by Natale Ghent
“Ah,” Meg said. Whatever that meant. “Whose consciousness?” she asked.
“The consciousness of those on earth.”
“So, the Messengers are controlling what people think.”
“Not controlling,” the silver being answered. “Assisting people toward a common goal.”
“Is that what people want—a common goal?”
“We hope so.”
“And the Messengers achieve this by delivering ideas and inspiration through the universal energy field?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Meg said. “And what’s the universal energy field?”
The being grew impatient. “It’s the field of energy that connects everything together—like a giant net. It’s in and around us. It’s everywhere. You should know this already.”
Meg shrugged. She knew now.
The next note the Prism struck was even lower than the first two. It caused the Prism to turn a brilliant colour of blue.
“Musicians,” the being explained as the recruits approached the stage. “Their song helps build and maintain the universal energy field.”
“Got it,” Meg said. “So, they work with the Messengers?”
The being sighed. “No. Pay attention.”
“But they both work with the universal energy field, right?”
“Yes. But not together.”
She looked blankly back at the being.
“They both work with the universal energy field in different capacities. The Musicians help create the field through sound, while the Messengers use it to transfer information to beings on earth. Every one of us uses the field to transfer information—images, thoughts, feelings … it’s the matrix that connects all things.”
That makes sense, Meg thought. Kind of. Which was good enough. She would leave it at that. She didn’t want to risk sounding stupid again. Besides, did she really need to completely understand everything right away?
The next fork sounded and the Prism turned a deep shade of green.
“Healers,” the silver being said.
Oh, good, Meg thought. Those ones didn’t need explaining. “These guys heal people,” she said, just to prove she knew something.
“Not people,” the silver being said dismissively. “Other beings in the Light.”
“Ah, yeah, right,” Meg said. “That’s what I meant.”
The Light of Corometh twinkled over the green recruits, binding them for eternity. The Prism tapped the next fork and the yellow flag began to wave.
The silver being spoke in a reverent tone. “These are Carriers. They assist in crossing over—both in life and in death.”
“Hey,” Meg said, suddenly interested. “I know these guys. I think one of them brought me here.”
“Of course,” the silver being agreed. “They bring everyone here, for the most part.”
Meg was thrilled to finally have the opportunity to prove she wasn’t completely out of it.
The next note caused the Prism to change to orange and thousands of recruits moved toward the flag of the same colour.
“Advisors,” the silver being said. “They document the evolution of each soul and make decisions to help the individual achieve its goal. They work exclusively with the Keepers of the Charts and the Messengers.”
Meg nodded. “That’s great.” She’d stopped listening again. There were only two orders left. When would she feel the call? The silver being didn’t appear concerned, though she was sure she could sense its anticipation.
The Prism raised the silver mallet. It paused, as though wondering which fork to sound next. With a sharp blow, it struck the last and largest fork. A deep moan vibrated through the room. The Prism shuddered and the light bled from its form. It stood before the assembly, black as death. A telepathic gasp rose from the crowd. Meg was terrified.
“What is it?”
“Nightshades,” the silver being whispered. “Never in my existence have I heard this note struck. They are the transporters of dark entities—ones that cannot be transformed. They work alone, and do not fraternize with other Frequencies.”
The crowd fell back to either side of the hall. A small group of beings, only three hundred or so, stood in the middle of the floor. They shook and convulsed, the moaning growing louder and louder. Meg covered her ears, afraid she was going to fly apart.
With great effort, the Nightshades lurched toward the stage. The white flag hung limply from its pole. There was a sound, like water sucking through a gigantic drain, and the flag turned black. The Nightshades writhed, falling to their knees, their screams mingling with the moans of the vibrating fork. Meg cried out as several recruits burst and vaporized, a horrible sulphurous smell filling the room. The other Nightshades struggled through the transformation until they were completely and utterly black. They no longer radiated light like the other beings, but absorbed it. When the last recruit was transformed, the moaning stopped and the Prism grew bright again.
Meg lowered her hands from her ears and waited for the Light of Corometh to bind the dark ones. It didn’t appear.
“Are they bad?” she asked.
“No,” the silver being said. “There are no bad beings in the Light. Nightshades work with profound evil and must move undetected through it. Should they be captured, the Light of Corometh would only reveal the location of their brethren and endanger them all.”
“Why were some destroyed during the transformation?”
“They resisted the frequency.”
“But, what if they didn’t want to be Nightshades?”
“They are what they are,” the silver being said. “Their role is essential.”
“Why does evil exist at all?” Meg persisted. “Why don’t you just prevent it—or destroy it altogether?”
“There has always been free will. That is the gift of the Light. Darkness is a choice.”
“But … the Nightshades had no choice,” Meg said, becoming emotional. Hadn’t she experienced the same thing? Wasn’t she forced to transform whether she liked it or not? “Where was their free will?”
The silver being was getting irritated. “The frequencies are innate. They exist from the beginning.”
“But—”
“Enough,” the being silenced her.
