Cerulean Dreams

by Dan O'Brien

  The runes gave him strength.

  Creatures of the forest watched the travelers with little interest, falling back into the darkness of their home. A fog had found its way into the air the farther they walked, a product of the coast so close.

  “Why did your people fear coming to these mountains, Mograli?” queried Marlowe.

  The shaman had gathered a long branch from the forest along the way. He used it as a walking stick, digging it into the ground with each step.

  “When my tribe lived close to the edge of these mountains, these paths were not empty as they are now. Many times we saw what we believed to be demons clothed in all black with thunder-makers. We traveled to Shadowfall and I learned of Ark. I came to realize that soldiers patrolled this mountain, protecting what was on the other side.”

  Night seemed imminent.

  Rays of sun poured through behind their procession.

  Finding its place in the west, the sun would sleep. As they reached the apex of their walk, they found the solid foundation of cleared earth. Turning to the east, Marlowe saw the mighty smoke columns of Shadowfall.

  He pointed. “What is that smoke?’

  Mograli turned.

  Looking, his face was drawn. “Those are the pyres of the dead, Alexander. Bodies of those deceased are burned so that they may rejoin their ancestors. Many have died.”

  Sephes gazed at the fires as well, concern in her eyes.

  “Such smoke. I have never seen so much.”

  There was concern in Dana’s voice.

  “What could it mean? So much black smoke?”

  Mograli shook his head sadly. “That burning means that our people have seen the violence through, emerging upon the other side. But many have passed. Many.”

  Marlowe looked at the smoke in horror.

  Death: it followed his every step. He could not evade the inevitability of it. “How much farther is it to the coast? To the Tower?”

  Mograli thought for a moment. “This trail winds back down. We could reach it in the afternoon if we left at dawn.”

  Marlowe took another step toward him.

  “Is the trail difficult? Could we lose our way?”

  The shaman shook his head.

  Marlowe would have no more death. “I will go on alone. You need to return to your people, Mograli. You are their healer. If many are hurt, wounded, then they will need your help. Take the women. I can find my way.”

  Mograli stared at the seriousness of Marlowe’s face. “I cannot fault your logic, Alexander. It would sadden me to part ways, here and now. But you are right. My people need me. You know the way.”

  Marlowe nodded.

  Dana turned to Sephes.

  “Your father, what if something has happened?”

  Sephes felt a tug on her heart.

  The thought of her father falling in battle, to never see him again, was painful. She felt as if she would fall dead on that very spot. “Father,” she whispered.

  Dana nodded. “You have to go to him.”

  Sephes nodded, grabbing Dana’s hand.

  “You are not coming, are you?”

  Dana shook her head.

  “Dana, you should turn back,” began Marlowe, but she flashed him an angry look.

  She placed her hands on her hips, assuming her most fearsome pose. “I am tired of people choosing for me, Marlowe. I am coming. Sephes needs to return to her father and Mograli to his people. We all have burdens to bear, mine is to see this through.”

  Marlowe smiled tightly.

  There would be no dissuading her. He looked at Sephes. Marlowe saw the longing in her eyes. “You may continue with us, Sephes, if you wish.”

  She shook her head.

  A tear ran down her cheek.

  She wiped it away quickly.

  “No, I must find my father.”

  She hesitated, a pained look on her face.

  “I will return with Mograli.”

  Marlowe nodded.

  He had assumed as much.

  Dana smiled, tears in her eyes as she kissed Sephes on the lips gingerly. For a moment, they were bliss. She pulled away and Sephes moved past, neither exchanging another word as the huntress joined the shaman.

  Mograli raised his large hand high. Touching his chest, his chin, and then his forehead, he flicked his hand as he bowed. “Peace be with you, Alexander Marlowe. I wish you luck in your journey.”

  Marlowe nodded solemnly.

  “Peace to you as well, my friend.”

  Dana smiled, crying as she waved to Mograli. The two turned, moving to the east once more out of sight. Sephes looked back. There was a smile upon her face.

  XXXII

  C

  rouching, Armon watched the shaman and the huntress pass. He thought to reach out, attack them. End them where they stood.

  It passed.

  The people of what remained of Ark were strong, very strong. And in many ways they were kindred, brothers and sisters. They were not like the others, he reminded himself.

  Not like the Orionians.

  He looked around at the mountainside, the calls of nature. There was peace here, yet he saw only opportunity. When the time came, when once more Babylon rose, all this would be reclaimed.

  As they disappeared from view, Armon crept out from his hiding spot. Returning to the trail, it was not difficult to imagine that Marlowe and the viable had taken the beaten path. The canopy overhead held back the sun, but the heat was not severe. Creatures from the forest watched him momentarily before scurrying back to their places among the wild.

  The presence of a predator was not lost on them.

  *

  Mograli had not been wrong.

  Leaving at first light, the pair descended down the western side of the mountain without incident. The air grew cooler with each moment, despite the position of the midday sun. Marlowe walked ahead, his suntanned shoulders and back rippled.

  He had not eaten in what felt like days.

