“I have been following them ever since.”
After the Prophet’s tale had been told, he had turned away without a word, and curled up on the ground. Tristan remembered clearly how his father’s body had shaken with his gentle sobbing. It was the first time, the only time that Tristan would ever see him cry. Tristan remembered being moved to get up and go comfort his father by placing a hand on his shoulder, but the weeping man only pulled back, as he did so often, reestablishing the status quo of remaining physically close but otherwise so far away.
He had died not long thereafter. With him gone, his mother seemed to fade away long before she followed him out of the world. And then Tristan was the only one, using what he knew to live a mockery of a life for a reason that eluded him.
The years went by.
Eventually, good fortune, something he knew little of, would incredibly shine on him. The tower of the great drill would come into view in the distance, at first a mere curiosity and then, as he drew closer, something that evoked awe and disbelief. The open gate stood before him, beckoning to him like the What Comes After itself, and lo and behold there were other people welcoming him! He’d never met another human being besides those that had made him, but now here were so many together in one place! They had shown him kindnesses, given him food the likes of which he’d never before tasted, given him a place to sleep where the dust of the world couldn’t find him. His mind reeled at the touch of such luxury.
He’d leashed the animal in his brain, the one he had brought in with him from the Wastes, and for a while he’d lived a life he’d never known was possible.
And then, after a while of receiving the bounty of his new home, it all started to feel...wrong. He snapped out of it, realized he’d almost tumbled over the cliff...almost forgotten about his past and fallen victim to delicious excess. He remembered the words of his father, lying curled up in that old leather case, balefully regarding him with disapproval. He remembered the Message and he was ashamed of himself for embracing his new, gluttonous life so eagerly. He realized that these people knew nothing of the Reclamation, and his purpose was made clear.
His father had been the writer, his mother, the reader. And now, he would be their voice to all others.
And so, he’d cast away self-indulgence and returned to his core. He’d built his Church with his own two hands amid their raised eyebrows and cupped-hand conversations, and began speaking to them the Words.
It had taken time. It had taken persistence. He’d had to push through self-doubt and frustration when they hadn’t immediately, gratefully heeded him, as he expected they would. Yet, bit by bit, one by one he saw the light turn on in many of them, until his following had grown in numbers and strength, and in turn they had put the air under his wings and fueled his unspoken promise to his forebears.
Now, if only the ones in power, the many-headed serpent of the so-called “Council”, would heed his words as well. He was outraged at their condescension, their dismissal. The walls of their Dome had shortened their sight. He had come to hate them, and with his hate the animal in his mind had awoken; he had contained it for years...not let it see the light of day...but now it was bucking against the leash, waiting for him to weaken enough so it could run wild. Everything was threatened; his standing, his progress, the Message itself!
He hadn’t thought he would have to get drastic. He thought the Message alone would be enough to open their eyes. It was a shame.
Soon, they would realize their mistake.
He reached under the bed, and pulled out a metal trunk. He tugged on the handle in the center of the lid and lifted it off, and he was rewarded with the satisfying pop of equalizing air and a rising cloud of dust. Inside the trunk, there were many identical bricks of a jaundiced yellow color, arranged in neat, incomplete stacks. Next to them was a miniature case made of clear plastic, somewhat foggy with age, but not so much that he couldn’t make out the cylindrical detonators within, also sparsely arranged in rows. However many bricks there were in the trunk, and likewise however many small cylinders there were in the small case, he did not care.
What he did care about, his secret joy, were the ones that were missing. The ones that had been distributed. The ones that had been set.
He had been informed by his agent...the one who had procured the explosives for him from the old mining supplies in the Dome, the one who’d ultimately been responsible for their surreptitious deployment...when the hour would come. Thinking about it brought forth another stifled giggle.
If the Council would not hear the Message through the words, they would hear it through the thunder.
They would feel it through the fire.
* * *
Chapter 5 – ???
The immortal had forgotten his name, eons ago. He never used it, never spoke it aloud anymore, and so over the expanse of time it had slipped from his memory like so many other things. He remembered precious little about where he’d come from.
There had been a village. People like himself...at least how he had been...before he fell.
Like so many other things, they were long gone, buried under the opacity of time. When he’d first started to forget, he’d fought against it, drilling himself on their names over and over and holding on to their faces for as long as he could. But there were just too many years...too many other dead faces that clogged his head. He could do many things, but he just couldn’t hold on to them. The only thing that he was left with was a vague feeling that he’d lost something important.
