by C. Mahood
“How did you know I was looking for the Winged man? I asked
“Why else would you be here?” He replied. “You followed Maria, she would not bring just anyone here.” His accent had a delicate, calming tone to it but still had a hint of condensation. Very much like that of Cogburn. Many of his mannerisms were similar to that of a Cogburnian too.
“So the stories are true? The Winged man is real?” I inquired,
“Yes the winged man is true, but the stories may have been a little exaggerated as the years go by.” He replied.
“What is he like? Why does he stay here? This Dimension is destroyed. Why reside in a place full of death?” I knew I had asked too many questions in one breath but the excitement got the better of me.
“All in good time, you will find the answers you seek.” His pace had quickened. My vision was now back to normal, everything in the bleed of firelight was clear but the darkness still loomed over the place we walked through. I felt as though I was too impulsive. The ominous feeling, I got was a strange one. I decided not to ask any more questions until we got to where we were going.
The path began to narrow, we passed through a small archway that lead into a low corridor. At the end of the path there waited one more simple wooden door. Noah placed the torch in to a brazier holder beside the door. The new light caught and he removed his torch once the hallway was illuminated. Noah simply unlocked the door, took a step back and smiled. “Please” He said, while beckoning me forward “come forth and discover the truth of the winged man.”
I pushed the door open. It swung lightly on heavy hinges, without a sound. Only that of the handle hitting the wall as it swung 180 degrees round the door frame. Inside the room light flooded. There were three large stained glass windows, all with intricate designs, the westerly window had depictions of a lady and man beside a small crib, surrounded by livestock. With a large star above their heads. The window to the North showed simply a large wooden cross. There was a ring of thorns and a lamb at the base of the cross with three nails, covered in blood lying on the ground in front of it. To the East, the third window showed a man standing on top of a hill. His hands outstretched as he rose to the open clouds above him. This must be the Winged man I thought. His robes were white and flowed wide but I saw no wings. Nothing similar to the images I saw painted on the cave walls. This looked like an unshaven, unkempt man, like a clean beggar rising into the sky, to a bright yellow light that I can only imagine as the heavens.
The room was void of anything else of interest. The floor was cobbled except for a marble step in the middle of the oval room. On the step was a wooden alter. On the alter was a small box made of glass, with one sheet of old paper inside of it. I looked back to Noah. His eyes met mine then pointed to the glass box, he nodded his head towards it and continued to smile. Something about him was trustworthy, but I had been through too much and seen too much to be trusting myself. I cautiously made my way to the step and moved forward to the glass box. The page inside was handwritten and the paper itself had been nailed to a piece of wood that looked have been cut from its place of origin. What was this? Where is the Winged man? Am I to wait here? These questions I asked myself before I began to read. Below are the words that I read. They shall never leave me. They have been etched to the back of my brain, branded with hot iron, from the blacksmiths furnace, to the heart of my soul.
I am not a man.
I am an idea.
I was not born, nor was I created.
I was a realisation.
I bring peace, love, strength, comfort, but most of all I bring hope.
I am the voice you think you hear when you know what must be done.
I am the feeling you get when you feel empowered after fear has left you.
I am the shape that fills a void that is torn in your soul.
I am the explanation to what you do not understand.
I am that which makes you human.
I am that which makes you weak.
I am that which makes you hungry for more.
Hungry for knowledge,
Hungry for truth,
Hungry to share.
To share all of me.
But you share only the parts that you remember,
The parts that you can explain.
I make you strong, and you want to make others strong.
But you always hold part of me for yourself.
I have been called many names.
Seen as many things.
A cloud, A star, A whisper, A thunder.
An Eagle, A Lion, An element or a Man.
A warrior, a mother, A King or a Slave.
Something that carves his enemies,
Or someone who carves wood.
I am that which makes you proud,
I am that which makes you ashamed.
You disguise me, in words.
You disguise me in stories.
You convince yourself you know me, or you knew me once.
You do know me.
For I am you.
I am your inner voice.
Your compass.
I am what makes you human.
For good or for bad.
I am not your choices.
I am not your voice.
I am not your weapon.
I am not your shield.
I am not your excuse.
You realised once who I am.
Realise again.
You created God.
You did not create me.
Captain Maria Jones
June 10th
George Made his way into the Cathedral. My crew and I remained on the outside. The sight from this building has stirred many emotions in me. Once it filled me with despair and loss, then anger, but now it fills me with hope. Not the sight of sand covering buildings or a constant storm that whips all around, but the knowledge that each time we come he and bring those seeking the truth, that lives have changed. I wish I could bring everyone here, but only those who are ready to accept what they find may enter these halls, the truth is hard to swallow but the taste and feeling of fullness afterwards is priceless.
