The Torment

The Torment
Part One of
The Children of the Ancients Trilogy
By
Christian Collins
PROLOGUE

Following the remarkable exodus from Amkata to Earth, the Orabona people continued to recount fantastic stories of a few fortunate elders and their daring rescues. The account of Olstair, a young girl whose own brother gave his life so that she could slip away unnoticed, quickly became legend. History recorded that not the entire Orabona race fell victim to the savagery that remained on their planet. This speculation fostered a sudden, albeit brief resurgence in plans to return home. The sole purpose revolved around finding survivors of the Short War.
A brave group of mariners, twelve in all, were driven by the desire to find anyone, and bring them back to the relative safety of Earth. After seeking protection and guidance from the Ancients, the dozen embarked upon their dangerous journey. The men rowed away from shore at first light. Each knew that where they were going bore little resemblance to their childhood memories. Amkata now rendered a dark and uninhabitable place by an entity known for its cruelty. The ease of rowing on the ebbing tide provided a false sense of security. With the bow pointed toward the shimmering void in the near distance, the men settled into a rhythmic cadence. As they passed through, a portal opened, providing direct access between worlds. On the other side, their journey instantly changed. The brutality of the weather caught them by surprise, pounding their small ship. The eccentric currents that hurled wave after wave tirelessly threatened to smash them against the rugged coastline. They fought back with sail and rudder. Rowing with maximum effort to gain control. Following the maddening ordeal, their small vessel made landfall. With the craft secure, the elders set up camp. Previous discussions determined the six best hunters and guides who would set out in search. The others stayed to protect their position. Without as much as a goodbye, the first group left. Fanning out, they headed inland in a desperate pursuit to find any of their kin.
All of the Orabona elders shared the same uneasiness of mind. The diabolical nature of the elements served to unhinge each man personally. A sense of impending doom, seeped into their bellies threatening to eat them alive from the inside. None of them spoke a word of these concerns, fearing a paralyzing sense of dread. This stemmed from what they knew lurked on the planet; of the evils put upon their families. None of the men ever witnessed the horrors. If even half of the old stories were true, just being back on Amkata brought nightmares. The unmistakable reminder, visible ever since they crossed over, was the grayish glow that radiated to the north lands. All of the men knew what it was. The Ancients called it the Darkness; the evil that brought ruin to Amkata. The evil that drove the Orabona to take refuge on the distant planet. The sour stench that hung in the air was relentless. An unfortunate by-product of the widespread death and destruction forced on the Orabona. It caught up in the men’s throats and nostrils, causing involuntary gagging. Another sad reminder that this once rich land, now abandoned, lay dying, an unwitting victim of a ferocious entity.
With this in mind, the six Orabona elders in camp remained cautiously optimistic at the end of the first day. As the hours ground into a third day, confidence slowly eroded. Replaced with the sentiments of genuine concern. The talisman worn by each elder doubled as an early warning against evil. As the charms began to warm and radiate, no one spoke, for they knew what approached. The Kenaima, the silent and ruthless hunters of the Darkness. Real or imagined, they lurked in the shadows. The tales of their shocking butchery caused each elder to swallow his fear. All six elders were competent warriors, but now found themselves in the unenviable position; having to potentially face off against these deathless creatures. Faithfully standing their ground, the pressure slowly began to eat at their conviction. On the fourth night, the wind played tricks with the sounds of the forest. The anxiety and agitation felt, caused the men to flinch at every twig snapping, signaling a potential strike. The surreal experience lasted through until the next morning. In the early part of the fifth day, the weather calmed enough for the elders to gather their wits. In the distance, through the cover of the dense windfalls, came what sounded like several sets of footsteps. The elders quickly assembled in anticipation of the rescue parties’ return. Without warning, several small packages flew from the protection of the trees. Landing like wet sandbags, they made pulpy, dull sounds as they came into the halflight. The horror, temporarily delayed, as the six realized the projectiles were the heads of three of their brothers. Brutalized, almost torn off, the elders took this grotesque display as a heinous portent. The ensuing terror, rapid and all encompassing, seized the group. They could not decide whether to run or fight. An instant before hysteria completely took over, a single member of the rescue party returned. With unfocused eyes and uttering no sounds, he stumbled from the cover of the forest. At first glance, he did not appear to be injured but there was something not right about him. As he staggered towards the group, the reason for his abnormal stride became obvious. In part due to the burden, he carried. Arms hanging down at his sides, one in each hand, he held the final two heads. The lone elder wandered past, with no attempt to communicate or acknowledge that they were even there. He followed a crooked path onto the beach, collapsing face down into the rising tide. The six raced down to pick him out of the surf. When they rolled him over on the wet sand, they found he was dead. A systematic examination revealed that he lacked any injuries what so ever. His eyes on the other hand, showed clear signs of trauma. Nothing physical, appearing more as if they had witnessed a scene so terrifying that it scared him to death. The malevolent omen suddenly ended the mission. Having seen more than enough, the men abandoned their camp and loaded their fallen brother into the vessel. They cut ties and shoved off. Rowing aggressively against the tide, they made for the safety of the portal. The storm, sensing their escape, grew into a massive squall. The undermanned boat lacked the requisite power to combat the storm. Floundering in the grasp of the angry black water, the six elders fought valiantly against a lost cause. Quick to surge, the sea dispatched a rogue wave to swamp the vessel. Unable to stay above the surface, the six elders drown in the treacherous water. A gust of wind caught the mariners’ final frantic and mournful cries. They in turn became another layer in the sorrowful cacophony that echoed constantly, swirling across the landscape; serving as a perpetual deterrent to all that choose to trespass.

CHAPTER ONE

“If I agree to this, you accept all responsibility.” The look on her freckled face sealed the deal. With that, Graham Hannaburg knew the little orange tabby cat in his daughters’ arms would make a welcome addition to their home. The story of the new cat began less than a year before when the ever-present house cat, Hennessy got sick. The veterinarian diagnosed the illness as feline leukemia. Through the prognosis and description of its cancer, the only word anyone heard was terminal. The vet reassured the family that the cat would feel little pain but he did not have much time left on this world. Unprepared to hear any of what the doctor had to say, Graham’s wife Molly, could not believe the news. As Hennessy’s lifelong friend, she could see only one option in dealing with this unfortunate turn of events. They brought Hennessy home and Molly attended to him as if the feline were her first born. Allison Hannaburg, only four and a half at the time, understood that something bad happened to the cat. An only child and very self-aware, Allison knew that the remarkable characteristics about the feline had recently changed. The feeling of warmth and deep comfort felt when she held him close had all but disappeared. In addition, the cat's magic paw that healed her scrapes and cuts stopped working. Sensing her mother's sadness, Allison felt bad for her. Walking across the carpet to where her mother watched over the cat, Allison quietly stood and observed. Molly put her hand on her daughters’ shoulder and without a word, stood and walked into the kitchen. As the kettle filled with cold water, Molly did not know what to do; Allison just put her hand on Hennessy’s head. A shock of static electricity filled her palm, startling her. So much so, that she jumped, almost upsetting a small table. Molly heard the commotion and returned to the living room.
“What happened Ally?” she asked.
“Hennessy gave me a shock Mommy.”
“You must have got it from shuffling your feet on the carpet, “she replied. Checking the feline, “I think everything is alright.” She made a funny face then returned to the kitchen. Allison, on the other hand, looked into Hennessy's eyes with wonder and asked,
“What do you mean it doesn’t end here?”
The lengthy relationship between Molly and Hennessy dated back nearly a lifetime. They shared a special bond and she could not remember a time without him. Named lovingly after the cognac her father used to drink, in part for its colour matched the caramel colour of Hennessy's fur. Unwilling to give up hope, Molly pushed her sadness aside. During the last few days, she spent most of her time with Hennessy. Molly talked to him a peculiar way, comforting him by holding and stroking his paws. Watching with genuine interest, Allison did not dare intrude. She knew better. Allison recognized her mother’s fierce and instinctual defenses, along with the strong emotions surrounding the cat. Even though Allison found it hard to believe, her mother did everything with genuine concern and love for her friend.
Hennessy died on a Tuesday morning in Molly’s arms, a little less than two weeks after the diagnosis. Allison remembered it being a sad day when they buried her mother’s cat. Her family all got up early and dressed in formal clothes. Her father then drove along the coastal highway for almost an hour. When they arrived, the first people she saw were both sets of grandparents. Allison looked around and recognized a few other people. Everyone dressed the same and stood around quietly talking, shaking hands and hugging one another. Uncertain of where they were, Allison noted a rugged, windswept plateau that overlooked the ocean. Just off the trail, a small freshly dug grave waited in the protective shadow of a twisted, old Arbutus. Gazing up at the somber faces of the twenty people milling around, Allison thought it strange for the passing of a house cat. It felt more like a family member had died. She considered in one way or another, that a hole now existed in their household. For the first time, Allison felt sad for her mother. She knew that the friendship they shared spanned many years. A slew of pictures documented several milestones and Allison was familiar with all of them. Something about this did not make sense. The more she thought about it, the more the whole event seemed odd. Allison started by thinking that most house cats live for an average of fifteen years at the most. Hennessy, somehow had lived at least twice that long, if not much longer. Allison guessed that her mother might be in her mid-forties, which complicated the legitimacy of some stories she had told. They sounded like the events happened lifetimes ago. Therefore, no matter how advanced as Allison was, she could not comprehend how the cat lived for over thirty years. It just seemed impossible.
The service began with a moment of quiet reflection. Allison stood beside her father holding his hand. No one spoke during the service, although several people openly wept. Her grandparents and some family friends individually knelt at the little coffin, offering a prayer or some special words. Allison did not know what to make of this display of grief. Visibly, Hennessy meant a great deal to a wide variety of people. She wondered how he had connected with everyone. A funny thought crossed her mind. Careful not to laugh, Allison speculated that perhaps his true-identity lay hidden under his soft orange disguise.
When Molly bent down at the grave site, she offered an appeal in a language foreign to Allison. It was unusual, the ease of which her mother spoke it. All the attendees seemed to have silently repeated the same words. Allison wanted to know what she said. Watching her mother’s body language, she could see the words were powerful and came straight from the heart. Allison's father demonstrated the critical importance of the service. His typical silly persona changed into a stoic, supportive man that shared her pain. He also never let go of Allison’s hand, even when it got all sweaty and gross. At the end of the observance, once the kind words and sad tears had finished, they buried the little casket. A peaceful silence then encompassed the plateau. Allison felt it. The gentle quiet crept up her black leggings; it wove itself into her black dress, stopping at her fingertips and the last curl of her red hair. Just a strange, comforting feeling remained. She wondered if anyone else felt it. Looking around, Allison noticed that everyone had closed their eyes in a final meditation. Allison needed to ask her father about fifty questions but knew better. Without warning, a gust blew in off the ocean. Two ravens soared overhead, followed closely by a small flock of assorted birds, screeching and chasing one another. The silence and sensation disappeared. The service ended on a tranquil note. The family shared a second round of hugs and thanks, and then people slowly drifted apart. Molly lingered by the mound of fresh earth for a few final moments. Realizing the opportunity, Allison finally asked her father a couple of her most burning questions.
“Dad, how old was Hennessy?”
“Old honey.”
And all these people knew him?” she asked, feeling a little odd after the ceremony.
“Yes they did. That old cat touched many lives.”
Unable to ask any follow-up questions, Allison put them away for the time being. Her mother had returned and wanted to go home.
On the long, return trip, neither parent said anything except to answer the only question asked regarding ice cream. Allison watched from her car seat as they held hands for most of the drive. She knew her father shared the pain her mother felt. Maybe he thought that by holding hands they could find some balance. It made her smile. Unable to say anything for lack of the right words, Allison wanted to tell her mother that she missed Hennessy, too. From the moment they arrived home, neither parent discussed the cat, his illness or the funeral. Her mother’s period of mourning lasted a very long time. The only answer Allison ever got out of her father concerned the language her mother spoke during the service. He explained that her mother communicated with Hennessy in an ancient cat language. Allison knew he lied about it but could not understand why.
In the nine months following Hennessy’s passing, a considerable hole developed in the Hannaburg household. Allison tried hinting at it many times with no success. As her fifth birthday came and went, the frustration she felt started to bubble over. Instead of tiptoeing around the subject, Allison just asked about getting another cat. Her father continued with the same sad story about her mother still mourning the loss. Unsatisfied with the same answer, Allison decided to take matters into her own hands. Having grown weary watching her mother grieving and lamenting, something sparked in Allison’s fertile mind. She laughed at its simplicity. Allison also realized she had some considerable disadvantages to overcome. Using her cunning and sweet disposition, Allison began to collect all of the components as she developed her plan. The timing of the whole endeavour hinged on several factors. One of which she had some control over. When the day finally came. Allison slipped out of the house during nap time. With her route memorized, Allison made for the bus stop. When the bus arrived and the doors opened, the driver gave the little girl an odd look as she boarded and took a seat. Watching the unfamiliar landscape roll by, Allison knew exactly which stop to get off at. Arriving without incident, Allison followed the sidewalk to the edge of the parking lot. A number of children milled about at the front doors, so she blended in and, no one noticed her out of place.
The new animal shelter opened late last year and offered a superb environment for the many different varieties of animals it housed. Allison found that she could see from one end to the other. A long glass hallway separated the cats from the dogs. Entering the enclosure, Allison nearly stepped on a small gray female. She picked up the feline and held it in her hands. Its fur felt soft. The cat had pale blue eyes and a gravelly meow. Before she could introduce herself, the animal tensed and Allison felt a strange sensation. It was different and came from her belly. The moment she put the little cat down, the feeling went away. Allison picked up another three cats and each time she felt the same way. Impossible to explain, but Allison also knew someone was watching her. Leaving that room and moving to the next, Allison looked around but did not see anyone she knew. After interviewing all of the cats on the left side of the block, Allison found two potential felines to replace Hennessy. The feeling of being watched had not gone away. Putting that out of her mind for a second, Allison had not yet resolved how she would get the cat out of the building. Convincing her parents had proved an even greater challenge. Allison thought it over but she still had many cats to interview and needed to stay focused. Continuing the search, Allison walked into the right side of the complex and suddenly experienced the same sensation as before. It came at her much more directly this time. So much so, that Allison found it bothersome. No one in the building noticed her. Their attention revolved around the assortment of felines eager to find a home. Looking closely into each window, Allison finally noticed a pair of yellow eyes staring back at her. The intensity of the cat’s gaze cut through the two sets of glass. A strange suspicion filled the five year old. Allison did not know what to do. Coyly brushing it off, she half-heartedly returned to her hunt for the perfect cat. Allison felt the eyes upon her the entire way down the line of rooms.
Before opening the final door, Allison noticed that all but one of the sixteen cats looked to be asleep. The only one awake sat on the far windowsill. It had stopped staring at her. Allison quickly dismissed the thought that this feline had directed her here. Its body language and general sense of self-confidence made Allison think that this cat might be playing hard to get. Allison knew that was nonsense, but something about the feline whipped up confusing yet familiar sentiments. Stepping inside, the room did not have the same frenetic pace as the others. Something in the room made her think that the orange tabby on the sill had organized the highly suspicious event. Avoiding its piercing yellow eyes, Allison surveyed the sleeping felines and found several to be quite lovely. Reaching out to pet the first one, it quickly turned on her and hissed. Taken aback, Allison tried the next one, a fluffy black and white male. She received a similar response, this time with a flash of claws. As if on cue, the orange tabby stretched out its front paws, and then sat back down. Allison thought the cat looked somewhat pleased with itself. It seemed unreasonable to consider that it could actually be proud of something. Not wanting to upset anymore of the sleeping felines, Allison walked to the back window and knelt down. Now face to face with the arrogant tabby, Allison looked directly into its honey coloured eyes. Unexpectedly, she felt herself floating. Her eyes tickled from some mysterious gust of cosmic wind blown into them. Allison’s cheek tingled where the cat's soft footpads contacted her skin. Before she had a chance to think, the tingling sensation rushed through her entire body. Allison just knelt there giggling. Allison knew at that moment. Raising her hand to meet the cat’s paw, the instant she touched his fur, the connection ended. Patting the cat on the head, Allison told him,
“I’ll take you home but you will have to wait for a little while.”
The cat did not move. She felt confident that it understood what she said. Allison picked the cat up and gave it a hug. The extra soft fur melted into her. When Allison finally put it down, she did not know how long the hug had lasted. It left her spellbound, and felt it persist for an extended period. Allison then left the feline housing in the direction of the reception desk. The fresh air cleared her mind. Realizing she'd forgotten her pack on the floor, Allison returned to the room. Stepping inside, to her surprise, all of the cats were now awake from their collective nap. Knowing that this could not be a coincidence, she picked up her bundle and backed out of the room. The tabby watched her closely. It did not smile but had a look of self-assuredness on its adorable face.
For the entire bus ride home, that sweet little orange and white face seemed to occupy her mind. Allison began to formulate a plan to get her father out to the shelter on the following Friday. Perhaps they could go directly from the airport when he got home from work. After contemplating many options, Allison's only fear remained that no one would adopt the cat beforehand. Allison did ask if she could reserve a cat until the weekend. Unfortunately, the shelter helps people on a first come, first served basis. This only served to increase her anxiety and concern about having to wait another five days. On the short walk home from the bus stop, Allison formulated an outline to get her father to the shelter on Saturday. Returning home without incident, Allison feigned sleep the first time her mother came to check on her. The next time she hopped out of bed and toddled along downstairs, confident her plan would work.
Allison started in on her mother the next night at dinner. She asked about Hennessy and wanted to know more about him. What he was like when she got him as a kitten. When her father called later that same evening, Allison commented how the house felt so lonely and a little bit empty. Allison implied that something or someone was missing. Graham, knowing his daughters methods understood what she wanted. Instead of putting the brakes on her scheme, he just let her run with it. By Friday night, Allison negotiated with both parents over the previous four days, working them both in slightly different ways. Using a subtle approach with her mother, Allison employed emotional and sentimental tactics to convince her. With her father, Allison needed only to be head on, direct and to the point. Without bludgeoning him with it, she just make him think that her plan seems like the right thing to do. During Saturday morning breakfast, Allison worried that all of her bargaining might not produce the desired effect. While her parents made plans for the day, they all but ignored her pleas. They did not discuss cats, the shelter, nothing. Allison knew better that to ask about it and that caused serious tension in her chest. The longer their conversation dragged on, the greater the internal pressure turned into genuine upset. She knew how busy the shelter would be on the weekend. It became a battle against time. It got so bad that Allison imagined someone else adopting the cat right now. The morning continued to get worse when her mother announced that she had a lunch date with some close friends. This meant that Allison would have to go with her father to the grocery store. Which, along with all of the other weekend chores meant that they would not have enough time to go the shelter. Desperately wanting to ask her mother something about the whole mess, she never got the chance as her father pulled her alongside.
Ten minutes later, Allison sat across from him in the front seat of the truck. She wanted to know why they both disregarded her interest in getting another cat. It made her feel crazy, like no one cared. From her booster seat, Allison looked out the window. She could not tell where they were going and it didn't matter now. It was obviously too late. Allison lost interest because it conflicted with her grand plan. Now forlorn, Allison wondered if some other lucky family shared they good fortune of brushing her cats’ soft fur and watching him chase noisy plastic mice. Her self-pity party came to an abrupt end as the truck stopped. Her father, along with his keys, stood twenty feet from the truck when he asked,
“Allison, are you coming or what?”
Looking up from the floor mats, Allison instantly recognized where they were. She could not get out of the Ford fast enough. Grabbing her father’s hand, pulling him along. Talking a mile a minute, she rambled on about finding and showing off the best cat ever. Leaving her father in the foyer with explicit instructions not to move, Allison went to find the special feline. Graham watched his daughter disappear into the crowd of people. She reappeared in a room at the far end of the hallway. Searching high and low and coming up empty, he could feel her disappointment. He observed with great interest to see how she dealt with it. Allison moved to the next cat filled room without any luck. He saw the excitement draining from her face. By the fifth room, his daughter's demeanour made it clear that she could not find the cat. Panic began to seep into her expressions. Graham seriously considered intervening when he felt something bump into his shin. With the volume of little kids swarming around, he figured that a toddler caught him out of step. Looking down, what he saw put a smile on his face. A familiar orange and white face with the brightest eyes looked back, and then just sat down beside him without a care.
“Hello there,” Graham said.
The cat rubbed his whiskers against his leg in reply. He wondered how the cat beat the two-door safety system Allison rambled on about as they walked into the shelter. He figured that it did not really matter now.
“Should we go get her or let her finish looking for you?” Graham asked his new friend. The cat just looked up and yawned.
“I think so too,” he replied.
By the time Allison exited the final room, her face told the whole story; visibly upset, deeply disappointed and dejected. She could not find him. Her worst fears had come true, some other family got here first. Dragging her feet down the long hallway, she saw her father standing with in the same place with his back to her. When she touched the hem of his sweater, Allison felt like she needed to cry. It was then that her father turned around holding the orange tabby nestled in his arms.
“Were you looking for this guy? I think he seems to have found me.”
Speechless, Allison reached up and took the cat from his arms. She held him like a lost treasure. All of her sadness faded away. Her father knelt down and after a short discussion about the assumption of responsibility of having a pet, returned to the desk and filled out the requisite paperwork. While Allison picked out a carrier, some sparkly toys and a few other necessities, the veterinarian explained that the feline had come to the shelter several months ago. It had either been a stray or abandoned. She said that despite its size, the cat could not be any older than twelve months. More likely he was less than that, she reconsidered. Graham thanked her, not sure what to think. Joining his daughter as a gray haired volunteer rang up their purchases; he watched Allison put the newest member of the family in his travel crate. After paying and leaving the store, Allison turned to her father and hugged him tightly. He kissed her on the top on the head. She thanked him repeatedly. He kept her close as they walked back to the truck. Buckling her into the car seat, Graham put the carrier at her feet, so they could see each other. Backing out of the parking space, he looked across and asked,
“Allison, what do you intend to tell your mom about your new little friend?” knowing that she had worked them both hard for this.
“Let’s tell her that we found him dad. She’ll believe you,” Allison indicated in a clearly prepared statement.
“We tried that last time, with your fish remember? Your mom asked if we found the aquarium and everything else with it. I think we have to give your mom a little more credit, don’t you think?”
Allison nodded in acknowledgment, and then seemed to drift off. Not asleep but lost in thought for a time. The cat meowed from its carrier. Allison looked down at it, then sat completely still for another few minutes. The cat meowed once more during that time. Eventually, Allison came back to reality. She sat up, turned to her father and straightforwardly said,
“We will tell her that this is the beginning of Hennessy’s fifth life.”
Startled by her words, Graham asked his daughter sharply,
“What did you just say?”
“I said that we will tell mom that this is Hennessy’s fifth life. You understand that he gets nine right?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, thinking about what she had just declared.
“That is genius honey,” he replied. Looking across at Allison and her new friend, Graham could not help but smile. Returning his attention to the road, he whispered,
“Genius indeed.”
That brief moment in which Graham witnessed his daughter and the feline communicating essentially lasted the entire drive home. It occurred on different levels other than language, and on multiple frequencies, right down to the subatomic range. Hennessy did not provide information; so much as he acted as a beacon that transmitted cryptic, encoded and unknown knowledge that came from the beyond. Allison did not register anything different, she only appeared sleepy. The transfer came in all forms imaginable, and during the twenty-minute drive home, filled her entire being. Pulling into the driveway, the enigmatic download ended. The cat meowed and Allison yawned in unison. Graham hopped out, looking forward to his wife’s reaction to the newest member of the family. Unbuckling Allison from her car seat, he carried the bag of goodies, while she dragged the carrier in through the front door. When he closed it behind her, Allison started to holler for her mother to come see what they brought home.
Molly’s lunch plans fell through before she left the house. With several hours free, she returned home and dove into some uninterrupted weekend cleaning. Molly heard the front door burst open and a familiar little voice rambling on about something exciting. Washing the last few dishes, Molly waited at the sink until her daughter found her. The little red head charged into the kitchen dragging a small crate behind her. Graham followed several steps after, and then stood at the edge of the kitchen.
“Close your eyes mommy, I’ve got a big surprise for you.” Allison instructed. Graham put down the bag and winked at his wife. Not wanting to disappoint, Molly held a dinner plate in one hand and closed her eyes. Allison fumbled with the locking mechanism for a second, and then it popped open. Hennessy sauntered out confidently and waited. Allison picked him up under his front paws and did her best to hold him facing toward her mother.
“Okay mommy, you can open your eyes now.”
Molly, having had some preconceived notion that Allison was bringing home a cat, never imagined the image she saw before her. It caught her completely off guard. Seeing the orange tabby astounded her. Even though the markings and shade were darker, the other unmistakable similarities to her Hennessy made her shiver. Allison watched her mother closely, wondering why she did not say anything. Confused, she let the orange tabby go. It walked over to Molly and rubbed its head against her legs. Allison now felt compelled to say something. The sound of the plate breaking in the sink suspended that thought. Graham flew across the kitchen to her, as she leaned across the counter sobbing. Wrapping his arms around her, he asked.
“What is it Molly? I mean if the cat is too much, I’m sure we can take him back tomorrow.”
Molly just shook her head and tried to answer. Allison rarely saw her mother cry and always wondered what to do. She waited for a minute until everything calmed down. Aware that her parents were talking amongst themselves, Allison walked over unnoticed and picked up the cat. In that same moment, her father swore aloud. Astonished by what his wife had just said Graham asked,
“Who told you that Molly?”
Unable to speak for a second, she pointed to the feline. The look on her husband’s face registered only disbelief. Not yet understanding the gravity of the situation, Molly questioned,
“Why Graham, what’s the problem?”
He hesitated for a moment, not really sure what to say. When he did finally answer, it did not come out as eloquently as he hoped.
“Because our daughter said the exact same thing to me in the truck less than an hour ago.”
Both parents looked at Allison holding the fifth inception of Hennessy; welcoming the proud return of the orange house cat. At the same time, both parents wondered just what the hell was going on.

CHAPTER TWO

Allison woke to the sun shining brightly through her window. Sitting up, she yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. During the night, mysterious and persistent couriers disrupted her sleep. Each visitor brought a small puzzle piece. Swallowing them, Allison knew they were building something. Now fully awake, she could not remember all of her dreams. Unconcerned, she listened carefully to the flock of birds chirping outside her window. Allison started to laugh at the nonsense, not realizing that birds could be that silly. Her belly rumbled, confirming what her brain already knew, a signal that required some breakfast. Hopping out of bed, Allison picked up the orange tabby from its chair and shuffled her way down to the kitchen. Accustomed now to waking up in this fashion, Hennessy did not attempt to protest. Crossing the kitchen to the refrigerator, Allison found it exceedingly difficult to hold the feline and open the door at the same time. Putting the cat down after it threatened to bite her, Allison managed to get the refrigerator open. Grabbing the milk, she pushed the door closed and carried her prize to the table. Both parents were oblivious to her struggle with the carton and the height of the table. After numerous tries and almost dropping it, Allison interrupted them and asked for assistance. The statement caught them both completely off guard. The power of her question was not so much in what she asked, but how. It startled them because neither one was too sure how to respond. Looking at Molly, Graham put his coffee cup down and looked at Allison. She stood clutching the milk carton tightly. Without a hint of sarcasm, Graham asked plainly,
“Are you aware of what you just asked sweetheart?”
Looking back up at him, Allison replied confidently,
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Can you do it again?”
Nodding her head, she made it clear that she could.
“Go ahead then,” he told her, not sure what to expect.
Without hesitation, Allison repeated the same statement for assistance she had only moments earlier. She continued talking about random topics until her mother raised her hand, resulting in Allison's silence. Graham then took the milk from her hands and set it on the table. Allison then climbed up and took her seat. Rubbing her face with her hands, Molly tried to collect herself. She did her very best to keep her emotions in check. They swung wildly between fear and adulation. Before she could speak, Allison reached over and touched her wrist.
The look in Allison’s eyes said; “it’s okay Mommy, do not be scared.”
Looking more closely at her daughter’s round face, Molly could not see anything out of the ordinary. The whole experience seemed a little too much.
Nevertheless, Allison's sudden ease in telepathic communication was remarkable. The standard communication method of Orabona elders, it should be used by youth until fourteen. This turn of events brought with it some baffling questions with no ready answers. Thrown into uncharted waters, the girl’s parents would have to learn how to swim in a hurry.
“No, I’m not scared Allison, I’m just curious what has gotten into you?”
The girl sat up properly in her chair. Pushing the mop of curly red hair from her brow, she gazed at both parents with serious intent – a look that belied her age. Then, in a simple explanation, Allison offered,
“They told me that I have to be good because I have a lot of work to do. A lot of hard work. They told me that I would have to be brave, starting today. They told me that a great injustice occurred and I would help fix it.” She paused briefly to rub her nose then continued,
“Oh, and don’t worry Mommy, they told me I wouldn’t be alone.”
After listening to their daughter’s very adult and straightforward recitation of the tasks bestowed upon her, they had one question left to ask. Molly found herself posing it without conscious thought,
“Who are they honey?”
“Oh, Mommy, you know, the silver balls. You have seen them. I know you have. You too Daddy.”
The room went silent but for the hum of the appliances as neither parent knew what to say. The conversation continued telepathically, just as Allison had with the milk carton earlier.
“The silver balls visited me when the moon slept and the darklight made it easy to see. They were spinning all around me, talking in different ways. Some I could hear, others I could feel. They were excited and worried all at the same time. Hennessy saw, ask him, he will tell you. They took me places and showed me things, sad things, upsetting things. They said that I could make it right. I made a promise. When they were all done, they brought me home and I went back to sleep. I woke up when the birds started chirping. Daddy, did you know they were telling jokes?”
Lifting his cup to his lips, then putting it back on the table, Graham asked aloud,
“Did they tell you anything else honey?”
“They said the weather should be nice and sunny today.”
“No, not the birds, Allison. I mean the silver balls. Did they tell you anything?”
Having already scooped out a helping of Rice Krispies, she reached for the carton of milk, pouring it carefully into her colorful plastic bowl. As the cereal came to life, Allison shoveled two big spoonfuls as her father’s question hung in the air. After much chewing and swallowing, Allison put her spoon down. Turning to face her father, Allison said,
“Yes, they did, Daddy. They said I have to practice very hard because I have a great deal to learn. I have to be diligent because I do not have a great deal of time. They said that they would monitor my progress because when the moment presents itself, I will have to be ready.”
Her parents exchanged anxious glances that contradicted their internal dread. Molly was the best prepared to handle situations like this. In an effort to get to the primary message of the nighttime visitors, her mother cautiously asked,
“Ready? Ready for what Allison?”
“To take everyone back home.”
Graham and Molly Hannaburg felt enormous impact of this initial conversation. It appeared their only child, at the tender age of five understood a collective secret. Both parents could not resolve how Allison knew that they were not human but Orabona. How they hailed from the planet Amkata some 60 light years away. More curious still was that she received multiple visits from the Kith. Fabled and to some extent, imaginary, the lore surrounding the visiting silver balls was complex. More accurately, the spheres became muddled with the passage of time. All elder Orabona regarded themselves as the stewards of the Creation Beings. The role of the Kith was to act as the protectors of said stewards. In their earliest traditional stories, the Orabona documented many encounters with the Kith. The scope of the silver spheres was said to have ranged from the ability to hold one in your hand to some several magnitudes of an interstellar body. Even now, the mention of the Kith sparked profound recollections between the couple, without any real clarity. Neither parent ever truly saw a Kith, only as holographic images captured some thousand years before. To say they were rare was incorrect and a gross understatement. No one knew for sure if the Ancients actually saw the Kith on any specific occasion or in person. Allison's suggestion of a return to Amkata remained an open ended question, concluding with much less of an answer. Sometimes too painful to think about, factoring the losses; other times there seemed too little to hold on to. A moratorium remained on returning to Amkata following the final few unsuccessful rescue attempts. The estimated 200,000 Orabona who fled in the era between the Torment and the Short War clung to hope of returning one day. A distinct dream, so remote that no one considered it out loud, let alone possible. Yet, within every last one of them burned a desire to see their homeland again.
Much to the astonishment of her parents, the presentation of Allison's telepathy was only the beginning. Something new appeared every fourth or fifth day. It continued for almost three months. Allison demonstrated each new ability with the same kind of excitement she would with a butterfly or an ice cream cone. Not only did Allison’s aptitude outshine each base ability, but her competence and mastery seemed otherworldly. When the initial novelty wore off, she packed it away, becoming another piece of her inner self. A true pragmatist, Allison knew these special things had purpose in another time, for reasons not yet considered. Therefore, she just put them away. Even so, the discovery phase posed some distinct challenges for her parents. Despite their best efforts could not grasp the changes in their daughter. Allison demonstrated her second new ability at bath time five days later. Sitting on the edge of the tub, Molly finished washing Allison’s curly hair. With her head full of conditioner, Allison told her mother that she wanted to show her something. Obliging her daughters’ request, Molly imagined it would be something simple like rinsing out her own hair. Watching as Allison stretched out and laid fully submerged, Molly waited for the trick. Conscious of the time elapsed, a thin film of suds veiled the surface of the bathwater. Molly watched with concern as another minute ticked by. With the clock continuing to count, Molly found no humour in watching her daughter lying underwater. Having grown tired of the improbably trick, Molly had seen enough. Reaching in to pull her daughter to the surface, a familiar voice called out clearly in her mind,
“No Mommy, don’t.”
Frozen, Molly did not know what to do.
“Not yet, “said the voice, “I’m not done yet.”
“Done what yet?” her voice quivered.
“Showing you.”
“Showing me what? How long you can stay underwater?”
“Yes.”
Molly took a moment to think. This situation in the bathtub surpassed her capacity to rationally deal with the situation. After another few deep breaths, Molly reminded herself that no matter how fantastic her daughters’ abilities might seem, she remained the parent. Turning back to the tub, Molly had one more question to ask.
“Okay then, how long can you stay underwater Allison?”
“I think until bedtime Mommy.”
“No you can’t,” her voice broke. Partly in frustration with the entire conversation, the other part, her utter disbelief, “that’s impossible.”
“Yes Mommy, I can.”
The way she said the words convinced Molly to believe its likelihood as the truth. It made her proud that her daughter absolutely knew she could. Then she had an idea. Molly stood up and turned from the tub, before leaving she said,
“Alright then, but the water will get really cold.”
Minutes later as Molly wrapped her daughter in a fluffy towel, Graham knocked softly, stepping in to see how his girls were making out. Molly gave him a look he understood completely. After their brief connection, he turned to Allison and asked,
“Honey, do you know you can do things before you can do them?”
She made a face, then replied,
“I don’t know what you mean Daddy?”
“Well, did you know you could hold your breath for as long as you did before you got in the tub?”
“Oh, no Daddy. I didn’t know until Mommy finished washing my hair.”
As strange and troubling as that moment seemed, several days later while Graham watched the evening news Allison came walking into the living room. An image on the screen caught her eye and she just stopped. The newscaster discussed a pending trade deal between seven South American nations. Staring at the map that highlighted the countries involved, Allison walked up to the television. Pointing to a small country in the northwest of the continent that bordered with the Pacific Ocean she said,
“Daddy there is going to be a really big; umm…” she paused, searching for the right word. “You know, when everything shakes.”
“Do you mean an earthquake?”
“Yep.”
“So what you are telling me is that there will be a big earthquake tomorrow, in, what is that, Ecuador?”
“Yep.”
“And just how do you know this Allison?”
“I can feel it in my feet Daddy. Can’t you?”
Shortly after 7:30 pm local time, a magnitude 8.4 earthquake rocked southern Ecuador, causing catastrophic damage to the country’s largest city. It also triggered tsunami warnings up and down the coast. At breakfast the next day, Allison told her mother that two more earthquakers, as she had taken to calling them, would occur. Cute as it sounded when she said the word, the fragile area sustained two additional violent aftershocks. The couple watched helplessly as the events unfolded on the screen. Allison on the other hand, just sat playing with a small puzzle, unaware and unmoved by the scenes of destruction.
Feeling the need for a change of scenery, the Hannaburgs’ dropped everything and headed out to their cabin on the lake for a weekend getaway. After putting Allison to sleep on the first night, Graham and Molly sat out on the deck and caught the final moments of the sunset. They intended to talk about the bizarre last few weeks but neither knew what to say about it. Molly contacted Master Negati and he had reassured her that he would gladly come by next week and assess the girl. Putting the thought behind her, Molly focused on the soft lounge chair, the beautiful sky and the comfortable silence between them. She felt safe in her husband’s arms. Bit by bit, the final rays of sunlight disappeared, replaced by the twinkling of distant stars.
“I love it out here, “she whispered softly. His arm pulled her a little closer, echoing her sentiment. The warm night air gradually came alive with activity. Moths danced dangerously close to the porch light that provided a beacon in the darkness. The quiet shrill of fruit bats in the distance, feeding on insects unfortunate enough to be out so late. This was parsed by a peculiar sound. Somewhat random to begin with, the sound organized with a defined structure but remained intermittent. Slow, it grew more distinct, a cross between popcorn popping and the snapping of bubble wrap. In combination with the sound came an associated glare. At the beginning, only small sparkles were visible. As it quickly grew, colourful torrents of light reflected off the lake. Molly turned to her husband and asked,
“Do you hear that?”
Trying to ignore it, Graham simply nodded his head.
“What do you think it is?” Molly asked as brilliant arcs came from within the cabin.
“My money is riding on the idea that our daughter has somehow taught herself to weld,” he said sarcastically. They both got up and made their way to her bedroom door. The sheer volume of light coming from inside the room did not immediately register. They burst in without knocking, instantly amazed by the spectacle. Allison sat on the floor in her pajamas with her little blanket wrapped around her waist. Above her, she controlled some highly advanced magical energy that filled the entire room. Initially, neither of them knew what she had created with just her hands. A closer investigation, revealed an unmistakable image, but too fantastic to be true. Their daughter somehow created an exact, three dimension scaled model of the earth. Their adopted planet was not only topographically correct, but it contained many significant features as well. Watching as she effortlessly cradled the immaculate image, tears welled up in Graham’s eyes.
“Don’t cry Daddy, it's okay,” Allison whispered without opening her mouth.
“But how do you know…how can you do these things?” he struggled to ask.
“I just do Daddy.”
With that, Allison gently put her hands together and the image disappeared. Molly rushed over, picked up her daughter and held her close. She wanted so badly to say something but found herself unable to formulate the appropriate words. Molly carried Allison back to the bed adorned with pink sheets and stuffed animals. Laying her down, Molly shook out her blanket, tucking her in. With a soft kiss on her forehead, she said,
“You created some very beautiful art Ally. Your dad and I want you to show an old friend of ours what you can do when we get home.”
“I know Mommy. He is coming over on Tuesday. It is a good thing too because I have an important message for him. I have to go sleep now. I love you Mommy, oh, and you too Daddy.”
When she finished talking, Allison fell sound asleep. Still kneeling by her bedside, Molly looked back at her husband still standing in the doorway.
“What do you make of that?” she asked.
“I have absolutely no idea. I only hope the Master Negati will have some ideas, on Tuesday apparently. I wonder if he even knows that yet?” she commented half-jokingly. Molly’s tone turned serious as she continued,
“I am just finding all of this a little overwhelming, you know? I don’t know why but I feel a little nervous as to what happens next.”
By the time they arrived home on Monday afternoon, both parents had watched Allison enough to realize that despite all of her special abilities, she remained a sweet little girl. Anytime they chose to talk around the subject of her talents, their daughter would just bring them back to the reality at hand. Allison never played with her abilities; she only wanted to show her parents what she could do. She clearly understood their importance. Allison tested them out a couple of times to interpret how they worked, and then put them away for whenever she needed them. Aside from the first time at breakfast, Allison never again mentioned the Kith or what they told her. Both parents wondered from time to time what other abilities she retained, but as of yet not shown them. Their most pressing concern surrounded what possible message Allison could have for Master Negati.
While Graham tended to the laundry, Molly sorted through the two boxes of groceries they brought back from the cabin. She climbed awkwardly on an old stool to return the items to their proper place. Allison sat in the television room watching cartoons and eating her new favourite snack, toast and marmalade. Her preparation followed a very particular and exacting way. Neither parent dared to assist in the preparation, having been kindly asked not to. Putting a quarter slice into her mouth at a time, the complex combination of hot crispy bread and the chunky threads of the citrus tickled different parts of her mouth. Not overthinking the enjoyment of it, she delighted in the subtle offset of flavours where bittersweet was the middle place she liked the most. Unexpectedly, Allison heard a sound from the kitchen and sensed danger. It came to her in a burst of colourful light. She tried to call out to her mother but the distance compounded with her mouth full of half-chewed bread, only hampered her efforts. Allison could see clearly that one of the stool legs broke, pitching her mother over backwards. In that instant, Allison clapped her little marmalade covered hands together. The collision created a sound unlike anything ever heard before. The frequency changed inside the house. Time instantly slowed. So dramatically, that the second hand made a grinding sound moving from one number to the next. Unaffected by the change, Allison got up and took two cushions off the sofa. She toddled to the kitchen and put them on the floor in the spot she knew her mother would land. Allison then moved a few things out of the way. In less than thirty seconds, her mother’s backside landed softly on the cushions, after completing most of the fall. Clapping her hands once more, Allison released her hold on time. Graham took notice that things suddenly slowed down but was removed from the action. By the time he returned to the kitchen, something curious appeared to have happened. Molly sat on a sofa cushion, her face full of confused wonderment juxtaposed against his daughter wanting to wash her hands. Boosting Allison up to the sink, Graham squirted some soap into her waiting hands. He then asked what Mommy was doing on the floor.
“I heard her stool break, Daddy.” Allison said, lathering up some impressive bubbles. “I tried to tell her but I had a mouthful of toast. So, I just clapped really hard.”
“You clapped, Allison?”
Blowing the bubbles off her fingers onto the counter top, Allison looked at her father and replied,
“Yes, Daddy. That gave me time to get something soft for Mommy to land on. Oh, and I moved Hennessy’s food too, you know how fussy he is.”
With her hands clean and dry, Graham put her down and helped Molly off the floor. She stood looking at the scene, still in a state of shock
“Nice of her to move the cats’ dish. I did not know that he was a fussy eater,” Graham joked, trying to lighten the mood. Not getting the response he had hoped for, he put his hand on Molly’s arm, speaking comfortingly,
“Allison heard one of the legs breaking and tried to warn you. When she realized you couldn’t hear her, she merely clapped…”
A considerable silence lingered in the kitchen. The quiet buzz of cartoons came from the other room. Molly stared at the spot on the floor where she landed.
“I could see her walking around. I wanted to tell her, ‘no honey, not those cushions, the floor is dirty.’ She did not panic Graham. I do not know if I could have been that calm. She moved one of the boxes out of the way too. Did she tell you that, so I wouldn’t get hurt?” Her voice broke as the magnitude of what just happened started to sink in. Allison reappeared from the TV room with her near empty plate in hand. She walked past her parents to the kitchen table. Climbing up to her seat, she sat quietly contemplating unknown puzzles. Graham picked up the cushions, brushed them off and found them no worse for wear. He then continued with the unpacking. Molly, filled with intrigue joined her daughter at the table. Sitting to Allison’s right, her mother sat patiently, watching her wrestle with the last square of toast. She did not want to interrupt her snack time, as well as being increasingly careful not to peek at her thinking. The two of them made a pact, that due to the important and yet unknown nature of their daughters’ abilities, neither would try to read her thoughts. Believing it would most likely be counterproductive, they were also quite sure that she would know. When Allison licked her final finger clean, Molly reached out and touched her hand. In a split second, she saw something that she had never noticed before. Molly confirmed it the next time Allison blinked; the colour of her eyes were different, they looked now to have fire in them. She giggled from a combination of nerves and excitement. Squeezing her little hand gently, Molly said,
“I just wanted to thank you for putting down those cushions for me Ally. You saved me from hitting the floor.”
“You’re welcome Mommy. You will need a new stool, that one is broken.”
“Sure, but, how did you, I mean, you were so far away honey. How did you even…?”
“It’s okay Mommy,” the girl replied, extracting her hand and putting an end to the conversation. Climbing down from her seat, she reached for her plate and carried it to the sink. Both Molly and Graham watched from separate points as Allison walked from one room to the next. When she finally reappeared, Hennessy clung to one arm and her blanket in the other. She headed toward the stairs. Without so much as a goodnight, Allison looked to be done for the evening. Struggling with the first step and her heavy cargo, the five year old managed quite well as she climbed up to her bedroom. Watching as she ascended, they heard the door close and then silence. Neither parent moved for some time as they listened for any sounds coming from the second floor. Tiptoeing up, they found that she had tucked herself in, tabby cat and all. Sleeping soundly now, Molly closed the door, backing away. Turning to Graham, she asked,
“I cannot make any sense of this can you?”
“My only guess is she has a big day planned tomorrow seeing as it is Tuesday and all. Is it just me or does this all seem a little out of the ordinary?”
Molly started to laugh, thinking that Graham had never spoken truer words in a long time.
The clock radio announced the start of a special day. Molly shook her husband’s shoulder before climbing out of bed, heading directly for the shower. Standing still as the hot water prickled her tender skin, Molly considered what she might wear to greet their guest. Before the last of the soapsuds went down the drain, Molly decided on an outfit. Molly called out to Graham for the shower. She did not get a the usual response. Taking extra time to do her hair, she slipped into a dress intended for just such an occasion. Molly stuck her head back into the bedroom but found it empty. She called for him telepathically. Graham replied saying she needed to come downstairs. Molly descended into the kitchen and found her husband standing at the window overlooking the backyard. Standing beside him, she wondered what piqued his attention. The only things of interest were the telltale toys of a young girl.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
“Not at Molly, more like, for.”
Shaking her head at his strange sense of humour, Molly played along.
“What are you looking for?”
“Your little orange friend here told me not a moment ago that Master Negati arrived at dawn. Not only that, but Allison, both fully awake and dressed, let him in.”
Looking down at Hennessy, Molly asked,
“What? Are you certain?”
The cat looked at her with contempt.
“I’m sorry love, it’s just so strange,” she said, petting his soft head. “Where are they now?”
Pointing to an empty space on the lawn Graham answered,
“Out there, apparently they are under some sort of protection.”
Letting this strange news sink in, Molly asked,
“Its 9:15 am. Are you telling me that they have been out there for almost three hours?”
“I know. The situation is crazy, isn’t it?” Graham said with a laugh. Hennessy then hopped off the back of the chair and wandered away, the excitement having grown to be too much for him.
“But I thought Master Negati meant to see us,” Molly wondered, her disappointment readily apparent.
“Maybe we will get the highlights after the meeting of the minds,” her husband offered as a conciliation.
Putting his hand on her shoulder, Graham announced that coffee would be required. Not offering a reply, Molly's curiosity bloomed; what could Edgar and Allison be talking about. She often wondered if Allison understood how remarkable her abilities made her. Molly stood there and dared not consider, not even once, what any other Orabona elder might. Memories echoed in the back of her mind as she struggled to recall the ancient accounts; the ones that spoke of a young girl with phenomenal powers, far beyond her years. A child that might be the one to deliver them home; the Essential. It was a prospect so remote that no one dared to believe it could be true. To contemplate such wild notions, one only welcomed danger and heartache.
The story always began with a young girl that could do wonderful and amazing things. The results were exploitation, erosion of faith, broken promises, human greed and an unreasonable desire to confirm the unconfirmable. It took seven hundred years to erase the stain of the last failure from their conscious memory. More damaging was how the hope of deliverance all but evaporated. Some Orabona refused to believe the promise of a child to lead them was dead. Deeply shaken, no one dared to think about it, much less bring up the subject. The Council of the Ancients, the five wise Masters, retreated to study, vowing to speak of it again only when they could provide absolute certainty. So, no, Molly could not dare think it aloud. She could not even consider it as a remote possibility. Not now and certainly not Allison. Graham returned with a hot cup of coffee that brought her back to the present. They stood together, cradling their cups when, without turning to his wife, Graham asked,
“You don’t think that Allison could be…I mean it’s unreasonable to consider, isn’t it?”
She looked deeply into the glass, finding his face in the reflection. In a sudden betrayal of her own thoughts, replied without pause,
“Yes, Graham, I think she might be.”
Hennessy watched over the back yard for several hours. Nothing moved. Graham lingered for a moment. Looking at the clock, he estimated Edgar and Allison had been out there going on six hours. Molly the sense that she should make lunch just in case. With no time to go to the market, she would have to raid the refrigerator. Not having ever cooked for a Master before, she hoped he did not mind a hodge-podge. Leftovers did make the best meals anyway. Molly could hear Graham upstairs hanging a few new pictures. She was thinking how nice they would look on the south facing wall of their bedroom, when something tugged at her apron. Jumping at the unexpected surprise, Molly spun around to find Allison and Master Negati standing in the kitchen.
“Edgar does not like olives, Mommy,” Allison offered as an opening reminder. Speechless, Molly watched as they took a seat at opposite ends of the kitchen table.
“Very well,” she uttered. Graham, having heard a distinct voice, came bounding around the corner.
“Oh my, you’re back, or done perhaps? Um, anyway, welcome Master. It is a pleasure to have you in our home,” he fumbled, uncertain of the formality required.
“Please just call me Edgar. There is no need for titles and such here. We covered a lot of ground this morning and I wouldn’t mind a cup of black coffee.”
Putting on a fresh pot, the couple joined the unconventional pair at the table. The Hannaburgs did not know who should speak first. Allison seemed preoccupied with her fingers, while Edgar appeared to be meditating. As the coffee finished brewing, Molly brought it to the table with a tray of colourful mugs; a fun juxtaposition to the gravity of the situation. Respecting the presence of the Master, no one spoke until Edgar finished his first cup. Not surprisingly, Allison jumped at the opportunity to speak. Starting from the moment when she first opened the door to greet Edgar, Allison provided a detailed play-by-play. Immediately, Edgar reminded her about the importance of keeping her abilities quiet. Switching instantly to telepathic communication, Allison continued to relay the minute details of Edgar meeting Hennessy, then touring her bedroom. Everyone knew to let Allison talk, rather than trying to stop her in mid thought. That just made the exercise considerably longer. Listening carefully, both parents felt that Allison was not telling the whole story. Edgar suddenly made a funny face. Nodding to Allison's silent request, they watched their daughter get down off her seat and head into the garage. Once the door closed behind her, Graham joked,
“So, what, she can drive a stick shift now?”
Edgar did not reflect any emotion to his question. Molly poured a fresh cup for both Graham and herself, while Edgar refused a refill. Sipping the hot liquid, this portion of the meeting was by far anticlimactic. Whatever was taking place in the garage remained momentarily lost on the couple. When Graham went to reach for his coffee, the cup moved. Independently, just a few inches to the right. Edgar smiled for a brief second. Not yet fully understanding what was taking place, when Graham reached out again, his mug moved in the other direction. Both parents looked at the Master, questioning him on this unusual trick.
“I swear I am not moving your cup Mr. Hannaburg,” Edgar stated clearly.
Molly covered her mouth with her hands in fear that she might make a sound and disturb the magic. Exasperated, Graham sought answers first from his wife, and then again from Edgar. Molly had nothing to offer. The smile returned to Edgar’s face as he explained the marvel to the girl's parents.
“This manifested itself this morning while we were talking outside. I have never been witness to the onset. It was most remarkable.”
Seeing the humour in Allison’s performance, Graham asked,
“Honey, could you give Daddy his coffee back please?”
As quickly as he thought the words, so did his mug return to its original spot. Reappearing from the garage, Allison ignored the elders and went in search of the cat. While she chased Hennessy around the house, the Master spoke on a frequency that only elders could hear.
“I want you to know that Allison is very aware of what is happening and even more so about what she can do,” trying to soften the shock of their daughter’s newest ability. “She explained to me what she told you about the Kith. I now have to speak with the other Masters, but I firmly believe it to be genuine. Before you ask what this means, I currently cannot answer that. The one thing that I will tell you is that Allison is strong.” Wiping his brow, the old man continued,
“Very strong. She identified at least a dozen abilities and demonstrated each of them to me. Truly incredible how she transitioned from one to the next effortlessly, and then layered multiple abilities into something altogether unexpected. I mentioned this earlier, but I cannot underscore this enough, her strength is legendary.”
Molly jumped in first,
“What do you mean legendary?”
Taking a second to think his answer through, Edgar offered,
“Between the five Masters, we have individually experienced tens of thousands of lifetimes. Combined we have nearly two hundred thousand years of life experience. In that time, I have seen four girls that have shown distinct abilities prior to their ascension. Not one of them displayed such a clear understanding or as sharp a focus than Allison exhibited today.”
Unable to get beyond his previous comment, Molly took Edgar’s short recess to ask her next question.
“Please explain what you mean by her strength, I mean she is only five.”
“When I refer to strength, it is outside of the context of age or physical capacity. I am speaking about how her abilities are growing exponentially. When she first showed me her telekinetic skill, it was to lift a plastic cup from my hand placed directly in front of her. Most impressive, do not get me wrong, but moments later she wanted to try again. After successfully lifting me off the lawn, I figured that would satisfy her curiosity. On the way back to the house, she asked it if it would be all right to demonstrate it for you two. Moving Graham’s coffee mug blind from almost two hundred feet away was that validation of her gift. I suspect that Allison someday soon will be able to move absolutely anything she wants.”
“What do we do about this Edgar?” a touch of concern laced Graham's question.
“We spoke at length regarding the importance of keeping her abilities quiet. Her awareness to never use them for fun, play or on humans surprised me. That is often the most challenging discussion. Trying to explain why they cannot play with their ‘toys’. I feel fortunate I did not have to have that talk with her. Seriously, Allison knows what it means to be Orabona. I am cautious in saying this, but your daughter is one of a kind.”
The conversation lasted another couple of hours, focusing mainly on the girl’s future and Edgar’s involvement. Considering the confidential nature of the information collected during the visit, Graham and Molly swore a secrecy bond, protecting the details of Allison’s abilities. With the true purpose of his stay now hidden, Edgar recommended that if anyone asked, he was going to teach Allison how to fish. The parents laughed nervously until their daughter produced a fishing rod he brought just for the occasion.
“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” Molly said somewhat to herself.
In front of him, strewn across the kitchen table, lay the aftermath of a large family gathering. Several events coincided which brought a crowd to the house. After everyone finally left, Molly returned upstairs to her book. Allison took it upon herself to clean up, leaving her father to ponder the gift of new artwork. As much as he enjoyed having people over, nothing felt better than just the three of them at home together. Graham leaned back in his chair, allowing the filaments of his memories to expand. Every strange and wonderful experience related to Allison’s development had never ceased to amaze. Edgar was correct in his suggestion that her abilities were supernatural. The occurrences of her new magic that used to scare him were now simply part of Allison's life. Rarely did he or Molly question Allison on her abilities. They were both confident and assured that their daughter was in command of her expertise. Graham watched his teen aged daughter rinsing some plates in the sink. Graham admired her. He knew Allison carried a burden; able to do incredible things and yet it never seemed to trouble her. Once a year, Graham wondered if Allison developed anything new. As the thought crossed his mind, he unexpectedly felt awkward, and then did not know what to think. A pair of fiery blue eyes looked up from the kitchen. His daughter stopped with the dishes and her face suggested a lack of interest in finishing. Clearing his throat, Graham decided to ask her a question from almost ten years ago.
“Allison, your mom and I were reminiscing earlier tonight about the first time you met Edgar.”
“Oh, I remember that. It was a Tuesday morning and you guys drank coffee after.”
“What do you remember most about that day?”
“Most? I don’t know Dad, why do you ask?”
“Well, we never talked about any of that day afterward and I’m just interested.”
“Dad, there was never anything to talk about. You know that. If there ever is though,” Allison said with a grin that unnerved him, “I’ll be sure to tell you.”
Returning to the dishes, she watched as her father leaned back in his chair and reached for his drink. Soft laughter came from the kitchen. It was the prelude to his glass moving just out of reach.

