by Brandt Legg
“It’s just a few more hours. I won’t leave you,” I said.
“No. Can’t go.”
“Yes. I’m taking you.”
Trevor looked at me, his eyes hollow, ringed with purple and black circles, a gaunt, toothless face, pleading. “Kill me.” It came out as a strained whisper.
“We’ll get you healed,” I said. His request shouldn’t have surprised me but it did.
“No healing from hell.”
I didn’t know what to say. “No,” I finally managed. “I’m taking you.”
“Please, I beg.”
“Trevor, let’s talk about it at home.”
“I would do it for you.” He raised his hand and pushed two fingers into my chin. His weakness was devastating . . . everything was.
We didn’t talk for a long time.
“Please,” he said.
“I can’t.”
“Please,” he was crying again.
It was too hard for him to talk, I communicated with him on the astral.
“I’m taking you home. We can heal you. You will recover.”
“No one can recover from this, Nate. Look around. Read my life here. How long have I been here? Twenty years?”
Trevor believed it had been that long and I couldn’t get past three days of reading him, it was too gruesome. “Trevor, I’ll take you to an island, we’ll get you a boat.”
“The only peace you can give me is to send me back to my soul. Kill me . . . I would do it for you.”
“You can heal.”
“I don’t have the strength left to recover from this. It’s my time and you must do it.”
“You’ll change your mind once we’re out of here.”
“Please.”
A few minutes before the portal opened, I used Gogen to stop his heart, fulfilling his wish to die. “We’ll meet again and before again, old friend.” I said, kissing his forehead, then draped his body over my shoulder and headed for the portal.
Linh and both Dustins were waiting as I came out of the Window. No one spoke as I carried Trevor to a high bank over Floral Lake. They helped gather flowers. Once his body was completely buried by flowers, I set fire to it. After keeping it burning for hours, all that remained was a small pile of dust and bits of bone. I created a wind to blow it far over the lake. Only then did I speak.
“Someone will answer for this. Without vengeance, I swear I will find the person responsible.” I looked at Dustin. “Do you know who runs Omnia?”
33
Amber and Yangchen were waiting at Booker’s lake house when we returned, but no one knew where Spencer was. Trevor’s loss impacted me more than all the other deaths, not because I ended his life and not because we were closer than I’d been to the others, but because his long slow suffering, and the very existence of Carst, showed a level of cruelty that went so far beyond greed or lust for power that it caused my perspective to shift radically, and I no longer recognized anything, least of all myself. The haunting screams of those who remained in Carst, like a tinnitus torture, never left my ears. Instead of hardening me to suffering, it had the opposite effect. To see anyone or anything in any pain at all could cripple me.
Carst had to be destroyed, and if that wasn’t possible, I needed to empty it and seal all the entrances forever. There were three people who might be able help: Yangchen, Spencer and the Dark Mystic. Yangchen had no answers, Spencer was missing, and the Dark Mystic was as far away as ever. Linh said I’d been distant since my return from Carst. It was true, but I didn’t know if I could shake my frustrated focus until Omnia fell.
Yangchen counseled me on ways to improve my powers. We worked on Air-Projection, being careful to keep our early experiments small enough to avoid detection by satellites. Booker had installed the very best anti-listening devices in the house and around the property but we also utilized a Time-View-Cover or TVC, a technique known to only a handful of mystics. It allowed a person to conceal a space that they could travel within while holding their breath. Skyclimbing made it possible to make this area quite large, and it moved along with the initiator. A TVC was similar to a Timefold in that it made the initiator invisible, but it was much more stable and longer lasting.
“Do you think Spencer is using a TVC to avoid detection?” Linh asked Yangchen.
“I hope so.”
“You really don’t know where he is?” I asked.
“No. I’m puzzled . . . and troubled.”
“I think he’s gone for the Jadeo,” Linh said.
“Kirby told me that Dunaway knows how to use TVCs and she’s never known anyone so skilled at moving through Outviews,” Amber said. “He could be anywhere.”
“I have to find him,” I said.
“Ironic that a member of the Movement and one of the seven is a greater threat to the Movement than Omnia,” Linh said. “Until we get the Jadeo and Clastier back from Dunaway, it’s going to be difficult to go after Omnia.”
“Unfortunately, Omnia will not wait for us to get our house in order,” Yangchen said. “They have hit squads roaming Outviews, other dimensions and across our current time seeking all incarnations of Nate, the mystics, Kyle, Dustin and you two.” She pointed to Amber and Linh.
“Us, too?” Linh was surprised. “I knew they would kill us in this world, but other times and dimensions . . . Why are we that important? And Kyle?”
“Oh, Linh, each of us is important. Some maybe more than others in certain times or specific lives, but the stronger a soul becomes, the greater its role in helping others.”
“Nate, what happened to your arm?” Amber asked.
“Nothing, it’s a tattoo.” I hadn’t shown it to anyone, but Amber spotted the bottom of it.
“It’s beautiful,” Amber said, pushing up my sleeve. “The butterflies from stars are for the Movement but where does the ‘ENDURE’ come from?”
