Realms Unreel

by Audrey Auden

  Dom turned slowly and found himself face to face with Serapen. Her eyes flickered to the statue before returning to him. She made a gesture of blessing, and Dom lowered his head wearily, saying,

  “Serapen Mohira.”

  “I come with word from the Oracle,” she said gently.

  Without raising his eyes from the ground, Dom said,

  “I submit to the will of the Oracle. I submit. Only leave me in peace, and I will continue on the task I have been given, until the very last stone of Dulai crumbles into dust.”

  “But your task is at an end,” said Serapen, “The time for your answer has come.”

  “No,” Dom moaned, passing his hand over his eyes, “No. I must not follow Ava any longer.”

  “That may be. But still, your answer comes. Seek it, and you shall find it.”

  Serapen turned and walked away, her long white hair and flowing robes whipping up around her as she stepped from the protection of the pavilion into a capricious ocean breeze. She disappeared, and Dom stared after her, his mind empty of all thought.

  He stood motionless for a long time, until the wind changed course, rushing into the pavilion, swirling in the stone dust on the ground, flapping in the canvas walls. A gust ripped loose a section of canvas near the entryway, and out of habit, Dom reached for the needle on his tool bench to repair it.

  As he raised his arm, a strange sensation of silky web sliding across his skin caused Dom to shudder. He frantically stripped off his tunic and looked down to see his arms and chest encased in the net of scarlet threads that had during his long sojourn with Emmie at last worked their way free.

  He felt himself trembling, his breath coming in great gasps, and he tore the threads from his body, clutching them tightly in his fist.

  He strode from the pavilion, out onto the bare rock ridge dividing churning ocean from still lagoon. He stared down at the long scarlet threads twisting in the breeze, helpless to escape his grasp. A great wind kicked up from the ocean, and he turned away from it to face the Temple City. The wind coursed over his body, and he raised his fist in the air. He opened his hand, letting go of the last remnants of Ava’s mantle.

  The fine net rose up in the wind and soared out across the lagoon, rising and falling until at last it disappeared from his sight somewhere out over the deep water.

  Dom lowered his arm, and his eyes blurred with tears. The blue sky, dark cliffs, and white marble melted together, then re-emerged as he blinked the tears away. He gazed out at the unfinished Temple City, suddenly hungry for the work that had for so long seemed so bitter. His hand reached unconsciously for the hammer that should have been swinging from his belt.

  And then he paused. An uncanny stillness had fallen over the waters of the lagoon, and the light had changed. He saw the reflection of the Temple City in the water, ghostly white branches spreading against a dark wall of stone, a mirror image of the great tree that had been Emmie’s final gift to him.

  In that moment of clarity, Dom saw the way out. There before him lay the doorway into the world that Ava had first glimpsed.

  Let go, the Oracle had said.

  He had seen Ava do it a thousand times before in a thousand different lifetimes, letting go of one world to enter another. Her awareness had longed to inhabit new places, to comprehend new things. For Ava, death had been nothing more than letting go of something old to embrace something new.

  Dom looked up at the crown of the Temple City above the water, then down once more at its reflection. Heart thudding hard against his ribs, he took off at a run toward the precipice at the end of the ridge.

  He leapt out over the water.

  Down, down, down he fell, sky above and reflected sky below, until he crashed against the surface of the water. Breath and light and sense were knocked entirely out of him, and he drifted weightless, surrounded by dark water on all sides.

  His last thought was of Emmie, her face pale in Amos’ harsh artificial light. Dom had longed to touch her cheek, to say some last word of assurance: that this was not the end for her.

  Dom felt a crushing pain in his lungs. A bright light rose before him, and he knew his time had come. He thought he glimpsed the green flash of Emmie’s eyes before at last he closed his own.

  The pain grew more intense, and he began to struggle, swallowing great lungfuls of water as he gasped for air. He felt a small, strong hand closing around his wrist, pulling at him. He thrashed away.

