Sondranos: The Narrative of Leon Bishop

by Patrick Stephens

  Kayt smirked. She wrapped her fingers together in her lap and crossed her legs. She cleared her throat and set her head back against the chair.

  Lancaster stands at the door, holding a box in his hands. The package is wrapped in coloured paper, and a small shoelace is tied in a knot, wrapping the box. Kayt answers the door in her nightgown. The fringe carries down to her shins, and teases a see-through fabric as it courses up her legs. The see-through portion resumes around her torso, but well-placed under garments conceal the rest. Lancaster wants to comment that her skin looks purple underneath, but holds back. She gasps at his arrival, and then laughs.

  “I guess I asked for it, if I answered the door like this,” she grins.

  Lancaster dons a tee-shirt with a picture of their University half-faded on the front. The ram – their school mascot – stares out through one solid eye, while the other can’t decide whether it will look left or up. Kayt laughs at the shirt. Lancaster grins from ear to ear, and hands her the oddly wrapped box. She sniffles, pulls a tissue out of her balled hand, and sneezes. Her eyes water and she staggers her breathing, about to sneeze again. Lancaster still holds the gift out to her, and once she’s sure the sneezing is done, she takes it.

  “The entire series,” he says.

  “You know that’s a good two days’ worth of programming, right?”

  “The average cold during this season lasts forty-eight hours. You’d know that if you showed up to class – instead of pretending to be sick.”

  “Speaking of, you’re going to get yourself sick being here.”

  “Your point being?”

  “Don’t you have work?”

  Lancaster laughs. “I called in sick. They didn’t ask who was sick, so I figure it’s legit.”

  In two weeks, Lancaster would be fired from that job – but it’s not a big deal, he’d say; it was only food service for a company that underappreciated his talent as a delivery boy.

  Kayt tries to hand the gift back to Lancaster.

  “I can’t accept this,” she says.

  Lancaster refuses and steps into the doorway. Inside, he can see the mess from the fight she had with her mother still dressing the corners of the walls. Kayt’s mother had drug a chair from the sitting room into her bedroom, scuffing the walls; Lancaster had heard part of the argument played out over the phone. She’d always acted younger than her own daughter, and when Kayt had refused to make dinner the night before because of her illness, her mother had thrown a fit. Kayt has pulled her chair into her bedroom, and spent the night in there. This was a normal occurrence.

  Over time, Kayt trained him with the knowledge to ignore her words and actions – the best thing to do is treat her mother like she’s the age she never grew out of, she’d said. That’s why, when Lancaster enters the room, he doesn’t mention the fight. He can still hear Kayt’s crying and wishing that she could just leave all of it behind. Her mother is the only reason she wants to leave the town she’s called home for so long. He still feels the resentment caused when Kayt insisted that her mother was right in that ‘she would never amount to anything if she never stopped thinking about herself.’ Lancaster resents that Kayt has turned into the caretaker of a fifty year old teenager. This is the strongest emotion he shares with Kayt. This is before their failed relationship, before their carnal introduction and disastrous pregnancy, and well before Kayt would meet Victor. It is a simpler time, Kayt would say.

  As Kayt tells this story, Leon insists that it’s a time that she should always hold as important, even if things fall apart afterwards; hold the past close, but don’t let it startle you into running. Kayt staggers as she continues. She can tell he’s speaking from something deeper within, and it only reminds her of Lancaster.

  Lancaster bypasses the scuffed hallway without a word and finds a seat in the living room. Nobody’s home except for Kayt, who had to stay until she got better. Even her mother, who left for work without a word, sent a data message saying she’d be late. Kayt smiles through cold-puffed eyes and unwraps the video chips. It’s a show they’ve seen before, Department 13, from the older days when television on Sondranos didn’t include as many advertisements for self-improvement as it does these days.

  “How much did this cost you?”

