For some reason this realization made Peter feel a little bit better about going inside the strangler fig. Even in the face of death there was life.
The ground, which was largely free of other plants in the darkness imposed by the canopy far above, felt a little springy as Peter drew closer to the trunk. He looked down again as he walked and saw that they were walking on a padding created by years and years of fallen leaves and limbs. Here too mold, moss and tiny bits of vegetation sprouted. Life was everywhere, and everywhere there was life there was a struggle for food, space and freedom.
His gaze was interrupted by a wild rustling as a strange bird with a blue head and wings, which had apparently been standing next to the trunk, flew up and, with a small cry of indignation, disappeared into the expanse of the forest. If the bird had not moved, Peter probably never would have seen it—may even have stepped on it (which is likely why it decided to fly away).
Peter’s heart had skipped a beat or two with the flight of the bird. He looked back toward the others and saw that they too had been startled but were okay. Irene smiled slightly at Peter, which he took as a sign that they should continue. He turned back, put his hand out to touch the trunk, and then entered the large dark crevice before him.
As he walked into the center of the massive tree, he could hear small things scurrying out of the way below and around them. He at first wished he could see what it was that was moving about, but then decided it was probably better if they did not know. He doubted Orb would let a snake or spider bite derail them now, but there was no need to see what was sizing him up as a treat. For some reason, Peter knew there would be no further wolf attacks. The Game was about to start and everyone that had made it this far would be allowed to play their part.
Peter’s feet slipped a couple of times on slick roots—or what he hoped were roots—below. He risked extending his arms and let his hands slide across the slick surface of the trunk on either side. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, or was it something bright ahead that was illuminating the cavern within the tree?
Someone behind him mumbled, “What is that?”
No longer needing his hands to guide him, Peter and the others walked toward the light.
The semi-darkness turned to bright light within just a few more steps. Peter found himself shading his eyes as he stared at what seemed to be an impossibly large, circular space within the tree. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted, Peter was able to locate Orb, pulsing consistently along the wall to the left.
In the middle of the room stood Bartholomew. To Bartholomew’s right stood five older men dressed in long orange robes. The men’s heads were shaved, and they stood uniformly motionless with their hands at their sides.
Orb spoke to Peter and his friends. “They are monks.”
They were still attempting to process that information when a blue Cube slowly emerged from behind the monks and stationed itself next to Bartholomew.
“Greetings children,” this new shape spoke in their heads. “I am what you have been referring to as Cube.”
Peter looked over to Eli, who shook his head. There was simply too much to take in and all of it was coming at once. Peter then looked behind them and noticed that the entrance to the hollow space within the tree was gone. In fact, as he turned farther and looked around, he noted that the walls, floors and ceilings were now a swirling mix of blue and red.
“Orb,” Peter started to ask a question when Bartholomew cut him off.
“There will be time for questions, Master Peter. First, I must relay the rules.”
“Bartholomew?” Jenny asked.
“No, Mistress Jenny,” the small man said, pulling at his mustache just like Bartholomew. “He has his role to play and I have mine. Neither of us is free to move from our location.”
“But you look just like him,” Peter prodded.
“We appear in a form that is compatible with your sensory limitations, Master Peter, but I can confirm that we are, in fact, quite different.”
Peter had nothing to say to that and instead stood with his mouth slightly open.
“You may refer to me as Malcolm,” the small man added. He bowed ever so slightly to them, then turned and did the same to the monks, who bowed a bit more deeply in return.
“It is now time for the rules. Please do listen closely as they will not be repeated.”
“But,” Peter again tried to ask a question, to no avail.
“But nothing, Peter, intoned Orb. I promised you that time would be provided for questions. I do not lie, but first you must hear the rules.”
CHAPTER TWELVE: The Game
“First,” the entity called Malcolm continued, “I will introduce the players. Please note that each of you is hearing me in your native tongue and, from this point on, will also hear the conversations of those on the opposing team.”
They had already been told multiple times that questions would come later so Peter bit his tongue and nodded.
Malcolm extended his hand toward Orb. “On this side is what we are calling Orb. Orb represents absolute power and what he would describe as freedom from the tyranny of choice.”
Peter and the others in his group muttered as they digested the term, “tyranny of choice.”
Ignoring them, Malcolm continued, “Orb has assembled his team and its leader, Master Peter, to attempt to reclaim this planet for his cause. We are, in fact, standing within Orb’s final receptacle, which is held in place by the lifeforce of the prior leader of Orb’s team.”
Peter and the others looked about the circular confines, trying without success to find a trace of Orb’s receptacle or the prior team leader. There was nothing to see besides the smooth contours of the rounded walls, which glowed in swirls of red and blue. Peter caught the gaze of one of the monks across the way as he scanned the expanse. The monk continued staring at Peter for what felt to Peter like an eternity before eventually looking elsewhere. Based on his expression, the monk was not impressed with what he saw. Then again, Peter thought, what would impress a monk?
