. We amble along side by side until we come upon an aging stone farmhouse with peeling teal shutters. We stop in front of it—a small two story house on the outskirts of town. It looks to be hundreds of years old. At the left of a sun-bleached, teal front door is a small, four-foot-wide garden awaiting the morning sun.  A whitewashed, short fence wraps around the garden, keeping it free from small animals looking to make off with ripened fruits and vegetables. On the opposite side of the teal door, hanging just below the second story windows, is a narrow veranda enclosed with a black iron railing standing four feet high. Along with making the perimeter secure, it provides a tired robin a spot to rest. Three potted geraniums near the edge silently and patiently wait to greet dawn’s light, which will soon break across the horizon.

You will be okay, Papa, while I go to the door?

Yes, yes, of course. Go and let our friends know we are here.

Do you want to sit on your cathedra? I hold up the three-legged stool.

I will be fine. I will stand here at the gate and wait for you.

After a slight nod, I make a straight path to the front door and lightly knock. I glance back at Papa to make sure he is all right. After all, it was a long journey to make at his age. In fact, I often wonder how he is even able to do it. Men twenty years younger would have a hard time making the trip.

The door springs open and out rushes a welcomed blast of warm air. With it comes a burst of light along with the aroma of freshly baked bread, apple cider, and other pleasantries. James Bronte, a man with curly, gnarled dark hair, stands in the doorway and grins with an outstretched hand. Hello! Hello! Welcome to our humble home. Please, come in.

I shake his warm hand firmly and thank him for opening their home to us. After going back to the gate, I assist the Doctore up the steps. Before entering the house, Papa removes his sandals and leaves them outside the door. Of course, I feel obliged to do the same before entering. By this time, John, the younger brother, comes to greet us and is equally gracious and humble in the presence of Papa.

We are your servants, Papa. Please come in from your long journey.

The young man kisses the Doctore on each cheek and then immediately has him sit down, where he lifts his feet into a small basin, pours warm water over them, and washes off the dust and dirt from the journey. Reaching for a towel, he dries them thoroughly. The Doctore puts his hand up to the young man’s face and thanks him for his humble service.

After placing the Doctore’s small stool near the door, I put our travel sack atop it and proceed into the house. With some hesitation and repeated efforts to forego the ceremony, I, too, have my feet washed by young John, who seems to take great pleasure in his duties. He is the most gracious host I have ever encountered. He has pure love for his guests. This is what Papa has tried to teach me, but I have not yet let go of my own self-importance, or so I have been told.

Let me take your things and get you something warm to drink. There is a chill in the air this morning, John says. He helps us out of our coats.

Thank you. May the peace and blessings of the One come abundantly upon your home, which you so graciously offer to us, the Doctore reiterates.

I follow Papa into the main living quarters where a hot cup of cider awaits us at a large table, simply constructed from three long planks of pine, well sanded and stained a deep walnut color. I touch the surface, admiring the craftsmanship, as I join Papa on the bench, then take hold of the cup to sooth my incredibly parched throat. However, upon looking at the surprised faces of my good hosts and then back to Papa, who just smiles gently, I politely place it back on the table without taking a drop.

Papa bows his head. We thank you Lord for a safe journey, for this bounty of food and drink, and especially for your good servants who have allowed us into their hearts and their beautiful home; our brothers Bronte.

Amen, we all reply and lift our cups.

Ah, that washes away the dust in the throat and at the same time warms the belly. Thank you for having everything ready for our stay. We are very grateful to you. I take another sip of the delicious cider.

John, the younger of the two brothers, beams with excitement and wonder as he gazes at Papa. He takes in the entire experience as he records the precious moments in his heart. Seeming to want to memorize every movement, gesture, and word that comes from the Doctore’s lips, he stares with amazement and joy.

I can’t remember a time when my brother John has been rendered so speechless. Usually, you can’t keep him from talking, James remarks.

Papa looks up from his cider and with gentleness, smiles upon him. How goes your work here in the city, my son?

John squirms in his seat; he is caught between pride and humility as he turns over his forearm. Then pulling up his sleeve, he shows the mark of his Way. Tattooed on the inside of his arm is a two-inch, light brown image of a balance scale with incredible detail. I have been given the opportunity to offer counsel here in the city, Papa, John said as he bowed his head.

You are very young to have such a great task bestowed upon you. You are a blessed man, young John. You are learning your lessons well.

Thank you, Papa! I am eager to learn so much more from your teachings today. I have barely slept, as there is such excitement burning in my heart.

Doctore, perhaps you would like to rest before your morning begins? James asks, noticing that Papa is seems glassy-eyed.

What a wonderful idea, Papa, I concur. I stand up and help him off the bench.