  “Are you going to play the discs or what?” Lancaster asks. Kayt takes a second, smirks, and joins Lancaster on the couch. For the rest of the day – and the day after that – Kayt never once thinks about the fight with her mother. She doesn’t remember being sick weeks later. She just remembers sitting on the couch with Lancaster, while episodes of Department 13 blur together in one continuous run. There is a storyline, she knows, but all she remembers is how comfortable she was on the couch. How comfortable she is, and will be as long as she remembers how it feels to have known someone who loved her as much as Lancaster.

  Kayt was interrupted by a sudden, static shock of noise. From the car:

  “Attention, survivors:

  “Rescue is coming.

  “Verification from General Jeremiah Carter aboard International Aeronautics vessel Cooper. Find safety. Arrival is determined to be in nine hours. Repeat: rescue is coming. Find shelter, and do not engage the enemy.

  Davion re-joined the group, wide eyed.

  “Did you hear that?” Davion crossed himself and furrowed his brow. The news seemed to strike him with more concern than relief. We nodded. Nobody needed to question if the message was heard, or the meaning.

  Melanie looked shocked, as if she hadn’t expected anything to happen. “I left it on the emergency channel in case there were any cars in the vicinity. Or maybe the Belovore’s would be stupid enough to use our frequencies and we’d know when they were coming. I didn’t expect,” her words broke as a smile caressed her cheeks. She knelt to the ground, clasping her hands together and stifling cries.

  “You did good Melanie,” Davion said. He wiped dust off his robes, and flattened them against his chest. “But nine hours is a long time for a race that destroyed an entire city in five minutes. I suggest we get moving.”

  Annalise climbed into the passenger side. Daniel appeared just as everyone climbed into the car. I stepped back and balanced on the cusp of the road and the side, while the others got in. ‘You know what this is, right?’ he asked. ‘It’s the long dark night of your self-absorbed soul. Only, you’ve forgotten that it will mean nothing since you haven’t done anything worth repenting over. They’ve done all the work. You’ve only contributed to the death of a young man. Remember the classes you oh-so-love?’

  This wasn’t my Daniel. It was the crux of what I’d left. I had to remind myself of that. I even have to write it here to make sure I believe it. My impressions of the kind of world I’d fled were made even scarier because I hadn’t been able to face them head on. And then the place I’d run to was destroyed. False Daniel had a point – I suppose you could call it being haunted by a Present Moment.

  ‘If you were important enough, then your long-dark-night would have meaning. Instead, look at what it is. You’re sitting in the desert, talking to people who’ve done more to help themselves in just a few hours than you have your entire life. How pathetic do you want to be? Congratulations, Leon Bishop – you win your life! Is it everything you ever hoped it would be? Hope so, because you aren’t strong enough to earn anything better!’

  Burning leaves carried on the wind, cut faintly by the scent of ashes of thousands. Daniel pulled away in it. His arms flowed out like wisps, and his body followed. Even though I couldn’t see him then, I could still hear him.

  ‘These are people, Leon. And you’ve judged them already.

  ‘What are you?

  ‘Davion. The hero, old fashioned and seeking only to save us all. When one falls, it only makes the rest more important. He wishes to take you somewhere far, far away – a place you’ve never considered going. Melanie was supposed to be his opposite. She was the realist to his visionary. She was willing to work for what she wanted in life, regardless
of the constraints of this fallen Empire. Now, she’s nothing more than Davion’s tool – reborn to his own idealism. Annalise looks at them without considering how her life has broken down. Her confidence comes from that same alienation. Kayt and Lancaster couldn’t be more dramatic. Now he is dead, and she survives - how long until you think she begins to wax poetic on the life he was supposed to lead? Better yet – how long until you begin to deny what happened?

  I started to see what False Daniel was doing. The pure, unmitigated hatred oozing from his words wasn’t what I’d assumed. ‘What are you but nothing to history?’ he questioned. ‘You give all your attention to one, sacrificing the rest out of fear for what you might find. If you gave them the attention you show to the convict, you might have a chance. Do something with yourself. Stop making this journey theirs, and do something worth returning for.’

