The Locket

Arrick-Mol stepped from behind a large, rock and cast a careful glance left and right. His shoulder ached from his last battle, and he didn’t want another. He turned and motioned to his companions that it looked safe to cross this flat, unremarkable landscape with only dead or rotting trees to break the monotony. The nearest walled city was a few miles to the west, and they might be presented with many dangers at any moment.

Nera gently rubbed his sore shoulder, and he touched her hand, in silent assurance that he was all right. As the group of twelve looked around and nodded at each other, they all started walking behind the long strides of Arrick-Mol. Most of them were due for new shoes and the hope of being able to find them in the city was giving way to a mild panic. As the sun fought its way through green-tinted skies, Arrick-Mol and his companions moved across the open space with deliberate, but moderate speed. They all knew how dangerous it could be to be out in the open like this.

None of them had noticed a natural, hidden depression on the otherwise flat landscape. From about a hundred yards to their right, there came, as if from out of the ground, a pack of five ravenous wolves, looking intent to surround the group.

“Don’t worry, Arrick-Mol, one named Sommick said. “Stay in the middle, we’ll kill these beasts!”

The group encircled Arrick-Mol, and in just seconds were in full combat with the wolves that were almost twice the size of those that existed before the global pandemic that had decimated the human, rodent and pangolin populations, and had all but eliminated the lower primates. The wolves were ferocious and had developed the ability to jump so long and so high, it was as if they could fly for up to thirty feet or more, which enabled them to attack prey from a higher angle. They were no match for the experienced fighters they now faced, though they inflicted some injuries before being prepared for the evening’s meal.

There was one, however, that made an extraordinary leap over the ring of humans, having sensed an apparent weakness in the one in the middle the others were protecting, and Arrick-Mol had to face it despite his shoulder. After sustaining a vicious bite to his right thigh, he swung a hard right fist to the head of the wolf that nearly knocked it unconscious, and as it lay, dazed and trying to recover, Arrick-Mol stepped on its neck and twisted his foot in a sharp motion that broke its neck.

This was life after the pandemic. Several cities, usually inhabited by no more than a few hundred thousand humans, were fortresses against the emboldened wild animals and the bands of nomadic humans, such as Arrick-Mol and his companions. They could never know how, or if, they would be received in what cities they came upon. Perhaps one day, they hoped, one would receive and welcome them fully, and they would be citizens again, no longer outcasts and hated because they were feared. After all, they were not carriers.

Things were different just a year ago, and Arrick-Mol would often be haunted by dreams of those times in his sleep. Then, he was Arrick-Mol, Deputy to the Prelate of a city called Meriffe. As cities went, Meriffe was big, the biggest of any within hundreds of miles. Its sprawling, high-walled borders were home to exactly 750 thousand humans, a number strictly controlled by the leaders. The city had been founded by Suan Meriffe, a self-proclaimed sociology expert who had figured out that 750 thousand was the maximum number of citizens that enabled a balance between production and provision, and control. Beyond that, the ruling body would start to lose control, and soon the society would crumble under the weight of crime and anarchy.

Every person, at 15 years old, was given a job of their choosing, assuming they qualified, and those that did not were assigned other jobs that best benefited the city. Although there were socio-economic classes, there was little difference between them. Food was plentiful, education was limited to what careers were available in the city but was free. Every health issue was addressed promptly with no cost whatsoever to the patient or their family. This was because, the constantly mutating virus that had caused the pandemic could only be contained by maintaining healthy citizens. Monthly vaccinations were required without question.

Lush greenery was everywhere, peace abided so very minimal law enforcement was necessary. Buildings were solid and beautiful, and most of the technological advancements of the pre-pandemic age had been revived in Meriffe, far more than in most other cities. Religion, though not banned, was strictly controlled, and could be practiced by whomever desired, but the exercise of their beliefs could not have any negative impact on the function and flow of the city, lest the adherents face permanent banishment. High-tech, computerized defense systems protected Meriffe from outsiders. In Arrick-Mol’s life, there had been three invasions, and all three had been dispatched within days. Meriffe had sports, entertainment, arts, recreation facilities and outlets for free and unabridged sexual expression between consenting participants.

All this, Arrick-Mol dreamed about. What was never in his dreams was the underbelly of this Utopia, the cost, the sacrifices that were made to enable and proliferate all of this. Families were limited to only two children, three if the first two were the same sex. No one over 50 years old could remain in Meriffe because of the increasing health deterioration of older humans, which would make them exponentially more susceptible to the virus and thereby endanger the entire city population. They were sent to live in either Corealis, Bergon or Dapis-Menta, three cities where healthcare was more suitable for an older population. Those cities were sometimes jokingly called ‘retirement cities’, after the retirement homes and communities of the pre-pandemic age.

