by Julian Cheek
“The Padme have fallen!”
Fastana continued to blaze with white hot light as first one, then the other four were subsumed by the incredible energy emanating from him as they approached. And then, they were simply no longer there. Even Ngaire, who thought that in her long life she had probably witnessed enough to never be shocked again, was stunned into silence. The crowd all took an involuntary step away from Fastana, who was slowly reaching his arms up and over himself, the staff delicately lifting off the floor and the tendrils of energy appearing to be sucked back into the wall surfaces until the light was gone, the walls returned to hard, shiny rock, and Fastana stood once more amongst them, tired, dishevelled and, for a few seconds, unsure as to where he was.
“Now, we wait,” he intoned, looking around at the crowd assembled there. Everyone’s feelings and emotions were heightened due to what they had just witnessed. None of them had ever seen or experienced anything like what had just occurred in their presence and, for some, this man in front of them started to hold them in some fear despite them being chosen by The Summoner in the first place for their courage.
Tensa was about to ask Fastana what they needed to wait for, when, to one side of the room, one of the Padme suddenly emitted a high, terrible scream of pure fear. Those nearest to it sprang back, wondering what was causing this commotion.
“It’s Pila; Tane’s Padme,” said one of them. Pila was writhing in agony on the floor, its legs cartwheeling in fury and its body arched back. Every sinew straining against an unseen force. With one violent lurch, Pila uttered a final cough and then all sight left him and his body became still.
“Tane has died,” said Fastana simply.
Before the crowd could come to terms with this loss, another commotion occurred at the back. “Pashar is spewing out water!” Came from the crowd. “Pashar? That’s Pelot’s Padme,” said another. Pashar, with one final heave, coughed up way too much water, dying whilst still trying to breathe.
“Pelot has drowned,” from Fastana.
Simultaneously, both Padmes of Miriam and Jot’tha erupted and fell without a sound being uttered.
“What is happening?” This from Hauka.
“If you go,” Fastana replied in hushed tones, “there is no return. Remember?” Fastana was turning to leave the chamber when another cried out. “Fastana. There were five who left. Five. Only four appear to have perished.”
The crowd realised what was being suggested and they all started to look around to see who also had left with the party. “It’s Jolenthe,” shouted out one of them. “Look. His Padme is still here.” The crowd focussed their attention on one of the smallest Padme in the room. A delicate mix of mouse and weasel was still sitting where his Jolenthe had left him. He was quiet, concentrating. His gaze, far far away.
With one quick look, Fastana turned to his Padme, The Summoner and sent out his communication. Within seconds, the lion in turn had moved over to the small creature, bent down to him and touched his nose with his mighty snout, looking deep into his eyes.
Then he looked up towards Fastana.
“Jolenthe lives and is unharmed,” reported Fastana. The collective sigh of relief from the crowd was palpable in the air. “The deaths of the others was no more unusual than they all seem to have appeared in Sam’s world at a place where thousands of strange carriages moved with incredible speed in confusion. The sudden appearance of our people amongst all this chaos caused collisions to occur.” The saddening news was somehow lessened by the realisation that apparently, bad luck had played its hand and four unfortunate souls had paid the ultimate price.
“However,” Fastana continued. “There is something else.” Fastana was now scratching his wirey beard. Perplexed. Unsure of what he was getting from the lion. “Jolenthe is experiencing a strange energy as he moves. If I can see what he is seeing, it appears that his presence there is having a physical effect on his surroundings.” The crowd were hushed as the particles of information filtered out of Fastana. “There is great sadness in him, but I do not know why. Death, somehow, has been imposed on someone by Jolenthe and his mind is too numb to understand why. This area is dark to me. He moves north and is seeking a way to track Sam.” Fastana stopped for a second, listening to what the lion was relaying via the mouse/weasel. “The ground vibrates as he moves and behind him, he sees a trail of burning grass. He is at a loss as to why this is, but he is safe.”
The crowd gathered around Fastana, Ngaire and Tensa. Hauka was tending to the small Padme of Jolenthe and her concentration for the moment rested solely on him. “From what we can understand,” Tensa said, “it appears to have been an unfortunate series of events that occurred. Five have left, only one remains,” he paused for a second before uttering what he knew had to be said. “One is not enough!” The crowd looked perplexed for a moment until the truth of what he said landed on their collective minds.
“One is not enough,” some of them echoed. The unsaid response to this was in everyone’s thoughts. A brief period past before one called out from the back.
“I will go.” A tall man pushed slowly through the crowds until he stood in front of Ngaire. He gazed down at her, somehow seeking her blessing.
“I will go also,” said another. Then one, then more called out until the remaining fifteen had formed a protective ring around their elders. Once again, their demeanour and stance showed that their courage and determination to save Maunga-Atua held more sway than any self-preservation.
Hauka, from the side, cried out, “Why do the children stand and do the work of the elders?” She had observed the dialogue from her place with the lonely Padme and her love for her people moved her to tears. “I will go,” she said, her frail voice breaking with emotion.
