The Apocalypse Script

by Samuel Fort

  Chapter 31 - The Fading Light

  As soon as he could escape the dinner, Ben went to his study to resume his inspection of the tablets. He was still upset by the revelation that if he abandoned the faux marriage Lilian and probably dozens of other people would be killed. Worse, the fact that he was upset reinforced the depressing fact that he now accepted that the Nisirtu did, in fact, control the world and were bent on destroying it.

  He decided that research would be his escape. He was grateful that he could rely on the unchanging, emotionless tablets to be there for him when he needed a distraction. Not that the tablets were exactly his friends. Indeed, they seemed to delight in vexing him, at keeping their secrets secret while teasing him with insights that flashed into and out of mind too rapidly to register.

  Sometimes the etchings would fill his head with images and thoughts so utterly alien that he could not have conceived them on his own. Images of places and beings and events that ranged from heavenly to hellish. He knew of drugs that could allegedly cause such thoughts, drugs he had taken himself when he first got back from the war. Prescription drugs that warned of unusual dreams as a potential side effect.

  But how could merely staring at slab of stone do that?

  Sometimes the inscriptions tricked him into seeing movement, as if the lines and swirls and spirals were not carved into the stone but were instead colored threads placed upon it that were being slowly pulled by a phantom finger.

  He was holding a tablet in his hand, mesmerized by the illusion of the movement, when Ridley appeared in the doorway.

  “Good evening, nephew.”

  “Ridley,” said the researcher, startled. Collecting his wits, he said, “If you’re here to ask if there’s been a breakthrough, the answer is ‘no.’ I haven’t had much of an opportunity to study the tablets today.”

  Entering the room, the other man said, “No, no, I’m not worried about that. I’m sure you’ll achieve a breakthrough, eventually.”

  Ben grunted. “You should have brought me into the fold earlier. There is no way I’ll master these before your planned apocalypse.”

  “Don’t push yourself too hard. I fully expect you to continue your studies after this era is complete. Anyway, your subconscious is already working on the tablets. Let it do the hard work. You’ll find it will be far more effective than your conscious mind.”

  Ben shook his head. “Hoping that I will have an epiphany while I’m asleep is a strategy I tried in college with little success.”

  The scribe chuckled as he put his hands behind his back and moved toward the researcher. “Oh, it’s not like that, exactly. Are you familiar with Jungian archetypes?”

  “I know the phrase, and that Jung was a contemporary of Freud and almost as famous, though the two had significantly different views on psychology. From what I remember, Freud was fixated on sex and Jung was fixated on metaphysics.”

  “Ha! Well, I’m sure many would agree with you. Anyway, Jung postulated that there are nebulous forms and images common to all humans. These are the basic building blocks of thought that every man and woman use to form their reality. Things, people, and places that they know exist before they can even speak.

  “Gods, for example. There are no cultures I’m aware of that are without gods. Belief in a god or gods in instinctive to man and may be rationalized away as a person gets older, but fresh from the womb, a man believes in gods. Devils, too.” The old man gave him a quizzical look. “Tell me, nephew, do you believe in gods? Or devils?”

  Ben sighed, turned a palm up. “What does that have to do with deciphering the tablets?”

  The Great Sage stared at him for a moment before saying, “I propose that the Empyrean Glossa is an archetype. It is a language buried in the subconscious. Hardwired into our brains, even. That’s why I’m suggesting that you let your subconscious do the work.”

  Perplexed, the researcher said, “Lilian gave me the impression that deciphering these tablets was an emergency.”

  “No, Ben. The emergency was getting you to Steepleguard before the collapse so that you could study them. I never told Lilian that I expected you to decipher the tablets before the world was reborn.”

  “Huh.” Ben tried to remember his conversation with Lilian in Denver. Playing it over in his mind, he thought Ridley might be right. Not that it really mattered.

  “Take some time off,” suggested the scribe. “Tour your new home, meet the guests and get to know your wives. Fiela was looking for you a few minutes ago. She wanted to apologize to you again for what happened at dinner. She said she had upset you. You do seem a little agitated, in fact.”

  “Not because of anything Fiela did. Not really. It’s hard to get angry with a person who is trying so hard to make you happy, even when she’s being a pain in the butt.”

  Ridley laughed. “Yes, she can be that.” In a more serious tone, he added, “Ben, there’s something you need to know about my niece.”

  Staring levelly at the scribe, the researcher said, “Ridley, Lilian is causing me enough grief. Please don’t tell me that there are sinister strings attached to Fiela. Unlike some others,” he said, looking pointedly at the other man, “Fiela has never lied to me, at least not on anything of consequence. Has she?”

  “No, Ben, no. Nothing like that.” The scribe walked to a chair opposite the researcher and slowly seated himself. “Fiela does not lie, not often, and when she does, she is very bad at it. It’s not in her nature.”

  Relieved, Ben said, “What is it, then?”

