The Rising: Antichrist Is Born (14 page)

“I know, Dad. Maybe I’ll be rich enough to own it and be sure someone runs it right, even if it’s not me.”

“Frankly, I thought you’d be thrilled to have your future set.”

“I’m happy about the work, Dad, and the flying lessons. I really am.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“Sorry. I just thought you’d want me to be honest.”

“I want you to be grateful.”

“I am! This is the best thing you’ve ever given me.”

“Well, remember, it all hinges on how you prove yourself between now and then. And one more thing. Don’t go telling anybody about it.”

“Why?”

“Just don’t.”

“But I don’t see why—”

“It’s nobody’s business, that’s all. I know you’ll want to brag about it to your friends, but just don’t. Part of maturity is knowing what to say and what not to say, and this is nothing to be talking about. They’ll know when you start working.”

“Especially when I start flying lessons,” Ray said, though it seemed ages away.

“Well, there you go.”

Ray hardly slept. The wait for his thirteenth birthday would be the longest of his life.

“Do you have the documents?” Reiche Planchette asked Viviana.

She pulled an envelope from her briefcase and slid from it a folder that she handed to him. As he drew papers from it, Viviana winked at Marilena.

Planchette arranged the documents before him and turned them so Marilena could read them. “lnselaciune Industrie is the best, most discreet purveyor of human genetic engineering. We inquired as to their ultimate genome product, which they have outlined here.”

Marilena could not calm her trembling hands as she lifted the documents to where she could read them. Science was not her field, but she caught the drift. The “target” (that would be her) would be impregnated at the optimum opportunity during her reproductive cycle by a hybrid sperm containing genes from two males, one with an IQ off the charts, and the other with a higher-than-average IQ as well as a predilection for athletics and what ln§elaciune not so circumspectly referred to as

“culturally accepted physically attractive features.”

“Here, look,” Planchette said, producing a computer-generated rendering of a breathtakingly handsome young man.

“My goodness,” Marilena said, studying it. It was not like her to be impressed by looks, but the blond with the square jaw, perfect teeth, and piercing blue eyes was more than gorgeous. There was an air of confidence, of knowledge, a look of wisdom in his eyes. “Who is this?”

“Consider it an electronic guess,” Planchette said, “based on the best input ln§elaciune had available, of what your son is likely to look like at age twenty-one. Nicolae Carpathia will be a brilliant, beautiful human being.”

“If I were to proceed,” Marilena said, unable to look away from the engaging image.

Planchette sat back. “And why would you not?”

Why indeed? It was as if she had gingerly turned the knob on a door that had suddenly swung open and knocked her flat. “Why not you, Viviana?” Marilena said. “You’re a disciple. Would you not be thrilled, honored?”

Viviana laughed. “I’m too old. Anyway, I am a coward. I cannot imagine giving birth. This is your gift, Marilena. You are the one. You long for a child and are eager to be a mother. You may have thought you were coming to my class for diversion, but your psychic energy was so strong, your aura so powerful to the spiritual realm, that your desire alone transported your willingness to those who . could make this happen.”

“And what will this cost?” Marilena said. Planchette pulled one last sheet from the folder, ‘ Marilena scanned the list of costs for various stages of the procedure and let her eyes drop to the bottom line. “Three hundred and fifty billion leu?” she said. “You can’t be serious.”

“Approximately ten million American dollars,” Planchette said. “Obviously, none of this would come from your pocket.”

“Really,” Marilena said. “You must know that this is two hundred times my annual salary, which I would give up if I moved to Cluj.”

Planchette leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “You need to hear me, Mrs. Carpathia. I know you. have been . under considerable stress. I don’t know you; you don’t know me. Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot, didn’t connect; I don’t know. I’d be lying if I said I knew enough about you to admire you. The fact is, you have been chosen. The spirits have made this clear to Ms. Ivinisova and to me, and I presume to you. Frankly, that makes me envy you. I implore you to accept. For as long as you raise your son in the tenets of our faith, you will be cared for.”

“But will he be my son? Or will he belong to you and yours and the spirits?”

