Dark Matter

by Luke Donegan

  Little registered as he listened. He found it difficult to listen to words and to keep focus. Words and the speech of others bored him. But then the newling said something that caught his attention.

  “The animals in the Nature Dome are alive. Clara believes we can resurrect the breeding program. If we can destroy Dark Matter, and Masodi thinks we can, we will stop Passage. We could then release these animals into the wild. They would have a chance.”

  If we can destroy Dark Matter, repeated the Director in his mind. Is this what Kafka fears? Together, the newlings and the animists. Could they really be a threat?

  As he pondered this thought, the men saw him. They stood, looking his way, barely twenty feet across the sand.

  “I see you,” whispered the newling. His eyes were black with Dark Matter.

  The Director did not answer.

  “I see you.”

  “Director,” greeted the Builder. The man bowed.

  The animist made no movement, watching carefully. He sensed something wrong.

  “You are not welcome here,” said the newling.

  The Director sensed Dark Matter crackling like electricity beneath the newling’s skin.

  “Erys,” said the Builder. “Remember yourself. This is the Director.”

  The newling shook his head. “He is not who you think he is. He is not Jack Gaunt.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This man killed Jack Gaunt. He has killed every curator who has ever ascended to take his place.”

  The newling took a step forward. Smoke spilled from his eyes.

  “He is a murderer.”

  The animist hissed. His face melted into its animal form, a black bird with oily feathers.

  The Director stepped backwards. Something bothered him here. It was as if his mask had fallen. He did not like being seen.

  In all the endless years, he had never faltered. But now, in this moment, faced by a mortal, an immortal and an animist, he felt something brush against his Spirit. Something close to fear.

  Could they be a threat?

  He retreated across the dust. As he returned to the entrance, the animists woke. They stood and watched him pass. Like a wave their faces changed into their animal forms, their eyes red and angry. Rage rolled up from their bellies.

  Gob! Gob! Gob!

  This stealer of Spirit. This murderer.

  They followed him to the door. He did not fear their violence. Dark Matter would protect him. But an emotion stirred in his mind, something he had not experienced for hundreds of years. An emotion he forgot had ever existed.

  It felt like shame.

  He stumbled as he crossed the threshold. Dark Matter lifted him up and carried him along the lengthy corridor. Like a man flying in a cloud of smoke he entered the elevator and returned to his sanctuary high in the tower.

  They could be a threat, he told them.

  We cannot destroy them, said the Ascendant. They are immortal.

  No. But you can kill the others. The animists, and the mortals. And the animals in the Nature Dome.

  The Director thought for a moment. There was nothing to be gained by any half measures. The Museum had been an exercise in nostalgia. A connection with the past. But it meant nothing to him now. And if he wanted, he could always start again and build another. Something connected not to the past, but to the future. Something grand, to herald a new age.

  He could do anything. He was immortal. He had all the time in the world.

  General, send your army.

  Destroy it all.

  The galleries, the people.

  Raze this Museum to the ground.

  He felt, rather than heard, the General’s nod of assent inside his mind.

  It is done!

  Chapter 19 LAST DAY

  Rhada stood on the balcony of Ocean-Hearth facing the ocean. An off-shore breeze lifted her hair. White-caps skittered across the ocean-surface. Jay felt the warmth of melancholy emanate from her body like a glow.

  In his mind he held her and together they looked across the ocean. I am with you, he thought. I will always be with you.

  They spied white-caps on the horizon lifting up, taller than the highest waves. They were not waves, but the sails of immense sailing vessels, crossing the ocean. White sails cresting the horizon, bulbous spinnakers like bellies filled with ocean wind. A fleet of sailing ships, twenty, fifty and more, rode the ocean swells in the distance, following a course parallel to the coast, sailing into the north.

  Where did they come from? asked Rhada.

  Perhaps Tarc, he answered. A great land in the south.

  They are beautiful. I hope they see us.

  “They are coming! They are coming!” cried a voice. Jayda ran out onto the balcony, pointing at the sails across the water. “Look, Hearth-Mother. Sails.”

  She lifted the little girl in her arms.

  They watched the sailing ships progress slowly along the horizon.

  “If I call, will they hear me?” asked Jayda.

  But the gulf between them, the wide ocean, was too far.

  Lookout, high on the mainsail. Please see them, he thought. Please ride to starboard and bridge this endless gulf. Rescue them from their loneliness. From their isolation.

  And as he watched the leading vessel, it swung to starboard and headed towards shore, towards Ocean-Hearth. And the sight filled him with such joy he wanted to cry.

  “They are coming!”

  A rough hand shook him awake. The Doctor stood above him, his face taught with concern.

  The Doctor slid his hands under Jay’s body and lifted him into a sitting position. His small body was like a sack of dried grass.

  “They are coming,” repeated the Doctor. “Soldiers from the Barracks.”

  “Yes.” Jay furrowed his brow in memory. “I heard voices last night. In my head. I thought it was a dream. He told them to send the army. To destroy it all.”

  He shook his head to clear the last strands of sleep fog. The Doctor stood beside the bed, looking through the window.

  “How many?”

  Dismay and dread filled the Doctor’s eyes.