  A spring on the downslope of the mountain had slaked their thirst, but game was scarce. The fruit and berries that they had forged along the way were mostly eaten by Dana, whose pale complexion grew worse with each step.

  The valley that they had followed flattened out.

  The smell of salt was in the air; the powerful sensation of the ocean was close. Marlowe walked heavy-footed. The battle with the Mimic, though intense and truly momentary, had robbed him of his strength.

  His muscles sung sorely.

  “Can you smell that, Marlowe?”

  Gulls cawed overheard.

  The fog that they had witnessed earlier had begun to surround them. Visibility suffered as a result. The fluffy billows were cold on their skin, leaving fat drops of condensation on their faces.

  Marlowe nodded.

  The air felt cool on his skin.

  His blood pulsed. “We are very close now, Dana,” he replied and then slowed, letting the demure woman reach his side.

  Large circles ringed her eyes.

  Her face looked drawn, gaunt.

  She did not look well.

  Dana exhaled, a column of breath following it.

  “Look, my breath,” she giggled playfully.

  Marlowe could not help but see the change in her.

  When they were still in Orion, she was sad, distant. Now, she seemed carefree despite her pale complexion and fits of coughing. She no longer seemed the same woman.

  “How are you feeling, Dana?”

  She shrugged, her frail arms hugging around her chest. “I don’t know. Better, I guess. My lungs hurt when I breathe, like there is pressure on my chest if I breathe too deeply.” She looked around at the wet grass that extended in every direction, painting the carpet of the earth emerald. “And my head throbs a little, like a constant buzzing.”

  The landscape had changed dramatically.

  Low-lying grasses, spongy and moist, crushed underfoot as they moved through the fog. The sounds of crashing waves were closer and clos
er yet.

  Marlowe grimaced.

  “That doesn’t sound better. Maybe you should have…”

  Dana looked at him coldly. “Do not second guess me, Marlowe. I chose to come. From the beginning, this was my choice. We should talk about something much brighter. Like how wonderful it will be to see the ocean. Have you ever seen the sea, Marlowe?”

  From the memories of all his life, he wasn’t certain he had ever seen running water of any kind. Except what was broadcast in Orion. Had those images been real? Where had they come from? The desert had no rivers, no flowing waterfalls. The mountains perhaps? But none in Orion believed there was life outside of the city.

  “Marlowe?” Her question interrupted his monologue.

  He turned, looking at her strangely. “Hmmm?”

  “Where were you? You seemed so distant.”

  Marlowe looked closely at Dana for the first time.

  Her features were odd, her structure unique. All the women of Orion he could remember had looked similar. They had different colored eyes, but each eerily similar to another. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. The desert and the constant movement had broken his mind, he reminded himself.

  “See, you did it again.” Her voice seemed like it increased drastically in volume from the first syllable to the last, like a tuner rising in volume.

  “Sorry, it feels like the world keeps drowning out. It is so strange.” He trailed off as the fog broke. The grassy fields collided with pavement and steel. There were houses, buildings. “What is going on? Why is there a city here?” he whispered as he touched the pavement.

  It was cold.

  Dana moved past him, her eyes wide as she roamed the single street. On either side were identical homes: squat two-story houses painted a faded brown with white shingles and window frames. Each door was assigned a bold, black number.

  “It looks like a neighborhood,” she wondered aloud.

  The fog hung just above the houses, dancing across the chimneys and rooftops in silky flows. A blue light resonated high above the fog.

  “They look empty. The ground is cold. I don’t think anyone has been here in sometime,” spoke Marlowe as he walked up onto a lawn. His feet squished in the perfectly manicured grass.

  “Son of a…” he cried, as a wet splash of water struck him across the chest. Running off the lawn, he stood on the street. He wiped his hand at the gooseflesh that had erupted from the cold spray of water. The sprinklers activated on each lawn, each hissing and then erupting with a flickering sound as they revolved back and forth.

  Dana chuckled. “This is so odd. Why are the sprinklers going if there is no one here? You would think whomever was here would have shut off the water.”

  Marlowe nodded absently.

  Walking farther down the row of houses, they found that each had a blue mailbox with a white flag announcing the mail. The pavement beneath their feet was immaculate. They moved past the identical houses, more than a hundred before the structure of the buildings changed.

  “Look at that,” called Marlowe, pointing to a square white and blue building. A single word was a spelled out across the banner: food. “You think they could have come up with something better than food.”

  “Doctor, not much more creative on this side either,” she replied, indicating an adjacent building that was painted black and tan.

  Several more buildings were lined side to side.

  Each was as innocuous as the next, their function spelled out as simply as possible. The more they walked, the greater the sound of the ocean. Soon, it consumed their senses completely.

  A single building stood in their path.

  Looking up, the peak of it rose beyond the fog, high into the sky. “We must be here,” he announced with a short exhalation of breath.

  She looked around, back toward the single road that led to the final building. “Where exactly is here, Marlowe? What is this?”

  A bright blue light filled the fog, staining it azure. Pointing, he spoke. “This must be the Tower. I can hear the ocean. This is as far west as we can go. This is where our journey ends.”