“He will be your son until he reaches twenty-one, as long as you do your part—which is not asking much, considering.”

“And what if I decide that it’s all true, that the spirit world is real, that—?”

“If you don’t already know that, you are the wrong choice.”

“Granted. But belief that there is a Lucifer and that he has the right to compete for the throne of God requires that I believe God exists as well.”

“Or one who considers Himself God. Naturally, we believe He is the impostor, the unworthy one, the doomed one.”

“Allow me to speculate, Mr. Planchette. If during the course of my study I come to the opposite conclusion—?”

  “Defect, in other words? You would lose your child, your privileges, your patronage.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Inselaciune is ready at a moment’s notice. You must be evaluated, tested, prepared for the perfect timing.”

“I will let you know.”

  “Surely you’re not entertaining thoughts of eschewing this opportunity.”

“I have not yet decided, sir. And I will certainly not proceed until I have.”

“That’s fair. But don’t assume you are the only choice,”

“What are you saying?”

“Only that there have to be countless other candidates, and frankly, who knows what they might bring to the table?”

“If I am not worthy, why was I chosen?”

“I have no idea,” Planchette said. “I just know that right now, during this season, the decision is yours. If I were you, I would not risk the impatience of the spirits by delaying.”

“One more thing,” Marilena said. “The association must be bigger than I ever imagined, but surely it’s not of the scope to afford this bill. Where is the money coming from?”

Planchette and Ms. Ivinisova clearly shared a look in a brief but awkward silence.

“A benefactor,” Viv said.

“Benefactors,” Planchette jumped in, louder. “Friends of whom the rank and file are largely unaware.”

As Marilena passed the bus stop she watched a young mother cradle a sleeping baby. The woman adjusted a thick, pink blanket, cooing, “Home soon. Daddy is waiting.”

Marilena’s childless arms ached. How was one to make a decision like this? The pros? No more lonely nights. No more walks like this one. No more wondering or even caring where her husband might be, what he might be doing. The cons? She would give up much of life as she knew it. Would Viviana Ivinisova—or Viv Ivins, or whatever it was she wanted to be called now— provide enough intellectual stimulation? Would she spell Marilena enough that she would be able to continue to read and study and learn and grow? And what of their friendship? It could die aborning.

Given these pros and cons alone, the decision was easy. Marilena resisted peeking again at the picture, which she sensed would push her over the brink. She determined to leave it in the envelope until she was sure.

Marilena was really in no shape for a long walk, but restlessness alone fueled her and she kept on. There was simply no objective party with whom she could discuss the decision of a lifetime. It didn’t surprise her that Viviana and her Svengali lobbied her toward the side of the spirits. Marilena could try to look up the young door-to-door evangelists, but they were clearly her intellectual inferiors and, of course, hardly objective.

If Marilena prayed, to whom should she pray? She took some pride, some comfort in withholding her allegiance from the one who had promised her a son. And yet she had been swayed by the manifestations of his power through clairvoyants and channelers, prophets, incantations, tarot, and Ouija. She no longer questioned the reality of the world beyond her own.

And despite the protestations of Viviana Ivinisova and Reiche Planchette, there was conflict in the spiritual realm. The respective leaders were jealous of each other, competing, diametrically opposed to one other. How could Marilena determine the relative merits of the two factions when she was so new to even accepting an immaterial dimension?

In truth, she didn’t want to take sides. The battle was not hers. Except for the reality that by accepting the gift of a son she would be supporting one side, she personally didn’t care who won. Tangible, measurable power was a hallmark of the one she had studied most.

The miracles boasted by the other side seemed confined to the ancient texts, impossible to verify. Marilena had certainly seen no evidence of miracles in her lifetime. In fact, the death tolls from the worst natural disasters in history—acts of God, the insurance companies called, them—were proof enough that He either didn’t care or was wholly disengaged. The age-old question, “If there is a God, why does He allow suffering?” was more than valid. And it was one Marilena could not answer.

The earnest evangelists with their smiling news that she, like everyone else ever born—except Jesus, of course—was conceived in sin did little to persuade her to join the other side. Marilena did not see herself as proud, despite her belief that she—like nearly everyone she had ever encountered—was basically good at heart.