Obviously there was a double standard here, Meg thought. Free will wasn’t for everyone. Some were apparently freer than others.
The Prism raised the silver mallet. The entire crowd shrank with trepidation. Everyone, including Meg, stared at the red flag. The second-last fork was hit, and a clear, low sound rang across the hall.
“Warriors,” the silver being said.
Something flared inside her. But it fizzled out quickly, leaving a hollowness in its wake. Meg watched, bewildered, as the remaining recruits glided toward the stage. The red flag waved and the recruits glistened with a corresponding glow as the Light of Corometh bound them. The silver being looked expectantly at her.
“Did you not feel the call? It is a great honour to be a Warrior.”
Meg didn’t answer. Something was stirring in her body, though it wasn’t in response to the call. She stood alone with the silver being before the Council and the questioning eyes of the multitudes. The voices of the other recruits rose, their confused chatter a roaring hurricane in her head. If she’d felt different from everyone else before, it was nothing compared to the way she felt now. I’m a freak, she thought. I don’t belong anywhere.
The gold beings huddled, throwing glances at her. They debated for the longest time before breaking and sitting back in their seats.
“Approach,” one of the Council members ordered.
The silver being glided obediently toward the stage. Meg was bolted in place. “You must do as the Council says,” it told her.
Meg felt a pulse, throbbing in her chest, growing stronger. Was she going to explode like the Nightshades? If she could just move. She centered her thoughts, willing herself to glide. I’m a leaf on the water, she told hers
elf. I am a leaf … Her body started to shake. Then she dropped to the floor as though pushed, twitching and jerking, her colour spiralling through the different shades of the frequencies. The recruits recoiled in horror. The Councillors stood from their seats, gripping the edge of the table. There was a scorching muzzle flash and Meg shot through the ether like a bullet through water. Lights swirled around her in incandescent webs. She was moving too fast. She was going to break into pieces with the speed. She suddenly hit something, hard, and fell to the ground in a heap.
Meg was no longer cowering beneath the scrutiny of the Council in the Great Hall. She was on her hands and knees, freezing, fingers buried in a fine grey powder. The wind howled, whipping her hair in wild tendrils around her face. She rose to her feet, shielding her eyes against the icy gale. The sky fell down to meet her in an endless stretch of grey. Frozen twigs poked like beard stubble throughout the landscape. She looked at her hands. The tin-coloured powder fell away from her fingers in a disintegrating shadow. Ash. Everything had been reduced to ash. Where was she?
A deep moan climbed over the wail of the wind. It was if the land were weeping. The wind took form and faces birthed from the ether, mouths and eyes gaping. The moaning grew and a profound sadness overwhelmed her. It was her fault—all of it—the sea of ash, the frozen remains of trees, the wailing souls, damned for all eternity. Somehow, she was responsible. “Please, stop,” she sobbed. The tortured faces surrounded her. Teeth flashed, fingers groped through the grey. They clawed at her arms and legs, tore at her robe. She pushed them away but the tormented spirits kept coming.
“I can’t help you!” she cried.
Drawing herself in, Meg conjured an image of the Great Hall and imagined herself there. The hungry souls plundered her consciousness, ripping the image from her mind. She fought back, reaching for the narrow band of light. With a loud whip crack, Meg hurtled forward, tearing away from the grasping hands. Streaking back through the ether, she landed in a windblown mess before the shocked faces of the recruits. The room exploded in telepathic turmoil. A gavel hammered on the table.
“Order!” one of the Councillors demanded.
“What happened?” the silver being practically shouted in her head. When it saw the haunted look in her eyes it collected itself. Searching her face, its own eyes grew wide as it understood. “You … you fell between the frequencies.”
Meg swooned, listing to one side.
“No one has ever returned from between the frequencies in the same form,” the silver being said. “It’s not possible.”
The gavel hammered again. “Order, please!”
“You mustn’t tell a soul,” the silver being instructed her, then prostrated itself before the Council, its face nearly touching the hem of its robe.
Meg did the same, bowing as dramatically as she could given her troubled state.
“Rise,” one of the golden beings ordered. It fastened its unwavering eyes on her. “Did you not feel the call of the Warriors?”
Meg shook her head. This caused a new wave of confusion in the Hall. The Council huddled together, speaking as though she were no longer there. She couldn’t help eavesdropping.
“Is it mute?” one asked.
“Look at its appendage,” one muttered. “It’s the oddest thing.”
“And its shape,” another spoke. “It’s so strange.”
“Is it female?” another asked.
“What about its colour? We’ve never seen a magenta recruit before. Has it been contaminated?”
“It’s so small.”
“What could have caused such an aberration?”
“Why did it leave the room, and where did it go?”
“Who can say?”
“Then what shall we do with it?” one asked.
There was a long pause as the Council members pondered this conundrum.
“It seemed to respond to the frequency of the Warriors,” one said. “Why not place it there?”
“What if we are wrong? Should we not seek higher counsel?”
