But afraid I was.
Shortly, the road entered the forest, and all vestiges of civilization were quickly swallowed up by the great trees and the primordial shadows. The only exception was the track itself, and it had turned from cobbles, to gravel, and then to dirt. And still we drove on, until at last I saw the mountains ahead of us, lit softly by the moonlight.
As we descended into a shallow valley, the forest engulfed us once again, and when we came out, we were in a broad meadow that afforded an excellent view of the way ahead. Our highway led straight across it to the foot of a sheer rock wall. Seeing no structures of any kind, nor any place to turn around, I puzzled at this, and decided that Pierce intended for us to halt at some point before we reached its termination.
When he failed to stop, and actually accelerated the machine, my terror fully asserted itself. He seemed to be intent on ramming us into the side of the mountain, and I became absolutely convinced that we were in the hands of a madman.
Fearing that I would die a second time that day, I finally gave vent to my fear and screamed aloud. Pierce responded to my outburst by pinning me to my seat with his outstretched arm, which felt as if it were composed of solid iron, and continued to drive us directly towards our doom.
Then, just when I was certain that I was about to feel the terrible impact of our car hitting solid stone, a miracle occurred. The rock, which had seemed so solid and unmoving, parted for us like some kind of curtain, revealing a cavern within. And it was into this space that we drove.
It was some time before my alarm finally subsided and Pierce removed his arm. This was also when I realized that a faint light had appeared ahead of our machine. At first my eyes failed to decipher its source, but as we drew nearer, I realized that I was gazing on the roadway ahead of us, illuminated by moonlight.
Coming out of the passage at last, I found that I had surmised correctly. Our vehicle was now traversing a broad, flat plain populated only by low scrubby brush and occasional outcroppings of rock. Lighting this expanse, and high in the sky, was the moon herself, and I was glad for the sight of something so familiar.
When my gaze wandered to the silver-frosted horizon, I let out an involuntary cry. There, in the distance, were the unmistakable outlines of buildings. They were not the graceful structures that I was accustomed to however, but simple boxes sheathed in glass and steel, and constructed on a titanic scale.
They were also in ruins. Some great force had sheared off the tops of many of them, causing several to lean drunkenly against their neighbors, and the entire group exuded an aura of abandonment and desolation. This was when I took note of other places in the desert where the sand seemed to have been fused into glass, and I spotted the ugly stumps of melted structural members and blasted stone.
I realized that I was looking of the aftermath of an old and terrible disaster, the skeletal remnant of nearly unimaginable pain and death.
Without any preamble, Pierce stopped the car. “Get out,” he said. “I want you to experience this firsthand. It is the only way that you will believe the truth.”
The door on my side opened, and after a moment’s reluctance, I did as he had bid, with the Professor right behind me.
As I set my foot down, I discovered that the dry earth beneath me was covered with a thin coating of glass, which crumbled under my weight. Then I caught the scent of the cold wind wrapping itself around us. It smelled of dust, mixed in with a faint hint of cinders and burned things, and most of all, of death.
I turned to Pierce. “Sir, what is this place? “
“This is the real world,” he replied. He was looking at something behind me, and unable to resist, I turned in the same direction, frightened at what I might see, and yet too curious not to. If the shattered city had caused me to cry out, what I saw next, was almost too much to bear.
The road that we had just travelled ran as straight as a ruler back in the direction of the underground passage. It did not enter any mountainside though. Rather, it passed through the bottom of a great crystal dome whose sheer size and perfection beggared my imagination.
Within this was a tremendous, soaring maze of interlaced girders supporting a great metal curtain, whose jagged outline initially defied my understanding. It followed the interior of the dome, describing an unbroken circle, and it was only when I spied the furthest corners of it that I made out the familiar snowy peaks of the mountains that circumscribed my city. There was no mistaking them.
“What am I looking at?” I asked, already knowing, and yet refusing to accept its reality.
