by Tim Hawken
The Perceptionist took his left hand in his right, and pulled it free of his arm. I winced for him, but he appeared unperturbed. Letting the severed appendage float in the space in front of me, he quickly scattered its construction with a wave of his good hand.
“Fortunately for you, Michael, all of the elements are still just as easy to pull apart. You can decompose the universe however you desire.”
I thought of what this meant for me. Yes, he was right. None of the plans in my head included the creation of anything accept an army. I could kill him, just as I had killed Gideon.
“Ah yes, Gideon.” The Perceptionist interrupted my thoughts. “He was an anomaly, though, wasn’t he? You could not destroy the Barghest outside, as simple as this should have been.”
“I thought it was because they were special.”
“More special than Asmodeus?” The Perceptionist asked. I remained silent, knowing the answer. “All beings are the same,” he went on. “They are all made of a body and a soul. Of course some are more fortified than others, but they are still beings. The reason you were able to kill Gideon is because you used your soul’s emotion. You wedged your malice within his being and ripped it asunder. This is impossible to do at will and can only happen with an intense hatred, an intense desire to destroy. It takes an unacceptable toll on your own energies which can never be maintained. If you try to wield the elements as you do now, you will always grow tired. It is much better to dissect with control than with blind madness. No?”
The Perceptionist’s eyes twinkled.
“This I can teach you. This and much, much more.”
SIX
A BEAD OF SWEAT RAN DOWN my forehead. I had all my energy channelled onto the small glowing orb in front of me. It was a concoction of life and body that did not contain intellect. A living being akin, perhaps, to a vegetable. I tried with my will to pull the molecules of its weave apart. It was impossible. It was too complex. The elements clung together in a thick atomic fabric.
“They are not too complex,” The Perceptionist whispered from behind me. “They are much simpler than anything you wish to destroy. Think of it like untangling a knot of string. Pick out the key points and tease them apart. Work with your fingers if you must.”
I reached out and touched the orb. It wobbled slightly and was slippery to touch. Taking it carefully in both hands I pulled it toward my face, looking closely at how it was bound together. There were illuminated spirals winding around each other, in tighter and tighter circles toward the center of the sphere. Each strand was in the form of a double helix, the shape scientists on earth had discovered as that of DNA. I pinched the end of one between my fingers and twisted it clockwise. It began to unravel and separate. I took another strand and did the same. The ball of string began to loosen. I could see one strand in the middle which was joined to the rest. I took it in my fingers and turned it. It resisted. I twisted harder and the glow of the orb began to stutter like a strobe. With a wrenching effort I tore the string out from the center and scattered it to the void. The light of the orb went out.
I fell back onto my haunches and put my head between my knees. I felt like I’d just done battle with a monster. It was an exhausting effort to hold my concentration.
Birds chirped in my ear.
“Very good. Now let’s try something more difficult.”
“Please, can we rest?” I managed to say weakly.
“Rest?” The Perceptionist looked at me with hard eyes. “Is that what you would say to Asmodeus when you meet him? He will be harder to fight than a vegetable.”
I dragged myself to my feet, swaying slightly. Closing my eyes I pictured Charlotte, pining in Purgatory, not knowing what had happened to me. It helped galvanize my energy.
“Good. You can use Charlotte’s love to enrich your spirit.”
“How can you read my thoughts?” I asked, still a touch wobbly. “How can you feel my emotion?”
“I do not feel.” He said. “I do not read either. I see.” He indicated the eyes on his face. “Each of these eyes corresponds to what you would call a sense. Hearing, smell, taste, touch and of course sight. These are the five basic senses, which you have. But I have also learnt to see the other three much more clearly: emotion, thought and time.”
I remembered the prophet Phineus, and his promise to teach The Perceptionist to the see future in return for teaching me the elements.
“Yes, Phineus,” he said. “The blind man who could see more than me. He showed me how to untangle the web of future paths. I could see the past before, but not decipher what was to come. It was then I realized my body was inadequate. I could even see some thoughts and some emotion before, but that was because my elemental eyes recognized their composition. These eyes,” he said, motioning again to the circle on his face, “they see things not as an elemental whole, but as their component apart from their twins.”
I was confused. I couldn’t understand what The Perceptionist was trying to say.
“I will use an example, so you can understand,” he said patiently. “Take emotion and thought. Mostly they do not exist apart, at least not in the human mind. Every thought you have is accompanied with its twin: emotion. Each gives the other context. You think: I want to kill, and the hatred behind that gives the reason why. You think: I must run, but that thought might be driven by an emotion, such as fear to run away, or desire to run toward. I used to be able to see it as complex strands. Now it is much clearer to see the two separately. I can decipher more easily this way. It is very similar to how you understand taste and smell; both are intertwined, and for most, one would not exist without the other.”
I was beginning to understand.
“But what about time?” I asked. “Why is it that you could see the past but not the future? Is that because they are twins?”
