Origin of the Body

by H. R. Moore

  The smile that had been threatening since she’d walked in finally fought its way to his lips, lighting up his face as he waited again for Cleo to make the next move. Cleo was getting frustrated; there weren’t many people who were so comfortable with silence, or who could make her feel so awkward. ‘So what are you working on?’ she asked, deciding to give the direct approach a go, after all, it would be rude for someone to ignore a direct question. Unless of course he couldn’t speak, the unlikely and unhelpful thought popping uninvited into her head, making her pull a nervous expression, suddenly anxious. She took a deep breath, clasped her hands together, banished the undesirable facial expression in favour of a neutral appearance, and forced herself not to fill in the silence. She waited for a response, compelling herself to hold his gaze and telling herself she was both calm and composed, her body, she feared, giving her anyway none the less.

  The silence was excruciating, the man taking his time to appraise her, determining who she was and what she was really doing here. There were very few people with the privilege of being allowed to enter the room in which they were standing, indeed, there were those who would literally kill for the opportunity to stand where he had allowed her to stand. However, he decided his initial impression had been correct; she posed no threat to him or the work he was here to do, so he decided to pursue the frivolous course, a path he had not trodden for some time.

  ‘These rooms are so bland, don’t you think?’ he started, taking her by surprise with both this tangent and the authority in his voice. ‘You would have thought that a place such as this, of such importance, a place containing the secrets of our past, would have warranted some kind of design consideration. But then, I suppose it’s safe to assume those drawn to the noble profession of categorizing and maintaining all this stuff aren’t in possession of the greatest artistic talents.’

  ‘Unlike yourself?’ asked Cleo, more drawn to this puzzling creature by the minute.

  ‘But then I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so maybe those who built this place think it is beautiful, in its own way.’

  ‘Do you ever respond to a question with a straight answer?’

  ‘So you’re researching the relic?’ he asked, unconcerned with her mundane query.

  ‘Do you think the Gods amuse themselves by toying with us?’ two could play at this game, Cleo thought, starting to enjoy herself.

  ‘Who are we to second guess the pastimes of the Gods? If they want to toy with us, is it not their right?’

  ‘Ah, their rights, but what of their responsibilities? Are the Gods not also burdened with that weight?’

  ‘What’s to say a God is not as human as a human? We saddle them with perfection, but do we not expect too much?’

  ‘Or do we expect enough? Our expectations couldn’t get much lower; we’re in the middle of an energy crisis and nobody expects anything of the so called Gods at all. But we digress, I’m not concerned with the great philosophical questions, let a Spirit tread that unfulfilling path, I care only about facts, specifically how the relic was really discovered.’

  ‘Is that not common knowledge, making yours a dreary pastime?’

  ‘That all depends…’ said Cleo, dismissively, ‘so what is it you’re researching that is so much more tantalising?’

  ‘Who’s to say I’m researching anything at all?’

  ‘Isn’t that the whole point of this place?’ she asked, moving to his side to see if she could get a look at what he was doing. ‘Unless you’re adding new material? That would be even more delicious given where we’re standing.’ She looked up at him from under her lashes as she said the word ‘delicious’; there was nothing wrong with a little flirtation to aid her cause, she reasoned.

  ‘What’s your favourite place in the Wild Lands?’ he asked, covering the document in front of him (only a page from yesterday’s paper), shielding it from her view, knowing she would find this simple secret intolerably frustrating.

  Cleo’s eyes flicked to the papers and it was all she could do to refrain from directly referencing his small yet meaningful action. Play the game, she said to herself, using every ounce of self-control she possessed. ‘That’s where you’re from?’ she asked, flicking her eyes back to his before walking deeper into the room. ‘You’re not from here, that’s for sure.’

  ‘I do try to make it obvious,’ he replied, following her through the shelves of documents, fascinated by this strange girl. Cleo rounded the end of the nearest set of bland shelves and spotted a file entitled Relic Research Volume One, on the workbench at the end of the room. Her energy jumped with excited anticipation and she reached out her hand to pick up the file. The man quickly stepped up behind her and took hold of the offending hand, spinning her around, away from her prize, a jolt of energy flying through them at the contact.