James leads us to a back room that has already been prepared for our arrival—a fresh bowl of water and towels, the bed made up and a blanket pulled back, and an oil lamp on the side table. James goes quickly to heighten the wick. The room brightens with its yellow flame.

If you need anything, Papa, let us know. If we do not have it, we shall retrieve it for you.

Thank you, James. You will spoil me to where I will not want to leave, the Doctore jests.

Well, we’d be only too happy to have you here.

Where are my lovely girl and her son?

They went to Pietas for some routine medical care for young Jackson. He is growing just fine, though, James replies.

Good. Your mission is to take wonderful care of them as they require additional kindness that will offset their troubled pasts.

After getting much needed rest, Papa and I receive a king’s breakfast before going out into the city to continue the teachings of the Way. Following James and John, we choose a more nature friendly spot alongside a tributary. This particular place has the benefit of shade provided by large stone pine trees that survived the wars. Most of this area surrounding the city has been destroyed by the Holy War battles. The river itself is only a fraction of what it once was before the desecration of Mother Nature’s home. Papa looks sadly upon the land, ruined by Man without regard for the consequence of his actions.

Remembering back to when he was a boy, this entire area had been renewed. The old buildings that were falling apart had been taken down. Trees and grass were planted, and a wonderful city park sprung up. Fountains decorated the landscape and a winding path led around the entire park, reaching all the way to the river. It was a wonderful place for a child to go and spend summer’s days.

Papa, look! They are already coming to hear you speak; from every direction they are drawn to you, James calls out.

The Doctore turns from the river and looks out in the distance. The people of the city are gathering to hear the good in the Word he has come to give to them. Papa gazes at the crowd and warmth fills his face with a smile as the eastern light blankets the ground. I can see the dismay in his heart is being replaced with joy and hope.

Part 1: Return to the Cantons

Chapter 1 - Lost Faith

~ Paul ~

I get Papa seated on his cathedra as we wait for the crowds to settle in for the morning’s teaching. It doesn’t usually take long for the canton’s citizens to find their places and hush one another in their anxiousness to hear the words of their doctore.

Good morning people of Consilium! Papa calls out.

The crowd roars out greetings to Papa.

Of all the teachings, one of the most important lessons is the reassurance that it is important to keep faith and hope in all things. In each of us is the light that can never go out.

Papa starts off with a lesson in hope. We all fall from time to time, but it is how we get up again that matters most. I take a seat near Papa and watch the people listen attentively to the morning’s story.

~ Doctore ~

At a distance of just seven hundred miles off the southeastern coast of America, a small island seems to rise up out of the sea, almost as if by some accident, broken off from the Americas and pushed out into the open waters during a violent storm. There it remains, abandoned, a mysteriously minute collection of rock piled high upon the seabed, once referred to as the country of Bermuda. If one were to find themselves in this area, it would be wiser to steer clear of this forgotten land of the British Empire. It is not due to the violent storms of the Atlantic that one must be forewarned, but the turbulent nature of the residents who have taken ownership of the atoll.

There, in the city of St. George, lies a territory that was consumed by civil war and unrest. The once beautiful, blue-green seas that surrounded the country turned red from algae plumes and the blood of citizenry who fell during the battle. No peace or certainty remained among the palm trees that had once boasted the serene character of the island. Most of the large green leaves of these majestic palms were consumed by fire during battle.

In early July of 2054, on the south side of the northernmost part of St. George’s Island, stood Saint Peter’s the abandoned Anglican church. Since the European Holy Wars in 2049 AD, the faith in this church and this country had been forgotten by its British owners, and in the absence of that oversight, an oppressive set of dictators had taken the islands by force. Following in their American neighbor’s footsteps, these opportunistic and greedy men restricted the religious freedoms of its citizenry. They were men of cruelty. Their harsh styles of rule often had their citizens imprisoned, tortured, and even murdered. The people of this country lived in fear and poverty. Within this small group of forgotten islands, society fell into a two class structure—those who were privileged and those who were not. The Bermuda people, who had long stood strong against the hurricane winds of the Atlantic, were not prepared for the tyrannical tempests that now ravaged their land.

The aristocrats took control of all the coastline property and used the poor as laborers to build castles and extravagant homes for themselves. These luscious estates were set up rather quickly, as men shoved passed their neighbors and made way along the coast to mark their territory. The poorer people were driven to the center of the islands, where they were neglected and barely given enough food to stay alive. However, even though their pulse was weak, they had strong hearts. They had hope that their prayers would soon be answered and they would be led out of this ravaged land. Many had heard stories of a Golden City and a mysterious woman who knew the way to its location.

