by T. Wyse
He found the lantern, hooked to her belt, and produced his own, holding it like a goblet before him. "My first creation, and yet I cannot explain the core piece within them. I can see every part of it, and the fundamental feeling of the core, I can dissect them with diagrams, tell you how to make the metal, to blow the glass, but even knowing that they only glow like this when forged by my hand.”
Amelie stuffed her provisions back into the bag, still shaking from the stress of the ordeal.
"I saw your plight, I saw the horrors that had befallen you and I wanted to help. I thought, I thought we could help each other understand what and who we are." He looked down at her, a sad smile on his face. His expression melted the rage from her heart, and she saw him for the first time as a kindred soul, someone who understood her perception, though his was so different. “Unlike you, I have been alone of guiding forces all my life.” He glanced at the shagged cat.
"Why couldn't you just tell me?" She asked, hugging the bag now, resting her back against the wall.
"Because to function as I do, I have to deny these things. You left the scientists behind, because they wanted you to quantify what can never be quantified. I am a scientist, an inventor, a theorist; and yet my talents and perceptions do not allow me to be these things."
Amelie thought of Melissan, of Eilis, of Isaac. "You tend to these fancy ideas, while the flock beneath your care slips your notice.” Collette’s sheep came to her mind. “They are wracked by illness, while you seek to keep the luxuries of life alive, straying your attention to silly things."
"If we cannot keep the luxuries of life alive, if we cannot keep the lights on, and the water running..." His voice became softer, hinting at a small amount of fear. "If they cannot be part of our reality, even now, then how can they endure the ages? How can niceties endure the test of time?" He sighed, taking a position beside her on the wall.
"They're sick, and they're getting sicker." Amelie said.
"I know. There's nothing I can do but lessen the burden, move them into shifts, grasp onto the spark that the fire may not die," he said, looking down with guilt.
"And you, strange little avatar above." He moved his head to regard the creature lounging above them. "I see you, I know you.”
"You may see me, and claim to know me." Kokopelli countered, "but most of who and what I am are unknowable to you, even in your clarity."
"So tell me then, little god. If Kokopelli walks beside little Amelie, and a gigantic white wolf stalks the shadow of fierce Kechua, who guides my steps through these strange times? Who am I to turn to?" He asked, his voice weak, desperate. “I have pursued your kind as best I could, ran towards you in desperation. Unknowable horrors which turned others away attracted me, gave me hope that there would be truth within. I ask you little god: where can I find my truth?”
"I fear I cannot say." Kokopelli purred. "And that is the most true thing I can ever tell you. If it is meant to be, it will manifest itself to you when you are ready."
"I think...I think I can help you." Amelie said, a meek smile across her face.
"Oh?" He said, regarding her with curiosity.
She led him into his hallway, in the glowing green. "What do you see, what do you hear?"
"Ah, so you hear the music then." He smiled. "I see a purplish glow, and a faint humming of a more complex orchestra. I’ve meditated on it, and have never been able to fully reach its meaning. I often come out here, and try to listen, to reach out into the darkness and grasp its meaning." He stared into the glass cases.
"Purple..." Amelie closed her eyes, and tried to focus on perceiving it as an orchestra as he had described. It was peaceful, giving her eased sense to her troubled mind, yet she knew it better than that by now. "Okay. Close your eyes, and walk towards the wall of sound." She instructed, he gave no reply. Strangely she thought she could see him there, in the dark place. "Reach out towards the wall, and think of it as your own memory, like some foggy thing in your past, like the first thing you can remember. Think of that feeling of how you cannot express your perceptions to others, and invert it, feel it from the other side."
There was a strange sound, a releasing sigh coming from him. "Now when it comes into focus, leap into it, accept it as the memory of another place, yet a memory that is also yours."
She opened her eyes, and saw the man beside her changed. White light erupted from his eyes, just as the silvered Qotsamosa's eyes had done nights before.
