by RD Hale
None of us utter a word, unsure if this visitor is a sign, a messenger or a threat. It lets out a piercing cry, then straightens like an arrow to bolt through the door, leaving a scorch mark. Our heads turn sharply to track its flight path and we sit, gawping for maybe thirty seconds until the firebird returns to once again float between us.
'I think it wants us to follow.' Sylvie stands up and the others rub heavily breathing mouths in hesitation.
On fidgety feet we pursue the firebird into the vestibule and it scorches through the double-doors so I unlock bolts, grabbing the key for the outer padlock. The gang exit our so rarely uninhabited building to see smouldering wings illuminate an oak as the firebird crosses the road and unveils patches of masonry on the far side. Flying through cold night air, our supernatural guiding light leads all the way to the jungle where it hovers next to a thorny bush.
'Whoa! It wants us to go in there, in the dark. No chance!' Sylvie says.
The firebird nevertheless enters murky woodland and naturally I am the first to be absorbed by the eeriness of this uninviting locale. 'Are you guys coming or not?' I ask and the gang inevitably follow on. Calm air amplifies crunches of footsteps and heaviness of breathing over the background noise of insect cries as we struggle to match the pace of the firebird.
'I'm not liking this,' Sylvie whimpers, latching onto Killow's shirt as she stumbles over a fallen log.
'What if it's leading us into a trap?' Emmi asks.
'Yeah, she has a point. Have you guys heard the story of the firebird who leads people into the woods? Apparently, it's conjured by witches to lead annoying teenage girls into their cooking pot.'
'Stop being a dick, Arturo!' Emmi nervously laughs.
The firebird settles beside a fern bush and slowly grows until a magnificent man-sized beast stands before us. Intense light forces me to turn away and constricted pupils spot a blurry snake crawling amongst branches. Rustling leaves and animal calls can be heard in every direction as if the jungle is suddenly waking and the foliage, which moments ago was enshrouded in gloom, can be seen like daylight has penetrated the canopy.
The bush gapes open, revealing a hole in the crust and I creep forward to see a stairway formed by tree roots and soil. Unable to resist discovering what lies below, I follow wall-mounted torches as I venture through a muddy passageway under the forest floor. The others follow as I head towards flashes of movement and the colossal burrow opens into a chamber where people in robes sit at wooden tables eating, drinking and chatting; oblivious to our presence.
An Impossible Meeting
Trails of light swirl around clay sculptures of animals. Zodiac signs and esoteric symbols are etched into muddy walls. Vials sit on wooden shelves behind a bar. And there is a perch with what appears to be a stuffed owl, until it moves a little. Our gang hunch at the tunnel mouth as inexpressive faces begin to notice our presence and whisper, 'They're here.'
A tall girl with flower crown entwined into long, wavy hair approaches and there is a familiarity to her sharp-cornered eyes and solid, but feminine jawline. I could swear she is the ghost I saw when I was high on drugs, the one who told me to look out for the number seventeen. 'That's when we'll find you,' she said.
Shuddering as my hallucination faces me in the flesh, I glance at the others to ensure they too can see her. She gives a subtle smile and stands with open palms as she speaks:
'So I see you have arrived, what took you so long? Please come this way.'
Shoulders shrug as the others await my leadership and I follow the dreamgirl through this muddy labyrinth, wondering how they created a lair of such scale and complexity without architectural support. We reach a cavity where three girls sit with wooden cups; two have their backs turned and the other stares through us like we inhabit another dimension as my eyes scan the curious interior.
The surfaces are mosaics of tiles with the floor depicting a fiery sun and the ceiling depicting two silvery moons; the larger of which has one red eye and a smiling mouth drawn into the inner side of the crescent. My gaze settles on a bookcase which instils an immediate urge to obtain the arcane knowledge contained within, to find a rational explanation for how this counter-scientific sanctuary came to be entwined with nature.
Our guide says: 'Your friends have arrived,' and chair legs scrape against tiles as the girls turn around to face the heavily breathing gang.
It is a wonderful relief to see Dynah smiling, but strangely she is draped in one of their robes, clutching a white rose and there is a noticeable relaxation in her eyes which welcome us with amiable softness. She blows the flower and the petals separate, spinning in a circle before perfectly reforming to a chorus of oohs and aahs. Sylvie squeezes past her fellow visitors, then places hands on the runaway's slender shoulders and yells, 'Are you okay?'
'Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry these are my friends,' Dynah explains.
'You had me worried sick. I've been looking everywhere, ready to take on mad scientists if I had to!' Sylvie replies.
A straight-lipped girl, who is maybe seventeen years old with chopped brown hair, rises to invisible feet. Dark circled eyes lack direction and her reserved demeanour contrasts the spirited livewire we are encouraging Dynah to become. She too is wearing a floor-length robe and we appear to be the only ones in this place not draped in the garments of this group of escapees, whose bizarre cult at least has a novel attribute - a connection to something transcendental.
'Please relax. We were expecting her. We were expecting you. We're from the laboratory. We live here because it is harder for them to detect us underground. We called her here so we could help her, so we could help you,' the girl with chopped brown hair says in a monotone.