“It was Baca’s tattoo. I added endure –”
“Endure was the painting Trevor gave you,” Linh said.
I nodded.
“A good motto for the Movement,” Yangchen said. “Come, walk with me, Nate.” Her tone made it clear the girls were not invited. I followed her to a cliff overlooking the lake. Several boulders had naturally formed to benches, or, knowing Booker, they’d been carved to appear naturally formed. “I sense great change in you since your night in Carst.”
“Have you seen it? It’s the most horrible place in existence.”
“I’ve not been there but I assure you, there are worse places.”
“How can this beautiful universe contain such terror?”
“Those parts are a reflection of us. Humans are hurt, afraid and lost. That kind of desperate fear gives rise to many horrible things. You want to shut down Carst, you wonder how to stop Omnia . . . you know how to do these things, you only forget.”
“Love.”
“Yes, love – a small, simple word, but nothing is bigger in its reach, nor more complex in its power.”
Yangchen went on to tell me everything she knew about the Dark Mystic. “It’s time for you to seek him. I believe you are ready. You must go off alone. He may appear as someone else; he is cautious.”
“Does he know me? How will he find me?”
“The Dark Mystic would know you even if he weren’t one of your mystics. But remember, he is not like the mystics you are used to. You think the Old Man of the Lake is cranky, you think Spencer holds secrets, that Crowd was tricky and that Amparo is overly entwined in your karma . . . The Dark Mystic will make all that look trite. I think you are ready but I do not know for sure, only he will. So be careful, Nate.”
“But mystics are supposed to teach and help me, right? Why do I need to be careful?”
“When you guide-write, it’s impossible to channel all the information you’re receiving into your fingers fast enough to write the message clearly. That’s what it’s like to talk to him, and his definition of teach and help is unlike any you’ve known . . . Nate, he may think killin
g you is the best way to show you something. A betrayal more brutal than anything Amparo ever did might be how he helps you. He may have been the first mystic. No one knows for sure because he has always existed in the earliest lifetimes anyone has ever found. The Dark Mystic is the greatest test you will face in this lifetime.”
34
The sound of someone singing shattered the tranquility of the forest. It was even more jarring because of the Time-View-Cover I’d used during my weeks of solitude. Yangchen had warned that the Dark Mystic could appear as anyone, even someone I’d known in a past life.
I Skyclimbed around several trees. The beautiful voice used the acoustics of the redwoods, surpassing any concert hall. As it echoed through the mighty trees, I couldn’t place its origin. Circling and climbing, until suddenly, just below me, I saw the singer – a man in his mid-thirties, wearing cowboy boots and a black felt cowboy hat. He walked among the trees singing about the big sky at night. After a few more lines, I recognized the old Steve Earle song, “Me and the Eagle,” that my dad had liked so much. But this version was different. He sang it with such perfect emotion that when he got to the part about dying in these mountains, I choked up. I interrupted his next song.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” I called down, still concealed high in the branches.
“Nate, what do you think I’m doing? Looking for you.”
“What for?”
“You’ve gotta listen to this new song I wrote.” He was still walking and hadn’t even bothered to look up toward me.
“Who are you?”
“You mean today?”
“Yeah, today.”
“Name’s Flannery. Hasn’t your brother mentioned me?”
“You know Dustin?”
“Pretty much kept him alive at Mountain View.”
“Are you a doctor?”
He laughed. “A doctor? Ain’t that a question!” He shook his head. “Wooo . . . no, can’t say I’m a doctor.”
“Then you were a patient at Mountain View?”
“Yep.”
“So, are you crazy?”
“Is your brother?”
“Depends on what day you’re asking.”
More laughs. “Are you gonna come down here and have a polite conversation?”
“I don’t know yet.” Almost before I finished speaking he was next to me in the tree. I fell a few feet.
“Didn’t mean to startle you, Nate. Can I still sing you my best song?”
“Uh, first tell me, are you a mystic?”
“Sure, I love music.”
“No. I asked if you were a mystic.”
“Well, I’d rather you call me a songwriter. Yes, I’m a mystic, but music can teach things a mystic can’t.”
“That’s how you got through?”
“What, your TVC?” He smiled. “That’s how I found you.”
“How come no one else has?”
“The only people who can spot a TVC aren’t looking for you. Well, there’d be old Spencer Copeland and as usual, he knows right where you are, but he’s not needing to bother you just yet.”
It wasn’t terribly surprising Spencer could know my whereabouts but a little disappointing. If he knew where I was, why hadn’t he come? He wasn’t back at the lake house or anywhere else on the astral. I hadn’t felt his change, so he was probably still alive but if he died in another dimension, the change might never catch up to this dimension.
“Are you the Dark Mystic?”
“What’s dirt music?”
“Never mind. Why are you here?”
“I want you to hear this song.”
“All right, go ahead.”
“You’re a bit more uptight than your brother.”
“I’ve got a little more to deal with. Not to mention that when you knew Dustin, he was heavily medicated.”
