Priests of 2122 episodes are stand-alone stories told in a shared world.
Episode 1 - Reader favorite
Episode 3 - Author favorite
[Image credit: Alex Andrews]
Venom
“You’re very beautiful.” Deacon ventured.
“OH, haha…” Patricia’s nose crinkled in an off-guard smile. “No.” More serious.
It was closing in on one year since Patricia had been found by the wagon convoy of ‘priests’. Their self-coined term for narrate-exorcists. In the aftermath of the apocalypse in 2112, a smattering of remaining humans discovered the true power of the written word.
Scientists claimed it was a disease in the first days. The hybridization of DNA in a slopping, bubbling and mostly fatal transformation. Humanities number’s were halved in the first year. Those who survived the fungal infection had to fight the violent mutants which succumbed to it. Society bifurcated when it was discovered that these half-human half-animal mutants were being obliterated by the mere reading of written words. The right words.
A decade later, the Earth had taken back all but humanities most egregious sins. Without maintenance every societal center had been fractured, conquered, and then forgotten by mankind.
Cities overrun by human-cockroach colonies spread rapidly. Insurgents, cannibals, insatiable. They were only slowed by the rat-mutants of rural farmlands.
Eventually, more violent mutants began to farm both as livestock. Most world cities were reduced to rubble-mounds of warring colonies. Impossibly violent, never-ending wars between collapsing empires.
“No offense.” Patricia added after a long silence.
The Party
“I thought we were already a party?” Patricia asked dryly.
“You should smile more.” Ted.
“OOokay,-” Deacon grabbed Patricia’s shoulder and made a movement toward the small crowd gathered around the bonfire. “Today is a special day for the whole ‘party’!”
“Why is everyone staring at me.” Patricia’s deep monotone held no hint of a question.
“Congratulations, It’s been one-” Deacon tried.
“I want my knife.” Patricia turned around.
She started walking toward the wagon line and Ted practically giggled. This was so unusual Patricia halted to look at him. She studied him for signs of bio-insanity. What huffs like its choking? A catalogue of animals began to scroll through her mind.
Deacon noticed her sudden tension and the subtle lowering of her central gravity. He chanced another grasp at one of her sleeveless shoulders,
“He’s a jackass, not a donkey.” Deacon comforted.
Ted realized what was going on and made more blubbering huff noises muffled underneath a bushy mustache. “It’s your anniversary here, for the Lord’s sake.”
Patricia shook her head, a tourist hearing foreign language, “Lord…?” She looked back at the crowd of her travel-mates. She was certain she knew everyone’s name by now.
“You haven’t heard of the Lord?!” Ted’s eyebrows lifted high enough to reveal his eyes.
“Ooh, is that one of your characters?” Patricia patronized. “I still haven’t finished your book. Sorry, Ted.”
He made more indiscernible noises, “It’s not my book!” Huff, pout. “Never mind girl, go enjoy your party.” He relented a slight chuckle.
“I got you something.” Deacon said while they approached the bonfire. A dozen white and black cloaked authors stared shamelessly at them. Some jotted notes.
Deacon pulled a ruled notebook from his coat. It was hand-sized and nearly clean. “I know you don’t like to write, I thought this could be a good compromise.”
Patricia grabbed the notebook. Her eyes darted between the notebook and Deacon’s eager stare. She smiled, looked to the side, and moved on with a brisk nod. Deacon lit up, suppressing a rolling shiver of joy. He turned to join the group. Ted stayed back, though he did grab his own journal and write something down while shaking his head.
“In this case, a ‘party’ means a celebratory gathering of-” Theresa started to explain, once they had sufficiently approached.
“I know what a party is.” Patricia offered a wink.
Theresa laughed, hard. She then looked down at the small notebook Patricia now carried. “Oh. Well, who else got her a notebook?”
“I got her a blank hardcover.” Tim said meekly from the other side of the campfire. A chorus of sighs and disappointed “ah”s from the group. One “nice”.
“I got you a plant!” Sarah’s already loud proclamation grew in volume as she approached Patricia. Her gait was somehow louder than her voice. “Here!”
