Dark to light to shadow. And then, the sun. The first earth sun was red before it was yellow. The second sun was kinetic, restless . . . the first of the great extinctions was in reality something vastly different than scientific assumption. Frost, ice . . .
Earth spawned again with the rule of the nearest, brightest star.
Seas, plates, mountains . . . quakes, nature . . . new life. From nothingness. A void.
The universe is sentient. As are its divisions.
As are its shadows. Shadows, cast upon rock, water, ground. The shadows watch, and listen. To every god, a star. To every soul, a counterpart. A shadow.
And belief again. Belief in dark or black elves. How else to explain the shadows, the growing and shortening of forms equating with the moods of those who observe. And then . . . the first attempt to immortalize the elves. On a cave wall. Survival. And the dark elves became part of lore, until they too were realized and brought into being by man’s fear and imagination.
Ara witnessed all, as it was. Not as it should have been or needed to be. As consistent with her privilege, she knew The Truth. And The Truth unnerved her, as she held no special knowledge of her abilities to supersede the assumed natural order, which have remained hidden.
When the first shadow was cast, so too the first of the dark elves. And the dark giants.
Only those who wander outside the boundaries of the known world could communicate with the dark. Only those who walk outside of these boundaries could sense other universes, not simply quick flashes of deja vu and the like.
They would come to be known as the antithesis of the gods, who are represented by the stars.
Beyond the shadow world and the cosmos lies infinity. The Infinity Pass.
I sense the trail back will not be discovered in time. Ara is the source, though she will hide the way, as so much has already been hidden at her behest.
And dreams. Reveries. Where all come to observable lives of their own. They speak to the humans, a process that has been unchanged from the beginning, through dreams. And man again enables his own reality. He would realize his dreams.
She is a child. She is a child-god . . . cursed to become mortal . . . who will stop at nothing to reunite with her fallen love.
Why is it that man’s reality is solely defined by his awakened hours? Does not sleep bear upon the human experience?
Eron.
Then humans who were born disabled. And also humans who talk to themselves. And also those who use substances, as Aldous Huxley will one day explain in The Doors of Perception. They don’t see less. They see more but they are still confined by their humanness, and they loathe any sense of confinement. I will not allow myself to believe that any self-respecting man, or woman, does not contemplate the same. What is the meaning of the universe? I have devoted my life in quest of that answer. I have devoted my life in service of that answer, and so few listen.
Norse mythology was correct in certain assumptions. Ragnorak too. Most myths are.
But to now the dark elves existed only in dark and shadow. The physical shadow. And the shadow of mind.
And so I must ask you now to reconsider everything that has passed before. I must ask you now to reconsider every-thing I have written before. Perhaps I am writing this from prison, perhaps not.
So let’s start over.
I have erred. I am fully correct in my words and have been all along, but my audience is still negligible. The payoff to my efforts just isn’t there. So, because my message is so valuable and needs to be heeded, I ask you to follow this advice: There is a man, not a boy but a man, who will hopefully make a substantial difference. His name is Selu. And he is right. Listen to him, as he will guide the way from here.
P.S. It’s been real.
X is incensed, but does not expose his ill will. “Brother . . . is anyone anywhere going to take any of this seriously? Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s been real . . . they’ll know this is not my style.”
“But they’ll ask new questions. I’ve implied that we’ve had a hand creating our alternate realities. You’re not impressed?”
X cocks his head like a fighter. “I admit, some of this is surprisingly . . . pretty much on the money. How did you—”
“My wife? Project Ara? Access, my old friend.” Daniel stands. “As much as I hate to say it, I’ve believed you from the beginning. And reason for everything? This is why I’m doing what needs to be done. I’ve always taken my duty seriously.”
“And what’s that?”
“To be continued.”
X is almost, but not quite, at a loss for words. “Yeah, well,” he says, “up yours with your access. The rest is fucked up. And who is Selu—”
“All I needed to know.” Daniel takes the letter and turns to leave.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’ll be back before dinner,” Daniel deadpans. “You may want to stay awake. The fun has yet to begin.”
“The fun?”
“We can’t save ourselves, can we, without integrating those strands of alternate realities back into one, don’t you think?” Daniel does not await X’s answer. “There is, after all, only one Truth.” He quietly closes the door as he exits.
~~~
An hour later, X, experienced in the art of escape due to his avocation as a street magician, quietly leaves the building.
When Daniel returns, he is not at all surprised. So easily manipulated, he thinks. And that’s his fatal flaw. That’s why there is no option. That’s why we will continue the job he started.
MIRKWOOD
S’n Te has been proven correct in his assumption. As he sits in the black, he submits that he has been kidnapped by dark elves. He is tortured and asked how to connect with Ara. Corporeally. Though dark elves do not speak, he hears them. Though they cannot be seen by any save for their own kind, their presence is strong with the mystic.
Like the gods, they believe mortals are lesser.
