The Sacred Era: A Novel (Parallel Futures)

by Aramaki Yoshio

  Relieved, K savors the sensation of fatigue beyond anything he can fathom.

  Is time itself disintegrating?

  All matter—anything and everything one could think of—has completely decorporealized. Whatever properties they once possessed have now lost all meaning. Only their shadows—traces of things left behind—remain as mere afterimages burning into K’s retinas.

  What is there to be found on the other side of the barrier of the speed of light? Does objective time, accelerated, still pass there? It no longer matters, for K is now fully under the regime of subjective time, transformed into some kind of ghost, into something incorporeal, into something fully free. He enjoys this taste of an almost ecstatic sense of liberation. Even as his back remains firmly planted in his seat, he lets loose his consciousness from his body, exploring a universe where space and time have twisted inside out.

  K watches in fascination the range of different experiences of incorporeal freedom on display in the cabin. The merchant still remains pinned in his seat, his whole body stretching thin, giving him the appearance of a brocade portrait. His shrill mind struggles in vain to escape from his body. But something imperceptible keeps pulling it back in. A woman emits a green aura after having lost her consciousness, which has dispersed into a mist now that her body has entered an incorporeal state. K spots one of her children’s projections floating about. In a single bite, he swallows her up, savoring her scent of milk. She must have been the younger of the two charming sisters. K searches for her older sister, quickly pouncing once he finds her elsewhere in the cabin. This time, it’s the scent of candy he relishes. He feels completely satiated.

  K passes right through the walls of the cabin, finding his way into the ship’s cockpit. The pilot radiates green flares of light, his face unseen except for its glowing, hyperspatially distorted outline as he sits before the instrument panel. Is he smiling? Or is he crying?

  “Listen closely . . . can you hear it?” says the pilot.

  Indeed, K does hear the sound of music.

  “That’s the music of the heavens. Orion . . .”

  “Yeah.”

  Is the constellation of Orion sending out into space a radio signal of some kind? K loses himself in the melody of celebration. He lets the music overwhelm him until this perpetual present, this endless incorporeal experience of the now, eventually comes to its end.

  3

  Following a series of hyperspace jumps, the ship finally restores itself to a corporeal state. A sensation similar to a hangover hits everyone onboard, stiffening up their bodies, as if enveloped by a bulky carapace shell. Their minds lose all flexibility and freedom, hardening back into a material substance.

  An attendant comes around to check on any injuries among the passengers. As far as K can tell, not everyone manages to materialize completely, leaving the attendants to haul out their bodies for disposal in space. They bring a drink of black liquid for everyone to imbibe, explaining that the drink relieves the “sea sickness.”

  As soon as the Hades begins its deceleration by slowly rolling onto its side, the attendants announce to everyone that they will shortly begin the final approach to Loulan.

  K calls the attendant over.

  “I’d like to watch our touchdown. Would it be possible to arrange such a thing?”

  “Of course, sir. Please follow me to the observation deck.”

  Perhaps realizing that K is an officer of the Sacred Service, he responds with an air of profound deference. By the time K makes his way up the ladder onto the observation deck, the Hades has already begun its gentle descent into a city that glimmers in an emerald radiance.

  Although it is the middle of the day in Loulan, darkness nonetheless fills its heavens, with only a few scattered stars visible here and there, faint flickers forming constellations different from those that can be seen on Earth. Only a dim light circles the edge of the massive circular saucer floating in one corner of the darkened sky, shimmering like a total solar eclipse. This must be Loulan’s famous black sun.

  The Hades too is painted black, descending through the atmosphere like a dark raven with its wings extended as it approaches the spaceport. Once more, K turns his eyes toward the dark sky, drawn to it by a deep crack of absolute black in the shape of a woman’s genitalia slicing across the heavens.

  “That must be the space desert.”

  K stares at the black rift in the sky, feeling the gap seemingly engulf his very spirit, as if his mere gaze upon it is all it takes to instill in him a deep sense of fear that threatens his existence to its very core.

