Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy, Volume One)

by Trey Copeland

  She bares the mark of a race unique unto herself.

  "I am but a faint reflection of what you have become, of what we all must become," she said, reading his thoughts. "Without Calivera and I you would have never returned," she said, steering things back to the issue at hand. "Do you deny this?"

  "No," Steffor replied without hesitation, acknowledging how Leanor's transformation related to Calivera's ability to connect with the soul of every living Citizen. How the relationship worked remained a mystery.

  "Then use your staff Steffor," she commanded with a nod toward the weapon held firmly in his right hand. In tandem with his garments shifting into sleek body armor, the staff had transformed into the shape of a formidable mace. He held aloft the material extension of himself and admired its unique qualities: a tailored grip that conformed to every minute change in pressure or position, connected to a metallic shaft that gradually flared into a symmetrical diamond shaped head.

  The Guardian in him rallied, ignited by the sudden rush of power fighting to be unleashed. My ability to yield the Source is limited only by my imagination. Inspired by the realization, Steffor siphoned off a portion of the raw Source pulsing within and, with his staff guiding him, enveloped Calivera and Leanor.

  He turned to Calivera who was bewildered by the sudden influx of foreign energy. "I will never lose you again," he stated. The relieved smile on her face saying all he needed, the three of them turned in unison and sped toward Kilton.

  *****

  Kilton witnessed Steffor cover the distance between them in three massive lunges, bursts of blue Source exploding beneath his feet with each landing and subsequent launch, then turned to watch him pass and catch the others in the same, swift fashion. Compelled as he was to join them, he remained frozen in place.

  It was not the power being displayed by Steffor—never before seen or recorded—or the baffling sight of Calivera and Leanor as they trailed slightly behind him with mimicked motions that caused his dazed stasis. No, it was an epiphany received before his inner eye, revealing with irrefutable clarity, a future he refused to accept.

  The vision did not foreshadow any outcome related to the impending battle with their ancient enemy. Even now, helplessly locked atop the barren knoll, his body hummed with an intoxicating energy in anticipation of battle. Like all Guardians, Kilton did not fear such moments in life, he lived for them.

  Never was a Guardian more at peace and one with the Provider when forced to push his abilities to the limit. For his greatest fear up to that moment, if it should happen in this lifetime, was not the Deagron Maker. The most dreadful reality imaginable, up to that moment, was not fully realizing his potential as a Guardian, failing to sacrifice himself for that which he loved unconditionally.

  But the gnosis he had possessed since early childhood had never been wrong and following its sapient message, until now, was always certain to manifest love and growth. It was the compass used his entire life and lives prior, to move closer to the Provider; the tool he never doubted was leading him toward transcendence.

  Now, as he processed the vivid images of his horrid future, he could not help but connect it to the recent covenant made with Steffor, hearing his friend's words in a new light: "...your faith in the Provider will be challenged in ways beyond your conception. There will not be time to meditate for answers, nor will your devout belief be enough. You must learn to trust your heart....."

  Kilton's identification outside any worldly existence, the true Self, residing deep in his heart, would rather cease to exist over fulfilling the future life the Provider had chosen for him. His stupor only intensified as both heart and mind concluded the same: I have no choice.

  *****

  Vejax, Grimlock and Martna received the extension of Steffor's power and instantly synced their motions with his. Within two lunges, the Guardians harmonized their own command of the Source to Steffor's, enhancing both overall power and speed. They formed into a single unit, a human vessel: Steffor at the point, Vejax and Martna slightly behind to the right and left respectively, Leanor and Calivera directly behind and in-between the two with Grimlock centered in the rear. Fueled by the Source guided by the shared coordinates and objectives of all, their bodies now acted independent of the mind as an entity in and of itself.

  We manifest our future together.

  Within a few moments, they cleared the valley wall, passed the Forging Falls and, with the river to their right, began to trek up the Forging Bough. No longer burdened by the need to concentrate on the next powerful leap, Steffor explored the implications of all the phenomena that had occurred since connecting to his staff. An endless stream of possibilities flooded the mind, realizing he had but scratched the surface of his potential.

  There is so much more I can do as both as Mystic and Guardian. And what of Shifter and Healer? I have yet to explore the full extent of my power.

  Excitement stirred within and fed his confidence, soon after tampered by a sobering thought, a tugging intuition present since waking in Calivera's table. None of this should be happening. The thought was completely incongruent with how he felt. Nothing had ever been more natural, more right. The ease in which his companions absorbed and grew from the extension of his power only corroborated the feeling. But the thought would not leave and so he continued to wrestle with what it all meant. This is the next step it just should not happen yet, happen here and now.

  "Why does Kilton not join us?" Vejax inquired, bringing forth his image before Steffor's inner eye.

  "He chose not to follow," Steffor replied, forced to shelve disturbing thoughts, only to tackle another. "There was no time to inquire why. No one understands our situation better than Kilton, we must trust his reasons," Steffor added. What he chose not to add was of the disturbance he detected in his friend's soul when they passed, the real reason why he did not engulf him as he had the rest. Kilton's role in the upcoming events, Steffor realized with apprehension, was no longer clear to his vision of the future.

