Lucerne had managed to transform into Renaissance, a souvenir of past glories. The hamlet of Trisstiss, on the other hand, was quite different. In the days of corporations, it was supposed to be the site of a freeway junction linking Lucerne to French-speaking Switzerland. Today, crushed concrete and rusty steel hovels clumped against the collapsed asphalt. Located in the heart of that forest of dry trees, it would be easy to believe that the town had been erected on the body of a great defeated snake, resting on the ashen ground.

Her guide had been spying the town from its outskirts for an hour now. As for Suzanne, she had taken shelter in the cabin of an abandoned, almost buried combine harvester. Sitting in the metal armchair, she thought about her future meeting with Marian. She was still watching a video from Sileo’s archives that she had been able to record on her implant. She stared at the man in the yellow suit for a few minutes before turning it off again. It had been several days since she had received a visit from him. Or from Tom. Any attempt to connect to the cyberspace had been futile since the incident at Bacchus’s Lair.

“Is everything alright?” Erol had just poked his head through the windshield.

“Yes. Did you see anything?” Suzanne asked.

“We’re getting close. Come here,” he reassured her before holding out his hand.

She still didn’t trust him completely, but Erol’s attitude had been beyond reproach so far. The young woman smiled to hide her concern, and he smiled back. Then, they both discreetly left the edge of the wood to join the first houses with their roofs of warped metal.

Camouflaged by the half-light and the fog, they crossed an uncultivated field and a pasture from which a herd of cows with muscular bodies followed them with a blank look. They saw no one at the edge of the hamlet. Only a dog barked when they passed by before resigning itself due to its advanced age. This was the only resistance they encountered before reaching the first farm. The city gates were open. The guards, if there ever were any, were gone. Under a water tower, they could see the different levels of the meager village. Beyond the first houses stood a palisade of steel and barbed wire. Behind it, more houses were scattered along the concrete slopes up to an upper terrace where a huge pyre stood burning.

A curious scent seemed to emanate from the pyre, adding to the smell of charred circuits that Erol had obviously also noticed. However, she was unable to figure out its origin.

A sudden movement startled Suzanne. It came from a raven flying from an iron cage that hung above the metal portcullis they had now reached. Erol stopped her just as she touched the gallows. As the chain turned, she thought she saw a skeletal body followed by a strong smell of decay. When she gasped, the archaeologist grabbed one of the torches burning near the door and leaped closer.

“I know that guy,” Erol murmured as he spun the gaol around.

The steel creaked. The dead man revealed his emaciated face. His eyes were two gaping holes. Suzanne was sure she saw something moving inside. “Marian?” she stammered.

“Nein,” her companion reassured her. “An old friend. Isn’t it so, Reinor?”

Worried that Marian might have suffered the same fate upon his arrival, Suzanne invited Erol to continue their journey. According to him, if the dean had reached Trisstiss, he must have stopped at the city’s inn. If they did not find it at the gates of the city, the inn was probably located higher up, closer to the flaming mound.

They eventually reached the pyre after zigzagging through narrow streets that smelt of manure. Surrounding the pyre, a crowd of a hundred souls drank in the inaudible words of a woman draped in white who had taken position on a makeshift scaffold. Passing unnoticed through the crowd hypnotized by the spectacle, Suzanne approached to hear the sermon, but froze in place, for a nun stood in front of her. She wore the same dress as the nun who had accompanied the Judge-Executor during the ambush at the University. Around her neck hung the mysterious iron symbol. But she did not have the mirror-like gaze that differentiated her Renaissance colleague.

Reluctantly, the young woman decided to step forward, but Erol held her back with his gloved hand. Clasping her arm, he pointed towards the preacher with his chin. He must have come to the same conclusions as she had.

In front of them, the nun continued to rally up the onlookers and the guards who had abandoned their posts. She gesticulated in an attempt to catch their eyes. Each word was weighed carefully and every idea was followed by a pointed silence, allowing even the simplest of minds to assimilate each piece of information.

While clamors rose from the crowd, Suzanne, irrevocably intrigued, finally made her way to the front rows. That curious smell continued to permeate the air. Definitely a mixture of burned flesh and white-hot metal. Turning around, she met Erol’s gaze, who was at her heels, his hand on the pommel of his sword. He looked worried.

Two soldiers stood behind the orator, they were dressed in full-body armor. They were old European models, cobbled together and painted white. On their tabards, the circled triangle of the Inquisition, like an eye, posed an invisible threat to the faithful.

The two fighters held on their knees a blindfolded woman wearing a black dress. The nun presented her to the crowd as a witch.

“Here we are again, in another trap,” Erol growled, watching out of the corner of his eye to make sure no one was listening.

