“What has been done has been done and it cannot be changed,” one of the Council members states. “Unless there is anything more to add, we will pursue these ideas – the possibility of a powerful crafter and of resurged cult activity – from within the clouds. Perhaps we may then better understand why it is that we are shadows. When we return, debate will resume.”
They’re right. Maybe some time in the collective consciousness will help give us perspective. No one objects, so we all settle into our seats and begin to meditate.
The lights go out and only stormy flashes from the oculus illuminate the red seats, brown coats, and pale faces. A gravity of kharma is created in the center of our space. As the rain entering in from the oculus reaches the center of the sphere, it begins sparkle and glow like brilliant fire flies, darting about in all directions.
Our energies are pooled together and soon the more experienced among us drift out of body. That mysterious orchestral chord which once cued us to seat the council members now returns. This time the entire symphony tunes its instruments, bits of scales and various chord progressions melding into a pleasingly chaotic jumble of notes. The instruments neither compete nor cooperate. It’s like musical laughter. Everything inches together into algorithmic alignment and the building of one perfect harmony parallels our journey into states of energy.
Wispy ethereal representations of our selves float above our comatose bodies. These tattered, gaseous images undulate like a buoy in the waves while simultaneously flickering in and out of existence. When the youngest of us finally achieves séance, I lead the entire Hyperion, skyward, through the oculus and into the storm above.
The thunder and lightning is at its most intense now as we climb higher and higher, surreal, amorphous ghosts leaving the city below until all that remains are dots of light through the ever thickening clouds. To our side, the majestic Cynthecorp Tower seems to race us to the sky. A crack of lightning reflects our forms on the glass surface; strands of tattered thought swirling in complete absence of substance, our heads back and faces to the rain.
We are now entering the collective consciousness.
While kharma exists everywhere and all of our actions reverberate through this mystical medium, it’s hard to distance ourselves from the ancient custom of seeing god in the sky. Due to that perception, the purest and most potent forms of kharma exist here above the city. To travel through the consciousness in this way is very dangerous and so the younger ones among us, the cyperas, keep in close groups. They have to project a protective field around themselves so as not to get forever lost and to avoid being sucked into a nightmare or pocket of malice.
When I reach the thickest part of the smog, I break off and level my course to the horizon. Behind me, the others do the same, some alone, and some in groups, but each in a perfect pattern. We create a giant blue firework blossom in the sky as we head outwards, searching with as much speed as safety will allow.
I traverse the area with the ease of experience – not at the height of my abilities but with impressive celerity. My journey continues endlessly for what seems like hours, though time is less relevant here. I pass random thoughts, suppressed dreams, and bright embers of hope, the representations of actions and the vacuums of regret for deeds not done. But there is no denying the overabundance of sadness and evil here. I begin to grow disheartened and give new weight to my fear that the city is truly on the verge of a horrible change.
Dawn approaches and I watch the sun as it weaves through the clouds. Before turning back to find my body though, I catch a glimpse of a light break off from the cluster of morning rays. It’s as if my presence has accidentally freed it from the sunlight. I keep watching the strange phenomenon as it darts around, acting like an insect trying to play a game of tag with me. Upon chasing it for some time I catch the glow, it having led me far from where I first saw it. With a sense of satisfaction I finally contain the light and look into its source to determine what exactly it is. It suddenly glows brighter until I am enveloped in its incandescence and all I can see is an image within the center of the fire. I am struck with dazzling force by the scene before me and before I can even begin to grasp the precognition which, for some twist of fate has come to me, my mind reacts.
With a sickening speed, my mind drops from the sky and races desperately for the theatre. A burning need to return to my body fuels my mental form to race across the city, having wandered far from the Neo Square in my journey. As I pass through solid matter, the wake of my presence ripples energy, leaving a cold breeze sweeping through the streets. I use all of my energy to create a psychic barrier against all the kharma I am passing through, a mine field of dangers tugging at me, pulling me in. I fight them off.
Soon the theatre is in sight and only a second later I am in it, returning through the rooftop and down into my body, dawn at my heels. Reunited with my physical form I snap to attention and gasp for air, my head convulsing and threatening to jar me into unconsciousness once again. With everyone else still in the clouds, I am the only one awake and the theatre is silent and still. I leap into action, grabbing the other captains next to me and throwing them down the walkway leading out of the theatre. If their bodies die, their kharmatic essences won’t survive. Turning around to grab more lifeless bodies, I see that the light coming in from the oculus is disturbed, casting a shadow over the whole room.
I look up to see a pale-skinned man with a vacant, lifeless stare on his face falling through the oculus. He’s wearing a vest rigged with explosives. He holds a remote control in his hand and just as his fall takes him to the center of the sphere, he presses a red button on it. The vision I witnessed above in the glow of light reaches fruition and he erupts into a fireball that consumes the entire theatre.
†Sabetha †
I’ve been standing in the doorway for an hour now, looking across my room and through the window at Neo Square. I just hate it when the Reckonings go on for days. This one will be no different I suppose, if anything, it will go on for weeks. Well… I can’t stay up any longer to wait. I’ll just have to…
His presence in a cold breeze. I can feel it. He’s in danger.