  The man’s eyes went wide and he threw away her hand. He stepped towards her, placing his hands on her arms, Cleo backing up but her way blocked by the workbench she was now leaning back against. He looked deep into her eyes, feeling the energy coursing through them and trying to process what he’d just felt. ‘You’ve been there?’ he questioned, Cleo not sure if he was asking himself or her.

  ‘Where?’ she asked, perplexed. ‘The Wild Lands?’

  ‘Or maybe you haven’t actually been there, but you’ve seen it.’

  ‘Seen what?’ asked Cleo, now a little cross and starting to think maybe she should be concerned for her safety.

  He seemed to snap out of whatever had been preoccupying him, releasing her arms but staying tantalizingly close, his intense eyes locked with hers. He looked at her, taking his time to make up his mind, then said slowly, ‘The Great Hall of the Magnei.’ He watched for some kind of reaction, but when she gave him nothing but a questioning raised eyebrow, he stepped back to put a bit of distance between them. ‘It’s time for you to go,’ he said, his voice even but firm, as he marched her towards the door.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, racking her brain for anything that might mean she could stay a little longer and find out more.

  He didn’t answer, but as they reached the room’s threshold, something fell into place in Cleo’s mind and she spun round accusingly. ‘The Great Hall of the Magnei?’ she asked, shocked. ‘That’s what it is? It’s in the Wild Lands? How could you possibly know I know about that?’

  He held up a hand to halt her questions. ‘You’ve seen it but haven’t been there. How?’

  ‘A little meditative practice can yield the most surprising results,’ she said.

  He nodded, understanding her meaning but not understanding how it was possible. ‘You should go,’ he said finally, pushing her through the door.

  Realizing he wasn’t going to answer her questions and thinking it best to leave on good terms, she turned to leave. ‘Before I go,’ she said pausing, ‘what’s your name?’ she asked, turning back across her shoulder with her most seductive look, to find, to her immense surprise, the man gone and the door closed. She tried the handle but found it locked. She shivered. What had just happened and who was this enchanting new man?

  *****

  They travelled for another six days, weaving their way towards Wild Air, taking an exasperating indirect route that avoided the busiest trading roads and areas with most reported riots. They came first to Wild Fire, camping by one of the most remote, yet most beautiful set of hot springs. Alexander and Anita disappeared to the furthest pool as soon as the tents were up and were playing a spirited game of tag when Draeus and Anderson clattered to a halt beside them, hissing at them to shut up. Reading from their energy there was something seriously awry, Alexander and Anita sped to the side of the pool, threw on their clothes and followed Draeus in silence to find a place to hide nearby. They heard voices approaching and saw, to their astonishment, a cohort of Mind Councillors appear out of the scrub and surround the pool, all four of them holding their breath in anxious anticipation, silently wondering how they could have been so easily followed. However, it turned o
ut, from what they could overhear, that the Councillors were on a tour of the most medicinally beneficial hot pools and had no idea at all they were there. The Councillors stripped off and took a dip, made extensive notes both from their own observations and from what their guide was telling them and then promptly dried off, re-clothed, and went on their way. When the threat had gone, the four of them fell about laughing at how they had so nearly been rumbled by such an unlikely coincidence.

  Next they travelled through Wild Ice, where the stayed in a miniscule trading post, surrounded by fir trees and covered in snow that Draeus assured them very few people knew about. Anita wondered how a trading post that was so out of the way could survive, but knew better than to ask Draeus, a private man with secrets even his gossip of a daughter couldn’t wheedle out of him. Instead, she was grateful of the roaring fires, mulled wine and spit roast beef that was lavished upon them in abundant quantities from the moment they stepped through the door. By the time she and Alexander retired to their room, complete with its own open fire, and collapsed into their fur lined bed, she was feeling very full and more than a little drunk.

