It wouldn't make sense, nor would it do much good, to run and try to flee. I don't think we are doing anything wrong either since we are not conspiring against the Goddess or her community. We were just...looking for her. The twenty or so people hidden behind their black robes have turned towards us in a circle, cornering us. From the galleries and corridors come the echoes of footsteps that turn out to be guards as they carry large firearms.

—Wow, I thought the Goddess preached peace—. I always have to act brave on occasions when it's not the best idea. Paris keeps quiet, looking worried. We uncover each other and let our faces show.

—And it does, boy—Diego Marquez says as he uncovers himself—but we're not going to get ourselves killed either. What the hell are you doing here and how did you... Did you follow me?

—Do you know them? —The Priestess addresses the smuggler, from the altar. I can see her lips moving through the scarf and, for the first time, I can make out her eyes, clear and bright.

—She—Diego points out—is Paris Stonecraft. I'm sure the last name rings a bell. She belongs to one of New America's elite families. Her father worked most of his life for the mafia-like and tyrannical Tecnofield Science Company. I believe, Most Excellent Priestess, that you know very well who I am talking about....

—Diego, what do these two young people want from you?

—They were looking for information. Books.

—They've come this far because of you, then?

—No, Madam Priestess—Paris intervenes, defending the smuggler—. We were just looking hard for the Goddess for quite some time... and she herself has shown us the way here.

Good move, Paris. Appealing to emotion and sentimentality, as the religion of the Goddess does, can lend a hand.

—And the boy?

—He's her slave.

A murmur runs through the room after Diego's words. I try not to put my ear to it, but it's criticism of Paris for being a slave owner. Paris is intimidated, not without reason, and puts her feet together toward me.

—Calm down. The Goddess is all-powerful and will provide protection and health to those who profess sincere devotion to her. This girl and this boy make this Priestess and the Goddess fear nothing. Let them come up here, please.

The Priestess gestures to us and the believers, with reluctance, break their formation and let us clear the way to the altar. They return to their seats, although the two-armed guards guard the only exit of the temple. I close my eyes as Paris and I stand next to the Priestess. I keep them closed because I feel ridiculous on what seems to be a stage, while dozens of pupils set their sights on me. I don't like feeling watched. Also, because of the smell. The one given off by the Priestess. It takes me back to childhood, to the cotton plantation. It smells like the memory I have of my mother. It smells like Greg Gordon's house. It smells like that bar in the past, in the slave revolt. So deep, soft and intoxicating that it's impossible to forget. It smells like orchid.

—Today. In the present. The Goddess has rewarded us not only with a wedding, but with two new souls. With two baptisms—. The Priestess continues her homily as she walks between Paris and me, still and standing before the community of the Goddess—. Remember the scriptures, when we were warned of the dark ages of betrayals, corruptions, raids and defeats. Remember that the same scriptures anticipate the victory, the light, the paradise, the life...that all this would slowly and inevitably make its way around the pure human souls. To the spirit that imprisons each of our bodies, beyond the material we possess. The Bible spoke of us, the chosen ones of the Goddess, as continuers of her legacy and as transformers of the world. So tonight, tonight, Paris and... —I whisper my name to her—and Eric...are here with us, among us, to become one of us. For the first time and forever. The Goddess, who is omnipotent, integrating and cohesive, gives her warm welcome to all who believe, seek and greet her. Do you believe in the one, true and authentic Goddess? Put your hand on your heart and, if you feel the heartbeat of the Goddess in it, say in a loud and clear voice: Yes, I believe!

Paris and I hesitate for a second. Surely, she sees it as a way to get out of here alive, safe and sound, even if we carry with us a secret too dangerous. But I..., since I have listened to the Priestess, I believe blindly. The Goddess is the answer to all my questions. Where I come from, where I am going. Why I am a slave. Who was my mother. Where is my freedom. The Goddess is the only one who can grant me and all my fellow slaves real freedom. Paris can only hide me in time and make me believe that is freedom. I do not want to die a fugitive. I prefer to die fighting, in another revolt. I want to change the world, even if it is a utopia, because it is the just and necessary thing to do.

—Yes, I believe! —. I say loud and clear, raising my fist and revealing my handkerchief. Surprised noises are heard among the attendants. I untie the handkerchief and spread it out, crumpled—. When my mother died, I was only three years old. A Bible and this handkerchief were her most valuable treasures and I inherited them without knowing what they meant. Today, it all makes sense. She was a slave and a believer. She could never teach me the feats, miracles and ideals of the Priestess and the Goddess, but I know she was sure she would succeed. Yes, I believe, in the one, true and authentic Goddess!

