by T C Donivan
“Clayton, who is that?” She whispered.
A man sat at a table in the center of the room bent over a book. His face was age itself, seamed with the expression of the weather beaten centuries and covered by a beard streaked with white and grey, the hair that cascaded over his collar the same. His robes were scarlet with gilt edged gold brocade tied by a black sash at the waist. A crimson sultan’s hat crowned his head; its band marked by a black insignia whose emblem I did not recognize. I observed the strange man with reverence and fear, the aura of authority he exuded washing over me like ice crystals on a winter’s morning. Without lifting his face from his book, he beckoned us come closer. Something in the text amused him. He looked up finally and spread his arms before him in a gesture of supplication.
“I am Yseslev. The history of humankind surrounds us. Within this place is recorded every thought and deed of every creature, human and otherwise, that has ever walked, flown, or swam upon the Earth. This library is the sum of all our struggles, all our triumphs and all our tragedies, desires and deceits, our past, present and future. We stand at the hub of Infinity’s Compass, the crossroads of eternity from which one can travel to any destination. Here time is meaningless.”
“I could stay here forever,” Annie told him. Her eyes were alight with joy such as I had seen in them only in the throes of passion.
“There are some that have. The librarians are a select few, ascetics who have transcended the flesh. They seek another course to enlightenment.” He turned to me. “All who come here feel this, but it is not your time.”
I looked at Yseslev and could see the aura of his soul radiating like cold fire.
“Why are we here, if not to seek sanctuary?” I asked.
“Knowledge,” Yseslev said.
“Are we alive, or this is a ghost shell?”
Yseslev smiled at me. “You teeter upon the brink of perception.”
“Where are our bodies? Are we dead or alive?” I asked fearfully.
“All mortal flesh is in a state of decay. You have achieved stasis, the balance between being and nothingness.”
“Death,” I said.
“Fear grips your soul my son. Release it and let it pass through you,” Yseslev ordered.
“Will we awake from this dream?” Annie asked.
“If you choose to,” he said.
A still pool of water in a golden bowl as wide as the wheel of a large wagon carriage appeared before us in the midst of the library. Yseslev passed his hand above it, invoking an arcane spell in a forgotten tongue. I stared into its hypnotic tranquility and felt myself falling into its murky depths. I saw in it the empires of Europe before the Christian God came and after, kings and emperors whose antiquity preceded Yseslev and those who had not yet been born. Among them were fools and prophets and others, beings who stood apart, ever present and unchanging, men and women, or perhaps mere shadows of men and women, who acted as trusted guides through the treacherous paths of eternity. Some called them sorcerers and others demons, but all were held in reverence and fear.
I felt the question I dare not ask rising up in me. “Is there a God?”
A face so wrinkled I could not tell if it was male or female stared back at me from the bowl. It spoke in a silent voice, its words filling me with knowledge.
“All life from the inception of the Creation to this moment is immortal. It cannot die, only migrate from vessel to vessel seeking its proper level. What you seek is the preservation of a moment’s consciousness, preserved like a butterfly in amber. It is possible, but like the butterfly, it is frozen in one instant of time and cannot progress. Such an existence would take on the taste of dry ashes in time. You assume this shell you wear is the penultimate possibility of being, when it is barely the first step on a stairway that ascends into infinity. Let go of your preconceptions Clayton and accept the gift you are offered. Only then, will you find God.”
I knew that all it said was true, the reality of the golden bowl revealing eternity in an instant. My sanity chattered like a scared animal in the corner of my mind, then returned. As my consciousness slipped back into the present, I felt a terrible sense of loss. Yseslev touched my arm in compassion.
“I have never felt such love and beauty,” Annie said.
“You have a question,” Yseslev told her.
“Are we in Hell?” Annie asked.
“Uncomprehending men call it that. Does the thought frighten you?”
“Yes,” she answered. ”I don’t want to burn in the lake of fire.”
“You will not.”
The library fell away and we stood upon a terrace that overlooked a city on the sea. Warships rocked in the harbor to the sound of cannon as blood red armies crawled over the destroyed parapets of a doomed city. I could hear the strains of battle below.
“Your friends are trapped in this place, reliving it, over and over again,” Yseslev said.
“Spencer and Rachel, Mozart and Sosanna.”
“You must help them break the cycle, or they will be trapped in it forever.”
“What of us? Annie and I would like to stay here with you,” I said.
He shook his weary head. “The lady would be happy, but you are not ready and she will not stay without you. But before you leave, you must see an old friend.”
We turned and found Tree Owl sitting at the head of the great table in the library, his brown skin as deep and rich a mahogany as the paneling that lined the book laden walls. Bindings of winter green, autumn red and summer gold plunged at precipitous angles from hand carved shelves like chandeliered scholarships. The carpet was made of prairie grass, jade, soft and whispering. The ceiling was the blue canopied constellations of the night. Tree Owl looked up and smiled at us. The dream!
“What is this place?” I called out, my words sinking away like sound in falling snow.