Tensa stopped her. “Hauka. If you go, who will remain to teach the young? You are needed here as never before. To go is to throw your wisdom and importance into the fathomless depths of our mother ocean.” He moved over to her and drew her into his embrace, his hand resting on her head in silent blessing. “Fastana,” he said. “Open the gateway one more time. Perhaps our sheer numbers will prevail.”
Fastana took one look at Ngaire, willing her to countermand what Tensa had just uttered, but her face was a closed to him and he saw no sign of uncertainty in it. Only deep sadness.
“I will summon other acolytes,” he proclaimed. “Perhaps their combined linkages will help to get our people closer to Sam.” Fastana had never seen such determination and braveness from anyone. Any sense of worthiness he might have felt, was blown away by the actions of the people who stood around him.
Once again, he moved into the centre of the space, gathered his thoughts around him like a cloak, and slammed his staff down onto the floor, as if he was trying to shatter the place into a million pieces.
As before, areas around the solid rock face became permeable and other monks appeared in similar stances to those earlier. The tendrils of light grew out of the rocks, moved towards the centre and, once more coalesced around Fastana who disappeared into a hole of intense white light.
And then, without further discussion, first one, then another, then the remaining men and women walked into the vortex of light, and disappeared.
The silence was deafening. Ngaire, Tensa, Hauka, the lion, Fastana and sixteen Padme remained in the vast cavern.
They all waited, hoping for the best, expecting the worst.
Meltdown
As the remaining fifteen passed into the maelstrom of light, nothing could prepare them for what they were about to experience. Two perished immediately as they landed in a lava flow from the volcano, Kilauea, on the island of Hawaii.
Two arrived at the edge of the city of Yinchuan in Ningxia, a central province of China. It was late afternoon and the sun was already low in the western skies. Ahead of them, they saw a few lights dotted around a city, vast beyond their comprehension. With some trepidation, they gathered together and headed off towards the lights. The grasses below them were dying and gre
y as they passed.
Three crashed through a light weight roof of an industrial building in downtown Los Angeles, landing heavily on some cardboard packing cases ready for assembly by the morning staff workers. It was 1am in the morning. Nothing moved. As they gathered themselves up from the debris, at first they were not aware that the surrounding walls of tin seemed to be buckling backwards away from them. The low screech of bending steel slowly rising in volume.
A further two splashed into the shallow waters of the Louisiana Bayou near Port Sulphur and within striking distance of New Orleans, startling a number of alligators and a flock of herons. The shallow waters around them immediately started to bubble angrily around them, steam spiralling up and away in the wind, in the direction of that famous city.
One landed on the la Croisette in Cannes. It was a bright morning and the street was already packed with morning joggers and tourists admiring the scenery. A number of people saw a brilliant flash of light on the grass verge and a young man appear out from the glare, momentarily stunned and looking around in some confusion. Strangely, most of the crowd started to clap, believing this was a special effects preview advertising a new film. The film festival was just around the corner and here, in Cannes, where almost anything was possible, seeing a bright pyrotechnic of light appear was not that out of the ordinary. This relaxed excitement at seeing this person emerge, was soon to end very abruptly!
A further two appeared suddenly in a blaze of light in the main car park of Real Madrid football club in Spain. A unique derby between Real Madrid and Atletico Madrid that day was ensuring the car park was packed. The event did not go unnoticed and shortly after their appearance, Madrid was never the same again.
The final three appeared safely in a green, lush field surrounded by lambs, startled into a mini stampede. The field was a verdant green. The skies were clear, the weather fine for this time of year. Gathering their bearings and glad to find that they were not alone, they quickly assembled and looked around. Below them and off to one side, one of them noticed a road snaking past a border fence, a sign wedged crookedly against the incline giving directions for towns nearby.
On it, it said, “Milton Haven – 10 miles. Newton Stanley – 4 miles. Greyshott – ½ mile.” They started to walk in the direction of the town closest to them, little knowing that that one small decision, like the smallest roll of a tiny pebble, was the start of a landslide affecting both realms for ever more.
Behind them, five sheep lay still on the ground. Later, the farmer was to stand over them wondering what had happened to his keep. Five of his hardy sheep, eyes sightless, skin ripped apart as if a wild pack of animals had invaded the field and killed with wanton abandonment.
The jigsaw is complete.
Sam was already making his way out of the town centre. Hands in pockets and head still down, eyes staring into space through the tarmac. Thoughts and emotions were tripping off his mind like droplets of a waterfall on the rocks below. Over all the cadence, his one main thought was why? Why was this happening to him? Was it not enough that he had to try and deal with the wound of losing his brother? Everybody else could take a running jump right now so far as he was concerned, but David. Well, that was final, wasn’t it? There was no coming back from that journey. He wondered whether that wrench would ever ease.
Ahead, he slowly became aware of a disturbance. Loud noises and screams were coming from in front of him. Curious, he looked up to see a group of people standing around what appeared to be a lone individual. They seemed to at once both be trying to attack the man and recoil from him. He was about to change direction, assuming that some kids street fight was ongoing when something about the scene stopped him.
