Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy, Volume One)

by Trey Copeland

  Steffor embraced the numbness, a thin buffer coursing through his veins keeping insanity at bay; a temporary fix to the inevitable, knowing the horrific scenes were but moments away from consuming his soul. He finally broke through the tight knit network of upper branches into open sky, free falling miles above the Constunkeen prairie bough: the Provider's longest bough and place of Steffor's birth.

  His worst fears affirmed sooner than he could imagine, tears streaked freely down his face at the sight of his home region, for he could find no trace of the once wide-open wilderness he knew and loved so well. Gone was the sprawling terrain with subtle hills and turns, pocked by knot ponds and lakes, all covered by an array of grasses, herbs, flowers and bushes and populated with the Provider's most diverse collection of creatures. Now, for miles upon miles, as far as he could see in every direction, a black material sparkling with a dull glimmer in the overcast sun encased the mighty limb.

  He stared at the appalling monstrosity in disbelief, revolted by the terrifying and efficient destruction. Like termite mounds, industrial plants were bored along the bough in systematic patterns: large complexes full of man and machine mining Source rich bark and sapwood, refining the flesh ripped from the Provider's body in smoking furnaces then pouring their molten bi-product into large cauldrons.

  Steffor watched payloads glide away from factory along rails molded upon the paved surface, pulled by locomotives resembling more beast than vehicle. Spoke to hub, rails connected the satellite mine complexes to a fortified city located at the center of the bough. Ringed by three curtain walls—each replete with armed bastions and tower battlements—Steffor estimated the city to be over sixty square miles. In the center of it all loomed a tower that shot skyward like a jagged spearhead in flight.

  Constructed from the strange material that was neither wood nor metal, the tower's chaotic design and raw power boggled Steffor; the steep angles, sharp edges and pointed spires a stark difference compared to the soft and natural architecture of familiar. Steffor aimed his descent toward the foreboding fortress, a sudden but welcome outlet for his mounting anger.

  I will put an end to those responsible, or die trying!

  Container and vehicle merged into one of four primary rails that led into the city from the north, south, east or west, then disappeared about a half mile from the outer wall into dark tunnels submerged beneath the surface. Nowhere within the shantytown packed between the first and second wall did Steffor see the trains reappear, nor did they emerge amongst the more refined structures located between the second and third.

  Moving his search inward, an organized commotion drew his attention trunk-side of the main tower, to an open, semi-circle area where a line of trains emerged from an opening in the ground located just past the inner most walls. The procession lurched forward, snaking from one side of the lot to the other, to a depot manned by a team of workers operating an intricate system of cranes. Chains and hooks lifted cauldrons, carefully pouring the molten contents into a crescent shaped reservoir, sending train and empty container down another tunnel to emerge outside the city and start the process all over again.

  The reservoir framed a large space before the tower, two channels at the tips forming a moat of the liquid energy. Small streams broke away from the reservoir that turned into tiny capillaries the closer they came to the tower, fracturing the black surface between with iridescent cracks that melded into a broad, tri-tiered staircase. Steffor adjusted his trajectory to land on the top tier: a rectangular forecourt before the tower's arched entrance, currently filled with a crowd of people who appeared to be intently listening to an individual standing on a dais in the center.

  Consumed by the desire to inflict pain onto those who would commit such atrocities to his world, to his God, Steffor focused all of his attention on the forecourt. Consequently, he failed to detect the gun turrets strategically stationed along the tower's spiked top or their movement as they turned in his direction and locked onto his position, now a half a mile above. If not for his helmed visor, alerting him to the incoming projectiles with blinking circles across his field of vision, Steffor would have never made it past the first spire.

  Steffor barely dodged the first set of missiles that closed in on his location with a disturbing speed and instinct and was forced to draw the Source and place a dense shield around himself seconds later as two trailing the first locked onto him with impeccable accuracy. The shield held and prevented the shrapnel from penetrating but the concussion of the blast sent a momentary shock to his system, causing him to lose command of his shield and flail wildly in the air.