All faces, shadowed, turn to Paris. She touches her hair.

—Yes, I believe! —. She confesses, closing her eyes.

The Priestess picks up a black porcelain jar, displayed on the altar table and asks us to kneel. We obey.

—Then, since the Goddess has chosen you, the oath of faith is true, I declare you followers of the Goddess, protectors of the Priestess and part of the community. The Goddess will always be with you. She will accompany you as long as you accompany her, she will never abandon you if you abandon her.

The Priestess sprinkles some water from the jar on our heads, while speaking. Then, she dries us with the handkerchief that is untied from the back of her neck, revealing her white skin, her thin lips and some wrinkles in the lines of her face. Without wasting time, she picks up other utensils from the altar table. This time it is a metal syringe with black ink. She inserts a needle and asks me to extend my left arm. I'm terrified of needles, so I don't look up as the Priestess injects the dark liquid into the inside of my wrist. When she finishes, I bring my other hand to my sore wrist, discovering that the symbol of the Goddess has formed on my skin, just below my name and my slave ID number. The Goddess now lives in me, forever. Spiritually and corporeally. The mark, dark, grows lighter and lighter until it disappears.

—It's for safety. Scratch a little and think of the Goddess. She will appear.

She changes the needle and repeats the same act with Paris, more nervous than I am because I think she is thinking about all that this means and supposes for her and her life. She belongs to the socioeconomic elite of the capital of the United Provinces, her boyfriend is an heir to the Tecnofield Science Company. And now she is a follower of the Goddess, the most fearsome enemy of the Companies and the Provinces.

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The Priestess asks us to stand, while the Goddess community does the same and begins to applaud.

—We do not celebrate many baptisms. They are celebrated more than any other rite—. We are informed by the Priestess, who also applauds. She seems to be crying.

The noise, the prick of the needle, the smell of the Priestess, the Goddess and her temple...all make me feel part of something very big. Something I have never been aware of before. I now feel much closer to all those who hide their faces, who do not know me and I do not know them. I trust, I don't know why, Diego Marquez and I can understand the reasons he had for mistrusting me and Paris. Why he misled her. We have become, Paris and I, a problem for the Provinces and a target for them to beat. Not only am I threatened, which after all I am a slave and always am, but so is Paris. And it's not because of his research, but because of collaboration. I don't know how she's fitting it in. I don't know if she cares enough to give up the Goddess.

We return to our places, while the Priestess continues with her sermon.

—Go in search of what we long for. Cherish the lessons of life given to us by the Goddess. Achieve Peace, Equality and Freedom.

—Peace, Equality, Freedom—. We all repeat, to finish.

The temple of the Goddess, carved in the rock, is clearing. Paris and I stand still. We take a deep breath and look at each other, not knowing what to say. Too many things in such a short time that will determine our future. Perhaps our curiosity or our need to seek answers to the questions we have asked ourselves has brought us here. To a dead end. To being part of a religious community. I think of Paris...I don't know if historical research is taking her away. I am happy to finally belong to the Goddess, just as I suppose my mother wanted me to, since that is what she wanted to tell me with the Bible and the handkerchief. Mother, I have searched for the Goddess and she has found me. I am where you were. Where you are.

Diego Márquez, without a hood, approaches us with a bad face.

—Don't think that this is why you have earned my trust. You don't. I still think you're two kids who don't know what they're getting into. Boy—he says to me—you are a slave and your story seems to be true, but be careful with it. Now your danger is twofold. As for you, Paris, you should know...

—Welcome to the community of the Goddess, Eric and Paris.

Interrupts the Priestess by putting a hand on Diego's shoulder to shut him up. Diego looks her straight in the eye for what seems like an interminable few seconds, nods, and walks away.

—We'll keep seeing each other. Now it's my turn to keep an eye on you—. He says to us as he leaves.

—Don't think he's joking. The community must prevail and we will have to make sure you are worthy of the Goddess' trust—. The Priestess speaks, still hiding her face—. At this moment, and under the secrecy of confession, I want you to tell me the whole truth about yourselves. Who you are, what you are doing here. What you are looking for. It is one thing to give hope to the community when it sees that it is growing, and another to open the doors wide open to two strangers, even more so if they are owner and slave.

We understand that this is the interrogation we must pass to be, indeed, part of the Goddess community. The Priestess and some followers like Diego are not fools and it is for a reason that the religion has survived delicate times, besieged as it has been by all the forces of the United Provinces. Besides, it conveys a peace, a security, a magic and a smell...that I feel I can trust it. To Paris, I suppose it happens too.

