Revelation twc-4

by Kyle West

  I got the beginnings of my answer as the dragon flew upward, above a steep rise coated in alien purple and pink. Once above, I saw the ruins of the spire Gilgamesh had shot down. It was gray, lifeless, its many roots blasted, tangled, and disconnected from the nourishing fungus. I didn’t know if it was my natural, human feeling, or the virus within me, but I felt sad at the sight. The fungus appeared to be thicker around its base — perhaps trying to heal it? Pink goo flowed from the spire’s base like blood, down to a valley in the south, where it collected in a small lake. Maybe it wasn’t merely like blood. Maybe it was blood.

  The dragon drew closer to the spire. With a high-pitched cry that shook my bones, it extended its claws, alighting on the ground. It folded its wings, and knelt. We had come to the end of our journey.

  I hesitated only a moment before hopping off, the xenofungus beneath my feet padding my fall. As I stepped onto the eerie fungus, it glowed beneath my weight, fading over time to its normal color. That hadn’t happened before. I couldn’t help but feel that it was its way of registering that I was connected to its network.

  I tried not to be freaked out by that. I walked forward, to the spire. I gazed at it for a moment, its dead, twisting mass bewildering. What was I doing here? Was I to be punished for being part of the team that destroyed it? I turned back to the dragon, but its white, featureless eyes gazed back at me empty, answerless. The large beast gave a slight shiver, grieved at the sight of the spire. Could these monsters feel? I had always thoughts of them as unthinking beasts, caring only about killing. Maybe they were more than that.

  I turned back to the spire, noticing a change taking place at its base. The roots began to twist. I took a step back as they unraveled, revealing a dark opening that led deep into the thick mound of xenofungus that supported the spire. It was just wide enough for me to enter.

  I hesitated. I waited, for a moment, for something to come out. The dragon gave a low growl, urging me onward.

  “Easy,” I said, beginning to step forward.

  I felt fear grip me as I moved toward the opening. I had bad memories of going underground, so I was more than a bit hesitant. It was completely dark within, but it was clear that it led down. I realized, upon entering, that those very same roots could close in on me, trapping me beneath the surface. But I saw no other option at this point, so forward I went.

  I walked down the slope, into darkness. As I had guessed, the roots curled shut behind me. As soon as they did, the walls of the tunnel began glowing pink, offering just enough light to move onward. The tunnel sloped, spiraling toward the right.

  I began walking. There was a creepy deadening of all sound. Immediately upon each new step, the sound of any squish was absorbed by the walls. The air was cool to begin with, but as I walked on, spiraling lower, it became hot and stuffy. I was crawling into a living thing, and that thought made me shudder.

  I walked for about five minutes in this way, wondering when, or if, the spiral would ever end. When at last it did, I gasped at the sight before me.

  I had entered a cavernous chamber, covered on all sides by xenofungus. Before me was a wide, pink pool, strangely clear and pure. Stalactites of xenofungus hung above, dripping yet more pink slime, filling the pool. The pool could probably be more accurately described as a small lake — it stretched far, and various inlets jutted out of my sight, deeper into the space, everything glowing pink from the fungus itself. Strange as it might sound, it was beautiful in its own alien way. The surface of the fungus gleamed, like crystals.

  I noticed a small island out in the middle of that lake. One person sat on it now, back to me, under the branches of a silvery tree, the roots of which traveled down the sides of the island, burying themselves deep within the lake. I called out, but the surrounding xenofungus and pool shimmered, absorbing my words long before they could make it to the island.

  I would have to go there myself.

  I stepped to the pink shoreline, my boots just inches from the strange liquid. It looked viscous, like water, only it didn’t move. The entire surface was still as glass. I bent down, and reached my hand toward the surface. I touched it. It was warm, and the liquid wrapped itself around my fingers. When I raised my hand, the liquid slid right off, back into the pool, joining the still surface of the pink lake. It might have been even more fluid than water. Each molecule of the stuff was obeying its own command, knowing when to stick together, and when to dissipate. Maybe, at its basic level, the liquid’s smallest components were alive.