CHAPTER THREE

Waves of radiant heat shimmering above the asphalt were an indication of the day to come. Charlie Gilmet made his way up a long hill, finding the temperature at this hour uncomfortable, much too warm for his weekend chores. Honourably, he soldiered on. He felt confident that if the past five weekends were any indication, the same boredom and frustration would be there to greet him. The cloudless sky allowed the sun to bombard the planet with its intense solar radiation. Not fond of the sunshine, Charlie swore that half of it was focused directly at him. Always the anomaly, Charlie preferred cool, gray days. Sweater weather of any sort appealed more to his senses. Now, in the midst of an early season heat wave, Charlie longed for the rain. His standard self-pity continued right up until he stood in front of the spectacular old house. Without a drop of rain in the last seven days, the length of the grass and collection of weeds was wholly unreasonable. Dejected, he walked to the door and knocked. Waiting for a response, Charlie noticed he had already sweated through his shirt.
His great aunt, Petunia Negati met him at the carved wooden door. She walked him through the labyrinth of bookcases and stacks of old texts that randomly seemed to occupy every corner of the old house. For several years, Charlie wondered what his great uncle did. Having heard many different versions of the same story, suffice it to say someone did not want him to know. Some family accounts remember Edgar serving as an astrophysicist, a mathematician, an inventor, a historian or variations on those general themes. Charlie did notice one key indicator that preceded every story; an uncomfortable pause. Seeing that it happened each time he asked with every single person, Charlie found himself highly skeptical regarding the validity of their explanations. Charlie concluded that the hesitation between his questions regarding Edgar, and the lame responses was crafted to afford his family an opportunity to think about what they were permitted to say. He never pressed anyone on their reply but something never felt right. The mounting evidence pointed to the fact that his great uncle might be none of those things. There were whispers about Edgar being a wizard who practiced a very old kind of magic. Charlie never asked anyone about it himself until once when a distant relative brought up the subject. No one in attendance would outright deny it but were also very quick to change the subject, directing the conversation elsewhere. Something about being in his great uncles' house exhilarated Charlie. It were as if he recognized something in the air. Daring himself to consider that a certain power filled the entire space. Charlie could not explain it in words, only that something here felt electric. It made him tingle. With this renewed confidence, Charlie considered all the bogus stories about his great uncle being a retired university professor. There had to be much more to the story than anyone was willing to tell.
Standing on the back deck, Petunia handed him a handwritten list of the four main things she expected him to complete before the end of the day. Charlie figured that the list contained enough work for three people working both Saturday and Sunday. Before he could argue the excessive workload, she patted his head in conciliation informing him that she would bring out a pitcher of cold water sometime later because it would get hot in the afternoon.
“It’s hot right now,” he mumbled under his breath. Angrily turning away from the house, he stuffed the list into a back pocket.
In the weeks previous, Charlie found an advantage in mowing the front yard before anything else. With it being some sixty percent larger than the back, his interest to effort ratio in doing a good job remained high for that portion. Charlie also knew Petunia sometimes had a soft spot for him and may let the backyard slide for a week. With those considerations in mind, he set off to do what he could. The biggest challenge of the job was the equipment. Unlike his own father, who owned a reasonably new lawnmower, this house retained an anemic, thirty year old electric mower. That, in and of itself did not indicate the scope of the problem. As temperamental and ineffective as he found the old electric to be, the real issue centered on the lack of extension cords. The original 25-foot cord, now twisted and frayed, made the job all but impossible. Charlie figured he needed 50 feet as a bare minimum. To get everything clear across the yard required closer to 80 feet. After the considerable irritation of the first week where he cut a strange radial patterns. Charlie spent some effort trying to find some other extension cords. With the house off limits to scavenging, Charlie turned his attention to the workshop in the back corner of the property. Storming into the dusty old room, Charlie found it cluttered with haphazardly stacked old furniture wrapped in cloth. This alone warranted a closer look. Twenty minutes of investigation turned up two curious articles. First, all of the furnishings were ancient; not just old, but exceptionally so. Unable to make any sense of it, these items served to fuel the ongoing mystery. The other peculiar item that turned up was a 50-foot extension cord that appeared to have been purchased at the turn of the century, the previous century. It would do the trick for now along with some creative plug management, Charlie figured he could now cut the entire lawn.
Throwing the cord over his shoulder, Charlie pushed the mower towards the backyard. Midway down the gravel walkway that paralleled the fence, Charlie took notice of the immense size of the house. By comparison, the five people in his family lived in a space one-third the size, in which no one shared a room nor did they feel cramped. Looking up, his great uncle's house had three visible floors, an interior filled front to back with books and at least fifteen bedrooms. With his access restricted to the main hallway, kitchen and a single bathroom, it all seemed rather odd. Something about the unspoken continued to bother him. Charlie knew he would never get a straight answer out of anyone. One afternoon, he saw his great uncle come out of his study. Edgar met Charlie’s curious gaze and issued a stern warning. He stated that not only was his study off limits, dire consequences would come to those who disobeyed. For a fourteen year old boy with a keen sense of adventure the notice sounded like nothing more than a puzzle he would have to solve. This further added to the electricity Charlie felt in the house. On the back steps, Petunia left a pitcher of lemon ice water and a plastic cup. She also left him a half dozen hard candies. She carried them with her everywhere. They had a distinct wrapper and awful taste, something like bitter almond. Charlie was not sure if they were sugar free or European. He just knew they were gross. He always just put them in his pocket intending to throw them out at home. Charlie poured himself a large portion of water and drank it all. Feeling somewhat rejuvenated, he set off to mow the backyard. Not two steps away from the deck, out of the glare of the sun, something massive came in for a landing. Charlie dove into the long grass in a moment of self-protection. Recognizing what the spectre was, he felt silly for the overreaction. Upon having a second, more thorough look, several questions developed. Both parents and his two older sisters kept ravens so Charlie was familiar with their characteristics. The bird that just landed looked comparatively different. Considerably larger in stance and wingspan, the blackbird wore feathers around its head reminiscent of a crown. The bird in question retained no soft features, was unkempt and ragged. It looked older, as if it had lived a hard life. The most perplexing thing came as it sat on the railing. The blackbird violently shook its plumage, spraying cold water all over the deck. Wiping his face, Charlie found himself lost for words. With no rain anywhere nearby, he could not understand how the bird managed the trick. The birds allure faded as Charlie returned to his responsibilities. Stringing the extension cord across the yard, he picked up the plug and walked to the outlet. Looking back at the bird, he saw that it was gone. The disappeared in to thin air variety gone. He knew a bird that size could not just fly away. It required some sort of runway. There was no way it got airborne in fifteen seconds. Almost Charlie's size, the blackbird would have had to fly directly over his head. Dropping the plug, he climbed the four stairs to the deck. The damp impression of the birds’ feet and a few other random droplets were all that remained. The limited evidence quickly evaporated in the mid-day heat. Beyond that, nothing indicated the bird was anything more than a figment of his imagination. Bewildered, Charlie looked all around in a frantic search to find something that he was not sure, had ever existed. Before he could return to the mower, the last of the evidence vanished. Deeply troubled by this strange turn of events, he wrestled with the fragmented reality of what had just happened. He did not dare tell anyone like he did the last time the massive blackbird appeared. Touching his face, he traced where the spray from its wings left its mark. This time he knew he did not imagine it.
Weeding the final plot in the raised garden, Charlie heard his name coming from the house. He waved to Petunia, finished the last row, and then headed toward the house. Lunchtime, he imagined. Brushing the dirt from his jeans, he considered the one serious benefit of this job centered on lunch. His great aunt made terrific meals, and he could eat as much as he wanted. Once inside, a cool gentle breeze comforted him. He did not notice it when he first arrived. Nevertheless, Charlie appreciated being out of the sun. Quickly slipping into the bathroom to wash his hands, upon returning to the kitchen, Petunia made some sort of coloured beverage and poured him a large tumbler. She stood, leaning against the counter, cleaning her spectacles. Perceiving lunch was still minutes away, he took a chance asking a question.
“Would it be okay if I looked around auntie?”
“Yes, of course dear. Just be sure not to touch anything. Your uncle has a keen eye for those sorts of things,” she replied with an uncomfortable wink, before returning her now spotless glasses to their proper place.
“Oh, I will be careful, I promise,” Charlie replied.
Feeling empowered, he grabbed the tumbler and drank half of the sickly sweet red liquid. He choked it down, wishing he had tested it first. Putting down the glass, he set off in search of mysteries. Charlie figured he would have about twenty minutes before his aunt called him back the table. With his uncle out of the house, it might just be enough time. He doubted he would ever get another chance. Having done some undetected reconnaissance a month before, he located a book he could easily access, without running the risk of leaving a trail of being somewhere he did not belong. The books always held a certain fascination since as far back as he could remember. Wanting to page through each one of them and discover the secrets contained within consistently returned the same answer - strictly forbidden. With those words echoing in his ears, he gently pressed upon the ill-fitting door, opening it just enough to slip into the great room. In the dusty quiet of his uncle’s study, Charlie took a moment to soak in the atmosphere. Blocked by a collection of boxes and small furniture, access to the specific book he saw from the hallway became a problem. Conscientiously moving everything out of the way, he reached into the crowded bookcase. With both hands, he extracted the over-sized text. Given the challenging avenue to get at the book and considering the thousands of others readily available, Charlie never thought about the logistics. The book summoned him, calling out with an offer to investigate. A commencement of sorts, a jumping off point to ,to locate answers to unasked questions. Charlie could sense this was the place to assert the truth to erroneous folklore and gather a better understanding of Orabona history. The ethereal nature of the books’ call did not fully register in Charlie’s consciousness. He just knew that that one specific text would satisfy his curiosity.
By all impressions, even to his untrained eye, the quality and artisanship of the book stood out. That, in tandem with its apparent age, encouraged Charlie to cradle it, as it was most likely the oldest thing he ever held. Treating it with the utmost care and respect, he found it surprisingly lighter than it appeared. Turning it over, there were five distinct symbols that adorned the spine. Looking like they were fashioned from brushed silver, the luster of the metal gave it a regal appearance. Running his fingers over them, the symbols warmed to his touch. Shocked, he quickly pulled his hand back. Not knowing what to make of this unexpected feature, he hesitated before opening it. He guessed it contained about a thousand pages in all. The cover felt like the softest leather, although something told him that in reality it came from something quite different. Careful not to touch the symbols again, Charlie examined each one very closely. The first contained three horizontal lines, intersected by a line at 45 degrees, with a small circle at the top and bottom line intersection. The profound simplicity of the symbols’ structure hooked Charlie. The longer he spent concentrating, the more he saw. Finally, an overwhelming power compelled him to touch it again. The instant his fingers made contact, his mind exploded in light and sound. The sweetest soprano female voice resonated out of a billowing cloud of red. It swept him away as tone and colour provided an immaculate balance with one another. When the symbol finished its introduction, Charlie had no idea what just happened. Trying to shake it off, he moved on. The second symbol had a stylized backwards capital ‘P’ with two short horizontal parallel lines adjoined to the top half, with three radiating lines moving away from the symbols’ center. He did not wait for anything to tell him to touch it. This time his mind erupted in a monsoon of yellow accompanied by a stunning male alto radiating through every cell in his body. Drawing his hand back, Charlie noticed that the third symbol appeared to have the simplest design. A half sphere on the north south axis with a small circle on the inner vertical line, with a lightning bolt coming out of the circle. Without invitation, he ran his fingers over the warm metal. Nothing was suddenly followed by the sensation of falling, encompassing him. A single note held by a female mezzo accelerated as he did. The moment of impact filled everything with a blue fluid. Not of water but colour. The voice rose and fell following the movements and interchanges of the blue. His association with it was that it had become everything. Charlie had become one with the blue. Stepping away from it, he regarded the fourth as very simple at first glance. The longer he gazed at it, the more complexity he saw. A vertical line, intersected on two different axes, with a small circle on top of one line of the intersection, and a matching one on the bottom side. This gave it the impression of a mirror image. After serious consideration, Charlie could see at least sixteen different images. His fingers quivered as they brushed against the symbol. In an instant, he stood at the convergence of the violent booming sound of a male bass voice and an exquisite, rolling reddish blue earthquake. The instantaneous and colossal impact swallowed Charlie whole, altering his reality in the context of what he believed about colour and sound. The quick release from the violet brought him back to the text and the final symbol. An arrow pointing down with three vertical lines facing right of descending length from the middle of the arrow. On the end of each line contained a small circle. The left side held two short vertical parallel lines near the point. The most complex of the group, this symbol began to vibrate before Charlie finished his investigation. The moment he put his hand on it, a bright white emptiness opened up all around him. Without a beginning or end, and nothing like any of the others. He waited to see what would happen. From all around him a soft voice, a tenor sang five simple notes. As the sound slowly built, so too did the white fade to brilliant green. For the first time he felt his body as his feet touched ground. The structure of sound and colour set in motion provided a final display. Charlie sensed that everything around him started to spin counter clockwise. Slowly at first, the tenor and the green moving in a protracted spin. Much to his delight, not only could he could see but also hear as the arrangements from the other symbols joined the tenor and was drawn into the growing vortex. Standing at the crossroads of a enigmatic symphony woven into a rainbow of colour, Charlie witnessed the creation of an infinite poly chromatic tornado.. The entire resonance of his imagination surged to keep up with such incredible things. So much so, that he completely forgot his place. Struggling to keep reality in check with the intense overload of excitement, he turned his attention to the contents of the book. Easing the book open, something grabbed him. Petrified, the chorus of voices spoke clearly to him, declaring from inside his head,
“There are things we have to know,
There are things we need to know,
There are things we must know
Choose these things wisely.”
Charlie waited to see if the voices had any further wisdom. As he did, he considered what the significance of this moment represented. After a minute, he laid the book down on the dusty credenza. Slowly, he opened the old text. Its fragile, handwritten pages smelled of ink and sweet foreign spices. The first page, fractured and brittle, took extra time to separate from the adjoining one. No matter the time required, he did not dare risk damaging anything. Looking over the first paragraph, he found the old cursive script challenging but not impossible to read. Despite his reservations, Charlie dove right in. The words on the paper came alive, capturing his imagination. The stunning concepts and ideals emphasized on the first page were as vital to his existence as was the blood in his veins. He knew absolutely that he had found something he must know. The title of the narrative read, ‘The beginning of the beginning.’
Farther beyond the farthest reaches of any creative power resides an anti-locus, in which space and time no longer exist. This is the domain of the Creation Beings. This ultimate group were comprised of five individual and separate beings, but are of one consciousness. Just as a body is the sum of its parts, physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally and consciousness, so too are the Creation Beings. They have always been. Never was there a time when they did not exist. Their solitary purpose revolves around creation, in all forms. Everything visible, tactile or understood; the entirety came from their gifted minds. Each design original, from enormous simplicity down to the minutest detail.
The ultimate group of five, in a thrust of great inspiration, created a void. A blank canvas, empty of all things. It had no size or dimension. It came into being as an unrealized, unformed potential. They were curious artists and artisans, playful, serious and intense. Relentless and continuous originators, they worked in every style, in every different medium, regularly combining them to see what would happen. They blew and spun glass. They worked with ore and stone. They combined minerals of all colours, densities and structure. They were expert sculptors, potters and metal smiths. They painted not only with colour but also with light and sound. They were exacting architects that craved balance and proportion one moment, and then turned free thinkers with hurried scribbles and finger paint the next. In their vast laboratories, the Creation Beings were inquisitive scientists, experimenting with combinations of base elements, creating compounds both dynamic and comprehensive. Playfully they combined elements in their various phases to witness their unexpected results. More often than not, rewarded with exciting outcomes. Things that glowed and pulsed, some that smoked and changed colours. They produced an endless supply of energetic transformations. Their process demonstrated an exercise in extremes not limited to sound, temperature, reach, size, mass, scope, beauty, colour, velocity or the expanse. They also filled all the places in between to create something absolute. The term “perfection” did not resonate in their lexicon, let alone a concept they understood because everything they did far surpassed the narrow ideal of being perfect. The Creation Beings expressed currents of perpetual joy and transmitted them into each creation. Thereby, giving it purpose regardless of its composition, symmetry or latitude.
Once the ultimate group amassed enough unique and beautiful objects to put into the Void, they randomly began to fill it. The emptiness gradually began to take shape as they incorporated more creations. Often placed by hand, individual pieces anchored specific areas, while other times, they tossed in random handfuls. This timeless process continuously built upon their infinite and complex conception. The more items they introduced to the void, the clearer it became that they had overlooked something. Upon closer examination the void looked empty and lifeless. Their collective genius concluded that it lacked body and depth; with the addition of richness and density, it would give their creation the impression of portraying its magnificence both up close and panoramically. Simultaneously, an optical illusion that is not an illusion at all.
After serious consultation between the Five, they resolved to fill the void with dark fluid. A curious by product of several different processes, it seemed like the ideal substance to remedy the earlier concern. As the viscous solution permeated the empty space, the previously lifeless artworks instantly found a place. Pieces buoyed and floated. Some absorbed the fluid and sank but everything took shape and possessed expression. Far from satisfied, they observed the void from every conceivable perspective. They established the requirement for more immensity. On an impulse, the Five swirled the fluid in a different way, at diverse rates speeds for varied lengths of time. They witnessed sudden and unexpected movement; patterns developed sending ripples out in all directions, causing other pieces to move interdependently.
Pleased by what they saw, the Creation Beings were only to the midpoint, with much more left to do. Returning to the workbenches and laboratory desks, they collected every piece of art, whole or broken, including all of the dust. Throwing these final contents across the void, they created the appearance that there was a little bit of something almost everywhere. This was a consummate example as to why the Creation Beings never, ever threw anything out, because everything mattered. Everything they made mattered. They wasted nothing, not their effort, interest, concern or creations.
After the void rested, finding its natural equilibrium, the ultimate group observed it objectively for a considerable period. The next concern hinged upon the fact that nothing sparkled. Each Being extracted a billion, trillion objects and ignited them. Some burned white hot and exceptionally bright, others smoldered like hot coals. There were some that popped, creating new pieces altogether. Returning the ardent masses to the void, another round of unexpected metamorphoses took place. Symbiotic relations developed, structure and elegance, as the art, came to life. Having reached the first benchmark with their work, the Five threw the void from their setting, watching as it stretched out and grew across an endless expanse. The collective mind felt some satisfaction with the mural, knowing still it necessitated one final component.
By no means was this their first work of art. The ultimate group put as much interest and concern into all previous masterpieces. The conception of any project required all five of the Beings to see the blueprint, purpose, and the path necessary to do the work and create the most intricate and supreme compositions. They approached their craft with infinite and present imagination. From their place in the grand hall, where they house and admire these living works of art, the Creation Beings have mastered every conceivable art form. They have blown them up to find new, innovative ways to create. Any artist, in any medium on any plane of existence can only thank the Creation Beings for their endless search to expand their imagination and artistic endeavours, solely in the name of creation.
The final step in the process focused on gardening. Selecting non-sparkling bodies from the void and setting them aside, the Creation Beings worked their magic and brought forth copious amounts of diverse life forms. It was during this phase that their creativity peaked, as they made the inhabitants of each world unique. The specifics and complexity of imagination put into the beginnings of life rivaled that of the creation of the void itself. They determined the many billion celestial bodies to have an infinite number of life forms installed upon them. In their kitchens, they cooked up incredible living things. Each world got a measure of being and entities before re-installation into the void. Some beings flourished and did extremely well, while others did not last the first day. The Creation Beings were not gods in the traditional sense. They chose to leave limited knowledge of their existence. The stewards, the life forms created to watch over, were as close as anyone could ever get. There could never be any direct contact. In every life form they created, they imprinted a consciousness of belonging to something greater. Similar to unity, an indistinguishable sense of self-awareness that led to a deeper connection to a greater magnitude. It provided an understanding that everyone everywhere are all part of the same family tree. As holders of the symbols, they designed and instituted those emblematic representations which were the best fit for each world. The surrogate creation beings, the stewards, who landed on Amkata held five symbols chosen specifically for that planet and its people. The Creation Beings may have been the creators of everything, but they controlled nothing. The stewards, born from the original surrogates, tasked with observation and an obligation to chart the galaxy became the dutiful cartographers of the farthest reaches of the cosmos. Reporting to the greater collective so that the ultimate Beings could bear witness to the beauty and wonder their latest achievement held.
Ultimately released from the grasp of the narrative, Charlie could not remember the last time he had taken a breath. Combined with his racing heartbeat, the boy felt as if he might faint. At the same time, the level of excitement overwhelmed him, to the point of mania. The revelations, descriptions and concepts were all so fantastic and utterly inconceivable that it set his imagination on fire. Certain that his eyes had somehow betrayed him, Charlie wondered what else the fabulous old text held. He felt confident that this visit would not be his last. Although in the back of his mind, he could hear the echoes of his great uncle's gravelly voice warning him not to poke around in his study. Holding the ancient text to his chest with trembling hands, he waited for the voice to fade away. It suddenly became clear that there were now questions he could not ask. If he did, Edgar would know of his betrayal. He wanted to take the book with him but he could not do that either. Removing it would be a greater breach of trust and wanted nothing to do with whatever punishment it held. He also dared not read anymore today, as the fear of outstaying his welcome seemed all too real. Carefully closing the book, Charlie returned it to the exact same place on the bookcase where he found it. Quietly rearranging the boxes, and then retracing his steps, he crept out of the study. Closing the offset doors without a sound, Charlie tiptoed back into the kitchen. He slipped into his seat at the table while Petunia stirred something on the stove.
“I hope you’re hungry after your adventuring,” she said without turning around. “Before you scrabble for an alibi, I called you for lunch some time ago. When you did not answer, I went to find you. You seemed rather invested, so I let you be. I hope that you found what you were looking for.”
With her last statement, she turned to face him with a wink. The peculiar nature of the gesture made him feel uncomfortable. The only words spoken during the meal were when he thanked her for the meal. Promptly returning to his chores, the direct sunshine and oppressive heat were less unobjectionable than the tension he felt at the table. His heart felt heavy in his chest, knowing she had busted him doing the one thing he knew, with absolute certainty, not to do. Charlie hated the silent treatment, preferring a verbal confrontation because, at least, he could focus on the words. The worst prison imaginable existed in his mind. The torture he felt at the lunch table directed all of his ill feelings inward, eroding his confidence and self-esteem. All the bad thoughts attacked his character, to which he had no defenses. Charlie spent the next several hours working away on his list in an effort to shake the awful feelings. It kept replaying in his head the fact that he would never hear the end of his trespasses in his great uncle's study.
A long hour later, he completed the final item on his list. Now finished for the day and having put away all of the equipment, he looked forward to going home. The day left him sweaty, itchy and in desperate need of a shower. The temperature increased dramatically in the last few hours leaving him drained. In no mood to run, he could not get out of there fast enough. The tense awkwardness at lunch had become something entirely different. After Petunia got around to paying him, Charlie intended to ask her about the blackbird he witnessed earlier. Before he could formulate the question, a piercing squelching sound invaded his mind. It came with such intensity that it erased the image from his memory. The strangest part followed immediately after that. Much to his distress, he associated the interference coming from Petunia. It felt like she had raked his mind for something specific. Then, she asked about the original question he never got around to asking.
“I don’t want to ask a question auntie,” he replied cautiously, having no idea how she knew.
“Are you sure? I would have sworn that you wanted to ask me something.”
Charlie had no clue what she was fishing for, let alone why. He took full advantage of her hesitation to thank her again for lunch, and then got up to leave. Without warning, her demeanour changed. He watched in amazement as his great aunt's posture suddenly became rigid. Her face wore a mask of remote and isolated agony. Her movements were uncoordinated and without purpose. She opened and closed her mouth rapidly, making no sound. The entire episode lasted all of sixty seconds. Then as quickly as it came, disappeared almost as if nothing ever happened. With a dismissive flick of her wrist, Petunia shooed him away. Charlie had just seen something, an imposing force he could not explain. Whatever just happened, he knew it was not good. Thankful for the release, he made his way across the lawn. His last image of his great aunt troubled him for some time afterwards. Standing on the top step, she held the sides of her head, shaking it violently from side to side. It looked like she needed to release some savage entity.
Once off the property, Charlie bolted to the end of the block. Despite the searing heat, he ran another block to get further away from the strange turn of events that ended an otherwise extra ordinary Saturday. Walking up the driveway to his house, an obscure clicking sound caught his attention. Confident that his father and two sisters were not home, that took the practical jokers out of the equation. Looking around he did not see anything. He heard it again clearly, just as he put his key in the deadbolt. This time he spun around abruptly, intending to catch the smartass off guard. The image Charlie witnessed did more than stun; it confounded him. There, not more than six feet from him sat the same enormous blackbird. He seriously wondered why he did not hear it land. The great bird continued to chatter, giving Charlie the impression that it wanted to tell him something.
“I wish I knew what you were saying, but I can’t talk to ravens yet. My parents and older sisters can. You should come back then.” The blackbird did not stop chattering the entire time since he first noticed it. He also had no idea if the bird could understand what he said. After a minute, he began to appreciate that something must have been happening for the giant bird to be carrying on non-stop. Taking the opportunity to get a good look at the blackbird, Charlie knew that his father would want details. He made a thorough examination regarding feather size and density; the crown, eyes and beak; then, overall dimensions and presumed wingspan. He could not be sure, but he felt that the bird was sizing him up as well. The front door burst open from the inside, causing his house keys to fall onto the welcome mat. Charlie’s mother Kelly stood in the doorway.
“Are you coming in or not? You have been standing out here for ten minutes. I almost thought you had forgotten how to work the door handle,” she said with a warm smirk on her face. Looking up at her, Charlie announced with great excitement,
“Have you ever seen one that big before?”
Looking out into the front yard and seeing nothing but grass, Kelly got an uncomfortable feeling that she knew what her son was referencing. Careful to navigate a potentially unstable minefield of emotions, she replied,
“No, Charlie, I actually haven’t. Have you?”
“Me, no, but it’s massive isn’t it?” he told her. Then not listening any longer, he turned to point out some of the more interesting features. When he finished, she knelt down and brushed the sweaty mop of hair out of his eyes. In a soothing tone, she asked,
“Charlie, are you seeing things again?” After fifteen seconds of silence, she continued,
“Because I swear to you that there is not a giant blackbird on the lawn. There isn’t anything on the lawn that can fly.”
“But Mom, it is right there,” he pleaded, pointing to the spot on the lawn almost within reach. “You must see it?”
Taking a deep breath, Kelly obliged her son and looked once more at the yard.
“Are you feeling okay buddy? You look like you have had a rough day?”
Knowing his claims would remain unsubstantiated, Charlie gave in.
“I think I need to lay down. I have been seeing things all day.”
Kelly put her arms around her boy, grabbed his keys from the mat and walked into the house. Even with the door closed, Charlie could hear the blackbird perpetually calling out to him.
CHAPTER FOUR