  The hand let go, then returned, this time as a gentle touch upon his cheek. He opened his eyes beneath the water, terrified, and saw a watery light emanating from a point just in front of him. Warm fingers interlaced his own and pulled once more. This time, Dom followed.

  ∞

  They emerged gasping and spluttering, kicking with all their strength against the undertow until they reached the slippery lip of tile ringing the dark pool. Emmie scrambled out first and reached back in to haul Dom out of the water by his sodden tunic. Dom coughed up a lungful of water and collapsed against the white tree.

  They stared at each other in the dim light of the chamber.

  “You saw it?” Emmie said softly.

  Dom nodded, speechless.

  “Wow,” she said, shaking her head, “Just … wow.”

  The ground beneath them began to rumble. Emmie looked up, eyes wide. Dom struggled to his feet, then fell back down.

  A bright light flashed from somewhere near the edge of the chamber.

  “Emmie!” a voice rang out. Emmie squinted as the bright light turned on her. It was Naoto, running toward them, flashlight in hand. Naoto stopped in his tracks when his light fell on Dom, and he held up a small silver weapon.

  “No!” Emmie shouted, “Naoto, put it down!”

  Naoto lowered the weapon but kept the beam of his flashlight focused on Dom’s face. Dom raised a hand to shield his eyes.

  “Who the hell is that?” said Naoto.

  Emmie glanced at Dom, her mouth open, but before she could say anything, Naoto shook his head and waved them toward the archway.

  “We need to get out of here.”

  Naoto led the way as they started to run. The ground began to shake harder, and above them came a resounding crack. Emmie covered her head with her arms. Naoto narrowly dodged a cascade of dust that began to pour down from the ceiling. A falling stone struck Dom hard on the shoulder.

  They passed through the archway and into the vault, where a glittering, knee-high cloud of salt and soda had risen above the trembling floor. A terrible crash behind them caused Emmie to turn back, and through the archway, she saw that a huge stone had fallen, blocking the entrance to the chamber. A series of similar crashes followed as they pounded their way harder toward the winding staircase.

  They resurfaced through the trapdoor behind the altar. The stone columns supporting the roof seemed to sway. At the base of one column lay Goran, bound hand and foot, apparently unconscious.

  “Out! Out!” cried Naoto, turning back for Goran, “I’ll be right behind you!”

  Emmie hesitated, but Dom seized her by the arm and rushed her toward the door. They emerged blinking into the bright sunlight, followed a moment later by Naoto, who was carrying Goran over his shoulders in a fireman’s lift. A thumping noise overhead caused Emmie to duck fearfully. She looked up to see a helicopter circling.

  “It’s Falsens!” Naoto shouted behind her, “Head for the clearing!”

  They staggered across the lurching ground, following Naoto toward a broad meadow uphill from the church. A flock of birds rushed over them, their piercing cries cutting through the rumbling of the earth and the droning of the helicopter. The flowering trees whipped and writhed as the ground shook them from the roots. The air swirled with white, pink, and red blossoms that had fallen loose from the branches.

  They came to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Naoto heaved Goran to the ground and sank beside him, exhausted. Emmie and Dom looked back toward the church. Great cracks were spreading through the walls of carve
d stone, and the foundation seemed to be sinking into the ground.

  The earth fell still, and, for a moment, the church did too. Then the ground beneath the building gave way. The walls crumbled inward, and the conical dome sank in slow motion as a great cloud of dust rose up around it. When the dust settled, nothing remained of the church or the chamber hidden below but a crater filled with a rubble of pink and grey stone. The only sound that remained was the steady beat of the helicopter blades far above.

  Emmie looked up at Dom, who stood motionless as a statue, staring at the ruin. She reached out and touched his arm, wondering if he might not vanish before her eyes. Dom blinked, looked down at her in amazement, and touched the shoulder where the falling rock had struck him. He winced.

  “There is no going back,” he said softly, and Emmie knew it was true for both of them.

  “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” she asked uncertainly.

