by JB Penrose
Mags doubted she could keep her opinions to herself, even if she wasn’t a representative. Conversations that dealt with how someone thinks of God were typically emotional, and everyone had an opinion to voice. However, it did lift her heart to hear that the OneWorld Congress thought a spiritual community would balance the power between science and politics.
“What is it you think is so easy about just organizing?” Mags had to ask.
“Now Mags, we’re not expecting miracles,” James laughed, “although I’m sure you could pull one off if you needed. Dera has some ideas and she will tell you all about it when we return. Just know that we’ll be moving the media group out of the OneWorld Conference into an adjoining facility to give room for the God-Group, as Scott called it.”
“I hope that name won’t stick,” Mags told him. “And I’m sure the media will not be happy about being displaced at the conference.”
“To heck with the media,” James told her. “We’ve got real work to do.”
“Now, James,” Mags cautioned. “I know how you feel about the press corp, but you’ve got to understand their importance.”
“After everything they’ve done to John? And Andrew?”
“Remember? You think the God-Group is a balance to government and science; you have to realize the media is the balance to all of those, government, science, and God!”
“Not when they’re biased, or literally reporting lies!”
“James, there is deceit everywhere,” Mags reminded him. “It’s only human to use information to the benefit of one’s self, be it politics, research, or reporting. The press corp is the People’s balance – and this world would be shut out from important decisions without their reporting as well as their investigating. I urge you to rethink their isolation at the OneWorld Conference.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed with reserve. “I’m sure we can find a way to make it work.”
“I’m sure you can, too.” Mags smiled to herself. “And in trade, I will accept your position as organizer and do my best to keep the group moving forward.”
“My love, you are the queen of organization,” James assured her. “I have full faith in you.”
“I’m glad someone does,” she replied, already thinking ahead. “You don’t think Dera would mind if I brought in another person to assist, do you?”
“I’m sure it would be fine. Who did you have in mind?”
“No one you know, yet,” Mags told him. “But I’m sure you’ll find him interesting.”
“I already do,” James replied.
They spoke for a few minutes about the move to Gemini Estates, and Mags quickly caught him up on the progress of their research on the DayStar, or lack of progress, since there was nothing new to report.
“Even Andrew couldn’t find an answer,” James reminded her.
“Yes, but I feel like I know the answer and just haven’t found the words or facts to express it.” Mags was frustrated about something she couldn’t remember; it was though the analytic capabilities had evaporated from her brain where the DayStar was concerned.
“Time to go, dear,” Mags saw a small white car came into sight on the drive. “Michael is arriving, and you need to get some sleep – so you can think more clearly at tomorrow’s summit!”
“All right, my love,” James laughed. “No more exclusion of the press, and onward with the God-Group. Good luck, there. Maybe you’ll have a breakthrough today.”
“Thank you, my love. This world is in need of a breakthrough.”
* * *
Iscar could not recall a nightly dream on Earth before he arrived at the mountain, and once the dreams started - Delphi was conceived. He had visions of people and structures. Images flashed in his mind at critical moments of outside world events or new arrivals to Delphi. The tasht drew them in like an oracle and he kept the oracle reference after others began arriving, partly to confuse the myth and partly to identify with it.
The Oracle had given him the foresight of the Spokesmon’s Arrival, which happened exactly as pictured, he and the Spokesmon standing side-by-side at the Mammoth Falls. He was sure now was the time, and Iscar drifted to sleep basking in the achievement of the Spokesmon’s arrival in Delphi.
Kerroon walked in the shadows of alleys to avoid the crowds who gathered to share what they knew.
“aren’t you Peter?” they asked if they saw him.
“No, I’m not.”
Iscar peered around the corner watching as Peter denied their Master to those who asked. He recognized it was Kerroon’s dream although it felt like re-living his own memory. The shops, the smells, he could even hear the babble of the people on the street and their horrified denial; they couldn’t have taken the Messiah.
Peter stumbled away, carried in an unbidden direction by the movement of a large crowd. This dream was a familiar nightmare, but tonight Peter knew this was different; something he could feel. He saw a shadow move in the alley.
Iscar! Peter’s defenses went up automatically; the roleau came to his hands as easily as the thought came into his mind. Iscar’s vibration was distinguished by a deep hum; the roleau Kerroon held sang a much higher pitch, haunting, as a mother calls her lost child.
“I don’t need to see you to know you’re there,” Kerroon called out.
The streets were suddenly empty.
Iscar stepped around the corner, keeping his approach casual, his demeanor misleading. “I see your nightmares still haunt you.”
“I’ve learned to live with my nightmares. How about you?”
The streets and buildings disolved into darkness and suddenly Peter realized it was more than a dream. He let the roleau in his hands take over what he saw in his mind’s eye.
The Stream of Consciousness surrounded both of them, swirling in dark shades of blue. They were protected from outside influences, and the Stream protected the outside world from the combination of their forces.
Iscar also sensed the dream had dissolved into the Stream, and he felt the vibration that linked his Oracle with the whole. He had a clear vision of the translucent crystal that rested in the Mammoth Waterfall and he concentrated on his possession. Easily, he brought forth a light and shined it directly into Kerroon’s face. Peter’s roleau reflected the light back to Iscar and they were both illumined.