“Yes and no. They are joined of course. You cannot have a future without a past. But the distinction between the two is clear. I can see your past easily because it is one straight line which has been carved through space. Your present is the small circle, which surrounds your immediate space. The future braches outward in front, like pulsing veins. Some veins are thicker and pulse harder than other smaller ones. The key arteries are your likely futures. The smaller capillaries are your unlikely futures. However, they are all possible. The art of divining which path will actually occur is in looking at the forks. These are key events. Sometimes all of your veins culminate into one event and then fork out again into a thousand possibilities, or even end.”
My mind was numb trying to keep pace.
“I’ll show you,” The Perceptionist said. He cleared a black space before us and drew a straight, white line starting at my feet, which arced into the distance.
“Follow me” he said and began to walk through the void, along the white line. The glow trailed behind us. “That is your past,” he said, looking back at the line. “Clear, easy to see, simple to comprehend. You only have one past. It has happened and is unchangeable. Now this is your future.” He shot a dazzling spark of lightning in front of us. Forks sizzled and streaked across the void, branching in front of us in every direction like a million shining tentacles. It was immense, so vast as to be almost incomprehensible.
“Think of it like a road map. There is one road behind and many in front. Every street or lane is a different possibility. You can take any one you desire. In the end you will only take one path, and it will destroy the other potential paths that were. Your single past will trail behind always. Until the end, there will always be these infinite potentials forward, awaiting your destiny.”
I looked out into the void at the streaks of lightning in front of us. I could barely follow one line with my eyes without getting lost along the way and branching off into a dead end. My eyes started to ache as I stared, trying to see meaning in it.
“You can truly read this?”
“Yes. It is about formulating the probability of each fork in the road and taking the path of least resis
tance. If you know the possibilities it is easy to manipulate people’s destiny. That is why Asmodeus has the advantage over you. He can see this as well as I.”
I was disheartened. If someone could read my future and their own, then how could you ever succeed in besting them at anything?
“You have to remember this isn’t foolproof,” The Perceptionist told me. “Nothing is certain, nothing has happened until it has happened. This may change up until the last moment. Freewill continues to make the future impossible to determine with conviction. Your path collides with other souls at every moment, which complicates it even further.”
“It is a major advantage though,” I said, more to myself than to him.
“Yes.”
“Can you teach me?” I asked.
“No,” he answered. “You do not have the body for it.”
I looked at him, once again confused. What did this have to do with body?
“Everything.” The Perceptionist read my thoughts. “I had to grow these eyes to perceive the eight senses accurately. You do not possess the correct antennae for time.”
“Could I change that?” I asked.
“You could,” he conceded, “but you won’t. Any major shift in your ability to perceive would mean a deformation of your body. Being able to detect Time, Emotion and Thought with honed accuracy would mean you would be unrecognizable to your beloved Charlotte. Would you like to grow more ears, mouths, noses and eyes?”
Of course I would not, but refused to give up so easily.
“You only have eyes. Could I grow more in places that aren’t easily seen?”
“I grew only eyes because for me it was simpler to have one sense. By refining everything to sight, I am able to sort the data of the universe more easily. You are not built that way. Your brain, and the code you are used to, are separated into different organs. Your mind would not be able to fathom a change without going back and relearning everything you have ever perceived. It would be like a computer trying to read the wrong software. Each of your current senses is sorted into a different file. Tell me, what does green sound like?”
“What about Phineus?” I returned, dodging the question. “He can see the future, yet looks like a human.”
“Yes, but you have seen his eyes? They are like a sky and clouds. They are not normal eyes. He also has a third eye, which helps detect the future. He sees the world in a completely different way. He is not human, although he appears so. Phineus is a seer. He has no ability to sense emotion or thought.”
“Neither can I!” I said, exasperated.
“Yes you do.” The Perceptionist’s mouth turned upward in a wry grin. “You just haven’t noticed it yet.”
SEVEN
I WAS SHOCKED. I didn’t know how to answer The Perceptionist’s comment.
“I can sense thought and emotion?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is you have the receptors built into your body. They are far from perfect, like comparing your nose with a bloodhound’s. However you do have the sense. It cannot separate thought and emotion, it only recognizes the twins as a whole, but it is there.”
The Perceptionist drew a circle in the air and filled it to create a shimmering mirror. I stared into it, taking in my familiar form. Pointed chin, high cheekbones and green eyes. My ears had the red, pinched deformity which Marlowe had pointed out earlier. I splayed my fingers: they were thick and calloused. I touched my hair and felt the coarse black curls I was used to.
“Ahhh,” The Perceptionist said. “You have found it.”
“What?” I asked, puzzled. “My hair?”
“Of course. Have you not wondered why human women tend to be more sensitive to feelings? It is because most of them have a longer growth of hair that runs close to the sensors of their brain. Animals are similar, since they are mostly covered in hair. They can detect emotions like fear or aggression. Human men tend to be the least responsive of creatures to this sense, since their hair is generally short or pubic, which doesn’t pick up the right vibrations.”