“Over here,” Malcolm continued, “is what many of you have been calling Cube. Cube represents free will and self-determination. Cube has ruled this planet for the past cycle. I should also note here that free will significantly trails absolute power in terms of the overall Game.”
“Cube has assembled her team and its leader, His Holiness Jigme, to maintain her hold of this planet.”
All the monks bowed slightly with this introduction. Peter wondered about the wisdom of Orb and his selection of a group of teenagers to battle a team of monks.
Malcolm was just picking up steam when Peter interrupted. “Malcolm, you said Cube is female?”
Everyone turned to stare at Cube, who pulsed in acknowledgment of the attention.
Malcolm, wanting only to move things along, answered quickly. “You and your team have been calling Orb ‘him’ so to differentiate I utilized the term ‘her’ in my description of Cube. Neither descriptor is correct as neither Cube nor Orb has a gender. They exist in pairs wherever civilizations are found throughout the universe, as well as in all related realities and dimensions. To avoid further confusion, I will refer to both Cube and Orb as ‘he’—but understand it does not indicate a gender.”
Everyone stared at Malcolm, trying to digest this deluge of information. Malcolm ignored them and continued.
“Master Peter, as the leader of the team attempting to reclaim the planet, must select one of two options.”
Malcolm leaned toward Peter, then extended his hand. “Master Peter, your first option is to choose to compete against the opposing side.”
Peter found the title of Master to be strange and uncomfortable. “Malcolm, please just call me Peter.”
Jigme immediately inserted, “And please call me Jigme.”
All the other members of both teams mumbled their agreement.
“Very well. I will address each of you by your first name.”
Malcolm paused as if finding
his place in his speech, then continued. “If you and your team win, Peter, free will is abolished on this planet for at least one cycle and any promises made to you or your team members by Orb become reality. You and your team members receive the additional bonus of retaining all memories of your time spent within the Game—though you are not permitted to share that information with anyone outside of your team.”
Peter looked over to the others on his team. All of them looked back at him with what he felt was one driving question. He looked back to Malcolm, about to ask it, when it was answered for him. “Of course, Peter, if you lose, everyone on your side ceases to exist in your present forms, and Cube and free will maintain control of your planet.”
Peter could not get past “ceases to exist” and was about to press that point when Malcolm continued.
“However, Peter, you can choose the second option, which saves everyone on your team in their present forms, by conceding the contest to Cube. Free will shall continue to govern your planet, and only you will cease to exist in your present form when you become the new guardian of Orb’s final receptacle. Your teammates will keep their forms and return to their prior lives, forgetting you and anything you have ever done as you will retroactively cease to exist in that form.”
Everyone on Peter’s team turned to look at him. Peter saw Eli shaking his head vehemently.
All the moisture that had fled Peter’s mouth now apparently resided in his palms, which were so moist that sweat dripped from them.
Malcolm stood smiling, completely unaffected by everything he had stated and the fact that this entire exchange was taking place inside an ancient tree.
“I’m confused by what you mean when you say, ‘our present form’?” Peter asked.
Malcolm nodded as if he had expected the question, and he replied matter-of-factly, “Your species utilizes bodies which are roughly sixty percent water, governed by a brain which operates via the firing of electrical impulses.”
Peter nodded, as this sounded correct.
“These are your physical attributes, which in every case have a finite lifespan. Your physical attributes have nothing to do with what your species calls the soul, which continues unaffected regardless of what happens to your current body.”
Malcolm smiled. Peter felt a bit ill. He clutched his stomach as the space they shared within the tree began to spin. Peter’s knees decided this was a good time to give up, and only the quick hands of Eli kept him from falling. As it was, Peter swayed the opposite direction and landed heavily on his rear. Eli continued to hold the sleeve of Peter’s shirt until Peter reached up and gently pushed Eli’s hand away.
Peter was thankful when the space around him stopped spinning, but now those electrical impulses in his brain were firing more quickly than he could process them. Throughout history, even the history taught by gym coaches, brilliant people had wrestled with big questions. Questions like: Why are we here? And, what happens when we die? Peter had just been told, in a matter-of-fact way, that he indeed had a soul. He had also been told that he, Peter, was in charge of determining the future of the planet and everyone on it. It was too much.
He looked at the opposing team and saw that they had also decided to sit, though they did so with a lot less drama. He stared at their leader, Jigme, who leaned slightly to his right to hear the whispered thoughts of one of his teammates. Malcolm had said they would now be able to understand one another, but apparently whispering was still allowed.
Peter pulled his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and slowly rocked back and forth as he stared at the blank, white ceiling. There were no answers written there, or anywhere.
“Peter?” Jenny whispered as she sat down next to him. “Are you okay?”
He continued to stare at the ceiling but shook his head slightly in response. No, he was not okay. He would never again be okay.
He felt the rest of his teammates sit down around him—several reaching out to pat him on the head or shoulder for encouragement. Peter lowered his gaze to Malcolm, took a deep breath, and asked, “What if I don’t believe in absolute power? What if I think all people should be able to make their own choices?”