Looking up from his calendar, Graham watched his wife trace her index finger through the condensation on the one fractured pane of glass. Her favourite place in the kitchen, he had watched her stand there thousands of times over the years. He often wondered where she went in her imagination during those moments. Graham knew all of her mannerisms and expressions. He took the opportunity to admire her beauty .He could not remember a time without her. Even though, after all they had been through, he knew very well that his wife retained a considerable assortment of surprises.
“Don’t get any smart ideas Mr. Hannaburg,” Molly spoke softly into the window. The illusion forming in his mind vanished, replaced by the significant challenge that would not let up. For the second day in a row, they avoided and talked around the same subject. They both knew that their daughter’s preparation rivalled that of any youth in memory. The difficulty seemed to be finding some middle ground on how to proceed.
“Molly, I think I am going to rearrange my schedule for the end of November. That way, I will be able to take Allison to Azegar Island in early December. That will give us a little over two weeks together. Enough to cover travel time and nine days for the event,” Graham explained as he casually plucked an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table. His wife, seemingly still lost in thought, continued to stare at the rich colours in the back yard. Turning slowly toward her husband, Molly suddenly convulsed in a fit of sneezing, which broke the spell the window had on her. Once she collected herself, Molly asked,
“I’m sorry love; I know you were telling me about something important. Could you repeat it? All I heard sounded like southern fried chicken for dinner.”
“You know full well what I said Molly. We have been together too long for that nonsense. This is something important that we need to deal with now, so we have a plan. It will be here before we know it and cannot be delayed.”
“But do you really think she is ready, Graham?” She knew how crazy it sounded that instant she said the words. “She doesn’t turn fifteen until April. I just don’t understand the rush.”
“She’s ready Molly,” Graham said directly.
“I still think it is too soon,” she lamented.
“It’s been too soon since her fifth birthday.” They both shared a nervous laugh, putting another hold on the conversation. Molly knew, as much as she wanted to protect her daughter, she could not. Allison had all of the necessary attributes of an elder and far exceeded any other fourteen year old she had ever seen. Her fears were unwarranted. She also knew Graham would provide an incredible introduction prior to the event.
“I think early December sounds perfect honey. The water should still be warm around the islands.”
He winked at her knowing that it would just take her a little longer to accept their daughter would be an elder in less than a year. Still standing at the window, Molly turned back to face the openness of the backyard. Quietly, she asked,
“Do you ever miss it? I mean do you ever long for a place that you have never been?”
Graham knew the answer to her question. It was a long time since his own ascension and at that time the only question he wanted answered centered around Amkata. Their homeland, sixty light years away. He knew the history of the Torment, and how the Darkness had come to be. Then, the slaughter during the Short War, and finally the exodus to Earth. What he wanted now were answers regarding what happens next. How did his people intend to fight the Darkness and reclaim their world?
The Ancients had never intended to be in one place for so long. The move came because of the urgency of the situation. They had to ensure that the surviving population would be far enough away to guarantee their safety. The best option in a long list of bad choices, the Orabona refugees made do with their new home on Earth. Even now, after over twenty-two centuries in exile, a gigantic piece of their lives remained a mystery. The Orabona ability to adapt to the new planet, and their human hosts, assisted in their survival. Yet, with all the benefits the planet offered, each member of every family longed for something. No one ever spoke of it, but it remained as constant as a heartbeat. There came a certain point in the life of every Orabona when they reached a point where the desire to return to Amkata filled them to overflowing. It burned bright in every one of them, which, in its own right, sounded peculiar because less than fifteen percent of the current population had ever been. The optics of Amkata were as foreign as any other planet except for the fact that when they truly concentrated, something worth holding onto came clearly into focus. The most serious problem remained that no one, not even the Ancients, had the faintest idea of how to stop the Darkness. Only the wisest elders could describe the constant bombardment and the wasting of the planet with any kind of accuracy. The common feeling among the Orabona involved the potential that there may be nothing left when they returned home.
The Orabona possessed different emotions, perspectives and feelings than humans did. Although, they did share similar base emotions, such as loss or joy, the Orabona held strong sensitivities to fight for what is rightly theirs. They also felt strongly when it came to family and home. This is not to say humans did not feel these same things. It is just when a human feels it; it pertains to an individual or small family group. Generated through the collective, Orabona emotions bond the individual as a part of the larger group. The intensity and power of the feelings are indomitable. Orabona prefer to use a combination of understanding, logic, and analytics to decipher most of their complex issues. From the moment they arrived on Earth, some tried to return to Amkata for a multitude of reasons. Rescue parties were organized. Recovery missions for sacred or culturally significant items fueled small survey expeditions to monitor the destruction. Yet, after 2200 years, no one was any closer to a solution than the elder generations had been, having exhausted every means available to overwhelm and extinguish the Darkness.
It was not so much the frustration Graham felt. A knot in his stomach that would not go away. Carefully considering his reply, he took a large bite of his apple; instantly making a face that triggered his wife to laugh out loud. Spitting the bruised and mealy fruit into his hand, Graham peered across the table and gave Molly a look. This, in turn, made her laugh harder. She held onto the back of the chair so that she did not fall down. Getting up to discard the apple and its parts into the garbage, Graham rinsed his hands off in the sink. As he dried them on his jeans, his wife's’ laughter calmed enough for her to speak.
“I’m sorry babe. I couldn’t help myself. The look on your face was priceless.”
“Always happy to entertain,” he replied, opening the refrigerator and picking a container of yogurt. Returning to the table, he paused for a moment. He opened the container and scooped out a spoonful. Instead of eating it, he put it back. His manner turned serious,
“To answer your question,” he started, “I think about it constantly. I have thought about it for hundreds of years. I am perplexed and troubled by our inability as a people to combat something we know so little about.” He looked at the yogurt again, and then pushed it aside. Molly watched her husband closely as he sought out the right words.
“I grew up thinking that it wouldn’t be long until we returned home. Now that we have a child, I am not nearly as hopeful. No one is doing anything. Are we not the Children of the Ancients? Are we not the stewards of the Creation Beings? Are we not the flesh and blood of the Cosmos itself? It the Five do not know then what chance do any of us have?” In a final gesture of defeat, Graham set the spoon down, no longer interested in eating.
For as long as he had known Molly, Graham found it nearly impossible to read her expressions. Looking at her, he often could not tell how she would respond to his outburst. Intent on giving her as much time as she needed, he laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in the chair. Pacing back and forth, Molly looked like she was trying to remember the lyrics to a long forgotten melody. She abruptly stopped, and resting on the edge of the counter said,
“I know what you mean. I feel those very same things. I do, but Graham, there is something more to it than that. I do not really know how to explain it, and it makes me feel like I am going crazy sometimes. Recently, I have been having dreams. No,” she stopped herself. “They are not dreams at all. It is much more as if a hand were leading me through Amkata. Everything was green and good, bright and full of life. The emerald sea and the orange sky were just we have been taught. However, Graham, I swear it was real. I could feel the ground beneath my feet. I could smell the sweetness in the air. The gentle breeze on my face was unmistakable. The major difficulty I am having with this scenario is that there is a soft hand holding mine. It is a girls hand. I know that for sure. I cannot bring myself to say it, but,” she paused for just an instant, “I would swear that it…”
“You would swear it was what, Mom?” Allison asked.
Her sudden appearance startled both parents because she had not been there a moment ago. Her ability to sidle around the house with blinding speed, in virtual silence struck her father as unreal. Very cool, but unreal. The impression that Allison got from both parents suggested that she caught them in the middle of something that did not concern her. Their abrupt silence made that point evident. Allison did not care because she had come downstairs on a mission. She also ignored the fact that her mother had not yet answered. Opening the bread bag, she took two slices and fed them into the toaster.
Despite Allison’s ability to communicate telepathically, her parents retained a private channel that only they could access. Something akin to the unique frequency they shared with their ravens. It seemed inappropriate to use it around the table, Molly thought rolling her eyes at her husband. It was clear that they were uncertain on how to proceed. After a few moments of serious reflection, she spoke for both of them.
“Allison, your dad and I were just discussing the two of you going to Azegar Island in early December.” The quiet that followed lingered, broken only by the sound of the toaster popping. Without a suggestion of a reply, Allison extracted each slice, laying them side by side on a clean plate. Then reaching into the refrigerator for the marmalade, she set it beside the toast. Next, she opened the cutlery drawer, extracted a suitable knife, and gathered up a large curl of soft butter. It melted as fast as she could spread it. Satisfied with its coverage, Allison opened the jar of marmalade. A familiar sound to her ears, especially at times like this, began to repeat itself repeatedly. Her mother had a bad habit of tapping a ring against her coffee mug when she felt marginalized. Not yet finished with the preparation of her snack, her mother’s mounting annoyance would not sway Allison. Spreading a thick layer of the bittersweet preserve on her toasted sourdough became part of her distraction. Allison carefully snuck a peak at something she should not have seen but felt comfortable they would not notice. The ability appeared a few weeks before, when all of a sudden she had access to all the telepathic channels, including her parents’ private one. She hesitated to inform them of it because that type of information might cause them to become unhinged. The incessant ring tapping continued while Allison cut her toast into two sets of four equal squares. She then arranged them decoratively on the plate. Quickly tiding up, she brought her snack to the table and sat directly across from her father. The tension had become nearly unbearable. In an attempt to ramp it up further, Allison put a square into her mouth and began to chew. Watching intently, her mother could not tell if she had done it because she needed another moment to consider the island getaway or just to be difficult. Unable to take the passive aggressive nonsense any longer, Graham spoke first.
“Like your mom was saying, we thought it would be good for you and I to go to Azegar Island before the holidays. We haven’t been backpacking in a long time.”
With a proper defense, Allison replied,
“I do not know about going away dad. I mean, it is a long way away. Windblown and I am not very interested in being that far away from Wi-Fi. Plus, isn’t it a two hour boat ride?”
Rubbing the frustration from his face, Graham took a long look at the young girl with a substantial mouthful. Speculating that she might be playing mind games, he changed his tactics mid thought.
“Yes, that is true. Just over two hours, if I remember correctly. It can be quite rough if you do not time the tides just right. The thing of it is, Allison; going to the island is a family tradition that goes back a very long time. Some things we just have to participate in, whether we like it or not. Consider it a rite of passage.”
“Rite of passage? Passage of what? Is that even a thing anymore?” asked Allison, the inflection in her voice intent on inciting a response. Molly immediately tensed up and wanted to dive deep into the contentious dialogue. Graham held up his hand in an effort to keep a general sense of calm. He could hear what Molly wanted to say clearly in his mind. Knowing that her comments would just upset everyone, he held her back. Graham knew that in a mudslinging verbal battle, his wife did not hold back. The problem being that their brilliant, smart aleck daughter had no filter. He wanted nothing to do with that kind of fight. In turn, Graham thought quickly before Allison could read his next statement.
“Rites of passage are traditions, Allison. They are the things that connect us with the past, and the past with the future. I know that you have some special gifts that might make this seem pointless, but,” he took a break to let his words sink in; then softening his tone, Graham carried on, “Your mom and I were both your age once. There are certain things in life where we just have to participate. By doing so, they help us become part of something greater than ourselves.”
Allison went to offer a tedious recital against her father’s passionate statement, but he motioned he was not yet finished.
“You will find that there is a passage of knowledge and spirit, of benevolence, fortitude and sorcery that will come from your time on the island. And just so we are clear, young lady, this still is very much a thing.”
Neither parent could figure out Allison’s reaction. Towards the end, she seemed to grasp that standing against this plan was a losing proposition and, thusly, pointless. Surrendering her opposition, the teenager asked,
“When did you say we are going to Azegar dad?” Then she lifted another section off her plate and put it in her mouth.
“I thought we would go the first week of December. The weather is still nice and that will give you lots of time to prepare.”
With her mouth full, she replied with, “Okay then.”
The most difficult and challenging year for any Orabona family revolved around the process of ascension. Filled with great joy and excitement, a youth literally transforms into an elder. There were some human rituals, celebrated by religious and pagan groups alike, designed to commemorate the moment an child becomes an adult. For all of their cultural importance, nothing compared to the ascension of an Orabona youth. Regarded as a vital function in each lifecycle, the ritual was far more significant than the ceremony suggested. Not only did it involve the passing of sacred conventions from a specific elder to the youth, but also included an infinitely complex set of magical operations rooted in tens of millions of years of history. The transfer of this magic held the key to the existence of the Orabana, and its protection remained paramount. For the youths part they required substantial groundwork and independent learning to be prepared for the ritual itself. This had serious challenges living on Earth. As a preventative response against human curiosity, the evolution of ascension changed dramatically over the centuries. These provisions meant keeping the bulk of the requisite knowledge hidden from the youth until required. As a secondary layer of security, the most recent information would be delivered on the subconscious level. The desperate need to protect the process came from it being the last thread of genuine tradition that the Orabona could hold onto. In addition, the vital importance of the ritual was intended to assure the continuation of their species. Every aspect relating to the ascension process remained critical and required safeguards.
The moment a youth turned fourteen, the year of ascension began. Things that seemed insignificant in the previous months suddenly took on new meaning. During the first half of the year, the youth were bombarded with questions that they do not know how to ask. The recognition that they and their families were different from the human hosts was often quick and extraordinary. They can feel a change but will not be able to put their finger on exactly what it is. Gradually, certain concepts that went previously unnoticed will become clear. They will comprehend the deep rooted bond between bird and its keeper. The youth will embrace that they are far more than pets. What they may have regarded as a bird chattering nonsense will suddenly appear as language, as the raven begins to communicate. It will be as if a page in the youths’ brain turned over and provided all of the answers they would ever need to know about them. Another important piece of the ascension process to understand is that the connection between the Orabona and its bird is forever. Next, most youth, will at the very least, have experienced one-way telepathic communication with an elder. Introduced to the youth before it appears in earnest, this common ability can cause confusion and questions. Best presented in the comfort of the family home, this means of interaction is a necessity. In addition, about a third of Orabona youth develop a special ability prior to their ascension. The two most common are the ability to see at night and interchanges with animals. Although the introductory abilities can vary greatly, they will be among the many that every ascended elder has at their disposal. Youth presenting special skills in their fourteenth year is common. What matters is that the elders manage and defend them from the human population. Constant vigilance to retain that sanctity of the entire ascension process is paramount. There was no flexibility on this point and contained strict security measures. Each family employed a unique method of protection to confuse, misidentify and blur any details regarding ascension. The cost of exposure was too high. Despite the different viewpoints, the central reason remained that, if any Orabona youth did not ascend on or before their fifteenth birthday, they lost the opportunity forever. With it brings a host of unfortunate eventualities. The most damaging of which is the inability to procreate. Regarding their youth as the cornerstone to furthering generations, losing that capability had devastating consequences. That point alone usually convinced any youth to keep silent. A final point of consideration concerned the human factor. They were not equipped to understand the Orabona race. Even after cohabitating on the same planet for 2200 years, if the humans knew the Orabona were so fundamentally different, they would fear them. Human history overflows with graphic examples of humans killing humans because of what they feared. That fear stemmed from a lack of concern and understanding. Quick to judge and kill their own kind, it was only reasonable to imagine how they would treat a foreign race.
It is at this moment when the first important conversations can take place with the youth about the reality of life on Earth. It often comes as a great shock because the youth never considered they were different, let alone of an entirely separate and unique race. Following this discussion came the unveiling of certain family secrets, including details important to their upcoming ascension. They never speak about the actual mechanics and inner details regarding the phenomenon. The youth do not know the event is actually taking place until sequestered away with their elder and all safety precautions are in place. When the initial shock of learning their place fades, the elder guiding the youth will begin a conversation that can last up to six months. Sharing an enormous amount of information, the process may seem at times like a stressful, even ominous, trial. Some youth feel it is akin to studying for an exam they must pass to graduate. Ascension is nothing like that. It is a sacred, enlightening opportunity to experience an intensely profound and powerful transition. One they have always known to exist, but are only aware of once they have completed the process.
Following her nocturnal sweep of the perimeter for lights left on and unlocked doors, Molly paused to listen to the subtle sounds of their home. Earlier, the twisting of her thoughts came up over things beyond her control. The soft hum of the interior paired beautifully with the syncopated rhythms from windblown branches softly brushing the exterior. She found that it soothed her aching mind. Walking to the bedroom, Molly reminded herself just how fortunate she was. Pushing the bedroom door closed, she flopped down on the soft duvet that covered their bed. Graham’s half-filled suitcase lay between them as he rummaged through his dresser drawers. She watched him gather armloads of assorted clothing, setting it neatly beside the items he had already packed. Rolling over, Molly leaned on her left arm and smiled. In his haste to pack the last few items, Graham had not noticed her arrival.
“Tell me again why you don’t just repack your bag the same day you get home? It is not like you are packing for a fashion show.”
“Oh, it’s a fashion show Molly, you have no idea,” Graham replied with a wink.
“I just thought it might save you the stress of packing the night before, don’t you think?”
“But I have a routine. Plus it is all colour coded according to the day of the week.”
“Great, now my husband is a smart ass just like our daughter,” she said sharply.
“Whoa, hey, I’m not the bad guy here Mol. I know Ally can get under your skin,” he replied. Stopping his packing, he continued,
“You were giving off strong indicators that you wanted to match wits with her, and I wanted no part in that slug fest. I kept you at bay for two reasons. The first being that I am the one conducting her ascension training. In all honesty, that conversation should have just been between the two of us.”
“I know and I’m truly sorry,” Molly replied graciously. “What’s the second thing?”
“Well, as annoying as this may sound, it is just that I don’t think that you would have been able to best her.”
Molly sat up abruptly, her face crimson.
“You think that little of my ability and fortitude? I am a certified genius Graham. Not to mention that I have almost 1200 years of experience more than she does. What makes you think I wouldn’t have been able to pick her arguments apart, showing her that my way is the best path to take?” Her husband did not speak right away, so she repeated her question, “Well Graham, what is it?”
“Allison can hear our conversations, Molly. All of them.”
Instantly deflated, she took a long moment to think what his statement insinuated. She then asked,
“What do you mean all of them?”
“Do you recall earlier this week when we were all in the car, and you and I were talking privately about getting Allison a raven, and you suggested talking to Edgar?”
“Yes, of course, but I didn’t notice anything.”
“I almost didn’t either. For some reason our private line has always had a faint vibration to it when we talk. I could not hear it in our conversation that time, which struck me as odd. It was what I saw in the backseat that gave away her secret.”
“Really, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”
“I watched Allison pay distinct attention to the mention of her name. Her movements were very subtle, but her eyes clearly relayed that she understood our conversation. It lasted for same the length of time as we talked, then she went back to reading her book.”
Molly let out a long soft whistle at the potential reality of what Graham suggested.
“Seriously, if I had not noticed the missing vibration, I don’t think I would have ever thought anything either.” Leaning against the open drawer, he changed his tone, “I imagine that, given her long list of abilities, being able to listen in on something she isn’t supposed to, isn’t really outside of the realm of possibilities.”
“Have you tested her since or tried to catch her in the act?”
Graham laughed on impulse. The expression on his wifes face was easy to read for once, suggesting that she was not being funny.
“She’s not a cat burglar Molly,” before he again roared with laughter at the absurdity of the notion. Her exasperated look only added fuel to the strange comedic moment that left him holding his sides.
Asking in a tone, that could cut glass, Molly asked, “Are you about finished?”
Shaking off the last few giggles, Graham made a sincere attempt to be serious.
“No, I didn’t think that trying to prove whether or not she had developed the ability to hear our private conversations really mattered. It is not like she has committed a crime.”
“I know, but shouldn’t we at least talk to her about boundaries and that there are some things that fourteen year olds should not be privy to?”
“Certainly I agree with you. Then, I got to thinking that for the last nine years Allison has been exceptional when a discovery comes along enabling her to do something new. She experiments with it once or twice, then just leaves it alone.”
Molly recalled those moments fondly, while the truth of what Graham said began to sink in. She took a minute to consider her next question. With a keen interest in her husband’s answer, she asked,
“Alright, I agree that she has been very responsible in managing her abilities, but what makes you think that she would have beaten me in a battle of cunning intellect?”
Pushing his suitcase out of the way, he sat on the edge of the bed. Slowly rubbing his hands together, he picked the words. Only then did he meet her gaze,
“The way I see it's like this. You have a temper. Before you try to deny it, please do not make me call the Millers.”
“Fine, yes, I have a temper,” she relented.
“Now, our child is definitely her mothers’ daughter in that regard. I fear for any Orabona male; that wrongs her. So, pitting the two of you against each other, with the potential of her being able to use your secrets against you, would be pointless, ugly and unfair to the rest of us.”
The look on her face said more than any words ever could. She felt dashed without uttering so much as a single word. Graham abandoned the last of his packing and spent the rest of the evening with his wife. Before sleep, he wondered why pivotal moments like this always came on the eve of his return to work. Powerless to change any of their current realities, he turned his attention to Molly because he could feel she needed some extra bravery. The courage helped her deal with yet another item on their daughter’s impressive list of magical abilities.
A taxi arrived at the Hannaburg residence every third Thursday. It came to take Graham to the airport for his full day of travel to work. Having already said his goodbyes to the girls as they left for work and school hours before, he nodded to Hennessy, and then closed the door. Graham preferred arriving at the airport early enough to secure a good spot on one of the first airplanes. With all the flights chartered through a private carrier, seat assignments came in the form of a colour-coded card with a number that designated your place in line. He had never been in the top ten due to the early arrival of some connecting flights. Today his card said “14”. Seeing that as a good sign, he went to look for a seat. The obligatory waiting period hovered around three hours but the added bonus to being early all but guaranteed him a seat in the waiting area. It held approximately five hundred or about three planes worth. Often there were as many as five planes bound for the mine site. This meant everyone else stood for a couple of hours. Graham had made this trek two hundred times and knew the secrets of how to make the best of it. He saw many familiar faces as the waiting room filled. No one seemed too excited about going back to work. Just over three hours after his arrival, the PA announced the first plane would be boarding shortly. A small cheer echoed around the room. The next announcement called for anyone with a green boarding card, numbered one through 20, could step to the cordon. Picking up his carry on and stepping away from the seat caused a mad rush for his spot. Chuckling to himself, Graham queued up and waited. From the crowd, he heard someone call his name. Turning, he scanned the somber faces to see who wanted his attention. Deep in the mix, he saw the character waving his card in the air. Marco Robinson, a mechanic who he worked with for the last five years, flashed a pink card with “138” on it. Knowing he would be the last one to board on the final plane, Graham called out to him in jest,
“I’ll save you some dessert.”
A tap on his shoulder ended the conversation, as he headed out to the aircraft.
The four-hour flight took them northeast of the capital city. Landing at a private airstrip owned and managed by the mining company, the workers then transferred to comfortable motor coaches for the ninety-minute drive. Over the years, there were constant complaints around why the airstrip could not be closer to camp. The main issue, that no one clearly understood, stated that everywhere closer to the site remained both technically and literally part of the claim and subsequently could not be developed for anything but mining. In addition, with personal vehicles strictly forbidden from mine access roads, the buses were the only way in and out of the site. This dictum usually ended the conversation.
The final portion of the commute often posed the greatest challenges. The road conditions from the airstrip to camp could change substantially with little notice. Despite an army of graders, dozers and gravel trucks, the road remained at the mercy of the weather. The safest time of the year to travel remained the winter months. Counterintuitive, but with everything frozen solid, the busy roads saw the bulk of heavy equipment transfers, which in turn kept the speeds down. The mushy freeze up of autumn and the thaw of spring presented their own distinct challenges. The summer was the most treacherous. Excessive speed, animal interactions and wild changes in weather contributed to substantial increases in serious accidents. Several years ago, a motor coach loaded with workers heading home, rolled over. At the last minute, the driver spotted that a small bridge had washed out, due in part to a flash flood. His quick actions saved over fifty lives. The mining company added additional maintenance inspections to every crossing along the entire seventy-nine mile stretch of the Eastern Corvette Highway. Arriving at the main camp never ceased to impress Graham. Even after having worked at the mine for twelve and a half years, and no matter how well he prepared himself, the sheer scope of it blew his mind. It had something to do with sitting in the pitch dark for nearly two hours. One could not get the sense that anything was out there until the last couple of miles. Built in a valley between two massive slag piles that effectively shrouded any light from the road. As the bus began the slow descent down into the camp, the extent of the facility came into sharp focus. Nothing short of astonishing, with accommodation for 5000 workers, plus service staff. It had its own water treatment plant, fuel tank farm and parking for a thousand company trucks. A separate facility serviced the 600 motor coaches that ferried workers to the main job site. Bearing in mind its remote location, the entire structure was nothing short of an engineering marvel.
The bus came to a stop in front of the main camp. Workers poured out and collected their things. Separated into three individual lobby areas, the accommodations desks facilitated a speedy check in process. Graham grabbed his bags and walked through the main doors. The final bonus of being early resulted in no line up, allowing the young girls behind the counter to assist him immediately. The woman across the counter recognized and welcomed him back. Signing the necessary forms, he thanked her, gathered up his key and headed to his suite. Ninety minutes after arriving, Graham sat with a plate of food in one of the four massive dining halls. He unpacked and briefly looked over the duty roster for the next two weeks that someone always slipped under his door. It contained nothing interesting except for a long shift Saturday driving the water truck. It came as a bonus because all it entailed was driving the main haul roads, soaking them enough to keep the dust down. With eight dozen, 350 tonne dump trucks running 24 hours a day, dust became a huge concern. Being a production based business, the mine suffered when any truck did not meet quota for any length of time. This affected production down the line which tended to cause anxiety within the management. Subsequently, the water truck had an extremely important role to play. Graham smiled as he thought back to the time when he first came up north to work. Driving long haul routes for many years, he wanted a change to something more consistent and flexible when Allison was born. The schedule provided a more conducive balance with his family life. When he first started at the mine, his first five shifts were in an old truck that was hard to operate. It turned out to be the perfect training ground. He learned all of the roadways and their connectors, along with the nuances of driving one of the largest mining haulers on the busy, steep and narrow roads. Over the years, he received better offers to work elsewhere, but at that point of his career, the main thing that kept Graham coming back had to do a lot with the people. Just existing on Earth provides every Orabona divergent hardships. The relative ease of their early assimilation, two millennium ago, was related to a fewer number of humans to contend with, plus the lack of human cultural and social norms. Progressively, over the last two centuries, things got more problematic, challenging and altogether dangerous. The Orabona endeavoured to keep themselves hidden. Through a delicate process of evolution, they were able to conform to certain human traits such as appropriate skin pigment and the growth of body hair, both meeting reasonable human standards. They were also able to disguise their wrist and ankle symbols to some degree. The main issue surrounding the symbols, that look similar to human tattoo artwork, is that they come at the conclusion of a youth’s ascension. They serve a purpose, designed for safety and security and cannot be erased, hidden or covered up for very long. This required every Orabona elder to be hyper-vigilant in how they hid them. Humans were always very quick to notice these sorts of, things. In doing so, they raised ignorant questions about how several people, seeming unrelated, shared the same tattoo on the exact same body part. They were the sorts of questions that Orabona elders wanted to avoid at all costs. Certain things could just not be explained without obvious and earth shattering consequences. They used every viable diversion to mitigate the slew of questions over the years. Recently, a wholesale turnover among the older drivers resulted in a number of job openings. The majority of the new drivers, hired on Graham’s recommendation, were predominantly Orabona. This in turn tipped the balance away from a human majority in the lunchroom.
Overall, it did not really matter all that much, but Graham never really understood the human condition and their constant struggle. They professed such limitless imaginations, looking deep into space, yet they appeared to think in such trivial and restricted ways. They were unable to visualize beyond the confines of themselves. After having read countless volumes of human history, Graham saw that they were their own worst enemy. They refused to learn from past mistakes, only to repeat them frequently. As much as he tried to set it aside, Graham found that having to discuss the day to day public affairs, - politics to professional sports - became more than he could tolerate. Labeled by some coworkers as a malcontent, due in part to his unwillingness to participate in matters he did not give a damn about, he just swallowed their veiled criticism. On occasion, Graham had put people in their place; either due to their ignorance or for being just plain wrong. Neither style of engagement achieved the desired effect, so he spent his time avoiding the few problem individuals. A staff member informing him that the dining room was closing interrupted his final thoughts. Gathering up his papers, he drank the last mouthful of cold coffee and returned to his room.
In the few minutes between laying down and sleep, he reflected upon his good fortune. His loving wife and exceptional daughter, good family and friends, plus a career that was more like play than work. Tonight, he felt something new; a sense of hope. Not in the pessimistic definition that hope contains the terrible danger of disappointment. This was not like that at all. What he felt brimmed with a combination of expectation and desire that originated from something; far beyond what human words could describe. It was as if he could look upon deliverance of the Orabona; not in bright lights or enchanting arias, but merely in the crystal blue eyes of a red headed fourteen-year-old girl.

CHAPTER FIVE

For the past few years, Allison used a certain shortcut hundreds of times, which saved her at least ten minutes. The time was not so important as much as the clandestine feeling, cutting through private property and navigating a complex series of fences to get back home. It did not matter that she knew all the families involved or that her trespasses were of no concern. She just liked to pretend that the cops were after her, a bandit on the run. An ambulance raced through the neighbourhood once with its lights and sirens blaring as Allison scaled the fences. This served to enhance her imaginary, unlawful flight.
One day, as ordinary as any other that same week, started out without fanfare. Her father was home from work in the far north. Her mother, with the intention of being helpful, woke her up early, offered her breakfast, and then left for work. It had the added advantage of getting Allison to school on time. Regardless of her mother’s assistance, she got dressed, ate her toast and marmalade, and then realized she had twenty minutes to spare. Plunking herself down on the lounge chair, she unceremoniously deposed Hennessy for the superiority of comfort. After the abrupt ouster, the feline climbed back up and curled himself loosely on her lap. Closing her eyes for one second too long caused her twenty-minute advantage to vanish. Allison woke with a start, briefly unaware of her surroundings. Grasping that her impromptu nap had caused time to slip away, she slung her pack over her shoulders and rushed out the door. Planning her route on the fly, her only option was to take the shortcut in reverse. Taking a hard left out the front door, Allison went tearing through the backyard. Barring any interventions, she might just make it. Sure footed as a mountain goat, she crested the top rail of the six-foot fence that separated one yard from the next in an instant. Almost running along the four-inch wide timber, Allison made her way until it met with a junction of chain link. This required more delicate maneuvering because of it supporting and ever-growing compost pile. Finally, she negotiated about twenty-four feet of picket fence. This belonged to the Negati’s, and she knew it well. In her haste jumping from the railing, Allison caught an old tree root as she landed, triggering a requirement for her to roll several times. Hopping to her feet, she brushed herself off and headed for the bus when something caught her eye. In this secluded place at the back of the property, wedged between thick cedar hedges, an old workshop and an eight-foot high fence, Allison saw a peculiar vision. At least she thought she did. It appeared between the twin birch trees that grew along the fence line. Now, on the other side of them, the image disappeared. Brushing past them again, this time she could not believe her eyes. Hidden sandwiched between the trees, looked to be something she could not explain. Inspecting the fence on either side of the trees, she saw that it looked normal; light brown with indistinct wood grain. Focusing on the space amid the trees, she described it as foreign, strange and magical. It looked as if she were peering through wet plastic wrap that moved independently in the non-existent breeze. A second assessment made her think that whatever was making it move came from the inside. Allison did not know what to make of it. She took off her pack and stood directly in front of the two trees. They made no sounds, but she knew that there was something going on between them. Instantly, a rush of excitement prickled through her. Unsure of what she had found, she knew it had the potential to be fantastic. Allison had heard the rumours. They all had. Tales that regarded Edgar as some mythical wizard or the like. No one she knew ever saw him do anything awe inspiring. Her own abilities were more impressive that she remembered seeing from the old man. He could tie an excellent knot to keep a hook on the fishing line and, certainly had the touch come herring season, but as for magic, she had not seen anything truly impressive. She did not know what to make of the peculiarity in front of her. Given its location, in seclusion like this, and on Edgar’s property, she could not imagine it belonging to anyone else.
Having no idea what she had found, Allison felt unsure how to proceed. The bus and school were distant memories as she contemplated her options. Scanning the small area, she found a tree branch about the length of her arm. Picking it up and brushing the dry mud off it, Allison made a decision. Tentatively, she pointed the stick at the shimmering void. Pushing the stick forward, she watched as it slowly disappeared in front of her. Stopping just a few inches before her hand went in her heart began to race. Allison struggled to peek around the tree to see if it passed through, knowing that the trees stood less than a foot from the fence. Logic suggested that the stick would have hit the fence long before. On impulse, she waved the stick around to see what happened. Her brain exerted enormous power to calibrate the possibilities of what she had found, let alone the greater question of its meaning. For a moment, she stood frozen. Then, in one move, extracted the stick. Aside from where she held it, the stick returned soaking wet. Looking skyward, Allison knew there were no clouds in the sky. Turning the stick over in her hand, a nervous giggle slipped out. Tossing it aside, she went in search of something else to test it again. She needed to be sure. Even though she did not know what she wanted to confirm. Rummaging through a pile of debris, she found a longer piece of wood. Thin, lightweight and almost three times as long. She finessed the board to get it in into the narrow gap within the workshop and the trees. Holding her breath this time, she put the wood up to the shimmering void and watched it dissolve. Feeding it in foot after foot, she did not breathe again until her hand hesitated at the aperture. In a rush of adventurous spirit and fortitude, Allison pushed the last of it through, including her arm up to her elbow. The sensations she experienced caused the giggles to return in a big way. Something external startled her, prompting the wood to fall as she yanked out her arm, all in one wild motion. Like the stick, her arm came back wet. She leaned against the cut firewood that covered the eastern wall of the workshop. The sensation of the cold water on her arm rendered her speechless. Staring at the void, only one thought came to mind, of what lay beyond. One thing she knew for certain. It was infuriatingly wet. Faced with a critical choice concerning her school responsibilities, and what might be the adventure of a lifetime, it took less than three seconds to make up her mind.
When she first stepped through the void, Allison found herself in the middle of a storm, more severe than any she had ever experienced. The wind and the rain slashed at her. The deafening sound of waves crashing on the nearby coastline shook her to the core. Regretting not having a jacket, she found herself soaked to the skin. Swamped by a thick, organic ooze, the heavy and viscous muck covered Allison’s feet. Its consistency shared similarities to that of honey. Excitement and fear tangled themselves together in her chest as she turned around to ensure that she could see the void, her only way out. Despite the wind and rain swirling around her, the portal she passed through remained unobstructed and obvious. Overwhelmed by a stink no words could explain, Allison covered her mouth and nose. Artificially foul, it smelled worse than anything she could imagine. Each time she thought the stench faded somewhat, or she had become used to it, the stink offended her further.
Turning against the weather, Allison tried to get a sense of where she was. Using her hand to block the heavy rain, she first noticed the change. Somehow, her exceptional eyesight transformed, suddenly enhanced. Initially, she did not detect anything, and then everything changed. She found that even with all of the environmental distractions, her ability to see increased by a factor of ten, with a clarity she never knew existed. Her nocturnal vision provided such excellent detail that the dark was no longer a disadvantage. Now, fifteen minutes after her arrival, Allison could see clear across ten miles in the dark with ease. With her curiosity taking on a life of its own, exercising any previous fears. She could sense something and wanted to find out more. Random forks of lightning lit up the sky. Watching them in reverence, Allison underwent an intense rush of confidence. It bubbled up through her from the ground itself. She felt overcome with emotion, but endured and stood strong. When the sensation left her body, she laughed aloud into the maddening storm. An instant before the next lightning strike made landfall, she aimed at its exact location. Repeatedly she accurately pinpointed over a dozen strikes. Shaking the water from her face, Allison paused to reflect. She could not yet put her finger on it but something about this place, took her back a million lifetimes, and shared secrets with her in the form of an ancient whisper.
The portal had deposited her on a high cliff, five hundred feet above an angry, rolling sea. The coastline followed to the southeast, then turned westward and out of sight. She could see across a large and expansive yet barren landscape. It looked to be a prairie of some kind, with gentle rolling hills that grew into large sierras to the far north. Giant forests encompassed the foothills, with ancient forest that grew independently on the outskirts of the grasslands. After a thorough survey of the terrain that she could see, one thing caught her as odd. She did not see one living creature. Not a bug, bird or anything in between looked to live here. It may be because of the foul weather, they had taken shelter but still, she would have seen something. The cold, the wet and the stink would have to wait as Allison noticed a massive building two hundred feet behind her. She did not see it when she first arrived, but it now seemed to be calling out to her. Accepting the invitation, she struggled to make it across the field. The short and frustrating trek led her to the moss-covered cathedral. As she walked to it, two carved wooden doors opened effortlessly, welcoming her. Stepping inside, Allison found protection from the storm.
The doors closed behind as she walked into the great hall. Gripped by possibly the most beautiful room in her experience, Allison felt dreamy but still very aware. The intricate detailing of the structure looked unlike anything she dared to imagine. Despite the weather outside, the silence of the interior provided a great sense of calm. The cathedral appeared to be self-illuminating. Unlike conventional lighting, a comforting graphite green luminescence came from the floor and walls, providing Allison with the perfect amount of light to see everything. She strolled around the perimeter of the hall. While admiring a massive archway, she suddenly realized that her clothes were completely dry. She stopped, patting herself to confirm what her skin already knew to be true. The last half hour changed Allison’s life forever. From crossing over into somewhere else, the frantic storm and now this incredible building, obviously built for some unknown yet worthy function. Circumstances both strange and prodigious, standing alone in this unfamiliar place, Allison felt more comfortable than she did at home. It was in that moment that she understood that she belonged there.
In the great hall, pillars and archways rose like a massive pinnacles about the intricately detailed stone floor. Her eyes kept seeing five distinct symbols, repeated throughout the structure. They were about the size of her hand and as far as she could tell, their pattern remained constant, as if they meant something. Allison found at least twenty examples on the walls, arches and floors. She found examples etched into the glass of the highly detailed windows. Highly significant, she wondered if they were as the crosses found in churches, representing a mystery to believe in. Looking up at the ceiling, she asked aloud,
“What does Edgar have to do with all of this?”
Slowly and carefully, Allison made her way through the corridors and alcoves, reaching a smaller, more intimate space. There were five seats in a semi-circle, each delineated by one of the five symbols she had seen, following in the exact same pattern. Sparsely decorated, she got the striking impression that this room held a great deal more importance than it appeared. Standing in the room’s threshold, Allison felt something resonate inside her chest. A small tremor that rapidly increased in intensity and magnitude, permeating her entire body. When the maximum extent of the oscillation peaked, it disappeared as quickly as it began. It left her with a new kind a familiarity that took several minutes to figure out, let alone come to terms with. This foreign world and all of its secrets were a mystery before today. Allison sensed, somehow her presence here at this very moment, meant far more than what she could currently grasp. The complexity of the recent experience opened up spaces in her mind that were instantly flooded with confusing imagery and mysterious concepts. Her return signified a great shift indeed. She also understood that they now had reason to hope. Before Allison could move, one major concern blindsided her. For some reason, she referred to her ‘return’ which was impossible. She knew she had never been here before. Although, as she would soon discover, there were certain pieces of evidence challenge that claim. As a by-product of the tremor, the layout of the building presented itself to her. The room she currently stood at the entrance of was sacrosanct. Backing away from the chamber, she turned around and walked to the center archways. Allison let her fingertips brush against the symbols on the wall. The polished silver instantaneously warmed to her touch. Stopping, she pressed her hand into each, deliberately and in order. Every time she did, consequential information flowed into her. It felt as if her awareness grew in intensity. After the symbol delivered its content, the feeling ended, turning to vapour. By the end, she could not be sure if anything had actually happened. Finished with the last symbol, Allison brushed her hands together and continued through the archways. Several steps from the wall, latent perceptions began to stir inside her.
Down the long hallway, separating the massive pillars that ran the length of the structure stood a variety of rectangular cases. Thousands of them, displaying bizarre and curious things; the likes of which were as strange as they were awe-inspiring. All unique and exceptional in every imaginable way. She found one example; a petite ball of yellow matter suspended in mid-air. Rhythmically, the ball pulsed. Each up beat it tripled in size, allowing Allison to see the interior. On the downbeat, it returned to its original size, hiding its contents. She could not believe her eyes. There appeared to be a one of its kind world inside. The thought alone set it too far beyond the scope of reality. Yet it continued to pulse two feet in front of her. The more she concentrated her observation on the yellow mass, the more detail and relief she gathered. Not only did it contain multiple planets, including substantial debris among the celestial bodies but also it held so much more. After five minutes of staring for three second intervals, Allison was confident that the yellow ball contained an entire galaxy. Awestruck by the unbelievable depth contained in an object so small, she struggled to pull herself away. Unexpectedly, she stopped everything at once. Far more pronounced this time, the previous stirring she felt had returned. It came laden with trepidation and foreshadowing. Allison could not put her finger on it, but knew something was not right.
Scanning the room to see if she could somehow identify the feeling, Allison found herself drawn back to the display boxes. A large aquarium, half-full of sand, caught her eye. The sand looked remarkable. Composed of mostly triangle shaped crystals. Some were grey and tan like found on the beaches of Earth. Many others were bright coloured and vibrant, some glowed, others were translucent. Her eyes danced along the glass of the aquarium, as the first taste of another reality began to sink in. A small plaque adorned the bottom corner of the display. Assuming it contained a description of its contents, the strange language confused her. She looked at the symbols for a minute then gave up on them. She remained standing in front of the display, paying no particular attention until she got bored. Turning her head to go, she thought she saw something pop out of the sand. When she turned back, it instantly disappeared. Positive that something was there, Allison stood watching, waiting for another five minutes. Again, nothing happened. She began to doubt the certainty of her recall, questioning what she had seen. Taking a half step back this time before turning to go, Allison saw it again. In a desperate attempt to catch a glimpse, she had thrown her head back towards the glass. Still not fast enough; the imaginary creature vanished without a trace. Determined to get the best of the glass box half-full of pretty sand, she turned around fully and faced the display case. Methodically surveying the entire surface to determine the slightest deviation or footprint. No indentations, no nothing, the sand remained as level and flat as the first time she saw it. Looking again at the symbols, she saw them as an alphabet of some kind. Allison found that she had the ability to focus her eyes differently, only for several moments, so that she could see the script in a way that started to make sense. Once she understood how to read the language, it became easy to decipher. The plaque read that the aquarium contained a word that she did not know how to translate. Although frog did not really fit, it remained the closest word. The display held a desert animal made predominantly of liquid titanium. Very bashful, the shiny silver frog like creature preferred to hide in the sand. Virtually impossible to see directly, the frog had the ability to instantly disperse, then find its way back together under the sand. By looking over your shoulder with the use of a hand mirror, the frog would come out of hiding. Barring that, looking out of the corner of your eye had a similar effect when using extreme care and patience. Noticing several hand mirrors on the shelf of the display, Allison laughed to herself. She picked one up and turned around. Positioning the looking glass above her left shoulder, she waited patiently. It took less time than she thought it would before she saw movement. Not long after, something small climbed out of the sand. Moving around, the brilliant creature did not seem to hop but certainly had frog like qualities. It had come from some distant place. She could not understand its name, but there were a set of coordinates along with it. Allison imagined them to be directions to the place the silver frog originated. She spent the next hour marveling at a small portion of the hundreds and hundreds of different specimens and souvenirs brought back from some sort of intergalactic exploration. All the while, an unsettling feeling continued to bother her. The more she paid attention, the more troubling it became. As much as the building insulated her from the abnormality, it continued to deaden the air. Just like a bad taste in her mouth, it made her want to spit.
The detailed blueprints of the cathedral gave Allison an impression of the scale of the structure. What looked large from the outside, served to hide the immense proportions of its actual size. She could see that there were many floors including several subterranean, along with dozens of rooms on each floor. She saw doors that led nowhere and wondered why. A distinct feature on the prints ignited her curiosity so she headed in that direction. At the foot of a long sweeping staircase, Allison could feel a special connection awaited her. She sprinted up, taking two steps at a time. The flight of stairs opened up into the dais. A large chamber with floor to ceiling windows held what looked to be the most incredible display of every colour anywhere. A massive and elaborate exhibition so awesome that it left Allison, for one rare moment in her short life, without words. The half circle display at the front of the dais had a diameter of at least two hundred feet, providing an unobstructed view over the stormy landscape. Approaching with care, she could not comprehend the scope of the instrument. Closer inspection revealed that it held tens of thousands of unique shades in a specific order. Starting from the darkest blood reds, the colours ranged through the entire rainbow to the darkest purples. The elaborate lighting systems developed for the display surprised Allison; it looked like the inside of a kaleidoscope. The true genius was subtle and all around her. Tiny spheres, impregnated with every shade of colour, contained its own light source positioned directly underneath. Thereby highlighting the soft, often indistinct differences among each shade. Strolling along the multitude of colours, she noticed that each corresponded to a symbol. That thought quickly faded as she appreciated the absolute grandeur of the display amid the minimalist beauty that comprised the entire space. Without thinking, she brushed her hand against the display somewhere close to yellow bleeding into green. A gigantic eruption of sound came from the display. A complex piece of music, interlaced with a definitive pattern, something Allison took to be as a pronouncement. She knew it had not come from the display but more so of the entire building. The sound resonated within the very foundation the cathedral stood on. She did not find it oppressively loud, but it had fully consumed her. Standing tall until the last note faded away, Allison’s mood changed. Concerned that she may have alerted some being to her presence, she was safe in assuming that nothing lived here anymore. Those words troubled her because when she thought more about it specifically, it left her with a bad feeling. She could not make it out in any detail. The more she concentrated, the worse she felt. Sinister came to mind and that did not belong here. What she had the most difficulty with surrounded the question she could not ask; just where was she?
She felt the need for a distraction from the creeping oppression, beginning to cling to her; Allison turned her attention back to the gigantic, kaleidoscopic organ. Resisting the urge to find out what other colours sounded like, she took a closer look at the keys. Each corresponded to a colour and a unique symbol, which were nothing more than simple descriptions of the colours. None of them matched what she learned in school. They appeared to be representations of things that existed, not abstract interpretations. The label on one shade of orange read, ‘Ezaphi at daybreak’, along with another set of coordinates. Quick to assume the organ was an intergalactic repository for colour and sound, Allison found herself overcome. Ezaphi, whatever that was, either gave off or became that particular shade at daybreak. She could not find a compatible description for that colour from what she knew of Earth. She thought the symbolic way of describing colours instilled a greater sense of connection and understanding. Allison could only guess at the true purpose of the organ. Bearing in mind its scale, orientation and towering range, the instrument had serious if not vital significance. Agonizing with the multitude of questions surrounding the organ, the building and the entire world she had stumbled into, Allison feared they would go unanswered. She did not have the opening to ask anyone without serious repercussions. With a flick of her braided ponytail, she looked up, letting her eyes follow the curvature of the stone. Every joint fit perfectly; the seams were exact, matching all the way down the floor. Everywhere she looked, the cathedral revealed its stunning qualities. A true work of art, built by highly skilled engineers that attended to every possible detail. The core of the structure spoke to her in whispers; it relayed a chronicle just out of reach. She could feel the cathedral beckoning, almost crying out to her. Created for much more than housing an impressive multi-coloured organ and a thousand museum like displays; it held mysteries of things she did not yet understand. She could feel that fantastic secrets awaited her. Allison speculated to some degree that this building persisted in feeling familiar.
From the perspective of the dais, the sheer magnitude and violent energy of the storm were utterly staggering. Across the visible landscape, she counted in excess of a hundred lightning strikes a minute. The wind driven rain blurred any details illuminated by the electrical storms. Looking far beyond the glass, toward the northern horizon, an object seemed out of place. Providing a logistical advantage, the second floor enabled Allison to see across the black landscape. Amid the lightning and other distractions, she swore that she could see a phenomenon. It gave off a faint glow, but she could not place it. Unlike any lighthouse that provides security for the surveyed area, the glow was not bright enough nor did it rotate a beam. Progressively, Allison perceived strong, woeful emotions coming from the other side of the foothills. Everything she believed pointed to the fact that something existed out there, and the glow was at the centre of it. A chill suddenly washed over her, seeping into her bones. The sensation of having overstayed her welcome was everywhere. Walking down the polished stone staircase, she retraced her steps, and then found herself running towards the doors she first entered. A random thought about the time disappeared as she took a quick look back. Automatically the entrance opened as Allison bravely charged back into the storm. Despite her apprehension about the weather, the stink and the ankle deep mud, she could not wait any longer. The wind hammered her and the rain found its way in, under her clothes, adding an insulting twist to the already wretched conditions. Cursing under her breath, she made for the portal.
The next instant, Allison leaned her muddy wet hand against the Birch tree and stepped back on to dry ground. In the short distance she traveled from the cathedral door to the portal, she felt that the uncertainty that had initially given her the chills might be in fact something real. She could not imagine to any degree what it was but something lingered. She perceived it as being oppressive, awful and best left alone. Allison wiped the rainwater up and over her face with both hands, then wrung out her long braid. Opening her eyes, she could not believe what she saw. Looking around at the darkened fences, Allison turned her head up to the sky. If the half-moon gave any indication, it was nighttime. Brushing her hands on her pants, she dug into her pack, fumbling for her phone. The time claimed to be a quarter to nine, supporting the moon’s earlier assertion.
“That’s impossible. There is no way I’ve been gone for twelve hours,” she exclaimed in disbelief.
There were a stack of messages from friends; the most critical were the ones from her mother. Checking those first, she grabbed her pack and bolted. Allison made excellent time across the fences, making it home in under five minutes. Rushing through the backdoor, in rapid succession, she stripped out of her wet clothes, and then leapt in the shower. Once she was clean and dry, Allison wrapped her long hair in a towel, put on some comfortable clothes and tried to look normal. Gathering up her dirty adventuring gear, along with some random articles to make a full load, she started the washing machine. Next, she ran through the house to the kitchen. The cat, half-asleep on the back of the sofa, watched as the girl rifled through the refrigerator, finding enough leftovers to make a quick sandwich. Sitting at the table, the starving young girl, took bites between using her phone and wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Hopping down, Hennessy sauntered over and brushed up against her legs. Putting down her phone, Allison grabbed the orange tabby. She held him up so they could look eye to eye.
“Not a word about what time I got in, alright?”
The cat nodded in agreement.
“Chicken sandwich?” she offered.
Turning his nose up at it, he then shook his head. Returning to the floor, Hennessy wondered what she would do if he did say something. Wandering off, leaving her to deal with this most current bout of madness, one thing troubled him. It reminded him of a very long time ago. Decidedly foul and firmly believed by all that understood it, to be nothing short of evil. Hennessy swore that he caught the scent of something unpleasant on her skin. Shaking his head and sneezing several times in a futile attempt to excise the fetid odour from his sinuses.
For several lifetimes after the exodus, the insidious stench continued to creep in. As the by-product of any rescue mission; it defiled homes, poisoned the air and became one of many weapons against the Orabona. Within the relative safety of Earth, the cat hoped never to have to smell it again. Now this. Unable to get comfortable that same evening, Hennessy appreciated that his run in with Allison signaled an unfortunate turn of events. The failure of certain protocols, which required swift action to manage, so this new concern did not get out of control. Beyond that, he also knew the assistance of an old friend would be required.
CHAPTER SIX

