The Rhevireon Chronicle: The Ascent of the West

by Maxwell F. J. Kaeser

  ‘What was that!!’ exclaimed an excited Elle Ciel to the disillusioned audience, ‘that was pretty berserk, ah, but oh well, we don’t care because wherever drama is, that’s so cool, right people?? Aightz, so please say hurrah to the victorious Virago, the one-hundred and fifteenth Occidental Venatio Games trophy winner by the double kayo, Maschinenmensha!!’

  ‘Hurrah!’ after her they repeated.

  ‘What about the sweepstakes topper, your serenity?’ the Archmatron brushed her Magistrate up in a scenario flagrantly staged.

  ‘Oh my, I almost skimpped that one,’ she replied, her scripted responses weren’t to be shirked,‘we’ve a little surprise for you, kind of! The man or woman who swept the board at the televoting is, that person is him our martyr!’

  The rooters razzed, a condition of sweeping incredulity took hold of them, how came it was him! A pathetic creature, thrown into the arena on a pair of normal footwear, he’d difficulty reaching middle of the rink, doddered himself along on the ice sheet, his weapon, the Bowie knife; Dusk the injured, Dusk the dejected, Dusk the human, faced up the invincible Virago.

  Hoyden, looked away, she wasn’t ready to see him a martyr, and back when she heard the acclaim, for Maschi got rid of her ice skates to level the disparity off, she thus exhibited the unusual awareness of character toward a man; which for the Magus it didn’t taste good at all. And barefeeted, she scraped her tomahawks by blades of the skates, sorry! she whispered to him as she stroke him, he parried it off, or thought he did, something he felt slipping down his torso, he looked at the ice beneath him, it was reddening, suffused with his own blood, dripping from a long narrow gash she inflicted on him, opening an old unhealed wound, the wound from some a mensur bout; in a trice, Dusk turned back and forth searchingly, she wasn’t there, neither there, his head had gotten dizzier, and without warnning, was that same smooth sharpness slitting his other side from behind; then, in his peripheral vision transpired a fragile brightness, not beam of the artificial lighting, it rather was the advent of a new dawn, the sunrising from beyond the Heidentor, and the Virago passed Dusk by, but did not cease her progress forth and forward, no, she was not to retreat, she eagerly advanced across the arena, in the opposite direction, opposite to her permitted zone.

  ‘Is something wrong with her?’ Monty told his daughter, but Nesy spoke not to him, he looked over her, she already had slept rest of the long night away on that sofa, he covered her; when he got back to his couch, the streaming was gone to no return, Monty rasped the remote control, and switched it off.

  ‘No, no, no, no…’ cried Natalya.

  The instant Maschi leaped over the protection wall, and they once again left their seats, this time not so they have a better angle of view, but for that they take a powder out of her way, when she bound over the grandstand she got a tier closer to the podium, Hoyden too, played on the opportunity when she slunk away towards the rink where Dusk had fallen unconscious; while the Virago deftly casted her tomahawks at the guards who pumped full of lead at her, one bullet grazed her skin, she had the guards dead but lost her axes, she was at the VIP tribune now, the bull’s eye ahead of her, she pulled the dagger penetrating back of her neck, the Bowie knife Dusk without anyone’d noticed, with that same sly lunge of his had contrived to stab her with; the Magus made her a gesture so she desist, but Maschi took him by his hand, she rived it, and just about to bore his heart, Baron Eisbar wielded his sword, and jabbed he hers, but she had no heart.

  Severly impaired, Maschi escaped, leaping forth the vertex and over outside the amphitheater, she vanished.

  The Virago failed to assassinate the Delegate.

  Part Two

  XIII

  THE SUB-ROSA AUCTION

  June the 22.

  ‘Ostensively, what happened yesterday is the most serious threat, we had to deal with since the alpha-launch of the Heirarchical Devolution Pactum, my doyens.’ Said H.R.

  ‘Maschinenmensha, black female andropoid, designed at the public Research University of Kodiak, in 0097 A.P. she was constructed at a Fairbanks manufactory, she failed her Transsapience testing, before being transported to the Bering Strait tunnel construction site, where she spent her early years, most accounts of her supervisors while there highlighted her docility, introspection, hecticness, but also her guile. She was raped by one of her superintendents, whom she had the right to execute herself, she did; and the incident marked also the end of her forced labor term. On the 20th November 0099 she was adopted by a family residing in the Weltzentrumpoleis, an orthodox Aurvanthil household, in 0101 they donated her to an Organon institution, any records of her past life there up to 0115, unavailable.’ Said H.B.B.

