The Church of the Transhuman

by Joe Plus

  “Jesus,” said John.

  The Sun hung above the horizon and a particularly old and weathered priestess began to sing a song, which was taken up by the whole congregation. She took a large dripping torch out of an oil filled pot and lit it in the fire. She offered up the flame to the nearest person, who in turn lit her torch. The flame was relayed along until the path down the hill was a spiral of lights that curled out onto the vast plain.

  The singing died down. The old women spoke a few words and the girl on the stone nodded in acquiescence. The King nodded too, albeit gloomily.

  “The girl must be freezing. What the fuck’s going on?” said John.

  “A restatement of their marriage vows,” said Nelli, “where the Weaver vows that the King's seed will live until the ten thousandth moon.”

  The singing recommenced and the King was pushed to girl. After a moment it dawned on John that the King was supposed to have sex with the girl, but he just stood there, fidgeting with his penis.

  “Come on, get on with it,” said Tele in a loud stage whisper.

  Gideon and Nelli tut-tutted. Tele continued to heckle. The King made an attempt to fulfill his side of the vow, but he was having erectile issues.

  “Pathetic,” called Tele, “are you sure this is the right person? Is it his first time?”

  The King moved took a step back. The girl remained still, waiting. She was young, perhaps sixteen or so, whereas the King, well-built and tall, was a good twenty years older. He moved away from the young women and trembled. He was flaccid.

  “Now this is embarrassing,” said Tele laughing, “too much excitement, and too much mead, probably.”

  It was then that John a quick, light breathing; the King was hyperventilating. A priestess called out, and a young women with finely braided red hair and a luxurious coat of furs pushed through the crowd.

  “The priestess is calling for his earthly concubine, she will fix things up,” said Gideon.

  The concubine listened carefully to the priestess. She then turned to the King and began to stimulate him, first with her hands, then with her mouth. She did not look up, and it was only when she did that John saw tears down her cheeks. She needed a few minutes, and when the King was stiff enough, several embarrassed looking priestesses pushed him forward into the young woman's crotch. The King, with great difficulty, managed to penetrate. So began the unhappiest coupling John had ever witnessed, and John, privy to the goings on of the senior levels of the CoT+ hierarchy, had seen a good deal of unhappy couplings. The King seemed to be delaying the climax, twice managed to slip out, each time fixed up by his concubine.

  “She won't be enjoying this,” said Tele.

  “Who would? Poor women,” said John.

  “I meant the Goddess, not the wench,” said Tele.

  After a short time the King contrived a satisfying grunt and withdrew. The performance complete, there could be heard a collective exhale followed by a loud cheer. The girl lifted her behind high into the air and remained still. A priestess threw a large, thick cloak over her to keep her warm while two strong men hauled the mournful King toward the tree, his heels pushed hard in the chalk. He was lifted up to the trunk, his arms splayed and bound tightly to the boughs with leather straps. Bound wooden spikes were pushed against his temples forcing him to stare at the woman on the altar. He closed his eyes and wept.

  The Sun was low and the sky a deep red.

  “We are late,” said Gideon.

  The old priestess moved over to the King with the long flint knife attached to the long wooden handle.

  “What the hell is going on now?” said John.

  “Shhh quiet, this is the best bit,” said Nelli.

  The King groaned when the priestess grabbed his genitals and deftly cut off the lot with one stroke. She held aloft his penis and balls in her right hand and bloodied knife in her left. The old woman placed them in a pot presented to her by another priestess. The pot was quickly taken to the fire where other pots filled with water boiled, and heaps of chopped vegetables roasted. The bleeding King groaned quietly. The four priestesses who had held down the girl approached, each armed with a small, narrow spear. They took turns in skewering the King’s torso, slowly and with great care, each concentrating while maneuvering through him while the King bawled like a child.

  “Yeah, see how you like being pierced against your will,” called Nelli.

  John looked down at Nelli, her lolling tongue, her wide, happy eyes, and took one step away from her.