  Within seconds, Steffor righted his trajectory and continued his direct descent toward the forecourt, of which all its occupants now stared upward with rapt interest. Made from the same type of material grotesquely covering the bough, he sensed an altered form of the Source powering the strange missiles. Not the clean energy flowing effortlessly in all life, beckoning Citizens to shift according to their race, but a refined concentrated Source controlled by few.

  An undeniable change, felt deep within, told him he pulled from the same strange and pliable Source to create his shield only moments ago. He intuitively sensed the tainted power originated from the glowing pool below, not the wellspring pumping through the Provider's hollow Trunk. The corrupted energy left a film of residue, clinging to his insides, making him helpless to resist experiencing its daunting power again. The sudden swarm of hateful emotions easily shoved intuition aside, no longer caring enough to contemplate how such a change could destroy the very foundation of his principle driven life.

  The opportunity to wield the addictive power again came quickly as he flew parallel to within a few yards the tower and the long line of cannon turrets strategically stationed within a multitude of once hidden alcoves. Steffor shot forth a thick wall of green Source from his extended right arm to shatter the volley of fist-sized projectiles fired from below, while obliterating each passing gun with targeted blasts from the left.

  A satisfied smile formed in the corner of his mouth as he saw the realization of his unstoppable advance hit the faces of those assembled on the forecourt. Moments later, a mad scramble to escape his pending assault ensued. Few had cleared to the steps below or escaped to the recesses of the dark hallway before Steffor arrived, slamming the ground with a massive wedge of Source to break his fall. The impact created a deep crater and sent people flying in every direction. Steffor held his landing for a moment, kneeling on one knee with fist in the ground, then leaped from the rubble toward the still intact dais, prepared and itching to fight.

  "Master! You have returned to us!" Steffor recognized the owner of the voice as the man standing upon the dais moments before, now fifteen yards into arched entrance, slightly hidden within the first cut of shadows. Confusion and curiosity by the others words put a momentary check on Steffor's vengeful intentions.

  How is it this man looks at me with such familiarity?

  Getting to his feet, the man shouted to those around him. "See! Did I not tell you he would return to us?" Striding toward Steffor, looking him up and down as he did, he continued, "And he returns to us in the prime of his youth..." he hesitated, looking at the pulsing energy concentrated around Steffor's arms and torso, before gesturing with open arms directed at Steffor "...and with power beyond reckoning!"

  Steffor commanded his garments to completely remove his helm and stepped within inches of the man. Garbed in a scaled armor, the man did not shy from Steffor's advance, instead he stood boldly with chest forward and hands clasped behind his back. He met Steffor's glare with respectful attention and an air of authority earned from decisive action.

  Steffor circled the large man several times and probed the other's bearded face for signs of doubt or fear, finding neither.

  "Why do you call me master?" The evil snarl of his own voice startled him, providing for the first time since shifting the tainted Source clear evidence of how much he had already changed.

  "L
ord and master of the Six, I beg your forgiveness. If it should advance your deity, I embrace your fury." With believable purpose, the other put his chin to his chest, waiting for Steffor's command.

  Steffor tuned away in disarray, noticing for first time the others. Displaced by the impact of his landing, all now kneeled toward him with heads bowed low.

  "Master, I pray you forgive my ignorance, but how is it you survived?" Steffor kept his back to the man and said nothing, not knowing how to begin to address the question. The rush of Source was fading and the insatiable craving for more already mounted. But the sudden twist in events kept him under control for the moment. He stared at the reservoir below and tried to make sense of things.

  "We received word from the First Province, before Durlirave and his minions overthrew our forces, that you had evaded the assassination only to flee into the abyss. Is it true? What did you discover? Are the legends true?"

  Steffor was only partially listening, struggling to make sense of his own internal dialogue. This is not my world yet its existence serves a purpose. But what purpose? Why am I here? Am I to destroy it?