'What do you mean - So we could help you?' I ask.
'You and Omicron Seventeen... Dynah. Your destinies are intertwined. You need each other and we need to help you. We need to show Dynah what she's fully capable of. There are major changes happening. You all have a part to play,' the girl half-explains.
'Destinies? Can you see the future? You...' I turn to the girl with a crown of flowers, 'Did you appear to me. Was it you?'
'Yes, that was her and no we can't see the future, because it has not been decided, but we can see the possibilities which exist in synchronicity. Possibilities follow a general direction like the flow of a river. This means certain things are predictable. Let me show you.'
The girl with chopped brown hair marches us to a glimmering chamber where our presence interrupts an incantation. The chanting ceases and the hand-holding circle glance at us, then a dark-skinned boy with a blond afro throws powder onto a bonfire which explodes in a shower of green sparks. The bewitched entourage disregard our guide to admire the ritual, but we are hurried along to climb another muddy stairway, re-emerging in the midnight air.
In almost pitch darkness the girl's flesh glows and she gives off just enough light to reveal the whites of the gang's approaching eyes. I make room for the others with arms outstretched to avoid stumbling into surrounding plantlife.
'Step back please.' The girl clicks her fingers.
A rustling and crashing comes from above as the girl looks up, conjuring a fireball which reveals tree branches bending and breaking in response to a descending silhouette. The gradually brightening object shows itself to be a wooden platform, held by thick vines which meet in the middle. The platform crunches onto foliage and conjoined logs creak and tremble as the girl steps aboard.
'Arturo, give me your hand,' the girl says and with no idea how she knows my name I follow her instruction, standing close enough to perceive tiny freckles on her nose. She presses both thumbs into my left palm and warmth seeps into my skin and through my forearm, filling my entire flesh with a fizzing energy. Staring into unfocused eyes, she pulls my near weightless body onto the rickety elevator.
The two of us are carried upwards by an unknown force and the branches seem to consciously move to avoid the girl, but lash poor Arturo in spite. Gripping the vine tightly, I
close my eyes until angry twigs stop whipping my face and we come to a standstill. I re-open my eyes to see a wooden bridge connecting circular platforms and impressively constructed treehouses.
'It's a good job I'm not scared of heights.' My joke receives no response.
The tilting elevator doubles the gap as my leg stretches to the encircling platform, forcing me to leap to safety. Tinges of chlorophyll blend into blackness as the girl leads across a wobbling bridge with vines acting as inadequate handrails. Upon reaching a larger platform, my guide stands in the middle of the circle and as I tiptoe forwards her irises transform into swirling flames.
'How did you construct this?' I ask.
'With our minds... Please forgive me, I should explain. My name is Lily. I was previously known as Alpha Nine Seven. I was one of the first generation from the laboratory. At least two thousand of us survived early childhood. Fifty four of us escaped and we all have special abilities - rapid healing, exceptional strength, telekinesis and more. It takes concentration to awaken our abilities and practice to master them. It is doubtful any of us have reached our true potential. Although we can't read minds, we can read people. We can send messages and we can move and manipulate objects, we can see things... surprising things.'
Robe sleeves hang like wings as Lily spreads arms wide and the canopy parts to reveal a dream-like sky where the number of stars has increased exponentially, shining amongst pronounced nebulae. Enraptured eyes watch aurora borealis materialise, bathing skies in vivid colours which coalesce into a falling cloud that settles before us. Purple and green wisps form the outline of a human with its facial details taking shape until it resembles my trembling self.
The ghostly apparition stands between the two of us and Lily continues: 'Every human brain has receptors which provide a basic level of intuition. We have twenty times as many of those receptors and they enable us to do things a normal person could never do, but it's not easy. Drugs can temporarily stimulate those receptors and often invoke memories, but not from the brain... memories from the universe. I brought you here so that you can tap into this knowledge, the message you are about to receive is for your ears only.'
Lily turns around to cross the vine bridge as I analyse the motionless apparition disbelievingly; its ethereal presence awakening feelings that had lain dormant and opening my mind to the unknown. I continue to gawp, unsure of what is supposed to happen until at last the apparition speaks:
'Hello Arturo, you can think of me as an echo of your father... Every moment of a person's life, their memories, experiences and personalities are etched into the cosmos. The fabric of the universe forms the essence of consciousness and this information is forever available to be tapped into if you know how. All possible futures can be seen, but the further you look the more those possibilities blur. It is therefore easier to look into the past and you may be surprised to hear that events from millennia ago are likely to be concluded with your involvement.
Let me tell you a true story...
Two thousand and forty five years ago a young Talmut named Jared Samaris stole his parents' money and moved to a town called Soka. He developed his own interpretation of Talmut philosophies and befriended those with similar views. Due to his charisma, the locals perceived Jared to be a man of wisdom in a time when few claims were falsifiable, but others perceived him to be a threat. To negate this suspicion, he stated he was a man of peace.
Rumours spread that Jared had healing powers and before long he was receiving requests to heal the sick and wounded. Some recovered and he received the accolades. Others passed away and the locals put it down to the will of the gods. The adulation fuelled Jared's ego and he became increasingly aware of the power he was starting to wield. He was also aware the authorities were nervous of him and he feared persecution.