  The Taklamakan Space Desert.

  K continues to fix his gaze on the rift, on the border marking the meeting point between existence and its negation.

  A deep feeling of shame wells up within K.

  All living beings are born into sin.

  Why does he feel this way? Is this rift of black, this chasm of negation, the reason?

  Bathed in the dark negative energy of this chasm, our sinful ways come to light.

  “Upon traveling to Loulan, everyone becomes a philosopher.”

  K recalls hearing such words, but he can’t quite place where he did.

  Was it Hoffman who told him this? If only he were here to see this. If only he hadn’t gone into hiding . . .

  The Hades continues its descent through the atmosphere of Loulan, beginning its final approach toward the emerald gleam of the now-visible city.

  The sight of the city of Loulan is right before K’s eyes, appearing like an underexposed photograph, like a darkened underworld.

  Is this the doing of the dark rift above in the heavens? Could it be possible? Could all these waves of negative energy emanating from the other side of the heavens undermine the very foundations of existence on this side of the universe?

  K can only wonder.

  The question of why matter exists at all is one that’s been the subject of much debate within the field of Sacred Ontology. It’s not a subject that K himself has mastered, but because it’s a foundational field covered in the Sacred Service Examination, he has at least dabbled in its more basic concepts. As far as K understands, one of the field’s central premises is the idea that Existence is not something that can be assumed a priori but instead is merely an artifact of phenomenological experience. So, one might say that the negative energy emanating from this darkened rift hanging above the skies of Loulan serves as clear evidence of the theories of Sacred Ontology. Here, objects only have a weak sense of Being. They may still behave as they usually do, but they take on the phenomenological appearance of something akin to flickering images on a screen.

  Swimming in the waves of this negative energy, K drowns in feelings of apprehension as his very being is reduced to little more than an incorporeal reflection, to a shadow cast on a wall.

  For the first time, K finally makes sense of it all.

  In a process known as “negative interference” within the field of Sacred Ontology, fields of negative energy introduce a countervailing force to the field of phenomenological energy. If the phenomenological energy field functions as the plane of existence for the world we perceive, negative energy attempts to counteract it. Caught between these two countervailing forces of Being and Nothingness, those in Loulan struggle within a state of limbo.

  4

  The Hades comes to a sudden stop. Even the faint vibrations coming from the ship’s engine room cease, replaced by the buzz of the city from outside the ship. Or to be more precise, it is more like the murmurs of the city, as men dragging shadows that look like disembodied souls scamper about the spaceport to secure the ship’s moorings.

  The passengers wait inside the ship for some time before the pilot finally issues the signal to disembark. K follows the other passengers as they all alight onto the spaceport. Ramparts surround the city of Loulan, and mounted atop them are several large antiaircraft cannons trained upward toward the dark, empty skies.

  After undergoing a routine inspection,
K steps inside the lobby of the space terminal. The merchant walks with him, continuing to keep him company.

  He turns toward K.

  “Would you care to stop by my daughter’s place?”

  The merchant gestures toward the other side of the terminal lobby. There stands a young woman waiting to pick him up.

  “That’s my daughter,” the merchant tells K. “She left some five years ago, and she’s been here ever since.”

  The girl glances at K, offering him a vague smile. She is a beautiful woman, though the heavy makeup thickly layered on her face makes her look almost pallid.

  “Welcome to Loulan. It would be our pleasure to have you as a guest in my house.”

  K nods as he gives the girl a long look.

  “My name is Ellen,” she whispers in K’s ear.

  The approach of a slender man interrupts them. He passes K a note while casting a suspicious look at all of them. Oddly, he looks just like the rickshaw puller back at the capital.

  K glances at the note. The words on the elegant parchment affixed with an official seal read: “Please accept my invitation—the Lord of Castle Loulan.”

  K turns to the merchant.

  “Sadly, it looks like I must decline your invitation,” he says. “The lord of the manor wishes to see me.”