There was a day when Arrick-Mol and the Prelate argued over the status of another Deputy, Eirianda, who had become pregnant for the fourth time. Arrick-Mol saw no issue, since one of her previous three children had died days after birth, but the Prelate was determined to adhere to the letter of the law. “I don’t give a damn! She has already brought her quota of children into the city. She must not have another!”

“Have you no compassion?”, Arrick-Mol replied, “Her second child died. She will not have three children in the city. Why is this a problem?”

“Because it violates the letter of the law, the law that has kept us alive, safe and thriving for 123 years.”

“But it doesn’t violate the spirit of the law; the Quotum yet remains, doesn't it?”

“Damn the spirit of the law! What does that even mean?”

“It means the intent of the—“

“Careful what you say next, Arrick-Mol. Be very careful. You know it is a crime to question the intent of the Law makers. It says what it says. You’re going to find yourself an outcast if you say much more.”

“What?”, Arrick-Mol was flabbergasted.

“Don’t think I won’t push it!”

“You’d do that to me?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Then we have come to a parting of minds, Prelate.”

“Are you serious?”

“As serious as you are.”

The Prelate eyed Arrick-Mol for several seconds, then a look of sudden awareness came across his face. It made perfect sense. “The child,” the Prelate said, drawing out each word, “the child…is yours. Isn’t it?”

At that moment, a glint of light crossed the eyes of Arrick-Mol and the Prelate. They both turned and saw that Eirianda had walked into the room. “Arrick-Mol,” she said, “I told you we should have just told him.”

“And as you can see, as I told you, he doesn’t understand.”

“Oh no,” said the Prelate, “I understand very well. The both of you will be banished!”

“Then before I go, I will tell the people of this city of the evil deeds of you and all the Prelates before you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve read the Prelate’s Manifesto. I know, we know, what you’re doing to people.”

The Prelate, now visibly seething, said, “Now, you have sealed your fate! Guards!” Within a few seconds, several armed persons burst into the room brandishing crude, but deadly, weapons. “Arrest them both!”

“But Prelate,” one guard said, “he is Deputy—”

“I know who they are, and I said arrest both the vagabonds!” The glint that made Arrick-Mol and the Prelate aware Eirianda was in the room came from a reflection from a gold, heart-shaped locket that hung around her neck. Arrick-Mol reached to his right and wrapped a large hand around it, after which Eirianda grabbed his hand in both hers. They looked at each other briefly, then nodded and both jerked the locket from her neck, breaking the delicate chain from which it hung.

“Wait!” Arrick-Mol said, “Do you know what this is, Prelate?”

Arrick-Mol held up the locket as the Prelate stared in disbelief.

“But…this can’t be. Guards, stand down! Where did you get that?”

“It only matters that I have it! And having read that manifesto, I now know you Prelates and your enforcers have been sending people to their deaths, and for no reason! There is no Corealis, no Bergon and no Dapis-Menta, and you damned well knew it!”

“You idiot!” boomed the Prelate, “That is the Locket! You have no idea the power you wield! This—”

“There is no power!” Now, it was Arrick-Mol’s turn to scream. “There is no magic, only science! None of this had to happen, none of it! You need to listen!”

“Very well,” said the Prelate after a short pause. “Guards, you may step outside, but do not stand down. Go on, Arrick-Mol; you seem to have the upper hand…for the moment. I imagine the power of that locket eludes even you, so I won’t take the chance you might get lucky.”

Prelate, there is no power. Three years after the virus outbreak of 132 years ago, a Doctor Loren Sanchez developed a complex chemical compound that, taken after infection, would render the virus inert within a few days. By then, societies, economies, even whole nations were crumbling under anarchy and power lust. A group of powerful people, aided by drug companies, tried to destroy Sanchez and his work to maintain their growing power. He hid his formula in an impenetrable, underground vault. In this locket are coordinates to the location and the entry codes to the vault. He gave the locket to his daughter, and it was lost when she died. The virus spread and mutated, and the story became legend, that the locket could unlock power to control minds and even matter. All it ever was, was a cure.

“You Prelates have been sending our elders out into nothing, to survive briefly and then die as hated vagabonds. I intend to find this vault and give the cure to the world!”

“I believe you.” said the Prelate. “Guards, come in here. Arrick-Mol, the knowledge you have is too dangerous, and if the Locket does have power, you are obviously not worthy to wield it. Guards, kill them both. Now.”

A battle ensued. Arrick-Mol tucked the locket safely into his hip pouch, and he and Eirianda fought valiantly. Ultimately, the Prelate managed to escape, as did Arrick-Mol. Eirianda was killed by a blow to the base of her skull. Arrick-Mol escaped the city that night and fled hundreds of miles to the east. He was labeled a fugitive and a vagabond. Nera tried to comfort him as best she could, and he welcomed it, but both knew his heart longed for another. The group now headed back toward Meriffe, and far beyond it, to a place once called Arizona, to find the vault.

“But first…revenge.” Arrick-Mol whispered through clenched teeth.