YOU DON’T NEED THEM ANYMORE. YOU KNOW THAT.
I needed them once.
THAT’S GONE, MAN. KEEP MOVING.
Keep moving. Keep going. How far had he walked? How many millions of miles? How many times had he swam the oceans, climbed the mountains?
He didn’t know anymore how to measure his extended life. Time? Distance? The number of the dead he’d left behind? One was the other was the third...everything coalesced into the rolling bramble bush of his eternity. Every time he gave up trying to quantify his past, he invariably returned to the impossible measurement of it. It wasn’t boredom or entertainment or some feeble endeavor to preserve his mind...he only sought to encapsulate his past so as to illuminate the looming shadow of his future.
When would it come? How long before the end?
He knew he was almost upon it, because he could sense the great silence. The world was blanketed with it. Every valley. Every crack. It swirled around the stark, barren peaks and lingered in the trenches of the seas. It hung itself in the dead skies. It drank in the stars. It froze itself in the ice and boiled in the deserts. Omnipresent...absolute. Supreme.
All except for one place. The last place. It was like hearing the bustle of a bee hive miles away.
I PREFER THE “BRAYING OF CATTLE, FUNNELED TO THE SLAUGHTER”. YOURS WAS KIND OF SO-SO...DIDN’T REALLY CAPTURE THE ESSENCE.
He focused on the road ahead and gritted his teeth.
Y’KNOW, I KNOW THAT WHEN YOU DO THAT YOU’RE ACTIVELY IGNORING ME. YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW THAT WON’T SHUT ME UP. I’M THE ENERGIZER BUNNY, BABY. I JUST KEEP ON GOING.
Another strange reference. The incessant prattling of the voice was ever-adorned with them. In the recesses of his tattered memory he could faintly recall times he’d asked about the unfamiliar allusions the voice made. It had always responded with fragmented vagaries, telling him of another world where they had “amazing things” like “Pizza Huts” and “Kung Fu movies”; “Twister” and “Jet Skis”. The evident glee in its fevered explanations showed that the voice held some strange, special affinity for this seemingly enchanted place, but any conversation about it left him consistently befuddled, and so he’d come to find that for the most part he was better served by simply ignoring the references altogether. Still, they’d led him to suspect the spirit in his head had a perspective the breadth of which he could only touch in his wildest imaginings; other worlds and other timelines...indeed possibly other universes that it naviga
ted at its leisure, with a mere flick of its will. He wondered, not for the first time, if he would ever discover the true origins of his tormentor and its bizarre idiosyncrasies.
PSHH, AS IF YOU COULD FIGURE ME OUT. DON’T YOU WORRY ABOUT ME. THIS WHOLE THING IS ABOUT YOU, CHUCKO.
He scowled, and again turned his attention to his steps.
One foot after the other, as it had always been.
NOT ALWAYS. I HAVE TO SAY, IT’S CONSIDERABLE, HOW MUCH YOU’VE FORGOTTEN. EVEN ABOUT HER, EVEN THOUGH SHE’S THE REASON YOU’RE OUT HERE TO BEGIN WITH. IT MUST BE FRUSTRATING, HAVING THE DETAILS SLIP AWAY.
His anger bloomed, exacerbated by the knowledge that he had no true power over the spirit, no way to exact his long-desired vengeance. The one it spoke of...the woman...she was the one who haunted his days. She hovered just beyond the limits of his recollection, wispy but always there. He’d catch a glimpse of her from time to time...never the whole picture, only isolated parts. Flashing eyes. Dark curls.
He knew she was important, and no matter how insubstantial she seemed, he wasn’t confused about his feelings for her. It was like being in love with a phantom.
Don’t speak of her.
A laugh.
I FEEL LIKE I HAVE TO, SO YOU DON’T FEEL LIKE YOU’RE DOING THIS FOR NOTHING. YOU EARNED THIS, REMEMBER? YOU FUCKED UP. COME ON...WHAT’S HER NAME? CAN YOU EVEN GET THAT ONE?
I don’t have to play your games.
YOU DON’T HAVE TO, BUT IT DOES PASS THE TIME. COME ON...OKAY, I’LL HELP YOU. ELLLL...EEEEEE...COME ON, I KNOW YOU KNOW IT...ENNN...?
He felt a jolt, like a synapse snapping into place. He did know it. Of course he knew it.