The man caught in the middle was doing his best to defend himself. He was no child. His hands were raised above his head in a defensive stance and he was bending his head down under his shoulders. He was not attacking. For their part, the people surrounding him were of all ages. Some men, a few older women and two dogs were all skipping around the central character but almost as if they dare not touch him. Almost as if a fanciful play was being performed. The looks of the would-be attackers, however, were not those of a friendly banter. The looks were those of terror and fear.
As Sam looked on, one man, braver than the rest, cried out in anger and body checked the lone individual, bringing him bodily to the ground. Attacker and attacked fell hard onto the floor, legs and arms flailing as they landed.
Sam drew nearer, then wished he hadn’t.
As he stared at the commotion ahead, the man who had slammed the lone man to the ground started to get up. In fact, he tried to get up! With eyes looking down in terror, he saw his own body literally disintegrate in front if him. The parts touching the man seemed to dissolve into nothingness and he slowly collapsed into the chest of the fallen man until his head softly folded onto and then into the man’s chest. And then he simply was no longer there!
Just like that, and without any stage props, Sam had literally witnessed an impossibility. The attacker was gone! He was there, victorious for one moment, and the next, he was no longer there.
“What the…?!” managed to escape from him before the lone man pushed himself up from the ground, unconsciously dusting the residue off of his strange looking clothes. Clothes that, for some strange reason, Sam recognised.
Then, as if the scene ahead had been a focussed shot in a film and now the viewer was invited to see the context, Sam became aware of the bigger picture unfolding ahead of him. Three still forms, all with parts of their bodies missing, lay on the floor in a haphazard manner further back from where this man now stood. It appeared as if they formed a sinuous path leading off behind the man.
He noticed a dog, still alive and trying to pull itself to its owner, now very dead, on two legs. It had not noticed yet that its hind legs were twisted and broken as if a lump hammer had smashed into its poor body. Its look was of confusion and terror but it was determined to reach its master and offer protection. It reached the torn man and licked his still face for any sign of movement, then, exhausted it laid its chin on the owners face and slowly closed its eyes.
The man, who was now standing, was also apparently unaware that his presence seemed to be having an effect on the ground and surroundings near him. Sam noticed that the Tarmac around him, and indeed the route he appeared to have made in getting here, was twisted and torn into so much rubble. Impossible as it seemed, this man’s passing was as if a bulldozer had ripped up the street surface to enable some road works to take place. Even as he stood, the ground was peeling back from him like a living animal recoiling from danger.
The crowd, by now, on seeing too much terror for one day, were beside themselves and they all started fleeing every which way to get away from this nightmare that had landed shockingly on their doorstep. This was not happening. Could not happen. “This is England, for Heaven’s sake!”
And then the lone man turned and spotted Sam!
Sam, in some sixth sense sort of way, saw the next few seconds almost as a déjà vu movie. Once before, in a dream, he recalled someone coming out of the mist and seeing him. And rather than run away, he had run towards him, calling his name.
“…Sam? Sam. Is that you?” came cascading into his mind. The man was walking, no, running towards him now. Oblivious to what had just happened. This apparition. This fiend from hell was making his way straight to Sam, and this time, Sam knew he would not be waking up! As he approached, he was also shouting out to someone else, somewhere. “T’rui! Gasha! Come quickly. I have found him. I have found the one. I have found Sam!”
His face was a massive grin, which, under the circumstances, to Sam was just so unbelievable as to defy description. Here was this crazy person, who apparently had just been responsible for the deaths of four people, at least, and a dog, now running towards him with a huge bloody smile on his face.
“No way, man!” Sam exclaimed. “No bloody way!” And he too started to back-pedal away from this mania
c hurtling towards him. But it was too late.
With one more step, the man had reached Sam and bearhugged him as if they were long lost friends. Sam recoiled, fearing that he too was going to disappear in some sticky mess. Too afraid to react, to scared to think, he shut his eyes tightly and waited for an end he had not expected. His last thoughts were, David, I hope you are bloody there, mate!
Nothing happened! Sam’s eyes were screwed tightly shut and yet he still felt the tightened grip of this crazy person encircling him and he still felt all his senses were working as normal. Slowly, he opened one eye and looked at the man who still held him, wondering how on earth he was still able to stand.
The man’s face came into focus. He appeared to be around mid-30s and a rough beard graced his lined features. His eyes were fixed on Sam, waiting for him at least to respond in some fashion.
And then, almost imperceptibly, the man’s face changed. The original look of pure joy slowly evaporated as he started to feel things happening to him that were most definitely out of the ordinary.
He looked down at his body, his look of joy evaporating quickly as he saw with horror what was happening to him. As Sam and man held each other, the man’s grip started to weaken and his fingers lost their connection with each other. He staggered suddenly as one leg gave way underneath him, then the other. As Sam looked on in pure terror, the man in front of him started to disintegrate. Parts of him fell to the floor and his face started to sag in on itself. Sam could see so many emotions flying furiously through the man’s eyes as he came to the sudden realisation that, for him, all was not well.