“Only his physical body . . . his soul was just as clear as new glass. And that’s how we were conversing . . . well, that and music.”
“Dustin doesn’t sing.”
“Maybe not, but he’s a damn fine listener.” He smiled. “I always liked that about him. Probably the best song listener I’ve ever known. Now, let’s see if it runs in the family.”
He reached into the empty air before us and a guitar appeared. “Whoa, where did that come from?” I asked.
“It’ll sound better with some strings attached.”
“Okay, but how did you do that?”
“You mean this?” He looked at me puzzled and strummed the strings.
“No, how did you make the guitar appear?”
“Oh, this guitar was there all the time.”
“You know what I mean,” I was getting a little frustrated.
“Yeah,” he grinned. “I know just what you mean. Listen to the song. It’s time to sing. We can talk afterwards.”
I took a deep breath.
I AM CHANGE
I am change, I am smoke and mirror
I am ashes, ashes turning to dust
I am crazy, I am sane
I am desire wrapped in clouds and thunder
hear my call I am small in the midst of it all
I am small hear my call
sadness is heavy in the eyes
deeply searing ancient love lines, the soul moves
across time, turning page after page
once a peasant, then a slave perhaps a king or a
queen, a shaman, a child and all that is wild, I am
dirt I am leaves turning to soil butterflies appear
and disappear it’s a fine line hold my hand
feel the tide move inside
I am change, I am smoke and mirror
I am ashes, ashes turning to dust
I am crazy, I am sane
I am desire wrapped in clouds and thunder
hear my call I am small in the midst of it all
I am small hear my call
we are here once, or is it a thousand times
close your eyes, it’s life, it’s death, change is
what you see, and what you feel, open eyes:
in a sigh in a kiss, in a scream, dream after dream
I am change, I am smoke and mirror
I am ashes, ashes turning to dust
I am crazy, I am sane
I am desire wrapped in clouds and thunder
hear my call I am small in the midst of it all
I am small hear my call
looking down from the trees whose mystery
grows deep, they speak in soft words,
change will change the way you break,
when you wake, that first step
tears brim, love wins, when change makes its
way in, it’s not black, or just white,
but when dark turns to light, and hand hold tight fist
and nightmares persist,
the voices will sing or the voices will cry
am I sane or crazy, is it change that I see
and change that I feel is it a dream,
just a dream, dream, just a dream, just a dream
I am change, I am smoke and mirror
I am ashes, ashes turning to dust
I am crazy, I am sane
I am desire wrapped in clouds and thunder
hear my call I am small in the midst of it all
I am small hear my call
“I have to admit those are beautiful lyrics, but Flannery, your voice could make the fine print of a mortgage document sound good. Is that a regular human voice or are you using some sort of soul power?”
“Ah, you should know, all good singing comes straight from the soul.”
“True enough. But tell me where beautiful guitars come from,” I said, pointing to his.
“Everyone knows beautiful guitars come from the Martin factory.”
I gave him my best not-amused look.
He laughed again. “Okay, okay. But let me tell you something. If you’re going to convince the world that they have to give up TV, Walmart
and McDonalds, then you need to lighten up a little. No one wants to follow a tight-ass.”
“I’ll try.” He was right. But it was hard for me not to be defensive; my childhood hadn’t exactly been normal. After my dad died it went from fairytale to twilight zone.
“Choose the right girl and it’ll be easier. Choose the wrong one and it won’t.”
I nodded and managed a laugh.
“Now answer me this. If you could have any physical possession right now, what would it be?”
“A camera.”
He looked at me like I was crazy.
“Okay, a camera. Really? Okay, it doesn’t matter. Can you visualize it? The lens, the buttons, what color, all that?”
“Yes.”
“What you have to understand is that everything is energy. It is so. Whether you understand it or not.”
“That much I know.”
“I knew you did but I needed you to know where we were starting from. Everything is therefore just an arrangement of energy. Perception, imagination, conceptualization. A guitar can be produced, a solid object,” Flannery knocked on the tree trunk, “isn’t really.” He pushed the guitar into the tree where it seemingly vanished. Then he reached his arm in and pulled the guitar out again. “Now, produce your camera.”
My best efforts continually failed. “It’s not there.”
“Everything is everywhere. Don’t be limited by your mind. Your soul can arrange energy in infinite ways.”
I was back on Tea Leaf Beach at my first meeting with Spencer when he showed me the basics of Gogen. In spite of the enormous growth of my powers over the prior two years, this seemed too hard.
“Here,” he said, producing a baseball bat.
“What’s that for?”
“Look.” He pointed to the camera I’d been visualizing. It was floating two feet in front of me. I reached for it but withdrew my hand quickly as he smashed the camera with his bat.
“What’d you do that for?”
“I thought it would be easier for you if you had all the pieces.”
I looked at him like he was crazy.
“I couldn’t just give you the camera.” He smiled. “Now go ahead, put it back together.”
It took a while, but the pieces reassembled. Next I made a baseball and tossed it at him. “Try the bat on this next time.”