  The distant look in Dom’s eyes faded, and he took Emmie’s hands in his own. His fingers were substantial and warm, and his voice was fierce as he said,

  “Yes. This is what I wanted.”

  END REALMS UNREEL EPISODE 1

  The adventure continues in

  Realms Unreel Episode 2: Bonds Endure

  For more titles by Audrey Auden, visit

  http://audreyauden.com/

  Acknowledgements

  No one, not even Emmie, succeeds in a creative endeavor without a little help from her friends. I had more than a little help.

  Ben Andersen, Shelby Cass, Randall Farmer, Emma Gobillot, Lori Gobillot, Michael Guido, Mac Hampden, Natilee Harren, Theresa Kelly, Lyndsay Love, Smith Mitchell, Kirsten Schulz, Susan Schulz, Mahendra and Shobhana Shah, Neil and Jenni Shah, Samit Shah, Tristan Walker, John Wallach, and many others cheered me on throughout the writing of this book. Josh Braslow, Paula Gutierrez, Sandy Little, and Jesse Steinberg raised a glass with me the day I completed the first draft.

  Sharon Flood read multiple drafts and gave the work an early vote of confidence that encouraged me to push on through months of revision. Robbie Auray devoured the manuscript with the wholehearted enthusiasm that every writer dreams her work will receive. Sandy Little engaged the opening chapters with the incredible thoughtfulness that sets her apart from every other person I’ve known. Madison Hampden convinced me to preserve the symbols and mythic themes that I loved so much but was unsure would interest readers. Diana Kimball provided an invaluable assessment of the strengths and weaknesses of my first draft using such kind language that even her criticisms could feel like praise. “Admiral” Chris Waugh held my work up to his high standard of artistic integrity, challenging me to produce a story that might live long and prosper in the imaginations of my readers.

  Michael Pettit connected me with a wonderful network of freelance writers and editors when I sought professional help for my amateurish work. Maya Rock provided both the high-level substantive editorial feedback and the in-depth line editing that helped me see most and fix many of the weaknesses in my writing style and storytelling. This book is far from perfect, but not for want of her effort and skill.

  Masterful teachers Dale and Carlene King at The Geneva School imparted their passion for classical literature to me, introducing me to the texts that inspired many of this story’s themes. Professors Jamie Hutchinson, Anne O’Dwyer, and David LaBerge, along with my many other professors at Simon’s Rock College, honed my critical thinking and writing skills so that, every now and again, I experience the pure joy of expressing what I mean with clarity and confidence.

  So early in my childhood that I cannot fully remember or ever fully thank them for it, my parents Barbara and Ed Hampden gave me that most wonderful of gifts: a love of books and reading. They were my first readers and critics, driving me to pursue excellence in all my writing.

  My husband Sumul Shah gave me the time and space to write this book. He read every draft, listened to every self-absorbed soliloquy, and celebrated every milestone. So many ups and downs pushed me off course along the way, but his was the steady hand that guided me through it all. Sumul pursues his dreams with a fearlessness that every day inspires me to pursue my own.

  We’re living in the future!

  The San Francisco Bay Area is teeming with real-world magicians. Ben Andersen at DreamWorks Animation, Ian Steplowski at Pixar Animation Studios, and the team at Linden Labs who created Second Life are just a few of them. Their amazing work inspired a great deal of the near-future technology described in this book.

  A lot of other cool technology went into the making of this book, too. The content creators, designers, and engineers behind Google Earth, Wikipedia, and YouTube made it possible for me to visualize and describe many locations that I have never visited in person. Literature and Latte, the makers of the outstanding writing application Scrivener, vastly reduced the effort required to organize my rambling thoughts and probably saved me several hundred hours of manuscript preparation tedium. I don’t know how anyone wrote a book before Scrivener, and I’m glad I won’t ever have to find out. The online writer communities at Protagonize and Authonomy were wonderful sources of peer feedback and support at the later stages of my writing process. The teams behind the Kindle and the iPad made it possible for me to have the gratifying experience of reading my early drafts as if they were already in print (and noting problems that made me glad they weren’t).