That's just not plausible, Janison's logical mind retorted. He chose this safe house over a year ago. No one knew where it was. Was he going insane then? Did his conscience truly sound like Stalling? If so, he truly would go insane if he weren’t already.
As if on cue, Stalling's voice pounded in his head, "Put your visor on Janison, we need to talk. I could continue to berate your sense of principle all day but I have a feeling your own conscience will be harder on you then I ever could."
Stalling being in his head was crazier than the concept of him being in the room. Janison was off the grid. He chose this spot because it was one of the few pockets where the Auranet could not locate him, assuming of course he had disconnected, which he had. Even if Stalling had managed to broaden the signal in the past few hours, Janison had turned off his transmitter.
"Do you really think I would have divulged everything to you Janison? I love you like a brother but our mission is too important to allow the mistake of one person to bring it all down, including myself." Janison reached behind his head and felt a dull pulse at the base of his neck as Stalling spoke. The familiar warmth generated by his implant said it all.
"Yes, I can still communicate to you without your visor or connection to the Auranet. One of the few abilities I have reserved for myself...in case of an emergency. I didn't imagine having to use it to communicate to my closest advisor and trusted friend under these circumstances, but the Universe has thrown us both enough curve balls to not be shocked." Janison smiled and nodded to himself in agreement. "By the time we are done here I am sure you will piece it together but time is precious right now. We need to talk. Put your visor on so we can make this a two-way conversation."
Janison sighed and, despite himself, began to chuckle. Who was he to believe his actions would deter the force known as Stalling? I should have known. After witnessing twenty years of inexplicable miracles, I should have known.
He acknowledged the part of his heart eased by the sound of Stalling’s voice, even if it was just in his head. The hardest action to take over the past year was to let go of Stalling, one of the few people he could truly say he loved. But my life is not what is important. We do not choose our destiny, God does. I am here to play a role in God's master plan, not the other way around. Blocked by Stalling's looming shadow for years, Janison had lost sight of this truth, but no longer.
He turned on the lamp, stood up and stretched. "Coffee," he muttered to the room. A blunt, earthy aroma filled the room in seconds and helped lift the sedative haze. Janison chose to give up many luxuries with the decisions he made in the past few days but good coffee was not one them.
Meandering to a bathroom, he took a long piss and then looked at his profile in the mirror. He stood up tall, pulled up his gut with both hands and stuck out his chest. In the dimmed light, he caught a glimpse of the body that made all-region his senior year. Finding hope in the image, he turned to look himself in the eye and said, "It's not too late to get it back. Hiking these mountains every day will trim your fat ass yet."
Admittedly, the decision to betray Stalling and his closest friends was easier to make knowing, once done, he could disappear to pursue a life of solitude. He was tired of burning it at both ends but more importantly, he was tired of having to make tough decisions under continual grey conditions. He needed life to be black and white again, when his heart made all the big life decisions. He needed the life of his youth, the life he knew before Stalling. Janison needed to rediscover what he believed was worth living for.
He gave his oval, pale face a reassuring smile as he patted down unruly and comical clumps of thick hair; the one vanity he still allowed himself, normally brushed back in smooth salt and pepper waves. The blood shot eyes, ringed black from stress and lack of sleep over the years, sent back convincing cheer. With a sigh, he filled himself a cup of coffee, walked back across the open room to the bed and sat down. One more time Stalling, I guess I owe you that much.
Placing his link visor across his head to rest just below his brow, Janison did his best to relax as the wireless connection melded to his neural cortex. An instant later, a dark green static filled his field of vision. A pervasive hiss, as if the volume cranked with no audio playing, was the only sound. "Alright Stalling, I'm here," he said, his voice sounding as if sealed in a box.
"Thank you Janison," Stalling replied, the static before him forming a fuzzy outline of his face. "Let me start by saying you don't need to justify your decisions to me. If you feel the need, save it for another day. Right now I need your help and as I mentioned, time is something I don't have much of."
"It's Muzar, isn't it?" Janison asked.
"Yes," Stalling replied after a long pause. "Given the only reason why I have sought you out today is in the hopes you might help me find a way to save him, I should not be surprised by your intuition. But for once, I am." Janison tampered his pride in shocking Stalling with the knowledge that Stalling knew he would be.
Damn Stalling and his persuasive honesty! He knew the one thing that might motivate me to help was my love and admiration for Muzar. This is why Janison decided to leave. The only way to not fall under Stalling's influence, was to avoid him altogether. Yet here he was, manipulated for the sake of Stalling's ultimate mission, again.
"Look Stalling, I don't feel the need to justify my decisions now or later. You already know that but I want to make it clear that I did nothing directly to harm Muzar. My actions are nothing more than political and even with that, they are passive. I am out of the game."
"I know Janison and for what it is worth, I understand why you made the decisions you did. The difference between you and me is that none of this has ever been a game." Janison regretted his choice of words but had to agree their motives had never truly aligned. "While I am sure the timing of your choices as of late is no coincidence, the issues surrounding Muzar's survival appear to be unrelated. The issues relate to an epic miscalculation on my part."