The mystic and the leader of the dark elves speak in thought:
“We will one day walk among the mortals. The first to infiltrate that sphere will be a boy-child. He will be unable to communicate as they do, but he will integrate.”
S’n Te peeks into the future and glimpses such a child . . . and his mother, Sidra. She was right. Her son will be mute, as they are, and he too will play with lesser things. His bands . . .
“What then?” asks S’n Te.
“You and I know the gods’ perfection is false. The boy-child will lead us to Ara, and they will be powerless to prevent it.”
“Ara is more powerful than the other gods. You must go back, I’m warning you.”
“You alone are responsible for our arrival. You have blasphemed against the natural order.” S’n Te has heard these words earlier, from the king. “Here we will remain forever after.”
“I have blasphemed against nothing.”
“The elves will soon be unleashed. Like you, neither are we ruled by the gods. We are borne of fire and bone, of imagination and shadow. We will reclaim Ara and soon be visible to all.”
“Reclaim?”
“Ara is the daughter of a god . . . and a daemon, as we prefer. Ara . . . is one of us. The secret behind her birth has remained hidden until its proper time. The time has come.”
“But Ara has always existed. She always was . . . and is.”
“Oh ye of little faith,” the dark elf replies.
NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY, NEW YORK CITY
Thomas sits at a computer station disguised in a new brow-covering hat researching grimoires and demons. His cell beeps in response to an incoming text. He checks the message and is instantly diverted: I found a story. I’m gonna be like you . . . trust me. Thomas switches the phone to vibrate mode and steps outside.
He takes a bench, and the back and forth begins.
X: Why didn’t you drop everything just now? I literally found the story I need to write. I sent the text ten seconds ago and time’s of the essence, yo
u know. Don’t you read?
Thomas: I suppose if I just ask how you found my cell phone number that would be an exercise in
X: Futility, of course it would. C’mon, we’re still gonna play this g
Thomas: X?
X: The one and only.
Thomas: X, I remind you I don’t play games. Before I tell you to lose the number I’m going to ask you, what do you want?
X: I want your opinion on a story I wanna write.
Thomas: A story
X: I ever tell you I wanted to be a writer?
Thomas: I don’t have time for this
X: You went where you went to escape from me, huh?
Thomas: Not only. Fine. What story?
X: What story . . . don’t I matter?
Thomas: I’ll disconnect this and block you from
X: You’ll block me from nothing. I’m way too fascinating to you.
He’s right. Thomas foregoes the contest and again inquires—
Thomas: Are you going to tell me what the hell you’re talking about?
X: Rise.
Thomas: Rise?
X: Rise of the Red Dragon. It’s quite good, you know. It will be, anyway.
Thomas comes to an uncomfortable realization.
Thomas: That’s . . . a biblical reference, and so you of course know I’ve taken notes on such a piece or you wouldn’t be reaching out. Wait. Do you have my notes? Did you take my notes? That story was never meant to be published
X: If it wasn’t meant to be published, what then were you planning to do with it?
Thomas: My business.
X: Your business. You’re the one who’s missing and this is the stuff you begin to write when you figure what it is you want to write??
Thomas: It’s scribble, X.
X: Makes no sense to me. You never mentioned anything about this possibility in your bio.
Thomas: Where did you get this number?
X: A local bookstore in their registry. If you were still in New York you may have found it before me if you were really look
Thomas: Do you know where I am?
X: That exercise was called a bluff, Mr. McFee.
Thomas: I don’t have time for thi
X: You’re a liar, Thomas McFee. You’re a misleading, misdirecting son of a bitch. I found the story under your name. Looks edited to me. There were no notes. I verified your authorship when you were in London, don’t ask me h
Thomas: That story was never meant for publication. Those pages are my notes
X: Obviously. It wasn’t as polished as your usual and so I will now supplement your notes with mine, based on my dreams, based on Project Ara and whateva else. I need to jumpstart my career, maybe I’ll be taken more seriously that way. You know, the same thing happened to Salinger once. He managed to get his unpublished work pulled from everywhere. You didn’t even have to try, I just stole yours
Thomas: I’m not a Salinger. I’m a
X: You’re very self-aware, for one, which is a good thing.
Thomas: What now?
X: You never did ask why I went after you before.
Thomas: I asked you now. Doesn’t that work?
X: No.
Thomas: Why are you haunting me, X?
X: Because I’m going to be a better and more popular writer than you. Rise of the Red Dragon is mine now since you don’t care. I’ll never tell you where I got it, or how. I’ll just say I’ll be sure to make it much more than you could have ever done.
Seconds pass.
Thomas: Tell me, when will you make the time to write it? You’re too busy trying to save the worl
X: Does it mat
X receives a blocked message on his phone. Thomas returns to the library.
“Have it your way,” X says. He clicks off and looks at the street below him.