This time, Merriweather supplied the answer. “The mountains around our beloved city. They are, as you can see, only hollow shells.”
I stared at him incredulously. Those massifs, which had always offered me their comfort and protection, were nothing more than titanic stage props in some kind of insane theater production. If anything, this was even more stupefying than seeing the body of my clone. In that instant, I learned that coming to a realization about one’s self pales in comparison to discovering the truth about an entire universe.
Reeling from this, I rounded on Pierce. “Did the Masters create all of this? To what purpose? Why?”
Pierce shook his head. “I will not answer those questions just yet, Penelope Victoria Steele. Nor shall you, Professor. There is much more that you will need to see and hear before any of it will become ordered enough to make any sense. For now, it is sufficient that you have visited the desolation that surrounds your former home, and seen the wall that separated you from it.”
He gestured sternly for us to re-board our vehicle. Returning to my place, I could not imagine what else he could possibly show me that could rival all of this, and he did not see fit to enlighten me.
We drove on and the hours dripped by, with nothing to break the monotony of our journey except when the Professor shifted in his seat, or a gust of wind passed across our vehicle. The landscape around us was flat and devoid of life, with only sad little clumps of ruins to provide my eye with any relief.
There was only one exception; a large collection of towers on the horizon that I took to be the remains of a city. They were huddled together on the plain, reminding me of the citizens of Pompeii, who fleeing Vesuvius’s wrath, had sought refuge in one another’s arms, only to be entombed in ash. I pointedly avoided examining them at any length, and decided that if this hellish place were truly the real world as Pierce claimed it was, that I wanted as little to do with it as possible.
Tearing my gaze away, I was returned to myself, and gradually the shock of everything that I had experienced thus far lessened. I found myself longing for the comfort of my home, and the sight of my father. With this came a black wave of depression, and I wept quietly. But I also welcomed my tears, for they blurred my vision and managed to soften the desert outside my window, making it seem less harsh.
Finally, the motorcar slowed, and when I looked up, I saw that another hillside was opening up before us. This time, instead of a darkened tunnel, brilliant white light poured out of it, and as we entered, I beheld a chamber sheathed in some kind of smooth substance and ringed with lights. There were other motorcars there just like our own, and at the far end, a set of stairs that led to a platform with a large door set in a recess.
“Where are we now?” I asked. I knew that more marvels awaited me, but by now I felt a peculiar numbness. It was as if my mind had simply given up being surprised and had decided to accept everything that paraded before it rather than expending any more energy on astonishment.
It was the Professor who answered. “Home,” he said. “Our real home in this universe.”
In the meantime, Pierce had parked the car, and was exiting it. Having nowhere else to go, the Professor and I caught up with him as he crossed the space and went up the stairs to the door. When he waved, it slid aside, and a gust of cold, clean air washed over us. The hallway beyond this proved to be just as sterile and featureless as the garage, save that it had smaller doors o
n either side, set at regular intervals, and curved slightly to the left so that its far end was hidden from view.
Partway down its length, Pierce stopped at one of the doors. When it opened, he entered, and we joined him.
We came onto a wide platform which in turn, overlooked an enormous space that made all of the others that I had encountered seem insignificant. It was not the size of it that overawed me though. Rather, it was what it contained.
In one spot, there was a railroad track, and on it, an entire train. In another, a long row of horse-drawn carriages, parked in a line as if they were waiting for a non-existent policeman to wave them through a phantom intersection. Beyond this, I spied ferry boats, monoplanes, and every other kind of conveyance imaginable.
Pierce offered no explanation, and proceeded to walk through the collection. Naturally, I accompanied him, and as I did so, I realized that the train was the very same one that Elizabeth and I had taken to Tacoma! I even spotted our porter standing in the passageway of one of the cars, but he looked more like a wax figure than a real man now. In fact, as I stepped over to the window, it seemed that he was not even breathing.