“There is no path in the sky, only shrouds on the Earth,” Yseslev replied. “Nothing exists until you create it my children. As you fix it in your mind, it has become your destiny. The search has lasted a thousand years, but you have found one another for eternity. One path chosen, another forsaken.”
We awoke in the darkened hall of the abandoned cathedral.
“Was it real?” Annie asked.
“Yes,” I said with certainty.
“What are we to do?” She wondered.
“We must find Spencer and Rachel and go home.”
We went out the door of the cathedral into the deserted street. Fire still flickered above the city in the direction of the Slave Market, the last of Tree Owl’s handiwork. I used it as the North Star and understood which direction we needed to go. The map of the city was clear in my head. If we could find Spencer and Rachel, we would all yet survive.
As we started up the street, a figure slipped out of the shadows. A knife flashed in its hand, stabbing Annie. She doubled over in pain, the breath rushing out of her. As she staggered to her knees I saw the demented face of Sebastian leering at us.
“The whores must always die,” he shrieked.
Primal emotions battered me. The instinct to kill in revenge was clear, but Yseslev’s voice still echoed in my soul. Annie yet lived. Sebastian disappeared into the shadows, a gibbering, forgotten fool.
“Annie, my God, my Annie,” I cried. Blood stained the buckskin shirt she wore.
“I’ll be all right Clayton. We have to get to the boat,” she said.
I helped her to her feet and we began again.
Chapter 37 – Eternity’s Compass
The night had seemed to last for a thousand years, but morning came, finally, as Annie and I struggled the last mile to the beach where we had left the boat. She leaned on me; all the color gone from her face as her life slowly seeped away. As the grim gray light of dawn crept over the city behind us, I saw that the front of her shirt and pants were soaked with blood. I prayed Spencer and Rachel had at least escaped. If they had not, then all we had was sacrificed was for nothing. I saw a glint of light refle
cted in the distance and then a man waving and running toward us, a small, tailless, black dog beside him. Annie collapsed and Spencer caught her in his arms as she fell.
“My God, what happened to her?” He asked.
“Let’s get her to the boat,” I said.
Rachel sat beside the makeshift vessel, still covered in the cloak Spencer had wrapped her in at the Slave Market, rocking quietly. Her eyes were dark pools of sorrow bordering on madness. We laid Annie beside her. I cradled her in my arms as I told him about Sebastian, but said nothing of our experience in the library. It seemed too personal and too fantastic to speak of with anyone except dear Annie who had shared it with me. My consciousness seemed to still rest partly in the library, a feeling in my head like the world on a frosty winter’s morning deep in the woods. I wondered if this was how the prophets had felt after they had seen God.
“Spencer, we have to leave this place. It’s her only hope,” I said.
He knelt beside me, compassion on his handsome face. “Clayton, I lied to you. There is no way out. Not without dying,” he said.
My blood ran cold. “What do you mean? Mozart told us there was.”
“I lied in order to get Rachel back. I couldn’t do it without you and Annie and the others. I sacrificed you all for her.”
“You bastard.”
“I’m not saying there isn’t a way back. You just can’t reach it without giving up your life.”
“I’m not ready to do that. I don’t have the faith. You wouldn’t let Rachel go. I can’t lose Annie,” I cried folding the unconsciousness girl into my arms.
He grinned at me with that same brash face I had first met and come to love on the banks of the Ohio River so long ago. “When I slipped out the back of the brothel, I sold my soul to save Rachel. I ate the apples so I could have power over the nymph and do all the things that had to be done to save her, but now I can never leave. And Rachel, my poor sweet Rachel, after all I’ve done, I’ve failed her, I took too long. Like me, she’s eaten the fruit of Tartarus and is condemned for eternity here. ” He touched her arm and she flinched as if she had been struck. “If only she knew me, but she is so damaged. What will I do?” He shook his lionine head. “I’m sorry. I’ve sentenced you and Annie to destruction as well.”
“We did not eat the fruit,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter. There is no path in the sky.” He grinned. “Remember? Those were your words when the buffalo trampled you to death.”
“They did not trample me to death,” I said.
“Didn’t they? Mozart and I twisted reality, pulled you back because we needed you. But in that instant, you glimpsed this place, this fate.”
“I thought you weren’t aware of all this then?”
“I know now that I’ve slipped through time, engaging myself when I needed to tweak the present to influence the future. I was always aware, to some extent.”
He got up and began to pace, pausing only to stare off toward the pulsating light of the impossible city of Elysium. Mordecai bounded to his feet and followed him, tracing his steps slavishly. I admired the dog’s tenacity. He had survived where Tree Owl and Arsinoe and a host of others had perished. Spencer sat down again, one hand carefully resting upon Rachel’s shoulder. A decision had been made.
“There is only one way out for us.” He nodded toward the bowl of fire that was Elysium. “That is the hub of the wheel, the center of time and space, Eternity’s Compass. If Rachel and I step into it, we will be freed of the cycle of living and dying.”
“What about us?”
“We’ll see.” He flipped over the boat and began dragging it toward the lake.
“Your answer doesn’t satisfy me Spencer!”