Through the small octagonal window on the far wall, rays of sunlight snuck into the room. The dust particles that hung in the air sparkled like distant stars in the night sky. Amid the cluttered hallways of his study, Master Negati found himself pacing. Wearing no timepiece, he was well aware that he had been at it for hours. The floor to ceiling bookcases, card catalogues and over sized closets created an intricate maze of his own design. Dozens of old books were open to important pages, while bookmarks delineated further relevant pieces of information. Most of the card catalogues lay gaping, with random cards pulled free, left as markers of some sort. His gait, both constant and measured, came as a direct result of the inability to resolve a specific course of action. His meditations manifested in the physical plane. They happened so frequently now that he could tell if he was out of step just by how the dust felt along the edges of his feet.
Struggling with a particularly vexing decision, some thousand years in the making, Master Negati, or preferably Edgar, got up from his desk. Going nowhere but around in circles, the incomplete data that filled useless equations compounded his growing frustration. What Edgar needed, continued to elude him. He likened it to seeing his reflection in a shattered mirror. He knew the image existed, but he could not make it out. The problem that tested his patience remained the calculation to determine the exact time between two specific celestial events. A team of astrophysicists could have, perhaps, answered the question in much less time using supercomputers and a team of researchers to pour over the data. The focus of Edgar's’ search for the exact moment held historic and deeply personal motivations. The solution to the equation carried a heavy burden, requiring his complete attention. Beyond all that, he could not reasonably explain to anyone how or why he knew the intricate details he did about a small planet almost 60 light years from Earth.
As a Master, he took a sworn blood oath, and was thusly charged with the protection of the secrets of his people. The designation of Master was actually a misnomer. More correctly, Edgar held the title of an Ancient. He represented one of the five members comprising the Ancient council, who among other responsibilities, preserved the collective mind of the Orabona. Their ages were immeasurable. Each of them represented one of the five symbols, the fundamentals of Orabona enlightenment. Positioning themselves around the globe, and acting as beacons, they provided insight and protection to the Orabona living on Earth. The Ancients regularly communicated on a wide range of issues affecting the collective. On-going cultural challenges and ideological differences were the two major complications that they endeavoured to rectify. Ascension persisted as a challenging topic with never ending questions. Seeing, as it was vital to the propagation of their species, its protection remained paramount. So much so that the Ancients were regularly tasked to develop strategies regarding the fortification of the ritual. Persistent vulnerability in some places in the world made the process a literal battle. Some ethnic and societal norms were not interchangeable with those of the Orabona, subsequently requiring a customized solution. These obstacles consumed a great deal of the Ancients time; in doing, took them away from their most compelling task of all. The group of five were cooperating on different aspects of the same equation. Edgar, as the central protector of the Orabona, was himself, designated to be the one to complete the complex calculations. With the annual council meeting only a short time away, he turned his focus to the most complicated computations. Certain mistakes, made in the past, cost them dearly. After their last error, the council members were unwilling to subject anyone else to an unfortunate end. The costs were just too high. In their haste, the Ancients nearly forgot the sacrifices of five hundred thousand Orabona who perished so they might escape. The council endeavoured to strike a balance between their desires to avenge the dead and ensuring the solution to the equation was both exact and conclusive. Thus, providing a criterion by which to measure a sole member of their race that may fit the archetype. The Ancients understood that the chances of it being true were so remote; nevertheless, they had dedicated their lives to the cause. The only way they would cease their pursuit was only after consultation with every last Orabona.
Scanning the open texts, Edgar found one specifically that he believed would lead him to the correct variable. After working this particular section of the equation for so long, he could recall every value, where it belonged, and how it related. Cautious so as to not let his confidence become a weakness, he always wrote out the entire equation before adding new figures or solving a calculation. This supported that his mathematical computations were uniformly correct. Despite the arduous task, it became somewhat of an obsession. At the end of each session spent on this pressing matter, Edgar burned all of his tabulations. Many years ago, the Ancients considered working on the equation in absolute secrecy. After several unsuccessful efforts, the decision to work in plain sight, with very definite protections still stands to this day. Multiple layers of mounting pressure integrated with the near constant mental marathon he faced daily was sometimes all but overpowering. Resting against the edge of a walnut cabinet, Edgar's’ eyes filled with tears. Gently brushing them aside, he whispered aloud,
“It is for the return of Amkata that I must proceed.”
From a dusty corner bookcase came a soft sound of the flutter of wings. A little bird took flight and made its way around the room. Landing without a sound on the old man’s shoulder, he sat quietly letting his friend take whatever time he needed to collect himself. Sometime later, Edgar turned his head and smiled,
“Oh, there you are. I thought you had finally flown the coup.”
In a proper English accent, the bird replied,
“And leave all this? You’ll not be rid of me that easily.”
Neither spoke any further, as the old man collected the text, put it under his arm, and paced aimlessly through the study. About the sixth lap, the bird spoke.
“Is everything alright, chap? I could not help but notice that you are wandering again. Is there a clog in your drain?”
Reaching up, Edgar offered the little bird his finger. Graciously accepting, the finch hopped from his shoulder, gripping the soft part of the knuckle. Holding his hand aloft and looking directly at one another, the old man replied,
“Isn’t that last question somewhat pedestrian for a bird of your stature?”
“I believe that you are stuck on something and I simply felt the analogy fit brilliantly.”
An extended silence followed as Edgar traced his one free hand along the spines of ancient texts that looked as if they were last opened millennia ago. He hesitated before pulling one book out a few inches. Without looking away, Edgar replied,
“Perhaps Finch, but I am not so much stuck as I am bothered by the gravity of the decision I have to make before long.” He shuffled his feet as he chose a fitting illustration to describe his discomfort.
“I find myself having bitten into an apple and finding half a worm. Now, I am not sure if I should spit it out and choose another apple, or do I just keep on chewing?”
The finch flew from his finger to a more suitable perch. After a brief ruffling of feathers, the bird took a long look at his companion. With a wink the finch said,
“I am rather fond of worms myself, old chap.”
The unexpected response caused Edgar to laugh aloud. He ran his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to clear his head. The study went quiet again save the soft notes of the finch’s bedtime preparation. Returning the book that had caught his interest earlier to its original place, he started another search. He recalled seeing a unique text that may offer some understanding to the decision facing him.
Some hours later, the finch slept peacefully in its burrow. Under the dim light of the desk lamp, Edgar ruminated over the discussion the two of them had had regarding his ongoing concerns about the equation. Even with mathematics not being the bird's field of study, he listened intently, requested clarification when required asking pointed questions that focused on the logical applications of the problem. He found that the finch challenged him to look at the solution from an entirely different perspective. Blinded by his years of effort or sheer stubbornness, Edgar was quick to disregard any of the finch’s propositions as ridiculous. At that point, the council understood that they had come too far to disregard their findings. Closing in on a unified solution, containing all their research and proven hypotheses that would give them the answer they sought, Edgar withheld information that could prove explosive. It remained a lingering annoyance. Like a reoccurring rash; relentless in its capacity to injure. The information kept secret was his knowledge of someone who may hold the answer. Although still only a potential long shot, the reality of it made looking away that much more difficult. The incessant complications surrounding this knowledge, was similar to knowing both potentially great and devastating news at the same time; the decision made by the flip of a coin. Edgar fought against his own emotions before they began to cloud his vision. He knew that the only way to prove his hypothesis existed in the solution to the equation. Therefore, as much as he wanted to reveal his latest wunderkind, it was impossible because there remained a substantial volume of work to complete in order to prove it.
The rest of the evening was spent reading notations made by his ancestors, hundreds of thousands of years before his time. All of that information at one time had existed in a single volume, which by all accounts had been lost to the same master that binds all beings; time. Leaning back from his desk, he considered all his wasted efforts within that context. Trying to find things, losing others, back and forth and for what? He dismissed the first thought as nonsense, but it would not leave him. What if the best course of action, if not perhaps the only course, was to start over. Now, after a thousand years, Edgar found himself on the precipice of the solution, and yet it eluded him in a flash of insecurity.
The open book on his desk, as with all the previous ones, did not contain the critical data he thought it might. The handwritten notes did lead him in a more round about direction. In a flash of brilliance, Edgar remembered where he had previously found some specific details, coordinates and charts that might bring some answers. The major obstacles in calculating an event that occurs approximately once every five million years were limitless. Edgar’s challenges started with the fact that no one was alive from the time of the last occurrence. Compounding that, the information he had to work with rarely came complete. Left to shuffle through fragmented recollections and stories retold over the ages exposed the fact that Edgar did not know exactly what he was looking for. The ancillary but equally important component surrounded the location. With the powers of the Ancients council and the most complete library of Orabona history and astrophysics at his disposal, he felt just as frustrated as where to find the indefinable object. Given the number of critical details he found purely by accident, he could not begin to estimate, nor could he guess how many more texts might need to be opened. Rarely did a volume provide exactly what he needed. Even though it may not give him an answer, Edgar knew he must follow every thread to see where they headed. Slowly in a convoluted sort of way, all of the detailed information he required came together. When he added the new details to the rest of the equation, the incomplete solution invoked a response that hovered around disappointment. The rare instance when some figure looked to fit or gave the illusion of having potential, Edgar would channel his excitement, returning his focus to the work at hand. Thereby reminding himself that it was only a small piece of the larger calculation. Letting the thought drift away, he made a series of notations along with several rows of figures. Satisfied with the day’s progress, he set down his pencil and rested his head upon a notepad for a quiet moment.
The sound of knocking woke Edgar with a start. Yet again, he had fallen asleep at his desk. He checked on the bird, as he knew it would relish making fun of him for it. Sitting up slowly, and rubbing his weathered face with both hands, Edgar prepared to greet his visitor. Silhouetted by the light from the kitchen, stood his wife Petunia. They were married many centuries ago, and she faithfully cared for him in the long moments of time when he sequestered himself away. She knew only that he continuously worked on extremely important matters, needing time to concentrate and develop the answers. Never did she question his dedication to his work, nor his love for her. She knew of his calling well over a thousand years ago; his brilliance held near legendary status. She also knew, despite his age, that he never married, due in part to the seriousness of his position. Having suffered a terrible accident as a child that left her barren, Petunia also found a calling that kept her busy, taking her away for extended periods. After a long and serious courtship, they wed.
Standing in the study, Petunia held a serving tray. He motioned for her to come forward. Setting the tray down, it contained a light meal of soup and bread. Usually she did not stay long, not wanting to disturb his focus. Tonight something felt different. She rested her hand on her husband’s shoulder. A considerate and gentle silence flowed between them. Gradually, she moved around the chair to face him.
“Thank you for the soup love. Is it beet or tomato, I cannot tell in the halflight?”
“It is tomato you silly old man,” she joked.
Stirring it with his spoon, he laughed,
“Oh yes, so it is. Lucky me.”
“Edgar,” Petunia spoke with a slight tone of seriousness, “I am planning to visit my sister for the next several weeks.”
“Oh, is everything alright?”
“As I told you before, she is not well and could use my assistance.”
“Of course dear, of course. Would you like me to accompany you?”
She touched his whiskered cheek with her soft hand,
“It is kind of you to offer, but after the first hour, you would be bored to tears. I am sure that I can manage.”
“Are you leaving now?” he asked.
Kissing him softly on the forehead, Petunia replied,
“No, I will be leaving in the morning. I’ll be sure to say goodbye before I go.”
He squeezed her hand as she left him to his meal. Once the ill-fitting door closed, he tore off a chunk of the bread and set it aside for the bird. Pushing the tray away, Edgar accessed a small hidden drawer in his desk, retrieving a leather-bound notebook. Opening it to the last entry, he took his pencil and added another notation. Counting the hash marks, he seriously wondered just what she was doing. A clock chimed somewhere in the house, bringing him back to reality and his mission. Through all of the long, arduous hours Edgar spent grinding away on the numbers and calculations, they had yet to make sense in any meaningful way. He could see growth and potential, but at the same time, the missing pieces. Either way, what he developed thus far still affected him. To see everything in the best detail possible, Edgar built a precise scale, three-dimensional functioning star chart for this particular event.
“The missing variables flow within the phasing of everything,” he reminded himself.
Star charts were something every Orabona could read, interpret and develop upon ascension. The ability, coded into their being, was as natural as breathing. Over thousands and millions of years as the Orabona travelled to unknown, undocumented regions of the universe, the collective mind read and deciphered all possible calculations for any celestial form. An elder could find himself alone, 20 billion light years from Amkata researching a distinctive object. Tapping into the collective brought everyone online to provide guidance, assistance or direction in whatever regard the elder required. From a single asteroid to a fully amalgamated series of galaxies, the Orabona fed all of their observations back to the collective. Through that combined effort, they developed an immense volume of information that included, but was not limited to; orbital position at any point in time, potential intersects with gravitational influences on and/or from other objects. It held the greatest, most detailed collection of information ever recorded. The fully immersive three-dimensional charts were available to everyone, all made possible by their ancestors who were galactic cartographers. The collection of books that the council retained were what could be safely spirited away from Amkata prior to the Short War. Those volumes helped to provide the information that Edgar used as he made every effort to make sense of something he could not quite see. From time to time, he would illuminate what he had charted to a specific point. As sorrowfully incomplete as it appeared, the star chart stood as a constant reminder to push on. All of the information in any paper map must be accurate, exact made it even better. Star charts necessitated meticulous details, precise and accurate; down to the last second. If not, it would show his failings in brilliant colour. Each time he put all of his combined calculations in order, Edgar saw the whole image as the sum of its working parts. The phosphorescence of the chart lit up his study. He watched the red dwarf star passing just in front of the white giant. Its nine-day transit blanketed his home planet in a soft orange radiance, peaking on the fifth day. The vision Edgar saw in his mind’s eye went back to that last occasion 50,000 centuries before. The actual event he hoped to document took place within the fifth day of the red star's transit. A rogue comet made a swift passage involving the eclipse of the white star and Amkata. It lasted for less than a minute but contained information that may well change the course of Orabona history. Recalling a quote he read hundreds of years ago that stated,
“That the orange sky sparkled with dust from the comet. It fell to the ground where the elders collected and preserved it. No one knew the purpose; they only regarded it as sacred.”
Dissatisfied, Edgar collapsed the chart. He stood looking at the blank space, searching his mind. Today, another concern gnawed at him. It involved more than just Petunia’s regular visits; more pivotally, how she consistently found ways to evade his raven. He sent the bird in the early part of last year. This occurred when he first got an odd feeling about her sister and their charitable work. Having never met the sister, which on its own seemed strange, it soon became the excuse of convenience whenever the situation warranted. Having finally had enough, Edgar assigned one bird to follow her movements out of the house. Most were benign, but four times in the previous nineteen months, she somehow slipped away from the raven’s watchful eye. Firmly convinced that Petunia was not, nor did she ever intend to, going to her sisters, triggered something. None of his personal conditioning could interrupt the smoldering outrage, unfamiliar anxiety, which fanned the flames of his rage until it erupted. In a flood of unresolved emotion, driven by bitter frustration, Edgar slammed his fists into the table. Kicking back his chair, he left his meal untouched and exited the study through a secret passageway. Appearing as an apparition, he stole out into the backyard for a rare evening walk. Back inside the unusual commotion in the study woke the finch from a dead sleep. He shook out his wings and hopped down from his perch, catching the shadow of his good friend leaving out the back. Mr. Finch knew, through experience, that nothing beneficial ever came from using that exit. It could mean only one thing and neither of them were good.
It activated the next day. Allison woke up before the alarm and readied herself for school. Yesterday’s experience still freshly imprinted on her mind caused a slowdown in her usual morning sequence. Torn between the responsibility and adventure, she felt herself leaning toward that part that wanted to go back. She wrestled with the notion, weighing the good and bad. With her senses preoccupied, Allison took no notice of the subtle vibrations that started on her outer earlobes. Only a few Hertz above the range of her own heartbeat, the invisible entities worked their way into her inner ear undetected, then disappeared. Traveling into both sides of her brain, the short-lived odyssey coincided with the length of time it took Allison to get dressed. Confirming she still had a sense of style with a quick look in the mirror, she decided to go to school. Hungry from the moment she woke up, the grumbling in her stomach proclaimed that it too looked forward to breakfast. Focused solely on food, Allison crossed the threshold of her bedroom when the two extraneous vibrations united in the depths of her brain. This created a small intense burst that modulated every conceivable frequency, driving the sensations deep into her fertile mind. At the same moment, Allison felt a stirring inside her body so profound that it brought her to her knees. When it finally past, it left so swiftly that it almost did not seem real. The house showed no signs of disturbance. Aside from a little disorientation, she felt fine. Before Allison got back to her feet, she tried, unsuccessfully, several times to shake off the remnants. Although by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, it had disappeared.
Having blown off her classes the day before, Allison made sure she got to the bus early. Following the same route she had all year, something about it now began to irritate her. There seemed to a muffled and not quite intelligible whisper coming from behind the hedges and open windows. She wondered who had the time to be playing. It followed her all the way to the bus stop. The game suddenly changed, and with it came a host of concerns. With no bushes to provide cover for the last four blocks, and standing at the bus stop alone, whoever was pranking her remained so. No longer muffled, the sounds were now clear and she understood every word. Unexpectedly, somehow Allison developed an annoying voice inside her head. Independent of the one that usually resided there, this undesirable tone harboured a particularly bothersome version of self-talk. Her preferred voice drifted in and out, remaining friendly and helpful. The most recent inner monologue that subjected itself upon her felt both erratic and undisciplined.
When the bus finally arrived, Allison found a seat across from a girl Michela, who she knew from school. There were friends of friends, but familiar enough to talk. Fearing the voice in her head could not be trusted, she tried to avoid eye contact. Failing that, she merely acknowledged the girl, and then turned her attention elsewhere. The one time Michela tried to initiate a conversation, the voice seemed intent on hijacking her every thought. Afraid to say something out of character, Allison gestured that she had some problem with her throat, or neck. Purposefully vague, she had not made it clear. It achieved the desired result of putting an end to a potential discussion. It did nothing to sort out this new and rather antagonizing character. In her haste, she left the house without her headphones, unable to drown out the newest occupant voice. Finding herself somewhat at its mercy, she devoted the balance of the trip to investigate its origins or motives. Being brand new, and coming with no warning, this peculiarity left Allison baffled. Stepping off the bus, she walked through the chain link archway into the school grounds. Two familiar faces came over to greet her.
“Whoa, ditching a whole day of school at this point of the semester is pretty bad ass Ally,” stated Sam, a childhood friend whose career trajectory looked to peak at garbage man.
“So where were you? I, like, sent you a hundred messages,” declared Renee, a transfer student from the east coast who just showed up one day and never left. The three or four standard excuses Allison used over the years would not satisfy explaining her absence. She intended to work out a satisfactory response before breakfast or on the bus, but strangely now, could not remember what? Looking at her friends, as they waited for some kind of reply, a battle raged in her mind. Having bullied its way through, the alternative inner voice made multiple attempts to get Allison to explain her disappearance. She knew that they did not need to hear the truth, but increasingly it became more difficult to keep her own mouth from speaking the words that suddenly appeared in it.
“I, well, I fell, um, trees. No, no, wet and muddy. Damnit, I stayed, arches and organ, no. Fences and laundry,” came out of her mouth in a clumsy and disjointed single breath. Following a few seconds of dead air, Sam burst out laughing. Renee turned away providing her characteristic flick of the wrist. He laughter having subsided, allowed him to say,
“You could have just said that you were off planet on some epic astral flight. That would have been so much cooler.”
The second she turned around, the school bell rang. Stunned, Allison stood, mouth open, feeling as if all of her kinetic energy evaporated. Gradually she collected herself. Alone, in the middle of the field, she picked up her pack and ran towards the school. She knew that Sam had no idea where she went, and kept telling herself that it had to be purely coincidental. Allison had other concerns about the unwelcome voice inside her head. The main one revolved around the suspicion that the voice was the by-product that stemmed from her experience through the portal.
In the wake of a day spent explaining one thing to teachers and then relating different versions to her friends, Allison needed a time out from everyone. Choosing to walk home alone, rather than suffer with fifty personalities on the bus, gave her a moment’s respite. Even this caused Allison discomfort, lacking the confidence that a break of any kind could exist at present. Materializing at the most inopportune moments, the voice overstayed its welcome. Endeavouring to control it, Allison found she could barely manage. Having access to her memories, her inner monologue seemed determined to question some of her actions, motives and choices. It created a situation equal to that of an outright brawl in which she could find no advantage. Allison discovered that walking by herself helped to alleviate some of the internal pressure from her mind. With all of her own mental weapons, now commandeered by the intruder, it remained a hornet’s nest of unsolicited and disagreeable opinions one minute and contradictory advice the next.
Allison was certain she heard someone whispering to her. The voice was in her ears; the words real. Deviating from her route home, she felt obligated to make several abrupt turns, finding herself stepping through the door to an unfamiliar coffee shop. Things seemed to be happening a half second before she could react to them. This left her at a serious deficit in her ability to follow along. Standing in line, unaware as to specific purpose, she tried to get the upper hand. Her eyes scanned the patrons’ faces looking for some defining feature. Interrupted by the strange act of purchasing a beverage she had never ordered before, did she then locate the source of the whispering. More correctly, the interloper that had taken over her mind located her. With coffee in hand, Allison walked to the table where the lone woman sat paging through a magazine. Kneeling down, Allison set the cup directly in front of her. Placing a hand on the woman’s forearm, a connection was made. In a frequency outside of the range of human hearing, Allison spoke in a foreign language,
“The duration of our exile has reached it culmination. Our return is at hand. We will be going home. The time to prepare is now.”
Releasing her grip, the woman took the coffee and tasted it. Her acceptance of the message came disguised in the thank you. Allison exited the shop without looking back and returned to her usual route home.
Following the perplexing scene, the independent voice quieted down significantly for the extent of the walk home. Allison planned to take advantage of the hour before her mother got home. Something about the substantial inner monologue intrigued her. She hoped to find a way in; a kind of understanding to this inexplicable new tenant.
Allison remained in her room for nearly two hours before her mother’s Subaru pulled into the driveway. Hennessy sat outside the girls bedroom door, in part keeping a watchful eye, as well as being prepared to rescue her if warranted. He sensed a change in the girl when she returned home from school. He could not determine anything more about it. The only adjective that explained the change he felt in Allison was singular. It required further study because in all of his years, never had he encountered something like this. When the front door opened, he leapt from his post, heading directly for his dish. The girl often forgot to feed him, so his dependence rested on the mother.
At a loss as to where to begin with the new voice, Allison opted to meditate. Intended as a gateway to the inner self, she figured it could not hurt. She tried to connect with the voice, with her own mind, with anything that would listen. She tried chanting and humming, with eyes closed, eyes open facing a wall, nothing seemed to click. Then she recalled what a wise man once told her. “Seeking something you cannot find if forever. It is only when you do not expect to find it, that it reveals itself. Striving gets us nowhere. Letting things flow through you and being receptive is the key.” Much to her surprise, Allison found herself on the outside looking in. A step beyond and able to witness the events that had taken place. She could also hear more of what the voice had to offer. The first thing she could decipher, albeit in short phases, suggested that the voice spoke in repetitious statements. As much as she thought the earlier self-talk regurgitated nothing more than a running commentary, her current findings hinted that it was far more dynamic. The voice kept attempting to explain something, or formulate an important concept. Unbeknownst to Allison, the problems stemmed from the voice lacking any semblance of maturity. Unable to develop the proper thought structures to generate a complete idea, it innocently rambled on inside oh her head. She found the more time she spent one on one with it; her ability to grasp its objective and understand its language became more demanding. The infuriating threads of a second internal voice, which overwhelmed her mind ten hours previously, had finally calmed. Whatever this new feature turned out to be, Allison recognized that it required her active participation to see it flourish. Perceptive enough to see that the voice held rare benefits, she felt privileged; privileged for the conversation that it sought after, meant for her alone.
Coming out of the meditative trance, Allison heard her mother’s voice resonating through the entire house.
“I’m up here mom,” she called out in hopes of limiting the intensity of her ire. Never one to tiptoe around matters large or small; she demanded her presence in the kitchen immediately. Dropping everything, Allison appeared in front of her mother in an instant. Standing in the middle of the room, the condition of which normally hovered around unusually clean, Molly put her hands up and spun around twice for dramatic effect. Hoping her eyes were playing tricks on her, Allison measured the scope of the mess somewhere between a massive tsunami and apocalyptic. The cat lifted his head from his dish and provided no assistance. The look on her mother’s face said enough.
“Do you have an explanation for this unholy mess, Allison?”
Still rattled by its severity, she did not have a prepared answer.
“Well, young lady, unless we had an intruder whose sole purpose centered on wreaking kitchen chaos, you better start working on a response.”
Allison thought back to the beginning of her day. The gap between waking up and getting to school had diminished, but not enough to recall what she did to create such a gigantic mess. Distressing did not capture the sense of how this felt. Beyond the debris, Allison found that she could not speak. Tongue-tied for the first time ever, her standard off the cuff remark failed to materialize. This caused two separate things to occur simultaneously. By not getting a response whatsoever, Molly felt that the disorder of the kitchen indicated a larger problem. On the other hand, Allison examined the disaster noticing there were obvious signs she participated. Going back in her internal clock, somehow a sixty-minute window of her life vanished. Worse still, she had yet to explain the details of how a tornado ravaged the kitchen. Three bags of groceries sat on the dining room table. Staring at them to avoid her mother’s glare, mercifully she found her voice.
“I don’t know mom if it’s relevant or not, but something strange happened to me today. I do not remember anything from the time I got dressed until I arrived at school. Therefore, I am sorry about the mess. I know I’m responsible and I hope you know I wouldn’t do this for fun.”
Molly carefully measured her daughter’s apology. Not only did it come across as genuine, but also it echoed with self-doubt and concern. This gave her a moment to pause and consider the state of the kitchen. However, it happened, the actions were too far out of character for her to act out of malice. Deciding in Allison’s favour, Molly did what any other concerned mother would do, she said,
“Tell me what happened to you earlier today, honey.”
Returning the kitchen to its former state took hours. Finally, the two of them sat in front of the television eating Chinese takeout. Molly took the quiet among them to absorb what her daughter disclosed. By her accounting, it sounded out of the ordinary. Aside from the two minor lapses in memory, the latter being her interaction at the coffee shop, it did not justify a full-scale investigation. Molly searched for the right words of support when something caught her eye.
“Ally, turn that up please.”
Grabbing the remote, she adjusted the sound and saw the same thing her mother had. Partially covering her mouth in a state of shock, Molly asked,
“Isn’t that Sabrina Patoll’s…?”
“Sabrina Patoll’s dad,” Allison said, finishing her obvious question.
“What in the name of Saltalamacchia is going on here? That is the third one so far this year.” Molly wanted to take back her words the instant they left her mouth. Nevertheless, that opportunity was gone, leaving a look on her daughter’s face that called for an explanation. Muting the antagonistic tone of the scene reporter, Molly dove right into it.
“He is the third elder to be arrested or detained since the beginning of the year. In each case, the facts are circumstantial and highly suspicious. It is concerning because I know one of the families. Well, two now, I suppose. Nothing about it sits right with me, they are being set up; do you know what I mean? Your dad would say that the fish stinks from the head down.”
Without as much as a grin, Allison replied,
“I agree mom, something about this just doesn’t feel right.”
Labouring up the four steps to the back deck, Edgar sat down a heavy, spherical box. He shook the last of the water off his raincoat before taking a seat. Brushing the hair from his eyes and looking skyward, he estimated the time to be about midday. A long checklist of items to accomplish awaited him and lazing about only cut into that time. He got up, tossed his coat over the modest box and walked through the back door. He returned sometime later, having completed a thorough search of the house. Confirming his wife did indeed leave for the south coast. The nagging suspicion surrounding that still bothered him but he had too many other pressing matters. Returning to his seat, Edgar took advantage of the warm wood and afternoon sunshine to thaw out his bones. Once the aching subsided, he leaned forward and placed a hand on the box containing a hidden treasure.
Knowing his time was limited, and with only a vague sense of where the object might be, Edgar entered the portal like a sprinter. Once inside the cathedral, he moved swiftly through the familiar chambers. The building provided sanctuary from the maelstrom outside but it did not protect him from what may appear beyond the moss-laden walls. The short distance to the portal still allowed ample time for a surprise attack. Imperative that he use his time economically, Edgar abandoned his original plan. The best course of action was to search the historical records of his predecessor. Vacant for nearly 20,000 years, the unassuming studio existed as it had upon the late Kinderawii’s death. He knew it comprised many secrets. Following a tradition millions of years old, upon the passing of an Ancient, the personal residence and all it contained were sealed. The genius of the being already belonged to the collective mind, so the physical contents of the bower became peripheral and thusly sealed. Detached from Amkata, the most damming problem was, without the whole of the collective, it left a great deal of secrets fragmented. This contentious point vexed the council members. Shortly after the exodus, the Ancients convened to discuss an order of operations. Apparently, in their haste to leave, they had missed some critical items. This became the impetus of several failed rescue missions. The decision to relinquish their secrets to the cathedral took months to rectify. Its completion gave the council direction for life on Earth. Edgar, dissatisfied with the decision, could not get it out of his head. He knew that something in that room would one day be vital to their survival. On the three previous undertakings, he had twice failed but did manage to return with an object he recognized the moment he saw it. Hopeful he would never need to use it, the small silver box would remain sequestered away.
The considerable shadow of a returning raven brought Edgar out of recollections. He felt pleased with the first part of his self-imposed task. Although he still had some reservations regarding the next, and far more unpredictable portion that followed. Having had enough of the outdoors, Edgar suddenly stood up. Taking both the box and his coat, he carried them into the empty house. Automatically, the door closed behind him, capped off by that faint sound of an elaborate locking mechanism.
Busy nibbling on the heel of bread the old man left for him, Mr. Finch jumped when he heard the back door open. A heavyset man lumbered up the stairs. A collection of strange sounds, the finch imagined, as a person looking for something that was not there. It went on and on throughout the upper floors. A door then closed and silence returned. Unfazed, the finch continued with his meal, until another door opened some distance from the first. This time he could sense something in his companion; urgency perhaps. At once, it rushed over him so quickly that he could not react. Assaulted by the foul stench, his nasal passages burned. Having not noticed it earlier, the tiny bird feared that its concentration might take over.
“What madness has crept in to drive the old man back to the place no one belongs?” plead the finch.
It came out in a tone that masked both his fear and anger. He was confident now that his old friend was grasping at straws to have gone to these lengths. Contemplating a quick flight through the house in search of his keeper, the finch decided to wait. Better to let the old man come to him and provide an explanation. He hoped Edgar had a very good reason. Done with the bread for the time being, he flew back to his burrow and spent a substantial amount of time grooming and preening. The finch watched the light in the study change as the hours ticked by since the last time the back door closed. Still the old man avoided the study. If the bird were a little less stubborn, his curiosity would have gotten the better of him. Knowing Edgar would have to show his face eventually, the finch stood his ground. He did not want to miss a thing.
Long after the bird tucked his beak under his wing, Edgar stepped through the wall panel that led from another room in the house. The spherical case, now safely out of sight, enabled him to return to his contemplations. Prior to doing so, one particular worry required his complete attention. Sitting down at his desk, he took a deep breath in the same measured pace of a man facing a firing squad. He feared this day would come, and still it seemed a little ahead of schedule. Reaching in to the interior pockets of his robes, the old man extracted a delicate bundle. Two quick snips released the firm hold of the twine. Gathering a collection of brass weights, then adjusting the desk lamp just enough, Edgar ever so gently unrolled the thin ribbon of white bark across the desktop. With a weight on each corner, it became obvious what had left the mark. The question that remained was, just whom did this hand print belong to?
CHAPTER SEVEN