“He is not alive,” the Professor informed me. “Nor is he dead. He is a mechanica. A very clever one to be sure, but still a machine.”
While I digested this astonishing revelation, Merriweather inclined his head towards the row of carriages, and I saw why. The horses and the coachmen sitting in the driver’s seats were as still and unaware of their surroundings as the porter.
More machines! I thought, recalling the many times that I had seen them on the street without ever guessing at their true nature.
All of them.
There were many more besides. We walked past policemen, beggars, gentlemen and ladies, all manner and classes of people--and each and every one of them were staggeringly real.
This was my breaking point. All of it had been meaningless, I realized. Every bit of what I had believed to be my life was nothing more than an illusion, from the smallest flower-girl on the corner, to the horses that pulled the ice-wagons.
And our rebellion, and all the sacrifices that we had made on behalf of the Free Radicals? False now, and thoroughly laughable, had I possessed the heart for it. As fortune would have it, my eyes fell on a streetcar.
It had been festooned with decorations in honor of the Queen’s birthday, and of course, this included the venerable Union Jack with its noble bee and hive crest set bravely in its center, declaring its loyalty to the Masters. Above all the rest, this was the saddest thing of all.
“Even England?” I finally managed to ask. “Was that too a lie?” I had directed this to the Professor, and he glanced at Pierce, who gave him a brusque nod.
“Yes,” Merriweather finally answered, looking even more remorseful than ever. “Even that. There never was an England in our universe my dearest, and no Crown. Only the Masters.”
Thoroughly dejected, I followed the two men to the other side, and ascended to another bland passageway. Pierce halted here, and turned to us.
“Take her to her quarters, Professor,” he instructed. “She will get the rest that you keep insisting upon. She can meet the others and begin her training upon the morrow.”
He turned on his heel and walked away without extending any further courtesies. In addition to being a murderer and the worst kind of brute, I decided that he was also quite rude, and lacked even the most rudimentary of social graces.
Merriweather however, remained a gentleman and offered me his hand and a warm smile. “Come,” he said. “After all that you have been through today, this is one thing that I know will provide you with some joy. You always feel content when you return to your rooms.”
“I do?”
“Come, dear,” he invited. “You will see.”
Gently, the Professor guided me along until we reached a door that looked exactly like all the rest. Yet there was something oddly familiar about it. What I encountered when it opened, brought a smile to my lips.
Instead of dreary white walls, the interior was the very essence of a proper dwelling place. It was sheathed in dark wood and the parquet floor was softened by ornate oriental carpets. A rocking chair sat on the nearest rug, before a fireplace where a small fire burned cheerfully in the hearth.
And on the far wall, I beheld a bookshelf filled with leather bound volumes and beside it, a window with lace curtains framing not the wasteland that we had travelled through, but what looked very much like a pleasant summer evening gracing a beautiful garden. The curtains even rustled a bit as if a breeze were coming through and I caught the faint scent of jasmine and fresh cut grass. When I glanced at the Professor in wonderment, he shook his head.
“Another illusion, my dear,” he explained. “You never could bear to look at the badlands, and so you had this made for you instead. It changes with the hour and even the season, just like the real scene would. You always found it more cheerful.”
Marveling, I stepped in and tentatively touched the rocking chair, fearful that it too was some kind of magician’s trickery, but it proved to be quite real and solid. Then at last, I went over to the bookshelf and took down one of the books to inspect it. It proved to be “The Life of Hypatia of Alexandria” by Sir Reginald Wordsworth, and an old favorite of mine.
Returning it to its shelf, I noticed an antique Kunstschränke, a curiosities cabinet, on the opposite side of the room. It was fitted with glass doors and each shelf carried a variety of strange objects. Intrigued by this, I went over to it and examined the contents.
The first one, situated on the left hand side of the topmost shelf was an antique oil lamp which I took to be of Greek or Roman origin. It was exactly the same design as the kind that graced the lintels and pillars of my old alma mater.
