by Gregg
Marchese
Dione walked the halls of the City of the
Monstruwaccans, highest in the Pyramid. No longer
had she been able to bear the emptiness and
futility of her office chambers, with Nemia gone.
Even the remaining heights of the Tower of
Observation seemed stiffling to her. Though her
feet ached against the hard metal plane and her
hips twinged, she maintained a stately gait. Must
not let the others of her order see her as less
than poised. But inside the Master dismayed.
The Supreme Scholar had officially proposed to
lead a thirteenth foray into the Lost Cities. As
Master Monstruwaccan Dione had issued formal
protest, on the grounds that the Pyramid could not
risk loss of one of its Archons, at least not
until a successor had been approved. As proxy for
the Foremost, Cerantae had sent concurrence from
the Foretellers--though not strengthening it with
any compelling prophecy. The Power Proctors too
had denied the proposal, claiming a lack of Earth
Current to charge the foray.
Nemia had countered with clear deductions from a
Scholar research council, declaring that they knew
the location of stored Earth Current in one of the
Lost Cities--more than enough to offset the power
the foray would need. Watching on the hour-slips,
many peoples of the populations had clamored in
favor of the foray, and Nemia's leadership,
knowing how successful she had been in the past.
The Foretellers remembered that her first foray
had brought back the Sybilline Book, and a dream
virus with it, and some minds and even lives had
been lost.
The Scholars countered that eventually so too
had new visions been inspired by the Book, and
many more future lives had been saved thus. Such
reasoning was difficult to refute in the Pyramid
at this time. The Master had to weigh her own
belief that to focus popular hope upon a
reclaiming of Lost Cities against the demographic
drain of the Peregrinations into the mist would
also benefit the future. Whe tried to remove her
personal affections for Nemia from the decision.
Finally the Master withdrew her protest. The
Foretellers took a poised position, awaiting
concurrence, but the Power Proctors held firm.
Nevertheless the Supreme Scholar, three full Youth
Leagues and a cadre of Elder Mentors, plus other
warriors and retainers, began their Preparations.
With dull and uncharged Diskoi they drilled,
meditated en masse before the altar of the Twisted
Gibbering Thing (reminder of the effects of the
Night Land on a human mind), and fasted.
Finally the Power Proctors announced their
approval, and budgeted the Earth Current the foray
needed. The Foremost Foreteller had finally died,
liberating a significant ration from the Core
Chamber.
Before any could demand the Supreme's attendance
at the Foreteller ceremonies of passing and
succession--though strangely there was no body to
be committed to the chasm of the Earth Current in
the Quiet Country in the Underground Fields, and
stranger still, no Foremost put forth as
successor--Nemia's foray had charged all the
Diskoi, donned heat robes, and was gone through
the gate of the lowest City, into the cold dark
danger of the Lost Cities.
The Master detached herself from concern by
focusing on the terrible task she had set before
her. She flicked her sight around at the wide
corridor, with its vastly high ceiling. Strips of
soft gray light illumined the base of the walls,
and the Master saw a thin layer of dust upon them.
Wasteful, with so many demands upon the Earth
Current. She would issue an edict to the
Reclaimers Guild for better maintenance.
Dione knew she was occupying her mind with
pettiness so that she would not dwell on the
upcoming task. Her steps took her to a high arched
doorway, where a Monstruwaccan functionary waited
in long black robe with a gold belt. Gold has
become popular, Dione noted.
The functionary offered a three metron bow. The
Master nodded a single metron.
"We have sorted the many volunteers, and
assembled the best prospect according to your
parameters. " The man's face and voice were flat.
Dione noted his exquisite control. Too
controlled. It must have been bad. She looked from
his eyes to the door. "How many initially?"
"Sixteen thousand, four hundred--"
"An approximation is adequate." In her heart,
Dione was both stunned and resigned. Of course a
certain portion of the populations would be drawn
to such a sacrifice, but the large number told her
how desperation for heroics had grown among them.