HOUSE OF USHER, BROOKLYN HEIGHTS, NEW YORK
X sits atop Denise’s House of Usher. His old haunt. To his left is a computer tablet and his cell, which he places down. To his right is a copy of the familiar Goddess Ode:
Be advised thus
When the skies turn to red
And from there a graver shade of scarlet
Engulfing your world in shadow
Mother Nature has ceased to exist
It is a new order
There is only the bleed above
And the bleed to be
The dead
And the dead to be
A man may run and deafen
And invoke meaninglessness and still
Or he may fight and adopt
And chance victory and change
But it is the most fanciful of man
Who is the most dangerous of man
In his blasphemous challenge
Nothing shall be as it appears
Either within the Infinity Pass
Here too
He quickly rereads the poem, then checks his computer tablet, making his connections like Thomas before him. He writes the results on paper:
War
Red
War
Red coats. British army.
War 17th Century
February 1645
Rise of the Redcoats
Red
Bible
Symbolism of red
Dragon
X pauses.
Dragon
Puts the title together—
Rise of the Red Dragon
Will end with Ara being pregnant.
He is immediately taken by the direction. He opens a new Word file, and his story begins as he centers and writes his title:
RISE OF THE RED DRAGON
He resumes his notes:
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Over-Dwellers
Dark Elves
Dark Giants
Gods
A book of gods, mystics, and the rest.
S’n Te, a mystic, in charge of the Over-dwellers and which souls return? Straddles both worlds. He builds the army against the muse. Searle is his student, but switches. He says it was written in the stars about Eron. He had conducted a preemptive strike and built an infected sword for Eron, sensing Ara’s actions as he could not overrule life and death decisions on behalf of the gods. S’n Te is a part of the universe. Born of the same process. So he has “always” existed too—making Ara and him the most powerful beings in the universe. S’n Te was big-hearted and wanted to do the noble thing, hence on the side of the king.
Ara was then betrayed by a god. Who? Why? Was it Brikke (Zeus), her father? He wanted her back and wanted to save her. Mirroring McFee’s story with Samantha (and metaphor Thomas as a god), she was a pariah. But he loved her—and her sisters—and wanted to keep peace. Making Brikke good and almost human and sad (like Frankenstein, running from his emotions). Brikke tries to save his daughter.
X remains an enigma. S’n Te once referred to a prophecy. He will call it a prophecy of the Centrist. That would be me. Watch.
Sidra takes Searle’s side (X eventually too, but he goes rogue in search of Ara and The Truth).
Eron fights for Ara’s side, until he turns on her and realizes what she is doing is in violation of the natural order. Tragic ending to their story.
Elves-Giants, Third. Now they have the opportunity to rule and prevail over the light. Their job to destroy the sun, to “bleed” the sun—hence the red. Ordered by . . . X/Alexi. S’n Te, the only mystic in Mirkwood. Mirkwood was the entirety of lived-in earth at the time.
Fleese, head elf; Alm, head giant. Twins. They end up helping Ara destroy the world as she is also imperfect—a halfling.
Need a religious order and new religion. “Want to start a religion?” And need a figurehead. Second black guy will get out of prison.
Gods and sisters—against Ara . . . slow and uneasy truce with dark elves and giants?
Ara—alone, as ever. Adds pathos to her story. No one can nor will take her side, but they all take advantage of circumstance.
Taebal—stays w
ith Ara, in the hopes of changing her. Loyal. The other dragons are yet another faction. Equals four.
If there is a Goddess Ode, there must be a Mystic Ode
Before the skies turn red, there are two worlds. There is a world you can see. And then a world you cannot—Holos, as unpopularly coined in the twenty-first century by a benefactor who stepped out of his comfort zone and decided to become a physicist for a year. I had a dream. And I needed to make sense of a dream. Another dream. New, but related.
Stories upon stories have been based on Lewis Carroll’s original work. It’s still among the most-quoted works of all time.
X reads through his notes . . . and is disgusted with his writing. With no forethought, he slams the tablet against the chimney. It immediately shatters into small pieces.
He reaches behind him and retrieves Eron’s former gauntlet. The gauntlet that would be, at this moment in another reality—post-Abeyance and post-correction—long lost. However, as he had nearly a year ago, he is empowered by the object, which he slips over his arm as if for the first time. He stands and awaits a specific target.
The target arrives. X aims the weapon downward and almost ninety degrees to his left. He displays its vulgar power without further thought; a beam of light surrounds the object and is then triggered to the target below.
Daniel Baxter, who was in the vicinity for a reason both unknown and of no matter to the present circumstance, glows and vanishes. The military man did not see it coming. No warning, no intelligence. The blast set off around him rocks cars and blows out windows.
The force and the very action shifts X’s essence, which folds and reconciles, as intended. The gauntlet vanishes, having been returned to its present owner who will not notice anything strange. And, every manner of existence within every manner of universe as it regards the boy known as X is integrated . . . with a single exception that, for now, will remain at bay. Upon his capture, the boy will become as S’n Te has foreseen: the Centrist, the only being alive capable of exposing The Truth.
Chronicles of Ara: Perdition Page 26