The Median

by Nicholas House

his now decaying teeth. “This host felt much for you. You see, there was a bond between you, my boy…Or should I say,” he took a long, wheezed breath in, truly enjoying toying with him, “my son,” he finished slowly, pleased with the effect his words would bring.

  Michael ran the statement through his head, searching for any other than its true meaning whilst Millaians haunting grin beamed darkly through the night. “But wait…” Michael whispered, about to give into the intimidation but realised some part of him had known all along. “It’s true, isn’t it?” he breathed quietly, moving towards the faceless being, “he is my father; Richard always knew it…And so did I…”

  “No!” screamed Millaian, backing off, “you are weak! You will join me or you will die!”

  Michael stepped up to Millaian and smiled. “No, I won’t,” he cocked his head and grimaced. “That’s what you’ve wanted; A lackey…Minion…” he looked straight back at him as it became clear, “apprentice...You wanted someone to corrupt, like you…But why?”

  “I need not explain myself to the likes of you!” he struck out a blood smeared arm and grabbed Michael around the throat, raising him from the ground slightly. “You have chosen death…” he tightened his grip briefly and threw him harshly to the wall, so hard the plaster was cracked, “and for this I pity you and what lie on the other side,” he once again took Michael by the throat, pressing him against the ground and raising his scalpel high, the bloodied blade glinting in what light there was. He hesitated for a second and leaned in close to Michael. Congealed plasma oozed from his face and tendons could be seen to tense in his exposed jaw as he gritted his teeth.

  “Why wait,” Michael asked, unafraid of the monster looming over him. Seeing something in Millaian, some strength that he did not control making him raise his head towards the blade. “Do it!” Knowing he would not.

  The dull light of the other world barely impacted Richards’s eyes as he opened them onto the glowing sky of the desert. The window high above shimmered indecisively, unsure whether it was still in phase with the living or not. He sat; bolt upright in the empty street as he recalled the Reavers and what they had wanted. There was little chance that she was still there; he couldn’t even feel her anymore but still he jumped to his feet and rushed back into the building and up the flights of stairs, bursting into the apartment to find that it was, indeed, completely deserted. He hung his head mournfully and wiped his face, not knowing how next to proceed. Suddenly, he looked up again only now realising he was still in the Median World. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious; it may even have been too late already. Still, he had to try, knowing that he was of no use to anyone if he was truly dead at long last. Turning sharply, Richard rushed from the building and ran along the street towards Lancers chapel. As he did he could feel himself become weaker as the sands of his life rapidly fell away into the abyss. He could feel the Other Side clutching at him, trying to pull him away, through to the land of the eternal dead but on he continued, fighting the strengthening wind and cold of the darkening world around him until he fell upon the great door to Lancers sanctuary. Upon managing to heave open the massive door, having become covered with a thick layer of frost, chillingly ice cold, he collapsed in front of the dull distant silhouette of Lancer, fading quickly away into the depths of reality as the land of death continued to pull and gain an ever tighter grip on Richards very being. He managed to look up through gusts of the snow saturated gales tearing at his flesh blistering it to burning rawness. The dull glow approached slowly through the ice storm and stood over Richard motionlessly until three words drifted gently through the turmoil to his ears. They stated calmly ‘Not your time’ before his grip on the world was lost and he slipped into darkness.

  There was an absence of everything, light, sound; even the unbearable sense of nothing was gone. It was a place of absolute absence, the incarnation of nothing; it was the void of souls, supposedly the true afterlife where time and space do not exist to the beholder for one does not, in fact, exist to behold. There was something else, though. Richard could feel something; he could feel himself, his own existence. Some thread of his being still clung to the reality of the living and refused to let go. Suddenly streaks of scattered light washed across his vision, they moved so slowly that he could see the particles merge and divide, some swooping majestically as their very structure changed and twisted whilst others swarmed, breaking through and shattering the fragile waves of their counterparts. Suddenly, just as the particles tried to drift into a veil of impenetrable light, they were pulled away. Drawn into an everlasting abyss and, once again, there was nothing.