Four times a year, the philanthropic Order of the Saints organized a joyous relocation program. Over the years, the Order facilitated adoptions for a great number of orphaned, underprivileged and abandoned children, into loving homes within the communities it served. The kindly old woman who ran the Order, known only as the Mother, attended every occasion. Always the first to arrive, she loved to be on hand ensuring that the children were dressed as neatly as possible. She also relished in assisting the little ones with packing of all their belongings, as meagre as they might be. She enjoyed spending a little time sitting with and comforting the children. Every time, a few little ones found themselves so overcome with fear and apprehensions that they could not speak. It was as if they could sense something dreadful in their future. The sisters that looked after the day-to-day operations of the orphanages felt eternally blessed by her spirit and charisma. The sisters of the Order were taken by the Mother's genuine and kind demeanour; truly sympathetic to the children’s anxiety. Whether their fears were real or imagined, she had the ability to put them at ease. He calming presence grew to legendary status. Always prepared, she carried an abundance of tissues for the cascade of tears. This particular afternoon provided an example of the range of emotions that the departure process brought. Of the forty-nine children preparing to leave for a better life, half were nervously excited about going, the others were either too scared to cry or crying too hard to be scared. All between the ages of four to nine, the older ones sometimes did what they could to comfort the youngsters with mixed results. The Mother knew the benefits of cooperation very well and enlisted the assistance of the older children. They were to buddy up with the little ones. Not only did it help with the anxiety, but also it made the long bus ride a little more pleasant for everyone.
A venerated and devout religious sect, the Order of the Saints originated as an offshoot of a traditional organized religion. Dating back at least fourteen hundred years. The Order shrouded itself in secrecy, operating in ways deemed unacceptable and unholy by the religious leaders of the time. Since its inception, the major organized religions were not only distrustful of their self-serving objectives, but also with the dubious and peculiar value system it subscribed to. Referred to as a cult and an evil sect, this description added to the growing discomfort with the very existence of the renegade Order. Their only redeeming feature seemed to be that they operated around the periphery of the general population, in the slums, with the forgotten people. The sanctioned religions wanted nothing to do with the penniless, and thereby allowed The Order to carry on with its mission.
When the Mother established the Order of the Saints, she did so with one clear objective, to help those lost and wandering alone, beyond the ability of helping themselves. From the very beginning, she worked tirelessly, weeks at a time, rambling the streets looking for those unfortunates. She offered kindness and a promise of something more. Her integrity, alluring presence and sheer willpower drew non-believers and the devout alike. They all became converts of the Order. Ever gracious and compassionate, their good works benefited the poor and downtrodden. Her mission to lift up those society has simply pushed aside, enjoyed limited success. Twice a year, humble solstice celebration coincided with the birth of their Saints. All of the parishioners would follow the Mother to an undisclosed location for the observance and festivities. Each time she returned alone with a convincing narrative regarding the commencement of a new chapter of the Order. The routine continued for centuries as the Mother became more proficient in her craft. The pressure she felt internally still outmatched the growing tension from the community. Well versed in the language of humans, and well aware of their petty games, she feared no man on this planet or any other. Unconcerned with what might happen, the Mother understood that her mission had to change; if she were to survive. She needed to expand the scope of her operation.
In the span of one hundred years, a convocation of justices twice aimed to find fault with the Mother concerning her contribution of the puzzling disappearance of her flock. The justices claimed that the Order was not an established foundation. They denied that the Mother had any form of congregation, as they could determine no good works were done anywhere in this parish or any bordering it. In medieval times the thought of trial usually generated terror in the hearts of those accused of crimes against the Church. Doubly so if the accused happened to be a woman. The Mother thought, and understood it provided her a notable benefit. Despite the male dominant world she found herself in, her beauty and genius empowered her to confound even the most pious reverend. She also fed off their guilt, providing her an arrogant level of confidence to deny her accusers. Both incidents in front of the court saw the Mother exonerated without penalty.
No proof ever surfaced, but the disturbing stories plagued the Order. Rumours swirled, linking the Order to tens of thousands of missing people, including rituals too barbaric to speak of in public. The veil of silence that surrounded the Order and the troubling the lack of denials, made for serious concern. True or not, as long as these rumours existed, it furthered the outrage shared among the spiritual leaders and their reverent followers. After a turbulent decade, the powerful religious masters agreed to strike a resolute and collective blow against The Order. Having exhausted the last of their goodwill and tolerance, lashing out seemed like the only course of action. They reached the verdict to obliterate the Order at its core; thereby putting an end to its reprehensible ways at last. The details regarding the precise outcome of the righteous attack was lost to the ages. Yet, a small parish of the Order of the Saints remained operational. Bound by the founding principles, its politics, dealings, membership and holdings were still closely guarded secrets. Its public persona provides only a brief history about the Order and some of its charitable causes. The only reference to the Mother speaks about her loving kindness and compassion; she relentlessly seeks out joy for less fortunate children. Filled with testimonials, the balance are stories from children and sisters of the Order. They extolled her virtues repeatedly, and of how fortunate they remained.
As it came time to leave, the sisters corralled the youngsters to the side of the bus. Partnered up in an orderly double file row, each carried a small bag containing their worldly possessions. When there happened to be an odd number of children, the Mother enlisted the odd one out to help with the special duties. This included loading all of the bags onto the bus, as well as handing out juice and cookies once everyone had a seat. The real bonus of the position allowed them to sit up front with the blessed Mother. The sisters came to say their last goodbyes. The two little rows suddenly filled with hugs and tears. Having seen enough, the Mother clapped her hands together firmly, separating everyone. Finally, they started climbing onto the motor coach and taking their seats. With all the children on board and settled, the driver closed the door. Standing at the front and watching her blonde haired helper hand out an assortment of juice boxes and cookies, she did a quick count to ensure they did not leave anyone behind. Seeing that all the children had their treats, the Mother looked at all of the bright, wide-eyed faces.
“We have a little bit of a drive children. Make yourselves comfortable and we will be there before you know it. The Mother loves you.”
Pulling away from the orphanage, the good-bye waves were lost on the children who seemed far more interested in their treats than saying goodbye one last time. Fifteen minutes into the journey, quiet filled the interior. Pushing the limp body of her helper to the side the Mother stood up. Well prepared for this irresistible moment, she took a small candy from her pocket and put it in her mouth. Craving the bittersweet between her teeth, it served to enhance the entire production. Removing the disagreeable habit and the rest of her costume, she carefully folded and packed it away. Moving along the length of the coach, she attentively gathered up the half-eaten cookies and juice boxes from the unconscious bodies. Selecting several small items that she held in reserve, everything else went in the black plastic trash bag she carried. When she completed this first important task, she tied a knot to hold the contents and tossed the bag onto the front step of the bus. Standing in the isle and facing backwards, the Mother put her hands in front of her. Cupping them together, as if holding a butterfly, she whispered some unintelligible words into them. Her hands began to vibrate, holding them together as best she could; beams of light began to shine between her fingers. In a flash, her hands flew apart. The light consumed the back of the coach, enveloping all of the children in a pale grey glow. As fast as it appeared, the light vanished. She watched, just as she had thousands upon thousands of times before. The children awoke, sitting silently, awaiting the next leg of their journey. Blissfully unaware of where their outing terminated.
Less than an hour from the beginning of the drive, it ended. Somewhere after having turned off the main highway, the driver followed a complex trail of secondary routes and unnamed gravel roads. Stopping at an incorrectly labeled gate along a non-descript fence line, he quickly unlocked it, brought the coach through locking it behind him. The long driveway wound to the left, then beyond a grove of poplar trees, opened up to a parking lot that serviced a simple two-room garage like structure. The property, all 126 acres of it, was a generous gift from an anonymous benefactor nearly two hundred years ago. It had changed hands through various holding companies that funneled their wealth to The Order over the years. All the while keeping the Mother protected from any suspicion of wrongdoing. The one key lesson she learned five centuries ago had served her well all these years; the ability to remain invisible and untouchable, while continuing with her lifelong endeavour.
Once stopped, the driver opened the door and climbed out. He proceeded to unload all of the little bags of belongings. His next task led him to open both sets of doors in the structure, a single to the far left and double doors in the center. Moving all the bags into the smaller room, he returned to the motor coach, put down a step stool and began to assist the Mother. Safely offloaded, she led all of the children into the central door. Nothing more than a sparsely decorated barn, empty but for two bureaus at the far end with a purple curtain pulled between them. The white interior, left to the ravages of time, looked tired and gray. The dirt floor, hard packed and dusty, contained thousands of small footprints in various configurations. The forty-nine faces focused on the purple cloth directly in front of them. A family of house swallows flitted and darted wildly in and out of the barn doors, completely unnoticed by the children. Returning to his seat, the driver patiently awaited instructions. With the children standing in formation, the Mother climbed aboard the coach. She rapidly shook her right hand, as if she they held dice. On the fourth shake, she released something akin to dust into the drivers face. She then spoke a foreign language, to which the driver nodded both in agreement and understanding. Picking up the bag of leftovers, she stepped back on the ground. With a soft hiss of compressed air, the doors closed and the bus turned down the driveway and out of sight. His return would follow the same route that brought them to the property. She gave him specific instructions that his services would be required in a few months’ time.
Plastic bag in hand, the Mother stepped confidently through the second open door. On the right side of the room stood a stainless steel machine, resembling an industrial dishwasher. Familiar with the appliance, the Mother caressed its framework. The activation sequence required a working knowledge of a complex series of buttons and switches. A minute later, it roared to life. Another ninety seconds and she could feel that the machine had reached its working temperature. Lifting the sliding door, the heat and flicker of the inferno inside never ceased to surprise her. Tossing the bag she carried in, it took three loads to fill the incinerator with all of the children’s belongings. Sliding the door closed, ensuring the safety lock caught, she pressed the green button. Triggering the fuel and oxygen mixture to increase, the internal temperature flared hot enough to melt lead and turn bones to ash. Clothing, toys and books did not need long. Anxious to get on with her long and troubling day, she pushed the red button to extinguish the flames. Instantly the machine went silent. Opening the door, those items that had only seconds before held joy and promise had burned to nothing. Returning the door to the closed position, she left the room, locking it behind her. Walking into the main room, the Mother felt a pain strike her so suddenly that she believed for a moment that someone shot her. In reality, the crippling pain of a migraine struck her in the eyes first. Relatively predictable, it was the brutality of it this time that shocked her. The spectacular aura that accompanied the pain dissipated followed instantly by the sensation that her brain suddenly caught fire and started collapsing in upon itself. Falling to the ground, she erupted into blood curdling screams. Her only option was to hold her head tightly in hopes that it did not burst. No medication, charm, negotiation or elixir could diminish its severity because the pain came from elsewhere. A distant entity that, for almost twenty centuries, had controlled this element of her life; using pain as a reminder of her station. The entity known only as the Darkness, kept her powerless to change while she continued to do its bidding; no matter the cost. Experience had taught her that if she did not heed the early warning signs, things would get worse. She no longer felt the need to challenge its authority. Forever linked by circumstances and necessity, there was little chance that one could live without the other. The Darkness ensured that there would be no end to their symbiotic relationship. Staggering to her feet, using the wall for support, the Mother found her eyes slow to focus. Reaching into her pocket, she found her final object of consolation. Unwrapping the candy, she took small comfort as the bittersweet filled her mouth. Flicking the wrapper aside, she slowly massaged her throbbing temples. Gradually, as the fire in her brain began to subside to a manageable level, her anger returned. Overwhelmingly so, it was focused at herself, her situation, at the unmanageability of her life. She knew that the only way to get through this meant focusing her anger outward, directing it toward those who originally created this unholy arrangement. As the human children suffered, if satisfied one side of the coin. Soon, she would have the opportunity to make the Orabona youth suffer as well.
There remained some work to do in preparation for the next phase of the children’s passage. Switching her emphasis from the concerns that distracted her to the purpose of the whole endeavour. It remained constant that she never forgot what happened, although sometimes she needed to go back to the beginning. If she ever felt unsure about why she constantly participated in the sickening charade, she need only to recall that first night in the mountains. A small, nameless child stood paralyzed by fear. Helpless and unaware of the madness that had befallen him, the boy refused to move. That anguished outcry of emotion scarred the Mother. Even after so many years, the first thing that struck her about that night was the horrendous shrieking. Then she could feel how tightly her mother held her hand. Without fail, her memories always ended with the blood. It covered everything. It splashed on her face and clothing. She remembered her mother falling backward lifeless and someone hitting her repeatedly. Collapsing beside her slain mother, the girls knees gave out. She lay still, not wanting to draw attention. Unsure of where her father and three brothers were, the scene around her generated serious concern. Too afraid to call out, she just lay still, wedged against her mother; listening. Sometime later, she heard movement. Carefully, she tried to see where it came from. A lone woman, badly wounded, her clothing torn, appeared to be collecting the bodies and pushing them off the trail. She stopped many times as the severity of her injuries made the task grueling. By the time the woman reached her mother, she could no longer lift anyone, resorting to rolling the bodies like logs. She did not check to see if anyone survived, presuming all had perished. As the woman rolled her along, an idea struck the child. The moment she began to tumble down the cliff face, she grabbed onto some vegetation sticking out of the rocks. She hung on tightly because she refused to die like this. There were still more bodies that went over. She did not look, but clearly heard them tumbling down the steep chasm. A fragile calm returned after the last body. What she first presumed to be whispering turned quickly into screams. Unable to understand all the words, the strong language sounded something like a curse. When the noise stopped, the lone woman threw herself into the gorge. The girl heard her sail past, seconds later landing with a grotesque thud. That sound still haunts her. Carefully pulling herself up to the trail, she stood amongst the aftermath. The bloodstain that marked the pathway spoke to the violence. As large across as a house, it trickled down the slope, creating unnatural patterns on the stone. Littered with weapons and personal effects, she found herself immobilized, unsure of what to do. Mercifully, her survival instinct kicked in. Rooting through all of the bags, she found some provisions and clean clothing. She then embarked on the grisly task of gathering up all the weapons, body parts and respective items and throwing them off the cliff. She wanted to remove any reminder of this place and the tragedy that occurred. Following a change of clothes, she endeavoured to retrace the route her clan followed, hopeful that she could find her way back.
She relished the old feelings. The anxiety and bitterness, the bouts of confusion mixed with betrayal. The terror and sorrow she held onto from that first night alone had sustained her all these years. As much as she tried to find compassion and understanding, her heart only knew hatred. It did not take her long to shake off her earthly persona and assume the one that felt more natural. Unlocking one of the bureaus, she emptied her one pocket containing the sad pint-size trophies she had come to collect. It reminded her of the wretched, sorry little faces that were off to a miserable end. Placing a faded yellow slot car, a pair of Lego people and a miniature stuffed Dalmatian on the crowded shelf she arranged them just so. Checking once more, she realized that she forgot one time that made her laugh. Thumbing through the tiny pages, she wondered if the child’s god could see this.
“Where are you, when he needs you the most?” she asked as she put the inconsequential prayer book with the rest of her collection. Subsequently, she changed out of her modest house frock, with more appropriate clothing for the upcoming journey. The most significant item in the bureau sat upon a brass platter. A simple looking broach made of silver and sardonyx. Existing as a half-breed and limited only by her human side, the compliment of magical abilities available was constrained and undeveloped. Her connection to the Darkness allowed her to tap into its infinite force, affording certain benefits. It required a delicate balancing act of opposing dominions that threatened to tear her apart. Pinning the pendant to her cloak, she relocked the bureaus wooden door. Removing her spectacles and setting them safely out of sight, she felt prepared to go on. Turning around, the forty-nine children stood in seven equal rows. Their expressionless faces looked forward in some kind of uncomfortable suspended animation.
“How different things will be this time tomorrow,” she thought to herself. Spinning on her heel, she walked to the purple curtain and in one quick movement, snapped it to one side. The space it covered shimmered like a pool of quicksilver. There were three small steps leading up to it. Looking back at the children, she spoke some quiet words. Immediately, they formed one long line, holding hands. Taking the first hand in line, she led them through the portal and diligently, the rest followed.
Activating the broach the moment before she entered the portal initiated a chain reaction. Glowing a soft pearl colour was evidence that her functional magic had energized the passageway. A creation of her own design, it took many years to perfect the simple lines, the straightforward purpose and the ease of operation. The dedicated corridor commenced at the mouth of the portal and followed a gentle slope up to the marshaling area. The structure itself served two distinct purposes, to keep the group together, and to shield them from the storms that plagued the planet. Built into the device were certain aesthetics that offered some element of camouflage. Despite having the appearance of a gossamer structure stitched together with starlight from a distance, it all but disappeared from sight. A highly effective security system, woven into the top layer, would fire at the first misstep. The children were exempt, as their forced march only went one way. It could account for the little ones falling down or having difficulty getting to their feet. It was common for children to find themselves dragged for quite a while before anyone noticed. The corridor afforded safe passage through the twenty miles of bleak country. The objective of the group dynamic meant to get everyone there at the same time. At the crest of the last ridge, she looked upon her work for this season. The numbers in this final group were far less than the others she had collected. She led them down a steep trail of switchbacks to where all the other children were staged in preparation. Separating them into two rows with a hand gesture, the forty-nine children blended into the crowd. She now had pressing matters to attend to. The only light they could see came from the all-encompassing gray glow. It deflected the storms fury and imparted substantial relief from the fetid odour on the wind. All of this gave her a deep sense of comfort, as this felt much more like home. Not only that but also this creation sustained her perverse relationship with the Darkness. She no longer considered the performance so much an offering; it was more like a benefaction to give something back. The idea of a ritual came to her a very long time ago. The first time she performed it, the process lacked the requisite preparation. There were only fifty-six children because the glass she intended to use limited the exhibition. Feeling embarrassed and humiliated, she had failed to display her gratitude to the Darkness for all of its gifts. When she returned months later to make another effort, she presented three times the number of children. Much to her disbelief, she found an entire crate of glass for her use. Purely symbolic, the little purple daggers only added to the pageantry.
Climbing the stone steps, her heart began to race with excitement at the spectacle about to take place. The current representation, with so many children, the ceremony would require two full weeks to complete. Nearly three thousand children awaited a fate they could not conceive in their most dreadful nightmares. She hoped in part, that this large offering appeased her master. The other part knew deep down, the Darkness could never be satisfied. She felt a sliver of concern that she routinely trampled on, to keep it from growing into anything dangerous. The unsustainability of this ritual grew closer with each performance. When that unfortunate day arrived, she faced potential horrors herself. Not willing to be a victim ever again, she constantly searched for another source of her specific type of sponsorship. Her challenges were sizable, the main ones being her husband and a natural lack of magical ability. She knew that he owned several magical items. That, if she could get her hands on one, may enable her to continue her arrangement uninterrupted. Currently having reached the limit of what she could do, moreover, what she could get away with, her efforts had stalled. In the back of her mind, a non-stop discussion raged on how she could keep focused on her life’s work.
At the stairs apex, high above the crowd, she got her first view of the multitude of young children. Row after row, they stood at attention despite the fact that some had been waiting in excess of five months. She looked across the field of small human beings and smiled. Happy with her prominence, she shrugged off her cloak and took her place at the high rock bench. Drawing in the power that filled the air, she could feel the Darkness’ craving. Lifting her arms over her head, droplets of grayish light filled her hands. The substance began to take on a life of its own. Spiraling rapidly, it created a vortex that she fought to maintain. Then, like a balloon bursting, it released several sharp notes, shrill enough to cut through the commotion or the relentless storm. The spell that held each child immediately changed. The formation of the rows altered and began a slow procession leading up to the Mother at the stone dais. The littlest ones came first, clawing their way up the well-worn steps. Individually they stopped in front of her, eyes wide and filled with terror. Some shook uncontrollably, while others could not stop crying. The pathetic outpouring of emotion did not sway her at all. This portion of the ceremony gave her the most joy. It was where she freed them by directing the next portion of their journey. Taking a small glass dagger in one hand, she leaned down and put her arm around the child. She then whispered the same statement into each child’s ear,
“You have every right to be frightened; your pain will last forever.”
With that, she drove the dagger into the child’s chest. Spilling no blood, the child grasped the wound and cried out a sound of pure misery. From there, they made their way down to where an involuntary compulsion took over the child’s body. Even though very few tried, it disabled their ability to fight or resist. The children followed one another from the stone platform, down a gradual slope, into a dark valley, illuminated by the murky grayness. The trail presented some steep hills and treacherous terrain. Many children slipped and fell. The deeper they ventured into the valley, the brighter their chest lesion became. Pausing from her duties for a minute, the Mother turned to watch the long line of glowing purple spots. The children were following in her footsteps, as the trail held significant memories for her. Many years ago, she had walked it twice in one day. Once going in and then forever changed coming back out. Unfortunately, for these children, they were only going in. Throwing themselves into the maw of the Darkness from the same blood-soaked place that her ancestors who butchered one another. She found poetry in the beautiful observance she created. Above the din and commotion of the ritual, the Mother swore that she heard a sustained musical note coming from a long way away. It was not the note so much as its frequency and structure. It all but reminded her of a time long forgotten. This sudden turn of events troubled her deeply. Unable to move from her position, she knew the sound signaled that she was no longer alone. This brought with it some grave concerns. Forcing them aside for the time being and returning to her next victim, the first event happened just as she pushed the next dagger in. She was expecting it but it still caught her off guard. The present glow pulsed, releasing a burst of energy, strong enough to stagger her and knock over some children. It would occur at somewhat regular intervals from now on but the first one was always a surprise. When the second pulse erupted, the Mother anticipated it and wisely held on. Caught unaware, it brought all the children to their knees. She knew that the screams should begin very soon. They came because of the children coming to terms with their final purpose. When the little ones saw their fate, a chain reaction came all the way up the trail. She regarded them as appreciation for all of her reprehensible efforts. Far from done and with a schedule to adhere to, the Mother turned her attention back to the trembling little girl with the saddest brown eyes.
Time, being relative, moved rapidly while she found herself lost in the rapture of intense and absolute sorrow. Over the last fifteen days, her desire to isolate and inflict an unreasonable amount of suffering on the already abandoned and unwanted children was nothing short of savage. The brutality became the fuel that kept the ancient hatred burning. The few hundred thousand tears shed was not nearly enough. No amount could ever wash away the bloodstained ridge that chronically afflicted her. Echoes of the sobbing, a chilling reminder was all that remained of the children. Carried on the wind, it permeated the planet. The Darkness, its laden desires quenched for the time being, moved to a state of temporary dormancy. The Mother never bothered with what became of her victims, she only cared about the short-term relief from the migraines. She could be confident that they would not return anytime soon. When her overlord required her services again, she intended to be far better prepared. Until that time, she needed to return home, to her other life and continue to live a well-crafted lie.
Seconds after the Mother passed through the portal, a knot twisted in the pit of her stomach. It had been growing for some time, but now it felt like a closed fist relentlessly pummeling her from the inside. Following the ceremony, the journey back to the portal generally took far less time than it did going in. The return trip caused great concern. It gave credence to her fear that someone else occupied the planet. Not only was there a breach in the corridor, but the security system had activated as well. She found it impossible to believe that no physical evidence remained. Judging that if they had made it as far as it appeared, the rest of the way was not out of the realm of possibility. She ran to the edge of the portal and could instantly tell that someone had passed through. They had disconnected the intricate conduit system installed to connect her to the Darkness.
“So bold and foolish to travel to a place they were not welcome. They will come to regret their actions,” the Mother spoke softly to herself, as she repaired the damage. Seething now, she tried to calm herself enough to finish up.
Unlocking the bureau, she carefully removed the broach and returned it to its plate. Taking her phone in hand, she snapped it open; placing a call to her driver for immediate pickup. Slipping the cloak off her shoulders, the Mother noticed the first troubling clue. It looked as if the dirt on the floor had been disturbed. All of the footprints should be facing the same direction as they did leaving the room, except for the freshest ones. She could distinctly make out one pattern that had to have come through the portal. They did not cross the floor. They appeared to stay close to the perimeter. Before detecting the presence of an intruder, the Mother had unwittingly destroyed any further evidence by walking over them. One print remained in perfect condition. Gauging its size by using her own as a benchmark, she found that the shoe worn measured a size larger than hers. The fact meant absolutely nothing aside from giving her somewhere to start. Cold fear filled her heart at the growing potential of an intrusion. In all the years of performing this gruesome ritual, the issue surrounding security of the portal and the farm in general, was never an issue. Now, all of a sudden everything was in jeopardy due to a blatant violation of her privacy. The Mother made a quick assessment of the people with the abilities to do such a thing. The list held very few names. She began to think that perhaps two of them might be working with one another. One with the strength to perform the magic, the other having the ability to locate her stronghold. Feeling altogether paranoid, the Mother looked around cautiously, as if being watched. Taking a moment to calm her fears, she reminded herself about the separation of her name from any possible link to the property. She dealt with that issue a century ago. The only concern now centered on the removal of any clues that suggested children had ever visited the farm. Looking again at the floor, there were only a half dozen prints that really stood out. They could be easily erased with a stiff brush and a bucket of water. The simple solution to one problem caused the knot in her stomach to relax. It could be that whomever had broken in had no idea what they found, and with nothing in this world linking her to the other, she felt a little more secure.
Hanging up her cloak, the thought of additional security measures for the barn crossed her mind. Even with the strictest enforcement, it did nothing to secure the portal. She did not have the magical power to restrict access, but had never had cause for concern. Closing the bureau, the Mother heard a distinct noise, soft and familiar, as plastic on wood, come from her secret hiding place. She froze. If the sound turned out to be what she imagined, this would be cause for a completely new level of worry. Reaching up to the spot where she always left her eyeglasses, she found that they were not there. Frantically fishing her hand around the top of the bureau, the fist in her belly returned, striking her harder each time she missed. When she finally found them, it was hard to believe that the eyeglasses had moved on their own. A long way from where she had originally left them. They were also upside down. She knew, without question, that someone picked them up before returning them. The initial fear that staggered her turned into raging fury. One or more reckless interlopers were not going to derail her objectives. Not now, seeing that she had come so far. With this turn of events, her intentions suddenly changed. She would now have to be vigilant. Working with the understanding that the intruders may know who she is, the Mother decided to keep quiet about it. She would set some traps and see what turned up. In spite of her lack of Orabona magic, she retained some very effective ways of getting what she wanted. Time, always her enemy, emphasized the necessity of starting her preparations right away. Walking out of the barn, she locked it behind her. With a plan beginning to take shape on how she intended to deal with this situation, she started to feel more like herself. She could already taste the sweet satisfaction of revenge. Confidently striding across the parking lot, she climbed into the waiting sedan and drove off.

CHAPTER EIGHT

It began the moment Allison recognized her mother stood on the other side of the door. She knocked and without a pause leapt into her bedroom. In a vain attempt to hide under the covers, Allison lay still watching her mother root through her closet. Half talking to herself, she rambled on about something that made no sense. Seeing that Allison showed no interest, the one-way conversation went very well. That is until the focus suddenly turned as to why she remained in bed. She needed to get moving. They had to be somewhere at the top of the hour. The first explanation she received all but eluded her. It had to do with the necessity of being up and dressed at some unreasonable hour, on a Saturday yet. Either her mother spoke in riddles, on purpose or as proof she had finally lost her mind. The first question Allison asked set the tone for the rest of the morning.
“Why do I have to go to this thing again?” Knowing full well, her standard reply remained constant, “The meaning will be revealed in the near future.”
Her answer felt more like an avoidance strategy. Allison regarded this as an annoyance, an affront to her personal weekend time. Pulling out several outfits, her mother laid them on the bed. Wagging her finger at them, she said,
“Think about these.”
Molly returned downstairs while Allison washed her face, uncomfortable that she would not win this power struggle. Molly felt her complaints did not hold water and got her nowhere.
The announcement that breakfast was ready came from the kitchen. In the spirit of being a good sport, Allison dressed in appropriate Saturday morning clothes and wandered downstairs. Her mother held her coffee as she glanced at the newspaper. On the table sat a short stack of toast and a glass of milk.
“Thanks mom,” Allison said as she sat down. Methodically buttering each slice, she carefully spread the marmalade right to the corners. Only then, did she politely cut her toast into four equal squares and started to eat.
“You asked again why you have to go to this thing today.”
Allison nodded, her mouth full and chewing.
“I think you will find some interesting and enlightening answers to a few of the questions you haven’t thought to ask yet. I also think Edgar will surprise you. He is much more than a championship herring fisherman.”
By the time her mother stopped for a breath, Allison started in on her second slice. With her mouth half full, she asked,
“What do you mean that I might be surprised by Edgar? Isn’t he just a crazy old mathematician who reads a lot of books?”
“No, he is much more than that but I will leave that for him to explain. Trust me honey, there is far more than meets the eye.”
Allison ate the rest of her breakfast uninterrupted, washing it down with the milk. Taking her dishes to the dishwasher, she felt unsatisfied with her standard fare. Opening the refrigerator, she stood staring. It lasted long enough for the cat to come by and wonder what was so interesting. When nothing leapt out at her, she closed the door and turned to go back upstairs. On the third step, a voice called out,
“Wear something nice, and brush your hair too. We have to leave in ten minutes.”
Allison speculated what she meant by nice. Did she mean one of the dresses she picked out, or did she mean a nice sweater and jeans? Opting for the latter, she changed into the more comfortable option. In the middle of getting ready, her mother called upstairs again, this time in a tone filled with passive aggressive sentiments,
“You don’t want to be the last one there, so get your butt moving young lady.”
After that combination question/statement, Allison quickly braided her red hair, then came thumping down the stairs. Meeting with mothers disappointing look, Molly asked rhetorically,
“For the hundredth time, is it necessary that you descend the staircase like a Clydesdale?”
With nothing constructive by way of a reply, Allison slipped her feet into her favourite pair of shoes, heading out the door her mother held open.
“Why are we taking the car, the Negati’s place is like right over there,” she pointed with emphasis.
“We are making a stop beforehand, and I am going out after.”
Upon closing the car door, she buckled her belt and just stared out the side window. Silence filled the car as Molly backed out of the driveway. At the end of the street, she turned right when the objective required a left turn. With no idea what her mother was up to, she just let it go. Allison noticed lately that the only time she acted like this seemed to be when her father went to back to work. Instead of trying to find some understanding, or have a conversation about her feelings, her mother just put it all on her. Today felt different because her father got home from work a day and a half ago, and still she would not give in. Now, intent of escaping her current situation, Allison found zero interest in this history lesson nonsense. It did not count for extra credit or anything outside of school, so she made the decision to ditch this class at the first opportunity. One footnote about this whole thing that troubled her was what she overheard her parents discussing several weeks ago. It was nothing more than the time and date, but when she dug into their minds to get more details, she could not. Protecting their thoughts in a place she could not go, Allison found this inconvenient. It was not the first time. It always seemed to revolve around certain people and secrets; Edgar and Petunia, the portal behind the trees, the other world. It must be about that. Did her parents know, and if so, what were they not telling her?
The car slowed to a stop. The backdoor opened and Allison’s youngest cousin, Charlie Gilmet climbed in. They exchanged pleasantries as Molly pulled away from the curb.
“My mom says hello Mrs. Hannaburg,”
“That’s nice Charlie; I’ve been meaning to give her a call. How are her roses coming along this year?”
“Fine, I guess,”
“How are your sisters?”
This question created something of a vacuum in the interior of the car. Molly knew her nephew had confidence issues so she pressed him on it,
“Charlie, I asked you a question,”
“Well Lynn is great. You know, she is really smart and helpful, but Brielle, I kinda wonder if I could trade her in.”
Allison snorted and got a dirty look from her mother.
“Oh, Charlie she’s not that bad is she?”
Thinking for a moment, he chose his words carefully,
“No, Mrs. Hannaburg, she’s worse. Honestly. I thought about running away, but I feared that they would send her to find me. She’s a ghoul.”
Allison could not control the second outburst that earned her another look that put an end to the conversation.
Only the sounds of the car resonated for the next ten blocks until Molly pulled into the Negati’s driveway. The old couple lived in a house big enough for five families, but only ever housed the two of them. Molly knew very well that the house contained the secrets of the Ancients, thusly regarded as a sacred location. She knew that Edgar constantly worked on one thing or another, and that his wife Petunia, a kindly old bespeckled lady spent her time between looking after her husband and caring for an elderly sister. Neighbours for a very long time, this house provided access to Allison’s regular shortcut. Nine years ago, shortly after she demonstrated her abilities, Edgar taught her how to fish. Explaining it would teach Allison patience while allowing him to observe the young girl in a state of active rest. Since then, they have had a standing date every herring season.
With the two attendees in tow, Molly knocked soundly on the dark wood of the front door. Waiting patiently, she went to remind her daughter about paying attention, and then thought better of it. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she reached up was about to knock again, when she heard the telltale signs of life from the other side of the intricately carved door. After releasing the locking mechanism, the door swung open. Greeted by a good-natured old man in a brown robe adorned with a particular shade of green. Allison recognized the colour immediately, igniting something in her mind. Welcoming them in and closing the door, he led them through a maze of furniture and books. Charlie felt at home, but did not dare transmit that information. Around a few stacks that looked to go on forever, the final corner opened up. Packed into the dining room were seven other youth, all about the same age. Allison recognized five of them from school. She gave them a half-hearted wave. The other two were a mystery; neither she nor Charlie had any idea who they were. Allison surveyed the faces around the table as her mother spoke to Edgar privately. Carefully, she scanned their thoughts. It seemed they all had pretty much the same questions. The awkward hush around the table persisted until the elders finished. Allison caught a quick wink from her mother as she turned to leave. Meanwhile, Edgar opened a door that none of them noticed until that instant. Sitting directly across from the wall where the door magically appeared, Allison would have sworn that no door existed there previously. Holding the very real door open, she thought that perhaps this history lesson might turn out to be exciting after all.
Twenty minutes later, she found herself sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a dimly lit room. Her nocturnal vision allowed her to see the other eight youth, in two rows of four with her as the outlier. Nothing much happened from the time they took their seats. The excitement about the door began t fade. Her general interest also started to evaporate. Without thinking or concern, Allison pulled out her phone and began to occupy herself. Moments later, she thought she heard her name. Distracted, she paid no notice. The second time, the voice clearly pointed directly at her. Turning her head, she saw Edgar at the front of the room, as the one who called out. She thought about saying something when he clapped his hands together in front of himself. Astounded by how fast he moved, it seemed unreal and left her puzzled. The tiny shockwave radiating out from his hands not only cleared her mind but turned off her phone as well. Allison promptly tucked her phone away, turning her concentration to the old man at the front of the room.
Standing at a small lectern, Edgar cleared his throat, habitually brushing out his robes. The movement and noise caught the attention of the other youth and they all turned to face him. Looking carefully into the eyes of each of them, he noted all but one exhibited a sense of wonder and curiosity. Allison, on the other hand, seemed to have an air of confidence about her. While each of the nine manifested some special sort of ability, she demonstrated more than the other eight combined. Therefore, this self-important display was not without expectation. None of them knew why they were here today. The history lesson ruse proved effective enough to get them through the door. There remained some truth to it being a lesson in history. Just not any they were familiar hearing. In turn, it signaled the commencement of their ascension training. Looking at Allison now, her long hair in its standard braid and her searing blue eyes, he fondly recalled almost nine years ago, how she paraded a regiment of ground squirrels around the backyard. He knew then that she held the promise of something exceptional. He hoped she would continue to be that remarkable individual now. The look she gave him inferred that she understood his last thought. Turning to his text, Edgar completed his initial review of the class, suggesting that this may prove to be an interesting year. The reality of which would later prove to be a massive understatement.
The first order of business required the Ancient to administer a protective layer of magic. Designed to protect the youth and teachings equally, the lessons were deemed to be best delivered on a subconscious level. This allowed the knowledge to sink in much deeper and grow roots, while leaving little in the way of memory access. This process also kept the youth from retelling any of it to their friends. The result of which may cause them to become the subject of interest that no one wanted. This portion of the lesson held vital importance. As the clock on the wall struck nine, another very different timepiece chimed. This dreamlike sound, similar to that of warm butterscotch; filled the room with a single peal; lingering. In that moment, the robed gentleman drew in a deep breath, then, as he had done thousands of times before, began.
“Good morning children, my name is Master Edgar Negati. I am sure you know me and if not you will recognize my weathered old face. I know you all have questions, and I promise to address them shortly. First, we are going to do some breathing exercises.”
Looking again at the curious faces, Edgar smiled to calm any latent fears.
“Alright then, lets everyone close your eyes,” his voice offered. All but Allison did. He could not read her thoughts and he could tell she did not intend to close hers until he closed his. Edgar knew he could have easily put a charm on her but she posed no concern, he would play her game. Closing his eyes, he continued with the lesson,
“Let us inhale comfortably through our nose. Feel your breath fill your belly, then let it pass through the base of your spine and upwards to the crown of your head.” He checked on the girl, who had since closed her eyes.
“Now, as you slowly exhale, feel the breath roll down your chest, to your abdomen, then back into your belly.”
He observed his nine students and saw that they were following his instructions. Edgar repeated in soothing tones to continue breathing exactly as they were until the count of ten. Vigorously rubbing his hands together, Edgar, by the count of two, had created a small, reddish ball of energy. At the count of four, he focused the energy, expanding it to an indigo colour. By the count of six, he pulled the energy into a rudimentary shape. On the count of eight, Edgar shaped the energy like a blanket. He turned abruptly and threw it over the students. Allison opened her eyes just as the colourful starlit shroud covered them all. With that, the count reached ten.
The unmistakable flash of her blue eyes caught his attention. Currently focused on completing his enchantment, Edgar had no need to bother with her. Shortly after, having completed the first part, eight of the children were under his spell and protected. On the other hand the petulant young girl, resisted. If it were any other student, there might be serious concern. Allison would remain conscious through the entire lesson, thereby retaining everything demonstrated and taught here. Edgar could easily manage her, not nearly the first student to deflect his initial spell. All told, she qualified as the most appropriate to witness the information first hand. He also believed that she had some questions. He could not put a finger on it, but just now, she wanted to know something. He finished the final adjustments to the larger enchantment. The indigo blanket wrapped around each student, and effortlessly collected all nine youth into a half sphere. The old man, seated at the front made a few changes to the control panel, when a button on the display began to flash. Suddenly understanding they were in some sort of spacecraft, she went to call out. Before she ever got the chance, Edgar pushed the button and they were gone.
The class unexpectedly materialized in the dark light of space. The students found themselves in unobstructed front row seats to a spectacular event. Allison could feel it in her bones that something remarkable was imminent. An event, known better than anyone by Edgar, who remained a direct result of it; a million generations removed but a descendant all the same. Allison, conscious of the goings on, kept trying to get the old man’s attention. Having centered himself, he turned to her briefly, put his index finger to his lips and stared at her. She got the hint. Sitting back in her seat, she waited eagerly to see what else he had in store. Currently, they seemed to be floating in space. There were more stars shining all around her than she knew existed. There looked to be a huge planet above and behind them, but aside from that, not much of interest occupied their location. As she searched the emptiness, the one thing that occurred to her was the quiet. She found it oppressive and overwhelming but, at the same time, peaceful and serene. It provided the absence of sound, absolute silence. Overcome with a sense of comfort and solitude never before experienced, she found it simply amazing. She could not even hear herself breathe. A small part of her wanted to yell out something. She knew with certainty that action would earn her a smack. Edgar busied himself with an old text, paying no attention to her whatsoever. The other eight sat waiting patiently unaware that anything had changed. Growing bored, Allison decided to look for anything she recognized.
When it happened the first time, it startled her. An invasion of her personal space without warning, Allison sat up straight in her chair and endeavoured to pay attention as the voice asked her to. Telepathically, Edgar instructed the youth to brace themselves, as the start of the lesson could be challenging. This new type of communication did not match the one she shared with her parents. This came from somewhere very different. While the other students looked skyward, Allison watched the old man attentively. He stood taller than she had ever seen before. Moving his arms across the cosmos, he looked to be conducting an interstellar orchestra. Every move beautifully choreographed. He zoomed in on distant galaxies, and then gracefully moved the celestial bodies around. He narrated, explaining what they were looking at and giving the children some perspective. Edgar then pulled the image back to get an incredible panoramic view across hundreds of thousands of light years. Once his preliminary preparations were complete, he turned to face the students. Allison could feel his excitement and anticipation. This time when he spoke, she could not so much hear his voice, as she could perceive it. Encompassing her chest and radiating outward. The few words that he chose to use were filled with dramatic and sudden impact. Edgar opened his lesson with an impassioned introduction.
“You are the descendants of an ancient race, the Orabona. Created from the very fabric of the cosmos, and tasked with being the stewards of a billion galaxies. We were peaceful and pious warrior monks that lived by a strict code of ethics, administered by the collective mind. As stewards, we devoted our lives to the craft of galactic cartography; constantly searching for new and different places to explore. Our people traveled amid the stars for millions of years. We have witnessed the life cycle of countless worlds, the most remote stars and entire galaxies spanning unimaginable distances. We are collectors and researchers. We have amassed the largest registry of life among the stars. We are not proud of what we do, because it is not our way. We only continue to search for new things, yet to be discovered…”
To see the old man sobbing, Allison could not help but be moved by his words. She felt his loss, but, in turn, his burning desire to return. What he said released a little of the pressure she had felt ever since she knew her abilities made her different. Just then, she remembered the comment her mother made about Edgar this morning and it irritated her. Allison did not want to admit that the old man had surprised her, when surprised did not even come close to the correct verb. Her eyes glassed over as the last of his words settled in. It seemed as if he had shifted from talking about times past to discussing an intention about enduring. She wondered what he meant by that, because it seemed far too personal for a Saturday morning history lesson.
Meanwhile, Edgar gathered himself together and resumed pointing out many different varieties of stars, planets and other cosmic phenomenon. On his galactic blackboard, he discussed different types of galaxies, then zooming in on them to see the intricate details. He pointed out a range of multi coloured stars and a system of large planets, each with dozens of moons. Edgar turned away for a moment to consult his text, allowing the children to absorb the wonders laid out before them. Innocently, Allison reached up her right hand with her index and thumb touching. She nearly pulled her hand back when the old man moved. When he did not commit to turning around, she remained. Looking up at the display, her eyes searched deep into the board. Intrinsically, she separated her fingers, causing the celestial map to zoom in on the empty space between two objects. Allison shivered with delight, experimenting further with the controls at her fingertips. She scrutinized several bright objects, and then things seemed to fall into place. Unexpectedly, her mood changed, becoming serious and driven by a compulsion. Rising to her feet, she saw exactly where she needed to go. Singularly focused and locked in, she transferred that information to her fingers. Somehow, she knew this place as well as she knew her own home. She felt deeply connected to it, understanding that her story started there. With a final look at the display, she adjusted the aperture just a little to sharpen the focus. Returning to her seat, Allison folded her hands in her lap before Edgar returned his attention to his waiting students. As he went to change the display, the old man noticed significant changes. His eye darted across the blackboard as his mind calculated the exact coordinates of the position before him. Only one thing could have made this happen. Astonished, he wondered if she understood what this could mean. Edgar tried to process the potential magnitude of what Allison just did. He needed to contact the other members of the council immediately regarding this new revelation. There were hundreds of considerations to discuss, but first he still had a history lesson to conduct. Marveling at the young girl, who somehow found the exact starting location of his next lesson, an eight hundred light year leap from where he left the display. She looked oblivious as to the consequence of her genius. Blissfully awaiting the next phase of his lesson, the other eight students sat, unaware of the subtle change in programming. Edgar knew with certainty that Allison had not said a word about what she did to change the display. He found it curious that she offered no explanation.
“You meant to change the display didn’t you Allison?”
“Yes Edgar, that is correct.”
“And you already know what the coordinates you found point to?”
“It is Amkata, our home.”
A shiver rattled through his old bones. It accompanied a childlike excitement he could not remember feeling in many lifetimes. Being in her presence like this, a girl that may hold the potential of the entire Orabona race in the palm of her hand. Far too early, to consider such a wonder, Edgar allowed himself the briefest indulgence to peer beyond the horizon. She spoke to him again, softer this time; a gentle reminder that his students were awaiting his lecture on the origin of Amkata and the devastating effects following the Torment. He caught his breath at the pronunciation of their homeland, nearly overwhelming him as he could not recall the last time he heard it spoken so sweetly. Lifting his hand as an indication the lesson was about to resume, he regained control of the display. Brushing the last few tears from his cheeks, he began his foundational lesson to the nine youth embarking in earnest on their first step toward ascension.
The blackboard went dark for a few moments as the old man stood in silent meditation. Allison, easily bored, thought about doing something she should not when the entire screen illuminated, then displayed the same image she had found previously. This time though, it looked very different. Something existed, but there also appeared to be nothing; no life, no movement, nothing. She could not be sure what had changed but it made her feel uneasy. Edgar’s voice once again wove itself through her, dispelling any negativity. Constantly fascinated by his talents, Allison wondered how he connected his narration of the ancient history to the galactic display that ran like a movie. Only more so, because it ran through her very immersive and wholly connected. Lost for words and overwhelmed by the grand spectacle, Allison sat back and let it all wash over her. The old man’s voice filled every inch of the room as he began,
“Within the distant realm, existed a solitary mass that followed an eccentric and elliptical orbit around a pair of divergent and outlying stars; a simple orb, unborn, unformed, unrealized which sped through the emptiness of space. Out the billions and trillions of compatible celestial bodies in the vast cosmic fabric, the particular orb fit the criterion by which it was judged. From a unique and far away axis, came a radiance of alabaster shafts, consuming the orb and swallowing it whole.”
The display reflected the bombardment of the planet in white light. So intense that is consumed the entire room, illuminating it completely, yet not so bright as to have to shield her eyes. If anything, it felt welcoming and redeeming.
“Contained in the ultra-bright light were trillions of particles that transformed the orb from its empty state to a spherical mass. Fragments of light filtered through every aspect, oscillating and pulsing in time, generating the planets unique circadian rhythm. The alabaster light then moved slowly through the entire spectra. With the introduction of each new colour, massive flashes erupted from the poles.”
The bursts of colour reflected off the youth’s faces, lost in the bliss of the demonstration. Concurrently, Allison remained curious about how this awesome exhibition of every imaginable colour related to the cathedral organ that seemed to share the exact same colour palette. This could not be a coincidence. Without any understanding of the relationship, she felt lost. The final burst abruptly snapped Allison out of her speculation. Edgar’s voice rose within her, matching the visual crescendo,
“The next round of energy was so phenomenally massive that it extinguished the alabaster light, having reached its objective. The luminescence brought life and substance to the new planet; enormous land masses, towering sierras, giant forests and brilliant green oceans, all teaming with new creatures. In the same instant the light extinguished, five radiant flares illuminated the cosmos. Sent from the same distant location, they came to land in close proximity to one another on a high plateau. Five massive beings, exact in every way touched down on the lush green of the newly created lands. Standing upright, the mysterious giants possessed two arms and legs, with featureless faces, lacking noses, ears and hair. They spoke no known language. Their communications were lyrical and ephemeral. Each being held the same set of markings but, for one symbol that each wore individually. The beings wore allegorical representations that encircled both wrists and ankles with the symbols defined by the stars. The beings began to move, purposefully seeking a predetermined plateau.”
Allison had so many questions but dared not interrupt. Positive she knew the answer to the first query, she wondered how she could confirm that the cathedral stood on the same plateau. Watching the display again, the powerful voice renewed its narration,
“The Creation Beings stood in a square on the elemental compass points with the fifth in the center. The central being spoke a solemn oath, echoed by the other four. Their voices lifted up, resonating over the entire planet. Then, unsheathing a majestic curved blade, simultaneously plunged the blade deep into their sides. Deftly and without hesitation each being cut a section of flesh from their bodies. As they extracted the warm bloody mass, the wounds rapidly healed. Flesh and blood willingly donated from all five Creation Beings. Each provided an element, unique and complementary of the others. The first being offered knowledge, the second taught sorcery, the third provided fortitude, the fourth revealed benevolence. The fifth, the central being, radiated spirit that bound them all together, bestowing an imperceptibly united force. The spirit holder, its hands now full of their individual offerings, held them aloft as the other giants knelt facing him. An invocation was offered and repeated; the Five speaking as one. With a brilliant flash, a florescent beam of starlight filled the spirit holders’ hands to overflowing. The flesh and blood transformed into seed like vessels, filling the hands of all five beings. The starlight returned to its nucleus, signaling that the time had come. The Creation Beings stood, fanning themselves out over the plateau at a preordained distance, and stopped. Each being then swallowed their entire allotment.”
Allison gasped aloud, quickly covering her mouth to stifle any further noises. Nothing could have prepared her for what she just witnessed. Not wanting to miss a second, she waited to see what happened next.
“After a period, the Beings spoke together in a loud united voice, reciting an ancient offering. It resonated on all frequencies and wove itself through a unique and independent system of stars. A single, intensely powerful measure impressed itself into the five beings, triggering them to lay on the soft ground. Slowly they began to transmit their potential, values and capabilities into the ingested seed vessels. Systematically following an interstellar time line and driven by forces beyond comprehension, the Creation Beings served as dynamic, life supporting incubators. As they evolved and matured, the seed vessels consumed their hosts by degrees. During this time, the essence of the five beings filtered through and knit itself into the foundation of every life form that developed within the controlled environment. Once consumed and the vessels completely actualized, what emanated from the birthplace were fully formed, human like creatures. The five contingent groups waited for a confirmation that came in the form of a new sun rising; warming and illuminating the pristine new world. The Orabona, the children of the Ancients, woke up with a clear understanding of the universe. Each of the initial one thousand possessed the innate abilities of their creators with the objective to expand their reach across the cosmos, mapping unknown regions of space.”
The final images on the display showed a host of familiar looking people that sent a tremor through her. With no clue as to the scope of her history, Allison knew there must be a great deal more. This first bit had changed everything. She could sense it when she looked at Edgar. Using her ability to read thoughts, Allison inadvertently glanced at his mental notes concerning what came next. She did not know anything about the Torment but it seemed to upset him. Following a short break, she noticed a distinct change in his demeanour. When Edgar finally returned to the lectern, his voice came across as distant and forlorn, suggesting that the next lesson haunted him.
Four hours later, after dropping Charlie off at home, Molly drove to the grocery store to pick up some things for dinner. For the better part of the morning, Molly recounted her own first lesson with Edgar. How she went in expecting so much yet come out with nothing. She experienced no feelings or questions from either lesson. It was not until her ascension that all of the details came to her, filling in the details concerning what it meant to be Orabona. Allison sat quietly, her usual untalkative self, gazing out the side window. Molly wanted to ask her a question but figured that this was not the time. The next fifteen minutes was a collection of random traffic noise and awful top 40 music. The silence was broken when Molly pulled into the freshly paved parking lot. Allison turned to her and asked a question that nearly caused her to crash the car. Expecting a simple question about the reason for the stop or something, the resulting question was quite different.
“Mom why did the twenty return to Amkata when they knew it went against the most specific law of our people?”
Ensuring that she had heard her daughter correctly, Molly quickly processed the fact that not only did Allison have a knowledge of the Torment, but also some deeper understanding of what led up to the event. Unable to come up with anything else to say, she asked,
“How do you know about that Ally?”
“Edgar told us all about it this morning; the birth of Amkata, the story of the Creation Beings, and how we came to be. Then he talked about the Torment and all of the awful things that took place.”
“But honey that is meant to be administered during a sleep state so that the information is protected.”
“I know mom. I opened my eyes before Edgar could finish his enchantment, and I guess he just missed me.”
“This is not some kind of game young lady. This is a big deal. You can’t just brush aside thousands of years of methodology and treat it like its playtime,” Molly fired back.
“You don’t think I’m taking this seriously?”
“No, I don’t think you are at all.”
Allison put her hands to her face to calm the scream she could feel building. Finally, she shot back,
“Fine. Then tell me this. Why would I bother to ask you the question I did, if I was not looking for some understanding?
Molly stopped the car. Without a word, turned it off and climbed out. Defiantly, Allison sat still while her mother went and did the shopping. The silence persisted for the entire trip home. Molly tried on several occasions to read her daughters thoughts, but came up empty. At home, Allison went to her room after bringing in the groceries. Graham sat on the sofa, reading a book when the ladies returned. He could tell that they had butted heads again, but this time it seemed a little more serious. Having had more than enough experience in this situation, he knew to let them come to him. Turning the page, he focused his attention back on the grandprix driver in the fight of his life.
A somewhat quiet affair, dinner came and went without debating the morning’s events. At the end of the meal, Allison got up to do the dishes while her parents prepared themselves in accordance with their earlier plans. After Molly put the groceries away, she explained to her husband about the episode in the car, and the way she had handled it. To which, Graham suggested that her version of reasonably handling it, seemed actually poor. Swallowing her pride and accepting reality, Molly asked for his help in answering their daughter's question. With some of the stories requiring considerable context, two points of view would provide a better understanding to the madness of the most unfortunate episode in Orabona history.
When Allison completed her chores, her father asked her to join them at the table. Her body language alone suggest that anything would be better. After a little maneuvering, she agreed to sit for a few minutes. Once the three of them were comfortable, Molly started from the incident in the car,
“Ally, I owe you an apology from this morning. I did not mean to attack you like that. I am sorry.”
“I get the feeling that sometimes you don’t trust me, mom. I haven’t done anything to deserve that.”
“It’s just that you are…”
Quick to cut her off, Allison barked,
“I’m what? Special? Mom, I’ve been like this since I was five.”
Graham took this moment to step in.
“Allison, please. Let your mom finish. It is important that we all get to say what is on our minds.”
Nodding her head in understanding, she yielded the table. Molly gracefully accepted. Clearing her throat, she started over,
“What I wanted to say is that you are only fourteen. I can remember how challenging a time that can be. You also have a number of gifts that must add to the burden you carry. Your dad and I are proud to see how well you have protected all that you have. Therefore, no Allison, it is not a matter of trust at all. It is an aggressive maternal instinct to protect her young.”
Feeling the emotions in her words, Graham reached out and held her hand. Allison took a deep breath and thought seriously about what her mother had just said. She knew that they could not read her thoughts, or at least the ones she wanted to keep to herself. Looking closely at their faces, Allison could see something akin to the ancient ones Edgar featured on the display. She remained awestruck by the epic story of the Orabona people’s incredible history. She could now see the telltale features in her parents' faces; subtle but definite. She wanted to ask so many questions about what she saw today. Even more to that, she knew that there were things left out. The only thing she could not ask had to do with one thing that was on her mind from the beginning. Allison knew her abilities mattered for something. Whatever that something might be, this past week had provided some strong indicators. The recent strange experiences started her thinking about what her purpose might be. She swore she could feel her abilities adjusting according to specific calibrations and sharpening focus in anticipation of some pathological organism. She continued to think of her abilities like having a set of keys with no locks to open. Recently, she got a taste where she happened to have the right key for a couple of locked doors. Furthering her assumption that this flare of activity meant far more to this teenaged girl with highly specialized skills than met the eye. Even the term ability had lost its meaning, in the same way that no one refers to breathing as an ability. All of what she could do came as quickly and easily as her next breath.
Allison knew that all things maintained order. All Orabona knew the fundamental way of the cosmos. They also knew that if random things continuously happened on the same plane, they shared a relationship. Discounting chance, the most likely explanation revolved around the fact that some kind of order had developed. Coalescing all around her, Allison did feel a presence, but she never talked to anyone about it. She knew her parents were unaware of any such thing. Allison knew there had to be definite answers as to why she could do the things she could. She wanted to know, not so much out of concern, but from pure curiosity. It sometimes remained a constant challenge to contain her excitement being unique and sensing that something lay on the horizon.
Coming back to the matter at hand, she quickly reconsidered her mother’s emotional concern and felt it to be genuine and sincere. Allison, though, had other things on her mind. She wanted some more detailed answers than she got last time. Sitting across from the perfect couple to ask, she reframed her former question. Bluntly, Allison queried,
“Knowing that they were breaking the One Law, why did the twenty return home with outsiders?
Having heard the question already, Molly did not blink. Graham on the other hand, nearly fell off his chair. Watching her father’s expression morph from comfortably relaxed to sudden shock. At any other time, she might have laughed but now, this question, for the second time in a few hours, rattled both of them. The silence around the table grew heavy and awkward. Molly looked over at her husband, who had regained his composure and winked at her. He leaned forward on the table, lacing his fingers together. His brown eyes met the blue of his daughters. Then he spoke,
“I see you have retained some of your lesson from today Allison.”
“All of it dad, I was conscious the whole time.”
“Very well then, what you are asking is very complicated and difficult to talk about, considering the long term effects that resulted because of it.”
“What long term effects?” she asked excitedly.
“Just let me deal with one question at a time, alright?”
“Okay Dad, sorry.”
“No, it's fine. You just have to understand that this is something that I have not thought about in an extremely long time. Now it feels like the wound has been reopened.”
Molly put her arm through his to offer an element of kindness and support. Allison started to take notice that this subject caused her parents significant discomfort. With that said, she still needed clarification. Before her next thought, her father reached out and took her hand. The look he gave her, a combination of anger and anguish, scared her because it was the first time she had ever seen it. This suddenly became very real. Within the rigid grip of her father’s hand was a small tremble. Allison did not know what to think.
“Before your mom and I begin, we must have your assurance that whatever is said in this room stays here.”
“Of course, I won’t tell anyone,” Allison reassured them both.
“Not good enough,” chirped her mother. “What we have to tell you, must be left alone. You cannot go searching for answers or understanding because, well, there isn’t any.”
Not sure of what to make of the scornful comment, especially seeing that her father did not downplay it, really had Allison stumped.
“I will make certain that I never speak of anything you state about this matter ever,” she told her parents confidently. Getting the reassurance they were looking for, they appeared to breathe a little easier. Her father released the grip on her hand and sat back. Molly looked at her daughter, then at her husband. She patted his knee, then got up and plugged in the kettle. In the same moment, Graham started to tell a very sad story.
Later that night, Allison laid in bed staring at the textured plaster on the ceiling. The last several hours contained one bombshell after another. Both of her parents were candid about the events that unfolded regarding the original twenty. Still reeling from their detailed accounting, all the parts that Edgar spoke of were there. The shocking revelations came from the depth to which her parents had gone to in describing the absolute matter. The One Law that all decisions were based upon simply blew her away. That and the final thing her father told her would not let her sleep. She tried to imagine the twenty Orabona elders, ten of each sex preparing for a five-year assimilation experiment. A common occurrence on worlds found to support life as well as engage in socio political constructs. Extremely beneficial, it added additional layers to their research of similar worlds. They followed and understood all precautions for admission to a new world. As stewards, the Orabona could come and go as they pleased. Governed by three laws, put in place to protect themselves as well as any other beings with which they had contact. They were not open to interpretation. Noncompliance resulted in strict and decisive consequences. The laws were not a secret. They were taught to every Orabona youth from the very start.
As her father recited them, Allison could not help but be impressed by the emphasis he put into the words. The first law stated the Orabona were never to reveal their origin. The second explained that they were not allowed to perform magic unless in mortal danger. Only then could they use weapons to protect themselves. The third law dealt with their return to Amkata. It fundamentally stated that any Orabona could return from anywhere at any time and they could only ever travel alone. No one other than Orabona could visit Amkata, no travelers from other worlds. No one was permitted. She felt the urge to ask about all of the boxes containing amazing items, when her father added a caveat regarding scientific examples. Any life forms of any kind were subject to intense scrutiny. At the detection of an escape or theft, specifically designed boxes created to contain and display them would implode and vaporize the contents. Allison made a mental note not to tamper with or move the boxes. Her mother added that the Orabona people were an independent and secretive collective, believing the quality of their work would suffer by subjecting it to visitors from other worlds. Amkata provided a sanctuary intended to sustain them, and they in turn would protect that world at all costs. Therefore, all twenty elders were well aware of these three, very specific and conclusive laws.
After her father recounted the story, at the end of the first five years, eight elders returned from Earth with detailed updates of the expedition. Their seamless assimilation matched only with the compatibility between species. The experience thus far, remained excellent. They provided a tremendous amount of scientific data concerning the planet and its inhabitants. That collection included significant information from the salination of the large bodies of water surrounding the landmasses, to comprehensive accounting of the population and the many diverse races that lived throughout the land. Allison’s father commented on how paramount and vital this information would become later on. She did not ask how or why because he was right in the middle of the story. She intended to come back to it later. The eight elders made a request for a two-year extension. The collective tentatively granted the extra time but questioned some of the reporting they had submitted. The collective sensed something at the time, but had no reason to think of it as anything to trouble themselves about. At that moment, her mother added how surprising it seemed that no one gathered what had already happened, or what the group were really asking for. Allison sat blankly with no idea what she was referring to. Without an ounce of emotion, her mother replied that the eight had lied. There were conflicting stories as to how it began but the common thread suggested that during the second year, for reasons that will remain forever unclear, some of the Orabona mated with humans. These unions resulted in offspring, a great deal of them in fact. They did not need the extra two years for research; it allowed the pregnant females to give birth. What the collective sensed turned out to be the deception the eight created to hide their outright disregard for the Orabona law. On Earth, the compatibility between the two species created some distinct challenges. Nothing physically obvious, all of the half-breed offspring appeared to look normal. The Orabona parents knew that something strange lurked in them. Their human partners also had questions that they could not or chose not to ask. During this portion of the story, Allison had not moved, being riveted by every word. Her father warned her that if she thought this part felt uncomfortable, the worst was still to come. Allison asked for clarification if what they did on Earth, the cross breeding, came in direct violation of Orabona law. Sadly, her mother nodded her head that, yes, it did. She continued that over the next eight months, the collective filtered through all of the information the elders provided. They found it to be hopelessly incomplete and a total failure. By example, research trips to outer, inhospitable planets gathered more information in six months than the Earth bound researchers compiled in ten times as long. The Ancients put out a call to bring them home. An investigation to determine the reasoning for the inferior performance. The call went unanswered repeatedly. During the time it took to decide what to do next, the twenty did return. Graham suspended the narrative there, got up from the table and went to the refrigerator. Grabbing three bottles, he gently closed the door and returned to his seat. Passing off the other two, he purposefully twisted the cap and held it to his mouth. Allison watched as her father drank all if it in one go. This display made her feel that whatever came next was going to be ugly. Setting the bottle down, he wiped his mouth and said the words to finish Molly’s last statement,
“With forty eight others.”
Gasping aloud, Allison was quick to hold her tongue. He expressed his feelings that the twenty somehow crossed over with their partners and offspring. They made their camp near the shore, away from the collective. Once discovered, the five Ancients called an emergency meeting attended by five hundred of the elder elders. Three of the twenty elders stood in the cathedral to plead their inexcusable case. Given enough time to outline the unfortunate details of what transpired, they found themselves in very unpleasant territory. The story described many mistakes and utter disregard for both Orabona and human law, which led to their outright persecution. Thereby creating the subsequent necessity to evacuate from the planet. Not once in their submission did they reflect upon their fatal mistakes and complete indifference to the absolutes of the laws. After they made their claim to legitimize their return, the Ancients had an opportunity to address the crimes. The five spoke in one voice for the entire collective who would feel the effects of this total disregard for Orabona culture and principle while the deliberation did not take long, it was not without opposition. The punishment for breaking the laws was death. In a split decision, the judgment instead banished them to the north forever. The Ancients vehemently rejected the offending group as citizens and stripped them of any rights of claims to property. Their pleas were drowned out by the resident elders calling for harsher punishments. Death was the perfect punishment. It would serve as an example of what results when any Orabona dares to flaunt or reject the laws. Forcibly removed and returned to their encampment, the three elders knew they had lost. The short allotment of time given to the sixty-eight members of the ten crossbred families to move on rapidly approached. The Ancients knew, as did the accused, that banishment to the far side of the planet equaled a death sentence. They were no longer welcome there and needed to move on.
Allison fully intended to open the bottle her father brought for her, but she could not separate herself from the storytelling. She imagined the imagery inside the cathedral. All she could think about revolved around the idea that Edgar may have been at that council meeting. She discredited the thought simply because it happened so long ago, and no one lives that long. Her mother asked, at this intermission, if she had heard enough. Having come this far, Allison shook her head, no. It took her father a second to remember where he left off. Adjusting the seat cushion, he resumed from the moment when the unwelcome intruders were marched out of the inhabited area, then left to their own devices. The Orabona people simply forgot about them. The group left and disappeared, that satisfied all that the collective needed to know. Reality resulted in something much darker. The Ancients released a pair of birds to track their progress. What the birds recounted four days later, unbeknownst to everyone, signaled the end of life, as they had known it on Amkata. No matter how decisive and organized the group appeared, it became clear that something conspired against them. For the first two days, the sixty-eight travelled well. The native Orabona found the best routes, providing safe passage. Everyone felt a sense of optimism. When the changes came, it manifested in the halfling children first. They were ailing and sick with fits of madness. The adult humans were afflicted next. The Orabona leading the group suddenly became victims of their environment, upon their removal from the collective. Suddenly lost, they remained intent on continuing towards their unspoken objective. The group began to make a series of unfortunate choices. The realization of this came the following day after having travelled the same circle route in a steep and demanding section of the rugged alpine. The group found themselves desperate and lost. Anger, frustration and panic set in quickly, eliminating the humans’ ability to reason. The Orabona attempted to find a way out using the old methods, but the humans grew impatient. Having banded together, the human men and women discarded their families and resorted to a racial standoff. Driven by the darkest human emotions, they stood apart from their partners. The exiled Orabona did not share the same feelings. Focused on a solution they sensed something serious had changed. All forty-eight of the half-breed offspring felt confused by the actions of their individual parents. Their human side stood drowning in fear, while the Orabona side denied it. Caught in the middle, both literally and figuratively, they found themselves trapped. Silence gripped the outcasts. Guarded optimism started this journey, but irrational fear now sustained it. The group was unable to proceed as the two races were unwilling to listen to one another. Irreconcilable differences between the races threatened to tear them apart. The Orabona women were in solemn prayer whereas the human women grew hysterical, crying and wringing their hands. A similar contrast developed between the men, as one group looked for a way out, the others became infuriated. Finally, having had enough, the humans started to argue about the lack of direction and how the Orabona led them astray. This caused the males to argue further about issues unrelated to their current situation. This served to open old wounds. It did not take long before threats passed from one group to the other, increasing in ferocity on both sides. Shockingly, the humans snapped and attacked first. Their crude weapons, effective enough to inflict significant damage came down with force. The Orabona rapidly defended themselves, holding nothing in reserve. The intensely violent assault resulted in a bloodbath. When it ended, only one survived. A lone Orabona woman remained after a cataclysmic maelstrom of terror, anger and desperation drove them to murder one another. Undaunted by the seriousness of her injuries, the woman located her three children first; slaughtered as they knelt, their faces frozen in fear.
Allison’s father hesitated for a second. She knew that two things were troubling him. The burden of the story was wearing on him and the fact that he had yet to relate the most unpleasant portions of it. Allison admired his courage as he prepared to continue. With great reluctance, he picked up the story from when the woman located her human husband. Regarding him as a traitor for turning against his own family, she found him not far from the children, laid out and broken. Everyone in their party, she had known personally. The now battered and bloodied masses, savagely murdered were positioned in grotesque shapes. She appeared, at the onset, to be uncertain on how to proceed. It is impossible to speculate what might have been going on in her mind. As she dragged the first body to the cliffs edge, she transmitted a short prayer. She then pushed the body over. Repeating this process sixty-six more times, committing each of her group into a dark chasm in an empty place lost in the cordillera. In the wake of the last body tumbling down beneath her, the woman stood raising her blood soaked hands to the sky. In an ancient language, she summoned the elements to fortify this wretched grave site. She then condemned the land until the day when an Orabona could deliver her people from this desolate and solitary tomb. As a final point, she threw herself over the precipice. The magnitude of her actions, her prayer to the elements, and her condemnation of the events all combined with the desperate outpouring of emotion, to amplify her sacrifice.
During another requisite short break, Allison was not sure if the story had finished. Her parents looked at one another, but she could not read their expressions.
“Is that the end?” she asked cautiously.
“I think so for now,” her father replied.
“But I’ve got a lot of questions.”
“I’m sure you do Ally, but they can wait.” Allison looked past her father and could tell her mother wanted to say something.
“Can mom tell me, that way you can rest if you want?” she pleaded with her father. His first reaction seemed unclear until he began to laugh. When he finished Graham said,
“Certainly, she knows the story better than I do anyway.”
Turning her attention to her mother, she sat quietly and well prepared, and asked,
“I want to know what happened next.”
The question caused subtle and obvious changes in her mother’s body language. She looked uncomfortable and tense as she spoke, her voice distant and hesitant.
“After the sacrifice or because of it, something touched off an unholy mutation. The ingredients were in perfect alignment. In the most heartbreaking of burial grounds, a rift opened in the planet's surface and consumed the sixty-seven life forms and all their misery.”
Allison stopped dead, not expecting to hear what her mother just said. She tried to shake it off, until coming to the recognition that the story was not finished.
“The Orabona collective felt the change the instant it happened. It came as an interruption in their spirit. It remained and grew unabated. Over the next century the storm clouds moved in, the wind, the rain and the sea began to spar with one another, blocking out the sun and effectively Amkata started to die. Unable to stem the growth of the rift, the Orabona faced an impossible choice; stay on Amkata and perish, or crossover and assimilate to life on Earth. The weather never changed; everything looked to be dying and the youth were at risk. Their options were limited, and desperation set in. Despite much heartache and soul searching, they finally reached the unbearable decision to leave.”
“For real?” were the only two words Allison could find, expressing her disbelief in the incredible story. It did answer a few of the questions she had about the other planet. At least now, she knew that it had a name and knew details on the miserable weather. However, the rift, she knew nothing about that. The gray glow could not just be an accident. In addition, what about the bad feelings, and the evil she felt? There was some kind of relationship. Knowing better than to push her luck, Allison shelved those questions for another time. She did have one last thing that required some clarity.
“Well, I got a lot more than I bargained for. Thank you for the detailed storytelling. I certainly have a greater appreciation of the meaning of the word torment now, that’s for sure.”
“It was the single worst event in our entire history and has been studied for nearly 1500 years. No one ever understood the definitive reasons behind the slaughter. So here we are, exiles on a foreign planet, sixty light years from home.”
Her mother’s voice trailed off as Molly suddenly got up and rinsed her cup in the sink. Running his fingers through his hair, Graham smiled at his daughter.
“I think that’s enough for tonight, don’t you honey?”
Allison considered his offer for a second then said,
“Sure dad, but something you said earlier made me wonder.”
“Okay, what’s that?”
“Well, at the beginning of this topic, you said that you had not thought about it in an extremely long time. Isn’t that a bit of an exaggeration?”
“No Allison, I don’t think it is. I stand by my earlier statement.”
“Alright then, what do you regard as an extremely long time then dad?”
Graham looked over at Molly. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders in resignation that the truth might as well be divulged tonight, considering how far they had come. Looking back at his daughter, Graham said,
“An extremely long time to me is around about a thousand years.”
Allison just sat there. Little by little, she formed her final question of the evening,
“Dad, just how old are you?”
“I’m 1244 years old.”