  She looked at him critically. “What is the Tower?”

  Marlowe reached out and grasped the cool steel handle of the single door into the Tower. Turning to her, he frowned. “That is what I intend to find out.”

  *

  Mograli paused as the rotting corpse of the Mimic came into view. He held a hand over his mouth. His face twisted in disgust.

  The legs had begun to cave, skin deteriorating.

  Carrion birds savored the immense meal.

  Sephes turned away, retching.

  Wiping at her mouth, she sunk to her knees.

  “What is that?”

  “That was the Mimic.”

  She shook her head. “It is not possible.”

  Mograli moved forward, stepping back almost immediately as he saw that the sand around the decaying creature had become quicksand composed of its stilled blood.

  “Did Marlowe do this?” she asked incredulously.

  Mograli sighed. “He said that he would destroy the Mimic. He said it would free us from fear.”

  “No man could do this.”

  Mograli chuckled, looking over his shoulder at the huntress. “Marlowe is not an ordinary man.”

  XXXIII

  T

  he interior of the Tower was dimly lit. The walls were lined with machinery, indicators blinking. Screens ran with enumerations illuminated in green. The floor beneath Dana and Marlowe was meshed metal, the holes bleeding into darkness.

  Hot steam expelled from compressors in short intervals as they walked through the front hallway. Dana had moved closer to Marlowe, her small frame bumping against the handle of the axe at his back.

  The hall opened into an ovular room.

  Looking up, Marlowe saw that it climbed for what seemed like forever. “It truly is a tower,” he remarked, as he skirted around the heavy cylindrical shaft crafted at the center of the room. It extended through the roof of the wire mesh and then on up through the tower.

  Dana watched his gaze, gulping. “All the way up?”

  He nodded.

  “We need to see where this goes, don’t we?”

  She nodded quickly.

  The far end of the room was equipped with a narrow stairwell that wound with the cylinder. Gesturing with his hand, he offered politely. “Ladies first.” With a smirk, she moved past him and began their ascent of the stairs.

  *

  Armon reached the other side of the mountain in impressive time. The footprints were still fresh in the earth as he passed them by. He jogged forward, his heavy boots making deep indentations in the grassy earth. The assassin exhaled, smiling as he saw his breath sift through the cold air.

  No longer would he have to search.

  He knew where his prey would be.

  *

  They ascended the spiraling staircase.

  Marlowe watched with a sad smile. What had happened to her? Why had she been in that room the day he found her? He caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

  It was just a flash.

  Turning slowly, he saw the sleek, darkened body as it slithered across the wall on all fours. Its head tilted, revealing the empty sockets where eyes should rest.

  “I thought I was rid of you,” he murmured.

  Looking down the shaft, he saw that there were hundreds of thousands. They filled the world beneath him like murky waters. The whispers returned fiercely, together as one massive auditory assault that forced Marlowe to lean against the heavy steel of the stairwell.

  Dana looked at him.

  Fear filled her eyes.

  “Marlowe? What is the matter?”

  He looked up and shook his head, waving at her with his hand. “Keep going, I’m right behind you,” he called in an assured tone. She turned as if to come back down and he hit the wall with the flat of his hand. “Keep going, Dana. I promise I’m coming.”

  St
anding once more, he started up the steps.

  “Not yet….”

  Reaching the apex of the Tower had proved exhausting. But there at the pinnacle of their journey they found the source: the reasoning, the purpose.

  Marlowe squeezed past Dana.

  Each floor had grown increasing smaller in size, such that the top circular floor was little more than a glorified closet. A catwalk extended across from where they stood to another darkened room.

  The steel beneath them groaned.

  Dana looked around in a panic.

  “That doesn’t sound right.”

  She shivered as a breeze of cold air filtered in from somewhere. A bent wall locker sat across from the stairwell. Two thick work coats hung there. Marlowe wrapped one around her shoulders and donned one as well, his lack of proper clothing becoming uncomfortable in the dipping temperatures.

  A single desk sat in the corner.

  Steel cords were hinged to the wall extending into the thick steel shaft that delved to the bottom of the Tower. The room suffered from a cerulean tint.

  Marlowe moved to the desk.

  A beige keyboard sat in front of a computer screen.

  A white cursor flicked aimlessly at the top left of the screen––the letter C was followed by a colon and backwards slash waiting patiently.

  “What is this?” she wondered.

  He pushed the chair away.

  Reaching down and blowing air across the keyboard, he disturbed the dust that had settled so pleasantly there. Each key was marked in red ink. Each key was written in a language that Marlowe could not read.

  “Why would the keyboard be in code?”

  Dana frowned. “That’s not code.”

  Marlowe looked at her, his face a combination of blue and the reflection of the waiting computer screen. “If it isn’t code, then what is it?”

  She looked at him strangely, raising an eyebrow.

  “That’s the alphabet, Marlowe. Can’t you read?”

  “I can read,” he replied defensively. Gesturing to the keyboard, he continued. “That doesn’t look like anything I have seen before.”