  “Oh.”

  Disappointment is written all over the merchant’s face. He looks to his daughter.

  “Well, then, shall we?”

  Ellen glances at K, flashing him a brief knowing smile, before she and her father head off together.

  Still standing in place, K lets his eyes follow the girl’s lithe figure as she walks away. She pauses right before going through the exit of the terminal lobby. One more turn toward K to meet his gaze and give him another smile. Quite a seductive smile indeed.

  Once K comes to his senses, he focuses his attention on the slender man.

  “So, will you be taking me to the castle?” K asks him.

  “Yep. That’s what I do. I’m to bring you to the castle in my rickshaw.”

  The man hastens to lead K toward the exit. They step out of the terminal to a large plaza surrounded by tall stone buildings. A somber feeling and a strong odor of mold hang over everything. They make their way to the man’s rickshaw, whose attached hood casts a faint, long shadow.

  Ever since he saw the city glimmering in the color emerald from high above inside the Karnak vessel, he has been looking forward to seeing it up close. But all there is to be seen from the ground is a voluminous mass of black shadows. Perhaps the emerald glow of the city of Loulan when viewed from afar is merely an effect of its surrounding atmosphere. If the beautifully luminous outlines of the craggy mountains visible in the distance are any indication, that would seem to be the case.

  The three-wheeled rickshaw is such an old fragile thing it looks ready to fall apart as soon as anyone rides in it. K steps aboard anyway, while the driver sits astride on the saddle and takes hold of the angular handlebars. He lifts his body and begins to pedal, struggling with the weight for a bit, until the street takes a downhill slope.

  Walls of buildings block off both sides of the street. Only a few people are out and about. The rickshaw rattles over the street’s uneven cobblestone surface as it descends the hill.

  The slope steepens. The rickshaw follows the street’s counterclockwise curve, continuously veering leftward. Once they clear the wall of buildings, a castle soaring atop the rocky mountains comes into view.

  “Sir, that over there is Castle Loulan,” the rickshaw man tells K.

  Enclosed by high and thick defensive walls, the castle appears jet black, except for its outline, which is traced by the glimmering emerald-green glow.

  “By the way,” K asks the rickshaw man, “What’s the name of the lord of the castle again?”

  “Well, I actually don’t know. Maybe no one does. Everyone in the city just calls him ‘Milord.’”

  The rickshaw man speaks at length. He explains to K that, as one might have guessed from his title, the man called “Lord” serves as the ruler of the city. Evidently, he’s also been living at this castle as long as anyone can remember.

  “Milord built this city of Loulan. Yes, indeed, every single thing in the city.”

  Unless the rickshaw man is pulling his leg, it seems that this man is a brilliant scientist. Nothing is beyond his abilities. Or so he says.

  K notices something strange about the street. Even as the run-down rickshaw continues to speed downhill on the cobblestone street, as far as K can tell, their altitude has continuously been climbing. Even though they should have been descending, K can now catch glimpses of the rooftops of the buildings in the city of Loulan.

  That’s odd.

  As soon as K notices this, he speaks to the rickshaw man.

  “Hey! Does going downhill mean climbing up the street in Loulan?”

  “Yep.”

  The rickshaw man gives K an offhand nod without even turning around. But K finds it difficult to immediately take in such unexpected facts. For a man used to the laws of physics on Earth, this phenomenon can only throw his senses into complete confusion.

  5

  To K’s surprise, Castle Loulan is much larger than it appears when viewed from the ground. He wanders inside the castle somewhat dumbfounded by the dingy surroundings. Eventually, guided by one of the castle’s stewards, he finds his way to the top of the tower by descending the spiral staircase.

  “Milord is inside that room,” the servant says, pointing toward a small, dome-topped chamber. “He is performing experiments.”

  “Thank you.”

  Following the steward, K steps into a room that does indeed appear to be a laboratory, albeit one with an oddly sorcerous quality.