  The following morning, after a breakfast of venison and juniper berry sausages, Anita saw first-hand how the trading post survived. She was looking for Draeus to tell him they were all packed up and ready to leave and inadvertently witnessed him making a dubious looking trade with a dangerous looking man. The owner of the trading post was also present, both parties handing him a wad of cash when the items, whatever they were, had changed hands. Anita retreated, hoping nobody had noticed her presence.

  They made it to Wild Wood that night, this time back in their tents, and by the end of the following day, reached the far side of the region. It was pitch black when they finally stopped, and were about to once again set up the tents, when they saw a strange series of twinkling lights through the trees in front of them. They froze, then, in perfect unison, looked at Draeus for an explanation. Surprisingly he didn’t know either, but held up his hand signalling for them to stay put, then crept forward through the trees to see what was going on.

  To his astonishment, from all around him, people were materializing out of the darkness, seemingly drawn towards the lights like moths. The lights were set up in a clearing around a makeshift wooden stage, and on the stage stood a slight man, hair tied back into a pony tail. The man was backlit, which gave him a spooky air; Draeus couldn’t make out his features, only his outline, an outline focusing intently on the growing crowd in front of him, now at least fifty thick and swarming forward towards the stage. The swarm quickly became larger, thicker, the once open space around being eaten up by a crush of humanity, the atmosphere now heavy, potent. The movement around Draeus lulled, then stopped abruptly, apprehension palpable as all eyes strained to focus on the elusive man. Moments later, the backlights cut out, the clearing fleetingly appearing to turn pitch black before their eyes adjusted, the previously unnoticed torches on the stage casting a warm, flickering, orange glow upon the now entirely visible and almost approachable looking man.

  ‘Comrades,’ he began, in revolutionary manner, noted Draeus, ‘thank you for making the journey, that I know for many of you was not only lengthy, but also dangerous, to be here tonight, at what I know we shall come to think of as the beginning,’ he paused, his voice carrying a hypnotic gravitas that was entirely unexpected considering his stature. ‘We stand here at a crossroads, the likes of which we have never before seen. One road, leads quite simply to our end, the other, nothing less than our salvation. One route is well travelled, for it represents the status quo, the Descendants and their Councils, dictatorship, lies, starvation, whilst the other,’ he paused for dramatic effect, ‘the other, is an opportunity for those who demand more, for those like us, who demand freedom, equality, justice.’ A roar went up from the crowd.

  ‘But,’ he continued when the noise died down, ‘to succeed we must be prepared. We must be a step ahead. We must have a plan. We must map out how we will take the world down the path of enlightenment and freedom. So we must be patient.’ The crowd stayed silent, the mood teetering on a knife edge. ‘I know this will be unpopular with many of you, especially those of you who have already had your property and livelihood destroyed or stolen, or those of you who have already pursued the course of direct action. However, the landscape is shifting; Austin’s stepping up his activity, the Institution is swelling its ranks, and the energy is still unstable. Do not misunderstand me,’ he warned the crowd, reading uncertainty in the mood, ‘I am here to overthrow the system, to bring about a world led by us; those who have suffered the most, but we have only one chance, one vital opportunity with the element of surprise, and it would be catastrophic to our cause if we were to waste this advantage.’ He paused again, pacing the stage, making eye contact with as many of the crowd as he could.

  ‘So we need to elect leaders. Those who will work closely with me to infiltrate other rioting factions, to bring them together with us, and then to plan our attack. That is why we are here tonight.’ He let them dwell a few moments, allowing the words to sink in, ‘so, who will stand with me to lead us to revolution?’

  Silence settled across the clearing, the awkward shuffling of feet and a couple of stifled coughs all that followed. The man on stage waited, standing absolutely still, scanning the crowd to see who would speak first. What felt like minutes passed, people now looking anywhere but the stage, the silence like a chasm into which their energy was being sucked; everyone willing someone else to say what the rest were thinking. Draeus couldn’t understand what was happening. Moments before the crowd had roared, behind their leader one hundred percent; he had given a rousing speech, yet now, at the moment of action, they had deserted him.