CHAPTER NINE

Climbing the fence in the backyard, the most peculiar sensation washed over her. Allison identified it as two things wrapped together. The first was something like fear, a feeling she rarely considered, let alone had ever gotten used to. She attributed it to the potential of getting caught going back into the portal. Fearless the first time, with each subsequent time the risk to reward dynamic increases. Nonchalant about it, she knew that nothing would stop her from going through again. The other part of the sensation contained feelings far more complicated than normal, such as foreboding, righteousness and urgency. She could feel them explicitly bound together with no clear indication of what they meant. Quite often in these circumstances, when strange or different feelings flowed through her, they contained some measure of understanding. This time, a completely different association made it feel as if something intentionally resisted her ability to comprehend any meaning. Her triumphant return to the portal and all the wonders of the storm-filled planet were supposed to happen much earlier than they did. After the history lesson, it became obvious that she had visited Amkata and that the effects of the Torment could still be felt. Her initial visit had consumed her; be it the troubling feeling that hinted at something foreign and unwelcome lurking there; or the cathedral and all of its grandeur; or the stink which had lingered in her nostrils for days afterwards. The reality of her home life made a quick return all but impossible, as did calculating the complex time return she had encountered. It took nearly five days until everyone’s schedule provided Allison some personal time. Before leaving home, she ensured to dress more appropriately for the horrendous weather, in hopes of giving herself a bit of an advantage when crossing the grueling landscape. She made the decision to go through at night this time. If by chance the excursion lasted for an extended period, the morning made it far more manageable to explain her whereabouts. In the same thought, Allison fully expected Edgar to ask her if she had been to Amkata during the lesson. Knowing that she had next to no chance lying to the old man, she prepared herself to tell him everything. Seeing he gave no indication about her previous crossing, this allowed her genuine excitement to boil over about going through again.
As the hint of fear subsided, Allison brushed it off like an annoying mosquito. Unaffected by the dark and navigating the fence line, she arrived in minutes. The secluded area stuck between the workshop and fence appeared to be just as she left it. The portal rippled, flanked by the birches that furnished its outline. Psyching herself up before hand, Allison wondered if she could alter the shape of the portal. Laughing to herself, she stepped through into the thundering storm.
From the moment her feet hit the ground, her hyper awareness of the oppressive uncertainty returned. She took some comfort in knowing that the storms were not normal and came as a result of the Torment. The wind and rain that slashed at her did little to quell her feelings or, for that matter, the stench. Quickly she made for the protection of the cathedral. Walking confidently through the open door, she peeled off her rain jacket, leaving it by the exit. Allison studied the great hall, especially the floor. She again noticed that everything looked to be exactly as it was the first time. This provided a great sense of relief because she had not considered what she would do if anything had changed. Worse still, having no idea what she would have done if someone or thing was in the cathedral itself. Getting back to the portal was her only option. With no signs of life, she simply let the thought go. Although Allison’s plan centered on spending more time looking at the exhibits. She felt compelled to do something completely different. The detailed blueprints of the building appeared in her mind again, highlighting a space previously overlooked. Midstride she took a sharp left and found a massive staircase that lead her to the upper dais and the colourful organ. Catching only a glimpse of it, she carried on, down a narrow hallway until she reached a gilded doorway. It seemed out of place with the rest of the adornments. The fact it was left ajar impacted her decision on how to proceed. Pulling on it gently, Allison exposed an open space containing a long narrow staircase leading upward. Without hesitation, she rapidly ascended the stairs, two at a time, climbing the entire nine flights. Another door at the top opened easily, as she stepped into the bell tower. She thought perhaps because of the harsh weather she had never noticed it before. Stood at least ten stories above the ground, and well protected by the massive louvers that covered the openings in the stone framework, Allison felt compelled to investigate. Venerable and grand, a mighty bell hung in the center of the chamber. Adorned with etchings and images on all sides, the entire bell appeared to tell a history of the Orabona. Having never seen one so large or impressive, Allison felt a longing to hear its tone ring clear across the land. She found the mechanism that operated the louvers and started to open the north facing ones first. The complexity of the engineering was impressive and mirrored the intricacy and elegant simplicity of it all. Protected on each side by eight large slats that measured over 500 square feet, each opening could be unfurled with the turn of a single crank. Moving with ease and precision, she opened them just enough so that she could see out while having adequate protection from the elements. The first thing she noticed concerned the lightning. Having moved off to the southwest, it had lost a great deal of its ferocity. On the other hand, the wind driven rain continued to batter anything unfortunate enough to be in its way. The rain did not fall on Amkata; it moved sideways and in a hurry. The longer Allison looked out over the horizon, the less she could actually see. She began to contemplate things she had never measured before. The compulsion that had led her up to the tower started to percolate again, causing awkward sensations. Her little hands, wet from the rain pressed into the ancient stone. The more she concentrated, the deeper she pressed. Without warning, she felt the stones separate, as if welcoming her in. Passing though, Allison found herself in a dreamlike state. The louvers were all open and the ethereal peal of the bell carried across the land. The cathedral stones shone as if brushed pewter, unlike the familiar moss green, along with other buildings of various dimensions. The morning sun, a giant white star, ascended across the northeast horizon. Once she could see the image clearly, it froze as a snapshot. The image then changed, Allison found herself part of a large congregation of similar looking people listening to discussions explaining new worlds located near and far. Exotic and inconceivable examples brought forth for everyone to share in with keen interest and enthusiasm. This image froze in another snapshot. Standing alone watching the sky, Allison observed the colour of the sky turn, as an exceptional ginger light blended with the natural sunlight giving everything a warm orange radiance. The inhabitants of the land interpreted this moment to be one of great joy and celebration. A snapshot of the eclipse was framed in her mind. The last thing she saw was the landscape from a different perspective. Lush green lands surrounded by vibrant oceans, massive mountain ranges bordered by abundant old growth forests. It is a planet alive and thriving. It is then that she realizes that she is all alone. It does not match with the history she had learned. The last image lingered awhile compared to the other three; long enough, in fact to make her feel uncomfortable. The final snapshot contained six words written in rudimentary symbols. At first glance she had no idea what they meant. Every time she tried to shift her thoughts away from the image, she felt a stern push back. Powerless to resist, Allison searched the pathways of her mind. The more vocal of her inner monologues whispered something she did not understand. After some internal coaxing, she realized that the sounds it repeatedly murmured were the aural form of the written symbols. Even though she could not read them, nor understand their meaning, she somehow repeated the six words from the voice in her mind. Allison carefully considered that what drew her here had done so on purpose. It donned on her that she found herself in a catch-22. If she kept this from Edgar and it turned out to be important, she would be in trouble. In contrast, if she asked him what, ‘thednios kav mezuln yrokdk arlpait sylnimaar’ meant, exposing her secret about using the portal and, yet again, result in trouble. Coming out of the stone trance, Allison’s heart hurt in recognition of the thorough devastation of her home planet brought on by radical change. The snapshots provided very stunning examples of how Amkata had once been. She knew she had to do something. With her hands still pressed against the stone, she looked outside. This time her analysis was far more critical and focused, determined as her sharpened vision traced along the silhouette of the sierras. Just above the horizon, the obvious hallmark stood out. Unmistakable, a definite gray glow filtered from beyond the foothills. Unable to measure accurately the distance, point to point, she hazarded a guess that it would take the better part of a day to reach its outer edge. Allison grappled with the ominous nature of whatever caused it to glow the sickly colour it did. In addition, she knew absolutely that it held the key to the demise of Amkata and the Orabona.
The viewpoint of the tower gave Allison a much clearer picture of the landscape as seem from the dais. Using that, she identified a few landmarks and made some mental notes regarding her route. She then closed the protective covering and taking one last look at the bell, hoped to hear it again one day. Turning, she made her way back to the grand hall. As she raced down the stairs, a plan developed about how she intended to get across the vast prairie. Her goal being to get a closer look from the edge of the foothills, at the minimum ignoring the exhibits once again. Allison grabbed her raincoat and bolted out the large wooden doors. Transitioning from the stone to the grass, she misjudged one-step, slipped, and went down hard. The thick brown muck broke her fall. Rolling over onto her back, she pushed herself up slowly. Covered in the sticky, compost-like mud, the porridge like texture and rancid stink were virtually everywhere. Spitting the foul taste out of her mouth, she tried to wipe her face with filthy hands. Unable to see the humour and livid at her misstep that led to this current mess, she struggled to her feet hoping the rain would provide some assistance. Walking clumsily like a toddler with a full diaper, Allison positioned herself into a searing downpour, allowing the rain to strip the thick layer of filth off her. When she finally washed her face enough to see clearly, Allison turned her back to the storm and weighted her options.
The difficulty in walking proved far more challenging that she ever imagined it to be. The changing ground conditions, ranging dramatically from slick, exposed stone to ankle deep mire, or something akin to a wet sponge. The landscape not only hampered her progress by every means possible, it also did its best to separate her feet from her boots. This, combined with all the other complications, made her impromptu expedition all but impossible. Driven forward by the lingering colours of the final snapshot, along with her own unmitigated stubbornness, Allison came to the top of a small rise. The horizon opened up on a wide prairie landscape that grew into the beginning of the distant mountain ranges. Ever thankful for her nocturnal vision, she could not imagine this trek in the darklight. The limited grey scale would have made it difficult to see any specifics and would have impeded her progress. Bravely moving forward, she started down a gentle slope fixated on her distant objective.
The sudden change in the ground beneath her feet disrupted the monotony of the hike. Certain of some kind of transformation, Allison stopped. Despite the volume of water, the loam seemed reasonably firm; a substantial difference from the spongy mess she had previously encountered. Standing alone, exposed and soaking wet, she did not feel cold, even with the hurricane force gusts. She concentrated on her presumed halfway point. Figuring, if she had calculated accurately, that it was not too far up ahead, she could make the foothills with ease. Tired of wiping the rain from her face, she lowered her head and continued. Walking across the barren landscape, Allison felt something distinctive. She did not want to think about what caused it. Startling her, she stopped abruptly and panned the horizon for anything moving. Coming up empty, she remained unsure of how to proceed and stayed absolutely still. When it happened again, the collision almost knocked her over. This time accompanied by what she imagined to be an incomplete call for help. She heard the voice right beside her. The impact resulted in her momentary stiffening. Alone in the center of a tempest, Allison was well aware that no one knew her whereabouts. If anything happened, she was all on her own. Despite the sudden charge by two unseen assailants, fear did not register as her first emotion. That honour came in the sense of disappointment because Allison believed her adventure had ended. She then instantly felt compassion for whomever had their cry for help cut short. Recognizing the language, she knew that the male attempted to flee something unknown. Wiping the rain from her face for the one thousandth time, she cautiously looked around before moving again. Aside from the constant howling downpour, nothing moved within 500 feet of her. She decided to press on. In the first few steps, a strange flash caught her eye off to the right. By the time she turned and focused, it disappeared. Her rational side, rapidly closing in on a meltdown, wanted to run. Being far enough away from the cathedral for it to be out of sight, she stood in the middle of nowhere seeing things. A desire to turn and race back to the safety of home became extreme. Then again, her dominant adventurer side bristled with excitement, more than she thought possible. The weather, the muck, the dark and the distance, were a small price to pay just to be here. Feeling and seeing things made it even better. She was not afraid of any of it. She felt that something internally had prepared her for this.
Unaware that her presence had started a procession, thousands of years in the making, Allison moved less than twenty feet when she heard another cry. This time, she witnessed ghostly images in sparkling orange phosphorescence, all around her. The apparitions appeared to be fighting one another. They were difficult to make out, as pieces seemed to be missing but the situation became obvious enough. Savage looking creatures locked in mortal combat with beings that looked like they could have easily been her ancestors. Caught in the middle of it all, the countryside came alive with explosions of orange sparkles, as the grotesque beings slaughtered members of her race with prejudice. Everywhere Allison looked, the images of ghostly brutality inundated her. It became readily apparent that whatever happened here had been a massacre of exceptional proportions. The entire skyline glittered with flashes of orange. The ghostly killers did not take notice or try to harm her. Several had come towards her but turned away. The victims were a different story. She felt some kind of contact with hundreds of them. It was almost as if they knew she was there. However, that could not be true. The horrors came at her from every angle as the beasts struck down their outmatched opponents. The cries from the fallen blended into one mournful song as the bursts of orange furnished a macabre sense of celebration. Overcome by the feeling of loss, Allison knelt on the saturated ground and drove her right hand into the wet soil, letting whatever remained flow through her. The intensity of the flood of what came up pushed her to the absolute limit of her understanding. It happened in a single heartbeat, and totally immersed her. Allison saw the grotesque, misshapen beasts, not from any world she dared imagine. She saw the slaughter through the eyes of the tens of thousands of her ancestors. She saw the abject brutality. She felt the fear and the struggle. Finally she experienced the realization that they were vastly outnumbered and thereby doomed. Undaunted, they fought bravely to the last Orabona. She could hear the names, as they called out to one another, brothers and sisters alike. Out of nowhere, Allison knew what this was. She knew who they were. In the end nothing remained. Something then appeared that she could not make sense of. In this unfortunate burial ground, which resonated hope. She did not yet appreciate the message, but knew like most things, it only told a piece of the story. When she finally lifted her hand and shook off the mud, it was clear that something evil resided here now. Allison knew that the source of the grey glow originated in a valley past the foothills. Putting the tragic imagery aside for a moment, Allison needed to think seriously about what she intended to do next. She lacked the necessary preparations to trek to the valley that harboured this evil. She also knew she needed to tell Edgar about some of what she had seen here. In turn, she wanted answers about what this thing really was. Deciding to return another day, she turned back towards the cathedral and started walking.
Allison botched the landing when she jumped down from the fence in her backyard. She rolled several times and just lay on her back for a few minutes. Uninjured, she felt tired and irritated, and the grass offered a soft and warm counter point. Meanwhile, her mind reeled at what she had just experienced. The entire way back, she tried to sort out how she would address the crime of crossing over, with the necessity of Edgar’s wisdom regarding her new information. Hopeful that one would cancel the other out, Allison pushed herself up and sat leaning against the fence. It came in a wave, but she suddenly noticed how hungry she felt. She had not given food a single thought while on Amkata. Having been off planet for much longer this time, the rush just seemed very strange. Perhaps that might be a question to ask the old man. She could feel her toes squishing inside her boots and smiled at the thought of a warm shower. The sun, warm on her face, felt nice and a welcome sight after a long night of hard trekking. Her rest, suddenly interrupted, by the awareness that someone appeared to be watching her. She tried to ignore it as much as she could. The two pairs of eyes staring at her seemed to want something. Awkwardly pushing herself up, Allison could already hear their questions. At this moment, she did not feel like providing any answers.
It occurred to Allison much later, when blow-drying her hair that she felt a small measure of guilt about what took place. She took their unprovoked aggression as a serious threat, and thereby duty-bound to defend herself. The reality of it revolved around the fact that two girls from her school were kept waiting. Having made plans days earlier, the pair felt that she had blown them off. This upset them. When they saw Allison sitting against the back fence, looking like she had obviously been doing something else their upset turned to unreasonable teenaged anger. They took her disregard for wasting their time personally. They attempted to make her feel bad about it. Strong and confident, Allison rarely found herself on the receiving end of any hostilities. The two girls crossed the yard, taking aggressive stances while Leah, the mouthpiece of the duo, hurled confusing insults. Her classmate, usually polite and kind, seemed to be going out of her way to hurt Allison’s feelings with words and conjecture. Not sure what to make of it, she stood up, hemmed in by the fence. A quick exchange of words devolved into pushing and shoving. Kathleen, the taller and stronger of the two, managed to get Allison into a functional headlock, bringing her to one knee. Leah began to make menacing gestures suggesting that she intended to strike Allison as some bizarre retribution for making them wait. There had to be more to the story, but she could not imagine what. For the briefest of moments, she thought she might be scared. That thought quickly formed into a surge of righteous indignation. Allison listened to their simple, disorganized thoughts again, trying to pinpoint their objective. It appeared that it was to merely bully and discredit her, but for some reason had resorted to violence. Allison knew she could, with one move, break Kathleen's hold and beat them both senseless. That strategy would end poorly for everyone. As Leah drew closer, her hands clenched into small, pale fists. Kathleen tightened her grip. Allison caught her breath, exhaled, and then reacted swiftly. Without another conscious thought, she grabbed each girl by the forearm. She released a pulse of magical energy into each girl, which caused their arms to go numb. When the energy reached the girls brains, the impulse halted whatever they were doing and caused them to return home. Once there, they would have no idea why they had ever left. Allison thought nothing more about them as they turned at the end of her driveway and headed out of sight.
Easing up out of his chair, Edgar tapped on the desk gently and out popped the finch.
“I am headed to the kitchen for some tea, care to come for a ride?” he asked the little grey bird. Gracefully, the finch flew from the desk to the old man’s shoulder, as they walked out into the empty expanses of the brightly lit kitchen. Edgar fumbled to light the gas stove, a never-ending annoyance that Petunia somehow had mastered. The finch began to sing an old song that all finches sang at first light; simple and lyrical, filled with unlimited optimism and promise. The study remained in halflight most of the day, so the ample light of the dining room brought forth the finches song. It always made him feel good despite whatever darkness may cloud his thoughts. With the burner finally lit, the old man turned on the cold water and began to fill the kettle when it happened. Abruptly, the finch stopped singing and the old man dropped the kettle. Neither of them moved for several minutes. The smell of gas finally broke the spell, forcing Edgar to turn off the extinguished burner. He pulled out a chair and sat down in a way that concerned the finch. Hopping onto the table, the bird tried to make eye contact with his old friend. After multiple failed efforts, the bird gave up. Never one to stand on ceremony, the finch asked the most obvious question,
“So, any thoughts on what just happened?”
A long pause filled the space between their words.
“What just happened Finch is something that is never supposed to happen. A specific burst of energy, discharged without authorization,” Edgar replied gruffly.
“Are you sure?”
Edgar shot the bird a look that made him wish he could take the question back. The old man leaned onto the table with his head in his hands. In a quiet measured tone, Edgar spoke,
“Orabona magic resonates at a specific frequency with a unique phasing pattern. It could have been discharged from 3000 miles away and I would have known, but this, this release came from nearby.”
As he said the words, his mind had already jumped ahead. An unwarranted energy burst caused him serious concern. It required a rapid and direct response. There were distinct problems, the first of which dealt directly with the perpetrator who discharged the magic, and who had unknowingly started a chain of events that could not easily be undone. Second, that same person happened to be an exceptional Orabona. Looking at the finch, he thought of all the years they had spent together. He regarded the bird as not only a friend but also his trusted confidant. With care, Edgar came to his next statement carefully, on the off chance that the particular Orabona who discharged the magic happened to be listening.
“Mr. Finch, I believe I may have met my match.”
Unsure how to respond, the bird let out a low, single note whistle. Edgar jabbed his finger toward the bird,
“Stop that!” he commanded. He abruptly stood up and walked out of the kitchen. The finch still unaware of what had changed said,
“I thought we were having tea?”
“There is no time. I have serious preparations to attend to, as I fear I may have to go to war with one of my own kind. I am sorry but there is much to do.”
“But…” then the finch’s voice trailed off, knowing that once the old man made decision, he went all in. Mr. Finch took flight and followed his friend to a small room on the third floor. Rarely used in the entire time they had lived in the house, it piqued his curiosity. Well aware that his opinion in matters like this would be unwelcome until requested, the little bird landed in the far corner and sat quietly. From his angle, he watched the old man drag out an old case. Once opened, Edgar separated the contents and began the requisite and delicate preparation of an instrument the finch had only heard the distant rumours of. There were important aspects that Edgar needed to complete in rapid succession. Using the known variables of its phasing and frequency, he intended to send out an inverse relation to that energy. The case he knelt over contained a device that made that task possible. It emitted a negative pulse designed to saturate the original positive charge. With a limited assurance of success, Edgar regrettably existed as the only possible solution. Containing zero adverse health effects, the neutralizing pulse aimed to assist those affected. Its effective capability focused on stopping the decaying effects of the energy. Orabona magic and humans were incompatible. Edgar knew that it had something to do with their DNA and its adverse reaction. It had not been studied to determine the long term effects, but suffice it to say that the magical energy broke down tiny parts of their composition. To further his challenges, the results of the damage caused differed, as each human developed unique symptoms. That was why it remained forbidden since the very beginning to use it against humans. Even though no one had ever died from direct contact, the humans were defenseless against it. A long understood Orabona directive stated that ‘they were refugees on Earth, not conquerors.' It was clear that they intended it to remain that way. Edgar worked feverishly for at least an hour calculating and recalibrating the instrument. Bright flashes of colour filled the room as he loaded the exact same magic into it. Ninety minutes elapsed since the original event took place. The finch detected the smell of desperation, but his friend would not bend to it, nor give up on it.
Closing the hatch on the instrument, Edgar felt confident he did everything he could; time to put it to the test. He picked it up and took a short cut out to the deck. The finch followed closely behind, landing on the railing and curious as to what the old man had in store. Quickly surveying the best place to discharge it, a quick look skyward added the disappointment of low cloud cover. Technically, out of time, he walked out onto the lawn, sat the instrument down and pressed a single button. Returning quickly to the presumably safe wooden structure, he waited. Unimpressed by its design, the finch watched the instrument for some sign of life. Looking like nothing more than an average two-slice toaster, the button Edgar pushed did not even illuminate to suggest it was turned on. In that same instant, the toaster doubled in size. Then again, and again, and again once more. Before the finch could process that the instrument suddenly took up most of the back yard it imploded. It then ejected a massive flow of magically charged particles that hit low-lying nimbostratus cloud formation causing it to disperse almost instantly. The eruption then ended, leaving no residual trace. The finch watched his friend return to the lawn and retrieve the toaster like instrument. He reminded himself never to underestimate the size or potential of anything the old man did ever again.
For the duration of the evening, Edgar occupied himself with the details of a conversation he intended to have with the suspect in this serious event. A problem remained regarding only elder Orabona which were able to discharge magic in this specific way. This served to compound the issue because, aside from himself, there were no other elders within a six-mile radius. Leaving the only possible subject to be an impetuous young girl who lived a stone’s throw away. It came as no great surprise, this having long been his guess from the onset. They had known one another personally for ten years. Very clever and able to think in complex patterns that even he found challenging to contend with. He needed some answers and hoped to provide some wisdom. As he lay down to sleep, a ripple of foreboding passed over him. He lay awake wondering if wisdom was going to be enough. The next morning, he dressed in his formal robes, meant to set the tone of the conversation. He hoped she would respond more appropriately if she saw him as a figure of authority. Deciding to walk through the neighbourhood, Edgar opened himself up to the peculiar looks from the same people who stared at anyone appearing different. He felt sorry for those who could not see beyond their noses. They would never embrace the grandeur of what the universe had to offer. Walking confidently up to the Hannaburg’s doorstep, minutes after Molly backed out of the driveway. Reaching out and pressing the doorbell, Allison opened the door as the chime struck the first note.
“I thought you might be coming to see me. We have a great deal to talk about.”
Never one to be lost for words, the bombshell greeting left Edgar scrambling to claw back the advantage he had before reaching the door. Stepping inside, he noticed that her casual choice of attire provided the stark antithesis to his formal wear. In the kitchen, Allison had tea prepared and put out some biscuits, as if she legitimately expected him. Edgar found this troubling because he took precautions to keep his visit a surprise. Sitting across from one another at the large wooden table, he tuned into her thoughts and listened carefully. Much to his dismay, he came up empty. Unfamiliar territory, he thought to himself. By all accounts, the girl seemed calm and determined, although something urgent required his attention. He needed to address several things prior to that, and being the guest and elder, he determined it appropriate that he take the lead.
“Allison, there are two major issues that I have come to discuss this morning.”
“I know,” she replied.
Catching him unprepared with her glib answer, he quickly switched gears,
“These are serious violations Allison, not teenaged pranks that can easily be forgotten.”
“I am aware of that as well,” she said without a shred of emotion.
“Perhaps I am not making myself clear,” the old man spoke sternly, his ire ignited. “There are strict controls on when and how magical energy is released, regardless of who you are.”
“I did not plan it, the energy just appeared. I found myself in trouble. One girl held me while the other fully intended to hit me. I only grabbed their arms to stop them.”
Suddenly curious to hear more details, he asked, “What did you feel, in your mind, just before the event?”
“At first, it didn’t seem real. I thought I would feel scared but it presented as annoyance. Then I thought that no one could do this to me. I was not going to let them. When I grabbed them, something fuzzy went through my hands, and then disappeared after I touched them. Immediately after that, they left without so much as a word.”
Edgar rubbed his chin, as he deliberated, unsure of what to make of her recounting of the episode. He had no reason to disbelieve the girl. Well within her rights to do what she did, being outnumbered and assaulted. The hardest part of the scenario to measure dealt with how a fourteen-year-old, unascended Orabona had the ability, let alone the control, to do what she did. His memory recalled it being well over 2000 years since the last time anything like this happened. The girl, Olstair, showed such promise. An unfortunate series of mistakes took place, the worst of which resulted in her brother’s death and which nearly ended her life. It left Edgar with a scar across his heart that refused to heal. He understood the imperative of treading lightly with Allison. The challenge he saw in that had to do with not letting her know he was in fact being cautious.
“Very well Allison, but you must consider this as a strict warning against using magic in opposition to human hostility. There are negative effects that are sometimes permanent. As strong or powerful as you may be, the Ancients have the ability to limit those powers, is that clear?”
“Yes Edgar, I understand and I won’t do it again.”
He noticed right away that she made direct eye contact with him. He decided to capitalize on her connection.
“I know you have found the portal Allison.”
“That is what I want to talk to you about. I have something…”
He cut her off, far from finished.
“You demonstrated a level of competency during your lesson that I have not seen in a very long time. Impressive as that may be, it does not entitle you to venture into a place that you are far from prepared to deal with.”
She had closed her eyes while he spoke, which served to infuriate him. He suspended his admonishment until she reopened them. Edgar relaxed and let go of his anger and irritation. Once he freed his mind, he concentrated on the girl. She looked like she had fallen asleep. Suddenly, she opened her eyes and asked Edgar the one question he would never forget.
“Do you know what ‘thednios kav mezuln yrokdk arlpait sylnimaar’ means?”
Had it not been for the table, the old man would have fallen off his chair.
“How?” came forth as the only word he could offer.
Allison gave a detailed description of her exploration including how the stones in the tower spoke to her. Edgar could not believe the specifics of her story except for the fact that he knew every inch of the cathedral intimately, so if she had fabricated any part of it, he would have known. At the point when she told him of the four snapshots the tower gifted her, he got up and sat beside the girl because he needed to see exactly what she had seen. He assured her that the procedure remained painless provided both parties participated willingly. Lacing his left hand into her right, he then put his first two fingers to the center of her forehead.
“Just concentrate on the pictures you saw Allison, let them come naturally.”
She directed her thoughts and in seconds, he had copies in his mind. Releasing his grip on the girl, Edgar returned to his seat and scanned the images. The snapshots were, at first glance, nothing more than stock imagery of a time before the Darkness. He could not immediately reason a purpose for delivering them in such a fashion. Unphased, he knew the universe still held many elusive mysteries. Focusing his attention on the words the girl spoke, all he could see was a collection of ancient symbols, less than half of which he recognized. They would require considerable study and meditation to determine a definitive meaning. It was time that he did not have. The equation continued to be the highest priority, yet this current problem offered some serious puzzles; the greatest being just how did she read them. It would have to wait until another time. Edgar poured two cups of tea during the interlude, and took couple of biscuits to nibble on. Allison broke the comfortable silence when she unloaded the shocker about her involvement at the center of a horrendous battle scene. Edgar used every ounce of his self-control not to spit out his mouthful. Swallowing hard and in temporary disbelief, he asked,
“What did you just say?”
Allison dutifully related a detailed accounting of the scene, from the first glancing blow to the final names called out as the slaughter claimed the warriors.
“Which hand did you use to see?” Edgar asked with a sense of urgency. She offered him her right hand. Holding it in the palm of his left, he rubbed the tips of fingers against his thumb. Slowly at first but then the speed of his movements increased exponentially until a tiny blue light appeared. Touching his index finger to the light, it stuck. Edgar then put the blue light into the palm of her hand.
“Squeeze it tightly Allison,” he told her. She did and in a few seconds, he reopened her hand. The entire inside glowed bright silver. Allison did not know what to say but from Edgar’s reaction, it looked positive.
“Why is my hand silver?”
“It is a test that came back positive, that is all that I can tell you.”
“How long will the colour be there?”
“It should be fading already.” She looked and almost on cue, the colour evaporated from her skin.
For nearly an hour, they talked about the entire experience as he interrupted her to ask questions. He complimented her impressive strength and composure in the highly stressful situation she faced. She could not answer certain questions, such as why she felt the need to put her hand into the ground or her compulsion to climb the tower. They were instant and required urgent attention. He made her stand and take off her sweater, examining her with his keen eyes. He found that no adverse magic had connected itself to her. With all of her interesting news and adventures notwithstanding, Edgar repeated his stern warning about using magic on humans. The two girls that attacked her would not remember what happened to them. They would be ill for the next several days and with luck, make a full recovery. Allison seemed relieved, but Edgar was not quite finished. He expressed his disappointment that she had crossed over using the portal, although personally he was not surprised. He cautiously chose his words to dissuade her from contemplating, let alone, returning to their embattled homeland.
“Allison, Amkata is now home to unknown forces and an evil never before encountered. Curious and interesting as it may be, it is also a violent and desperate place. We have monitored the governing force since the last Orabona left and it continues to grow. The belief is that the Darkness is feeding off Amkata somehow, but no Orabona has ever been able to get close enough to make that determination. Every time we sent an elder on a reconnaissance mission, they were attacked; chased off, injured or killed by the grotesque creatures you witnessed slaughter your ancestors. They are the Kenaima and you cannot contend with or match the violence that these creatures are capable of and have overwhelmingly demonstrated. Furthermore, if you were to find yourself in jeopardy, I cannot just rush off to save you. There is a disconnection between this planet and our homeland, disabling my ability to track or monitor anyone. If you had your own raven, it could accompany you but only for a short while.” Edgar paused, collecting his thoughts.
“So my dear girl, it is imperative that you stay away from the portal. I cannot stress this point enough. Do not return to Amkata because it is far too dangerous. Perhaps once you ascend I will join you in finding out, once and for all, what the grey glow of the Darkness truly is.”
“What are you talking about Edgar, the Darkness?”
The old man laughed to himself. He had to remind himself how easily it was to forget her lack of experience in contrast to her seemingly limitless ability.
“I’m sorry. It is the reference you will learn in your second lesson. It is given to the insatiable force that glows gray and controls our entire planet. The name happens to be the best in a long list of bad alternatives.”
Allison nodded her head in acknowledgment. Taking her hand in his for a moment, the old man caught her gaze.
“Think seriously before you venture in again. I cannot deny access nor can I consistently monitor the portal. This will be the only warning I will dispense. What you do from this moment forward will be a reflection of your spirit. As an Orabona, your spirit is the vital essence and moral nature of your being. I highly recommend that you take some time to think about what I have said here today. One must consider before they do something that cannot be undone.”
He let go of her hand, allowing the power of his words to sink in. The orange tabby cat walked through the room. It then drifted over to the old man and rubbed its whiskers against his shins. Reaching down, he stroked Hennessy’s soft fur several times. In the midst of the pleasant moment with the feline, Edgar asked,
“Your birthday is April 5th is it not Allison?”
“Yes.”
“Do you happen to know the exact time you were born?”
She thought about it for a second, then replied,
“7:07 pm. My mom has to make a big deal out of it for the last few years, so I can share in the moment, or something. It’s rather strange, but that’s my mom.” She made a funny face that he understood as awkward.
“Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I am just working on something,” he replied somewhat evasively. She did not give it another thought, but then remembered that she had a very important question to ask.
“Edgar, did you know that both my parents told me that they are both over 1200 years old?”
Looking at her out of the corner of his eye, he replied,
“Yes, your dad is 1244 and your mom is 1204 I believe.”
“She’s 1205 actually.”
“Right, well, happy birthday then.”
Ignoring his well-placed remark, she continued,
“How is that even possible?”
“Remember Allison, we are Orabona, not human. Things are not always as they seem.”
“Then how old are you Edgar?” she asked, catching him off balance.
“Me, well, I have lived a long time. I do not remember anymore. For it is not the number that is important, more so the lessons learned. You may be safely assured that I am very old.”
CHAPTER TEN