  The explanation did not appear to satisfy Vejax but the Guardian in him recognized their limited time and prioritized accordingly, moving on to ask what he really needed to know. "What did Kilton mean by the true origins of the Deagrons? What are we about to face?"

  "Until my recent...transformation, my understanding of how the Deagrons arrived was the same as yours, they arrived by satellite from outer space, how many survived the crash to propagate over the ensuing years the only mystery shrouding the legend. Tillamund and Kilton and the other Four, as were their predecessors, have been charged with concealing a key piece of history surrounding the Deagron's origins from the rest of us."

  They reached the summit of the bend and, still on autopilot, turned northeast away from the Forging River and lunged toward an adjacent bark peninsula.

  "The Provider would never choose to keep anything from us," Martna said, incredulous.

  "The decision to omit these events from ever being recorded in the Deeds was not made by the Provider. It was made by a select few of its Citizens. Three to be exact. But I believe it was aligned with the Provider's wishes."

  "How do you know this Steffor? Did Kilton confide in you?" Grimlock asked.

  "No, Kilton and I have never discussed the untold legend." It was not until Kilton spoke of it recently that Steffor realized he possessed the knowledge. Steffor let the magnitude of what he had said settle within each, as well as him, their bodies unconsciously leaping over several bark peninsulas in silence.

  "Show us Steffor," Leanor said, sensing the group was primed to accept a new reality. "Show us what our forefathers believed we were better off not knowing."

  Steffor acquiesced, accessing the concealed file and projecting the images before the minds' of his companions.

  Thirty-seven years had passed since man had last encountered a Deagron and, while the few thousand humans alive did not know it at the time, it was the end of the Guardian Age and the ushering in of the Actualization Age. For the first time in ov
er two millennia, an entire generation of humans had emerged without ever knowing firsthand the primal fear their parents and countless ancestors experienced with the Deagrons.

  Life on the Provider without the Deagrons had a profound and lasting effect on the evolution of shifting the Source. Shifting was no longer just a means to survive, a skill to quickly carve crude paths up a steep branch, graft vines down the side of branch or Trunk in order to escape the onslaught of an approaching Deagron hoard, basic triage to live and fight another day, connecting telepathically to forewarn of attack or to quickly teach from the tragic mistakes made by others.

  The new generation of Citizens now perceived the Provider's gift as a means to improve their natural surroundings, giving birth to the first architects, engineers, builders, agriculturist, physicians, and psychologist.

  Shifters rejuvenated bark, xylem and pith, cultivated groves of lichens and bushes, and revitalized the multitude of knot ponds and lakes. With the foundation of the beloved Razum City well in the making, man began to explore their world in earnest, sending droves of hearty harvest Shifters, field Mystics and Guardians on long excursions to establish many of the farming settlements that flourished today.

  It was a fragile time for Citizens, when the memories of a brutal existence still pervaded the social psyche but were slowly giving way to the cautious optimism spurred by relative peace experienced over the prior three decades. And as had always been the way of the Provider's people, optimism began to prevail.

  The most important discovery of that fragile period was that of the Deagron Fields and Belly Briar. Led by three Guardians—Sevorist, Fregak and Triffor—the unprecedented expedition down the lower region of the Trunk resulted in the discovery of both the Deagron Fields and the mysterious root ranges and canyons of the Belly Briar.

  The hidden footage began with the three Guardians standing at the edge of Deagron Fields, looking up toward the mountainous range of roots, a majestic tableau of intersecting ridges and deep canyons. The range sprawled in every direction with the base of the Trunk miles away from where they stood. The three were in the midst of an energetic debate, adamantly pointing toward the tremendous root architecture.

  "There," Sevorist stated with authority, pointing with his left hand, running it up and down along an imaginary line, "that is the ridge we descended." The other two followed the line of his hand but appeared apprehensive. It had been over a year since the trio last navigated the foreign land surrounding the root system and, while they were certain they were near the range of roots they entered from, finding the best way to reenter was proving more difficult than any of them had imagined.

  "I just don't remember being so close to that fissure," Fregak said. They all studied the ominous opening in the Trunk centered between two of the thirteen gargantuan base roots they had identified in their recent survey, each reaching an elevation of over three thousand feet before melding into the Trunk. From their current vantage, they could only see the top half of the huge crack, its peak stretching several hundred feet above the two base roots, as the remainder of the widening maw was lost to smaller roots and canyons.

  "Its proximity to the path we descended has not changed, only our perspective," Sevorist countered. "We'll enter the network of lower ridges here," he said, pointing to a small root a few feet away. Only ten feet wide, the root's gradual growth into the dark soil of the Deagron Fields provided a natural ramp in which to enter the Belly Briar.

  "We'll use the canyon and fissure to guide us and work our way toward the slope of either base root. From there, we can locate plenty of paths to ascend the Trunk. Let us be on our way."

  They hoisted their packs, laden with various treasures including the first samples of meteor taken from a mile wide crater—the origins for the material to create the first Guardian Garments—but dwindling of much needed food and water. The images that followed showed the three making slow progress toward the Trunk. Several times, they had to double back as the sub root they traveled would intersect with another, presenting a sheer cliff or other type impasse. After three days of frustrating travel, they had managed to penetrate deep into the catacomb of roots but soon found themselves lost within the steep ranges.

