by Earl, Collin
“You mean tending to her wounds.” Artorius set down his teacup.
Mr. Gatt surveyed him inquiringly. “Do I now?”
Artorius made to answer but stopped, pressing his lips slightly. “You know, right now I’m not totally sure that’s what you meant.”
Mr. Gatt smiled. “There are many things you are all unaware of. It is regrettable that our large climactic talk has to be like this, but we will be leaving in the morning and I do not want any of you causing a scene while we are traveling.”
Several voices broke out all at once, all trying to talk over each other. Casey was the loudest. “Leave? What do you mean leave? Why would we leave?”
Casey glanced back and forth at a nodding Monson and Artorius; Grayson sat quietly waiting for Mr. Gatt to answer.
“You have to leave. If you do not, men are probably going to show up and try to kill you.”
Casey glared at him skeptically. “Kill us? Who would want to kill us?”
Mr. Gatt addressed Casey. “People who think that you are a threat to their goals.”
He laughed ironically. “Most of you were sent here in order to shield your innocence from our war. We merely did what we have done for hundreds of years. Who would have thought it would be this generation that would have to take up the mantle of leadership and prophecy?”
Casey sounded like he was starting to get frustrated. “Mr. Gatt, you aren’t making any sense. What—”
“Cassius.”
Casey stopped talking as Mr. Gatt held up a hand to placate him. “All will be revealed, but you must calm down.”
He turned and addressed the rest of them. “I need you to suspend any concept you have of reality, history, ideology or your identity because what I am about to tell you is the truest thing I have ever said to you since I have come to know you. This affects you all. So pay attention because it is information you need to have.”
They all sat watching the twitching of Mr. Gatt’s brow. He was clearly anxious, which was alarming to his students accustomed to his calm and poise. He pulled out a metal case, opened it, and snagged a long, fat cigar. He searched for a lighter, moving from pocket to pocket with increasing frustration. Then he glanced around at each of them; they were all staring with varying degrees of interest and consternation. Mr. Gatt slashed his fingers through the air in curious gestures. Once his slashing was complete, a flame ignited on the tip of his finger, but it was unlike any fire any of them had ever seen. It was ghostly…like it did not exist on their plane of reality. Without realizing it, all the boys inched closer for a better look. Mr. Gatt touched the flame to the cigar and started to puff on it. The flame on his finger disappeared.
Grayson spoke up. “You were just Scripting. How’s it possible that you can Script?”
“I think the more intriguing question is how you know about Scripting at all.”
Everyone turned towards the voice. Brian stood in the doorway of Monson’s bedroom and was closing it with that elegant touch. He smiled at all the upturned faces.
“Ms. Harrison is sleeping now. I have healed her as best I can. I am not sure what those ruffians were after when they attacked the girls, but they were very persistent. Ms. Harrison put up quite the fight. It is lucky you boys were around. Anyway, please try to keep your voices down. Tomorrow will be very eventful so it is important for her to regain her strength.”
Brian pulled up a stool from the bar. He adjusted himself, apparently searching for a comfortable position. Finding his sweet spot, he again addressed Grayson. “I think you were about to tell us a story, Mr. Garrett. First and foremost, how does a young man such as yourself know about Scripting?”
“Him?” yowled Artorius in exasperation. “Who cares how he knows about Scripting, whatever that is? Brian—those men tried to kill us using crap that is straight out of Harry Potter—”
“Arthur, you are so off, bro,” commented Casey slyly. “Those dudes weren’t even using wands. Your literary reference is totally off-base. It was probably something closer to Star Wars.”
“Shut up Casey,” spat Artorius. “I’m glad you’re all hunky-dory about this but I’m not. Those fools tried to kill us! KILL US! Why is everyone so calm about this?”
Artorius stopped himself short, attempting to control his anger. “I want some answers. Who were those men and why were they shooting guns and swinging swords?”