  “Milord, your honored guest has arrived,” the steward graciously announces.

  The Lord of Castle Loulan—an obese man dressed in a deep-blue lab coat—greets K.

  “Ah, yes,” he says as he raises a flask that contains a liquid that glitters in five colors. “Welcome! After a five-hundred-light-year journey, you must be quite exhausted. Please have a seat.”

  Looking around, K finds scattered about every part of the room all manner of laboratory equipment. Missing though are any places for him to sit.

  But the Lord does not seem to even notice K’s bewilderment.

  “Please,” he urges K, “take a seat anywhere you wish.”

  With some trepidation, K lowers himself onto a section of empty space. To his surprise, the air beneath him begins to conform to his shape, until some invisible object makes contact with his thighs. His hands tell him that there is indeed a chair there. Reassured, he rests his back on this invisible chair, so soft that it is as comfortable as a woman’s lap.

  “The banquet won’t be ready for some time still, so perhaps you’d like to try this for now.”

  The Lord offers his flask to K.

  “Clara, give our guest a glass.”

  Suddenly, a pale hand—a woman’s hand with nails manicured in an emerald color—materializes in the air next to him. Stunned, K finds himself helpless to do anything but accept the glass. He watches the rainbow colors of the drink as she pours it. It momentarily turns clear as all the colors mix in the glass, only to separate into five colors again. There must be a variation in the density of each layer of color.

  K eyes the drink with suspicion.

  “What exactly is this?”

  “I call it the elixir of longevity,” the Lord answers. “Drink one glass and you will be relieved of your fatigue. After the second glass, you’ll forget all your sorrows. Drink a glass every day and you’re guaranteed to stay forever young. Now, let us celebrate your safe arrival!”

  The Lord cheerfully raises his glass toward K. Not having much choice, K raises his own glass as well. After clinking glasses, K brings the drink up to his lips with some trepidation. A scowl forms on K’s face when he gets a whiff of the smell of animal blood.

  “It doe
sn’t really go down easily at first. But once you acquire a taste for it, it is truly unforgettable. So, bottoms up!”

  With the Lord’s persistent urging, K eventually manages to down his drink.

  “So what is this made from exactly?” K asks with a look of suspicion.

  “The fruit comes from what’s commonly called the ‘Tree of Enlightenment,’” the Lord says. “The tree bears five colors of fruit.”

  Apparently, this massive tree, which can only be grown within the Loulan Star System, bleeds like an animal and even cries in pain.

  K’s shock is evident on his face.

  “So, is it really a tree then?” K asked.

  “Oh, yes, it is indeed a tree. Unlike trees on Earth though, it doesn’t grow up or down.”

  The Lord gazes longingly at his glass, as if admiring its contents, before emptying it.

  “If you are so inclined, I would be happy to show you the fruits.”

  “Yes, I’d appreciate that.”

  The Lord leads K to the floating garden awaiting them behind the laboratory. No matter which way K looks, all he can see are unfamiliar plants, each one of them exquisitely dazzling. The Lord must be quite proud of his collection, as he provides K a detailed explanation of every single species in his garden.

  “This is all quite splendid.”

  K’s response is a mix of simple courtesy and sincere admiration.

  “What’s this one over here?”

  K points at a flower shaped like a rainbow bridge.

  “That’s a type of giant orchid. Once it reaches full maturity, it will grow even larger than the ship that brought you here.”

  The Lord squints his eyes, pointing to a flower that looks like a butterfly floating in midair.

  “This one’s called a ‘Butterfly Flower.’ It’s yet another type of space orchid and can actually fly by moving its flower petals.”

  He shows K many more flowers, far more in this massive collection than he will remember.

  But one plant in particular catches K’s attention, a dark-green ball of vegetation secured in a special case in one corner of the garden, as if it were something precious indeed. It is apparently some type of space alga that floats through the heavens, ever so slowly rotating. K’s eyes widen upon hearing that the largest ones can grow to the size of a planet.