  I mumbled softly: “Otherwise, I don’t have any reason to go back.”

  I composed myself, swearing at the imaginary Daniel I’d conjured, hoping he would leave me alone. He was a creation of my mind. I knew that if I was ever going to go back and fix what I’d left, then I would have to earn that.

  “Melanie,” I reached through the driver’s window and placed my hand on her shoulder. She’d climbed in while I was off in my mind. She looked at me cockeyed. “Everything fine?” Melanie asked. Davion leaned forward from his seat in the back. He’d already started giving her directions. They sounded much like ‘go straight until you hit the commune.’

  “Do you mind if I drive?” I asked.

  She took a second, nodded, and opened the door. She hopped in the backseat as Kayt stepped out and let her and Davion sit together. Annalise was able to watch the shuffle, unmoving and glad she was out of their way. I was prepared to face what needed to be faced; I could rebuild what had been destroyed. Now, I know how unprepared I was. I know that False Daniel was trying to prepare me for what tragedies would come before they shattered everything I had left.

  Chapter Ten:

  The MacKinnon Commune

  of the Primary Divinity

  We drove most of the way through the night. Sunrise was probably in the distance, but I had no idea how faraway. Daniel’s words rang in my ears. After a couple hours, I’d come up with a list of all the things False Daniel was trying to prove: my insecurities, fears, lies, petulance, even delusions. The last one wasn’t too much of a stretch. Each one was a little harsher than the next,So I focused on driving. Thankfully, the car had no troubles starting out, nor as we progressed to the commune.

  The commune was close – at least, that’s what Davion told us – and I was going to be the one to take us there. Even Annalise took pride in that. She smiled at me every so often from the passenger seat, and once, when I asked her what she was looking at, she shook her head and looked back out the window. I recalled her thanking me in front of the engine, and realized that’s what she’d been smiling at. Not my taking over, but my shouldering some of the burden from the guilt she took on for leading us this far – going to Covenant Street, the plan to get the car unnoticed, even Lancaster’s death. I could see in her eyes that she’d relaxed. ‘I’ve gotten us this far,’ her look said. ‘You take the lead.’ And even though it was selfish, it was true.

  As a professor, I knew exactly where she stood. I led my students down a road through education. I helped them in the journey to understanding the topic of the semester and, in the end, it was my own ability to lead them that showed. Even though the students were ultimately responsible for their work, I still felt responsible. I could brush aside those that failed and say they did it to themselves, but only if I knew for a fact that they hadn’t tried, thereby absolving myself of guilt. When those who put forth everything they had didn’t do well – or not well enough . We must have been the first group of people Annalise had felt part of since Beaumaris. She’d made a few choices regarding our paths. Only, these choices reflected our safety, not an education. In a comical way, we were her students.

  When she looked at me again, just after we passed a strange bunching of Crested Saguaro illuminated by the headlights, I saw something else in her eyes. ‘If we hadn’t gone home, Lancaster would still be alive,’ it said. I set my hand on hers across the console between the seats. She took it and set her head back on the seat rest. She held on to guilt, but I’d hoped – even by such a small task as driving us to our final destination – that I could carry some of it for her.

  In retrospect, I might have to admit that I’ve exaggerated my importance. It might have been just a look; it might have been confidence, and Annalise might have just been relieved that another person was helping. But, like all the stories I’ve taught – this is my story. I would be remiss if I avoided my thoughts, no matter how self-entitled they seem. I want to think that Annalise was relieved, and that the look meant that she had some of the burden lifted from her shoulders simply because I’d taken control of our path.