  I didn’t really want to swim through something that was alive, but I saw little choice. I believed I was meant to talk with that man on the island, and to do that, I had to step into the pool and swim to that island. I did so now, the organic goo surrounding and compressing my body. I panicked for a moment as the pool constricted around my chest, pushing the air out of my lungs. Then the pressure was released, and I could breathe again. This stuff could very well kill me, if it wanted.

  I swam outward, toward the island. After a few moments, the liquid of the pool only just began to soak my clothing. It was easy to stay above the surface — the liquid pushed me upward, obviously much denser than water. Its current pushed me along, so much so that I could probably have ceased all motion and it would have carried me straight to the island. Ripples rather than waves emanated from my position, bouncing off cave walls, advancing ahead toward the island. When I was halfway there, the first of my ripples made it to the island’s shoreline. The man’s form stiffened, but he gave no other reaction.

  I knew who it was, long before I arrived. It was the Wanderer. I increased my speed in order to meet him. He was the one who would give me answers to all the questions that had been haunting me. The glittering walls of xenofungus were strangely peaceful as I swam along, nearing the island.

  I gasped as something grabbed my foot. A cold, fearful sweat poured from my body, but subsided when I realized what it was. My foot had merely touched the lake bottom. I placed both of my feet on the ground, surprised to find that it was much shallower than I had anticipated. I stood, the slime trailing off me in waves, rushing back to join its larger part in the pool. Within moments, the entire upper half of my body was completely dry. I stepped the rest of the way out, and the rest of the slime flowed off me, crawling down my skin and clothing to be absorbed into the xenofungus. It tickled a bit, making my skin tingle. I rubbed my arms, trying to remind myself what normal felt like.

  Thankfully, the sensation was soon gone. The goo was now gone, and I realized that everything in here was alive. It was a startling realization. I wondered if even the air I breathed — warm and pungent with a spicy, alien scent — was filled with xenolife. It was truly like being on another world.

  The Wanderer still had not turned. He was garbed in the same brown robe and hood I had seen him wearing over two months ago — the very same I had seen in my dream. I climbed up the incline of the small island and stood just a few feet behind him. The silver tree’s limbs hung above me, a blending of Earth and non-Earth. It was like no tree I had seen before. Its bark was pure, glittering silver, and its delicate trunk rose from the xenofungus gracefully. Spindly limbs protruded outward, beginning perhaps twenty feet high, from which more limbs grew, sprouting thin, pink leaves that had glowing silver spots. It gave a sweet, natural aroma — something I could not place, but that was familiar. Whatever it was, it was a familiar smell, full of a sad, ancient reminiscence I didn’t understand, something buried primordially deep, something so true as not to have words. It was like remembering the happiness of childhood from the perspective of an adult — bittersweet longing, smelling a dream, or reality as it was meant to be.

  It was hard to describe, but I could see why the Wanderer had chosen this spot for his meditation. I thought about trying to get his attention somehow, but I merely stood, trusting that he would sense my presence. I had a feeling he knew I was there. I could only speculate as to why he summoned me.

  The Wanderer finally stood, turning t
o face me. His eyes, like mine, had gone completely white, set in his wrinkled, ancient face. Long, white hair was obscured by the hood of his robe, and his long white beard gave him a sagelike, and perhaps even a wizardly, appearance. The beginning of a smile was on his lips.

  “I was worried you would not come,” he said.

  I said nothing in reply. I was overwhelmed by so many questions that I did not know what to ask first. I did not know if it was even okay to ask.

  “I had nowhere else to go.”

  The Wanderer nodded, indicating the ground. We both sat across from each other, legs folded. He looked at me, waiting for me to go on.

  “So, I’m one of you guys now, right?”