DELANO!
Before I can think, I leap through the window and sprint for the fence.
But I’m too late.
Suddenly, there is a terrible explosion in the distance and I stumble to the ground as my knees become too weak to hold me up. I’m so scared I feel like I might die here on the spot. Suddenly, to my sides, all around me, auxilias emerge from safe houses. They stare at the smoke and the comets of flaming debris still flying through the air. I look up and see hundreds of lifeless blue specters raining down from the sky. The earliest bits of sunshine pass through them and create a kharmatic rainbow. I no longer care about myself, about the rising sun, or the perimeter guns trained on me. From the ground, I dig my heels into the cement and begin to run. And I won’t stop till I get to my brother. The feeling must sweep through us all, for the auxilias storms the fences of Neo Square as Pantheon theatre burns in the distance.
I feel the explosions of land mines, but they are silent to me, just as I feel the impact of the bullets ripping through my flesh but ignore the havoc they wreak. I am being dismembered by fire and shrapnel, yet somehow, I fly across the emerald rim.
Deep inside their defense, I come upon the ruins.
The theatre has collapsed in on itself and the fire is smothered, leaving only hunks of stone and smoke in the wake of the explosion. I can hear the massacre going on behind me but try to shut it out of my mind. I’m so dizzy.
I leap into the smoldering ashes of the wreckage and dig furiously, ripping at the dirt and pulling large chucks of debris out of the way. A single millitus, the only other auxilia to make it through so far, pulls at the rubble with strength greater than even her kind should be able to summon. She cries out, tears the only thing to quench the last few fires still burning. Finally, she finds her sentiner, and pulls his corpse out of the rubble. Holding him
close to her chest and rocking back and forth, she howls the loss of three centuries of love before giving in herself and succumbing to her wounds.
An elite unit of Cyncurity, Hoplite, marches into the area in heavy suits of armor and carrying large, futuristic weapons. They stop and take firing positions, but the leader puts his hand up to stop them. The men of Hoplite lower their weapons obediently and stand at attention. There is no threat left.
As my skin smolders in the rising sun, Roger, the last one to make it across, comes to my side and begins to chant, rubbing his hands delicately along my charring flesh. Slowly, I am relieved from the sun on my back but care little as I dig further. Roger walks on, several large wounds keeping him from running to search for Corbin in the ash.
My stomach knots as I find the book of matches in the rubble and nearby, a hand. I dig around and pull, hoping beyond hope that I am not left with only a limb to clutch as I die. Finally I bring Delano out of the dust, incinerated wood surrounding him like a charcoal grave. My sobs become uncontrollable as I pull him next to me, his form almost unrecognizable. Around me, sirens wail like far off banshees coming to claim the dead. Surrounding buildings have been destroyed and what remains has caught fire and burns. Soon, I hope, the sun will claim me, and I will be with my brother.
{212 years earlier…}
Thirteen
Date: March, 17th 6886 ASH
Sentiner: Miquel, praetor occidenae Gothicae
Exposition: In search of the urn
NOTE: Oh, how habit haunts me. Too accustomed have I become to this system that not a day goes by without my needing to record its events… even when those events are deliberately meant to be kept secret from the Hyperion. Delano would be furious if he knew I was writing this, but beyond my compulsion to scribble, I feel a certain nagging suspicion that a gap in the historical records at this particular point in this story of Gothica would be an egregious error.
ABSTRACT: If this is to be a document separated from the larger body of the Hyperion’s archives, then I feel the need to explain several prior events that are important to this report. Recent investigations into the ilk world have revealed that a quasi-darkened breed has emerged, not fully corrupted or awakened to the city, but in a strange grey area outside the ignorance of the system. They have manifested in a collection of cults, led overwhelmingly by chyldrin, with some fringe elements led by gazers and ilk. The membership in these cults is overwhelmingly ilk. (The bulk of this information pioneered by the sentiner Delano, an expert in darkenings.)
The result of these gatherings of “greyends,” as I have come to call them, has been far reaching indeed. It appears that due to an unseen force, a large portion of the ilk population, once complacent, has now become disillusioned with Cynthecorp and the oppressive cynsurance system which denies a vast majority of the poorer citizens access to medical care, police protection, and education. Coinciding with innumerable other factors which we are desperately trying to understand, masses of ilk have moved into these religious sects, bolstering their numbers significantly enough to reinvigorate the once dead organizations. With growing memberships came the rise of great megalomaniacs, narcissists, and sociopaths from the supernatural population to lead the disillusioned ilk.
Much of Gothica has been thrown into chaos. As a result of this mass alteration of kharma, the backlash that normally accompanies individual darkenings has been lessened by the large number of simultaneous “grayenings.” It seems that Gothica is not powerful enough to stomp out all of these ilk at once, and as a result, the repercussions are being displaced onto other aspects of the city. For several years we watched these events unfold, gripping the edges of our seats, searching for the clues which might enlighten us about the future.