The archaeologist was fortunately close enough to stifle her cry with his gloved hand when his gaze was finally able to rest on the blaze. For in the center of the flames stood a human form, blackened by the fire. On his knees, the unfortunate man was curled up, his wrists bound together and his palms open to the sky. He had spent his last moments imploring.

Suzanne swallowed while Erol removed his fingers from her lips. She was witnessing an execution and this speaker who was haranguing the onlookers was the instigator.

Erol suddenly let out a curse in what sounded like French and made a woman, whose face was riddled with an ancient pox, jump in the middle of the crowd. Behind her cataracts, she judged her guide from head to toe before turning away. “I recognize that figure in the flames. We mustn’t linger. Come, now!” Erol then whispered while gripping her right arm.

Leaving the scene, Suzanne met the eyes of a few peasants who seemed just as frightened as she was. The fanatics occupied the first row, the indirect victims the last.

In the heart of the square, at the epicenter of the barbarism, the nun had resumed her speech. The shouts of approval from the crowd resounded once again when she spoke of magic and other fantasies.

“There is no more business left for us here.” Erol said but stopped dead in his tracks once they were out of sight.

“What’s going on?” Suzanne asked, feeling a ball of lead forming in her stomach.

“They got Marian.”

Suzanne froze on the spot, paralyzed. It took all of Erol’s willpower to pull her out of the square.

The tavern where they had taken refuge was no less austere than the rest of the suspended city. Sober black wooden tables were arranged across a room with a ceiling so low that Suzanne nearly bumped her forehead several times against the exposed beams. The solitary decoration of the establishment turned out to be a strange French propaganda poster that looked at least as antiquated as the city.

The only living soul in the premises was an old man with an improbable crooked mustache who was dusting off some cracked glasses behind a dingy counter.

After closing the door behind them, Erol assumed the role of a simple traveler: “Has the nun deprived you of your clientele, humble ami?” he asked as he took his place at the bar.

“The nun?” Suzanne went to settle down at his side where she exchanged a furtive glance with the owner. The latter smiled at her, revealing a scar at the level of his glottis.

The Dali look-alike had a very cavernous voice that was in contradiction with his slight stature. “She booked most of the rooms in this establishment. She was sent here a few days ago by order of a Judge-Executor,” the manager continued, offering to serve them a drink with a gesture of his hand.

Once again, the Inquisition’s grip was tightening around them as it had around Marian. Suzanne was furious. Fear had finally given way to a feeling of hatred against the Inquisition and all that it represented. She also felt a cruel sense of disappointment.

Erol, for his part, continued to pretend to be a curious traveler: “Would you know where to find mounts for hire? Or a vehicle, perhaps? Our damn nags didn’t make it!”

“Where did you get critters that run so fast?” asked the bartender.

“Further west,” replied Erol. “Those French crooks gave us some junk. You can’t trust people from the coast!”

“Ah, it’s always the same thing with those frog-eaters. The easiest way to get there is by motorized stagecoach. There is excellent service in Montblazon.” The landlord continued his spiel. Erol and Suzanne exchanged glances as he wiped down three wooden mugs that were soon impeccably clean. Then, from behind the counter he pulled out a dusty keg of juice and poured three fair portions. “Are you going to Renaissance? I hear there’s a lot of movement over there. The Inquisition at the University, that’s unheard of! I mean, I’m not surprised. Just look at what they’re doing here. I thought they were banished from Foundation lands.”

Although Erol had no trouble tolerating the drink, the strong rancid odor that emanated from the brownish liquid revolted Suzanne. Her disgust went unnoticed, however, as the two men’s attention was drawn to the renewed clamor outside.

“That man at the stake…” began her companion.

“Bad story. They tortured him right here. I got a look at him one night when he was screaming like a pig. I didn’t want those animals staining my sheets, y’know?”

“Nein, but keep going,” Erol urged him.

“They took out some kind of implants from him. Like the ones the Renaissance people have, or the caramel-skinned, slant-eyed ones from the south. One by one I tell you, with pliers. But there were too many … they were coming out of his whole body.

“The sadists …,” Erol commented.

“They also ripped off his necklace and threw it down the drain with the rest!”

“A necklace?” asked Suzanne.

“Yes, this little necklace,” answered the old man. “I was able to recover it by getting my hands a little dirty. He seemed to be very keen on it. He fought like hell to make it disappear in the pipes, with his own iron entrails! I followed the whole thing. The Paladins saw nothing, though.” He then showed them a small metal pendant hanging from a silver chain. Suzanne thought it looked like a tiny, badly damaged portable hard drive. She noticed that Erol was very interested in it, but the owner put it back inside his jacket. “The nun is crazy. Folle! However, you must beware of the two Paladins who accompany her. Don’t let them get close to the young lady since she has such a white complexion.”

“We will try to remember that,” Erol thanked him and the tavern keeper nodded in response.

After receiving confirmation of Marian’s demise, the disappointment could also be read on his face. Like her, he tried to stay calm.

