by JD Lovil
The problem the group faced was to create a reality, so real that the people begin to create those critical assumptions and expectations of reality in common once again. From there, the machine should be self-sustaining.
That was all for tomorrow. For today, they had a poorly explained exercise to complete that sounded like it was something half way between a Catholic confessional and a therapy session. Everybody was a little jittery about exposing their secrets in this or any other situation. But first, they would get to meet the Seer and Cernunnos, if they ever got there!
Suddenly, it was time. The hallway double doors flew open, and instead of looking down a long hallway, the group was looking into the entrance to a cave. Two figures stood close to a blue flame that burned without any apparent fuel in the center of an almost circular area. One form was that of an average build man on the short side of normal height, wearing a robe and sporting a grin and eyes that might have shown either insanity or humor, Tom wasn’t sure which. The other form was much taller, and he had a rack of antlers that was almost columnar and fairly densely packed. These two must be the Seer and Cernunnos, Tom thought.
The two regarded the group from across the threshold. The group considered the two. The cave was clearly visible, and every few seconds there was a blurring effect, and multiple caves and multiple occupants could be seen for just a second, slight differences in some of them were visible. Everybody understood by now that it was an indication of the multiple probabilities that could come to bear on the event.
The Seer took up his staff from where it leaned against the wall, and the two of them walked calmly and sedately over the threshold and into the world. The Seer looked harmless, but Cernunnos felt powerful and strange, but somehow, he put everybody at their ease. The Seer might have been sixty or one hundred, but he seemed to be one of those eternal old guys. Cernunnos might well have been an old thirty or a young forty, but he did not really qualify for human.
“Today we will be conducting the rite of purification.” The Seer said. “Each of you will confess your secret upon which you base your persona, and then you will be cleansed by the ritual and by the heart of the dragon.”
“Then what happens?” Tom quipped in his best little kid on a road-trip manner. “How will we complete the healing?”
“Before you are all purified, Heimdall will help us to find the exact center of the Place of Beginnings. Karla will plant the Seed of Creation at that spot, so that we can mend the worldline from that point in time and in space. Then will Vera bring and read from the Book of Eternity so that the worldline will become according to the words. At the third time shall Markus bring to the Place the Staff of Infinity, so that we may carve out the low probability worldlines, and so strengthen the worldline as it should be. In the Fourth time, Tom shall bring the Stone of Creation to the Place of Beginnings, so that what we have planted, and tended, and pruned shall be brought forth as the brightest of probabilities, and so shall make the world normalized and finally real.”
The Seer was waxing eloquent, and as is usually the case, making less and less sense. Well, actually he was making sense, but it was that kind of sense that a poem has, not your usual straightforward conversational plan. It also occurred to Tom that there was a huge gap in the conversation, specifically, what happens if they fail?
“So what happens to the world if we fail to fix it?” Tom queried. “Does it all stay the same, with monsters behind events?” The others nodded as he asked the question that they all had.
“No, the monsters behind the events are just a stop gap in reality, like the mythical creatures that were supposed to cause all natural events in ancient times.” The Seer said. “Soon, the events will start to become disconnected from any causes, as each inhabitant of this worldline descends into a personal chaotic reality with no connection to any consensus reality at all.”
He went on to expound on the situation. Modern life and events had conspired with several other environmental issues to cause a systematic breakdown of consensus in modern society. In order for people to share a reality, they must at a minimum agree to the existence of an external reality. The degree to which humanity had been sucked into a private virtual reality had become so pronounced in recent years that the basic agreement had been lost.
The rest of the afternoon and into the evening was taken up with finding accommodations for the new visitors, discussing subjects ranging from dating to saving the world endlessly, having a moonlight lawn party with beer and wine, and a pile of sirloin steaks that the Seer pulled out of thin air for the occasion. He seemed to have an even bigger tendency to do the ‘pull something from nowhere’ thing than the Sorcerer did. Lord only knows what animal in what dread world the steaks actually came from.
They passed the time in this fashion, because they must wait as the time approached midnight, which was the assumed time for the beginning of the purification rite. Each of the four available Mentors would be a second for each of the four Pilgrims. The Sorcerer would be second to Markus, Charlie, to Vera, Tyr to Tom, and Heimdall to Karla.
Charlie went on to explain to the four the brief history of their timeline, and some measure of what it was composed of. He said that all of the worlds of Man were born in the same Big Bang. That was the time in which the universal constants were set, and time began. He said that time, like gravitation, was not a true force or dimension.
Time is the measure of events, separating cause from effect. It is a string of static instants which are associated with each action within our world. The past is a page written in action, and cannot be revisited save in memory or in travel through a wormhole, which cannot be constrained by any such limitations. Gravitation is nothing but a deformation in the space-time fabric, creating a space-time potential well for inertia in the same way that one can create an electromagnetic potential well.
All of the Worlds of Man are related, descendants of that instant in time when a point in another universe imploded, creating a space-time matrix where none existed before. Every world where humans and humanoids can be found has rules and laws that are favorable for human life. Each human that lives in each of these worlds expects the world to be what they are used to, and so they all contribute to the consensus of the common reality.