And that was that. She wasn’t ready to personally cast her lot with Lucifer, not yet being sufficiently versed in his motives and plans. But she could agree to the caveat of raising her son as his student, believing with her whole heart that the young man would be bright enough to someday decide for himself where he stood on matters spiritual.

As for the other side, it simply didn’t ring true. Why would a loving God allow people to be born in sin? How were they personally culpable? What chance did they have?

Marilena sat beneath a streetlight on a low concrete wall that edged a public park. She slipped the picture from the envelope and turned it toward the light. And fell in love with the image of her soon-to-be son.

Resolutely, she headed home to call Viviana Ivinisova, despite the hour. She would likely wake the woman, but Viviana would be thrilled.

With every step, Marilena was mentally bombarded by a still, small voice. “Resist the devil and he will flee from you.”

She spoke aloud. “How do I know he’s the devil? Maybe You’re the devil.”

“Test the spirits.”

“The spirit of Lucifer will be tested by whether he grants the wish he has promised,” she said.

“Resist the devil and he will flee from you.”

“If I resist You, will You flee?”

“You dare not spurn Me.”

“But You call the other, clearly more powerful spirit the devil?”

“Resist him and he will flee from you.”

“I reject that. I am resisting You.”

As soon as Marilena began to show, she announced her resignation; the end of the semester came at about the four-month mark of her pregnancy. Her separation from Sorin had been cordial to the point of friendly. In fact, she was quite taken with his cooperative attitude. He seemed most helpful in arranging—and paying for— students to help her move to Cluj. He even gave lip service to her request that they keep in touch by mail .after her move. Whether he would follow through, she ¦ couldn’t predict. Of course, Marilena suspected that Sorin’s sensitivity toward her had more to do with his excitement over what all this meant for him and Baduna, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

As prophesied, Marilena’s pregnancy was easy and without incident, but not without the consternation of her obstetrician. He knew nothing of the particulars of her baby’s conception but soon became aware, of course, that her husband was out of the picture. Viv accompanied her to her appointments and introduced herself as Marilena’s sister.

“We hardly resemble each other,” Marilena said.

“No one will raise an eyebrow,” Viv said. And she was right. Sisters who look nothing alike were common. Marilena soon found herself eager to introduce Viv as her older sister, because while she had no problem with lesbianism, for some reason she felt compelled not to be mistaken for one.

Though Marilena knew what was expected of her pregnancy, she couldn’t help but worry when the doctor appeared concerned at four and a half months. She had seen the fetus, about the size of an avocado, on an ultrasound. But the doctor had predicted that she would feel the first kick by now, and when she reported no movement and he also detected none, his face clouded.

“Probably sleeping,” he said, “but keep me posted.”

“Is he all right?”

“Heartbeat is strong, fast, normal. He’ll be annoying you a lot soon.”

But he didn’t. In spite of herself, Marilena worried. Aloud.

“We’ve been told he wouldn’t move,” Viv said. “You should be concerned if it were otherwise.”

“But doesn’t a fetus need to move to develop?”

“Apparently not. We also know he’s going to be perfectly healthy.”

“I hope.”

“Ye of little faith.”

Marilena was grateful Viv left her out of the heaviest part of the work of setting up housekeeping in the Cluj cottage. It was quaint with lots of natural wood, log walls inside and out, a fireplace, and a comfortable smoky smell without the oily residue. Whoever built the place, probably forty or fifty years before, knew ventilation. Viv included her in the decorating choices, and they soon had the place cluttered but cozy.

Two issues that puzzled Marilena were Viv’s insistence on privacy and her refusal to smoke only outside. “The child will be protected from harm,” she insisted. “And you have built immunity from having lived with a pipe smoker all these years.”

Marilena was tempted to put her foot down but chose to pick her battles elsewhere. Equally disconcerting was Viv’s working with a locksmith on securing her own bedroom, and not just the door. He worked half a day in the room itself, but since Viv did not invite her in, Marilena was left to wonder what had to be so secure.