Sarah was holding a cheap plastic starter pot. A sprout with barely two cotyledon leaves struggled in the bounding vibrations of her steps and again against the windstorm of her dramatic hand movements. Patricia took the grateful sprout from Sarah.
“What kinda plant is this?” Patricia asked. Half a dozen of them were gathered to stare at it as if it was interesting.
Sarah shrugged, “Happy anniversary!”
Time served, she turned toward the campfire and grabbed a skewer from one of the cast iron skillets. There were six of them on a rack in a fire-hole dug into the side of the bonfire. Flaming Anaphase.
There were enough stump stools and reclaimed chairs around for everyone to sit. This was a mark of rarity. The priests used this as an excuse to begin plopping their offerings to Patricia on a log stool next to her. 7 notebooks, one blank hardcover, and one “plant”.
In a few minutes a natural line for the skewers began to form. Ted joined the group once everyone had a chance to queue. He approached Patricia directly from the side.
“Alright angry-lady,” He lifted a small box.
They shared a smile at the mention of his nickname for her. From the first week. The box was wrapped in shimmering paper. It was topped with a shoelace bow. Patricia put a hand on the box and Ted put one of his over it, holding her gently hostage. Direct eye contact.
“We’re gonna need your story someday.” After a beat he released her hand and the box.
“It’s not my story.” She whispered under her breath once he walked away.
“AW.” Theresa blurted out from behind her, followed by a lip smack. She looked up and started mouthing the words, memorizing them to write later. Maybe .22 caliber.
Morning
Right as the sun became visible through the sparse trees on the eastern horizon, torrential rain assaulted the wagon circle. The small but mighty cell rushed from North to South.
The Watch ran to the center of the circle. They grabbed the cooking utensils first. Ted and Katherine senior-leaped from their wagon. They ran over to help pack the loose signs of life scattered around.
Katherine’s modest floral full-body nightgown and Ted’s humble white long-johns became- less so, in the rain. She strategically grabbed two cast irons and sprinted back toward the cover of their wagon. She made it halfway.
A Sri-Lankan Pit Viper, from a lineage of pets, lashed out as she landed a muddy bare foot right on his middle. The first strike was a reflex, into her mid-calf. The second was made quickly afterward, it began to wrap around her without removing its fangs.
Katherine let out an agonized moan. She fell over, dropping the skillets. Ted went from smiling like a child to deep concern as he sprinted toward her falling figure. When he arrived the snake stood out, its electric green poorly hidden in the browning grass.
It was releasing her already, preparing to escape. Ted grabbed it by the head and threw it away recklessly. Tim, who was on watch and heading toward them both, had to dodge the creature. He weakly attempted a swat in its direction with the bucket he carried.
Red bumps of varying sizes began to swell around the bleeding puncture wounds. Katherine pushed up, swinging her leg around to examine and hold it. Ted held it as well, leaning in to watch as the red spots continued to grow in height. Bright red and dark blue veins began to swell against the skin, climbing up the limb.
“Weren’t a normal snake, Kath.” He looked up at her, afraid. She met his concern with equal measure.
“Fuck.” She whined.
“You folks get outta here. Stay in your wagons.”
“But-” Tim began to argue.
“GET!” Ted roared, a new monster.
They assented by following his orders. They climbed over their individual wagon gates, mostly classical wooden ones, but one was a reclaimed bus frame and another was a covered boat on large make-shift axles. They all watched from behind wet curtains.
Ted stared at Katherine eye to eye, refusing to look down at the growing infection. With a gruff sigh, he relented from their shared fixation and pulled a folded piece of paper from the shirt pocket of his long-johns.
“I knew that wasn’t just-in-case-paper!” Katherine screamed victoriously.
“No, it’s a poem.” He said.
Katherine’s eyes grew hot and swollen with tears, “It’ll get wet.” A whimper.
“I don’t keep the ones-”
“I kill with.” She finished his mantra, mocking his southern drawl.
One of her eyes warped. It bled in a stream diluted by tears and rain. The sclera yellowed and shrunk in a disturbing wrinkle. The iris ripped in half, then was woven into a vertical line, silk pulled along a slit. Katherine covered the eye with a hand. She winced in pain.