  Blood flowed from each of the King’s wound’s, and the mix of red and white paint produced a rich, pink pool around his feet. Finally the high priestess stepped up onto the back of a crouching man and stood face-to-face with the King. She cursed him, spat into his eyes, placed the knife to his neck and, without fuss or pity, sliced back-and-forth quickly as she could until she reached the spinal cord. In one forceful tug she completed the decapitation and blood spattered over her arms and face. With the Sun at her back, she raised his head with her right hand and her knife in her left and let out a withered cry. The entire congregation of the hilltop, spiral, and tail on the plane, let out a cheer of joy. The last few beams of the setting Sun shone through the bare branches of the tree and encircled the high priestess. The cheering stopped and she maintained her pose. They all watched quietly until the Sun dipped beneath the horizon.

  “Just on time,” said Gideon.

  Gideon and Nelli ran in circles yelping. The old priestess stepped down from the crouching man and four younger priestesses, armed with knives, got to work on the dead King's limbs and torso. Within minutes only the hollow, bloodied spine and ribs remained, blood dripped onto the white chalk below where rivulets formed. The limbs, rump, offal, breast, and back had been chopped up and placed in earthen pots over the fire. The oldest priestess received the cooked genitalia, which she ate alone, squatting under the tree while the blood passed under her feet. John thought she had an expression far too content and far too cheery, all things considered.

  The queue of men and women slowly moved up to the fire. Each received a dab of red ochre on the forehead, had his or her cup filled with some kind of milky drink, and each received a large bowl’s worth of broth. Each sought a place to sit, the most desirable spots as near to the tree as possible, so there was a good deal of pushing and shoving, most of it lighthearted and playful - large men sportingly gave up good places to children, after a mock fight. Within half an hour the entire area was packed with short, stocky redheads furtively eating, drinking and chatting away.

  John sat down on the white chalk. The calm, orderly, everyday attitude to the violence, and the wooden bowl of freshly chopped vegetables and human flesh placed before him by a kindly matron induced a sudden and involuntary spasmodic shaking in his arms and shoulders. Nelli sat by him and placed her head on his knee.

  “I couldn’t eat my vegetables,” she said.

  Gideon came too, and curled up against him. John looked at the chaotic throng in sewn skins, bone necklaces, and woven fabrics, merry as a barfull of escaped convicts. He then heard what he thought was music, and saw in the crowd a priestess with a stick held aloft.

  “A transverse flute? No way,” said John.

  “You’ve heard nothing,” said Nelli, “wait ‘till they get out the bongo drums. Neanderthals love drumming.”

  Chapter 35

  Log: 05-25-2044::18:33

  Field Trip: Batang Garing

  Role: Field Lead

  Name: Augusta Green

  Aziz, Malcolm and I remain. While out to relieve himself, Osman, the youngest of the boys, disappeared. With his binoculars Malcolm spotted the poor lad jammed into the branches of a tree by the riverside. If it were not for the torn clothes I would never have guessed who it was.

  I thought the mood was somber enough, but only an hour later, while Aziz was praying, Malcolm attempted to rape me. He tore at my clothes, gripped onto my hair and shouted: We are all going to die, like that pastor in Zulu. Az
iz fought him, but Malcolm saw him off with a shot while he held me down, his left forearm over my throat. I grappled for my pistol and, tough fuck that he is, disarmed me. He dragged me out of the tent by my hair and onto one of the tumuli. He was between my legs when I pushed a finger deep into his left eye, turned and pulled. Malcolm released his hold of me and, with Aziz on my tail, I ran straight into the bush as fast as my legs would carry me. Aziz was shouting, wait for me miss, wait miss, when I heard a shot, a yelp, then silence. I am ashamed to say that I did not stop but kept running. I am not the fastest, but I ducked under branches, through dense thorn bushes and over fallen trees. In the distance I heard Malcolm wail and plead for my return, then two shots.

  After some time I stopped to rest. God Anna, with each deep breath I felt as if I were about to vomit - I promise I will take up a fitness program when I get out of here. I waited and listened and hoped the bastard had taken his own life. Then I heard it again, that cry of self-pity. After a good half hour his whimpers ceased and I sat for about fifteen minutes before I made my way to the river. I intended to wait on the bank until our rescue arrived, then make my appearance.