Brian looked at Mr. Gatt who nodded solemnly, indicating his approval. “Those men were probably members of an organization known as the Brotherhood and they were most likely here to kill Monson.”
“Why Monson?” Casey gestured in Monson’s direction. “What threat could he possibly be to this Brotherhood?”
He bit at his lip thoughtfully. “Something about all this just doesn’t make sense.”
Brian gave them a long, somber look. “Understand that there are things that you will not comprehend now. That even if I explained them would not make this situation any easier. This is not the time for this discussion. You must get some sleep.”
“I hate it when people say that.” Artorius glared at him. “Why don’t you try us, huh? So far, we’ve been pretty understanding; don’t you think that you owe us some answers, like this for example?”
Artorius held up one of the massive guns. “I’ve never seen anything like this gun. There isn’t a clip, there isn’t a firing mechanism, and it’s lighter than plastic. This weapon is either from some alien world or our government is hiding it and they have some explaining to do.”
“It would explain why the healthcare system doesn’t work. All that money has to be going somewhere.” Casey laughed at his own joke. “We have even bigger fish to fry, Arthur.”
He addressed Mr. Gatt. “Those men who attacked us, umm…they weren’t real. They were made of rock. You heard that, right? Weren’t real—made of rock. Explain that one.”
“That’s not totally true, Case.” Artorius set his guns on the table. “I don’t think that they were all those rock things. Some were different. Remember we heard that weird guttural language when we first saw that light?”
Both boys, as if on cue, leveled their gaze at Mr. Gatt.
Mr. Gatt took another puff on his cigar before he answered. “Replications.”
“Replications?” sounded several voices at once.
“It is a power technique used when you are outnumbered. The spell caster essentially casts an imprint of himself on inanimate objects like rocks or water. Those objects take on the appearance and skills of the user. It is a sloppy technique but very effective if done correctly. It is like having an army of multiple yous at your beck and call.”
“Whoa…wicked,” whispered Casey.
“You’ve entered into a world that is going to make little sense to you,” said Brian. “This is a world that was not ever supposed to be revealed to you, let alone involve you.”
“But we are involved,” pleaded Grayson in a small voice. “Please tell us what is going on.”
Mr. Gatt and Brian glanced at each other. Brian nodded and Mr. Gatt began, “A war.”
“War?” repeated a collective voice.
“A war that has been going on for thousands of years. A war based on the prophecy of a certain woman; a woman who has had a greater effect on the destiny of man than anyone who has ever lived, is living, or will ever live. A war based on a prophecy concerning a single being destined to fix what is broken, to right what is wrong. In the last seven thousand years, there have been countless lives taken and given, all so that this being might exist. And now, at a time when we least expected it, that being supposedly sits before me in the form of a fifteen-year-old billionaire from central Washington.”
Casey nudged Monson. “He’s talking about you, dude.”
“Shut up Casey.”
Everyone’s eyes widened and they all openly stared at Monson. Brian picked up the story. “What you have stumbled upon, my young friends, is the fullness of times. It is a period in history when the expectations
of millions of people will finally come to pass. In other ages you would have lived your lives as normally as anyone, living, loving and dying. That opportunity, I am afraid to say, has now passed. ”
“Brian, I’m sorry to interrupt your dramatic monologue,” said Casey, though he did not sound particularly apologetic. “But your cryptic orations aren’t getting us anywhere. Who is this all-important woman? Who is she to speak this supreme prophecy? And what does it have to do with Monson?”
“Cassius, are you a churchgoing fellow?”
“Not really.”
“But I assume you are familiar with the story of Adam and Eve?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Then you know that Adam and Eve are said to be the parents of all humans born in this world. You know that their creation, preparation and perpetuation were a part of a master plan of the great Creator. If you know the story, then you know that they were special souls given certain privileges and powers because they had a special purpose in the stewardship of their people. I am sure if you had ever gone to church you would have heard something similar to this.”
