"Vis Aura!" she shrouded herself, Corinth, and a few other people surrounding them under a force field. But the reinforcements were using magik too, and they broke her before she could try to mount a defiant stand.
Corinth saw her drop, she was shot point blank by a massive man. He couldn't believe she tried to help without hesitation. He thought she was all talk, but she had something more inside of her.
The man who shot her looked Corinth dead in his turquoise eyes, and held up his gun right at the boy's tremulous face. "We got the special package," he said with a grin into his radio microphone. "I'm bagging it now!" He knew he had found what they were looking for. He was right; but for all the wrong reasons.
In the distance, Sena. Hendrix tried to wield a protection spell over Corinth as she looked on helplessly, but was spent. Evan too, had nothing left to give. Still, Sena. Hendrix threw up a protesting hand.
With that, all the chaos instantly ceased to be.
Chapter 15:
Eterna's External Experience
Unknown...
Cris was getting used to operating the portals, manufacturing them better every time he conjured one up and stepped through. But once he reached the other sides of these so called portals, he constantly found that he understood the true nature of the earth less and less.
"Why here?" he asked, to Sena. Hendrix of all people. She was millions of miles away, and in another dimension. "Why would it send me here, of all places?"
Criston felt weary as he stood on what he thought to be the beaches of Corinthian. Julia was nowhere in sight. The lovely beach house lay in its original construction spot. Only now, in complete ruin. Not knowing that it was his guilt that brought him here was a huge disadvantage. But he'd figure that out soon enough.
Instantaneously, the scenery around him changed, morphing into something he couldn't make out. Not at least until he turned his head from the wallpapered walls, wallpaper seemed so familiar, to see Corinth cowering underneath his sheets. Almost looking as if he'd poke his head out, but didn't just yet. What scared him so was the hooded man ominously hovering at the end of his twin size bed.
The lighthearted decor of broken skateboards scattered across the floor and race-car bed sheets that covered Corinth, couldn't disguise the tension in the room. Criston leapt at the man that struck fear in the heart of his son, only to pass through him like a hologram. Or some type of illusion. And in that moment, the mysterious man removed his hood.
And it all came flooding back. The wave of regret washed over him, filling him up with grief and sorrow. He recalled his son's fearful tale of the hooded man who stole him away in the night. The man who helped bring him into this world, who swore to protect him with his life. Criston, was that man. The hooded man who brought all this trouble to his own family.
The dynamic scene continued reshuffling itself, revealing new and heartbreakingly sad material for Criston to tear his soul apart over. He now saw himself as a teenager again, standing on the Olympus Grounds at Aurora Boreal school. He held up signs, and screamed at the top of his lungs. Encouraging others to do the same. He thought to himself, while swept up in this realistic illusion, that this wasn't a very regretful moment in his life. He was actually proud of standing up for the Deaves geek squad.
In real time, he never noticed his mother standing at a window in the Watchtower looking down upon his forceful protest. However, recalling the whole scene from an outsider’s perspective cast an entirely new light on the circumstances. She had yet to become the Grand Ministrant, but she was a powerful ministrant nonetheless when she petitioned the school committee to have her own son expelled.
If he hadn't before realized why this event was a part of his montage of sorrow, he did now. He had suppressed this memory so deep that it forced his heart-rate to climb exponentially just recalling a few of the words exchanged. After the failed protest to save Deaves, the committee hearing, and his consequent expulsion, his mother pulled him aside sternly. Then in graphic detail, she laid out to him all the reasons why she was ashamed of him as her son.
Nothing hurt more than to know that she didn't support him, but she also vehemently worked against him. To no end did she pursued his exile. It seemed like she intended on it all along. With how satisfied she appeared once Deaves was discontinued, and he was no longer at the school, he couldn't help but think she orchestrated it. The tears couldn't be stopped. They had to come out or else he'd explode with rage.
The scene continued to alternate into new psychologically traumatizing settings. He saw a younger version of himself. Even younger than the age he was kicked out of Aurora Boreal. He was a boy, about Corinth's age. He was standing in the middle of the local Levantarse field in his hometown Graysonville, Draconia. He was honing his skills for the next semester at school. He taught Evan to play, but only as his personal practice dummy. He didn't teach him much, but enough to use him when he came home from school. Evan soaked up more of his knowledge of Levantarse strategy from his adopted father, Conrad Gambit.
Cris' father gave Evan the skills to be able to challenge him when he came home from school. Since they couldn't afford to send Evan as well, he figured it was only fair. Conrad gave the smaller boy some kind of fighting chance for when he was playing at the playground with kids who learned from world class coaches.
He actually smiled when he saw Evan traversing the grass field Draconian track ahead of him. But then the scene carried on into more sad visionary works. He saw his mom cleaning up after his beloved pouch, Spark. He was a dog lover like no other, but his mother wasn't. She told him that the dog was his responsibility, and there would be consequences if he didn't own up to them. He saw the same type of scene happen, seemingly, a thousand times before she actually punished him for not performing his duties. But once she did, it was too much for him to handle.