Annie began to stir, moaning softly. I covered her face with mine, kissing her gently. Her eyes flickered open.
“Clayton?”
“Yes my love.”
“Are we home yet?”
“Soon.”
“Everyone in the boat! Quickly, if you want Annie to live,” Spencer shouted.
I helped Annie to her feet as Spencer guided Rachel to a seat in the stern of the boat. Mordecai jumped in behind them. Once they were aboard, Spencer and I pushed the boat out into the lake. We unfurled the sail. A breeze came up and billowed the ragged canvas, pushing us out from the shore. I looked back one last time at Ezekiel’s City. The flame of Tree Owl’s cleansing fire had flickered out. No doubt they would rebuild it, but for now, at least, he had purged the underworld of its evil.
A phalanx of gray clouds overcast the sky, but as we sailed away from Ezekiel toward Elysium, the morning turned bright and sunny as I had not seen it since we had fallen into the netherworld. Annie revived somewhat, a bit of color returning to her face. She leaned against me. Seabirds circled overhead, sailing on the wind, cawing out their songs.
As we neared Elysium, the bowl of light it rested in acquired the look of a sun that had fallen to Earth. Though it did not burn the eyes, the mind began to dance precariously at the edge of reality if you looked into it for too long. I felt both longing and dread, a spiritual hunger filling my senses and emptying my soul.
“We’re almost there!” Spencer called out.
He guided the boat into the shore. He and I leaped out in the surf and pulled the craft onto the beach. As we did, the hull cracked and water began to fill it.
“No going back,” he said.
“There never was,” I told him.
I helped Annie from the boat and steadied her on my arm. The four of us and Mordecai climbed up the sandy beach to a point where it became a forest that grew out of a rocky outcropping. The sphere of Elysium towered over us, crackling like a Nor’easter. It cast light, but no heat. The air was charged with electricity.
“What do we do?” I asked.
“Go into it,” Spencer said.
“How far?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know?”
Spencer cast at me with a look of desperation. “It isn’t far Clayton. Trust me.”
As we moved toward it, I felt no fear of injury or dying, only concern that Annie would not live until we arrived at our destination, whatever it may be. I began to pray silently, to the savior of my youth, that He spare her, making a bargain with God and all His saints that I would perform any task and devote my life to His glory and works if He would spare her. We had not traveled very far when the forest opened into a lush meadow. At the far side of the clearing, a hundred yards away, the light of Elysium shimmered, cascading up into the heavens. Even at that proximity, it defied description, its simplicity concealing the intricacy of eternity.
We stood, basking in its majesty. Annie sat down in the grass, the last of her energy spent. Spencer held Rachel in his arms and kissed her, whispering softly in her ear. Recognition returned slowly to her eyes as she gazed at her lover. In that moment, she was miraculously healed of her physical scars and made whole again. She kissed Spencer, then turned and spoke to us in her gentle, lisping voice.
“Clayton, Annie, it’s good to see you again.”
Spencer caressed her cheek. “Slip away into life darling. You have the chance. Go with them,” he told her.
An iron will took hold of her and she answered him with great expression, “I will not. I will be with you, even if it is into oblivion.”
As I watched, their images began to flicker, their bodies like liquid as the visages of Mozart and Sosanna melded briefly with their own before they settled back into the faces I knew and loved.
“What is this? Are any of you real?” I asked in disbelief.
Spencer grinned at me with that enigmatic look of his. “Of course we are. But it’s only a half life of sorts that we live in our dreams.”
“For an instant, I thought you were Mozart.”
“We are inextricably linked, body and soul,” he answered.
My mind rebelled at the notion. “It isn’t possible. We’re not part of some communal soup. If a man doe
sn’t possess that which makes him unique, then he’s nothing.”
“Open your mind Clayton. There is no flesh to bleed in this place, no body to suffer. We are pure energy here. But we are more real than those fragile shells we inhabit on the other side. What if bits and pieces of us flake off into the astral winds, twisting and turning until they form an entirely new entity – does that make us less than we were, or something more – a part of something larger?”
“Were Mozart and Sosanna real?” I asked.
“They were, a long time ago, just as you were real in a life long dead. He was a King of Greece and later a Prince of Moors. She was his Queen and concubine. We served one another with evil and regretted it mightily, father against son and mother against daughter. Their sorrow merged with our own and we became two sides of the coin, seeking both vengeance and forgiveness from ourselves and each other, locked in eternal struggle. When we walk the Earth in flesh, we cannot recognize these things. They are buried deep in our souls, guiding us, tormenting us, but impossible to recall until we die and begin again.”
“What was the Mozart I knew, a ghost?”
“No, he was a man like you and I, but in our torment, we had come to share the ruin of each other’s souls, partly cognizant and partly dreaming, as did Rachel and Sosanna. Do not mistake them for doppelgangers, or mere shadows of the people you see before you. They were every bit as alive and independent as you or I, but inextricably intertwined with us. The soul has many parts. Mozart and Sosanna have returned to the world of men, leaving us to decide our own fate at last. I think we are forgiven.”