—I am a historian—Paris begins—. Before long I may be the last professional historian in all the Provinces. I need to do strong, solid research so that historical study is not lost from higher education. And I'm looking for…—sigh—, I need information about the Collapse and the world before it.

—Before the Collapse there was only pestilence, ruin, famine, and madness. It says so in the Bible. The Goddess came to bring order, peace, equality and freedom to the world. Before, there was nothing. Since then, the world of the Goddess is being built. We build it, day by day.

Paris says nothing. The Priestess has stated forcefully that there is nothing interesting about the Collapse. She and I know she is not right. From the first moment Paris gave me her vision of the Collapse, the tradition, the stories that are told, made some sense. I was incredulous, it's true, but I have a lot of confidence in what Paris thinks. I know she is telling the truth, even if she doesn't know it herself. The Priestess is probably hiding something or simply diverting attention. I gesture with my gaze to Paris to let it be and not to rebut her.

—Also...I am investigating the slave rebellions, from the perspective of the Goddess' religion. The Provinces, with History in its lowest hours, have tried to hide it....

—That's much more interesting than the Collapse, Paris. You see, we need people like you here. To write our History, to make it known to the world out there. But... do you know what you're up against? Are you willing to give your all for the cause? For the Goddess and for History? You don't need to answer me. Think about it and answer yourself. You, boy, tell me, who was your mother to leave you something as valuable as that forged and embroidered handkerchief long ago?

—Lunetta Moon. Slave on landowner Greg Gordon's plantation. Did you know her?

—Lunetta...I believe she was one of the companions who were condemned to death and executed by the United Provinces. One more martyr of the Goddess. They were brave ones who gave their lives for peace, equality and freedom.

So that is what happened. My mother died for the Goddess and for freedom, for her ideals. One more slave victim of the repression of the Provinces. Condemned to death. Executed. She participated, then, in the last slave rebellion.

—Simon Moon, slave, does it have something to do with you?

—Maybe he does. I think he's my father—I take a breath.

—A good man.

—And yours? —She turns to Paris, who doesn't understand the question—. Your father—she repeats.

His name is...Matt Stonecraft...He's a fairly reputable techno-scientist in town.

—Does he take care of you?

—Sorry?

—Does he take care of you? —She repeats the question.

—Yeah, well, I don't know. What a father cares about a daughter, right?

I don't understand these very personal questions from the Priestess to Paris either. I'm left thinking about my mother's fateful destiny, corroborated by someone who shared places and time with her. When I reconnect, I make the same face of disbelief that Paris does when faced with such questions.

—What's so important about...that? —Paris is confused.

—Many years ago—the Priestess explains—my grandmother used to tell me a fascinating story. From before the Collapse, precisely, Paris. There was a city called París, with an accent on the i, almost like your name. It had a gigantic iron tower that young people crossed to swear eternal love to each other. It was said that the promises made under that tower were engraved in time forever.

—But that's...that's the story my mother used to tell me...

The Priestess finally reveals herself. She has light eyes and brown hair, almost blonde to her chin. Her fine face and her features make her look unusually beautiful despite being around or past fifty. Her cheeks fill with tears as Paris throws herself, possessed, into her arms.

-—Mom!—she says—Mom! It's you! It's you!

I couldn't believe it. The Priestess is Julie. Julie Bell. Paris' mother. We found her!

—I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—Julie says as she squeezes her daughter tightly to her chest—. I had to go. I had to.

—Why didn't you come back? I missed you so much... I've needed you so many times...

—I'm sorry. The Goddess had called me. She needed me, Paris. I have spent the last eleven years traveling throughout the Provinces, preaching the Goddess' message and rebuilding the destroyed communities. This is the first time since then that I have returned to New America. So, I know it was not by chance that you showed up...

I feel a little out of place, and slowly I am leaving to give them privacy. They will have a lot to talk about.

—Stay—Paris holds my hand so I won't leave. Her gray eyes are teary.

—Leave him—Julie Bell, the Priestess, says.

I walk out of the temple of the Goddess into the galleries of the catacombs. I think of my mother, in Paris. The rock walls rumble and echo what they are talking about.

—Is he your slave? How did he get to you? You have to stay away from him. Paris, he'll only bring you trouble.

I walk away and stop listening. I liked the unnamed Priestess better. It seems, Julie Bell, Paris' mother, didn't like me very much.