Everyone nodded dully.
“The story varies depending on the interpretation of historical evidence that recounts Adam and Eve’s trials and tribulations. Of course, I am speaking of the Bible. While these stories do vary, they all explain that Adam and Eve were created in God’s image, that they lived in the Garden of Eden, and eventually left to raise their family. This is their basic story cultivated through human history. Yet what if I told you that there was more to it?”
“More to it?” Grayson shifted tensely in his chair, even forgetting to speak with his accent. “Like what? And what could it possibly have to do with the Brotherhood and the Being of Seven Bloods?”
Brian’s eyes went wide. “Master Garrett, how do you know that title?”
Grayson’s eyes met Brian’s. “The Being of Seven Bloods? I know the title because a silver-haired woman named Sariah told my family that they were needed to find him//her/whatever. I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine, but you first.”
Brian stared at him uncertainly. “Fair enough. In answer to your question, everything has to do with the story of Creation, because it was at the Creation, or right after, that things went wrong. This will not make sense, however, until you understand that while Adam, or Ad-ma in the original tongue, and E-vas were the first humans to walk the earth, they were not the first beings created in the execution of the plan.”
The statement hung in the air. The feeling of suspicion, disbelief and plain old skepticism prickled the listening crowd. They held their silence, waiting, but only because the possibility seemed ridiculous.
“Ad-ma and E-vas were actually the youngest of the Seven pairs, the youngest of the creators’ children. They were the last to be created; there were twelve others who came before them.”
“Let me get this straight,” cut in Casey. “You’re trying to tell me that there are other humanoid-like people out there? Things that aren’t human are roaming the earth and are out to kill us?”
Brian glanced at Casey disapprovingly. “Not exactly, Master Kay. What I am telling you is when the worlds were created, there were not two but fourteen and these fourteen were to inherit the kingdoms of the Creators.”
Monson actually raised his hand. “This might be a dumb question, but if there are supposed to be six other races beside humans, where are they?”
“Most of them live elsewhere. Humans dominate Earth. Very few members of the other races live here anymore, mainly due to the imbalance in the Kei distribution on this planet.” Brian looked at his watch. “There are some exceptions, however; some very important exceptions.”
Brian left it hanging.
“Brian,” said Monson in an unsure voice. “Are you trying to tell us that…that you aren’t human?”
Brian smiled. “No, Master Grey. I am telling you…that none of us is human.”
The creak of an opening door jolted everyone in the room. “We have…to…to get…out….”
Monson looked up to see Cyann leaning heavily against the door to his room. Her eyes looked glazed, her dark hair tousled, and she appeared as if she were about to pass out.
A few people echoed her name in surprise and disbelief. Kylie and Marie were about to jump to her aid but Monson was the fastest.
He rushed to her side and caught her before she collapsed heavily to the ground. Monson picked her up, cradling her like a baby. “What are you doing out of bed, you silly girl?”
“Monson, do you want my help?” asked Marie softly.
“No,” answered Monson, blushing slightly as he realized that Cyann wasn’t wearing any pants, just one of his t-shirts. He desperately fought his embarrassment as he touched her bare thigh. “I—I will…I’ll just take her back to my room and put her back to bed.”
Monson almost kicked open his door in his attempt to get through it, all the time whispering to Cyann. “Are you crazy? You’ve lost so much blood. Hello—that kills people. I’m never going to forgive you if you die, you know.”
“Monson…colors...mix…ground…out…c-coming…hurry….”
Monson gently placed Cyann on the bed. He rested her head on his pillow, making sure not to catch any of her long, dark hair and then tucked the covers in around her.
“You just get better, OK?” he whispered.
Satisfied, he was turning to leave when Cyann caught his hand. Her strong grip nearly pulled him to his floor; it was too strong for someone so close to death. Monson returned to her side. She extended her other hand.
“Coming…I can see…it’s coming….”