Malcolm, still standing, grinned. “Then this will be a short contest. You will select the second option, protecting the current form of your teammates and keeping free will in charge of this planet. You would then pass to another form and become the guardian of Orb’s final receptacle.”
Peter stared at Malcolm, now at last understanding why Orb had insisted that Peter be present when he tried to reclaim his last receptacle—it was all part of the rules of the Game.
Peter pointed around the space. “I become the inside of a tree?”
“Perhaps. There are other locations around your planet. You could become a boulder, or a coral reef. At your planet’s current rate of deforestation, even this remote forest will not survive, so a move will occur. In any event, the components of the Game routinely change. Last cycle, for example, there were seven participants on each side. This time there are five. On other occasions the Game has involved a single participant representing each team.”
Peter turned his gaze to Cube. “What would have happened if the wolf you sent had killed one of us?”
Cube flashed a deep, indigo blue that Peter was not sure he had ever seen. “Your team would have been forced to recruit a new member from Real de Catorce, which would have been difficult due to the scarcity of people in that spot. A new member would also dilute the bond within your team, creating an advantage for my side.”
“That’s cruel,” said Jenny.
Everyone turned to look at Jenny, who continued, “And what if you had only succeeded in hurting Peter?”
Interestingly it was Orb who responded, “If the injury were serious and required more power than I could afford to spare, I would have been forced to end Peter, in his present form, and find another player.”
There was muttering from the other team.
“That is also cruel,” said Matt.
“You are confused, young ones,” said Orb. “Your current form is temporary. There is no cruelty in the taking of another form. I was actively working to end the current form of several members of Cube’s team. There are penalties imposed upon teams which cause delays to repairing or recruiting team members. It is all part of the Game.”
“There is suffering,” said Jigme. Everyone now turned to look at the leader of Cube’s team.
“Yes,” agreed Malcolm. “There is, and always will be, suffering. It may please you to know that the ultimate goal of the Game is to determine which type of civilization generates the least amount of suffering.”
Irene, who had been quietly taking all of this in, finally asked Malcolm a question. “Are you God?”
Malcolm chuckled and shared a quick glance at both Orb and Cube (both of whom were pulsing their respective colors). “God? I should think not!”
“But you seem to know everything about…everything,” Irene insisted.
Malcolm smiled. “No, child. I know infinitely more than all of you, but I am not God.”
“Is there a God?” Jenny asked. This question created quite a stir among the monks, who huddled together, whispering.
Malcolm, in a much more serious fashion, answered, “There are many things my kind does not know. For example, though we have studied the issue at length, we do not know how life was originally created. It had to come from somewhere, as did the basic rules that govern this universe, but no amount of studying or experimentation has provided us with an answer. My species has variations of what you call religion as well, but like those found on your world, they tend to share many attributes and values yet also reflect a dizzying amount of diversity in what they believe.”
“So, there is a God?” Jigme asked quietly.
Malcolm, bowing slightly, nodded. “I believe so, Jigme. Something or someone gave birth to this universe. We have been unable to pierce that mystery, which is why we are now focused on
improving the civilizations within our universe and reducing the suffering that exists in every corner. There is value in what all of you worship. I am sorry that I don’t have a more complete answer.”
Jigme nodded in return, then shifted himself such that he was once again in the middle of his team. The whispering began again and, with much nodding of heads, Jigme eventually turned back around and sat stoically. Peter looked at Jigme, expecting something more. There was not.
“So,” Peter asked, “your civilization intends to let this contest and all the damage it causes to other worlds continue until you find what you believe is the winner between a dictatorship and free will?”
Malcolm’s face twitched a little and the smooth, polished veneer cracked a bit as he pulled on the end of his mustache. “I would put it differently, Peter, but, in short, yes.”
“What gives you the right to do this?” asked Jenny. “Isn’t this Game itself an invasion of our planet’s free will?”
Malcolm continued to pull at his mustache and then responded carefully, thoughtfully. “More advanced civilizations dictate what happens to the less advanced civilizations they encounter. We can save your species an eon’s worth of mistakes. I agree that it is an uncomfortable, invasive process but our ultimate goal is to set a course for this universe and its inhabitants that provides for the best opportunity for success with the least amount of pain and suffering.”
“So, you’re saying you have the right to do this because you are more advanced and have better technology?” Jenny snarled.
Eli squeezed her hand, cautioning her against antagonizing their hosts. Malcolm, however, seemed amused by her and smiled as he responded.
“Yes, Jenny—that and the fact that we have infinitely more knowledge and, we believe, the corresponding wisdom.”
Jigme had not paid attention to Jenny’s question and remained focused on Malcolm’s prior comments. He pursed his lips, then asked, “Malcolm, are you suggesting that your intervention may save our civilization millions of years’ worth of mistakes? This seems unlikely.”
The Promise of the Orb Page 16