  I could hear the crack of twigs, see movement. Malcolm is a skilled tracker and I was afraid. I crept from the waterside and back into the bush, when I stumbled on a forest trail – well-worn one. As I moved along the path I noticed a tap-tap sound and the strange yelps and birdcalls that had preceded the attacks. I hid behind a palm and sat for what felt like hours until I passed out. I was woken by a gentle touch on my shoulder. It was Trish. We hugged and when I began to cry, she put a finger to her lips. She took my hand and led me to another path, smoother than the last one. We walked silently under low hanging tree and bush, and soon curled back alongside the riverbank, where we remained a meter or two behind dense vegetation.

  We walked for quite some time until we came to a hill, and at its base a small cave. We stepped, or rather, hobbled into it, I with my trench rot, and Trish with a sprained ankle. Inside of the cave was a large, open area with a skylight of crumbling stone veiled with vines: a ruined courtyard. At varying levels around the courtyard, holes in the rock wall were numerous, equidistant passages; a hub and spoke architecture. We were stood still in the hub, hand-in-hand, and gazed in amazement. The courtyard was damp and decaying, yet there were angled edges of stepped contours leading up to each passage. Trish tightened her grip and pulled me up the steps toward the darkest tunnel and, although I hesitated, with a frown and a tug she silently insisted I follow. We stepped into the tunnel and after five minutes with no visibility, emerged into bright sunlight. I beheld what seemed at first glance to be a shallow, reedy pond, one hundred or so meters in diameter and surrounded by a giant, thatched dam that doubled for a dwelling. People, these strange blue men and women, walked silently up to their waists. Some were swimming, heads bobbed up for air, some up in trees They all stopped and looked at us. I saw eyes through the reed like mesh of the dam walls and I could hear the murmur of voices. I wanted to run, these were the creatures that killed my team. But Trish held me tightly and said: “They won’t hurt us. Goosie, I think we have finally found our water people.”

  Chapter 36

  John tossed his bowl aside. The noise of the drums was causing his ears to buzz. It seemed like everyone had some skin covered hollow log to thump and batter. He stood up and said: “Language, murder, cannibalism, bongo drums, and god knows what else.”

  He walked over to the tree and watched some children throwing vegetables at the King's carcass.

  “This is disgusting, and I don't care what any of you say, I see now why the genetic stuff we have inherited from this species must be removed, and the sooner the better.”

  “Good job no one can understand you,” said Tele.

  “Understand me? Can they even fucking hear me?”

  “The high priestess can,” said Nelli.

  “So can a couple of others actually,” said Gideon.

  John picked up a discarded wooden cup and poured himself a glass of a murky beverage from an earthenware jug. He picked up a spent torch and hammered it on the tree.

  “I want to make a toast,” he said to the large cramped mass. “To Uncle Bob and our eugenics program, to the removal of all that separates us from barbarism. May your cannibal, moon goddess genes be but a faded memory and forgotten for all eternity.”

  “Don’t be an idiot…” said Tele, but before he could finish, John heard a piercing sound cut through the hubbub. The high priestess pointed at John and said something in her strange, guttural tongue. John turned to the three animals but they moved away and made not a murmur. All eyes were on the priestess as she walked, the crowd parting for her. She reached John and touched his lips with her left hand.

  “Understand me now?” she said.

  John nodded.

  “Well, well, well. So this is my imp, finally arrived. Good, and at a lovely time of the year too. Now, be a good lad and pipe down before she hears you,” she pointed toward the moon.

  John dropped his drink and stood still and the old women walked over to a huddle of other old women, chatting away like hens. John felt one of the wolves by his side. It was Nelli.

  “Come along with me. Let’s talk.”

  Biting gently on his hand she led him toward a relatively quiet spot. John found that he could now understand everything he heard from the Neanderthals, and yet none of it made sense to him. Snippets from the priestesses included:

  “Those of you who have eaten please turn back down the path so other pilgrims can obtain life,” and “the hilltop is now full. Please, make room for those who are still making their way to the sacred tree to obtain the fruit of life. Make way for your brothers and sisters of the great weaving spider, make way.”