  “You know that she has nightmares.”

  “Of course. It’s PTSD. Ten years of fighting would do that to her, especially considering that she began fighting as a child.”

  Twiddling his fingers on an adjacent table, Ridley said, “I agree that it is PTSD. Not from the war, though. Not entirely.”

  “What, then?”

  Glancing at the door, Ridley said, “I told you that I saved both Lilian and Fiela from the mark placed on King Sargon; that they were to be executed but that I negotiated to have them released and placed under my guardianship.”

  “Yes.”

  “Fiela was a small child when that happened. I couldn’t save her family, you understand. They openly admitted their support for Lilian’s father. Brave, loyal types, with Peth blood in their veins. Thirty-first generation. They were fearless and though Sargon’s House was not their own, they stood by the man, and were killed as a consequence.”

  “Right.”

  Ridley forced air from his lungs before continuing. “They were killed in their own home. Brutally. Slowly.”

  A cold, invisible hand squeezed Ben’s throat. “Jesus.”

  “I’ll spare you the details but you need to know that everything that was done…” He took in a deep breath. “It was all done in front of Fiela.”

  When he was able to move again, the former Marine jumped to his feet and through the stone tablet in his hand across the room, screaming obscenities he hadn’t used in a decade. His outrage not quelled, he knocked over and threw furniture, books, and anything he could get his hands on, cursing obscenely with every outburst.

  Walking in a tight circle and trying to regain his senses, his hands on his head, he yelled, “What is it with you people? Lilian’s father goes insane so you have to kill a girl’s parents in front of her? It would have been more compassionate to just kill Fiela, too!”

  Ridley said nothing, staring at the floor as the other man kicked over an antique globe before finally returning to his chair.

  His face bright red, Ben said, “I don’t mean that. Killing her, I mean. I don’t think…ah, hell. I don’t know. You people are barbarians.”

  When the scribe saw he was done, he said, “I did not learn of the incident until later, when I expressed a concern for the girl’s mental state. She was introverted, prone to sudden, inexplicable bouts of screaming and crying, and had nightmares. So many nightmares. Three or four a night.”

  Hearing
this, the Peth’s words from two nights ago, regarding the terrors, came back to Ben. “Sometimes your family comes back, especially your mother…” Her words had struck him as odd at the time. Now they gave him chills.

  In a hoarse voice Ben said, “Didn’t she tell you what had happened?”

  “No, Ben. She did not remember. She blocked it out. She did not remember then and she does not remember now.”

  “What?”

  “She doesn’t know, nephew. Not consciously. The block is absolute. When she was a child, I dared not reveal the truth to her, especially not when she began to show signs of improvement. Lilian tried to help, changing Fiela’s sweat-soaked bed linen to save the girl the embarrassment of having my fetches see them, and sometimes reading to her, but at other times she was very distant. Keep in mind that Lilian was trying to cope with the loss of her own father during this same period. At times she was caring and at other times shockingly callous. It was a challenging period for them both.”

  “Does - did - Lilian know?”

  “No. Only I know, Ben, and now you. I have tried on occasion to carefully broach the subject with Fiela but she seems truly oblivious to any insinuation I make that she might have had a troubled childhood. She knows that she is an orphan but her earliest memories are of being here at Steepleguard. All other memories are repressed.”

  “But she still has nightmares.”

  Ridley nodded. “There is no restraining the subconscious. But she has had them less often, since she has returned here. Do you know why?”

  “Because she feels safe here, I’d assume. She knows this place and you’re her uncle. It’s a very secure and welcoming environment.”

  “No, Ben. It’s you.”

  The other man was stunned. “Me?”

  “Yes. She sees a strong, confident man, a smart man, who has the same affliction she has, and that means she has an ally. Remember, she is Peth. Fighting is her way of life. Her entire life she has fought the terrors alone. Now, she sees you are fighting them, too, and she feels less ashamed. She sees that it’s not just her, that it’s not a sign of weakness. It has given her hope.”

  Ben, embarrassed, said, “She told you this?”

  “Yes, we had a long conversation. She is happier today than I have ever seen her. Not only are you an ally, you are family. Immediate family, not an obscure uncle, like me. You are someone she can care for. Someone she can, as Peth, protect. More importantly, you are someone she can talk to because you are from the Ardoon and won’t judge her in the same way other Nisirtu would.”

  The researcher sighed and hung his head. “Is she going to be okay, Ridley? I mean, other than the nightmares, is she…okay?”

  “I think so. Granted, she gets carried away from time to time. Her instincts are to be an introvert but she’s fighting that and as a result sometimes goes too far and becomes demanding, even needy. Be patient with her.”

  With that, the scribe rose and headed back toward the doorway.

  Ben called after him. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Ridley stopped and turned. “Because I love her, and she loves you. I would rather she not be hurt, nephew. Not emotionally. It might undo her.”

  Then he was gone.