Criston watched as his mother, a younger Sena. Hendrix, yelled and screamed about that dog Spark. He named her that because her red long fur reminded him of a bright flame. He hadn't walked her in some time, so she had to treat the house carpet like her bathroom. His mother said; no more Levantarse until you can prove that you’re devoted to this dog. The dog he so desperately begged for two summers prior.
But that sport was his life. He couldn't live without it. He thought he'd play professional one day, and Spark was standing in the way of that now. The very next day, he took her to a far away park in another Draconian town called, Carter. He let her loose there, and threw rocks at her to scare her off. The Staunch breed are known for their loyalty, but once he hit her dead in the nose with a rock, she trotted off in absolute despair.
When he returned home, he told Sena. Hendrix that she had gotten off her leash and just ran away. She could see the lie in his eyes, but couldn't bring herself to challenge him. She saw her son, her little boy, as a new man that day. Never to be the same again. He'd put that sport ahead of something he claimed to love. She believed he truly did love Spark, that's why his decision frightened her so much. She realized how misguided he was in that moment. She vowed then that she'd never let him go so far astray. So far, that he could no longer separate reality from dreams.
Dreams that he now realized had never come true. He sat in the hologram version of his childhood home feeling like a helpless kid again. He ventured into policing, not sports after he received his degree from a local Draconian school instead of Aurora Boreal. The living room that he had fond memories of as a kid dissipated as quickly as all the other scenes had. Though he was still stuck there in memory, thinking about how he betrayed Spark and countless others over the years.
He probably would have helplessly wallowed in that deep despair, if the scenery hadn't continued to change. Though this time around was very different. He sat on the ground of a white void. Nothing but white all around him. Then he heard some static. He placed his hand on the ground behind him, and twisted his body so that he could see. On the floor behind him lay a small television. A very old television that Cris recognize
d. It was his father's.
Conrad took that portable thing everywhere with him. He lived through and fought in a war. A war that Draconia waged and won. Not as many deaths as the wars of old, but it was the fear that gripped people during those times. A lot of Draconian men awaited the day that the other seven Worlds would join forces and converge on their doorsteps. The poor leadership in Draconia at the time made everyone a bit cagey. Conrad wanted to be able to get breaking news wherever, and whenever. The technology had changed drastically since then, but it got the job done in that era.
And breaking news it was that the little TV reported. Heartbreaking for Criston. He saw the Pavilion burning, while local Hyperborean helicopters flew over it with tons of water, trying to extinguish the inescapable flames. He started to panic. He slammed his fate forging hand down on the ground and opened a portal so large that an elephant could fall right through with room to spare.
"I wouldn't do that just yet, if I were you," said a shadowy voice.
Cris shot up onto his feet and spun around quickly. "Who's there?" He saw nothing but endless white. The TV was now gone. Just the endless white halls as he looked out in each direction.
"Well, of course, it is—I. The Keeper of the Halls of Sorrow," the gloomy voice said, with a strangely jovial tone.
"The Keeper," Cris whimpered. "Gavin's the Keeper!"
"Of the Watchtower, yes. Are you and abject idiot? There are several Keepers, of several objects. I've informed you that I too am a Keeper. The one who keeps the halls that you currently parade around, like a pussy-cat being chased by," he paused for a grand sense of emphasis, "by… dare I say, a fluffy red dog named; Spark!" the man shouted, while simultaneously snapping his unseen fingers.
Suddenly, the space around Criston was changing once again. Out of nowhere, a dull gold podium sprung up from the floor. An old looking book lay on top of it. A man started to take shape out of thin air behind it. Cris watched without fear as the man came to be. For a second, Criston thought it was indeed Gavin, but the man wore an all white cloak and looked to be much older than his old friend from the ivory tower. Still, this guy did appear more human like than Gavin. Two eyes and everything!
While all this was happening, he spoke reverently to Criston through the blowing wind. "That news report is old to say the least. The Pavilion is nearly restored at these current times. Your son is alive, as well your mother and adopted brother. They are at the school. Yes, shaken up, but alive nonetheless. Sena. Hendrix is known for her strength, allow her to handle this charade. Please do not leave so hastily." By the time he was done talking, hehad fully formed. "There— I think I’ve covered everything concerning that matter." Criston didn't like his tone, but he needed information, so he waited to strike back.
What was left of this particular Keeper's white hair was combed back. His balding head shined against the light of the golden sun directly overhead of them both. Cris realized that things were beginning to look more like the real world again. Excepting the fact that he appeared to be standing on a cloud as he looked down at the endless skies beneath him.
"If I start free falling again," he looked this new Keeper dead in the eye as he spoke firmly, "I'm taking you with me!"
"Ooh—la—la! You're quite aggressive,” he leaned forward over the gold podium,“I’ll have you know I like a strong man, but,” he pulled back, now with less enthusiasm,“free-falling… that’s not so good for my hair. I just got new plugs, you know!"