  ‘My doyens, manifestly, the attempt was ministered from above rather than an arbitrary burst of impetus. We should have her designers and builders detained, subject them to the Monarch if necessary, they must be controlled, interrogated.’ Said H.B.

  ‘For the time being, we track the gynoid down before she gets too far, far off the cyberpolis; or maybe we let her do it, she plausibly will return to the source, they will send something of her likes back to us. When the sheepherder doesn’t kill the wolf, the wolf comes back for the lamb.’ Said H.P.

  ‘The question is, what could be the source’s creed?’ said H.N.

  ‘Because, what happened yesterday was intended as a message, not to the Patriarchs Jurists!’ said H.H.

  ‘You my doyens.’ Said the six Doyens of the the six dynasties, sitting to the hexagonal table at Dome of the Hanseatenus; each of them had their left hand on the table, each of them wore a ring, inverted valknut glyphs imposed on the rings, they had their eyes blindfolded. The Dome, a domed-ceiling hall, said to be the focal point of the next precession of the equinox of earth in its inertial space, was located at the ground floor of the Axil main tower of the Burg, a country house with a triangular layout echoed in its Indo-Gothic revival architecture, secluded somewhere in the Alaska Interior; parallel with the round table, onto the oculus of the dome was cast a lucent symbol, the lunar eclipse, the mondfinsternis, practically a solar eclipse reversed, with its rays zigged leftward. And on the back of each of their six chairs, was an emblem, the coat of arm of each of the six clans, together they were, the Hanseatenus.

  Hundreds of miles to the west.

  Thinking of many things by the sea, his phone rang, the caller ID was marked private, Dusk had not the nerve to answer; then it rang again.

  A week later.

  The soft roof folded down, Natalya in her cabriolet waiting at a drive-thru, she’d her sunglasses on and too had Matt, then just as he picked up their orders, Natalya drove out of the restaurant’s lane, getting into the Islands Boulevard as the summer sunset fizzled out in the coral sky of the city.

  ‘Give it to me!’

  ‘Lemon? cola?’ Matthias asked, delving into the paper sacks.

  ‘Our magazine Matt,’ retorted she,‘I gotta see it one more time.’

  ‘Yeah, who knows what tomorrow’s issue brings about,’ Matthias expressed with a waft of vanity as he handed her over the mag, he added, ‘my shot overruns the cover, gimme a break, and I better get a Pulitzer for it or something huh! Just look at it, the Virago splits the talking hand!’ Natalya accelerated, and his cap flitted away in the air.

  ‘You—’

  ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t have belted up.’ She told him, coping with the steering wheel as she studied the magazine cover, edition of the week, title of her article on the front page:

  A GESAMTKUNSTWERK: THE BUTTERFLY ATTEMPTS ON THE MAGUS! THE COLLECTOR?

  18:58 p.m., he sat alone on the cliff, by a remote lighthouse, his parka laid over his shoulders, his arm in a plaster cast.

  Eight days ago.

  Senior Geovany Ruvelharts, entered the room, his Maiden Rania’s room; but his wife wasn’t there; the bathroom door was ajar, he stepped in toward the door, through the crevice a strip of light emanated, he glimpsed through the crevice with an unassuming smirk, then a glower, t
hen nothing; Rania Ruvelharts had committed suicide.

  Today.

  ‘You like the view from here, senora?’ Geovany, who for the occasion perfectly had shed his martial appearances with a Harris tweed jacket, hand-loomed, shipped from the Eileanan Bhreatainn especially for him; he asked his younger wife, standing on the entranceway of the porch at the chalet. Under the triple Os’ ownership directed for leisure services, these chalets erected along the shingle beach of the lake and far beyond hinterland of the Pristines, were leased for a nominal one dollar to the newlywed Seniors, as a honeymoon grant. Geovany had almost already forgotten about Rania McGuine, although he’d pass himself off a mourner; withal today, by the lake they’d settled, not to lament over her, but for they needed what the widowed Senior fancied as, “Changez d’air”.