  My voice had no problem carrying, now. The fungus and the air did nothing to impede its progress. I realized then that speech is a peculiarly human form of communication. These creatures had no need of it. They had the xenovirus and the xenofungus to communicate with each other in their own language — if it could even be called language. Sound might be involved in their communication, but it was nothing like what we called “speech.”

  “I told you this long ago, Alex. That it all hinged on you. Do you still believe that?”

  I wasn’t sure, anymore. Now that I was infected, I probably wouldn’t be fighting alongside my friends anymore.

  “I don’t know if I believe that,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. I want answers. I want more than what I saw in that dream.”

  The Wanderer nodded, expecting me to say that. So he had dreamed it, too. It was a reaffirming sign that I was not crazy.

  “You will get your answers, Alex. Though they might be a bit…overwhelming. It is the nature of truth to be overwhelming.” He paused a moment, looking into me with those eerie, white orbs. “You are Elekai, now.”

  I paused for a moment at the unfamiliar world. “Elekai?”

  The Wanderer nodded. “And when you and your friends destroyed the Xenolith, you dealt us Elekai a mortal blow.”

  “The Xenolith?” I frowned. “You mean the spire?”

  “I imagine you thought you were helping. But it’s just another setback. We will rebuild, somewhere else. We will run, before they come.”

  I had no idea what, or who, the Wanderer was talking about.

  “You mean, the Xenos? Samuel calls them that. Are they coming? And if they are, when?”

  The Wanderer looked at me quizzically. He and I were talking about completely different things.

  “They are already here,” the Wanderer finally said. “The Xenominds. The first is in Ragnarok Crater. The second…”

  The Wanderer paused, looking at me. I was confused for a moment, until I realized who the second one was.

  “You are the second,” I said. “You are the New Voice.”

  The Wanderer smiled, nodding. “I am not the New Voice. Merely a Voice, because we are many.”

  My mind spun as I thought of the implications. The Wanderer had told me that he was not just a Voice, but that there were more of them. If that was true, then we could never find them all. And even if we did, more would rise in their place. We couldn’t just kill these spires — these Xenoliths, as the Wanderer called them — and be done with it. This invasion would always have direction if there were more Voices to contend with.

  Worse, I was an unwilling participant in it — infected, but not completely turned. It made no sense.

  “You mentioned the Elekai,” I said. “What does that even mean?”

  “Alex, that is the crux of this whole thing. When you understand what it means to be Elekai, then you will know everything you need to know to stop this. To save this doomed planet from its timeless fate.”

  I sat, listening, and the Wanderer began to explain.

  This was going to be a long story.

  Chapter 19

  “For millions of years, on hundreds of worlds, there was war — a war very much like the one playing out now, on this world. A war that has happened ever since the rise of the Xenominds, three hundred million years ago.”

  Three hundred million? How could this be that old? Nothing existed that long. It seemed impossible, ridiculous on its face. But I decided to listen, all the same.

  “There were always two sides of the Xenominds. There were the Elekai, the Gardeners. And then there were the Radaskim, the Destroyers.”

  I stared at the Wanderer, blankly, not comprehending anything he had just told me. I didn’t even pretend to understand.

  “You’re going to have to repeat that. What is a Xenomind, exactly? You’ve mentioned it a few times now.”

  “Forgive me,” the Wanderer said. “A Xenomind is what you would call a Voice. It is a higher consciousness that acts as a communication hub for all the xenolife under its thrall.”

  “So, it is real,” I said. “Ashton and Samuel were right. If we can take out this Voice…”

  The Wanderer held up a hand. “Let me continue. There is more to it than that.”

  I nodded. I supposed that was probably true.