One day, Jared addressed his supporters and announced he deemed it necessary to retreat to the mountains, but that he'd one day return. The people begged him not to go and said they'd fight for him. They called him messiah and wanted to officially crown him king. He left Soka for six months, hiding in a place called Ahura where he spent his time writing a book and when his masterpiece was complete he returned to Soka.
Five thousand people attended a gathering and Jared stood on a platform, holding his beautifully crafted book aloft. He told the people of his months of contemplation in the mountains, until one day during his prayers the clouds opened up and a figure addressed him as the goddess. He went onto explain that every god and goddess worshipped in Talmutism were facets of the one true goddess. He stated his powers were due to the fact he was the son of this goddess. He told the crowd she gave him a book - the Orientis, in which the truth of life was written. His awestruck admirers hung on his every word and the Orientis was all the proof they needed.
Jared's followers ceased calling themselves Talmuts and began to call themselves Samarians. They overlooked the inconsistencies of a book written by a supposedly perfect being and they were instructed not to challenge the tenets on fear of damnation. Samaris led them into numerous battles, raiding unprepared settlements to take what Samarians deemed to be rightfully theirs and initial successes validated his status. Of course, he was eventually captured and executed for his heresy, but this made him a martyr and Samarianism grew for two millennia.
The Orientis became an inarguable truth and an anthropomorphic universe became a reassuring place for hundreds of millions. The religion developed survival mechanisms to evolve and flourish at the expense of others. It became taboo for even non-believers to question it. Some mastered the art of deceiving themselves and others followed by default, naturally subservient because they felt stronger as a group. Most understood that questions could cause the system to fall apart at the seams. Therefore it was necessary to scare children into obedience and indoctrination became the norm.
Samarianism provided hope to the poor. In their lives of struggle they believed through hard work and honesty they would one day find salvation. The religious elite executed doubters, but they balanced such barbarity with charitable gestures to demonstrate their supposed altruism. This was effective manipulation. It showed the public the elites had a strong moral foundation, but they were interested only in wealth and power and wanted to maintain the status quo. Samarianism gradually became the world's dominant religion.
Over time, tensions grew and wars were waged in the name of a higher power. Soldiers fought in the sincere belief they were defending an absolute truth, but the other sides also believed this and so there could be no negotiation. Throughout the centuries, millions died believing they were going to heaven and their enemies to hell, based simply on geography. These conflicts culminated in The Great War.
The world had been relatively stable for over fifty years with secular governments embracing rationalism, but a fringe group called San Teria became involved in the political system of Anatolia and they skilfully manipulated people's fears. Their uncompromising views and disdain for secularism struck a chord with conservatives and they claimed power, returning Anatolia to the dark ages. Any nation who opposed their philosophy was branded as The Great Evil.
Fabricated tales of human rights abuses were used as justification to invade Nyberu. The Samarians won and when their power was absolute, they no longer had to pander to the poor. The lower classes began to disbelieve in Samarianism as the hypocrisy became pronounced and they became interested only in survival.
The precedent of universal morality is a dangerous one, because the principles of right and wrong can only be defined on a relativistic basis. It is important to savour every last moment because they will never come around again. In every possible future San Teria attempt to further enslave minds and eliminate non-believers. However, this does not mean they will succeed. It is important to fight them in every possible way and as difficult as this may be to believe, you have a pivotal role to play. You may lose and you may die, but there is no concept as false or as powerful as Samarianism.
If you do
nothing then freedom will become a memory.'
The apparition evanesces into a formless cloud and the canopy closes to conceal the galactic view. Crossing the vine bridge, I meet Lily at the elevator and my drug-ravaged brain is flooded with perplexity and misgiving as we head down to ground level. Independent verification suggests this experience was not a delusion and previous demonstrations of their powers mean it was unlikely to be the work of a hypnotic trickster. If I am heading towards insanity, it seems I am taking everyone else with me.
'That's quite a lot to take in, eh?' Lily says.
'Yeah, did y... never mind. So what about the firebird?'
'It's a projection of Dynah's subconscious.'
'So we're really fighting for survival?
'Whatever you were told is what you needed to hear. Fate, or should I say inevitability will call you soon enough. Dynah's going to stay here for a little while, she has much to learn. When she's ready she'll return to you. Remember, you are welcome to come back here whenever you need to. Just call one of our names and we'll know you are present.'
Muffled laughter loudens during our descent through branches and the platform tilts, forcing my grip on the vine to tighten as I peer at coloured lights dancing among plantlife at ground level. Whatever is going on down there, the gang seem to be having fun in my absence.
Lily and I return to the forest floor to meet some of Dynah's livelier friends, who confirm not all of the clan are straight-faced utilitarians. My gang stand in a gleeful circle as a fiery figure is conjured between the hands of a buck-toothed boy with ginger dreadlocks. Scoop pokes his finger into the flaming sprite, but a hot slap from its minute hand causes him to pull away sharply.
'Owww, I'll have a blissthter now!' Scoop whines as the gang giggle and the conjuration vanishes into air.