  Meanwhile, Melanie and Davion conversed about religion while Kayt held her silence. Every now and then, Davion would speak up to tell me which road to take, but overall the route was pretty straightforward. I wanted to add something to the conversation when Davion mentioned that all would be right with ‘Our Lords’ on arrival. Namely, I wanted to ask him what would happen if we got there and the place had been destroyed. I stopped myself, though, cautious to keep negativity away from the atmosphere. We’d all been riding on the hope that the commune was still there, or at least not overrun by Belovores. It was best to let optimism keep carrying us there and deal with change if it happened. But even half an hour can seem like a lifetime when you’re riding with despair on your heels.

  The rescue signal from the IA Cooper played every half hour. Davion silenced himself the second time, counted on his fingers, and said we were halfway there. I turned the sound system off after the third time.

  I leaned forward and peered up.

  No stars hung overhead. This time, the clouds above were so dark and sooty that I could hardly tell they draped across the sky. We’d pulled onto a large desert expanse. The road nearly vanished in the soil. The landscaped flattened out before us. Before long, flickering flames danced in the moonless night, barely visible.

  The foundation of the commune was spot-lit by torches that licked the stone foundations. The light climbed the walls and glistened off the shards of glass embedded on the top. Behind it, gothic arches taller than the ones from the Abbey climbed into the night. Without torches to light their height, I lost sight of where they ended – but I had a picture in my mind that they grabbed at the sky like steel fortifications. The crags of the crater were fully shrouded in darkness.

  Have you ever had a feeling like you knew what was being covered by shadows? I had the same feeling. There was a castle behind that wall, and we were about to step into it. Davion leaned forward and pointed to the commune, then clapped Annalise on the shoulder while laughing nervously, like he’d avoided something terrible.

  “It was built into the crater?” I asked.

  “Where else?” Davion answered, grabbing my seat by the headrest and pulling himself forward, almost into the front seat, between Annalise and I. “Just follow the path provided and it will lead you to the entrance. Stop before you get within shouting distance.”

  “Not exactly strategically sound,” I said. “With all the lights on, the Belovores would see it as easily as a spotlight.”

  “You run your commune the way you want, and I will have mine,” Davion said. “Besides, if the torches were a problem, wouldn’t the Belovores have already dealt with them?”

  The MacKinnon Commune of the Primary Divinity reminded me of home.

  I’d grown up in Scotland, spending half my life wandering from historic castle to abbey, and the other half living in a city where Edinburgh Castle dominated the skyline. When we pulled closer, the first part I noticed was that the MacKinnon Commune held the visage of a castle.

  Upon entering, I wouldn’t get the chance to loo
k around like a tourist; instead, we’d be ushered off without the chance to register our surroundings. So, instead of filling out the edges as I go, I will do my best to describe the place as my memory serves.

  In the light, the curtain wall fortified the front of the commune. As if the curtain wall wasn’t enough, the crater acted as a battlement from behind. It hulked so high that I knew their daylight was cut in half just by proxy of the crater. The gardens and greenery – which flourished much in the same way the transplanted Montana grass did near the city – took a hold on the soil and stole every last drop of moisture from the night.

  Outside was a desert; inside was the oasis.

  The entrance – a stony barbican much like any ancient city’s entryway- was marked by trees. A pair of guards in black robes strolled across, keeping watch. The trees stood in set intervals, and started a ten minutes’ walk from the entrance, leading down the pathway to the main doors. They must have been tough to keep standing. They resembled palm trees, yet had the appearance of dead or dying elms. Their fallen leaves dressed the plains that groped outwards towards the crag-line. I’m sure, when they were in their autumn, they looked miraculous. Once past the wall and through the barbican, the entry road split in two. The first wound around the length of the commune alongside the wall while the second struck through the centre, and branched out towards buildings accordingly.

  The grounds were split in the centre by a large stone Keep. They called the Keep the Citadel, as it was a recreation of the first human-Belovore building to exist in Sondranos. However, what would immediately draw my attention was the larger version of the Abbey, which hugged the left side of the wall. To the right rested the village where huts, survivable greenery, and agricultural needs packed together closely.