George Thomas
I stepped away from the page, confused and angered. I had forgotten the step was behind me for when I took my third step I tripped and fell backwards. Instead of landing with the sharp pain of impact, my fall was intercepted by Noah. He held me upright as my feet corrected their error. Once I had steadied myself I turn on my heels and stared into the smiling face of old man Noah. His look was one a father would give a child after riding their first penny-farthing. He seemed proud but pitied me also. He must have seen the lifetime of religious beliefs was from my face. I needed to know now. I shall transcribe the conversation to the best of my recollection for you, the reader.
GT- Noah, are these truly the words of the Winged man?
N- Yes, spoken from his mouth and recorded by his hands.
GT- On this very paper?
N-Of course?
GT- But I am perplexed good sir, why would a God write such things?
N- Mr Thomas, George, think with a rational mind, a scientific mind of someone looking to find truthful answers. You know what is true don’t you?
GT – He is not a God at all is he?
N- In the biblical sense of the word, No.
GT – Well who is he? Why have many worlds decided to follow him? Even worship him, why have an entire sect of men decided to kill in his name and control cities and treat so many others in such foul ways, under his guidance?
N- It is not in his name George, He never wanted any of this to be! To answer your question, I must tell you his story. It is unknown how he got here, the early scribes say he was of this world, the destroyed world, scorched, forgotten and destroyed by the people who once inhabited it. They never discovered the gift of inter dimensional travel. They consumed ever resource they had, corporations and big business were the gods here, they put stock in fossil and ancient fuels, like oil and gas. They had th
e natural options, wind, and even sea, the planet was almost covered in water before it dried up. They could have used the seas and the waves to harness enough energy to power the planet. Money and profit was more important to these people however. They consumed and consumed until it was too late and they were destroyed by their own society. It imploded.
GT – If that’s so, then how did others hear his words?
N- Well some say he took flight, some say he was a man of the stars, others say he walked from world to world through the pages of a book.
GT- A book?
N- It is mostly an old wife’s tale told to children, they say he had the power to step onto the pages of a book and be transported inside. It is preposterous of course, but the truth is, no one knows how he arrived but only what he brought with him.
GT- What was that?
N-He brought a different way. An alternative to all people knew. He brought passion, self-worth and freedom from fear. He brought social and personal rebellion, the strength to follow ones dream and most importantly he brought confidence in one’s self. Across the known multi-verse people live under the govern and rule of more fortunate. The rich and the powerful. Scared to come out of themselves and express.
GT – So he possessed powers? Abilities? Mind control?
N-No George, don’t you see? He was not a special being, not a hero or a God, nothing different, other than someone who put his middle two fingers up to those who say “You can’t.” Wherever he went people would listen to the way he spoke about choosing your own path. People were drawn to his way of thinking and wanted to be like him. As the words went from lips to ears to lips to ears again and again the stories became more animated. People took his lead and began to break from their chains. A social revolution began on many of the close fringe gateway worlds from this one. Spreading like wildfire.
GT – So where did the ‘winged man’ name come from?
N-Ha ha now this is where it gets interesting. Once he realised that people were beginning to listen to him and know his name he mentioned to those closest to him about how on his world there were stories about people uniting behind a man dressed as a bat. They called him a super hero, but he loved the idea of a symbol of unity. So he created the winged man. His friends and followers added the little detail into their retellings and as quickly as rumours spread, everyone believed he had wings and flew! It is really quite ingenious, through this act he cemented his place in history. He created a legend and a myth.
GT- What of the ‘Grey Men’ then? Why do they hate him so?
N-The Grey men are an organisation hell bent on order, they were called something different on this planet. They wanted control over all, they looked at the winged man’s way and instead of seeing a new way or freedom they saw disorder, reasons to not conform, problems and disarray, but they also saw opportunity. They created the religion. They fabricated and warped any texts they found. They turned a message of hope into a divine oppression, forcing subjects to submit or risk exclusion from salvation. They knew what we know. That the winged man never existed, but they were able to profit greatly from any merchandise and subservient propaganda they could sell to people. The only risk however was the winged man himself. He knew this. That is why he wrote these words that you just read.
GT- The words, they don’t disprove he existed though, because, for obvious reasons, he bloody wrote it.
N-No, of course not but do you get the true sense of the words? What he is really saying?
GT- he is saying that he has been everywhere and called many things.
N – For all your knowledge, you lack wisdom Mr Thomas do you not?
GT- Pardon me sir, I ask you to take that back at once!
N- I jest George, But I worry that you have missed the entire point!
GT-Well then enlighten me sir, shed some light on this infant mind of mine! Please explain why the Grey men want this text so badly. It is poetry at best!
N- Yes, poetry it is, but it has one clear message. IT tells us that the winged man is not God, it tells us that not only is there no God but we, ourselves are Gods.
GT- Now you are being preposterous once again Kind sir, how do you get this conclusion? What about the Symbols I found? They were clearly Enocian.