Ted began to unfurl the piece of notebook paper. He looked to her for permission. She jerked in horrible pain before nodding her consent. He began to read:
“A pretty girl let me hold her, a poem.” He said, glancing up to read the audience.
She was rolling her eyes because of the exaggerated profundity. They laughed, catching each other. Then he reached out and firmly gripped her hand. She squeezed back hard enough to hurt.
“In nine short weeks, she tore my walls down, and built a castle in their place.” Ted read.
“HAHAHA!” Katherine burst out, rocking on the ground where she sat. “This is- not good.” She giggled hysterically.
Ted chuckled once and kept reading. His grip on her hand began to reverse. Rubber digits bent backward over his. Only a few crackling bones hinted at the hands former humanity. She huffed rapidly, attempting to withstand the agony.
“I never could have prepared myself…for how the light…” Ted struggled.
Katherine’s injured leg wrapped around Ted’s right leg. Green scales breached pale skin in wet plates.
“HITS MY EYES?!” She suddenly screamed, getting nose to nose with him.
Both eyes were yellow slits now. A wagging split tongue was revealed between her words. With her free hand she grabbed his throat. Using the new musculature of her leg-body she raised them both up. Katherine’s jaw dropped grotesquely low. It widened around Ted’s head, measuring.
Ted frantically started to read the paper in front of him as the ink bled heavily from the rain. He was trying to find the most charged bit.
“I love your ugly laugh!” He yelled. Katherine’s head snapped back, her mouth closing. “It’s real, in a world haunted by nightmares and monsters.” The serpentine tongue flicked hungrily at him. It jerked to the side, scales rippling.
Katherine’s torso stretched and twisted. Layers of skin and muscle were pushed out of the way for slick fresh snake belly and bright new scales. The body continued to wrap around Ted from the bottom up as its physicality mutated.
The priests watching from their wagons had all gathered what writing they had in proximity. They were screaming their narrations over the rain, but none of it was very good. The serpent’s tail flicked and twitched with mild discomfort.
“I love how mad you get when I say you stink.” Ted grunted as the serpent doubled its grip on him.
He cried out as his bones cracked under the intense pressure. Katherine looked at him with sudden recognition. She struggled to release him. The body’s reflexes warred with her intent.
The mutation deepened as her two minds struggled against one another. Her right arm went limp, an empty sack. She was nine feet long now. Her face irreconcilable with the woman she had been. She used the last of her sanity to flee.
“Ah, no you don’t.” Ted said, falling to his knees as the last of her uncoiled from him.
A hiss threatened him in response, but the figure did not turn.
“I can’t…I can’t read it anymore.” He cried. A hole tore through the center of the drenched paper.
Ted’s arms dropped to his sides. He watched the creature slither between two wagons. He stood with great effort. As she passed the wagons two spherical wounds appeared on either side of her. The other priests were still trying. The scales seemed to have an extraordinary protective effect. Any other demon would have been in shreds by now. She simply recovered with a rapid shedding of scales, leaving red threads of mycelium to melt in the rain.
Patricia was out of her wagon, heading toward Ted. She had nothing to read. When she arrived she placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, breaking him from a trance. He turned to look at her once the serpent disappeared behind the tree line. He sputtered but couldn’t speak.
“A couple of months wasn’t enough.” She said. He shook his head, agreeing.
He didn’t collapse. He didn’t take the day off. He commanded an extra watchman to watch the snake’s point of departure and went about organizing the camp to move on. They would inch further toward the coast this time.
That night Patricia made her first written entry. She remembered the floral nightgown Katherine had been wearing. She remembered the lily for Jess. The butterfly that killed her. The snake that took Katherine. She thought of the Earth itself as a snake, endlessly pulling everything good into its maw.
Then images played in her mind of the way Jess would watch bugs and creatures for hours. The way she would take the time to explain a species of plant to her, even if it wasn’t useful. The way Jess introduced her to seeing anything as beautiful anymore.
In a tiny brown mostly-clean notebook she wrote in the top margin, “Flowers and Venom”.
Katherine's transformation was heartbreaking. Great writing. I could picture her whole body changing.