“Yes… a language. Both alien and somehow forming within my mind as English. How strange that I hadn’t seen that before, despite…”
He suddenly grasped her by the shoulders firmly. “No, wait, that’s it!” That incredible energy crackled from his eyes, his roughened hair whipped out of place. “I had thought of it before, but of course. Of course a language, but in all of this I was so blind, so stupid!”
He staggered on his words, glancing among the artifacts. “A memory here, but the scream of the machine is different, you see.” He nodded, grinning. “No wonder it has such an effect on the children. After years of me trying to teach them to understand…” His eyes were wide, locked onto hers.
Kneeling down to meet her squarely, he lowered his voice and suppressed the energy. “I have to go. I can make this right, I think. I think it was my fault this entire time. It’s been speaking to me and only me. You must return to your quarters for now, please, and promise you will wait until morning. I think I can. I think that will be enough time.” There was a scream, a screeching and terrifying thing so far away. “Yes. Yes, I hear you now!” He gaped with a delighted astonishment.
"Promise me!" He hollered, his grin huge, his eyes joyously locking on hers again for a moment. "I have one request before you go, and for that one price I will give you whatever you want, freedom, aid, it doesn’t matter."
"I promise." She smiled.
"Of course, not music, how foolish!" James Barret ran down the hallway, to the elevator, his mouth working frantically. Instead of the strange maniacal mumbles he had been reciting in the cafeteria, now he spoke clearly, speaking of formulae, of ideas, and of answers.
"Let me take you back to the tower." Lyssa appeared behind her. "You've given him more peace than I've ever seen, not since he created the lanterns." She smiled, and hugged Amelie tight. "Thank you."
"Did you see, the story of the artifacts, the memory?" Amelie asked, her voice whispered.
"I did." Lyssa replied, shining through the tired visage of the cook. “I have stood beside him so long, seen almost all he has and walked this path. In this moment you’ve granted me one more small sliver into understanding what he sees, and that is a truly precious thing.”
19
Decisions
The darkness of the school was much less fearsome with Lyssa at her side. Even the unfamiliar third floor seemed almost comfortable now, and Amelie gazed upwards through the stubborn glass of the skylight as they walked.
They came to the midsection of the school, and the pale light of the night sky opened up casting a coloured canopy on the walkway. Lyssa stopped a moment, leaning down over the commons room.
“Hold a moment here, just a moment.” She smiled gently, beckoning the girl over. The veil of the crows slowly peeled away the sky, rising up to form a halo around the third floor. “They’re heavy sleepers,” she chuckled
“I always loved this view, into the forest with all the neat ruins.” She leaned over the balcony, breath held for another time. “I met him here, when we were both about your age. Even the first time I met him was special, strange and special, and more than a little terrifying.” Lyssa gently rubbed her lamp. Amelie noticed that her lamp shone differently somehow, breaking from the common patterning, and was thicker and cruder than her own.
Amelie leaned on the banister beside the woman, stealing a look at the clock’s face. It was well past midnight.
“We don’t quite have the time to hear all of the story, not right now, but suffice to say…” The woman paused, “
It became clear to me, to both of us really, that there was something special about him, something would heal him when he came next to death or even when wounded in the slightest.”
“We both tried to study it, we both became somewhat consumed by it. Even so far as to become doctors solely to probe its potential.” Her words were soft, almost remorseful. “We had success, a little bit at least, and we managed to create that salve, the stuff you were in when you awoke.” She nodded slowly. “We did the impossible, and isolated what gives that healing power, and we made it into a gel that heals, but not nearly as well as he does.”
“But that was a wall you see, an end to our progress, and the first of many it seems.” The woman chuckled softly. “Not content with our final answer, he started chasing ghost stories, running after myths and legends in hopes that he would find something like your little friend.” She glanced around, apparently looking for Kokopelli, who was now absent. “I followed him out of concern, but also fascination. It was just like he said: we would go with other people who were doing it for thrills, their curiosity would lead them up to a certain point, but then they would run away. They always ran away.”