Monson grabbed her other hand now, more than a little weirded out. “I don’t know what you’re saying, Cyann. What’s com—”
Monson did not answer but watched as Cyann’s hand started to glow with silver light. He realized that it was not actually Cyann who was glowing, but rather his stone. He had forgotten that she had been wearing it when she and Kylie left the dance. Why was it glowing?
Monson took the gleaming gem in his hand but instantly went rigid as a sharp probe shot into his mind. Immediately overcome, he crumpled to the floor.
Chapter 55 – The Adversary Sees All
Four peaks sit in the sky like sentinels above a massive gorging belly, the land like a beast containing an unnatural and unknown horror. Darkness, hollow darkness sits within the belly of that beast, peaceful for now. And then there is a flicker, then a flare; something in the belly of the beast starts to awaken. First red, then blue. The opposites seethe and spar in the eyes of the adversary.
The adversary sees all.
See the soft warmth of the River’s Serenity and the violence of the Dragon’s Breath. Commingling the stillness with passion, the light with darkness, the freedom with rage all so the horde may come to the Queen’s aid…. Beware the Darkness of Noonday.
Monson awoke having slept through the night, albeit fitfully. Dreams plagued his rest. Dreams that were of the precise cut and variety he was so accustomed to and yet…these were different. With these new dreams came new insight in a truly physical sense. His eyes looked upon the world and saw monumental differences; there was color in everything, from the air and the rushing wind to the ground and its steadfast solidity.
His world was Technicolor.
All of it—everything existing in the world—brimmed with bright energy and a godly glow. It was as if Monson was seeing the spinning of Creation itself. Beautiful.
Monson tried to move his arm and realized it was dead; that currently no blood was flowing to it. It felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. His body went limp as something very warm floated over his arm, heightening his rather dull senses. Monson opened his eyes, taking a minute to allow them to adjust. Once they did, he wished he had kept them closed.
Someone was in the bed with him—in his bed! He saw a mountain of glossy black hair and caught a warm waft of blended lavender. Monson gradually understood, pr
obably not as fast as he should have, that he was smelling shampoo, shampoo that was definitely not his. Monson pushed some of the hair out of the face of his bedmate. Comprehension dawned and his mouth dropped open.
Cyann Harrison was fully asleep in the same bed as him and was using his arm as a pillow.
This was bad, really bad. How did this happen?
Monson froze as Cyann’s eyelids slowly opened. He had absolutely no idea what she was going to do. He half-expected her to lash out or at least scream, but to his surprise, she did nothing of the sort, instead merely smiling. Then, as unbelievable as it was, she closed her eyes and snuggled back up against his arm.
Sure enough, after a few long moments, her eyes popped back open. Her lips followed, opening wide. She was about to scream—about to scream bloody murder. Monson sprang without thinking, literally pouncing on her. Using his good hand, the one that did not feel like it was about to fall off, he clamped it over her mouth and used his body to immobilize her. Her eyes widened even further as she breathed heavily out of her nose. He spoke softly, trying to remain calm.
“Cyann, it’s me.”
Cyann gave her head a little shake, attempting to dismiss her weariness. Once she did, her expression changed from a damsel in distress to a damsel seriously pissed off. Her body tightened up to fight.
“Cyann.” Monson used his tingling dead hand to brush her cheek. “It’s me, Monson.”
She relaxed dramatically though her face went beet red. He removed his hand from her mouth and rolled off her.
“Monson? What are you doing in my....” Her sentence trailed off as she glanced around.
“You’re in my room,” whispered Monson, praying to all that was holy that Brian was not in the apartment.
“Why am I in your room?” Cyann’s face was still slightly pink. She stared at him; he stared back. Monson watched as the mental water wheel turned and turned. He waited until a look of comprehension dawned on her face.
“Kylie and I were attacked last night, right at that new ugly slab of marble that Baroty calls a monument. There was a man; he was wearing a black cloak. Just like the one at....”