  "All of this," Steffor said with his arms spread toward the city and bough beyond, "must end."

  "Yes and with your return, no one will ever stand in the way of your eternal rule. What is thy bidding?"

  "Destroy the factories, extinguish the fires. The Source must flow freely!"

  "Destroy what...the Source...what do you speak of?" Despite his conspicuous deference, the other could not hide the disbelief or reluctance from his voice.

  Steffor turned on his heel, feeling drained and flat, his mind and body aching for the rush of tainted Source. It must be destroyed before it destroys me. "Destroy it all, take every man-"

  *****

  Caught between what was neither life nor death, Steffor floated in black nothingness; an oppressive vice pressing the essence of his soul, death's sickle on eternal life.

  This cannot be! Life is eternal. The Provider is eternal. Where are you father?

  The nothingness mocked him. The vice tightened. Language, beliefs, ideas, love, the final fibers of life, faded from consciousness. Sadness, the last emotion to register, before the void that was nothing, forever consumed his existence.

  After what could have been an eternity or no time at all, Steffor's soul revived to soft, musical vibrations. The frequencies of sound massaged and healed, repairing his essence piece by piece. Surrounded by crystalline whites and rich mosaics, his reformed energy floated in a plane of infinite size and possibility.

  He would have stayed in that existence if not for the sudden ping of another; one bound to his soul through endless love forged over countless lifetimes. His guide materialized at that moment, a pulsing, violet energy contained by a faint human outline. Patient but with a sense of urgency, she gently pulled him from his ethereal bed, back toward the dense material plane.

  It is time to return Steffor, there is much to accomplish before your mission is complete.

  *****

  The Source, guided by a divine touch, caressed his essence like a warm shower. The touch massaged away dense knots of negative energy and aligned his soul with body.

  "The flesh will heal but his vibrational resonances will not harmonize. He remains...imbalanced. An energy I have never encountered is preventing true symmetry..." The voice, at first coming from the far reaches of his consciousness, was now so close he smelt the speaker's sweet breath brushing his ear.

  Steffor tried to open his eyes and found he could not. A gummy epoxy had formed around his eye lids, gently keeping them closed.

  "Let me help you," said the musical voice, still intimately close. A soft hand ran across his brow and eyelids, immediately followed by the gush of his own tears gently forcing his eyes open. The salty sting of his tears instantly revived connection to mind and body.

  The next sensation to register was his complete immobility. Sensing his sudden panic, the voice said, "It’s all good, you are in a Healer's shell."

  Healer's shell? Why am I in...the dive championship...the branch...I am alive! How? I should not be alive, I do not...wish to be...alive. I just want to rest. His new reality too much to comprehend, too soon, new tears, tears of grief, freely streamed down his face.

  Steffor looked around his surroundings as best he could, given the vice-like but cushioned head-to-toe grip on his body. He recognized the conical ceiling of the Healer's shell. Steffor's conditioned response to relax was instant, triggered by the healing Source pulsing through the spacious room in soothing, warm colors along the curved walls. He concluded soon after, given his centered proximity in the room, his entire body must have been lying in a Healer's table: a waist high block, shifted directly from the sapwood of the Provider's Trunk.

  This was not his first time in a Healer's shell. His first visit to a Healer occurred after shattering his wrist training for a regional dive qualifier ten years prior. His entire arm submerged into the table, the Healer had rhythmically moved his hands over the smooth, pliable wood and intravenously merged the Provider's energy into Steffor’s injured hand. His hand completely healed within minutes. A pang of withdraw immediately followed the procedure and lingered for days after.

  Steffor lost himself in the memory. Life seemed much simpler back then. Everything made perfect sense, a time when thoughts of not wanting to live were foreign. Reveling in a time past, feeling sorry for himself, he could not recall how her face appeared before his eyes but he recognized how that face, her smile conveying love in ways he only imagined possible, instilled a new purpose to go on.

  "Welcome back," she said as if on cue, beaming a relieved smile.