.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I am your only choice.
His thought in her mind, calm, knowing, neither
resigned nor over-anxious. You have seen it?
No. I merely know. You need an eye of hope.
Can you truly offer that?
In the way you need most, yet know it not.
For it is in the past that true hope lies.
And you have such hope? The Master
sensed her own resistance, determined that he
should fail her tests, knew its unfairness but
pressing him anyway.
He remained poised. I know the ancient name of
the Winged Shadow Creatures that attacked the
Tower. It is a name from such antiquity that
time blurs. From before humans even defiled the
land.
How is this hope?
Dryke smiled sadly. The contrast you need is
not truly between despair and hope, but future
and past. Descendant and ancestor. But if you
must: The past is hopeful because it affirmed
that life continued, adapted in strange and
wondrous forms, but never ended. The past is
hopeful because it was. The future may not be.
Dione clung to her testing. Tell me this
ancient name of the Winged Shadow Creatures.
We have no language for it; that too is
utterly long gone. But a slightly newer language
called them Dragons.
They passed a silent moment. Perhaps the ghost of
a sense drifted through the deepest layer of
Dione's mind. How can you know this?
I believe Cerantae sensed this in me when
she named me. My name is another word for
Dragon.
At mention of his mother, the Master detached
from a surge of dread. She stared deeper into his
eyes, probing with all her intent observation. He
opened his mind and soul to her, hiding nothing.
And she saw what she dreaded. Holding in her
thoughts the single remaining oculus with its
despairing view of the future, she compared his
clear hope in the certainty of the past.
After long moments, she withdrew her scrutiny.
You will be part blinded, at least. Perhaps
entirely. We cannot predict the effects of the
prodecure on your remaining eye and mind.
Possibly you will be made insane.
And I cannot predict the future, as you
know. But it was this or join the foray to the
Lost Cities. We Aftellers risk enough of our
souls without the hardships of cold, pain, mere
death.
And now you risk sight and sanity.
I have my hope. It will not change.
The Master knew this was so. It was all they
needed. She had to think of all the many souls
that could be saved if this plan should succeed.
To observe the realm beyond the mist--beyond the
Night Land--as no Monstruwaccan had ever conceived
could be done--
What was one Foreteller-- Afteller, Dione
corrected herself-- before that?
How would Cerantae accept such a second loss so
soon? Dione determined that she must tell her
herself.
She already knows and while she may not
approve, she will not try to forbid. Dryke
had sensed her thought, and Dione knew how poor
her control had become. Cerantae understands
the needs of the future.
Now you hope too much. The Master turned
to the functionary, not surprised to see he had
been replaced by a young woman. "Please show him
to our healing center. Best the preparations begin
at once."
Guarding her mind now as thoroughly as only the
Master Monstruwaccan could, she thought: Now
we must test Enkarra for Influences, and
interview her for the most minute details of her
vision. That will matter only if the experiment
of the Great Spy Glass succeeds. Nemia, please
return soon and sane! We sorely need the
Supreme--both of them--at this time. .
-----------------------------------------------------------
Enkarra stood at the front of the great Hall of
Concurrence in Foreteller City. Before her the
Hall was filled to capacity with every Foreteller
and high-standing administrator who could fit.
They stood in their official costumes, robes of
various colors to denote their place among the
Order, with the white robe embossed on the chest
with red encircled cross dominant. Their belts
were of copper, silver, gold. A contingent of
Monstruwaccans in black robes, the Master at their
fore, stood near the back, and scattered
throughout she saw the snug dark uniforms of
attending Scholars. Without moving her eyes,
Enkarra scanned them closely, and did not detect
the Supreme among them. Still lost in the Lost
Cities, it seemed. The Hall arched far above them
all in a dome, lines of softly shimmering cable
embedded in the gray metal converging to the peak,
where a hemisphere of cloudy crystal emitted soft
gold light. None of those in attendance moved a
metron. Their exposed faces stared impassive at
Enkarra where she stood on a raised platform.