“He never ran away though. When confronted by the supernatural manifest he would run towards it, and I always followed.”
“You weren’t afraid?” Amelie asked, hoping to give the woman a little more credit than she allowed herself.
“When we’re together, I am never afraid.” The woman answered, a sad warmth on her face. “With him I’ve seen so many terrible things, but only hints…” She paused as the ribbon of crows shifted, blocking out the view of the night. “Only hints of things like this.”
“If nothing else, I need you to understand one thing: The man you met here, the one who seemed so cruel, so angry; that’s not James, not at all.”
“I know.” Amelie shook her head, frustrated at the declaration. “I understand.”
“But you don’t, not really. A child like you can’t possibly, because you haven’t lived as long as we have, you haven’t seen what we have. In these days he has done nothing but work, nothing but fight against forces and impossibilities. You haven’t seen the people who have left, the people who we’ve lost, or heard the reports we have.” Lyssa’s eyes were pleading, the woman now kneeling down to be on an equal level as Amelie. “I want you to meet the real James, not ‘The Professor’ that they’ve all dubbed him, but the James I’ve known all my life.”
“I’m leaving today, first light.” Amelie insisted slowly, terrified of causing a further despair.
“Then you need to promise me you’ll come back.” Lyssa clutched Amelie’s shoulders. “Do whatever it is you need to do, and then come back. Please.”
Amelie was silent, not daring to promise what she simply didn’t know.
“Fine.” Lyssa rose to full height, and began swiftly towards the tower, Amelie again in tow. Where was Kokopelli, Amelie wondered.
The door of the tower was unlocked still, and the two proceeded up the narrow staircase in silence. The guiding stars were twinkling madly, speaking to some great happening in the unseen bowels of the school.
Lyssa stood tall, staring up at the silent machine. “Whatever you’ve said before, you are still welcome to stay here, as long as you want.” She said, her hands clasped behind her back. She looked and felt different, finally more of a Professor than a cook.
Amelie followed the contours of the machine, alight with an expectant and buzzing wind running through its shaped metal labyrinth.
The head of the legion of blackness discovered them anew, and the snake wrapped itself around the tower, making the flickering lights even more pronounced than before.
"Strange times." The woman said, more in awe than fear.
"It's only temporary, you know." Amelie smiled, hoping to reassure the woman.
"We all feel that." She sighed. "But can we hold our collective breath long enough to survive the flood? How many do we lose to things we cannot possibly hope to understand?" The woman gazed up through the tunnel of blackness, at the tiny patch of sky. "I'll wait for you, at the entrance. If you must go, then I'll let you face whatever waits for you."
She turned to look at Amelie, again lowering herself to equality. "Please, take the time to consider staying. Be here, help me prepare food, watch Collette, and wage your never-ending war against dirt." Lyssa’s face was pleading, but warm.
Amelie said nothing, growing steadily less sure of what she should do.
"I'll wait for you, then." The woman declared, giving a strange nod towards the silent machine before disappearing downstairs. Amelie strained, moving over the pit of the stairs, to listen for the noise she was sure would come. She heard only the door close, the sound of the lock's latch was undeclared.
She really was free to go, free to choose. Part of her wanted to be locked away here, safe, her decisions already made.
"Collette, I think it's safe now." She called down. A small blue wisp appeared, then headed up the steps. The lights of the star field flickered to nothingness.
"How did it go?" Collette asked. "Got caught I see."
"It went terribly, but ended up alright." Amelie conceded. "I think they’ve found an answer for the strangeness.” She said, looking apprehensively at the deadened lights of the star field. Had something happened?
She looked up again, the tunnel seemed to have grown its cone stretching into infinity above. "There's so many of them." She sighed. "How can I possibly run from them?"
"Escape has never been an option." Kokopelli crackled softly, his voice emanating from the top of the machine. "You can delay the confrontation between you and the Aspect, delay it until its meaning has slipped away from the world, but you cannot run forever."