“You’re not fit to stand as my judge,” Iscar told him. “None of you are.”
“We have only judged you by your actions,” Kerroon said impassively. “You never left us a choice.”
“Choice is the only power that all of us have.” Iscar repeated Mother Star’s earlier caution. “I see that your choices still haunt you.”
“And what of your actions? I watched what they did to Jesus after you sold Him out. Do you still have nightmares about that?”
Iscar recoiled, and the Stream circulating around them changed to deep shades of red. “i don’t know why you hate me. I did exactly as He instructed. I did it to keep Mag’Dalyn safe, for the Spokesmon’s destiny, and the Awakening.” Iscar rocked back on his heels, poised and defiant. “It was a heavy price to pay, for Him and for me. what can you say you’ve been doing all this time?”
“there could have been another way,” Peter told him firmly. With a mental shrug, he tossed forth a web to smother Iscar’s light and they were again in darkness. “there is always another way.” Peter’s hoarse whisper hung in the darkness.
Iscar flamed with an anger that consumed his whole body and still, it was only a fraction of the fire he felt toward kerroon. “My actions speak for themself, and in the future, you will find that you had damn well better be able to account for your own.”
The Stream was alive with the dancing shadows of Iscar’s fire flashing in shades of ruby. He seethed with contempt for his old crewmate.
“It was always my duty to open the way for the Spokesmon,” he shouted. “You should have launched with Reider and the others. There is nothing for you to do here.” Iscar projected his thought of
the Spokesmon greeting the Delphians from Malkuth into the flames.
Peter saw the image of Rachel waving to a cheering crowd, but his defense faltered only for a second. He counted on the love they shared; suddenly the roleau pulsed with lightening.
Water poured from the crystal he held and the flames around Iscar sizzled into puddles. Fizzzz! The flames shifted into luminous shades of green as the glory of Iscar’s accomplishment washed away.
“Face me!” Peter amplified his voice into the nothingness. “I want to see you for what you really are.”
Sisss! Iscar’s anger funneled itself into a hurricane of feelings, intensly pulsing with the strength of one solid muscle. His form shifted to that of a python, controlled and calculated. He slithered unnoticed in the stream of puddles between kerroons feet.
Slowly, languishing in the ease of his knot, Peter’s feet were bound before he realized iscar’s hold on him. The snake coiled around Peter’s waist and up toward his chest; his fangs lunged for anything within striking range.
As Peter fought back, Iscar tightened his coil. Air was a reflex that that became a luxury and Peter was running out of money with each breath.
Peter concentrated his thought through the roleau, unaware how it remained in his grasp. his skin grew a thick hide covered in heavy fur and immune to the powerful fangs of his enemy; his torso expanded. Sharp claws protruded from outstretched fingers; Peter knew the paw to be his own. Part of him was fully aware the snake was Iscar; part of him couldn’t believe the grizzly was himself.
“Yarrrr!” The bear’s roar echoed loudly in the layers of the Stream. With unmatched ferocity, Peter slashed at the snake in every position he could reach.
Iscar felt each claw drag across his body, and each spasm of pain was inflicted equally upon his prey as he tightened his wrap on Kerroon.
The Stream began to flow in shades of silver and white. Like a fog, it closed in around them, blinding, shifting. It wove between them and finally separated the two by disipation.
And then, they were each alone.
Iscar had rarely felt pain in his life. For over 2,000 years, he and the other crewmates had been divinely protected. But then he realized, this was the first time they had fought each other.
The fog isolated him in the Stream and the cool waters soothed the fire that burned on his arms and legs. They were still bleeding when Iscar centered himself in the Now.
In hundreds of centuries, nothing had ever happened to him, and now blood oozed from his arm in dripping streams of red. And the pain! Never before had he as much as a headache but at this moment he felt every drop of blood that pooled on the flooring where he stood.
Iscar rinsed the scratches in the basin in his room and after a few minutes, the bleeding subsided. The claw marks on his legs and arm were distinct cuts, deep wounds that burned from more than contact. He had to replicate gauze for a bandage but was unsure how to wrap his arm; it was awkward to use one hand to bandage another.
GIDEON! His mental shout was more effective than physical actions, but he wasn’t calling to ask for help. Iscar knew Kerroon was close to Delphi; he could feel it. He didn’t know how they had made it in such short time, but it was time to step-up the defenses around the perimeter.
There was probably no way to stop Kerroon but Iscar knew he had to try. If he could discover their location or delay them in any way, Iscar would order the Seven to do it; at the least, they had to be delayed until after the ceremony. The Spokesmon’s Arrival was going to be special, he had the intuition to know it, and he did not want Kerroon to be any part of it.
There was only one person that he thought might find Kerroon and Gabriel and that was Gideon, but he wondered if he could trust the brother to stop them.
Gideon regenerated outside the entrance and projected a thought to Iscar of his arrival. The timidity Iscar felt in that announcement would never have inflicted Gabriel. He cursed to himself as he smoothed the last bandage around his arm and opened the door to allow Gideon’s entrance.