She withheld her thoughts from the mind-speech
as best she could, but could not know who in the
throng could read them anyway. They would have
their coronation now, before even the funeral
for the previous Foremost. It is a dishonor.
Well, I will show them dishonor.
It was Foreteller custom to speak aloud at this
ceremony, and the acoustics of the hall had been
designed to carry all voices clearly. An elder
Foreteller woman in the front row drew breath. "It
is the concurrence of the Foretellers that you,
Enkarra, daughter of the previous Foremost, are
proposed as the new Foremost."
Another younger man spoke before Enkarra could
reply. "Your vision has gone further even than the
prophecy of the End Times Koniopses saw."
And another: "We need no greater concurrence."
Enkarra moved only her lips. "Yes. My spirit
journeyed as far as he, but only because he was
already there. And yes, I went further, but only
because another of my family went there too. You
have the report of my vision. The Monstruwaccans
have interrogated me at length. That future
descendant did not know I accompanied him, he in
his flesh and me in my spirit. And when he went
through the mist, only then could I as well. So
the accomplishment of my vision is not truly mine.
I merely attended those who went before me."
Another Foreteller spoke. "You came back."
"I did not wish to. Oh, how I wanted to linger
my entire life there. Bliss it is, sheer joy-- But
my family is here. So many of those beyond the
mist are family too, however removed, but here--"
She deliberately broke the customs of the ceremony
and allowed her eyes to flick to Cerantae,
standing at the very center of the Hall. "--here
is my family of the moment. I could not leave
them." She supressed the clenching of her heart
that Dryke was not in the crowd.
The crowd allowed a pause. Cerantae stood
unmoving and did not speak.
A long-standing administrator stirred. "Yet you
came back. That too is why you must be Foremost."
"I cared less for the future than for the now.
That is why I cannot."
A deeper stillness settled on the hall.
Prolonged silence ensued.
Into her thoughts, a private sending Enkarra
knew none other could read reached her. It
will dishonor him if you do not accept.
Enkarra replied without looking at her mother
again. It will dishonor him equally if I do. She
opened the part of her mind where her plan for
this moment had formed.
I see the way between in your thoughts. You have
my blessing.
Enkarra felt a surge of gratitude and relief,
and almost tears touched her eyes. She allowed one
eyelid to flicker, that they all might know the
depth of her passion. This was the path forward
for the Foretellers now, and if it limited their
prophetic powers, or foreshortened them as her
father had feared, then so be it.
Cerantae spoke next, fully enlisted now in
Enkarra's plan. "You have surpassed the former
Foremost."
"It only seems so, but very well. If you all
demand it, I accept the role of Foremost among the
Foretellers. Yet let all remember that this was
not prophecied, as no other succession has ever
failed to be. Now I will tell you why. As my first
decree, I declare that nevermore shall we have a
Foremost above us. That we have allowed love to
touch us has truncated our visions, but so too has
this focus of power in a Foremost limited us all.
Do not look to me, but look within yourselves. Now
all among the Foretellers will be equal, whether
we see far or near, or even back, as the Aftellers
do." Only a brief pause indicated that she felt a
surge of grief. "All visions will be equally
honored, equally meaningful. If I am to be
Foremost, I will be the last, and see that even
the pettiest prophecy of tomorrow's breakfast is
recorded and respected."
No pause now, but an eruption of many voices.
"We need the Foremost."
"Thus has it ever been."
"Who will foretell the furthest future?"
"Our Order will change!"
"We still need Foreteller guidance." That last
one was from a Scholar.
A Monstruwaccan added. "Observation of the
future must continue."
Enkarra moved her thumb a fraction of a metron.
The unrest continued throughout the Hall, minute
rustlings, shortened breathing, an edge of fear in
the voices. She broke the ceremony's protocol
again by pinching her forefinger to her thumb.