  ‘Yes, when I’m left with nothing but to find rejoicing in stone!’ Hoyden told him; far off the shoreline of the lake of Eyak where a yacht was moored to the berth, shores of the lake pinched by the hoarfrost of the slackening off tidewater glaciers that she saw for the first time in her life, stunned her.

  ‘Want to listen to some music?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve the mood for any, sorry.’ Responded she.

  ‘Well, I do,’ returned Geovany,‘pick me something, so probably I get to know your tastes better!’

  ‘If you insist, Death and the Maiden.’

  ‘Lied by Franz Schubert, awch, bad choice,’ he said, kept talking as he walked down the pier, getting on board the yacht, straining ropes on the fore-and-aft rig, ‘it’s not your mood, no uh-uh, it’s a tendency that you’ve got to ruin nice evenings sweety! But I won’t let you; Captain anything more pleasant to the senses from your part? Shall we sail west ‘tis evening?’

  ‘First of all, I’m afraid we’ll have to take it south, Senior.’ Returned the man taking on the boat’s wheel, preparing the vessel for the cruise.

  ‘Why’s that,’ a disgruntled Geovany queried the skipper,‘you know who’s at control of the south they roam and ravage as they please.’

  ‘If we take it west,’ said the captain,‘the ash plume of Redoubt will literally sops us up by osmosis, it’s coming!’ he added.

  ‘And turn my vacation into a needless escapade, hell no, switch to the archipelago.’

  ‘Dude, what on earth!’ passersby gaped at what seemingly made it the greatest thing in the chillicothe since sliced bread. They were taken aback at the sight of the above, the walloping clouds had come to overspread the town; those were no haar, the skipper was right.

  20:05 p.m., Borough 8; the whole story did not matter to him; the leather bag in one of his hands did; in the other, a sheet of paper, the page from Part IV; the man with the Vitruvian tattoo, read between its lines, the text had the key, a built-for-purpose decoding methodology, the text from Part IV was a reference to decypher the blotted out pigpen text, --------- --------- --------- ------.

  It was the only way, for the interested segment, to get access into a sub-rosa auction’s subdata base, for eschewing the newbie triple Os’ hires, the naïve recruits, to not possess it; where or when the surreptitious disposals are to be effected. The subdata bases provided an address for the participants, of the meeting places, schedules of the auctions, and most importantly the, password. The trainees who intermittently raided the auctions, had it in contrast to their superiors, who behind-the-scenes facilitated the biz, actually, they purveyed the biz;‘parallel economy is complement of the reported.’ They’d say if ever inquired.

  ‘As you can see, it’s not your typical wall cloud, this glut of ash and steam is conglomerating, due to an unprecedented erruption of Mount Redoubt, piloted by the arctic winds, already screening our neighboors’ south, now skimming skyscrapers of our city; the particulates are generally fly ash air-bound, so you don’t have to much worry about the carwash fees, however, the Zentrum Weather Department recommends, especially those with respiratory conditions to stay indoors, at least for now, because, this is going to be a long overcast year!’ apprised the forecaster, on storefront TVs.

  He’d a peek at his watch, 20:35, he better hurry, few blocs that separated him from the meeting place.

  ‘So, no promotions?’

  ‘Hoy hoy yinz,’ exclaimed Yang back at what he just heard, clapping for the attention of his night shift,‘someone wants to get promoted here! Son, if you need that so bad, why don’t you go for some ad agency?’ Yang said with emphasis.

  ‘I protest,’ said Natalya,‘for once I think you got to approve of it, Matt and I have done a significant job, which is evident in a rise in circulation by 20% shy from 50, my colleague’s right, show us some love!’

  ‘Okay, damn it, just ‘cause you’re part of.’ Yang affirmed with no guarantee,‘but I’ll reconsider you position within the Gonzo, if the overnight fame you gained wasn’t enough for you guys.’

  ‘Thank you very much, honcho.’ Matt’s way of expressing his gratitude.

  ‘Objection, Mr. Yang,’ one of their co-workers interposed, chief editor of the politics dept.,‘with all my respect, you sent these novices who are by no means into the geo-political climate of the Zentrum, to the coverage of the biggest politically charged event of the year, seriously, anyone of my department could’ve stood out better.’