“Your call sounded urgent.” Gideon quickly crossed the room. He studied Iscar in a peculiar way and cocked his head. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” Iscar snapped. He followed Gideon’s gaze to his arm and saw the small spots of blood that seeped through the bandage. He chose to ignore it. “I’ve shared another vision with Kerroon and I know he and your brother are close. He is definitely after the Oracle. Call the Seven together; I’ll be there in a moment.”
“What would you like us to do now?”
They were eager to serve; Iscar knew he need only direct their efforts. The sinking feeling in pit of his stomach indicated the search would be fruitless; however, it did not stop the fact that some kind of action had to be taken.
“We know that Kerroon and Gabriel are headed to Delphi; they should be very close now if not already hidden among us.”
“What can we do to stop Kerroon? The Oracle has always protected itself.”
“Obviously, there’s nothing we can do to stop them,” Iscar said. “Kerroon won’t stop until he finds Delphi and your brother is leading him here.” It felt good for Iscar to lash out at someone. “But I’d like it if the banquet came off without any interruptions. The Spokesmon deserves to have her Arrival celebration without conflict.”
“If I could find them first I could bring them in quietly.” Gideon’s voice held only a trace of confidence. “I’m sure he will contact me when they’re close.”
Don’t bet on it, but Iscar shielded his thought from Gideon. “I’d like to think that would happen,” he said blandly. “But we need alternatives. I want you and Tuk Doui to scout the perimeter. If you find them,” he accented, “assure your brother that no harm will come to either of them unless they intend to steal the Oracle.”
“Should I also alert the outer guard? I won’t be able to cover all the entrances Gabriel might use.”
“Post two guards at every entrance and let them know to report anyone, everyone,” Iscar emphasized, “who leaves or enters Delphi.”
The two rose immediately. “Yes, Septorian.”
His main purpose was to get Gideon as far away as possible, but on the remote chance that his brother would contact him, he continued. “Bring them to my quarters if you find them,” Iscar instructed. “I’ll handle it from there. I really don’t expect any trouble,” Iscar lied.
“Not from Gabriel,” his brother pledged for him. Gideon brought his stance to formal attention and held it for a moment, but the Septorian’s distraction meant Gideon left the chamber unnoticed.
“Shae – you need to organize the search inside the city.”
She stood immediately.
“Post guards on every level but don’t be obvious about it. Use your contacts to put someone where they won’t appear out of place. Make sure everyone checks in regularly and if there’s anything or anyone who seems to be in the wrong section, I want you and Tuk to check it out immediately.”
Ariesh’s apparition talents would have been extremely useful in this search, but there were problems other than Kerroon’s arrival that nagged Iscar’s thoughts. Donnally’s lack of communication meant something else had gone wrong with Iscar’s plan.
“I want you to pack for an outside trip,” he told Ariesh. “Take a hovercraft to PROBE-Tech and meet with Donnally. Contact me after you’ve arrived and I’ll give your next instructions.”
He secretly hoped that Donnally had simply been prevented from contact after the Aurora’s takeoff. In any event, being connected through Ariesh would finally give him the answers. He trusted his inner Seven to be discrete, and tonight he trusted them with Delphi’s future.
Iscar could feel the blood beginning to soak the gauze wrapping on his arm, amazed at the amount of blood that came through the bandages. Aaron would be meticulous about the cleaning and bandage, but Iscar wasn’t prepared for the questions he’d ask. Better to take care of it myself, he decided.
Back in his quarters, he wrapped it
tighter and the bleeding finally stopped even though the burning sensation continued.
It wasn’t the first time Iscar had to make decisions for others when he wanted to be left alone. Iscar was Delphi’s Septorian, and he’d gotten them this far in the prophecy – there was no place to stop now.
* * *
Peter woke with a start, and the quick intake of breath was painful to his expanding ribs. “Zallo’s Bane!” he cursed as he sat upright.
Gabriel’s curiosity was more like concern as he watched Peter stretch slowly. “Did you have a bad dream?”
“If that’s what you want to call it. I ran across Iscar in my sleep,” he said. “Very strange experience. And a bit too real,” he rubbed his sore ribcage.
“And a rare one, I think. You must have slipped into the Stream of Consciousness. It has happened to me on occasion, but there’s no substitution for the realism. And both times it happened with the Septorian.”
“Is that his psi-talent?” Peter asked.
“I supposed I must concur, although I’ve never really given any thought to what the Septorian might be able to perform. I always assumed he could do anything,” Gabriel admitted.
“A twenty-year-old can do anything with twenty centuries of practice,” Peter finished sourly. “He’s not a God, you know.”
“I am discovering new sides to the Septorian with every conversation,” Gabriel spoke sadly. “For now, we should probably bandage those ribs before we start the climb to Delphi.”
“I also want to call Mags and James before we leave here. I may not get a chance to check in for a while. That is, unless Delphi has satellite capabilities.” Peter knew he was betting against the odds and one glance to Gabriel confirmed it. He checked his watch for the right time zone and leaned against the headboard as he dialed.