Silence fell like a weight. "The future is now not
so far off. It may not be a failing among the
Foretellers that our prophecies become myopic, but
only that the end of time draws near, and the
future of our own lives grows more precious. Yet
even that is not the primary reason. A far better
world awaits us. Far brighter, far warmer, far
more benign to beings such as we. Beyond the gold
luminous mist. Foretelling only holds us back from
its blessing."
The silence deepened. They had all heard or seen
her report of her visit to that realm, and knew
what it portended.
"Yet only your spirit visited there and
returned." It was the Master Monstruwaccan
speaking at last. "Our faulty and hopeful human
spirits may be deceived."
Enkarra stared into the Master's eyes, and it
was as if they were mere arm's lengths apart. "Our
human eyes too may be deceived. Or any instrument
made from them."
Cerantae spoke once more. "Hope comes from the
past. Faith is for the future. Prophecy weakens
faith."
The Master was implacable. "It may save lives
and even souls."
Enkarra was just as firm. "It may doom them too.
But think, you Monstruwaccans, who place such
faith in observation, and you Scholars too, who
place faith in thinking. And we Foretellers, who
hold faith in concurrence. Think! We are losing
our view of the future of this world, because it
does not lie here. Our future lies there, in that
other world beyond the mist. This is no
Foretelling, but a certainty all should accept."
The Master, having sensed that private place in
Enkarra's mind Cerantae had spoken to, sent her
own thoughts there too. None doubt that you
believe. Soon we may have a way to test it. That
concurrence may be enough to earn the
Monstruwaccans' sanction for the Peregrinations.
The Peregrinations do not need our
sanctions. Enkarra sent it in a way all
could receive, breaking another of the ceremony's
forms. They grow on their own, and my vision
only encourages them. Let my brother Dryke's
vision encourage them too. I say the only way
through is out.
Enkarra emptied her mind then, allowing no more
thoughts to form. The Monstruwaccans, with the
Master in the lead, turned and at their movement
the ring of doors swung open. As a group they
exited the Hall. The Foretellers remained still
while the scattered Scholars made their way to the
doors and were gone. Enkarra turned and left
through the door behind the platform, and none
followed her there. In stately Foreteller fashion,
the others all strode solemnly out of the Hall,
while inside they struggled for this new kind of
concurrence. Their order would be changed, and
none had foreseen whether for good or ill.
A single Foreteller stood unmoving in the center
of the Hall. The soft gold light shone down on her
alone, but her thoughts were dark. No matter my
support of their impulsive choices, I am losing
them too. What hope then for my own future? Long
she lingered there, awaiting an answer. No
prophecy came, but only her own thoughts. When
finally she left the Hall, she could not remember
which corridor would take her home. .
-----------------------------------------------------------
The Master Monstruwaccan stood before her
crystal window and stared out at the Night Land.
From this vantage she could see the shadow of the
South Watcher directly before her, and the dark
line of the Road Where the Silent Ones Walked
sweeping across the gnarled landscape. Far to her
left a haze of gold light shimmered faintly.
Many were watching from the Southwest
embrasures, as the latest Peregrination marched
into the West. Dione could not bear to see that
sight, of so many people, the largest number yet,
risking their souls on hope of escape. She knew
that Cerantae was among them, and she knew that
for most of them, hope was not their impetus. They
felt that they had nothing more to live for.
The Master must live for the Order of
Monstruwaccans, for strict observation and
recording, that future generations in the Last
Redoubt might know of these times, and so
understand their own. But was that enough reason
to stay, and strive, and observe?
Nemia had not returned. Survivors of the foray
had come back, in ragged groups and singles, to
tell a horrid tale. At first the foray had made
safe progress and reached the target City. There
they had found the source of stored Earth Current,
for their discoi were drawn to its energy. Loading
the great hefty sphere upon a cart, they had sent
some to return, led by Nemia, while others moved
to garrison the City.