He ran his translucent fingers through what was left of the white, comb-over-mess he tried to pass off as a hairdo. His face was old and cracked. His white skin looked red on more than half his visible body. The white cloak he wore didn't cover his neck, head, lower arms, or lower legs. Cris noticed that in all those exact areas, the Keeper wore gold bangles that were actually rather beautiful. His gold sandals didn't look like they had ever been walked in. Though they were currently on his feet as he lowly hovered behind the open bottom podium, with his judging eyes on Criston.
"So, how are you enjoying revisiting your past?" Cris assumed it was a rhetorical question, but the Keeper didn't budge. His face seemingly said, you can answer at any time.
Cris figured if it would move things along, he'd just answer the stupid question. "It is what it is," he firmly stated. "One massive guilt trip."
"You are exactly right, my friend!" He glided from behind the podium, closer to Criston, moving almost identical to Gavin of the tower. "This place is termed the Halls of Sorrow for that reason. To have people face their past deeds, so that they aren't bound here in eternity with the weight of that guilt forever leaning on their shoulders. That would be quite a burden! If not for this place here, of course." He motioned his loose skin hands all around the white cloud city. "This place alleviates all that for even the most horrid of human beings." He looked down to the endless sky beneath the clouds. "That's, of course, if they can truly accept and forgive themselves for all their misdeeds." He looked back up to Criston, who stood in front of him with a perplexed stare. "Can you accept that these visions you’ve seen, and the deeds you’ve done our yours to own? And yours alone, to forgive?"
"How can I forgive myself for things I haven't done wrong? Or worse, things I couldn't control?" Criston put his hand to his chest as his emotional level soared. The Keeper floated back over to his podium, like he had seen this sort of thing before.
"Denial," he said solemnly. "Denial—is not the only thing you're feeling. Confusion is a huge part of what's going on here. So,” he said in an upbeat tone, looking down at his book -on the podium, -“the doggie then?" He extended his hand and tilted it to the side, asking whether they were on the fence with that one. -“Are we?”
Cris got it, and responded promptly. "Yeah," he said shaking his head. "I get that one. I was just a kid, but it was still a terrible thing to do to a defenseless animal."
After Criston said those words, the Keeper picked up the quill laying in the crevice of the book on the podium. He took down a note or two. Cris inched up toward the podium to see what all the fuss was about.
"Uh-uh,” he scolded,“no peeking, or else I'll have to put in a call to security. Ha-ha!" He laughed playfully at Criston, but Cris' face said, no dice. The Keeper quickly closed his mouth from hanging wide open in laughter. "I'm sorry," he said in an honest tone. "If it makes you feel any better ... I've actually got no security whatsoever." He nervously grind his teeth together, thinking he shouldn’t have let that curious cat out of the sack.
"So, you're vulnerable?" Cris asked as he took an intentionally wide step forward.
"Yes, some might say so," the Keeper admitted, while looking Cris up and down for signs of aggression. He saw none. But he noticed something else. Cris had gotten what he wanted. A peek at that book. "What a naughty boy you are!" The Keeper snatched the book off the podium, and then smiled slyly. "No one's ever been able to pull such a simple trick over on me." He was bright and cheery with the Fate Forger. "You may not be Sena. Hendrix worst endeavor ever, young human."
Cris turned back into his serious self. "What do you know about my mom? Better yet," he paused, thinking the reversal would be more appropriate. "What does she know about you?" He looked around with his hands up in the air. "For instance, where exactly are we?"
"Oh yes! I knew I had forgotten something." He extended his hand out flimsily. "I'm Russell, and you are, only technically speaking, a dead man!" Russ had tried that shocking bit on many before Cris. But he didn’t know just how well Criston knew his Keeper brother, Gavin.
"I know that if I try to shake your hand, it'll just go right through," Cris smirked, though he wasn't too interested in the gag right then.
Russell pulled his hand away smiling. "You're not nearly as stupid as your mother has been telling us all these years, Sen. Gambit."
"Please," Cris pleaded, "don’t keep me in the dark about all of this. I came, because I need to know everything."
"Well, even if I knew -everything, I wouldn't tell you.
But! I vowed to help your mother and those above her. So, that I will do, by informing you of all you need to know." He seemed to be very cooperative with Criston's needs. "But—I won't do any of that, until you can assure me that you can check off the rest of this list here."
Cris couldn't possibly understand how helping the Deaves geeks made him a bad guy. He didn't see anything wrong with a fun card game.
"Criston, you are looking at the wrong issues." It was as if Russell read his thoughts. He wasn't reading them though, he simply paid attention to Criston's mannerisms, which always gave away all his thoughts. "You weren't wrong for helping those in need, but the way you went about it? Especially considering the fact that you don't know why your mother so desperately wanted to end the program in the first place."
"She'd never say!" he yelped in frustration. "Believe me, I've asked several times. That whole thing only cost me a life's worth of education, just not to get the degree." He turned away. "One year, and I would've been out of there," he mumbled while walking to the edge of the cloud. He figured he'd stop right there. Free falling again was not on the agenda he and Sena. Hendrix set back at Corinth's dorm.
Original Souls (A World Apart #1) Page 26