Through the fine mist of the early morning, a solitary raven flew in a circular holding pattern above the spruce trees. The first few rays of light became visible as the sun began its daily transit. The collection of water droplets that clung heavily to the tree branches reflected the soft orange glow of the sunrise. The quiet of the intertidal zone was disturbed only by the shuffling of immature rock crabs on the wet sand in search of shelter. Dew fell on the still water of the estuary, creating ripples that moved slowly toward the shoreline. In that same place, the ebbing tide once again revealed the saturated, moss-covered timbers that lay partially submerged. Cautiously, several black tailed does poked their wet noses through the protection of the natural camouflage, testing the air for predators, while a chorus of mottled tree frogs croaked in time with the rhythm of the ocean. Below the tree line, the long feathery fronds of the ubiquitous Western fern provided excellent ground cover for dozens of rodents, birds and other animals that inhabited the forest floor. The tide line reflected the oceans reach at its apex. Today’s tide proved much higher than the yearly average. It was almost as if, the elements expected something special to happen.
On the long and uncomfortable drive out to the coast, Gary Haynes, a shaggy, brown haired boy of fourteen sat beside his mother, Rachel. Having spoken less than twenty-five words to her since the last time she repeated, what had become her catch phrase,
“Wait till we get there, it will be a big surprise.”
After having heard it ten times and recognizing the pointless nature in continuing, he opted for the silent treatment. Gary noticed that the further they went, the road got progressively narrower and their pace slowed to match the conditions. Currently on a gravel road no wider than the car, they drove through what appeared to be uncut fields of tall grass on either side. Running on some form of autopilot, Gary wondered if she noticed the expanse of blue water that now filled the horizon. Peering out the passenger window, the boy held on tight as the sedan slowed suddenly, then turned hard to the left. Without a word, his mother downshifted, deftly navigating the over grown deer trail. The track lead across a meadow to a large stand of conifers. Tightening his grip on the dash, the boy bounced and rattled along with the car. Rachel wound her way through the trees. At first, Gary thought she had lost her mind, but the farther they went the more obvious it became that his mother knew her way. She also made it look easy. The dense and overgrown forest provided Rachel with a serious challenge but she stuck to the path that lead them to the coastline. From Gary’s perspective, the tree line came to an abrupt end, dropping down to the shore. This suggested a steep bluff ahead that increased his anxiety due to his not knowing where they were going. Moments later, the car came to a stop in a hollow at the base of a giant cedar tree. The perfect place to hide the car. Climbing out after a five-hour drive, Gary happily stretched his legs. Noticing that his mother had started to unload the trunk, he walked over and grabbed the last few items. She only spoke a few words about why they had come to this particular place. To call it remote did not do it justice. Something else he found strange had to do with her not explaining the purpose of the midweek camping trip. From the amount she packed, it looked like they were going to be here for a week at least. Gary did not like surprises, not after his father died. Everything changed on that fateful day three years ago when his mother told him that they would not be going to visit at the hospital any more. He had no idea his father was that ill. It came as a severe shock to his system. He did not react in any visible way. Gary never cried or broke down. He seemed unaffected by the grief. It both polarized and stunted his opinions of his father. From that moment, his unattended anguish served to change the trajectory of his life. Gary knew this time alone together meant a great deal to his mother, made obvious by the fuss she made about it over the last ten days. Therefore, understanding that, Gary pulled on his backpack, grabbed the case she had left for him and followed her lead.
Hiking on an unmarked trail, difficult enough to make out for seasoned guides, Rachel negotiated through the cedars and spruce with speed and precision that forced her son to match her pace. Gary could not understand her urgency, nor the evasive reasoning, when asked for this impromptu excursion. Taking two weeks off in the middle of the term defied explanation. Followed by the long drive and the yet named event shrouded by a strict cone of silence only added to the mystery. Just able to match her stride on the steep sections, Gary struggled in the technical single track riddled with roots, moss and other assorted traps that brought him to his knees several times. In contrast, his mother increased her lead so much so that he could no longer see her. Her agility came as a huge surprise. By the time he finally caught up to her, he looked awful. Winded, filthy and a long list of things he wanted answers to, he leaned against a tree for support. She put her hand up at the same time he went to speak. Knowing what her signal meant, Gary bit down on his questions for another time.
A gray squirrel noticed the foreign presence first. It scurried along a wind fallen timber to a stand of spruce trees. Ascending rapidly, it found a branch where it then waited, watching for intruders. Unable to get a clear line of sight, the squirrel knew that it definitely heard two sets of footsteps following the unmarked sacred trail. Concerned, the grey squirrel sent out an initial warning, as it chirped and chattered to the other forest creatures. The tree frogs silenced their chant, the deer melted back into the brush. The raven, quick to answer the alarm, reduced its altitude in preparation. The footsteps continued until they found the edge of the estuary.
Following his mother along the rugged shoreline, the salt air refreshed him from the long descent. Curiosity distracted him, having never been this close to the ocean. Deathly afraid of water, Gary refused to take baths. It had an alluring quality that called to him, something like temptation. Looking ahead at his mother, he watched her climb over a rugged outcropping of rock. Her route left him penned in. On one side stood an unstable looking, massive driftwood logjam and the rising tide on the other. Hurrying to keep up, he could not determine how she had gotten over the rock. The fear of getting lost motivated Gary. He made several attempts before successfully scaling it. With ripped pants and blood leaking from his knee, he stood on the other side, feeling somewhat astray. Following the ribbon of wet sand between the ocean and solid ground, he could not see any sign of her. No foot prints, nothing. All the way down the beach, it seemed as if she had just disappeared. Knowing that could not be possible, he resorted to walking slowly as far from the water as possible, in hopes that she would come looking for him.
Having flown on ahead of the pair, the raven waited upon a rotted old stump. As its keeper arrived, it few to her outstretched hand. She greeted it fondly as they briefly exchanged pleasantries. The large blackbird started through the detailed checklist she had left in its care, all of which were ready to go. She thanked her bird for its continued dedication, especially at this most important time. Stroking its soft black crown and wing feathers, the bird spoke in the language only they shared. It then took flight to maintain its watch over the event, scheduled to begin shortly. Despite the fact that her sons fifteenth birthday took place later this month, Rachel Haynes respected the consequences of waiting this long. Unable to make any more excuses for postponing it any longer, she finally got herself together and brought Gary to her family's sacred venue. Rachel, like so many other Orabona elders, was complacent about the ascension process. Every one of them knew the history and the pitfalls. Yet, life on Earth contributed to a growing sense of apathy among a significant percentage of elders. Perhaps it stemmed from a comfortable life, free of any serious challenges, which caused them to consider their child’s ascension outdated. Small pockets of Orabona had outright denied the practice leading to horrendous results. The consensus revolved around the indifference elders felt about ever returning to Amkata. With the vast majority of the exiled never having set foot on their home planet, it could be a hard sell to second and third generations born on Earth. There remained, at their core, a burning desire to return. Often undermined by irrelevant priorities the yearning tended to fade. By developing a preventative strategy, the Ancients worked diligently on an effort to remedy this particular issue. They put together a review of what to expect, essentially walking the elder through the ascension ritual. Acting as a refresher, it standardized the main points, and was designed to assist those Orabona who needed it. Ascension required action and the second part explained, in detail, the steps both participants must take. The vision effectively thrust Rachel into the fray. She developed a systematic approach to providing a safe and secure ritual by employing all of the agents at her disposal. Her cycle of self-satisfied existence now shattered, Rachel again felt the desire, erasing her complacency and releasing her true Orabona spirit to flow through her uninterrupted.
The sight of a raven rising out a cove down the shoreline made Gary smile. He pressed on, hopeful that his mother had stopped to wait. She shared a special relationship with the large bird, but he understood why. There always seemed to be one around no matter where they went. He welcomed the sight here and now, but it did not come as any great surprise. Watching it fly as he made his way down the beach, he could not ascertain if it belonged to his mother or not. It looked determined and headed inland. Gary turned back in the direction of the cove. Rounding the limited protection of a chest high sand dune, his mother had made herself comfortable, resting on a log at the mouth of a small cave. She appeared relaxed and comfortable, although something in her eyes gave him a pang of concern.
“You will never get a girlfriend if you can’t keep up with your own mother,” she said, poking fun at him.
Wanting to argue the girlfriend statement, he thought better of it, opting for a standardized retort.
“What’s the big deal anyway? It’s not like the ocean is going anywhere.”
His mother laughed aloud, she could not help herself. Her laugh, joyful and welcoming, just made him feel good every time he heard it. Before he sat down, she jumped up, grabbed a small pouch off the log and told him to drop his gear anywhere and follow her. Gladly freeing himself from the over sized backpack, he trotted along closely behind ensuring that he did not lose her this time. They both had to crouch down entering the mouth of the cave. Damp and dark, it made the exploration tricky. He could just barely make out the silhouette up ahead. After banging his head for the second time, Gary resorted to crawling along, clueless as to their direction. Following a series of turns compatible only with some medieval labyrinth, the cave finally opened up. Allowing just enough light to permit Gary to see that his mother had found the exact spot she had come for. Crawling out of the narrow tunnel into the dugout, Rachel motioned for him to sit across from her. Wet and uncomfortable, he managed to squeeze in across from her. Sitting on the cold stone with his hands in his lap, he waited patiently for whatever nonsense she had planned. He did notice that she held a small leather pouch in her hands. Out of the ordinary, and something he had never seen before, it garnered his attention immediately. Quite unexpectedly, she spoke. The penetrating roar of her voice registered thirty decibels louder in the tiny room.
“Gary, the eve of your fifteenth birthday is upon us and that is cause for great celebration. It is also a time in which you will face divergent trials. These evaluations will centre on specific aspects that will require all of your experience, intelligence and innate capabilities. That, combined with your wits and the previous lessons provided to you, is all the preparation required. It is now time to begin.”
Gary’s face registered a cross between disbelief and terror. When he found his voice, it sounded like a scared little boy.
“What are you talking about mom? Challenges, tests, and previous lessons I have learned. And time, time to begin what?”
Despite being seriously frustrated, Gary asked his questions but received no answers, no replies, nothing. He could not read the expression on his mother's face. Gary decided that he should stop talking and let her keep going. In turn, she untied the leather pouch and reached two fingers into it. He watched as she slowly extracted a long, braided chain. Rachel looked into his wide eyes and smiled. Then, very gently, she spoke telepathically to him.
“Gary, honey, it’s your mother speaking. Don’t be alarmed”, she said. Rachel's choice of words were not the best. She was sure to speak them softly, as when they experienced telepathy for the first time, most youth have a great deal of difficulty with. He closed his eyes to begin with, and then open wide. He rubbed one ear, then the other. Unsure how to reply. The first few endeavours were composed of a great deal of yelling and nonsense words. It took some time with Rachel speaking comfortingly to him, to calm her son down and allow him to practice. Once he could effectively communicate with her, they could proceed. This simple skill, most often taught at an age half that of the boy, was a fundamental of Orabona culture. Instead, it became another example of the complacency that some elders exercise, choosing procrastination over action. Gary asked repeatedly how this type of communication could be possible. She assured him that an explanation was forthcoming. When her son finally settled down, Rachel moved on with the sacred ritual.
Having flown inland initially, the raven now positioned itself several miles off shore, ensuring that it could see a large expanse of the route the pair took to get to the coast. The importance of security for the event could not be understated. All of the forest creatures played a part in the ongoing protection that could last for upwards of ten days. The raven confirmed several sentinels in place, as early warnings in case of intruders. The main deterrents were the remote location and difficulty in reaching it. Beyond that, many layers of distractions, threats, warnings and traps were set from both land and sea to stop anyone intent of interfering. Rachel’s raven held the last line of defense. The bird wielded numerous secret weapons, leaving nothing to chance. Despite all of the protections in place, the magnificent blackbird would remain vigilant until the completion of the ritual.
Rachel asked her son to hold out his right arm. She winked at him as she slipped the chain from her hand to his. For a very long minute, nothing happened. Holding the chain at arm’s length, Gary made every effort to comprehend why it felt fifty times heavier than it looked. The disproportionate size to weight ratio initiated the first question. Bringing it closer for an in-depth look, Gary could not tell what combination of materials created it. The intricate and delicate artistry did not come from this continent, generating the second question. After a full examination, how the charm and the chain were bound confused him. They were both individual pieces and one piece together. Unlike anything else he had ever seen, it captured his complete attention. His mother spent her time away from the charm by meditating and set to focusing her energy. Opening her eyes, she informed him without speaking that the time had come. She asked him to rise and stand as still as possible.
“No matter what you see from this moment on, you have to be brave and just listen to my voice. Do you understand?”
Rallying his confidence, he stood as tall as he could, and then assured her that he understood completely. With that she moved from her seat to the cave floor. Beginning by slowly rubbing her hands together, she concentrated on the sensation of the friction created between her palms. Confident in her ability, Rachel closed her eyes and centred the intensity and pacing of her hands, remaining in perfect synchronicity. The next installment of the ritual appeared simple, but once it began in earnest, it combined immense power with limitless potential. When her palms reached the necessary frequency, she quickly cupped her soft hands together and gently blew a long breath into them, a breath from her essence. Instantly, a sparkle appeared; a single point of light. Very carefully, she rubbed the light with both hands. The sparkle began to grow and change. The single point became a thousand. Then, more quickly, a million. Ultimately, the light became infinite. She created and controlled the tiny ball of light energy in her palms. Looking up at her son, rendered speechless, he stood strong. Bringing her hands up from underneath, the light enveloped the charm. When they existed in the same space, she clamped her hands around the charm, squeezing it tightly and forcing the light energy into its center. Holding her hands firm, Rachel felt the changes between her fingers. The light energy was drawn into the charm, which absorbed it, protected it and made it whole. Gary felt the weight of charm increase as the metamorphosis progressed. When Rachel finally pulled her hands apart, the charm radiated brightly. He imagined it looked like what a star did, immediately after its birth. Little did he know that his perception would soon change. In actuality, he would come to understand that the charm contained the light born from every star in every galaxy across the entire cosmos. By the time Gary completed his ascension, he would see everything through an entirely different lens.
Carefully, Rachel stood up and took the chain from her son’s hand. He breathed a sigh of relief, as removing the burden allowed him to relax his outstretched arm. Putting the chain around his neck, she recited the same ancient Orabona blessing her father had at the time of her ascension.
“Entering the eternal stream of consciousness,
I offer my own.
Open to the gifts of the Five Pillars,
I offer my own.
Infinite wisdom, and an Ancient's blessing,
I offer my own.”
Once completed, Rachel had one last step to take. She motioned for her son to take a seat. Sitting across from him, she positioned the charm so it hung squarely against his chest. Looking lovingly into his brown eyes, she could sense it had begun. She did not recall it happening so fast.
“Gary, I know all of this is rather overwhelming but I promise, you are ready and all your questions will be answered.”
Gary could only nod his head.
“Honey, at this particular moment, I know that five distinct words are swirling through your mind. Every time you ignore them or push one away, they will just keep coming back. The second you pick one, the others will disappear.”
“How do I pick one mom, I don’t even know what they are?”
“It’s okay Gary, just concentrate and let them come to you. Choose the one that you identify with more than the others. There is no wrong answer.” She watched him close his eyes. As the seconds silently ticked by, she tried not to count. In a rush, the charm pulsed, filling the cave with an intense burst of white light. In the microsecond of brightness, Rachel’s son vanished. For hundreds of thousands of generations, Orabona ascension always started in this fashion. Each family had subtle variations on the ritual, but the fundamentals were the same. The light energy in the charm would sustain and protect her boy during the entire process. It provided sanctuary and a connection to his family. It also contained the infinite wisdom of the universe. With her task now complete, Rachel picked up the empty leather pouch and made her way out of the cave to set up camp.
Gary had never been very adventurous, preferring to spend more of his time between home and school. One summer a few years ago, he went on a camping trip with his cousins. He hated every minute of it. He got assurances from both parents that he would never have to participate in anything like that again. All of which, made his initial experience here more traumatizing than it needed to be. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes after exiting the cave were too bizarre to explain. He hesitated before attempting to deal with the sudden change in locale. Performing a quick personal inventory while standing alone in the quiet, Gary found nothing out of place. Except that, everything felt different. The air, the ground, more significantly how it related to himself. His entire being underwent a change, but remained altogether the same. Every facet of his being - from his consciousness, and physical capacity right down to his eyesight - experienced considerable enhancement. The first change came immediately; the total absence of the persistent insecurity that plagued him for years. When he reached for the charm and found it missing, he did not panic. He just looked down and saw that the energy radiated outward from the center of his chest. A cascade of new sensations flowed into Gary’s body during this development phase. Exposed to the energy from the ground below, his feet moved with the shifting movements, and the subtle spin of the planet. His mind filled with answers to questions he had not yet asked. Subsequently, the solutions that had always been just out of his grasp suddenly became clear. This intense array of advanced consciousness persisted for as long as required, before rapidly ending as a tremendous surge of energy cleared his mind. The energy provided clarity of vision; a necessary ingredient to the chosen youth. It revealed the fundamentals of the Orabona collective. In the most crucial moments, it enabled them to see beyond themselves, thereby harnessing the absolute power of the Five Pillars. Gary heard his name called from far off in the distance. It did not cry out to him in a conventional sense. Ethereal, through multiple dimensions in space, the voice oscillated in perfect rhythm with everything around him. The voice, connected to all possible matter, began to swirl and deviate in random patterns. Collecting the near and the far, the up and the down, the spectacular increase in intensity made everything come together. In those last few seconds, Gary came to the realization that fleetingly allowed him to see things as they truly are. Random energy patterns coalesced into massive whirlpools dispatching his body away.
Following the detonation of the swirling circular currents, Gary asserted that he was just in a balloon that had burst. No longer in the cave or the first layover that brought him here, he stood and tried to get a 360-degree view of the landscape. From what he could see, the terrain across the entire panorama looked like a blank sheet of orange construction paper. Without any change in contrast, it seemed to go to the horizon regardless of direction. Dubious about his present location, it seemed appropriate to get started without understanding why. Gary set out in one direction, well aware that they all looked the same. His incessant and unusual journey progressed without change for a long period. Having no manner of time keeping, the duration remained a mystery. With no sound or movement on the expanse of orange, it tested Gary’s ability to stay true to his course, with the understanding that something greater would appear on the horizon. In a test of wills, his old version would have given up long ago. Now, cognizant of the changes in his being, the new version would go to the end of ends to see this through. He stayed to his self-imposed march across the same heading toward a horizon that never changed. Out of nowhere, a wrinkle appeared in the orange ground and tripped him up. The shock of being brought to the ground so quickly, faded away, as what appeared to be his objective loomed in the distance. Out of the flat ground rose a solitary mountain so high, that a view of the summit was unobtainable from his position. Brushing himself off out of habit, he re-established his pace and made his way to the foot of the pinnacle.
Several thousands of meters in diameter, the base of the mountain looked like a hornet’s nest of over grown roots and fractured granite. After a thorough inspection, Gary determined that no side in particular provided a greater advantage to any other. There were no obvious points of ingress, and without specialized gear this climb promised to be punishing. Knowing only that his destination took him upward, he randomly chose a place to begin. Looking up as far as his eyes could see, Gary noted that a thick layer of cloud obscured his ability to see any more than previously. Everything in his being screamed out that the summit contained the answer he sought. Without restraint and fully aware of the goal, Gary set forth on the daunting climb.
Agonizingly slow, his initial progress afforded more aggravation than necessary. From the first few feet into his climb, mountain made it clear that the ascent would prove daunting. What appeared solid to the touch was nothing more than brittle rock and fragmented vegetation, existing within a complex structure of interlaced thicket and brambles. Somewhat robust enough to hold everything together but much too forgiving. Each handful either fell away or skewered him, making movement almost impossible. Gary also got the impression that his advancement amounted to nothing more than shifting side to side. In search of a clear path up. The orange ground below reminded him of how little distance he had actually covered. It would be easy enough to let go and fall without hurting himself. The imperative nature of this challenge would not allow him to give in. He focused his attention on putting his hands in places that caused the least amount of discomfort. Watching closely for which rocks splintered more easily than others, he used them as a guide. Finding a cadence that seemed to work, he moved upwards at a reasonable pace. The original chore of the climb became almost second nature. Remaining vigilant, Gary ensured the vegetation and geology of the mountain had not changed. At the midpoint from the ground to the cloud layer, Gary took a second to admire the view. The blank, orange landscape spread out to the end of time, unchanged, unending. Priding himself on the altitude achieved thus far, Gary returned to his climb. Just after the break, he decided to move across a ridge, taking hold of a section of granite; pivoting at the same moment from some green vegetation to something else. Without warning his right foot broke free, causing uneven pressure to the rock he clutched in desperation. Fracturing in his hand, he fell backward, plummeting downward. The crumple in the orange paper surface protected him from serious harm. The real damage happened during the fall. He recognized his failure and paid dearly for it. The essential yearning to secure the answer at the top was stronger than ever. The only difference this time placed him once again at the base of the mountain.
On what became his fourth attempt, Gary finally stitched together the pieces from lessons the mountain had forced him to learn. He took it upon himself to harness those teachings and use them to concentrate his energy into the meditative state required to scale the monolith. In this strange place with no way to gauge time, everything seemed to take forever. Hoping that could not be true, he also could not reason as to how he had survived a fall from well over 1200’, twice. Unimportant in the grand scheme, Gary returned to the task of conquering the summit. Allowing himself to climb without overthinking it, the placement of his hands and feet were secure enough to further his ascent. As he passed through the canopy of clouds, the fundamentals of the mountain changed. His expectations of bright sunshine and smooth sailing found nothing but displeasure. The summit, still too far away to see, was only a small part of the problem. Exacerbated by the sudden elimination of any vegetation, the climb instantly became a challenging maze of rock formations. Methodically pacing himself against the ordeal, Gary perceived that the mountain had actually changed. In one sense, the circumference narrowed. He could now see where the far edge of the rock face turned back towards him. It appeared to be getting incrementally smaller the higher he climbed. To that end, the higher he went, the steeper the angle of ascent. The conspicuous places that provided a path to cling to suddenly became scarcer and harder to reach. His progress suffered because of the grueling new conditions. The skin where he melded his body into the mountain had long worn away; leaving bloody ruins of his fingers and toes, along with a half dozen other bits. Numb to the pain, his sole purpose remained to breach the summit. Gary resisted the temptation to look up. Having done it hundreds of times and seeing nothing, he finally stopped. Following another long period of climbing, the perimeter decreased once more. On a whim, he looked up and saw what he had been waiting for. An impossible distance above him, the spire of the mountain rose. At its zenith awaited his objective. It appeared that the most punishing part of the ascent started now.
Climbing out of the cave, Rachel set up camp in the protected cove. She sensed her raven overhead keeping a watchful eye over the proceedings. Even though her sons’ physical body no longer inhabited the cave, his spirit, the part that makes him whole, required protection until completion. She felt restless and unsure of exactly what she should do. Sitting in the tent afforded her no comfort, nor did sitting around the fire. Hours away from being hungry, Rachel paced along the driftwood, wondering if her son had found any resolution. She spent a great deal of time over the last few weeks considering her own ascension. How she had struggled with the challenge of benevolence, not understanding that the key was to affording compassion for those least deserving of it. As an elder, she took the lesson to heart. Her calling had served her well. It intrigued her if other elders took up vocations that resonated in them from their ascension. At this exceptional time, she imagined most elders referenced some personal experience to their youth. The trials that she had faced were hers alone, unique to each and every Orabona. The struggle she dealt with currently related to what came after. For hundreds of years, she waited for someone, anyone to discuss what they planned to do about returning to their original home. As a little girl, Rachel recalled her grandmother telling stories about how beautiful Amkata was prior to the Torment. How she travelled all over the universe collecting information and samples, conducting experiments and charting galaxy clusters, all to add to the collective. She respected her grandmother because she spoke about the realities of what once was, more so than anyone else. Avoiding the nonsense of a utopian land where nothing bad ever happened. The truth told of frequent, distant travel, exceptional workloads and unfortunate accidents on uncharted planets that caused heartache and sorrow. Lost and frightened by the reality that existed on Amkata now, Rachel felt as if her people did not see a way out. Perhaps the Ancients had plans drawn up to take it back from the Darkness. However, if that were the case, no one was talking about it. Worst of all, she considered that maybe they had just given up, restricting their futures to this planet and its strange inhabitants. The thoughts of returning home came and went over the years with nothing ever coming of it. Recently, she sensed a change; the same thoughts now had legs and grew roots into more serious considerations. Not having shared her conclusions with anyone aside from direct family, she heard whispers of similar sentiments amongst her close friends. She knew better to think that it was the beginning of anything more than conjecture. The only question she did not have an answer to would come at the end of the week. The very same question asked by every newly ascended elder; when do we return home?
Not unlike scaling a 200-foot tall, polished rock tower, the final section of the climb proved the most difficult by far. After striving for the summit countless times, Gary finally reached the top. Too tired to celebrate, he pulled himself onto the small stone platform, large enough for only one being. A non-descript blue cube appeared out of thin air before him, measuring six inches square. Confused by this turn of events, Gary did not know what to make of it. Bearing in mind his climb to the extreme, to receive a box seemed almost too much to take. Hovering at eye level, he reached out, taking the cube in his swollen hands. A voice inside his head abruptly asked a simple, albeit cryptic question.
“How do you set a pebble free?”
The question seemed arbitrary and capricious until he moved the cube. Something rattled. Assuming that it came from the inside, after a short investigation, he rationally considered it a pebble. Not yet having full control of his Orabona faculties, despite the wonders gifted at the onset, the question itself, not to mention its subtle teaching eluded Gary. The key to his time in this strange place required him to forego whatever he may have learned and listen to the teachings that the charm imparts. If the youth fails to do that, the law of trial and error will beat them into submission, until they separate their false Earthly persona and find their true Orabona nature. With no time limit, some youth take more educating than others do. Gary’s first instinct failed as he shook the cube violently. He tried to pull it apart by wedging his fingers into the non-existent seams of each of the six sides. He carefully knelt down on one knee and smashed the cube into the platform. Giving up after only three tries as it was unaffected by the blows. The real concern came when he almost dropped it. With both hands, he examined it in every conceivable way he could think of. He noticed that by holding it up to the sun, the empty cube did in fact contain a single pebble. It provided no further clues, leaving the original question unanswered. For hours, he turned the cube over in his hands pondering the query. Growing tired of the riddle, Gary used it as a seat, in an effort to ignore it for a while. Repeating this process repeatedly, his frustration reached a level where he seriously considered giving up. He told himself that whatever this game was, he wanted out. Gary thought seriously of climbing down, then remembered that falling provided a quick and for whatever reason, painless way down. At the juncture between staying and leaving, something sparkled in his mind. He could not be certain of its origin but the message was clear. It concerned the finite point in the timeline of space, separating the dark and light. In the middle of that middle, where the two collide, resides a third object. It is neither dark nor light, visible nor invisible. Only attainable by using all five senses and expanding one's imagination to the immeasurable possibilities of the universe. Then, perhaps, one can see the razor's edge where the dark bleeds into the light to become something altogether singular and distinctive. It is the place where true magic prevails. Turning his attention towards the cube, Gary held it aloft again. Unconcerned about the shell that surrounded it, he fixed his energy on the pebble alone. Hundreds of answers began to surface. They were persistent, but none of them satisfied the original question. In a flash he saw himself as the pebble. He ascertained that the cube was not just a container but also something greater. This position began the development of what turned out to be the correct answer. In stages, Gary came to the understanding that the pebble had always been free. The cube did not hinder it in anyway, as it was only the embodiment of a conceptual example used to blind him to the pebble's freedom. Upon recognizing it as invalid, the rest of the pieces suddenly fell into place. His own misguided and narrow perception of the cube, the pebble and, to some extent, freedom itself came into question. Whether inside the cube or out, had no bearing on the pebble’s liberty. Freedom always comes from within. A man in chains may be freer than an free man who does not comprehend his own state in the world. Upon grasping that discovery, the top of the box opened. Before Gary could process what his eyes were telling his brain, the cube emitted a low frequency pulse, turning the boy into vapour. Acting like a vacuum, the pebble siphoned up his entire structure. The lid of the cube resealed, generating a field of energy that caused the pebble to levitate in the exact centre. Gary, very much alive and conscious of every sensation, felt the pebble start to spin. Its velocity increased exponentially. Sparks and flashes of light filled the interior of the cube. The faster it spun, the more dramatic it became. At its peak, the cube contained an immense firestorm surrounding the pebble. At the requisite rpm, the pebble appeared to have stopped spinning. In actuality, the spin rate moved past the point of measurement. Once achieved, the pebble burst inside the box, setting off a simultaneous chain reaction implosion, causing the complete collapse and disintegration of all its matter. The only thing Gary could feel was something analogous to movement. It lasted until he found himself standing in a clearing, surrounded by a circular grove of trees. The soft grass beneath his feet was familiar, almost reminding him of home, but that is where the similarities ended. Despite all of its beauty, this foreign place held a dreadful secret. Gary could feel it in his back teeth. He tasted aluminum and ash. He wanted to spit it out, but knew that it would not change a thing. He looked in the direction of the grove and one tree stood out from all the others. Twenty steps in its direction, Gary froze, as the same voice from the mountain spoke,
“This tree has a disease that is killing it. The disease threatens to infect the rest of the grove. The infected tree is the only one that can pollinate the others. What can be done to save the tree, spare the grove and continue to propagate the species?”
Gary took a long look around at all of the trees in the grand circle. Having nothing to go on but what the voice explained, he sat at the base of the afflicted tree and opened his mind.
Rachel slept poorly through the night; her mind drifting between her son and her own ascension. She built up the fire from yesterday’s coals. Breakfast could wait. She wanted to go for a swim. Something about the ocean provided a sense of comfort and belonging. She never felt alone in the salt water. It is not that Earth caused her to feel lonely; she had a large contingent of family and friends. She could only explain her connection to the ocean because it felt more like home. The thirty minutes she spent in the surf afforded her more serenity than the past twenty-four hours of rest and meditation. While walking up the beach, a rush of energy flowed through her. She watched as the campfire raged in tandem, sending colourful sparks high into the air. Knowing what the signal meant, Rachel shed a tear over the loss of her boy, yet overjoyed he would soon return an elder.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