“If Enut had run and hid from Chala, then the world would still be aflame, would it not?” He purred somewhat enigmatically.
“If my parents want this for me, why aren’t they here? If they want me to be able to just sit, why haven’t they come to tell me these things themselves, protect me themselves?” She bit in frustration.
“They know a great many things, but even the greatest sages among us have areas of blindness. They sent me to watch you, to watch over you, and to ensure you knew what you needed to know, and only that much. They couldn't predict the shape of the Aspect that hungers for you so, that waits for your surrender or defeat. I have been forced to act on my own, against what they wished. I can but hope they will understand." His voice lowered, saddened.
"But you came to me, can't you go to them?" She asked, looking down at the little creature with misplaced annoyance.
“We act with independence, and a measure of mutual privacy out of respect. Perhaps they rightly bear mistrust, and felt I would explain more of them if I only knew.” He chuckled, “I think they are right.”
"But you're a god, an Usher. You change shape, you call the seasons, you..."
“Oaths are everything, borders let us all exist, belief shapes us and empowers us,” he replied. “Even in wrath I could not follow my deserting people as they fled to the sea, and they knew that. To hide from a ‘god’ one must simply hide from where he is known.” He purred.
Amelie sat there, silent. She wondered what her mother and father were doing at the moment. Were they fighting strange monsters, taking fate and twisting? Were they out writing their own fables now, glad to be without her to slow them down? Or did they miss her, were they forced to be apart, did they worry about her more than she had about them?
The question, one of those questions that she surely must have had before surfaced in her clearing mind. "What do you owe them? What could you possibly have to repay?" She asked, finally.
"They remember me, all of me. They've helped to hold me, to stop me from fading into nothingness." He said.
"If I die, if they win, and tear me apart again..."
"You won't die, even if they 'win' as you say. What will happen, is arguably worse than that. They will rip you apart, devour you dow
n to the bones, then allow you to live again, before chasing and closing in for the kill. What you will experience will be purgation, hell, and there will likely be no respite from it." His words fell in her mind like lead. "It will stop, eventually, when the season ends. They will have taken enough sacrifice, and manifest themselves in your world. Their presence will not likely be a positive one." He said, darkly.
Collette sat there beside her, silent. She was watching the stairway's lights flicker dazedly on and off.
"Do you think I'll see them again?" Amelie asked.
"In the infinities of time everything shall occur. Little girls may know the wind, petty gods are given second chances, children are gifted with forbidden knowledge. I swear to you, however, that if it is within my power that you will be reunited before the season ends." He purred. "Have you a decision, then?"
"I..." She trailed off, letting her gaze fall from the stars. She looked at Collette, still dazed by the silly blinking lights. "I don't know." Her heart wavered, trembling.
"I have something for you." He leapt up, scrambling atop the silent machine. Amelie watched, curiously as he disappeared on its wide top. A familiar, sparkling silvered light emitted from its hidden surface. “Something I have worked to create from the moment you first gave sacrifice to me.”
She moved towards the machine, hoping to catch a glance of what was transpiring above.
"I have your burning brand, your flute, your mask." The voice was still the crackled purr of the diminutive cat. His small shagged head popped out from the top of the machine, then disappeared again.
A shimmering cloud of silvered light seemed to pour down from the machine's top. It floated slowly, caught in the miniscule breeze from the cracks of the machine's foundry. It flitted, dancing upon the wind invisible to all but her, and finally came to rest softly in her hands.
"My...My dress!" Amelie screamed. It was her dress, but also something completely different. She hoisted the shoulders above her, viewing it in the light. Somehow, even in the blue orb of the lantern, it shimmered with silver. Its colours were there, purer than before, more profoundly beautiful than she remembered them, even in reminisce fondness. It was silken, yet still thickened, still the same dimensions as it had been. Where the borders had been defined by a pale yellowed colour, its hem, sleeves and neck defined by a toothed blue, now the dress shone in golden borders, of sapphire teeth.