  Jay did not have the strength to rise and look out the window. Feelers of Dark Matter emerged from his eyes and splayed against the glass. Through a tint of dark mist he saw the city below. The doors of the distant Barracks were open. Rank upon rank of soldiers marched through the doors. Companies crossed the piazza and moved onto the Boulevard. He watched as the Barracks offered up its entire force. Nineteen companies to join the one already at the entrance of the Museum. Twenty companies. Two thousand soldiers. The entire army of Pars, like a river of black insects, flowing towards the Museum.

  He pulled the feelers of Dark Matter back into his mind.

  “Are they coming for you?” asked the Doctor.

  “They intend to destroy the Nature Dome. Perhaps the entire Museum.”

  “We are fools,” said the Doctor. “We should not have waited.”

  “I agree. It is time. Samuel.” He forced a smile. “Fetch Masodi. We need to prepare.”

  Jay watched the man leave the room. Yes, you are right, he thought. I am a fool. I have dallied too long. The army is coming.

  But in truth he had not expected so bold a move. But then a horrible thought occurred to him.

  Perhaps they know. Does the Director know my plans?

  He closed his eyes.

  He concentrated on the Director by visualising the immortal sitting in his chambers at the top of the tower. Jay sent an invisible tendril of Dark Matter snaking up through the tower. Then, in the quiet of his mind, he heard voices, faint whispers, as if from the next room.

  A chill attached to each voice. Each word spoken was a crystal of ice that fell and tinkled on the floor.

  They are sent.

  Good.

  Destroy the domes. And kill the animists.

  Level the Museum. I can build another. I have all the time in the world.

  Yes. We have
time. We have time.

  Jay’s skin prickled with sweat and his stomach heaved. He turned to the side and vomited on the pillow. Yellow bile mixed with Dark Matter dripped to the floor. He spat to clear the taste from his mouth. Acid stung his nostrils. He turned his face away from the smell.

  Such disregard for life, for Spirit. How can I fight such disdain?

  And then a thought occurred to him. He searched the Museum for Erys’ mind. It was moving. Sinking. Perhaps he was riding the elevator. The mind was dark, fuming but focussed. Rage held back. It was Erys’ mind. No-one else had so much contained rage.

  Scion-Teacher, he called. Hear me.

  The mind heard him, but was distracted. He was talking with Saskareth.

  Scion-Teacher! Erys!

  The young scion heard the distant voice of the Teacher and listened.

  Erys. They are coming. Two thousand soldiers.

  Yes. I have seen them.

  They mean to destroy the Nature Dome.

  Yes.

  You must protect the animals. Fight them! Hold them back! Give me time!

  Time for what?

  You must fight!

  Jay opened his eyes. He sent another feeler to the window. The army approached along the Boulevard, drawing closer. Perhaps only minutes away. He could almost hear the beats of their boots tramping the dusty road.

  I am immortal, he thought. With so little time to prepare. So little time to live.

  This immense life, tied to such a small bundle of time.

  He saw Rhada on the balcony, watching the sailing ships across the ocean. He would not see her again.

  Make me brave, he thought. And give me the grace to leave this life well.

  “The children and the other employees are safe,” explained the Builder. “The Attendant has separated them out between her staff. The attendants will hide them in the service tunnels throughout the Museum.”

  “Good.” Paris nodded his approval. “Is everyone accounted for? What of the Doctor, the Teacher, the Curator of Science?”

  “I have sent Felicity to find them.”

  “We should have got everyone out of the Museum,” mused Paris.

  “There was no time,” replied the Builder.

  “There was no time.” Paris smiled meekly. “Which leaves us.”

  They stood beneath the statue in the Museum foyer. Paris Aristotle and his scion Jaime. The Builder. The Scion-Teacher. Saskareth and his companions, the emu people. Those who could not bring themselves to leave the Museum unprotected.

  Outside the first company of soldiers guarded the doors and waited for the rest of the army. Clad in their black uniforms they stood rigid to attention. They had not rested for twelve hours since relieving the previous guard. The sun had just risen above the eastern scrap but already they were baking inside their uniforms.

  Through the doors Paris Aristotle could see the city’s army marching along the road towards the Museum. A thick cloud of dust kicked up by their stamping boots filled the air.

  There are too many, he thought. What can we do to stop them?

  The menacing sea of black creatures flowed closer.

  We should surrender, he thought. But there is too much to lose.

  He turned to the small group of men and animists under the statue. “This is your last chance to decide,” he said loudly. “I strongly urge each of you to hide in the tunnels and wait until they have completed their business. They come to destroy the Nature Dome and the animals within. That is their task. If we leave them to it, we may be spared.”

  But he could see in their faces that they were already decided. As was he. He could not stand by and watch the final destruction of everything Xia Tsang and Gregor had worked for. It would be the death of him. He understood this. But he would not choose otherwise.

  Erys stepped forward. “I will not stand by and see our work destroyed,” he stated. “Not again. I will protect the Nature Dome.”

  The Builder agreed. “I stand with you and Erys.”

  Paris looked on the man sadly. We have both lost those we loved, he thought. You feel you have nothing left to lose, but this. I understand your resolve.