“Before we left, the flame worshiper mentioned a witch. What can you tell us about that? Is that customary in these lands?” Suzanne asked.

Erol didn’t have time to stop her, but he glared her way, even though she wasn’t paying attention.

“Heavens, no!” The innkeeper defended himself, trying to lower the volume of the conversation. “The situation is much more complicated in her case. Some would say she had it coming.”

“She’s from here?” Erol asked their interlocutor.

“She or he … we’re not sure what it is inside this woman-shaped steel puppet. But she is from Trisstiss, yes. Finally, from the lands at the border of the dunes. Near the mounds,” he stammered. “That’s witchcraft as far as I know anyway. You don’t need the Executioner to recognize that. The man was a sorcerer too!”

Suzanne was not surprised to see the implants compared to magic. Even in her time, some people were still allergic to technology, just as the Inquisition was today. And they didn’t necessarily come from remote provinces.

The tavern keeper, putting away the dirty mugs, did not expect to find Suzanne’s almost full. He spilled most of the juice on the counter. “It had a highly deviant behavior,” he resumed. “It talked to itself, walked naked in the fields at night, tamed wild animals, that sort of thing. Witchcraft, I tell you.”

“None of that is witchcraft,” Suzanne retorted bitterly.

“You will see it better tomorrow morning, with the second public trial. It’s not every day that the Inquisition catches two technomancers in the middle of the countryside!” added the tavern keeper before heading in the direction of the back room. “In the meantime, don’t move. I’m going to get the keys to your rooms from the storeroom. I suppose you’re here for that too?”

Immediately, Suzanne turned to Erol, as he had just slammed his steel fist to the counter.

“A technomancer!” he breathed out in a low voice. “It’s no coincidence that she was here with Marian.

“Do you think they were supposed to meet?” asked Suzanne as she began to understand the situation.

“Of course!”

“What’s the plan? How can we get her back to Lucerne?” Suzanne asked as hope sprung up inside her.

Erol ran his hand through his own hair, weary. He was about to answer her when the door of the tavern flew open. There, a drunkard staggered in, a scroll of parchment between his fingers.

“A crow from the city of Renaissance! The Foundation has fallen, les amis! The Inquisition rules. The High-Lands are now a religious fascist dictatorship ruled by Sainte-nitouche Maev!”

The man was immediately shooed away as the innkeeper returned and invited them up the stairs to their room.

“I’m running out of options,” Erol finally said, who had some trouble recovering from the news.

Suzanne didn’t dare broach the subject of Sileo. In any case, it was silly to draw conclusions without more information. She just hoped that he didn’t share the same fate as Marian or the other captive.

They had spent the night thinking. With Marian gone and Renaissance fallen, things were at their worst.

“Another option,” said Erol for the tenth time since daylight.

“Yes?” Suzanne’s head was foggy. She had managed to sleep for a few hours in the single bed after trying unsuccessfully to reconnect to the network using her implant. No luck; the cyberspace and internet were silent.

Erol had spent his sleepless night thinking and his eyes were bloodshot. “The Dammastock. You and me. We figure it all out ourselves, without Marian.”

Her forehead was wedged to the only glass in the room, shrouding the window in mist. “You told me the whole compound went up in flames.”

Erol hit his own head several times and Suzanne had to stop him. He was teetering on the precipice of madness. With a sudden gesture, he tore off the emblem of the hollow tree from his belt and threw it in the embers of the chimney. Suzanne watched him do this, her hand on the back of her neck. She too was completely distraught.

There was a sudden knock on the door. The manager told them that their horses were ready.

A little later, Erol left to pay the bill. The young woman was waiting for him to return, laying on the bed. She was forcing herself to eat one of those fruits of dubious color that their host had brought them in the morning as breakfast. She would have killed for a coffee or anything sweet. Everything here was so bland.

A bowl of cereal! My kingdom for a bowl of cereal!

It had been several nights now that her dreams had lost their original vividness. Certainly, some memories were still returning to her, which allowed her to put some past events in order, but the man in the yellow suit was definitely not coming anymore. However, he was not from the internet. They had been able to chat while she was offline.

“But then where can I find information? If the compound burned down, what do I have left?” she coughed as Erol’s entrance kicked the window open, letting in some yellow snow.

“In here!” Erol replied as he passed through the door.

She was startled. The archaeologist held Marian’s small silver locket in his hand. “Did the owner give it to you?

“For the few coins I had left. I made him understand that it is better if the Inquisition doesn’t see him with it! Especially after the fall of the Renaissance… it’s a poor lead, but do you know what it is?”

“Yes, it’s a data storage disk.”

He was disappointed to have been beaten to the answer. “If we don’t find anything on it, we’ll be able to sell it,” he said, to regain some pride in his theft.

“Bravo…” Suzanne congratulated him sarcastically.