  ‘As hatin’ on you as he may sounds, what his saying’s got grounds,’ Yang reacted to this member of the workforce’s two cents with a change of heart, telling them,‘Natalya and you baseball cap guy, where’s your silly cap anyway? Doesn’t matter; so you two, as I said, since the Fount of Youth lovefest is done and gone until next year, the coverage of which you undeniably have met with less than anticipated success, for the present time get set for your next assignment, the Juneauton Fashion Week, that’s the only thing you qualify for, sorry.’ He was resolved,‘hah! whar’ am I even sorrying for!!’

  ‘For double-tonguing maybe!’ Matthias fired back.

  ‘Double what? Or guess what, nevermind!’ Yang responded too forwarded, ‘c’mon everyone, see you tomorrow, late night show starts soon, out of my offices hurry up, we’re done here, have a good one—hey you, come back here, your handbag miss; last time it was your—that you forgot, now this!’

  Somewhere out in the cold and away.

  22:48, he was there, at doorstep of the barbershop, this is the place the address led him to, the sign hanging on its glass front read, open. The man with the Vitruvian tattoo went in with the bag in his hand, and so they both stared at him at length, the barber and a customer, whoever customer; their eyes never parted the courteous intruder while he studied the place for some sort of indicant, anything would be not that pertinent, not so useful to a barber’s, a piece of furniture, or maybe!

  ‘Sounds like someone who needs a haircut!’ Guessed the shop owner, he went on,‘or probably you’re one of those youngmen who often mistake my shop for a dresser’s, if so, this is not the place for you, alas! today’s youth, they no longer appreciate our craft.’

  ‘I will, monsieur.’ The man with Vitruvian tattoo responded.

  ‘Admit him.’ The person having his hair cut, mechanically told the barber; for that was the password, I will, monsieur.

  The monsieur, being the doorkeeper he was, led the gentleman towards the other end of the shop; there was a coat stand, from which were aprons suspended and a cape.

  ‘My name is Tyler, and I am to prepare you for your auction experience. So take, and ask not!’ said the man, as he handed him over one of these, smartly at variance with the rest aprons, in that it was smoother and thicker, of a higher quality, kind of a purple tabarro; and under the cape was attached, a mask, a winged-raven mask; whose feather and claws felt real!‘I know, it is not the standard Venetian; but it is the only one left, for the last one to arrive.’ Mouthed the barber, with no additional explanation. The gentleman assumed his costume with the hand free of the bag.

  ‘From here.’ He pushed in a panel framed through the wall, and a hoistway showed up before them, mostly dating ba
ck to when the building was used as a warehouse, way before the barber had ownership of the property; the gentleman with the Vitruvian tattoo found himself driven into the freight elevator, as though he was rammed inside by the man behind him, but his theory was impossible to bear out in the optic that the man in fact stood afar, at the entrance of the hoistway which he without further notice shut back, with no further instructions.

  23:15, he put on the cape and only then the mask, as the elevator kept submerging him underground, till that he thought it’d never halt; before it did, he would realize yet he was at the same ground level, the hoastway opened to a passage; then when he stepped out however, the elevator of confusion went down; this hidden passage appeared to be quite long that he could not perceive where it had ended as he advanced, with steady pace under the gas lighting installed along the ceiling, which plumbing system ligned, connecting a cluster of streets together.

  ‘You haven’t touched your plate, not so hungry, babe? Talk to me!’ but Hoyden didn’t want to, even if she sat him tête-à-tête.‘Now what! Say something or eat something at least, that’s Persian Ossetra caviar on that dish, you know what Ossetra is, no? I doubt you’ve ever tasted anything like it, in your poor short life.’ She met the remark with a black look.

  ‘Captain, come and join us,’ Geovany invited him, the skipper who’d hoisted sail high crossing the briny, leaving the chalet miles behind them, while a hundred mile ahead of them athwart the tempestuous salty Eyak; Geovany carried on, ‘come have her meal; what a jejune sort of wife my Maiden is, yet wet behind the ears thinking I’d be treating her thus forever, it’s only our first week together, wait for the days to come, senora.’ Hoyden gripped at the fork.

  ‘Just ignore her,’ responded the skipper,‘girls her age like to play games, they may go all rebellious and all that nonsense with their parents, but not their husbands!’