Tom thought that all of these explanations were worse than useless. Who cared that people in isolation broke down any consensus reality that might exist? He wasn’t sure why this purification ritual would be of any benefit in the process of repairing the world. He had started to suspect that these mystic types were using intrusive ritual requirements to satisfy their voyeuristic curiosities.
“So why is it that you Asgardian types haven’t fixed this already?” Tom addressed Tyr and Heimdall. “It seems like it is right up your alley.”
“Because this is only one of an infinite number of such problems in the worlds of Man.” Heimdall said. “From here I can see hundreds of worldline problems, some even worse than what you have here. If some of the inhabitants had not begun to move on this one, we would not have become involved.”
“You got a couple of potential Walkers, and some other Talents here that are worth saving.” Arpad said as he gazed at Veritasia with fondness. “I must admit that I have never met a double Souled person before either. I still don’t quite know what to make of Markus.”
“Don’t feel bad.” Tom said. “None of us do. I think we should keep him around just in case we run into a need for a soul donor.”
******
22 The Shriving
Heimdall was standing over Tom, where he was waking in the messy bed, with Karla nestled sleepily at his side. “Awaken.” Said the godling. No one should be that muscular this late in the evening, Tom thought.
“You will never be as good an alarm clock as a wet dog’s tongue licking my face.” Tom grumped. “Not that I want you to lick my face, Heimdall.” He kicked aside the covers, and got out of bed. Karla grinned and dove under the covers to hide her virtues.
�
��Get yourselves some food and drink, and make your final preparations for the Shriving. We are only half an hour from the stroke of midnight.”
“It will be a breeze.” Tom said. “I will just confess to watching a lot of porn, and we will be good. I don’t need to watch it anymore, when I can make it with Karla here.”
Once Heimdall had vacated the room, Karla and Tom emerged fully from the bed, where they had spent about an hour of the evening taking part in that most relaxing of activities before facing the others and having to spill their most intimate secrets, if they could even figure out what they were. Tom figured it had something to do with his being a secret murderer, but he wasn’t quite sure just how.
Ten minutes later they were with the others in the parlor. Markus and Vera seemed to be nervous as well, even though Tom had no idea at all what either of them would have to confess. Tyr was actually dressed up, wearing red leather armor with iron plating, and with a silver stub on his right arm stump. He wore his traditional broadsword at his back, and he carried his gleaming spear of a mysterious silver metal.
Cernunnos was going to be the officiator at this shriving, and the Seconds for each of the four would act as witness. Arpad and Veritasia would be assistants to Cernunnos. The Seer would open the way to the Place of Beginnings when Heimdall sees the way, and the ceremony would be conducted at that place. The Sorcerer, the Herald, Heimdall and Tyr would all act as guardians while the shriving and the binding took place.
“We are nearly ready to begin the rite.” Cernunnos said. “Seer, stand ready to create the bridge. Heimdall, stand ready to find the Place of Beginnings.” Each of them nodded their readiness.
“Begin.” Cernunnos said. The Seer struck the butt of his staff against the floor, and the crystal in its head flared into blue-white light as the dual hall doors swung open. The light from the crystal arced into a lightning bolt aimed at the hallway. Where the lightning crossed the threshold, it begat a spiral rotation of energies that now could be seen as the throat of a wormhole. The eyes of Heimdall glowed gold in the light of the hallway.
“The gate shall reach across space and across time to find the place of the first variance, the Place of Beginnings.” Cernunnos explained. “Heimdall, do you See the Place?”
“It is There.” Heimdall points. Tom could not see what he pointed at, but Cernunnos nodded. “Seventy-Three years in the past, but right there!”
The crystal in the staff glowed brighter yet, and it ran the spectrum of colors from deepest red to brightest blue. As it did this, a scene began to resolve itself at the center of the wormhole. In the midst of a change mist they could see a single tree, standing in a boggy looking place surrounded by the mists, light streaming through its branches from overhead. If a full moon was hidden behind those mists, it might give such a light.
“We see before us the Place of Beginnings.” Cernunnos said. “It is time to go to that place, and begin the Shriving and the Binding.”
The Seer raised his staff and led the way into the wormhole. There was an instant sensation of motion, and then they had crossed some sort of threshold, and they were in front of the tree. It was some sort of an ironwood tree, squat and hard and planted firmly in the swampy land. Tom looked around himself, and saw that all of the party was there.
“How did the Sage get out of this?” Tom asked. “I thought that he was supposed to be all in on this.”
“He shacked up with a lady off in Shadow.” Charlie explained. “If it is a choice between saving the world and sex, the Sage will go for sex every time.”
Typical, Tom thought. Leave it to the heavy lifters to clean up the mess. He was just surprised that it was a girl that the Sage was going for. It could have as easily been a guy or a dwarf, or a male or female of some other species.
“We are gathered here to purify and bind these Pilgrims by confession and by vow to the task of healing the world.” Cernunnos intoned. “Come forth Vera, bring your second Charlie and be confessed.”