  The Wanderer continued. “Think of the Elekai and Radaskim as alien tribes. Each side has its own Xenominds, who in turn have their own goals and motivations. The Xenominds would be like gods to your eyes. The xenolife under their control follows their directives without question. Some Xenominds allow their xenolife a great deal of latitude, allowing even sentience. This is all beside the point I’m trying to make. I’m only trying to illustrate that there is great diversity of values and goals among all Xenominds. Not all of us are bad, and in fact, many of us are good, and do not want this to happen to Earth.” The Wanderer paused. “We Elekai want to save it.”

  “Okay, let me get this straight,” I said. “There are lots of Xenominds, and they are at war with each other? Even on Earth?”

  The Wanderer nodded. “There are two Xenominds on Earth. I am the Elekai Xenomind. And to the north — in Ragnarok Crater — is the Xenomind called Askala, who leads the Radaskim. This is the one you call the Dark Voice. This is who you are fighting.”

  I had to pause a moment to think. It was difficult for me to comprehend that there were two sides of this. I had always thought of the xenovirus as a single entity, trying to conquer the world, as Samuel and Ashton had always said. That in itself was confusing enough: we were being colonized, so that when the aliens came, they would find us gone, and a world ready to receive them, shaped to their specific needs.

  The Wanderer was saying the opposite was true. There were no “aliens,” no equivalent of humans coming in their starships to colonize this world. The aliens were already here, and they have been fighting their own war against each other for millions upon millions of years across the cosmos.

  “You said there were two sides,” I said. “Elekai, and Radaskim. Can you explain the difference?”

  The Wanderer nodded. “It is key that you understand both sides, and what they want. That said, one side cannot exist without the other. Both are encoded into the xenovirus, which infects all xenolife, regardless of its allegiance. However, one day there will only be one side. And this is a war the Radaskim are winning. Probably will win, in the end.”

  This was a lot to take in, but I did my best to follow. “So, there are two alien sides. The Radaskim are the ones who are killing everything, spreading the Blights, trying to take over the world? And the Elekai are trying to stop the Radaskim from doing that?”

  The Wanderer nodded gravely. I had a feeling that I had only scratched the surface, even after everything the Wanderer had just told me.

  “The Radaskim seek perfection in all things,” the Wanderer went on. “They kill in order to attain that perfection. Their xenofungal networks contain genetic information of a thousand races, all now dead, across hundreds of worlds. They live in perversity, creating new monsters in their pools. When you see crawlers, or the dragons, or the birds turned by the virus, you see the creatures of a thousand worlds, evolved and perfected by the xenovirus. If genes are incompatible, the xenovirus finds a way to mak
e them work. The Warrens, in Ragnarok Crater, is where most of this is done, where most of these creatures are birthed and evolved. The Radaskim’s goal is to create an unstoppable army, using the genes of the worlds they conquer, against unconquered worlds. And they only get more powerful over time. So far, no one has been able to stop them, on any world. Not even the Elekai.”

  “Why are they here, then?” I asked. “Why are they killing us? You said they want genetic perfection. Why do they want that?”

  I remembered asking the Wanderer why we were being attacked, over two months ago when we had run across him in the Wasteland. I hadn’t even known the xenovirus was alien, then. The Wanderer had not given me a direct answer to that question, then, and I wasn’t sure if he was going to give me a direct answer now.

  “You speak of the Eternal War.”

  I didn’t realize I’d spoken of the Eternal War. I waited for the Wanderer to explain.

  “The Xenominds are ancient beyond compare,” the Wanderer said. “They are old — older even than many stars. They can exist for so long because they are not bound by a single body. They are comprised of many elements of life, elements that can replace themselves as they wear down. By this definition, they might not even be alive by human reckoning. They grow and evolve themselves over the eons, albeit slowly. As long as xenolife persists, they do, too. Any information they acquire is stored in the fungus.

  “But even as old as the Xenominds are, they are in a race against time. You see, because they are so old, the Xenominds experience time much differently. A hundred years is but a breath to them. Communicating over the vast light years between star systems, which would take many human lifetimes, is just a thought to them. All this means that the End, for them, comes much more quickly.”