Wow, two self-deprecating statements in one sitting, Janison had never seen Stalling this rattled. "So what's the problem?" Janison asked. Stalling had sucked him back in before the question formed on his lips, but he accepted it with eyes wide open, reminded that you don't remove a major part of your life for the past twenty years in less than a day.
"To put it simply, he's dying and bringing down everything with him. I think we discovered it soon enough and have Jennifer doing an emergency shut down as we speak. I can stop the bleeding but no idea how to save the patient. I just can’t predict the short or long-term effect this procedure will have on him." But you have a strong theory no doubt, Janison thought. "For Muzar's sake, help me find a solution."
For Muzar's sake, there it was, Stalling plucking the strings of others to produce the results needed to complete his agenda. Janison took another sip of his coffee and let the rich aroma and bitter taste clear the fog in his mind. Put your emotions in check for a moment and think this through. Could Muzar's death better achieve the same objective I set out to reach by going to Clortison?
The memory of his recent covert meeting with the Archbishop ran a spastic wave of nausea down his body. Janison's disgust and dislike of Clortison and the C.O.S. aristocracy was arguably equivalent to that of Stalling's, but for different reasons. To Stalling, they represented all that was wrong with the ancient religion and theology. For Janison, they epitomized all the inherent flaws of man, how they can corrupt even the best intentions of God. "Faith" had become a cliché. They used scripture to instill fear not inspiration. Janison was a rare breed of evangelist that put emphasis on Leviatus's message of love and compassion, not the cryptic dogma created by his misguided followers centuries after his death.
Stalling’s unique ability to practice those teachings in his everyday life was the fertile ground from which their beautiful relationship and commercial empire grew. Janison's faith led him to believe Stalling, in time, would acknowledge the Savior’s grace in all that he accomplished and in turn apply it toward
helping Janison reinvent the church. Sitting on his bed, in a cabin high in the mountains stranded from civilization, an outcast to all he cared about, his throat constricted as he reminded himself: no matter how aligned I think my intentions are with God, he has a cruel way of reminding me I don't know shit.
While there were plenty of moments over the past two decades that kept Janison's faith alive and strong, it was in the past year that he started to come to terms with the fact that not only had Stalling not seen the "light", but also his own convictions had only grown stronger.
And why wouldn't they? Everything the man touched turned to gold. Faced with dozens of obstacles over the years that would have made the most devout give up all hope, it was Stalling's unwavering faith in his ability to control his destiny that always found a way to solve the problem. Hindsight always pointed to some logical explanation besides luck or miracle but having sat with the man many a times when faced with these issues, he came to believe Stalling could will anything to work in his favor.
Janison's awe and fear of this ability grew over the years and if it were not for their intimate connection when it came to matters of the heart, he would have left sooner. Stalling never coddled or held back in expressing his beliefs or disagreement with Janison when it came to religion and theology. In lieu of taking the stance that he was right and you were wrong, he would display empathy that was so respectful Janison would lose sight of their differences and always leave feeling they were on the same page.
It was from these conversations that Janison first spawned his vision of a reformed church; Stalling always presenting compelling views toward the situation that he alone could not have done.
Evidence of God intervening in his life had never been more tangible then in those moments with Stalling. Why God did not intervene with Stalling in the same way remained a mystery. Or maybe He did in a way that only Stalling would recognize. In the end, Janison concluded, God's mission for Stalling was not his concern, no matter how much he believed otherwise.
Janison came to a crossroads and chose the road toward God. He was on that road now and Stalling seeking him out in this moment affirmed he made the right choice. Stay true to your mission; leave the rest up to God.
Janison had left Stalling hanging for several minutes. True to form, Stalling had waited patiently. He knows how I process and has benefited more than once over the years by doing so, Janison reminded himself. He chose to betray Stalling because he believed if he did not, the man was certain to destroy the Church of Salvation. Not just the social and political structure of the Church—two aspects he himself would like to see gone—but every shred of its existence.
No question, Stalling's success would have had an immediate and positive impact on the lives of billions, but he gave me no other choice.
Unfortunate does not begin to describe the circumstances that led Janison to provide Clortison and his lackeys an arsenal of intel on Alterian Enterprises. If used correctly, it would bring down an enemy that had whipped their ass for the past decade. Forced to live in what he perceived as black and white, scuttling the project was the only choice Janison believed he had. Because in the end, the church's survival also meant the survival of what he knew to be the one and only truth.
But here I am playing the role I believe myself destined play. Who am I to conclude I am the Lord's one and only champion? A wave of optimism, absent for too long, filled his chest and along with it, a sense of peace he had come to know as his one and only Savior. Presented with another chance, a better choice, joy and gratitude overwhelmed Janison as he prayed without thinking: Thank you, please forgive me, I love you.
"Muzar can be saved along with all the good that comes with his salvation," Janison finally replied.
"I had hoped you would say that." Stalling's relief, even in the muffled conditions, was palpable. "How?"
"His soul must regenerate. If not, his human vessel will die."
"I concluded the same but the solution still evades me."