Vera shuffled up uncertainly to the front and in front of Cernunnos. Charlie followed her up, grinning broadly at the group. Tom could see in Vera’s eyes that she still had no idea what to say in her confession. What none of the Pilgrim had taken into account was that the place they were in was a place that lived and breathed a magical connection to everything.
As Vera fished for the words to say, the air around her shimmered and a holograph-like visual appeared of her desperately hiding and hunting the demon-possessed in her home town. It showed the fear and the horror and the sense of loss that she was feeling as people that she had known were taken, and the only way she could protect herself or help them was by ending their lives in a most horrible fashion.
“It felt like a violation” She said. “It was like ripping and being ripped, whoever is standing last wins, but the victory is empty, when everything you fight for is gone.”
The scene changed, and for a moment, they saw her as a little girl, being pawed at by a drunken father. They see her fight back, and get beaten. They see him pass out, and watched her little form as she stared down at him, before she brought out the steak knife that she found in the kitchen, and plunged it into his throat. She sawed around in there until the blood flowed fast.
Next, they saw that her mother was gone, and she was forced to leave to be the little girl of strangers. All that she loved was gone. The group saw that the story of Vera’s life was to struggle to survive and to save the things and people she loved, only to lose them in the struggle.
Tears were streaming down Vera’s face as the vision ended, and it must have been raining lightly, as Tom noticed a bit of moisture around the eyes of the rest of the group as well. Cernunnos motioned her back to the rear of the assembly, and motioned Markus forward. Able to follow directions, Vera moved back as Markus shuffled forward.
“Come forth, Markus, with your Second the Sorcerer of Hait.” Cernunnos said. “It is your time to be confessed.” From the look on Markus’s face, the last thing he wanted to do was to volunteer for confessional. Tom saw the shadow that was the preferred form of the Sorcerer follow him to the front.
As Markus took his position before Cernunnos, the air around him shimmered, and flickered, and flashes of events that must have come from a thousand alternate worlds lived their microsecond lifetimes. Finally, the vision stabilized to show a tall blonde haired man strolling through a world of high skyscrapers and hover trains, a place both familiar and alien to all that were gathered there. There was a touch of emotion conveyed by the holograph, a hint of lostness that no amount of familiarity in the world about him could ever quite take away.
Next, there was a moment of darkness, a time of oblivion, and then he is a dark haired man in another world entirely, a world where demonic entities have taken many bodies around him, and somehow he has done the same, but he is sharing his with the original person.
In all of this, he knows that he is even further lost, forever alone and unable to find his way home. Now he is not sure who he is as well. Is he the original wearer of this body, just with some otherworldly memories, or is he the original Markus wearing a different body? In all of these worlds, does he even really exist at all?
Just as the world answered Vera with an answer not said, so did the world pose an answer to the question of ‘Do I exist’ with an irrefutable ‘Does it matter?’ Markus found to his surprise that the question of existence didn’t matter, as long as he was able to experience. The vision ended, and Markus felt a lifting of a self-imposed burden from his mind.
Markus and the Sorcerer moved back to the back of the group without prompting. Tom had time to wonder what the use was of the ‘seconds’, if they had nothing to do in this little get together. Then the two were back in the crowd, and it was now time for Tom to bare his soul.
“Come forth, Tom, with your Second Tyr of Asgard.” Cernunnos said. “It is your time to be confessed.” Tom and Tyr broke through the crowd, and moved forward to stand before Cernunnos.
T
om noticed that the others, even the nonparticipants like Veritasia, Arpad and the Herald, all leaned forward just that extra little bit that suggested that they had a bit of unsatisfied curiosity about Tom that they hoped to dispel. Tyr at least seemed properly supportive in this endeavor, but then, if a god of war can’t understand a little murder addiction, who could?
The air around Tom started to sparkle, and like before, a thousand flashes of other places and other times appeared and disappeared in the air around him. When at last the vision settled on its first significant scene, it was the same one that Tom had seen in his dreams a thousand times before. Beneath a full moon, a battlefield lies bloody among the trees of an olive grove. The victors drink and smoke various herbs, and the vanquished are corpses, bleeding beneath the moon.
Tom looks about him, and he sees his fellow victorious, included are the ones who fought for money, and the ones who feed on the blood. There is Lord Yama, and Kali was here earlier. Death’s companion is always destruction, and so must Seti and Shiva always have a presence in these places.
He looks about and he sees the Berserkers, and he knows that he is not among their number, but the outrage he carries is cousin to their rages. He looks about him and sees the masters of the Slaughter, but he knows that the lives he takes exacts a greater cost to him than to those. He sees the masters of destruction, but he knows that he would be balanced with the Creators, and so he is not of their number.
He looks upon Kali, and he sees that she does not pay for the lives she extinguishes. Yama also is not like him, although he pays the cost in sorrow for his reaping. Those who are Lords of War are also devoted to the Arts of the Kill, not the Kill itself.
He looks over at the Karla of the vision, the only other who might understand his position. She stands in her beauty beneath a near Olive tree, and she has eyes only for him. Tom feels the bridge of centuries, perhaps millennia of blood stretching behind him, and forward into the future.