  All Steffor could do was stare into her corroborant, gray-blue eyes. He tried to return the smile but could only muster a babbling sob. To his relief, she simply hovered over him with a caring smile. Steffor did not question this gift. On the contrary, he greedily accepted it; staring deeper into her cathartic eyes until all concept of time disappeared. The trance finally broke when her face contorted with an expression of mild pain and her lips parted to release a soft moan.

  "Why won't you align?" She asked, sounding both disappointed and concerned.

  Because I no longer belong here, he thought. Instead, he answered her question with the only question he really cared to know the answer: "Who are you?"

  Given their face-to-face position, Steffor realized for the first time that she was lying on top of him. Rather, she was lying on top of the table, his face being the only portion of his body not submerged into the table.

  "My name is Calivera. I am your Healer."

  "How long have I been here?"

  "Three days. By most definitions, you were dead when you arrived."

  "You saved me?"

  "You saved yourself. I simply helped you find your way back. Do you feel strong enough to leave the table?"

  Not waiting for a reply, Calivera swung off the table and moved to his side then leaned into the right side of his vision. "No one has ever been completely submerged into a healer's table, much less for three days. If you are able, we need to make the separation."

  Hard as he might try, Steffor could not feel his body. For that matter, he could not remember what it meant to have a body. The only feeling he could remember was how Calivera had caressed his soul.

  "Are you ready? I will go slowly." Rejected by her insistence, he was far from ready to leave the table, to face the world, to go on. "Here we go." Breath sucked from Steffor's lungs the moment the sapwood lowered and exposed his body to gravity.

  "Stop! The pain…it’s too much!"

  "It will pass," was all Calivera replied, continuing the slow descent of the table. Shaking uncontrollably, Steffor fought against the pain.

  "Stay with me!" Calivera commanded.

  Steffor turned to her in desperation, searching her eyes for relief, begging to stay within the supportive confines of the table. She conveyed love and sympathy but continued the torturous withdraw. Ri
ght before passing out, he started to believe it would be enough to sustain him through anything.

  Steffor awoke to a warm breeze on his face, reclined in a comfortable chair sitting on a large veranda. Razum City's Upper East Side consumed his view, leading him to surmise he had received treatment from Calivera at the main Healer center: a multi- tiered facility shifted into the Provider's Trunk. Steffor tried to digest the cityscape, finding it difficult to process the flurry of activity and colossal scale. Citizens traveled along intricate systems of bridges, escalators and elevators interconnected to a forest of enormous structures shifted from the Provider's first limb, known for generations as the flying buttress. The Provider had never been more intimidating.

  He turned away and found Calivera by his side. Positioned under one of the many sunbeams peppering the veranda, she reclined peacefully with eyes closed and arms casually folded above her head. Despite himself, Steffor's eyes wandered up the length of her long, athletic body. Tall by any standard, the white healer's tunic accentuated her perfect proportions. Images of their bodies in deep embrace formed by the time he reached her graceful neck lying on blonde tresses. Moving to her face, the full lips parted slightly as if about to whistle then formed a bright smile as her eyes greeted his stare.

  "Enjoying the view?" she asked, nodding toward the city.

  "Yes. I am," he replied, not averting his eyes.

  "How do you feel?" she inquired, sitting up in her chair.

  "Better. The pain has subsided but I feel...hollow." On impulse, he stood up. Dizzy at first, he quickly regained his balance. Calivera shot up, giving him a mixed look of disapproval and admiration. Saying nothing, she grabbed a hold of Steffor’s hand, gestured with the other down the length of the veranda and began to walk.

  Populated by a smattering of healers and patients, the long veranda, shifted from resin polished bark, displayed an assortment of doorways and archways shifted into the Trunk, each leading to various Healer facilities: shells, pools, living quarters, etc. With the city sprawled in every direction to their left and the Provider's Trunk all-consuming to their right, the contrast between the two made the city appear closer and smaller than it actually was.