  More moments passed, seconds creeping by like great gaping minutes, until eventually Draeus felt something shift, then saw movement. His eyes found a ripple moving through the crowd, starting at the back and flowing forwards, fanning out as it went, the sea of bodies parting to help someone pass through. The ripple gained momentum, transforming to a wave as it travelled, the man at its epicentre hurtling towards the stage. The wave reached its destination and broke, the man sped forwards by its power, an explosion of force that propelled him up the steps. He reached the summit and turned towards the audience, a fire in his eyes sparking something in the throng that sent a shiver down Draeus’ spine.

  *****

  Matthew’s band of travellers had been walking for days through the Wild Lands, avoiding the busiest trading posts and roads in case Austin had asked his cronies to keep a look out for them. Matthew’s biggest worry had been that Austin would track them down when he realised they’d escaped, after all, his resources were far superior to Matthew’s own. However, they’d made it without incident and relatively unscathed. Aside from a few blisters, a lack of sleep, and numerous aching muscles, the trip had been surprisingly straightforward, although it had taken considerably longer than Matthew had anticipated, the pace far slower than if he’d been travelling alone. In fact, they had been so slow, they only just made it to the meeting on time, arriving at the back just as their leader started his address.

  Matthew listened in astonishment as the man they all called Doyen told them they needed to wait before acting. The time was right now, anyone with eyes could see that, and if they left it any longer, who knew what untold damage the Descendants would let happen to the world. If they waited any longer it could well be too late. The mood in the crowd had shifted; whereas minutes earlier, they were wound up and ready to follow Doyen anywhere he might lead them, now there was disappointment and disbelief. Matthew looked around as the silence stretched, waiting to see who would put voice to what they were all clearly thinking. He held his breath, along with everyone else willing someone else to take to the stage, but as the silence gaped, it became clear that no one else would.

  Matthew turned to look at his wife, Emily, who read the intention in his eyes and shook her head firmly. He held her gaze, indicating that he
had to; they’d travelled this far, risked everything, it couldn’t be for nothing, and her firm gaze turned to something softer, a plea, but he had made up his mind. He took a deep breath before placing a hand on the shoulders of the men in front of him and gently ushering them out of the way. The movement caught the attention of those around him, who, after breathing a collective sigh of relief, began to move aside, clearing a path to the stage. He moved slowly at first, then more quickly as the whole gathering came to realise what was happening and fell over themselves to let him pass. Matthew reached the front, not really sure how he had got there, and mounted the stage with a confidence he didn’t even come close to feeling inside. He averted his eyes from Doyen lest his conviction evade him, his feet somehow turning so as to be ready to address the crowd, a vague thought registering in the gloomy fog of his mind that he had not a clue what to say, and then, by some miracle, the words started to flow.

  ‘A month ago, a friend came to me and told me it was time to act, time for us to escape to the Wild Lands and join the revolution, to make a difference in the world before it was too late. That friend had just had his farm stolen by Austin in an unjust and barbaric act. Not only had he had his land and buildings commandeered due to his recent lack of production and resulting inability to pay Austin his, so called, safety tax, Austin added insult to injury, by forcing him to stay on his farm, a prisoner, and work for free to cover his so called debt. My friend watched as a Mind Councillor was put in charge of his business, the livelihood that had run in his family for generations, which he had inherited from his father and had intended to pass to his son. He watched as the Mind Councillor stole from what little the farm was still able to produce, for no other reason than to bolster his own personal supplies. He put up with the Councillor making bad planting decision after bad livestock decision, the result of which will in time be reduced production and no doubt further, unreasonable, excessive and unjust punishment from Austin. And what did I do when my friend looked to me for help? Tried to warn me there was nothing we could do as individuals to stop the tidal wave of Austin’s forces? Tried to explain there was only one route open to us, and that was to act, to join those who had suffered in countless other ways and overthrow those who oppress us? Well, I am ashamed to say, I did nothing. I told him it would be better to cooperate than to fight someone as powerful and established as Austin. And in truth, I thought it may not happen to me, that I might escape unscathed, and that it would be foolish to defy someone like Austin with no good reason.