The council expressly forbade all interference by sentiners in any cult matters, but it soon became apparent to us that the change these groups would effect on the city was not the kind the city could survive.
After a secret meeting of the four captains and our auxilias, we mutually agreed that we must interfere in the events, forsaking our limited immunity from the system as sentiners. It was a difficult decision, debated and contemplated for days, but we finally concluded that there still might be hope for a positive change somewhere in the future, so long as Gothica survived. The value of our efforts will be revealed soon enough…
BODY:
March 19th
I am definitely close to finding the location of a cult leader hidden within my very borough. Somewhere in the infinite catacombs beneath my churches lies the grand master of the Quiyas cult, a chyld of unknown age. The only way to find the grand master’s tomb, it is rumored, is to collect several artifacts which tell the story of the tomb’s creation and more importantly, the location of its secret entrance. I imagine these items will not only be difficult to find, but difficult to decipher. I must begin.
April 1st
The most amazing events have occurred and I feel ever more confident in our decision to interfere in these matters. I have found, I believe, the new Anatheas. Let me start a little earlier…
I had collected three of the artifacts needed to find the tomb of the cult leader, and narrowed the possible area of the final item, as well as the location of the tomb itself, to a manageable section of Guttertown. Despite the pain it caused my heart, I used the most common methods of finding items in Lower City – the errand boys, (a profession with a life expectancy of thirteen.) Skipping a series of events which I will fill in later, I came to find a particular errand boy named Ezra who was, beyond all reason, able to read the glyphs on my three collected artifacts. It seemed he knew of a location where these writings were etched into the rock. After some investigation, I came to find out that Ezra, an orphan, cared for by a woman named Bell, was no less than a prodigy. Despite his complete lack of education, Ezra was proficient in levels of math nearly forgotten by the consciousness, as well as various ancient languages. In an effort to keep himself occupied, Ezra (who was no more than nine!) would translate the languages in the tombs for fun.
I couldn’t have been more elated to find such a gem on my search for the fourth artifact. With his help, (though the boy nearly died from an asthma attack in the tombs) I was able to gain entrance to the catacomb and organize an assault against the leader. Our first victory against the cults came not two days ago and all with the help of a sickly little boy from Guttertown.
May 3rd
I have compiled my accounts of the battle beneath the churches of West Gothica to be attached to the other four captains’ reports. (Delano admitted to keeping records during this time of espionage, after which the rest of us Captains confessed as well. The council is going to find out, he said, so we might as well have one redeeming quality throughout this fiasco.)
I must admit though, that a delightful excitement has overtaken me since we began this endeavor. I feel alive for perhaps the first time in my life. I am the master of my own destiny now, and feel a tingling fear and uncertainty as I surge forward. In lieu of this rebelliousness, I have decided to do something rather brash.
Nineteen years ahead of schedule, I have brought Ezra before the Hyperion as a candidate for the position of Anatheas. While this alone is a severe breach of protocol, I have also challenged the precedent of the council by bringing forth a boy for the first time in the history of the position. And if my culpability weren’t saturated enough, I have kidnapped Ezra against his, and his would-be mother’s will, in order to do this.
This risk is beyond any other I have taken, but I would never have even considered it if not for the steely conviction that holds steady my soul. I believe that Ezra has a part to play in the fate of Gothica more than I have ever believed in anything before. I only hope that others can see it as well.
May 4th
My heart aches for this poor child. His charm is beyond measure and to see his sad eyes wrought with confusion and fear rips at my very being. I have shattered the already fractured foundations of his ability to
trust and I only hope he will live long enough to mend himself, even if he never forgives me. Beyond the anger I feel for the Hyperion and their humiliation of Ezra, I feel angry at myself for being the one responsible for his suffering. I put him on that stage to be sacrificed to an enraged council and an embittered Delano. Delano… how petty; this is all because of how he feels about Lori. But in truth, some of his concerns are valid. We have never had a male Anatheas before, and never one who was so young – a danger in itself. I tried to mitigate these factors by pointing out Ezra’s prodigal abilities as well the exposing the seed of his transgender, but I only served to confuse and hurt the boy.
As a male with the soul of a female, Ezra’ journey to understanding his own identity will be difficult enough, let alone the added pressures of the gender association of his occupation and the scrutiny of the sentiners. My only conciliation is that Lori will be the best mentor Ezra could ever have. Yet I can’t help fearing for his future. I just hope this amazing little boy I met in Guttertown will survive this process to become the great Anatheas I know he can be.
With the council’s reluctant consent, Ezra has been accepted for the position, and will now journey deep into North Gothica. It is now up to Lori, the current Anatheas, to undo the damage we have all inflicted.
†Lori†
Bless my soul. If he wasn’t the most precious little muffin I had ever seen. “My me, let me get the lights. No sense in you being spooked because of my miserly ways with the electricity,” I said with a big lippy smile. People always tell me how big my smile is. That is, my sons and daughters when they come to visit me.
“Miss Lori,” said one of my sons, Miquel, ever the gentleman. “May I introduce to you, Ezra.”
Manifest (The Darkening Trilogy) Page 12