Nemia's group moved slowly, with the heavy
sphere lashed to a cart. Approaching a lift near
the Core Conduits, Giants accompanied by a trained
Night Hound pack had attacked, and the foray had
been scattered. Clusters of Youth League members
assembled around Mentors to fight back, and some
Giants were felled. Other survivors fled back
toward the lift and the Reclaimed Cities, but were
overtaken by Night Hounds. Nemia organized a
defense, forming a line of diskoi with their hafts
extended to full, like pikes, interspersed with
crouching warriors swinging short-hafted discoi.
The line held as the pack of Night Hounds leapt
into the spinning roaring weapons. Behind this
wall the sphere of Earth Current was rolled to the
lift and carried up to the Reclaimed Cities.
Then a squad of Giants appeared, hauling some
strange implement on crude skids. One Giant
wrenched a great lever in its side, and a short
section of the discoi wall briefly went dark. Into
the breach a Night Hound leapt, to thrash and
snarl, tear and bite. Some Youth fled, and some
fought with dull dark discoi, but little harm
could they do the Night Hound. It bit them with
smoking fangs, the crimson light of its eyes
blazing madness.
Then Nemia leapt upon its back and struck
downward with a belt dagger. The Hound reared and
howled, throwing Nemia to the ground, where the
Hound pounced upon her chest. A brave Mentor led a
charge of Youth against the wounded Hound, using
unpowered pike discoi to harass the beast while
the swiftest warriors darted in to strike with
daggers, then withdraw.
Finally the Night Hound was driven off, dripping
steaming black blood. Nemia lay still, her chest
crushed even through the gray armor. Other bodies
lay still and red around her. 'Tell Dione,' she
whispered. 'Perhaps an illusion is better.' And
she spoke no more.
That was a thought Dione could not suffer. She
had been the Master too long, devoted to strict
observation of reality. Illusion could get them
killed or soul-enslaved. Her current reality was
bereft, without the companionship of the Supreme
Scholar who had befriended her for so long.
The reality of the Redoubt though was hers to
determine. The Master went to her view table and
stared at the empty surface, its faint shimmering
failing to touch the darkness of her thoughts.
Long she waited.
Finally the graph of Earth Current accumulations
appeared, and at once the Master assessed that it
was more than she needed. The sphere of stored
energy Nemia's foray had brought back was now
available. The Master sent a command for the Power
Proctors to harness it to the Great Spy Glass, and
slowly stood to depart the chamber. Only one level
up, and she entered the new Chamber of the Great
Spy Glass. No longer great, she thought, but the
best they had now. Only two oculuses remained,
positioned side by side in a small oval chamber of
soft shadow, highest now in the Pyramid. The
oculuses glinted each with their own spark of
fire, one deep crimson with a glint of orange, the
other violet centered with a blue-white spark. One
long familiar to her as her only direct view of
the Night Land, the other new and unknown.
The Monstruwaccan attendants moved to the edges
of the chamber as Dione walked calmly toward the
oculuses. Stopping before them, she reached out
and adjusted the pliable trunks so that the
oculuses were space properly, hanging at the
proper height. Pausing, she honored in her
thoughts all those who had risked death and
madness to allow her this chance to observe. Nemia
and Dryke were foremost in her mind. Then Dione
thought of all the dear souls that had departed
into the gold luminous mist, and all the
multitudes of the future who might continue to do
so, and none of them knowing for certain that
salvation lay there.
The Master Monstruwaccan leaned forward and
placed her eyes to the oculuses.
Long she peered unmoving, and long she pondered
unmoved. .
-----------------------------------------------------------
Enkarra held her brother's arm and guided him
along the curving corridor. Occasionally she felt
the shiver of his flesh under her fingers, heard
the gibbers, the sighs, the distant moans from his
drooling mouth, glanced down to see his slippered
feet shuffling along the floor. At times, in a
slack mumble, he would speak, though Enkarra knew
it was not to her. "You cannot be. Do not believe
it will endure."
At other times his voice would shrill with manic
mirth. "Indeed beautiful! Glorious! For us?"
Mostly he shivered and drooled and shuffled.