Far below Saint Peter’s church were several tunnels that came together in a large area of a stone shelter. The Carroll Zealots had carved out this tunnel system in anticipation of the persecution of Christians, to give people safe passage to the Way. These escape routes and caverns, like the ones used in the Americas, connected the Christian world below; while the secular world above consumed all that was created for Man. The greed of society persisted throughout the islands until there was nothing left of common property and resources. Once all had been depleted, they began to make war on each other to confiscate their neighbors’ goods, to add to their overflowing silos.

Battles and skirmishes broke out along divisional property lines. Fierce wars were raged until there were only three noble families left: the Knowles family, the Rivero family, and the Mercer clan. The Knowles controlled the western territory from Ireland Island through Somerset Village, including Hog Bay, and Gibb’s Hill Lighthouse, and extended all the way to Marley Beach. The family of Rivero controlled the central territory from Surfside Beach through Camden, extending out to the peninsula as far as Spanish Point, including the northern territories of Flatts Village, until it reached to the farthest eastern point of Newton Bay. The Mercer clan controlled the eastern territory from Pink Beach to Tucker’s Town and all of the small islands as far north as St. Catherine’s Beach. The territory also included Church Bay, Abbotts Cliff Park, Shelly Bay Park, and as far south as the old Bermuda Railway Museum.

While the wealthy were conquering land and fighting for riches, the remaining poverty-stricken residents of the island were caught in the crossfire. They were often imprisoned in the nobles’ armies and forced to fight or were put to death. Some of these misfortunate and mistreated sufferers had managed to escape these wars. However, they found themselves huddled with others who had no food or fresh water. The farmlands were burned in the pillaging and what animals were found had been confiscated for the aristocrats. These homeless and wretched people often died of disease or starvation. Mothers watched in agony as their children slowly starved to death or became ill from filthy water. They prayed for the Creator to be merciful, but their pleas appeared to be unanswered until a soft-spoken stranger—a frail woman named Maggie, entered their circle of misery with a promise of freedom. They decided to risk following this very different kind of leader who showed them a hidden road to safety and peace.

She led them into Saint Theresa Church, an old abandoned cathedral in Hamilton that had an inner door that gave access to a tunnel system. Located somewhat centrally in Bermuda, this church offered the last visage of hope to the remaining faithful. As instructed by Maggie, they followed the signs of Raphael, symbols engraved in the walls and doors of the tunnel system. This led the desperate travelers across middle Bermuda, taking them far below the surface and even underneath the small lake known as Castle Harbour and underneath Saint David’s Island, marching over thirteen miles, unknown to the warring armies above. As the blood of innocent young men, forced to fight in the noble’s armies, was spilt on the battlefields just above the tunnel roof, this small band of two-hundred people managed to break free of their deadly fate. They traveled through the underground passages, which were lit with a bluish-white light emitted by a magnificent carved marble statue of the archangel Gabriel, in hopes of finding peace in their lives and food for their children.

At last the tunnels seemed to come to an end as they gathered in a large area of the cavern, the stone room, situated one hundred and fifty feet below the surface. There, the light gradually dimmed. No passages led away from it.

Large fountains stood at the center of each of the four walls of the cavern, each of them beautifully carved from the same fluorspar mineral that was found in the American caverns. This bluish crystal reflected the beled lighting throughout the cavern, making wonderful dancing patterns on the roof and walls. The water in these fountains seemed to be fed from the central fountain that stood in the middle of the room. This grand fount was larger than the other four, both in circumference and in height. A white marble lamb lay at the very top of the structure where it nearly touched the cavern roof. The tips of winged creatures stood just below the lamb. These creatures poured out their buckets of water, flowing from the lamb into the top tier. Four walls running north, south, east, and west sustained the top tier in an equally measured square. Each wall contained three large openings through which the water flowed and fell to the next tier of the fountain. In addition to the fresh spring water, miraculous doughbread seemed to simply appear from the cavern walls.

This refuge had everything necessary for an extended period of time, so most of them had been in the cavern for at least three days or more, with some having stayed for an entire week. Even though the pure springs and the doughbread kept them all well-nourished, they were becoming agitated and impatient. They were fearful that they would be trapped in the cavern. Nightmares of soldiers finding and ambushing them filled their minds with terror and despair. They had nowhere to run and there was nowhere to hide. They didn’t have many weapons to defend themselves. Some of the men became nervous and antsy in their wait.

One particular group of men talked by the fountain on the south wall, nearest to the entrance of the large room, conversing about going back and searching for an alternate route in the tunnel system. Confident that they had missed the way that they should have taken, they became arrogantly defiant towards the ones who had shown them into the tunnels. There was much dissent and rebellion on the lips of these impatient men, who from the beginning had never been fond of following a woman.

"Jefem, we’ve been here far too long. It is idiotic to stay in this place and wilt away. We have been sitting here day and night doing nothing but waiting. The soldiers will eventually find us and they will shoot us