"It is beyond our ability to provide Muzar a solution," Janison stated with conviction. "But we can provide him the means to find the solution on his own."
Chapter 9
Steffor found little comfort in his return to the House of Kilton. He had entered from one of the many town side portals located at the far west end of the compound and roamed the expanse of halls and stairs for a while, silently passing the numerous training centers, dining halls and auditoriums. The residence, shifted deep into the lake's curved rim, had not changed since his departure over a decade ago, causing his recent transformation to weigh all the heavier.
In no mood for a reunion, he avoided the score of Guardians and apprentices still active despite the late hour and made his way lakeside, to the long hall providing access to the dozens of private quarters. The first unoccupied room he chose was like all the rest: small with three, unadorned walls, veneered smooth by their own resin that accentuated the marbled grain. The fourth wall was a partially enclosed terrace overlooking the vast lake. He walked across the room, throwing his travel bag onto the soft sleeping pallet located against the left wall and flopped down on one of the round cushions littering the patio.
Steffor gazed upon the tranquil waters and tried to release his mind upon the moonlit waves. His mind drifted over the eastern shore, where the rim was but a few feet above lake level, escaping in the simple beauty of the multiple docks and piers shifted from the rim. A handful of harvest, preservative and naval Shifters, utilizing the harvest moon to gather a few extra loads of the lake’s aquatic vegetables and fruits, sat comfortably around their boats and docks as they savored their evening meal.
Peaceful as the setting was, the emotional tension from the day's travels with Calivera persisted. Despite her undaunted attempts to countervail his feelings, Steffor's passion for Calivera had not waned. If anything, it had only grown since parting.
Women could be frustrating. This much he had learned from prior relationships and growing up with three older and one younger sister. He admired the fiery compassion found in the opposite sex and was quick to forgive their often-fluctuating temperament. Honed for years, he came to trust this barometer of the female species and its accuracy in deciphering their true feelings, no matter how much words or actions conveyed otherwise. He had picked up what Calivera was putting down and it told him, loud and clear, without a shadow of doubt, she shared his ardor.
Even so, her parting words managed to darken his outlook. While Calivera had treated him with respect and kindness, her staunch efforts to keep their relationship platonic had caused Steffor to second-guess everything. For reasons that continued to allude, she seemed determined to deny their connection. Worse yet, she appeared bent on hurting him. Neither reality settled well.
Mired deep in doubtful thoughts, a savory aroma wafted into the room and broke his concentration. A second after he sensed the familiar presence of another.
"I always find a warm meal and cold drink helps the meditative process. Especially after a day of travel," said a women's voice from his open doorway.
"Even better when shared with a close friend," Steffor replied as he stood and turned to face Martna.
"Well, lucky for you, I brought enough for two," she replied, holding to her side with one hand a tray laden with two steaming bowls and two tall mugs. With an alluring grin, Martna crossed the room in three long strides, stealthy with slight bounce of step and soft pad of feet, and placed the tray down between pillows before turning back to face Steffor.
Standing within a few inches of him, Martna drew her broad shoulders back and placed her hands flat on the small of her back. Her arms and elbows flared out in this fashion, lips pursed to one side with chin forward, hazel eyes studying Steffor with probing concern.
Her friendly stare comforted Steffor, reminding him how much he missed Martna’s presence.
"You cut your hair," Steffor commented, finding he liked the wild bangs cropping her forehead and face versus the tightly drawn b
ack pony tail she wore for so many years.
"Yeah, well, I figured it was about time I started showing off the length of my tail," she said, turning her head so he could see the light brown Guardian tail extending several inches past her bare shoulders and feathered hair.
"It looks good, makes you look more mature," he said, in truth, thinking it made her all the more attractive. Her back still to him, his gaze lingered a bit longer and soaked in the rest. Few rivaled Martna’s aesthetic mastery over garments, currently a blend of tan, brown and green. He admired the fetching halter-top connected at the neck by a thin loop, exposing the length of her supple back and just enough side cleavage of her firm breasts to be both provocative and unpretentious. He risked venturing down farther, following the low cut, snug pants, ending with a slight flare above her sculpted calves.
"Mature enough to be a Teuton?" She asked, turning back to face him, the movement filling his nostrils with a potent concoction of honeysuckle and oiled-leather.
"Absolutely," Steffor answered, a little too swiftly. Martna's forehead knit and her right eyebrow rose in response and, as it had in their past, the look of disapproval on Martna's face put Steffor's rush of lust in check.
"So, I assume your arrival here means you will be attending the Forging Ceremony?" she asked, intently holding his eye with her own.
"Yes, I sent word as much, did it not reach here?"
"Aye, young Frestin connected to a Mystic moments after seeing you and conveyed your correspondence with him quite clearly."
"Why did you..." Steffor stopped, biting his tongue, forcing himself not to take the bait. He loved Martna and valued her friendship like none other and, a few years ago, would have gladly locked horns with her and hotly debated the principles he used to justify his actions as of late. The conflict between his liberal interpretations and her rigid sense of duty, the spark that ignited their short lived but intense relationship, was a battle Steffor had no interest in or energy for pursuing.
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