Long was their sojourn along the curving corridor,
and longer it felt to Enkarra, whose right and
responsibility it was to walk this way alone. She
had changed so much already for the Foretellers,
and this too was something she would change.
It was worse than the Monstruwaccans had feared.
Indeed the eye they had extracted and grafted into
the Great Spy Glass had worked to allow the Master
to peer beyond the mist, but it also continued to
send imagery to Dryke's living mind. What was
more, his other eye saw only images of the past
now, a constant Aftelling also pouring into his
mind. The intense contrast had driven him
irredeemably mad.
When finally they reached the circular door,
Enkarra drew Dryke to a stop. He complied readily,
stiffened and blurted, "Here we belong!" Then he
sagged and muttered, "If not this place, when?"
Enkarra faced the door. When last she had walked
through its round maw, her father had been within,
and his spirit had drawn hers to a future time
when humanity was truly beset. From there she had
followed on to a salvation she could not dare
believe in now. To encourage others to assay that
vision of hope she had brought back, and escape
the doom of her father's vision, or as the
Foremost Foreteller to advise caution against her
own vision... It was an impasse she was not able
to resolve.
How much worse must it be for Dryke, who not
just in memory and vision, but in active sight,
saw both realms of the dilemma at once. She gave
the mental command that opened the door, and
taking his arm again, guided him through into the
silverine shimmer of the Core Chamber. "False!" he
blurted. And gently, "sweet truths."
When they reached the end of the platform at the
center of the Chamber, Enkarra gently drew her
brother down to sit. She arranged his hands in his
lap, tucked a stray lock of hair from his brow
where it had fallen over the bandage on his eye.
"What grim grace," he muttered, and then cackled.
"It was!"
Enkarra stood and felt her spirit infused with
the healing power of the Earth Current. Here as
Foremost she might have meditated often, as had
her father, receiving the great Foretellings. But
she would not burden such future as remained with
fragile heirarchies, nor weaken the Foretellers
with leader worship. How tempting though to claim
the right to soak herself in this enlivening
field--though now it only gave her the power to
grieve. She knew even its aura was not enough to
heal her brother's madness, and she held her tears
as she backed away and closed the door behind her.
Only as she walked away down the corridor did she
allow her tears to fall.
Dryke, she thought. Is your view beyond the gold
luminous mist any more valid that mine? We still
must fear to believe in our hopes. As father had
always said. Now he was gone, even his body
dissipated into the Earth Current. And Cerantae
her mother, gone too, accompanying the latest
Peregrination with only a brief message in
Enkarra's view table: Without you all, I am
lost. I go to a new home or horror. This old
future lies with you.
Yes, still one purpose remained to Enkarra's
life. She had been beyond the mist, and seen the
people that lived and loved there. Some of them
were her own descendants. But were they real? Now
only she remained of her family to continue the
lineage, that some might discern the truth. .
-----------------------------------------------------------
The Master was searching. So many faces, so many
smiling lips, sparkling eyes, cheeks flushed with
health and humor. All suffused with that
ever-beaming golden glow, a haze of rapture and
relief in utter contrast to the Night Land she had
viewed all her life. Some of the faces she
recognized, citizens of the Great Redoubt she had,
if not known, at least observed among the Cities.
Upon green swards they danced or dozed or dallied,
sang or sighed, stretching up to gather ripe
fruit, or catch a child leaping from a branch.
They swam laughing in clear pools, drank freely
from tumbling rills, embraced in the gentle
whispers of the breeze. Of all types they were,
dark of skin and fair, slender and portly, young
and old, active and languid.
For one alone she was searching. Long the Master
searched, her eye sockets pressed to the tandem
oculuses, her entire Order awaiting her
announcement of the success of the experiment.
Wait they will, Dione thought. I must find him.
Her sight scanned over vast meadows and idyllic
forests, clumped and scattered with peoples. She
scanned along the coasts of gentle seas, waving
with strange trees dropping sweet nuts, and down
the valleys of broad rivers rippling in the gold
light. Everywhere she searched the forms, the
faces, for one lone man.