Next to this was something which did not inspire quite as much happiness. It was a silver hand of Fatimah, but with six fingers and splayed exactly like the one in Mr. Weisman’s shop.
The third item was a beautiful red rose made of porcelain, held in a black vase. The vase was decorated by a border of tiny golden skulls and bore an all-to familiar motto, “Mortis maximus dixit mendacium semper” written in an elegant gold script.
This grim motif ushered in sharp memories of Elizabeth’s funeral and darkened my mood significantly. I opened the glass door, intent on removing it, and then dashing it to pieces against the nearest wall, but Merriweather interposed himself.
“You always react this way when you first return here,” he said gently. “But you give me the same instructions before you depart. None of the artifacts are to be removed or damaged in any way. In time, you will come to understand why and cherish them without reservation. I beg you, let it be.”
His entreaty won me over. Just. “Very well,” I conceded. “It shall remain. For the moment.”
I pointedly shifted my attention to the shelf below it, hoping to encounter something more uplifting. Instead, there was a tiny copy of the Flammarion print, set in a dark frame and resting on a small easel.
Seeing it, my homesickness reasserted itself with full force, and simultaneously, the hot flames of anger kindled in my heart. If these were indeed my rooms as Merriweather claimed they were, then I wanted nothing of Pierce within their precincts. But the Professor’s admonition gave me pause, and rather than do it any harm, I ignored it and continued with my inspection.
Its neighbor was a small brass statue of a multi-armed female figure. She was bearing various sacred objects in her hands and had one foot planted upon a stylized crocodile. The pedestal that the image rested on also bore a plaque, proclaiming it to be a representation of Ganga, Goddess of the Sacred River of Time. From the look of it, it seemed to be of Asian provenance, and then I recalled the veneration that some Indian religionists held for the Ganges.
“What is the purpose of this collection?” I inquired.
“They are souvenirs of your many adventures,” he informed me. “They are also a message of sorts, from you to you
rself, although you have never enlightened me on the nature of it.”
I regarded the cabinet pensively. Then in a flash, it came to me in the same manner as it had when I had encountered the hologram during my Awakening. Taken individually, the meaning of the items in the Kunstschränke might have escaped my notice. Together however, their significance was all too clear.
This was no mere missive, I realized. It was a map, read from top to bottom, and left to right! A map which had been created for me by one of my clones, detailing our shared existence to date, and presumably, my future.
The first four items seemed to confirm this hypothesis conclusively. If I was reading it correctly, the lamp was intended to signify my life before being Awakened and my time at Maddenhill. Which meant that the hand stood for my fateful trip to Tacoma. And the rose symbolized the tragic death of my beloved, followed by the Flammarion print which almost certainly pertained to my journey into the Empyrean and my present situation. There was no other interpretation that made any sense--especially since I knew the direction that my thoughts tended to take.
Of course, this made the remaining objects in the cabinet all the more intriguing. What does the little Goddess stand for? I wondered. Or it’s neighbors? Do they portend my future as I think? Or have I erred and they mean something else entirely?
Lacking an answer, I moved on. An hourglass, also made of brass, sat next to the statue, and beyond this, there was a crude mask mounted on a pedestal. From what I could determine, the mask appeared to be made of wood, but I was unable to ascertain if it were meant to represent a man or a woman. Like the Ganga sculpture, it too boasted a plaque which informed me that it was a ceremonial item used by the shamans of the Evenk people of Siberia.
Now, thoroughly mystified, I examined the third and final shelf, hoping to find some insight there. Instead, I encountered a rather odd pairing; a flower which I recognized to be a Leontopodium alpinum, an Edelweiß, common to the European Alps and the Carpathians. It was preserved under glass in a tiny frame, and supported by another easel. It was also accompanied by a single bullet that appeared to be intended for a small caliber pistol (although what kind eluded me).
Blackbird: A Warrior of the No-When Page 10