  "See there," Sevorist stated from atop a large root running parallel to the Trunk, pointing at the area between them and the fissure, "the sub roots diminish in size and frequency the closer we get to the Trunk."

  "Aye, the closer we get to the base of that fissure," Fregak added, doing little to hide his fright of the dark hollow. Triffor expressed a similar fear as he nodded in agreement to his friend's observation.

  "Indeed," Sevorist responded. His brow creased with concern, making the diagonal scar running from his right temple to the left side of his chin to swell a plump purple. They studied each other in that moment, testing each other’s resolve to go forward, providing Steffor and his companions a rare view of three heroes.

  Fregak and Triffor, both sixteen years old the day they left on their perilous journey, were of the first generation of Guardians to be formally trained—many of the exercises used to hone their budding abilities into pliable skills are still practiced today by Guardian apprentices—versus "in the field training" so many others had to experience prior. Both left their homes anxious to prove themselves and contribute growth to their budding society. Cut from the prototypical, burly physique known to Guardians, the downy beards and freckled faces were all that remained of the doughy juveniles that departed three years prior. The trek had hardened each, forcing them to come to terms with what they were capable.

  Sevorist by comparison was a grizzled veteran born at the peak of the Guardian Age. More than a century old, the lore of Sevorist rivals most other Guardians to date, the Deeds recording his name dozens of times for acts of valor and skill. In his prime, armed with experience and determination, he was the ideal candidate to explore the uncharted nether regions of the world.

  True to form, allowing his actions and proven wisdom to instill confidence within his companions, he turned back to the Trunk and finished explaining the revised plan. "We will stay to the ground as much as possible until we reach the opening of the fissure. Once there, we will find the best path and ascend the cliff side accordingly."

  "Understood," Fregak and Triffor replied, appreciative of the right to voice their concerns but more grateful for their leaders ability to make a decision.

  The plan, as it related to their forward progress, proved to be a sound one. The canyon floor was a patchwork of marshes, segregated by an erratic criss-cross of smaller roots. The Guardians scaled the multitude of root barriers with relative ease and trudged the muddy marshland in-between without incident.

  As they progressed, the sunlight reaching the inner canyon steadily diminished. By the end of the sixth day, direct sunlight had all together ceased, the light reaching the ridge tops creating a bright dusk by day and an impenetrable darkness by night. Marshland transitioned into a stifling bog, gone were the small islands and strips of dry land in which they had camped, along with the abundant rushes, reeds and typha, of which the shoots and nodes of several species had supplied the men with a pleasant and nutritious energy-rich food source.

  On the eleventh day after entering the Belly Briar, the trio scaled a sub root connected horizontally to the base roots framing the ominous fissure with steep, inclined canyon walls. The sub root they stood upon formed a natural rampart wall that traveled for several miles to the east and west, where it eventually folded into the mountainous base roots. Across several acres of open bog, the dark fissure predominated to the north.

  A gray haze hung low over the land like an oppressive, wet blanket. Odd peat mounds quilted the murky, oil slicked, waters in an unnatural pattern. A thin line of land ascending into the vast hollow demarcated the bog's end. "The shoreline," Sevorist said, "once there we will find our passage out of this smothering place."

  Sevorist led the way though the knee-deep muck and wet vegetation. Hours later, c
oated in mire, they reached the shoreline that was nothing more than a strip of wet peat. The ground swayed under their steps and a faint ripple of movement dispersed around them as they dropped in the exhaustion.

  "I don't feel...proper," Fregak stated once they had a brief rest on the soggy beach.

  "Aye, I have a queer stirring in me as well," Triffor said in agreement, rubbing his temples with the palm of his hands.

  Sevorist, not sharing the state of his constitution, stood up to study the western root precipice. "Our twilight will be gone shortly. Let us investigate the west base root first; it would be ideal if we could retrace our original path back up the Trunk." Without question, the two younger Guardians gathered their packs and followed.

  With the water's stagnant edge to their left and the fissure's dark entrance to their right, the men kept their eyes forward and set out with a determined pace. The dull twilight of the canyon was a sunny day compared to the black curtain concealing what lay beyond the nefarious cavern that appeared possessed with a life its own. Whatever dimension lay beyond, it did not require a Guardian's senses to know not to enter.

  Relieved to reach the precipice less than an hour later, desperation to escape the alien place mounting with every passing minute, their anxiety eased more by an odd discovery. Skilled climbers, empowered by supernatural strength and agility, the best ascent they had dared hope for was a harrowing route formed by scattered knots, odd striations and inward growths along the slope. To their joy, they found the cliff covered by a multitude of deformed outgrowths. Despite their grotesque appearance, the protrusions presented countless vertical paths from which to choose, providing the drained Guardians a welcome and easy trek to the summit.

  "What are they?" Triffor asked, caution countering his excitement.

  "Burls I suppose, but like none I have ever seen..." Sevorist trailed off as he ran his hand over one of the gnarled growths.