N- Isn’t it obvious George? Simply ancient symbols with no relation to other symbols, collected and “translated” by “scholars,” People with dreams of selling books. He says that we created god, but we did not create him. This means that we wanted to search for something instead of just accepting that we are the greatest creation. We have the power to control our destiny. Not rely on an invisible being high in the heavens. We like to dream and it is good to do so but do not lie to ourselves or pass all responsibility onto a being we have never seen. The message is simply this.
GT- Yes, please break it down once more for my child like brain eh?
N – I mean not to patronise sir but to enlighten. The message is this. You are responsible only for yourself and only to yourself, you can control the way you live. You decide how to treat those around you. You have the power to live a fulfilling life if you only choose to do so. You see George, the winged man destroyed his own legacy, his own self, all so that no one can have power over anyone else. There is not a God or a book to follow that will absolve any sins you may have committed. You cannot repent and be washed clean.
The message is VERY CLEAR Mr Thomas. The winged man represents your conscience.
GT- But…. how?
I was truly speechless after hearing his words. It all rung true. It all made sense. The grey men saw the confidence the winged man gave people and a sigh to unite under as a threat so they aimed to stamp it out under the disguise of religion. The winged man was horrified by this bit instead of taking responsibility for something that had spiralled out of control he took it off his shoulders by explaining he was only speaking of an alternative way and that every choice is an individual one. That there is more than one way to live and not only one right way to live. I decided then that the winged man was not a hero, or a villain. If anything he was an anarchist. He had no desire to lead but simply to question. He responded to every question he faced with a better question. The question of “WHY?”
Whoever this winged man really was, it doesn’t matter. Whether he really had wings or came here by stepping on the pages of a book and retreated once things got increasingly difficult. It does not matter. The message he left behind is important. One that shows most importantly that there are always options. There are alternatives. You do not need to be governed. Once I thought long and hard on this I knew what must be done. I must travel back into battle. To end the war before it truly begins. The people can make up their own minds once these words are spread into circulation. First however I had to cut the head of the snake. It must be me that kills Sir bleakly, Not Hartley, Me. Hartley is a good man at the core, and the crew is a good crew, to break his code and cross the line of murder for not just him but the men he commands too……he would never forgive himself. This could me my great act. My way of repaying the crew of the Anabelle in a most graceful way.
Captain Maria Jones
June 13th
George Thomas has changed. He is much more quiet. At first, when we saw him again, his shoulders were slumped. He was empty of emotion, a few pleasantries from him here and there but a wholly different man. He told me of his conversation with Noah. One so many of us have had. I sympathise with him whole heartedly. I have been in the same situation, as have my crew. When George informed Noah of his intentions, Noah gave us coordinates to the boarder of Cogburn. A secret gateway the winged man must have established or discovered somehow. This would be the only way to get there as we are almost certain that the “Todd’s Revenge” destroyed the I.D.B during its bombing campaign after it departed from Sub-York.
The distance is much farther, when we pierce the rift our voyage will involve several alterations at set waypoints to complete our trip. It is the older way to Rift travel, wit
hout the I.D.B to plot courses from the set gates. Nonetheless we pressed on.
During the days that followed George began to open up more, he spoke to me and the crew several times about our experience with the winged man’s headquarters, how many people we had brought to enlightenment and what our plans for the future were. I told him of our interest in returning to Sub-York and the expansion of the city and the importance of clean, democratic government that needed to be set in place there. He agreed whole heartedly but never gave an answer that related to anything further than our destination. I felt as though Cogburn would be his final stop. The journey carried on as planned. We encountered some small rift showers and storms but they only aided our travel and sped us closer to the destination.
George Thomas
June 15th
We are only a nights travel from Cogburn; I say a night but there are no lunar changes or even set time in the rift. I am simply going by rule of thumb, you calculate the time by the projected hour of your destination, never by the time of which you departed. This is because time, as an idea, does not exist in the rift. It is impossible to calculate or measure something that only exists as colour. I have acquired a firearm from Captain Maria. She gave me a Young & Koch “wasp” ray gun. The handle is slightly too small for my palm but it is easily concealed. I asked specifically for a weapon with both a stun and a lethal option. I had not made my mind up on the death of Sir Bleakly but I knew once I was in his presence I would know. I must rest, as tomorrow will be taxing to say the least.
Captain Maria Jones
June 15th
I am truly worried now about what must be done. George Thomas has spoken to me about his plans but I fear he has not thought them through. We approach the rift gate in the morning, he will leave the ship and make his way to the I.D.L.S.S.W headquarters. There I am sure he will try to kill sir bleakly. I do not know what I can do. I feel I must prevent this but no not what I can possibly do to intervene. I must sleep but only after I have worked something out. I have only one idea but I truly as unsure of the plausibility of it.