Finally she found him. Leaning against a cool
bank of earth, smiling mildly, his fair face clear
against the dark earth behind. Tall and slender,
dressed in austere black, yet all his manner
smugly amused, gently ridiculing. He was reading
aloud from a book to a group of youth seated
before him.
Mett. The Master did not know if she
could send her thoughts through the Glass into his
realm, but at once he looked up and smirked. He
shut his book and with a wave at the youth walked
a space apart.
So you have come to me. Aha, what irony. But
I can no longer come to you.
Nemia your hostess is dead. Dione did
not hide her grief nor her hatred of Mett's
seeming insouciance.
Yes. I was there. Mett hid his eyes by
looking down. And it seems we entities may
choose only one host, and no other.
They recovered her body, and it was
consecrated to the Earth Current in the Quiet
Country. So at least we know her soul is saved.
As mine-- Mett looked up and cocking his
head, set his lips in a terse grin-- may not
be?
The Master held firm. I thought you might
want to know.
Oh, I know. I accompanied her on that fool
foray, heard her last words, watched her soul
slip away as the ruin of her heart refused to
beat.
We too have her last words. The Master
went entirely still and waited.
She was impulsive but bold, brilliant but
unwise, reckless and courageous. Only Mett
could so insult and honor the departed. And her
last words were both true and false.
Dione sent a glimmer of her impatience. You
will say your realm there is vastly better, yet
is no illusion.
Mett shook his head and suddenly seemed truly
sad. I will say no more about this place. You
can see. He swung his hand to encompass the
grainy, mossy bank of earth, the group of eager
youth, the golden light.
I see a place of such idyllic beauty and
plenty, in such perfect contrast to the Night
Land, that I cannot help but doubt. No bait
could look more enticing.
Mett's face assumed a flat dispassion. Which
means the Night Land is equally unreal. No goad
could be more compelling.
The Master withdrew to her own austere
objectivity. Mett. She paused. Why can
you not say the Master Word?
The former Supreme Scholar lowered his head and
grinned, closing his eyes. You will not
believe, but nevertheless: In the passage from
your dark world to ours of light, we are
changed. We are still human, but we are changed
back into the kind of human that existed before
the Sun went dark. And in this kind of human,
the Master Word does not reside. It does not
need to.
So we are--
Yes. Mett rubbed the book in his long
hands. You are fear-adapted, suspicion-bred,
Night-evolved. Only humans long in the terror of
the Night Land developed the Master Word. Here,
we are trust-grown, light-bred, love-adapted. We
need no truth-tests but our own souls. He
held up the book so the Master could see the
letters embossed in gold on the cover: The
First History.
You're right... In sudden grief the
Master withdrew her spirit, surging back across
the fields and plains, the hills and river
valleys, to plunge through the light--
--and find herself leaning back from the
oculuses, her sockets irritated by their rough
edges. The oval chamber loomed around her.
Officials of her Order waited outside the door in
the ajoining chamber, to record her announcement
of the venture's success, and her observations
into the realm beyond the gold luminous must.
...I will not believe.
Dione, Master Monstruwaccan, turned to stride to
the door, to proclaim the Great Spy Glass venture
a success, capable of peering into the realm
beyond the luminous mist. She determined to issue
official proclamation that none of her
observations could be trusted to verify the truth
or illusion of the images it had shown her.
She flung open the door and blurted to the small
group of attendees: "It works. But is shows me no
Beyond we can trust. It shows me that we must
expunge the very concept of Beyond from our minds.
Here we live, and the Night Land is our rightful
home. We belong here."
Quickly she turned back into her chamber and
shut the door. They will accept such eccentric
behavior in one so old as I, she thought, but they
would never accept the grief that rose in her and
poured from her sore eyes. Nemia was right. The
illusion they could not afford to trust was far
better.
© Gregg
Marchese 20 April 2012
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