  No one seemed to be taking much notice of the priestesses directions and John thought he heard some yells when he spotted Tele push two pilgrims over the edge of the hilltop, with a grunt and a growl and a “time for you drunkards to be on your way home.”

  Nelli and John stopped and sat down, too close to the edge for John's liking. The flute playing and bongo drumming recommenced, this time even more frenetically.

  “As far away from that bear as possible are we? Good,” said John.

  “Oh, Tele’s a real sweetheart,” she said.

  “Lovely guy,” said John.

  Nelli nipped his arm and said: “A roll down the hill won’t hurt them.”

  John dangled his legs over the edge. The drop to the path was a good five or so meters, and the wall surprisingly steep.

  “This hill is new by the looks of things. Clearly not made by these brutes,” said John.

  “Very ancient, well maintained and indeed built by these brutes.”

  “Why am I having this dream? Why am I here?” he said.

  “Why are you here?” she said. She turned to the moon and panted while saliva from her lolling tongue dripped onto John's hand. “Look, it's waxing gibbous,” she said, “and there are three days before the King's rebirth, a rare combination of new year and our lady’s menstruation.” She turned to John and he could see, as well as one can see in the visage of a Wolf, that she was serious.

  “Erm, makes a lot of sense,” he said.

  John, through the light of the fire, caught sight of the high priestess and the artwork on the back of her cloak. Drawn in white were curves of a spiral labyrinth, in the center of which was a white circle divided by a cross into four quarters with eight arms. Above the Labyrinth were painted twelve dots. He shook his head. He instinctively felt in his jacket pocket for a cigarette. There were none.

  “And there they are,” he said, “singing, dancing, and having a good old winter barbeque.”

  John checked himself and looked up at the sky. The constellations were oddly deformed.

  “In this dream of mine,” he said, “I am amazed at the detail of this world.”

  He looked into the yellow-brown eyes of Nelli, and she turned her head and looked over to
ward the dense mass of men and women signing and laughing loudly. Abrubtly she tensed up.

  “I can't see Tele,” she paused, “I can smell him… he is eating. The ravens won't like that.” She snapped at a fly and swallowed loudly, paused and sniffed the air. “I smell trouble, though it’s still a few hours away.”

  Chapter 37

  Log: 05-27-2044::14:30

  Field Trip: Batang Garing

  Role: Field Lead

  Name: Augusta Green

  Trish and I returned to inspect the camp and take a look around. I assume Malcolm has either gone mad and run into the forest, or - given his fucker’s luck - has been rescued. We found some belongings, some medical supplies (the two of us have acquired a nasty stomach bug), a small quantity of food, and a solar panel for, well, nothing really because all the heavy duty electronic equipment is either damaged beyond repair or, for example the satphone, nowhere to be seen. All our extra sensory gear seems to be working fine – for now.

  Chapter 38

  John checked the time and it read 3 p.m. There was no connection, and no apps functioned properly. Nelli was lying on his feet, keeping them warm.

  “No data,” said John.

  “It's around midnight here,” said Nelli.

  John stood, wrapped his arms around himself and pulled the fur closely. He felt its outer layer; some parts solid and hard; traces of frozen blood and flesh.

  “What animal was this?” John asked.

  Nelli sniffed, “it's a bear skin, a small one.”

  She leapt two steps into the throng and John stumbled after her. He looked down into a moonlit puddle: felt quite a sight, with his bearded and balding head poking out of a skin that resembled a bloodied brown paper bag. His fingers and ears ached and his lips felt dry. He tried to wipe a drop forming at the base of his nose, pushed on through the pungent chattering mass, stepped on feet, pots, sticks, and a dead raven, yet no attention was paid to him. He worked his way to the tree and saw Nelli and Gideon against the high priestess, Gideon nuzzling her crotch and Nelli lying against her sagging behind. Tele sat at the roots gnawing a bone. Two ravens pecked at his head and a young priestess wagged her finger and scolded.