  Saskareth bristled with contained emotion. Feathers rippled up the length of his neck and head. “I speak for the Umawari,” he said. “We will not stand idle while hope remains. My people were once shepherds of the natural world. Today we will be so again. We will protect the dome, with our lives. We will fight!”

  “There is little hope,” argued Paris softly. “We face two thousand soldiers.”

  “There is hope, Curator.”

  Paris smiled, but he felt a terrible sadness. Beautiful creatures, I do not want to see you lost, he thought. Hope, sustain me.

  Lastly, Paris turned to his scion. “Jaime?”

  The young man shrugged. “I am your scion. I am with you.”

  “No, Jaime,” said the Curator softly. “You must make your own decision. You are choosing death.”

  “I was Curator of History in your absence. I would make the same decision without you. I will stay.”

  Paris looked at the boy. We are the last of the Curators, he thought. None will come after us. Masodi has no scion. Xia is gone and her scion in exile. We are the last. And after today ...

  A shiver of fear rippled down his spine.

  Today is the last lawful day!

  “Builder. Accompany me outside. I will speak with the army.”

  The Builder nodded.

  “I will come with you,” suggested the Scion-Teacher.

  The air surrounding the young man crackled with energy. He faced them with his fists clenched, muscles in his arms and neck taught, ready to snap. Smoke slipped in and out of his black eyes, straining for release.

  He is a wild animal, ready to explode, thought Paris.

  “No Erys.” The Curator smiled gently. “We are trying to avoid conflict. It is better you stay here.”

  “But ...”

  “Erys,” interrupted the Builder. “Prepare the statue, as we discussed. We must be ready.”

  Paris and the Builder turned away and walked outside.

  As they emerged into the morning air, the sun crested the distant hills, a satin sheet of deep gold and red light lifted over the land. The tremendous light glazed the city and the surrounding landscape. Paris felt its warmth upon his face. He closed his eyes momentarily against its brilliance.

  Peace, he thought. We must find peace, in these final moments.

  A settled heart. That is all we can hope for. And a dignified end.

  Erys watched the Curator and the Builder leave the foyer. The power within him was growing. It needed venting. He wanted to direct it at the army and smother them beneath a blanket of Dark Matter to wipe them from the Earth.

  Peace. Remember the First Law of History. Focus on the task given to you.

  “Saskereth,” he said, turning from the doors. “When the Curator and Builder return, we will bring the statue down across the entrance. We then retreat to the Nature Dome and block the door. We may hold them off for a while.”

  But as he said it he knew it was ultimately futile. He would have to fight. But could he, with all the fury of Dark Matter behind him, defeat two thousand soldiers? And if so, how much Spirit would he consume to do so? Thousands of lives! He could not do it.

  We must hold them off and hope they choose to turn away, he thought.

  As he and Saskareth retrieved the Builder’s materials, the Scion-Doctor ran into the foyer. The young man surveyed the soldiers gathered before the Museum, then joined Erys and Saskareth.

  “You must hold them.” The Scion-Doctor struggled for breath.

  “We will,” replied Erys.

  “You must give him time.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Saskareth. “Who?”

  “The Teacher. He needs time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “For Passage,” explained the Scion-Teacher. “He is set to destroy Dark Matter. But he needs t
ime to succeed.”

  Erys glared at the young man. “Now? He won’t succeed. He is too weak.”

  He closed his eyes and released a strand of Dark Matter towards the Teacher in the hospital ward.

  Is this your intention? asked Erys. To do it now?

  It must be now, the Teacher told him. I have delayed too long. This is our only chance.

  But you are weak. It should be me. Wait for me. I will come ...

  No! The voice in his mind was determined and final. You must hold them off. You must fight.

  There are too many to fight. And if I use my power, I am destroying Spirit.

  If I do not succeed, all Spirit will be destroyed. That is our bitter choice.

  Erys opened his eyes. Through the doors Paris Aristotle and the Builder faced a heavy-set soldier on the Museum’s landing. Beside the menacing soldier sat the General on a chair. This immortal watched the Museum with an impassive stare. With unconscious curiosity Erys directed part of his mind towards the General.

  No! Pull yourself back! ordered the Teacher. Do not allow him to see your mind.

  Erys retracted his mind from the General, just as the man turned his golden mask towards the foyer.

  But how will you succeed? asked Erys sadly. He felt his hope slipping. You are so weak. You cannot even stand.

  He felt the Teacher smiling.

  Scion, you should know better. I am only weak in body, explained Jay. But in Spirit, I am more powerful than you realise.

  Erys watched as Saskareth began working at the base of the statue. The emu people set about cutting through the statue’s legs.

  I do not understand.

  It is very simple, Erys, the Teacher told him, his mind-voice gentle and soft. When the ascendants unleashed Dark Matter, they did so by breaking the Laws of Science. Only Law can mend the rift in our universe. A Spirit untarnished by evil.

  Two of the Umawari scaled the statue with lines of rope tied around their waists. Sitting on the statue’s shoulders they wrapped the rope about its neck then threw the lines down to their companions.

  But why not me? Erys pleaded. I was going to sacrifice myself.