“We are the Great Council,” another asserted. “We are supposed to know what to do, not go running for help like senseless recruits.”
“But this is most unusual.”
“Most unusual indeed.”
“Perhaps we should ask it,” one member suggested.
“Good idea.”
The whole time the golden beings were discussing the matter, the silver being was bowing lower and lower, until Meg thought it would disappear through the floor. She was about to throw herself at the mercy of the Council when one of them addressed her directly.
“Did you feel anything at all during any point in the Ceremony of Spectral Frequencies?”
There was a heavy silence as every being in the Great Hall held its thoughts, waiting for her to answer. Meg shifted on her feet, hiding her scarred arm in the folds of her robe.
“Does it understand us?” a frustrated Council member asked.
“Yes, I understand,” Meg finally spoke.
The room erupted again.
“It speaks with its mouth,” one of the Councillors gasped.
“I did feel something,” Meg continued, the Council members staring at her lips as she talked. “The Warriors—I felt some kind of resonance with them.”
“Did I not tell you!” a Council member said. “It belongs to the Warrior Frequency.”
“Do you think it will be all right?” another asked.
“We’ll try it there and see what happens.”
This satisfied the Councillors who unanimously agreed that putting Meg somewhere was better than nowhere at all. They turned to the Prism. The being raised its silver mallet and hit all eight forks at once. A dissonant chord filled the air. It twined to the ceiling, growing in volume and sweeping through the Hall in a freight train of sound. It tore at the coloured banners, bending the recruits in half with its force. Meg leaned into it, using all her power to hold fast. Whatever changes she would undergo she would accept, no matter what.
When the wind stopped, she looked at herself. Her magenta glow was gone, and the scar on her defective arm was more visible than before. The Light of Corometh hadn’t appeared for her either. She turned to the silver being in dismay.
It blinked back at her. “Your eyes are a deeper shade of violet.”
Meg shrugged. “I guess that’s something.”
The Prism left the stage, followed by its two silver beings. The Council members exchanged looks.
“Now what?” one said.
The Councillor with the gavel hammered it down on the table. “Take your place among the Warriors,” it ordered.
The silver being nodded at Meg. She joined the Warriors, reluctantly, the recruits eyeing her warily.
The gavel struck the table one last time. “All right,” the Council member said with some relief. “Let us begin the next phase.”
HEX
Caddy woke in a darkened room. An antique glass oil lamp glowed beside her on a small wooden table. Her hands had been cleaned and wrapped in cloth bandages. She touched her forehead. Her brain throbbed. Her tongue felt like tinfoil and the acrid taste of solvent lingered in her mouth. She was slumped in a worn green upholstered chair that looked as though it had been dragged from the garbage. Her whole body ached. How long had she been sitting here? She pushed herself upright, causing small grenades of light to burst across her field of vision. Raising her head, she caught her breath when she saw a woman staring back at her from a chair across the room.
Eyes scanning, Caddy searched for a way out and found the man who’d abducted her standing in front of the door. There was nowhere to go.
The woman spoke, her voice heavy with a Russian accent. “Please, don’t be alarmed.”
Caddy squinted through the subdued light. She could see now that the woman was really just a girl—twenty-two at most—not much older than herself. Her skin was smooth and pale. Her blond hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail and covered with a blue cotto
n kerchief, accentuating her prominent cheekbones and lips. The oil lamp offered little light, yet the girl wore sunglasses. She had the beauty and poise of a debutante, though her clothes were plain.
“What do you want from me?” Caddy said, her tongue clumsy in her mouth.
“I should ask you the same thing.”
“I want to go home.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Please, I don’t understand … I just want to go home. I haven’t done anything—” Her voice broke, betraying her fear.
“Are you thirsty?” the girl asked. She made a small movement with her hand. The man filled a glass with water from a tarnished metal pitcher and placed it on the table next to Caddy’s chair.
“Please, take it,” the girl said.
Caddy looked at the glass with suspicion.
“It is safe, I assure you,” the girl said. “It will help remove the taste of solvent from your mouth.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“We don’t wish to harm you.”
This made Caddy angry. She pointed at the man. “He put a bag over my head. He nearly suffocated me. And he broke my phone.”
“Necessary precautions,” the girl said.
“Against what?”
The girl’s face was stoic, the light from the oil lamp reflecting in her glasses. It was clear she wouldn’t be easily intimidated. Caddy tried a different tack.
“Please, just tell me what’s going on.”
The girl relaxed into her chair. Her voice softened. “What brought you to the warehouses?”
Caddy didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to tell this girl anything.
“We only want to help you,” the girl said.
Caddy stole a look at the man. So he hadn’t intended to kill her as she’d feared. At least, not yet. They wanted something from her. If there was any hope for escape, she’d have to play along. “I found an address, written on a slip of paper.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
“What made you want to pursue it? It was just a slip of paper with a meaningless address. Why would you seek it out?”
Caddy crossed her arms.