Erol pouted.

“Still, how are we going to read what’s on it? Where could we find another terminal?” Suzanne asked, thinking of Sileo’s.

As she walked down the stairs, she thought of the cyborg. At her side, Erol must have caught the glint in her eye, because he immediately blocked her way: “That’s out of the question.”

“As you said! It’s not like they are any of them left running around anymore,” Suzanne said angrily, forcing her way out of his grasp.

“It’s far too dangerous!”

After leaving the inn, Erol followed Suzanne through the crowd that had already begun to gather in the central square.

“Come on Erol! What if she was meant to meet with Marian? She will surely know something!”

“We cannot be sure! Maybe it is all a coincidence!” Erol had raised his voice. “She wasn’t wearing a yellow suit as far as I know!”

Suzanne took offense: “Really? Is that really all you have to say?”

He stammered before apologizing. “If it’s a terminal you’re looking for, we’ll find another one. The Inquisition hasn’t spread its power over all the High-Lands!

“What about her? Did you think about it?” continued Suzanne who had no intention of stopping there.

“Her, what? There are two of us and one gun. You really want to fight against those brutes after what they did to Octave … and my brother?!” He was almost shouting, drawing the crowd’s stares on them.

In the square, the nun had resumed her early morning plea. She was surrounded by the two bodyguards who held an iron box. Scolding the crowd for their lack of faith, the white nun pointed to the box and one of the henchmen opened it on the fly.

As the pillars fell to the cobblestone floor with a crash that was almost entirely overpowered by the sound of the locals booing, the young woman appeared in Suzanne’s eyesight.

“She looks like she’s been rolled over by something…” Erol grumbled, eliciting again a few glances from the crowd, although he paid no attention to them.

The technomancer was indeed a sight to behold. Her hair must have once been dyed a bright ruddy color, but was now, like her body, covered in dirt and brown blood. She bore the marks of blows and torture. Her nose had been broken several times and some of her teeth pulled out. Her tormentors forced her to her feet, revealing her nakedness to the crowd.

Suddenly, a loud screeching sound shattered Suzanne’s eardrums as if a red-hot knitting pin had been driven through her ear canal. She stifled a scream before bringing her hands to her temples as her vision became black. A static sound invaded her ears, like a radio changing frequency. The sizzling sound translated visually and white spots appeared at regular intervals behind her closed eyelids. A beautiful dark wolf with misty eyes materialized and dissipated as her vision returned.

Suzanne felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Erol’s grip shaking her and trying to get her to come back to her senses. She felt the gaze of a dozen pairs of eyes on her. Erol shouted. The face of her guide was almost stuck to hers. He was sweating. No sound came from his mouth.

Then at last she heard singing. They were psalms and they came from everywhere. The nun’s voice returned to her ears. Then Erol’s words rang out. Everything sounded so far away.

“Suzanne! Suzanne!”

She felt as if she were plunged into icy water, and the echoes blended with the jumble that reality had transformed into. After introducing the young woman, the nun began to list the charges against her. She was now tied to a pole and hanging in mid-air, head down and eyes closed.

“Is there anything we can do?” Suzanne asked, her vision still blurred after the rapid loss of consciousness.

At this question, the scholar went back and forth between the young woman and the accused. “What? But you … it’s much too risky. We have too much to lose,” Erol said, his voice trembling. Let’s go back to the stable and leave this town, head west! We can find a terminal on our own!

“Don’t you at least want to make them pay for Octave and your brother?”

Facing the crowd, the prisoner was pilloried by the fanatics, receiving insults and rotting vegetables under the loud laughter of the onlookers. One of the Paladins was running his blade over the young woman’s surgical scars. With a pair of white-hot metal tongs, he tore off shreds of bloody skin.

“The Inquisition is all-powerful and the people want blood,” said the archaeologist, resigned. “Only Heaven knows when the Judge-Executor or Maev will manage to be on our trail! Let’s not linger where the battle is lost! We have to move on, now! Jetzt!”

Under Erol’s pressing words, they finally managed to extricate themselves from the crowd and headed in the direction of the stable.

Turning around to learn about the captive’s fate, Suzanne climbed onto one of the lanterns that decorated the streets. From her outpost, she could see the entire scaffolding. Silence reigned now as one of the Paladins was gradually flaying the cyborg. Her eyes still closed, the woman remained stoically silent.

“We don’t even know if it’s suffering…”, said Erol, who apparently had adopted the language of the innkeeper.

It was all too much! From the lantern, Suzanne jumped to the ground. She managed to surprise the archaeologist and to steal his revolver before climbing onto his horse. Then, at full speed, her mount ran in the direction of the scaffold, trampling onlookers and guards. Her orientation system, still functional despite the lack of connection, calculated the best route for her.

Behind her, Erol could only shout at her to come back.