I continued to stare into the mirror, twisting my curls around in my fingers. Could I change my hair so I could read thoughts?
“You will not be able to decipher thoughts accurately,” continued The Perceptionist. “But if you extend your growth, your perception of emotion at least will be improved. Emotion is the more powerful of the twins, so it overrides nearly any thought you might sense. It will not be sharp, but if you concentrate you’ll be able to grasp a vague feeling of a person’s intentions through the emotion they exude from their being. Would a growing of hair be too much for your Charlotte?” he asked. “Will your sense of beauty be offended by longer tendrils?”
I looked at my reflection again. It was interesting that even in the afterlife I was still anchored and restricted by my body. My conception of self-appearance limited my abilities. I knew this, yet was unwilling to change because I wanted my wife to still find me appealing.
“I’m sure a hair extension would be acceptable.” I said slowly.
With a flick of his wrist, The Perceptionist threw a blend of elements toward me. I could feel a throbbing heat through my skull; hair sprouted quickly in curls from my head. It was an odd sensation, not painful but uncomfortable. As quickly as it began, the feeling stopped. I looked again at the mirror. Black ringlets flowed down my shoulders, before stopping at my hips. Now I appeared more like some kind of wizard than a fighter. I smiled.
“I think Charlotte may approve,” I said.
“At the very least she will recognize you,” The Perceptionist said. “That is all you require. It is a fine balance.”
I reached out to see if I could sense any feeling from The Perceptionist. There was nothing, not even a whisper of love, or hate or, anything. I tried again, but the deadness of the connection between us remained the same. Maybe I didn’t have the talent for this.
I shifted my vision to behold his elemental make up and studied him closely. Flowing around his brain was a pure golden light. There were no molecules of emotion to be seen. The light flowed down from his head in a line to the center of his chest, where there was a golden heart, pumping. I looked down at myself. My heart was a mess of colors. I could see every kind of emotion welling inside, but none of the golden light emanating from my teacher.
“You only have some of the same color inside your brain.” The Perceptionist interrupted my concentration. I shifted back to regular sight and blinked.
“What is that light?” I asked.
“It is reason,” he answered. “It is pure logical thought and knowledge. There is no shade or distinction because it is not mixed with emotion. That is why you can’t feel anything through the strands on your head. I have done away with emotion. It has not proved useful to me in learning, so I discarded it.”
No wonder I had felt nothing when reaching out to him. I tried to fathom what it would be like to exist without emotion, but could not. Love, hate, anger, joy; they were my driving forces. I could not function without them. To me, it felt like all intelligence was artificial. It is emotion that makes a human. The Perceptionist was nothing but a robot.
“Not a robot,” he said. “I still have the ability to feel if I desire, but I do not. Maybe at some point, when my intellectual knowledge is complete I will introduce emotion again. If I want to achieve perfection, I must be systematic in gathering everything piece by piece. So far emotion has done nothing but get in the way, so I have eliminated it for now.”
“What is perfection?” I wondered.
“I cannot tell you yet, for I do not know,” he said. “This is what I am searching for. Once I find it, I will share it with all I can. What I can tell you is that perfection begins within, so that is where I am looking.”
No emotion. It was unfathomable. Even the most powerful being in existence did not pretend to know what perfection was. I respected his honesty.
The Perceptionist took the mirror he had created earlier and ran his hands over its s
ervice. It shuddered and then began to bend into itself, forming the blue vortex, which I knew joined the void with Hell.
“It’s time for an excursion,” said The Perceptionist. “We need to try out some of your new talents in the real world.”
“What?” I asked, startled at the unexpected announcement. “I thought we would be here longer, practicing.”
“We could,” he replied as he stepped an eye-covered leg into the portal. “However, the best practice is doing, not learning.”
“But where are we going?”
“The Tenth Circle,” he whispered as he disappeared into the blue whirlpool of light.
EIGHT
I STUMBLED OUT OF THE PORTAL to face Marlowe and The Perceptionist. Marlowe was sitting at the stark table, looking up at his master.
“Please get the car, Marlowe,” The Perceptionist instructed. “We’re going to Smoking Gun.”
Without comment, the African nodded, got up and left the room.
“What is The Tenth Circle?” I asked again, still rattled at our hasty exit from the void.
The Perceptionist turned to look at me. He sat down in the chair which Marlowe had just vacated.
“Have you heard of the Nine Circles of Hell?” he asked.
I thought for a moment. I had heard of them somewhere, but had to drag the depths of my memory before I could recall it.
“It’s just a story,” I said, “The Nine Circles of Hell, from The Divine Comedy? Each circle is reserved for a different grade of evil, the first circle being for the mild sins, the ninth for the worst criminals in the underworld.”
“Yes, a story. In reality it was more of a poem. And you are right, the nine circles do not exist, they are more of a concept than a place. It is now a grade scale the demons in Hell give for the potency of burden they feel, when the Fires of Guilt rage through Hell each day. You may have noticed that the more evil a soul has committed, the worse they seem to suffer.”