Her name was Lena. Her name was Lena, and she’d been dead a very long time.
HEEEY! YOU’RE NOT AS FAR GONE AS I THOUGHT! LEEEENA! AND YUP, SHE’S DEAD. OF ALL THE PEOPLE IN THE WORLD (WHAT’S LEFT OF THEM, AT LEAST), YOU WOULD KNOW THAT THE BEST, WOULDN’T YOU?
He walked, and the world rolled by. An old, dead tree came by on his right, its trunk sickly and brittle.
BEING THAT YOU KILLED HER, AND ALL.
He squeezed his eyelids together.
BECAUSE YOU WERE STUPID.
Even now, even considering how long he’d walked with the spirit, it still held the leash to his emotions, still could raise his anger almost at a thought. Knowing this only intensified the effect.
He slipped over the edge again, and lost his temper. He brought back his arm, and struck the tree trunk at the midpoint of its girth with a closed fist. If he’d been flesh and blood, he would have broken his hand at least. Of course, he hadn’t really been human for what felt like an eternity.
His fist tore through the tree like it had been folded out of paper. The force of the blow showered him with splinters, and the mighty tree gave out a loud groan...a death cry. It toppled to the ground with a crash, and came to a rest in ruins.
MY, MY! I HAVEN’T GOTTEN A RISE OUT OF YOU LIKE THAT FOR A WHILE! WHAT’S GOT YOU SO PEEVED?
He brushed the remains of the tree off and remained silent, gathering himself, searching for the lost fragments of his patience.
YOU KNOW WHAT? DON’T ANSWER. I’LL GO TAKE A LOOK MYSELF.
He felt something squirming through his head, and he knew that the spirit was shuffling through his memories. Nothing was off-limits to it...no part of him left unexplored. Every time it kicked open the door and jumped into his brain, he felt freshly violated.
OH, WOW...I CAN TELL IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE I’VE BEEN IN HERE! IT’S A MESS! AND HERE, IN THE CORNER WHERE YOU USUALLY KEEP ALL THE IMPORTANT STUFF...YEAH...THERE’S ONLY A PIECE OF PAPER WITH HER NAME AND SOME OTHER SCRIBBLINGS ON IT, BUT THAT’S IT! NO PICTURES, NO OLD VIDEOTAPES, NOTHING LIKE THAT.
HUH.
OH, YOU DEVIL. YOU WENT AND FORGOT ALMOST EVERYTHING ABOUT HER! OH, THIS WON’T DO. THIS WON’T DO AT ALL. DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT, BUDDY. AS USUAL, I CAN HELP. I’M A HELPER!
All of a sudden his brain was on fire, like someone had tossed his head into a bubbling, boiling cauldron, and the invading presence, which had only before been unpleasant, grew talons. It clawed and scratched around his skull, tearing down the piles of information stored there and rearranging them, building them back up.
Ugh! What are you doing!?
I’M RECONSTITUTING YOUR MEMORIES. IT’S NOT LIKE THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I’VE DONE IT OR ANYTHING...YOU JUST DON’T REMEMBER. MAN, YOU’RE MESSED UP. HANG ON A SEC.
Stop this!
OH, DON’T BE SUCH A BAB—OH, THERE SHE IS! SHE’S STILL HERE; YOU JUST BURIED HER DOWN PRETTY DEEP. IT’S LIKE YOU WERE ACTUALLY TRYING TO FORGET! WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT? ACTUALLY, YOU DON’T HAVE TO ANSWER...I THINK I KNOW. HERE.
A face appeared in his tortured thoughts. Sensuous eyes with irises so dark, they matched the black hair that fell around them. Full lips, sun-kissed skin. She looked back at him wryly, beckoning for him to play a game or get into trouble, which to her was usually one and the same. She, the one he had scaled the trees of the forest with when they were children. She, who could be merciless with her impish taunting when he was taking himself too seriously. She, empathetic to a fault, who wept for nearly every animal that was brought back from the hunt.
She, whose life had been snuffed out in a haze of confusion and cruel circumstance, by one who’d promised he would never hurt her.
THERE WE GO. NOW YOU’VE GOT A FACE TO GO WITH THE NAME. OH, HEY, I JUST REALIZED SOMETHING! YOU AND LEEENA, SITTIN’ IN A TREE. THAT ACTUALLY, LITERALLY WORKS WITH YOU! K-I-S-S-I-N-G! FIRST COMES LOVE, THEN COMES....