  Richard’s eyes flickered open and burned with the buzzing fluorescent light overhead bearing down on him. He writhed uncomfortably, clenching his eyelids from the bright glow. Soon a brightly outlined shadow leant over him, to an extent, blocking the light.

  “Thought I lost you for a minute there,” came Lancers Germanic accent relatively softly, “but that’s the last time you’re going there for sure.”

  Richard sat up uneasily and cradled his spinning head delicately. “I know what you’re going to say,” he croaked, bodily functions still re-establishing themselves after several hours of being out of use, “I knew the risks after being there so long last time.”

  “A Median can exist there much longer than anyone else, yes. But the time of every visit is added to the last; parts of your spirit fall to the other side every time-”

  “I know!” snapped Richard, sliding himself off the table unevenly, “eventually we all run out of time…” he rubbed his face and steadied himself. “Thank you, though. If you hadn’t-”

  Lancer turned and put his hand up. “Forget it, you’re the one who made it back…What the hell happened out there, though?”

  Richard paused for a moment and shook his head, barely even believing what he had seen with his own eyes. “Reavers,” he managed to say weakly. “They took her and left me for dead. I don’t know how long I was out but obviously not as long as they’d hoped.”

  “No, they don’t just leave people. They either take them or kill them outright if they refuse,” he said firmly. “But that’s not the important thing now. We don’t know where they have taken her or how to stop Millaian…Or even where to find him for that matter.”

  Richard reached into his seemingly bottomless pocket and slowly withdrew a half tattered book, streaks of dried blood across its cover with the title ‘Vessel.’ “This is an adaptation of a notebook in his possession which seems to be of great importance to him. I don’t know how it came to exist but I think its content is virtually identical and I’m sure that somehow it contains the answer.”

  “I believed this text to be a myth,” Lancer reached for the book and held it carefully, caressing its pages, “and for there to be a copy? I know not how this could have slipped us by,” he shook his head and then came to a much more startling enlightenment. “It could not be true that he is the one…The Great Perceiver?”

  “You mean the only person to purposely see the other side? And come back from it?” Richard asked uneasily, aware of the level of Seer legend they were dealing with. “The one true greatest Seer of all time?”

  Lancer nodded shallowly. “This is of whom I speak. We are told that the unnamed one, known only as the Great Perceiver accomplished many things thought to be impossible for Seer or Median utilising a supposedly magical text named ‘Navire.’”

  “Vessel,” whispered Richard deeply disturbed by the revelations, “it’s possible it wasn’t. That Millaian is using the Perceivers work for his own ends…” he stepped out side into the open chapel and looked up to the Guardians as if for an answer.

  Lancer followed him and pressed his temple, again shaking his head in disbelief. “Matter still stands, if he wasn’t then how did he manage to cross over in the first place?” he sighed a breath of begrudging acceptance. “It is him. But no matter what we think of this myth. No matter what other worldly forces or incantations he may hav
e, Millaian is still just the embodiment of a human based evil, nothing more. The ideal of The Great Perceiver, though, remains an inspiration to us all, that we can respect the other side and learn to truly coexist with its spiritual nature,” he grinned, knowing that he had convinced himself of this ideal, even if he was the only one.

  “The Other Side…” stated Richard bluntly, still staring at the swirling spectacle of Guardians above. “That’s it! That’s the answer!” he turned and looked directly at Lancer; his eyes wide open, “you see, we don’t even need to confront him. If Millaian is, indeed, who we think he is and he came back from the Other Side using a ritual in this book then there has to be one he used to get there in the first place!” he looked away for a few seconds and thought “They might just be able to draw him back there.”

  “No!” Lancer shouted harshly, grabbing Richard by the arm, “there’s no way you’re going to try this! You have no idea whether there’s any help there, or if ‘there’ even exists for that matter! You’ve spent too much time in the desert as it is, this could be a one way trip for anyone, let alone you!”

  Richard smiled and eased Lancers arm away. “Just