HMM. WELL, IT MOSTLY WORKS, ANYWAY.
He crumpled into the dirt and sobbed. Now that he remembered her, been forced to remember, he knew why he’d tried to stop thinking about her in the first place.
Take it away! Let me forget again!
SORRY. LIKE I SAID, YOU NEED TO KEEP IT IN YOUR HEAD WHAT THIS IS ALL ABOUT. THERE WOULDN’T BE MUCH POINT IN ANY OF IT, IF YOU DIDN’T. PLUS, YOU KNOW HOW I LIKE TO WATCH YOU SQUIRM. OH HEY, BY THE WAY, I FOUND SOMETHING ELSE. REMEMBER THIS GUY?
There was more painful rifling through his memories, and then another face emerged from the miasma. This one was male. The eyes were nervous; they kept darting around restlessly, like they expected some concealed danger to spring up at any moment. The face itself was thin and triangular, like it had forgotten to grow out as well as up. The pointy chin jutted out beneath the tensed lips.
He forgot about his grief. It was swept away by the torrent of rage that gushed in to fill him, threatening to wash away all control. He roared, and pounded the ground with his fists.
MAN, YOU JUST DON’T LEARN, DO YA? JUST SEEING HIS FACE GETS YOU ALL RED AND PUFFY. I FEEL I HAVE TO MENTION AT THIS POINT THAT’S WHAT GOT YOU INTO THIS MESS. YOU REALLY SHOULD GET A HANDLE ON THAT TEMPER.
He took everything from me! Everything!
HE DIDN’T HELP, THAT’S FOR SURE, BUT YOU NEED TO MAKE SURE THAT YOU DON’T FORGET YOUR ROLE IN ALL OF THIS. YEAH, HE WAS A DICK, AND YEAH, HE DID SOME PRETTY FUCKED UP SHIT, BUT YOU MORE THAN MADE UP FOR IT, DIDN’T YOU? THERE’S NO GETTING AROUND IT. JEEZ, MAN, IF YOU HAVEN’T DEVELOPED A SENSE OF PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY BY NOW, MAYBE WE SHOULD DO THIS WHOLE THING AGAIN! I’VE GOT THE TIME. DO YOU?
He moaned.
No...please...after all this time...it has to end!
WELL THEN, MAYBE YOU SHOULD SHOW ME YOU’VE LEARNED SOMETHING, ASSHOLE.
His anger seeped away, and with it his strength. He was spent. No, he was whatever was beyond spent, whatever godless condition that was so far down the spiral that no one had experienced it enough to give it a name.
What had he learned? What a joke.
Thou shalt not kill.
BE SERIOUS. THOSE ARE THEIR WORDS. I WANT TO HEAR YOURS.
He paused. The usual, cruel joviality of the voice was gone. There was no trace of the perpetual sarcasm, the endless mockery. It waited for his answer with a patience that was so uncharacteristic, almost parental
, that he didn’t quite know how to respond.
The broken tree lay before him, another victim in an endless line of ruin. He placed a hand on the rough bark of the sundered trunk, and his gaze was drawn to the exposed interior, visible now that he’d ripped it wide open. He’d assumed that the tree had been dead, just a husk, as empty of life as the world around it. But now he could see that only the outside of the tree had been decaying. The inside, at the very center, showed signs of health...rich layers of mahogany that might have been thriving before he’d angrily torn it down.
And then he had his answer. It was staring him in the face, but even then it was something that he knew by instinct already; he had just never thought about it...never put it into words. It was something that could be found in the hearts of lovers and of parents...something that isn’t learned consciously, but instead placed surreptitiously, coupled with the unconditional and instinctual love that favors the fortunate.
The worst crime...
MMMM?
...the worst crime...is...
Had it really taken him this long to figure it out? Or, had he figured it out before and lost it?
...is destroying something that loves you.
DAMN STRAIGHT. TURNS OUT, THERE’S HOPE FOR YOU, YET. NOW PICK YOUR SORRY ASS UP.
Up he rose. He gave the tree a remorseful look, and then he was moving his legs again, one foot after the other, onward toward the distant bee hive all those miles away.
The shattered remains of the once-mighty timber fell behind him until they were only a dark silhouette, reaching up toward the sky with stiff, brittle branches. Eventually, they sank below the line of the horizon and were lost to his backward glances.
The Footsteps of Cain Page 6