She was falling and falling fast. The sensation of plummeting combined with the sound of air rushing by furnished all the proof she needed. Coming out of nowhere, it disabled the ability to gauge the length of time or distance she had fallen. Not that she had any accurate way to assess either variable. It came about so suddenly that Allison never thought to call out for help. This encounter with the bizarre seemed to last for ages. In spite of her mental fatigue, she rallied her inner strength and made the decision to scream. Before a sound came out, she found herself standing in a large, circular room. Sparsely decorated with antique furniture, the warmly lit room offered no evidence as to where the light came from. Having no windows, the entire outer ring contained fourteen doors. Each painted as the next with a distinct and familiar shade of green. Standing in her bare feet on the uneven wooden floor, Allison felt more confused than concerned. Gazing around the room first, then at all of the doors, she had plenty of questions. Unexpectedly, a voice spoke to her. Eerie and disconnected, it sounded almost ghost like. The voice commanded that she pick the fifth door. Her confusion suddenly became genuine concern because every door looked the same, from the hinges to handles, to the number five emblazoned on their exteriors. Having no idea what the fifth door referred to, Allison tried to concentrate. Finding it all but impossible to sort out short of any context, she forced herself to try to wake up. Pinching her arm several times and recoiling from the sting, confirmed in part that she somehow remained awake. Considering her location, the fact that any of this existed at all challenged her interpretation of reality. Not to mention why anyone would do this. As real as it all felt, too many things just did not add up.
“The fifth door!” the voice boomed, snapping her back to the seriousness of the moment. Thinking quickly, she looked again at all the doors, and then reached out for one in particular. Changing her mind, she reached out for a second. Allison repeated this until something caught her eye. Through a gap in the fifth door, it looked like a cloaked figure looking back at her. It vanished so precipitously that she thought her eyes were untrustworthy. Grabbing the handle, she turned hard and it opened. Cautiously stepping through the dimly lit and narrow a hallway, Allison found herself in a meadow surrounded by thousands of sheep. The incessant racket of their bleating combined with the noise of the cheap bells they wore, distracted her from her objective. The crackling of static in the air added to the maddening clamour of this strange scenario. Every time she moved to find an escape route out of the herd, they countered, blocking her path. Exasperated by the animals’ movement, she resorted to screaming as loud as she could in hopes someone might hear. The constant noise drowned out even her loudest shrieks. In desperation, Allison started to jump, trying to see beyond the mass of woolly creatures. The first few times she saw nothing but a sea of sheep and rolling meadow around the perimeter. Then, she caught a glimpse of something. A few more jumps confirmed that the same-cloaked figure stood at the fence line, a short way down the valley. The more animated her movements, the more agitated the sheep became. Eventually the sheep had enough and turned on her. They timed their stampede precisely as Allison jumped one final time. Rushing with intent and knocking her to the ground, she fought as best she could to get back to her feet. Defenseless against the thousands of little hooves, she gave in to her unfortunate situation. The herd trampled her into the soft ground of the meadow, and then moved on.
Waking with a peculiar taste of dry grass in her mouth, Allison found herself in a moving subway car as it traveled above the ground in a city she did not recognize. It took a moment for it to sink in, and then for her to do a quick check of herself. Somehow, she survived uninjured. A cursory survey of the forty-foot rail car identified several people toward the rear. Ignoring their situation, Allison searched from anything that might pin point her location.
Strangely, there were no advertisements overhead, nor a map of the line. All subways posted detailed maps that delineated the regular stops along the route. “If there are no stops, how do I get off this thing,” she thought aloud. Lost with regards to the subways direction, Allison turned to face the window and looked out in hopes of seeing anything she could place. Everything appeared utilitarian, ever changing but fundamentally the same. As she watched the grey buildings rush by she caught movement in the glass. Turning around, the people at the far end now sat mid car. They took no notice of her, which was not anymore strange than the rest of the entire event. With greater concerns, Allison just let it slide. Returning to the window, she detected that the car had not yet once eased into a single corner. This suggested a long straight track, which was unnatural in its own right. She thought if she could see the sun, she could determine what direction they were traveling. The thick cloud cover put a damper on that idea. She put her head in her hands and tried to think clearly, an increasingly more difficult chore. It unexpectedly occurred to her that the subway car had also not made a single stop. It seemed unreasonable that none of the other four would be waiting this long to request one. In an effort to get a closer look at the other passengers, Allison casually turned around. Abruptly she turned away, staring out the window once more. Her heart raced and she could not catch her breath. The shock of it took minutes to wear off because of her unwillingness to believe what she had witnessed. Silently, the other four passengers moved closer, sitting directly behind her in pairs. At first, her eyes did not register the source of the warning, but her inner distress signal was screaming by the time she grasped that the other passengers did not have faces. Only a pale void where their faces should have been. They sat motionless. She also noticed their clothing. For some reason it appeared strangely out of place. Unable to put her finger on it, Allison knew that it had some significance. She struggled to find the words, as her mind starved in the subway wasteland. The interior of the car contained some sort of brain numbing force that effectively choked her abilities to reason logically. Consciously aware of this newest wrinkle, Allison sensed that a common thread linked them all; the falling, the doors, the sheep and the cloaked figure. It all started to feel too much to deal with. Turing her gaze from the outside down to her bare feet, Allison wondered why she did not have any shoes on. She sat still for a long time as the subway rattled along the tracks. No one moved as the gray city structures rushed past. The whole production seemed over the top. There had to be more to it than she could see. Her inability to find the missing pieces left her feeling lost and on the verge of panic. She did not feel capable any longer. Taking a second to calm herself, the best conclusion meant changing the focus of her remaining energy. Something on the subway intended to get the best of her, but she was angry now and she would not let that happen. An unstructured thought came to her and made her laugh. It seemed too simple. It suggested that the symbolism within the context of each scenario held the answers to her freedom. If it were that simple then why could she not decipher any of it. At any other time, she would have solved this riddle, but her mind felt broken, rust covered and starved for fuel. It related directly to her exposure on the subway car. A force was somehow causing her mind to suffocate by degrees; restricting her abilities. It equated to a slow and agonizing descent into madness. She could not understand which aspect of the scenario disabled her. The only reasonable theory was that either the subway or its contents were the cause as she had not initially felt this way.
“But why? What is the purpose of this torture?” she asked her reflection. Her frustration flared when no response followed. The clothing of the other passengers continued to bother her. It looked like a uniform but not quite. Worse still, Allison knew the word but could not find it. She struggled with the simplest things as her mind remained locked in a battle with itself. The subway raced down the tracks. She grew tired of looking out the window or anywhere else. Closing her eyes, she needed a little separation from the prevailing confusion. During that short time, she experienced a second of rational thought. Allison allowed her mind to open, freeing up some room for added clarity. She remembered when she had seen the uniforms before, but the where still eluded her. Her lack of shoes seemed to be a constant theme but that went nowhere, aside from her mother’s nagging. Having her randomly pick a door seemed rather arbitrary, but what the bigger question was: a - what did the sheep have to do with anything? She appreciated that it was not so much about the sheep but in relation to her failure or death. Seeing that she had not in actuality died, what did her death signify? Before the thoughts left for good, Allison tried to reason through them; choice, familiarity, lessons and death. Did bad choices lead to something or someone dying? Did learning familiar lessons prevent her death? What did the subway car represent, let alone the cloaked figure? She wondered if this is how it felt when you are losing your mind. Feeling defeated, Allison's still unanswered question and the thoughts associated with it were disappearing like a runaway helium balloon. Allison slid down in the hard plastic seat. Preparing to accept the inevitable fate of being a raving maniac on a subway to nowhere, something changed. An emergency stop button materialized on the wall in front of her. She noted that the four beings ceased to exist, making her think that they were part of the riddle. Immediately, Allison pushed the red knob. The car slowed gradually, coming to a stop and the next platform. The doors opened automatically. Allison got up and quickly stepped out. The cold metal grating felt strange on the bottoms of her feet. The trees and buildings looked far more alive than they did from the moving car. Out of the corner of her eye, the cloaked figure appeared again, standing at the top of four flights of wooden stairs leading down to the street. By the time she reached the first landing, the figure already stood on the paved sidewalk. Knowing that no one could possibly move that fast, she stood watching the figure and wondered if perhaps she was regarding it all wrong. Her eyes were not deceiving her; the figure looked to be waiting. Considering that fundamental laws may not apply here, Allison jumped from the platform, gambling on a long shot. She started to run in the air as she fell. By the time her feet hit the ground, she had made up most of the distance afforded the cloaked figure. A hurried but short pursuit ensued as she followed the black cloak through heavily populated, residential areas. Then without as much as a second look, the figure ducked into the first building it came to. Only a few steps behind, Allison caught the door before it closed. She pushed through and charged inside. Instantly, she found herself in the middle of a battlefield. Explosions and the rapid fire of automatic weapons, fused with the anguished screams of the wounded that surrounded her position. The entire scene caught her off guard. The sky flashed a dozen shades of orange and red from fires raging out of control. The acrid smoke hanging low in the air burned her lungs; filling her eyes with tears. Allison endeavored to cover her nose and mouth. Moving carefully across the battlefield, she searched for anything that would provide shelter. Crouching behind smoldering wreckage, she tried to make sense of the horrific scene. Looking around, this scene, like all the others before it, felt specifically manufactured. Each so meticulous, so personal, making Allison wonder what here could be so important. Scanning the blackened and tortured landscape in hopes of locating the cloaked figure, she saw nothing but bodies lying where they fell. Once the shelling and machine gun fire stopped, nothing moved anywhere. She did not bother to entertain the thought that the figure had abandoned her here. This place must have some deep-rooted meaning and not just on the surface. It always seemed to turn out to be much more profound than the obvious. Allison grappled with the scenarios that began to play out in her head. Trying to control her emotions in the madness of war, she needed calm. One setting kept surfacing in her mind but it could not be. Only she had experienced that, and the small portion she recounted left out the very worst of it. She felt like someone had accessed the depths of her mind. Exhaling softly, she surveyed the wasteland once more; this time looking east. The figure stood on the rise of a small hill, silhouetted by a raging fire. Allison suspected the answers to this cryptic riddle lay with the figure. The problem remained that it was always a step or two ahead of her. Her best option was to catch the figure by surprise. Using the artillery bursts as a distraction, it took some cunning and well-timed movements, but Allison got as close as she dared to the figure. In a sudden move, she lunged, grabbing the figure around the midsection. Wrapped together, the pair tumbled down the backside of the hill. At the bottom, they fell through a paper backdrop. Allison found herself on a well-lit theatre stage wrapped up in a black cloth. Scrambling to her knees, she frantically searched for the figure. Seconds later, Allison realized that it had vanished yet again. Disheartened, she looked around the empty theatre. The sound of the lobby doors closing and the top of the isle alerted Allison to the figure's whereabouts. She rushed after it only to run headlong into an invisible energy field. After many unsuccessful rounds of throwing herself against the force field, she came to understand that this scene was an additional test of skill. Another hoop she needed to jump through to verify some unknown talent. She waited for some booming voice to point her in the right direction. She heard nothing but silence. Ever since she awoke to it, her entire stream of consciousness bothered her. With her patience wearing thin, Allison sat down, center stage, to reason through the situation. Looking around the stage, she found nothing; not a chair, a scrap of paper, nothing. Comprised of four spotlights with the beams focused together, the stage lighting appeared standard. Having no frame of reference, she appreciated seeing light come out of the correct location. She observed that even though she did not have an audience, the house lights were dark. The more she scrutinized the seating; the more something about it did not feel right. She stood up, walking the stage back and forth, trying to see as many of the rows of seats as she could. Absentmindedly pacing, she paid close attention to what actually felt wrong about the seating. This went on for some time, unwilling to give in. When it finally came to her, it seemed so simple. All of the seats were down. Theatre seating contained a mechanism that lifted the seat when not in use. Not the case in this theatre, as the position of every single seat was down. Again, Allison reflected upon the logical and realistic aspects of what she was striving to sort out. Only this time, the fortune of having her mind function at peak efficiency made it easier. She hypothesized that if every seat in the theatre functioned properly, yet remained in the down position, could there be someone in those seats. If in fact that was the case, then who were they. The list of possibilities flooded her mind while she resumed pacing the stage. Having no explanation as to why she found herself on stage with a house full of empty seats, Allison felt beaten. She grew tired of thinking about it all and of walking back and forth going nowhere. She returned to sitting on the stage. Closing her eyes, she wondered what her mother might think of this ridiculousness. She certainly could use some of her wisdom right about now.
Just then, a disturbance occurred in the silence. It sounded like clapping but far off in the distance. When she opened her eyes, much to her amazement, Allison saw her mother sitting in the front row, clapping her hands. The bizarre and other mysterious nonsense were at play tonight. Like a flash, it came to her that it stood to reason that if by thinking of her mother in that context, she should be able to recreate another manifestation. Carefully following the previous steps, she substituted an image of her father. When he failed to materialize, she felt angry and confused because none of this made sense. She laid back, putting her arm over her eyes to block out the brightness of the lights. Just then, a funny memory regarding her grandparents passed through her mind. They would never believe the story of how she arrived here, in this strange world and on stage of all places, pretending to be brave. Immediately, the single pair of hands clapping multiplied as her grandparents appeared in the nextrow back and a few seats over from her mother. The sight caused Allison to jump up and run to the edge of the stage. Standing directly in front of them, she yelled and screamed in a futile attempt to get their attention. They sat transfixed, their familiar faces joyous, and clapping for something only they could see. Allison turned away, shoving her hands into her pockets, balled up fists that did little to contain her fury. The cruel game tested the limits of her patience and discontent. Slowing her breathing and regaining control of her emotions, she needed to think critically about what was happening. She reviewed what caused certain family members to materialize but not others. She tried a list of random people but no one else took a seat. Retesting the energy field, she received a shock for her trouble. Hours seemed to claw by as Allison suffered with the insolvable riddle. Too upset to care anymore, she threatened to give up. Sitting near the edge of the stage, she leaned back against the carved molding. In a rare moment of vulnerability, she pulled her knees up to her chest and wondered why anyone would want to see her perform. She sat there hugging her legs, embroiled in her own misery; blissfully unaware, the theatre was beginning to fill with others. It filled to over capacity. The packed house increased the volume of muffled applause. Even with the extra noise, she was not interested. When the sound started to increase, curiosity got the better of her. Allison looked into the packed theatre, but her mind had become disconnected and what she saw did not sink in. It took a second to grasp that she recognized every single face. Leaping to her feet, she surveyed the crowd. Her father was sitting beside her mother, both sets of grandparents with friends and family not seen in years. They were all cheering for her. Nothing about that made sense and in spite of the encouragement beyond the veil of energy, Allison still could not solve this one. Dejected, she found herself yet again at center stage. Looking out one final time into the sea of faces, she spoke one simple request,
“Help me.”
With that the clapping stopped. In military like precision, the entire theatre stood as one. Then in a staggering demonstration of solidarity, all the people she knew rushed the stage. The first wave, vaporized by the energy field, but they kept coming. Hurtling towards the invisible barrier to sacrifice themselves. Frozen by the tsunami of bodies, Allison could only watch the absurd spectacle. When the last body contacted the force field, a loud snap shook the stage and a rush of air left the theatre. An echo of applause lingered in the wings. The seats were in their upright position and the house lights were on. Allison clearly understood what had happened. However, she assumed that the why part might take longer to sort out. She knew the chase could now continue. Following the last place she had seen the figure go, she leapt off the stage and tore up the middle isle, barreling through the double doors to the lobby, only to find herself sucked into a vortex of crimson clouds. Ferociously out of control while hurtling across epochs, Allison’s body was unrestrained and lost all concept of reality and time.
The sound of a familiar voice, far off in the distance, stirred her from her sleep. A slumber that felt like it had lasted for years. On her left side, Allison found herself tucked gently into the natural curve of a rock formation. Warm and clear, the night sky came alive with strange and beautiful winged creatures; not quite butterflies, nor were they birds or small fruit bats. She thought they almost looked like flying jellyfish except that they lacked both the jelly and the fish bits. Only after taking a few steps away from where she awoke, the little, translucent, kite-like flying creatures surrounded her. They posed no threat, most likely as curious about her as she was about them. Allison put her hand out to see what might happen. Tentatively, the first winged creature landed in the palm of her hand. Virtually weightless, the complex composition that made up its form did not seem to match. The long tails protruding from both sides of its torso felt both soft and prickly against her fingers. As she admired it, a second landed rapidly followed by at least a dozen others. A flash of colour startled her as they all came together. Allison immediately knew things here were going to be very different because even though she watched a dozen of them land, only one creature sat in her hand. It appeared to be the original, unchanged except for its weight. What at first weighed almost nothing now retained some mass. Allison wondered if the additional creatures joined the first one in some way. Before she had the time to consider that question fully, the answer came in spectacular fashion. Hundreds of the creatures flew into her hand absorbed by the initial being. It grew noticeably heavier as the influx continued. At the completion of the phenomenon, the creature shook itself out, as if to ensure that all the other pieces fit. It began to make sounds, easily misconstrued as coughing, but more accurately compared to turning over a stubborn motor. Finally, it looked up at Allison and started to speak,
“We are the Lorath. Do you recognize where you are?”
“Hang on!” she said sarcastically, “What is a Lorath?”
“We are a single being comprised of 256 exact copies that can operate independently or in any numeric combination. This enables our abilities while still being one. We have the ability to regenerate another if one of us is lost. We also create…”
“Okay, I get it,” Allison noted, rudely interrupting the self-description. Allison turned her attention to the stars. Searching the sky for specific markers, she returned with no point of reference to suggest her current location. Looking back at her hand, the Lorath had not moved at all. It did not appear to breathe, and aside from the initial settling in, remained completely still. She guessed it weighed about a pound now, as she had grown tired of holding.
“No, I do not know where I am. I suppose it is probably important. Is it part of the game, or is there more to it?”
“We know nothing of a game. We come with a message that pertains solely and directly to you Allison Hannaburg.”
The words make her stiffen and stand up straight. Hearing her name in this place astounded her.
“You have a message for me. Well, what is it?”
A tiny hesitation preceded the creature buzzing in her hand. Startling her just enough that she nearly dropped it. When the Lorath spoke, its voice sounded radically different, as if someone had made a recording. Allison listened carefully,
“By now you have determined a divergent purpose to the atypical challenges you faced. Some of the lessons learned you will need soon, others have already set a wheel in motion. You will require the others later when everything seems hopeless. Find the meaning of these lessons Allison, as they will help to sustain and protect you.”
When it finished, she let the words sink in for a moment. Under the surface, her irritation with the entire crazy event finally boiled over. She turned her outrage to the creature in her hand, shouting,
“Who gave you this message?”
“The One who Knows,” replied the Lorath, in its original voice.
“Who is that?” she screamed.
“The One who Knows,” it repeated, phased by her aggressive tone. Realizing that this line of questioning would get her nowhere, Allison changed gears.
“When did you receive this message?”
“The Lorath does not subscribe to the same concept of time as the Orabona. To put into terms that may assist your understanding, the message came to us long before you were born. Held in our protection until which time an Orabona youth exhibited specific and exceptional skill sets. Only then would you be able to comprehend the challenges, and be able to accept the learning.”
“So what do I do now?”
“You have finished your tasks and the message is delivered. You will be returned home.”
“How?” she asked.
Right away, the Lorath pricked her hand with a tiny barb, causing Allison to jettison the creature upwards. Once airborne, the Lorath split into its many individual pieces and began to spiral around her. Slowly at first, their speed increased beyond what she imagined possible. The same cloud vortex that delivered her, reopened. It drew her in and instantly transported her away.
“Allison. Allison, are you listening to me?” asked her mother from the driver’s seat of the family Subaru.
“We are almost at the airport and it’s time for you to snap out of whatever daydream you are in today. And for the last time, please put on your shoes.”
Stunned by the location of her return, Allison just sat like a statue while her mother maneuvered the car into the Aerodrome charter flight's parking area. She looked down at the palm of her hand and saw a tiny spot of blood.
“Also, please try to look happy when you see your dad this time. He’s been away so we can have nice things, remember?” her mother said bluntly, as she climbed out of the parked car.
“Sure mom,” said Allison softly, still staring at her hand. She reached down, pulling on a pair of colourful slip-ons. Getting out of the car, she had a thought. Of the hundreds of questions she wanted answers to, only one mattered. She needed to know just what all of this was about.
The instant the Lorath reopened the vortex, a frail old man, several hundred light years away, received confirmation of the delivery of his message. Stoking the small fire, he then eased up off the wooden chair. Limping to the window, the old man watched ten separate lightning strikes highlight the mountain range. The storm outside never seemed to end, constantly raging on. He collected a few important items the returned to the warmth and comfort of his old seat. Carefully unwrapping an ancient amulet, he put it around his neck. The glow cast from the center stone of the amulet bestowed further confirmation that the transmutation had already begun. He wrapped his black cloak around his shoulders and contemplated what he needed to do next. Sometime later, he absentmindedly began to pull at his fingers once more. Every now and then, they felt like they were too close to his hands. When he noticed he was doing it again, he pulled down his sleeves and tucked them away.
Five days after the event, Allison still did not know what to think, causing some anxiety and uncertainty. She left school early unable to concentrate. She lied to the nurse citing problems at home. It got her a free pass. On the walk home, the unforeseen happened. Allison could actually feel her mood begin to change. The uncomfortable feelings just melted away. Finally released from the week long nuisance, a single question remained. It kept her awake at night, and she was unsure if she had the courage to ask her father. She knew the adage of ‘no time like the present’, so she ran the rest of the way home. Bursting through the front door, she raced through the house until she found her dad.
“Dad, do you know who “the One who Knows” is?”
Watching his reaction change from surprise to interest, she carefully monitored his reply. She wanted to know if he tried to shield her from anything.
“I have no idea Ally. What is it in reference to?”
Certain that he had never heard the phrase before; she proceeded, fishing for any possible suggestion.
“Well, I think it is a metaphor for someone who sees things, but that just seems crazy doesn’t it?”
“Actually no, not at all. Is it a person or is it something other, you know, in a more general sense?” Graham asked, attempting a little fishing of his own.
“I don’t know if it is a real person or not.” Appreciating that she had just given herself away, Allison noted her father become more interested and concerned.
“So, have you seen the One who Knows?” he asked. Staring down at the floor for an uncomfortable few seconds, she chewed on her reply.
“Yes and no. I endured the most real daydream in the car on the way to pick you up. It played out like some kind of complex riddle, all of which makes little sense to me.”
“It helps sometimes to talk things out. You know, I am always interested in the twists and turns in your development.”
“I know dad, but this time I’ll try and sort this out on my own. Thanks anyway.” She kissed him on the cheek and headed upstairs. In her room, she endeavored for over an hour to come to terms with the whole thing. Growing increasingly annoyed, Allison gave up and returned to the living room where her father was watching a baseball game.
“Can we talk?” she asked, standing directly in front of the screen. Chuckling to himself at her assertive approach, he said,
“Sure kid, what’s on your mind?”
While Graham listened to his daughter’s recital of the exceptionally strange and intricately formulated daydream, something about it struck a nerve. The specific details, as she explained the very different challenges caused that nerve to vibrate. It was not until she recounted the body of the message that Graham even considered that what could not be. He collectively rid his mind of any thoughts connected to anything linking his daughter to a girl the Orabona people had anticipated for millennia. No one had spoken of it in so long that it did not seem real; not that he ever believed it but for the briefest moment. By protecting her from it, Graham could not decide if Allison did not know what any of it meant, and in that case, never would. Alternatively, she would continue to work through the cryptic scenes. He watched her struggle with the strange new information. Wanting to help her in any way possible, this formality belonged to her only. He hoped that its meaning and the assorted cost befit the abhorrent task ahead. When she concluded her tale, Graham put his arm around her.
“You’ll find the answers honey. Sometimes it helps not to think about it too much. You remember the story about the orange and juice don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” she said, her voice prickled with irritation.
“Perhaps you might apply that same principle to this confusing riddle you are facing. You are smarter than the words, Ally; don’t let them beat.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she mumbled.
Feeling helpless for the moment, he squeezed her tight. She sat still in his arms while her mind soared light-years away. She could hear the sound of clicking, like a playing card in the spokes of a bicycle. Opening her eyes, Allison could not tell where the sound originated. It was not the volume so much, as the repetitive pattern that made it uncomfortable. Like the ticking of a clock, anything that persistent easily upset her. In the foggy state before waking, she found clarity in the sound. Examining it closely, it took on definition and meaning. Her secondary inner monologue, having taken a position somewhat more behind the scenes of late, never failed to catch her by surprise. For some reason, it had determined the noise happened to be a language specific to ravens. Well aware that her parents each cared for one, Allison took this as a sign. She knew to listen when the voice spoke because if she chose not to, getting it to shut up became a real problem. Before she woke, the complete raven language would become available to her, enabling two-way conversation. Sitting up a few seconds later, Allison assumed that she better go see what the birds had to say. At a quarter after three, she crept quietly out of her room and down the stairs. Crossing through the kitchen, she observed that the sliding glass door was open. The aviary resided on the north side of the deck, and a little something told her they were awake. Putting her hand on the door frame, she squeezed through. Obliged to come out here at this hour, Allison had no idea what she would say. Since her birth, she could not recall saying all but a handful of words to the ravens, most of them unkind. Being here now had meaning and something inside her began to sparkle. It felt strange but she had grown accustomed to the sensation. Her father’s bird usually inhabited the right side of the enclosure but tonight, there was only one bird. As she stepped closer, she did not know what to make of it. Perhaps his raven flew alone at night. The weather would make the view magnificent. Very soft but distinct enough to be a heard, Allison scanned the aviary's floor and saw two felines huddled together. A surge of panic washed over her. The first thought being that they had feasted on the defenseless bird. Another look revealed that one of the cats looked very familiar. When it turned to meet her stare, Allison could not fathom why Hennessy would be with another cat in a place neither belonged. The other feline was a non-descript domestic short hair. It stood up and stretched its legs. Walking between the beams of the enclosure, it brushed its head against her shins as way of a greeting. Immediately something about it felt odd. Allison could sense a beings composition by touch. She knew Hennessy with all his peculiarities remained a cat through and through. This colourful creature lacked that sensation. She could not put a lock on what it might be. Three words unexpectedly echoed in her mind. Even though she had never heard them in this language before, she clearly understood the meaning. Coming from the feline at her feet, it said,
“Allison, it’s me.”
She reached down and picked up the cat. She could see by the look in its eye that her feeling had been correct.
“Do you have a name?”
“Your father has always called me Molhast. If you would kindly set me down, there are things we need to discuss with you.”
“We?” Allison asked in a hesitant voice. It struck her that the orange tabby would be the second party as she returned the first cat to the ground.
Never having been one for communication, Hennessy allowed his partner to do most of the talking. Molhast spent the better part of an hour explaining the history of the Corvus to Allison. The original bird of Amkata, gifted by the Creation Beings to the Orabona from the outset. Inseparable, the bond between an elder and its Corvus knew no limits. What few birds survived the exodus provided Earth with the modern day raven. The ancient birds faced extinction a thousand years ago. The descendants of the magnificent Corvus, despite lacking some of their specialty-adapted traits, continued to evolve. No longer necessary to travel between worlds, it became essential to assist their keepers in local environments to different purposes. Modifying their language abilities, allowed each pair, raven and keeper, to share a subset of the language that only they understood. Impossible to decode by anyone other than the two. The council determined that the dangers stemming from the Orabona existence on Earth, out matched almost every other world they visited. Regardless of the statement being a broad stroke of generalization, the Orabona routinely required multiple levels of protection, to which the raven provided the last layer. The first genetic mutation enabling ravens to shape shift appeared some 700 years ago. Today the transmutation occurs in all ravens. The bond between the raven and its keeper enhances it. Lasting for only a finite period, there are certain birds that are able to change for short periods on their own, provided they are in the company of like creatures. Having originally missed the connection, she asked,
“So what you are telling me is that you are actually Molhast, my dad’s raven?”
“Yes, I am. It feels more natural to speak with Hennessy at his level.”
Allison suddenly felt the need to sit down. In the pale light of the waning moon, the two cats sat at her feet. She tried to wrap her head around the reality of one actually being a raven. She could not make that work in her head, but maybe that is why it felt weird. She saw a cat but sensed a bird. After a short break, having completed an assessment of her cognitive abilities, she set her mind at rest that it was not a tumour to blame for this. All of what Molhast explained, she either knew to be true or understood instinctively. The challenge that presented itself came in the form of a question from much earlier. Today had been one of the most peculiar days of her young life and she had not even slept yet. Looking at the two felines, Allison tried her utmost to find some creative way to ask, but in the end just blurted it out.
“Have either of you heard of the One who Knows?”
Everything went silent - the crickets, the wind in the trees, everything. One cat looked at the other then back again. Hennessy felt a shiver come over him, shaking his fur in response. Allison could feel her knees begin to ache as she waited for some sort of reply. One minute slowly ground into two, and then became five. She intended to remain until either one spoke. Having given the question the required time to assemble a satisfactory reaction, Hennessy appeared ready. His rough, gravelly voice came as a surprise.
“The One who Knows - that moniker is steeped in Orabona folklore. Sometimes used as an admonishment for curious youth to stay away from something harmful. Its main purpose intended to remind those who walked on the wrong side of the line that someone constantly monitored their development. By your age the effect is all but lost, but the youngsters still subscribe to the myth. Why do you ask Allison?”
“Because it is not a myth.”
The second cat snapped its head around at the bold statement. It took a breath to calm down, and then fired back,
“I imagine that you have some evidence to support your claim. You understand that the vast majority of the Orabona believes this to be a fantasy. No one has any faith in the One who Knows.”
Sensing their cynicism, Allison had no choice but to recount her earlier experience of the vision. She kept it brief considering the hour. When she first mentioned the Lorath, both members of her audience became physically unnerved. Pausing her story there, she waited for them to regain their composure. Watching as they conferred for the sake of clarity, Hennessy chose to speak first. Before doing so, his attention seemed to drift away. She knew that look, having seen it in others. The blank stare of a being searching their internal encyclopedias for the kernel of information that makes the present irrelevant. Upon his return, particulars recovered, he said,
“This is a very serious matter. The Lorath are extremely rare and only called upon in situations that require absolute precision. Do you know what the Lorath are Allison?”
“They looked like little flying jelly fish, which somehow had many copies of itself that make one body.”
“Yes, I suppose that is true, but they are so much more than that. They are messengers that move freely throughout the entire universe. Aside from the benefits of having multiples of the same being, they can, in an instant create a portal and travel anywhere in what we regard as the past or future. Millions of years ago, Orabona cartographers discovered their planet. The Lorath requested that they exclude their world from the mapping process. Respecting that appeal, the Orabona left with no discernable information about the planet or its inhabitants. Millennia after the fact, something occurred on their planet that consumed most of their species. Before today, I had never heard of anyone being in their presence.”
“There is more to it than that. As Hennessy stated, they are so rare that from what I can calculate, no one has seen one in perhaps 30,000 years. Tell me again what it said about who provided the message.”
“It said it came from the One who Knows, repeating it twice when I asked. The Lorath told me that the message came long before I was born and that it must be delivered only to me.”
Both felines looked at one another, lost for words and clearly stunned by the news. Allison made it obvious that she had no idea what the potential implications were if someone had gone to the effort of securing the assistance of the fabled Lorath. Hennessy began making mental notes. With so much more to discuss, he would require a further sit down with his adviser. Before anyone else could speak, a second floor window opened. Her father’s kind voice spoke the group as a whole.
“I think it is about time you wrap up your little conference. The sun will be up shortly.”
Allison knew better than to question him, especially at this time. She picked up her cat and started for the house. She caught a wink from the other feline just before it changed back into a raven. That sight would stay with her forever, the blend of beauty, magic and power. That appeared to be case in her life more often lately. The comfortable tranquility Allison felt every time she picked up Hennessy returned. At that same moment, she appreciated just how much turmoil this week had caused. Squeezing the cat tighter, Allison closed the sliding glass door and headed for bed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The rocky ledge provided a tremendous view of the southlands. Edgar chose this particular vantage point to bring the scope of the second lesson into perspective. His narrative began with a brief tour of the various regions of Amkata, all very much healthy and alive. It gave the youth in attendance a sense of what their homeland used to be like. It would serve as a benchmark for the unfortunate circumstances that followed. This, combined with Edgars clarification of what actually took place, functioned to polarize even the most jaded Orabona, setting them forever against the Darkness.
“The lush green landscape, unblemished for millions of years, gradually turned black and rotted. The sparkling emerald of the seas flickered as it died, now long extinguished. Its shores left polluted and defiled. The life affirming suns, the source of great celebration, remained shrouded, blocked completely by thunderstorms that continuously plague our planet.”
Allowing the words to sink in, the imagery changed to match the sharp deterioration of Amkata. Standing beside Edgar, Allison silently participated as the same eight students from the previous lesson watched in a state of subconscious supraawareness. With a wave of his left arm, the entire panorama changed. Edgar took a step forward. When he spoke, his voice roared, catching Allison off guard.
“What once existed is now lost to an evil entity. After all other measures failed, hundreds of thousands of Orabona, warriors all, rallied. They stood together, brave brothers and sisters alike, to vanquish the Darkness. Following multiple failed attacks the Orabona had limited options. Their last course of action in fighting a formless entity would be with their hearts, minds and bodies.”
The final image the students witnessed morphed showing over half a million Orabona warriors drawing their weapons in unison. Allison stood off to the side, having already experienced the horrors of the battle. When this unfortunate portion of the lesson was over, it transitioned into the emergence of the Darkness following the Torment. She listened carefully as he told the students things too incredible to believe.
“The composite nature of what caused the entity to appear, after the bodies of the sixty-eight piled on, is outside the teaching of this lesson. There is a theory, regarded by the Ancients, as the best short answer to an extremely complicated occurrence. What I will tell you is sufficient. It is the opinion of the Council that a benign remnant of foreign material, an asteroid perhaps, lay undiscovered in the same chasm where the bodies began to amass. The fresh blood that soaked the entirety of the grave site contained a complex amalgamation of unrequited fear, violent anger, extreme horror, betrayal and misery of unimaginable proportions. This tainted the already defiled bloodlines soaking into the ground. The planet itself wept, thereby creating a rift by which it intended to assist the healing. The intention was to envelop then cremate the bodies. Before that could happen, the foreign object, having absorbed the contaminated blood, found a source of nourishment. At some point, the original object split apart. By latching onto the rift, the planet unintentionally sustained it allowing it to grow. It is all too similar to how the first malignant cell in a hyper-aggressive strain of cancer starts by feeding of its host. Left unchecked, the cancer metastasizes. Before too long, those intensely bitter feelings consolidated into something evil. Slowly incubating the anger and fear, increasing the potency of the already powerful emotions. Over time, these were distilled down to become something akin to severe anguish and hatred. As a nucleus developed around the dead, the two caustic emotions were crushed under impossibly intense pressure, creating something beyond evil. It assisted in its ability to become sentient, as it fed off the first few victims. The supported thinking suggests that the humans provide more benefit as they harboured more emotions than the Orabona. From there the entity moved on to feed on almost any living source. As it continued to grow, it required more than what Amkata could provide.”
Edgar furnished the students with visuals to support his teachings. Allison had never given the development of the Darkness much thought. Hearing the strain in the old man’s voice convinced her to pay attention.
“Initially, the Orabona were unaware that the rift existed. When the collective mind finally took notice, it came with a creeping apprehension that no one could place. Unfortunately, the damage was already past the point of repair. Research groups were dispatched to investigate. They found and monitored the Darkness in its infancy. This kind of occurrence had never appeared on any other world they had visited. They had no documentation to explain it. The collective developed many theories and hypothesizes regarding its potential growth; the adverse effects of its existence on Amkata and what strategies they could employ to sever its reach. Everything regarding the Darkness felt corrupt. Other search teams, sent to find the sixty-eight outcasts, found not a single encampment, signal fire or any signs of life after a month. They scowered the entire surface of the planet with no trace. It looked like they ceased to exist.”
Clearing the display, Edgar looked over at Allison and grimaced. She was not sure what the expression meant. Although, she did have some idea of what the rest of the lesson contained, and it seemed appropriate. When he started again, she took note of the brief image on the screen. Showing a single youth, Allison found herself curious as to how they found the girl, but more importantly, why was she alone?
“A young girl, found months later in the general area where the outcasts had travelled, seemed to be lost and confused. Strangely unable or unwilling to speak, the only comment documented regarding the girl said that she had a very peculiar look in her eyes. Some rescuers called it abnormal and unfeeling, others believed the cause to be having suffered significant trauma. The lost girl merely returned to the group, lost in the shuffle to the growing concern surrounding the Darkness.”
“For generations following its discovery, the Orabona tried everything in their power to stem the growth of the Darkness, and the subsequent slow death of Amkata. It had rendered their large-scale magical attacks ineffective by sheer force. The Ancients, concerned for the safety of the collective, held an emergency meeting. They passed a resolution to send away all families with youth under the age of ascension to the relative safety of Earth - a preventative measure intended only to be short term. The considerable knowledge base they retained from the failed experiment gave them a clearer picture than any other inhabitable planet, and they had functioning portals in place. Details regarding land, customs, language, commerce and culture gave them some confidence and stability. A great deal of discussion and consideration went into the decision making process before the first group made the crossing. Further groups left at set intervals, so as not to make it look like an invasion. A quarter of the population moved in the first few years. The Corvus traveled freely between the two worlds, providing primary updates on what they saw, and transmitted it back to the collective.
As Amkata turned from brown to grey, and finally black, the Orabona elders sent more of their people across. Concern at home grew with respect to their general safety, not to mention the strain of astral travel had become more punishing, especially on the younger ones. Several groups failed to crossover and were assumed lost. Amkata became a nightmare. The pleasant weather had disappeared. It was as if all the elements had grown angry and vengeful. The severity of the constant squalls were more than anyone could tolerate.”
Allison watched the expressionless faces of her cohort. She wondered how much of this information actually sunk in. Then she thought about her parents and understood that all of it did. The lingering images of Amkata were familiar to her. Of all the pictures, she had seen before the devastation, she still could not believe it. She snapped to attention when Edgar clapped his hands in preparation to speak.
“Acknowledging their desperate reality, the Ancients focused everything on their prime concern. The collective mind served as the knowledge base for all Orabona information. It personified the five physical representatives with the five pillars of being. The Ancients, direct descendants of the Creation Beings, recognized the imperative to evacuate the planet. The impossible decision, made unanimously and immediately. The next matter required that three things happen in rapid succession. Initially, the Ancients amassed the collective knowledge and expressed it into a vessel; far too small considering the genius it contained. Each Ancient put their own charm on it for protection; a declaration of their own symbol on an interstellar combination lock. Next, a Kith took the vessel, consuming it and thereby providing another layer of security. Given specific, secretive instructions, the Kith instantly vanished, bound for some obscure coordinates in a remote and distant corner of space. Confident that their historical research was safely sequestered away, they set about to persuade the remaining population that the time had come to leave. A large movement resisted the call, believing as fierce and powerful warriors, and that they should protect Amkata. The sentiment echoed through the hordes. Everyone wanted the opportunity to fight the Darkness. The Ancients, leaders in every right, were merely advisors on matters such as this. The collective took an immediate vote. The results suggested that it clearly supported the measure to fight. All of those who wanted to leave, no matter the reason, were as always free to do so. A small contingent stayed behind because they could not leave or fight. They headed east in the directions of the ancient forests and distant sierras. The remainder, approximately sixty percent of the almost one million original inhabitants, dug in for a campaign that initially changed nothing but in actuality, changed everything.
For several centuries, the Darkness boiled in an enormous state of metamorphosis. It extracted all of the energy it could from Amkata, enclosing the planet in a protective layer, a shelter intended to keep out any other galactic interests. Out of necessity, the nucleus, the source of power at it central core, developed a process that allowed it to become self-sustaining. This ability delivered the necessary energy to refuel itself, escalate its growth and alter the mechanisms of the planet. It did not take long for the Darkness to double in size. The Orabona attempted many fledgling attacks during this time. They diverted rivers to flood it and created rock slides to bury it. They built enormous pyres to burn it. Nothing managed to make a difference. All of it added to the growing frustration around their limited magic. The collective agreed that it had not been lost; but sensed it stolen from them. In addition, the protection with which the Darkness enveloped the planet, disabled any Kith from assisting. Ranging in size from a grain of sand up to supermassive orbs, the Kith exist everywhere in the cosmos. As caretakers to the Orabona, they recognized the changes on Amkata. Only when they could not gain access did they understand that it had turned dire. The remaining Kith were unaffected by the storms and prepared to deliver the necessary assistance in an instant. The final attempt to extinguish the Darkness came when a large contingent of elders climbed high into the sierras. They cut free gigantic sections of the glacier that loomed far above the chasm. The Darkness had the ability to somehow foresee their plans and protect itself. As the massive slabs of blue ice cascaded down the valleys, the entity began to pulse. Slowly at first, increasing in magnitude, letting off a greyish glow that extended a thousand feet outwards. The glacial ice, vaporized by the super-heated glow, left ominous clouds of steam to fill the deep valleys. The disheartened Orabona witnessed their final assault brushed aside with ease. Gathering their forces, they met to discuss any remaining options. After considerable deliberation, and split on what to do next, they put it to a vote. With no clear direction, they returned to cathedral for further discussion. The dialogue went around in circles, feeling after sometime like a lost cause. The collective finally agreed upon the decision to prepare for war. They left the great building vacant but not secured. It was impossible to explain the transition of the Darkness; now sentient and feeding from a constant source. It controlled the elements and used the weather as a weapon. It effectively learned to protect itself. It could sense danger, and it was the crucible that birthed the diabolical nucleus. It set in motion the creation of unholy, evil beings. The Kenaima, were a grotesque army of creatures, born in the depths of the Darkness, which were then vomited to the surface. These abominations extruded from the bile and horrors of the inner cavities. As pure evil, the creatures hunted relentlessly. Sensing that the Orabona had entrenched to fight; the Darkness began to harvest thousands of these miserable beings, into an army.”
Allison watched her mentor closely. Aware of the contents of the next lesson, she thought he looked uncomfortable, having told this same story tens of thousands of times. Out of nowhere, her secondary monologue hijacked her voice and spoke,
“Perhaps one day you will have another story to tell.”
Allison felt embarrassed, as Edgar looked stunned by her words. There were surprising, at the same time hopeful. Shaking off the melancholy, he brushed out his robes and started again. The sound of the first attacks brought on by the horrific creatures transported Allison back to reality. Having already seen a version of it from the ground, the perspective from the ledge looked altogether different. Despite the distance, it did not diminish the brutality.
“Unfortunately for the Orabona, they had set the stage for a slaughter of monumental proportions. The first wave of stampeding Kenaima caught them completely unaware, resulting in untold losses. The ferocity of the first and every other subsequent attack decimated the majority of the Orabona warriors. The Kenaima just mowed through them, continuing to fight even when mortally wounded. Suffering massive casualties but never retreating or backing down, the Orabona regrouped at the first possible opportunity. The limited number of able-bodied warriors were too few to believe. Yet, they mounted a defensive attack that failed miserably, opening themselves up to the savage butchery. The sheer numbers and relentlessness of their opponents were indefensible. The evil abominations that cruelly killed hundreds of thousands silently returned to the filth and excrement of the Darkness as the Orabona lay dead on the once lush ground. Those Orabona unable to fight returned to survey the devastation. Setting foot on the battlefield caused some of the savage army to return, only this time in much fewer numbers. When they fled, the beasts turned away as well. A small pocket of youth remained on the killing fields, too scared to run. Not only had they survived unharmed but essentially unnoticed. The elders concluded that the Kenaima did not see them as a threat. With that in mind, they sent four hundred youth to search for survivors. In all, they found only twenty-one alive. The available magic healed the most severe injuries with varying degree of success. Quickly removed for the battlefield as fears grew of a sudden return of the grotesque army. An elder took dirt from the field of battle. Intending to cleanse and purify it, he held it in his hands and prayed upon it. Other intercessions were spoken aloud by separate elders to protect the fallen. Every living Orabona banded together, combining their remaining magic to bury the dead where they fell as they did not have the time for proper burials. The enchantment that buried their brothers and sisters guarded against the Kenaima returning to dig them out. The remaining Kith within the atmosphere circled overhead. Bringing back beings from death was beyond their ability, as did getting involved in battle. They just did not have that kind of power. On the heels of the final prayer as the Orabona moved away, millions of silver balls rained down on the makeshift graveyard. Further protection; a mysterious type of insurance, for the Orabona they could not save. The battle would be forever referred to as the Short War.”
Edgar took a moment. The running commentary of the past hour was harder on him, brutal almost, than it needed to be. He believed it extremely important that his student experience and bear witness to the event because the warriors who perished were their actual ancestors. Every one of them had similar hopes and dreams. They were real, and with families they loved. In another time, his nine students could have been easily amongst the ranks. As much as it pained him, it was vital that they see and feel the brutality. Allison stood at his side, all too familiar with what had just taken place. She could feel her hands clenching as a malignant bitterness rushed through her. Edgar felt it radiating out of her. He put his hand on her shoulder and whispered,
“We do not hate, Allison. We will hopefully return home one day, even if only by degrees.”
Taking no comfort in his half-hearted statement, she firmly replied,
“We are going home, all of us.”
Removing his hand, Edgar decided the time had come to carry on.
The second lesson started in a very similar fashion to the first, but without the requirement for space travel. Once the eight students were comfortable in their unconscious state, Edgar picked up from the Torment. He described the slow death of Amkata and the burgeoning of the Darkness. With the most demanding portion of the lesson now complete, he reserved this time for various stories. Some of which were too grueling to tell; others too important to omit. With Allison by his side, he made a bold decision to tell a story not heard in nearly a thousand years. Edgar started to rub his hands together, as if washing them. He simultaneously stopped and clapped them together. With everyone’s attention, he motioned for Allison to sit down. The first time he tried to tell the story, his voice quickly trailed off. Looking away, he whispered several words to himself. The only two for sure Allison could make out were, “his eyes.” She wondered what they meant until, clearing his throat. Edgar moved to the front of the room. Closing his eyes, he explained that this story was in fact true. The Corvus and one of the participants substantiated it. Edgar believed absolutely that this story not only happened the way it did, but most likely paled in comparison to the real thing.
“His Corvus transmitted accurate and detailed directions that led him safely and somewhat undetected to the exact location of the desperate rescue. When the lone Orabona warrior, Ghrakib found the ill-fated party, two of the three members had already succumbed to their injuries, and past the point of his abilities to bring them back from the dead. The third, rested against a fractured pillar of stone, struggling for breath. Closer examination showed her to be repeating an intercession, not a prayer so much as a distress call. Hopeful the blackbird she thought she saw would hear her and relay her position. Kneeling beside her, his first impression suggested that her wounds were minor. They were mostly defensive cuts on her arms and legs, several broken fingers, and a badly swollen ankle. Her missing weapon indicated that she had left it inside of her last adversary. Then his heart sank. He saw that she had activated the two charms every Orabona elder casts when injuries are severe. By the end of his examination, he determined she suffered massive internal trauma and multiple fractures. If not for her awareness to trigger the charms, she would be joining her party in the afterlife. Knowing what he had to do, Ghrakib blew a long breath into his cupped hands. This ignited a charge of turquoise energy which filled them. Pressing his hands onto the chest of the girl, the energy raced through her, healing the minor injuries and stemming any further internal damage. This also ended the prayer. For the first time, the pair looked fondly at one another without speaking. He gently touched her cheek, and then stood up to weigh his options. Limited by their location and the extent of her injuries, he had only one course of action. With no other way, Ghrakib laid down his staff, stripped off his pack and set off in search of provisions. With her condition now somewhat stabilized but still unable to move, Olstair rested, thankful someone had heard her call. Ghrakib returned carrying a complex bundle of branches from a cluster tree. First, he began the regrettable task of preparing the shrouds of the fallen in preparation for transport. Olstair watched and wept as her two dear friends were securely bundled. Before moving on to his next important task, Ghrakib checked on his younger sister. Her condition had already started to deteriorate and he knew he needed to hurry. Sorting through the bundle of branches, he systematically laid out the basic framework by size. Cutting the necessary sinews, Ghrakib was thankful he took his time to prestretch and braid them. When he started tying pieces in place, he augmented the bracing sections until he felt confident that it would hold. He spent extra time cutting runners so it tracked surefootedly. He secured the foundations, taking care that every joint and cross member was tight, knowing he would have little time to make repairs once they left. Fashioning himself a crude harness, the triple braided strands of incredibly strong sinew would have to do. He was glad he packed what he did for just such an occasion. The harness provided a reasonable fit and would have to do. In the middle of the howling tempest, he sensed something in the air. The rotted and bitter stench alerted him that they must be on their way. Ghrakib emptied his pack, giving Olstair a soft bundle of cloth and a flask. She knew what this meant and accepted her fate. Her brother loaded the two unfortunate members onto the handmade sled and tightly secured them. Ghrakib then gently lifted his sister and lay her down between the runner supports. He held her head up as she drank the liquid. Shaking out the bundle of cloth, he watched as his own flesh and blood slowly closed her eyes, and then stopped breathing. He offered a short invocation to the Ancients, and then proceeded to cover her body with the gauze like fabric. He wove an intricate pattern, securing her alongside the other precious cargo. His Corvus swooped in as a reminder that he had to start out. Looking out over the bleak panorama, it took a moment to gather his bearings. Stepping into the harness, he adjusted the fit one final time. Fully aware that a serious fight lay ahead of him, Ghrakib picked up his staff and turned to the southeast in search of the coast.
Previous odysseys showed the insidious nature of the Darkness. Ghrakib knew that even the most seasoned warriors found themselves at a distinct disadvantage. His well-orchestrated rescue was a half-day late, resulting in his sister’s life and death fight creating the problem he now faced. The Darkness would certainly be aware of his presence by now. That meant a dispatch of the Kenaima would be on route to him. The word Kenaima translated loosely to ‘the evils that collect the unwelcome’. They were nothing more than violent specters tasked with the removal of those who trespass. His preferred escape route skirted the periphery of the highlands, but the sled made that impossible. It was an ill-advised route, running a straight line to the coast, that Ghrakib felt a compulsion to cut through. Regardless of personal cost, and lacking both time and options, he knew what he had to do.
The harness pulled tight and furrowed into his flesh. Ghrakib persevered pulling the sled across the demanding range land. His progress was hampered by several stops to leverage rocks wedged between the stanchions and the runners. Around his neck, he wore a sacred talisman. It was composed of small stones inlaid with rare glass beads bound together with faded red sinew. Upon his ascension, the warrior handcrafted a sacrosanct object capable of many wonders. Currently, his amulet acted as an early warning system, which had the power to ward off a limited amount of evil. It suddenly occurred to him that Olstair was missing her amulet. He had bigger concerns as he felt the stones of his talisman begin to warm, a silent clue suggesting he was no longer alone. Miserable weather thrashing him from all sides was just another arrow in the quiver of the Darkness. It disabled any advancement of unwelcome beings. It also served to conceal the approach of the sinister creatures that hunted for sport. Ghrakib previously encountered and fought several incarnations of the spawned evil. Vomited randomly to the surface, they rarely hunted alone and always to the death. He had witnessed headless serpents continuing to attack, and unholy beings cut in two, still trying to crawl; things to haunt ones dreams. Here and now, just the fact that they had his scent, reinforced his desire to destroy all of them. In whatever form they presented themselves, nothing would stop him from the coast.
Having cleared the range lands, the rolling hills and wide valleys posed their own set of challenges. The relentless rain made the ground as soft as sodden peat. Ghrakib left deep prints as he continued. The sled in turn bogged down in the soft ground. The harness dug deep into his chest and shoulders. The only time he broke stride came when the sled began to plow deeper than he could manage. It took considerable effort to free and set it on another track. His awareness of the mist rolling in, as the unrelenting rain fell, concerned him greatly. He sensed a change since the veil swept across the valley which his talisman confirmed. Noting the stones were warm and the beads radiating heat, the reality of evil lurked in the mist. He held his staff firmly in his left hand at the ready. Fighting for every step, he fearlessly moved forward, dragging the sled and its precious cargo like a righteous anchor. At the intersection of a natural swale and a stone cairn, Ghrakib crossed a small brook. He then paused for a breath, wiping the rainwater from his face. Something felt strange. He detected movement in the vapour. The pounce came swiftly; a the warrior much faster. Dropping to one knee, the hideous two-headed creature sailed directly overhead. Stepping out of the harness, Ghrakib spoke a command, igniting his staff. It flared brilliant copper as he readied for the next attack. Hesitantly, it came as a pair. He kept low and worked to protect the sled. The elements erased any advantage of hearing the beast. He walked in concentric circles, relying upon his exceptional eyesight. In a flash, he saw the teeth first. Sweeping his staff across the beasts’ flight path and connected. Twisting and flipping it over, a spray of foul liquid painted the mist. Chasing after the body he found it on its back, missing a limb and growling through the dark froth emanating from its vile mouths. Without mercy, he eviscerated the wolverine-like creature, and then decapitated both heads. He kicked them into the brook on the off chance they had one more strike left in them. Turning back in the direction of the sled, something blindsided him. Landing hard on the filthy ground angered him. Scrambling to his feet with no weapon, Ghrakib could not see what had hit him. It felt more like a glancing blow because he was not injured. Reunited with his staff, he knew all too well that he would be fighting the rest of the way. Returning to the sled, he pulled on the harness and kept moving forward. Aware that the glow of his staff may attract other assailants, his situation would require every possible advantage. His Corvus, trying to stay above the mist, saw the first attack take place. The weather complicated the whole issue. The giant bird saw something make a run at his keeper but could not zero in on it. In a split second decision, the only option was to knock Ghrakib down. In doing so, the creature shot right on by and disappeared into the vapour.
After many miles and painstaking hours, the mist refused to go away. Certain that the Darkness added this feature to increase the difficulty level of the rescue, Ghrakib persevered. He consulted his inner star charts, confident that the heading he had chosen pointed them in the right direction. His feet noticed the ground changing. It started to feel a little less fibrous, a sensation signaling a positive change in the terrain. Near the crest of a short, steep hill, the sled unexpectedly felt like it gained at least a hundred and fifty pounds. Stopping at once and rushing back to investigate, Ghrakib found a grotesque serpent with a flat distorted, human-like face. It appeared seven feet long, hairless with a mouthful of broken and ill-fitting teeth. The single eye focused on the corpse of his sister. Instinctively, his staff came down hard across the back of the malformed serpent. Smashing through the outer layer of its protective scales, it reared up with a hideous, hissing scream, as if the voice of both damned creatures had coalesced. Moving faster than he expected, Ghrakib narrowly avoided its bite. Despite his threat to the beasts’ well-being, it seemed very interested in the shrouded corpses. He found this deviation unnerving. They were all going to make it to the coast, Ghrakib told himself. Jumping on the sled and standing over his sister, he answered the serpent’s next charge with a direct hit. Delivering a massive blow, the creature slithered back into the mist. Wasting no time, he knelt. Resting the base of his weapon on the sled and with his free hand holding his talisman, he spoke the three ancient words aloud. The tip of his staff glowed a yellowish orange; the remainder; brilliant copper. He heard a familiar voice provide an adjustment to his stance, as the staff vibrated in his hand. When the serpent reappeared slithering rapidly, its hideous mouth wide open, Ghrakib stood strong and pointed his staff right on target. In a blazing flash, white-hot fluid erupted into the open maw of the living evil. The resulting detonation resulted in a mass of melting flesh. Shaking off the residual spatter, he checked the condition of the sled and its cargo. Proceeding on, Ghrakib did not get halfway down the next hallow before the next ambush. The following strike came from his left side. With no idea what attacked him, he recognized its severity. He was on the ground, with his left arm numb, avoiding being stomped. As he fought to protect himself, the harness impeded his movement. It occurred to him that something about this did not make sense. In every previous encounter, the beasts were savage, killing then tearing apart dead bodies just to prove a point. Instead of destroying him, the beast had meant to incapacitate. They were after the cargo on the sled, more accurately, Olstair. He could not let that happen. Despite the swelling and facial bleeding that impaired his vision, he got a very good look at his assailants. It took longer than normal to calm his breathing. When he was ready, he spoke a warrior’s prayer. Gathering up his staff, he endeavored to stand. The injuries to his left side were critical. The damage made movement unbearable. Activating his first charm, he knew it would give him some limited mobility. He had to keep the other one in reserve. He could only depend on his right side now. The rescue could not fail; the Creation Beings foretold it. Ghrakib limped toward the sled when he saw two of them. Hulking buffalo like creatures that walked upright and possessed six human like arms. Unaware of his approach, the beasts faced one another across the sled. With little choice and less time, he crept up and drove his staff into the back of one of the beasts. His weapon functioned like a cutting torch, boring an enormous hole in the center of it, severing its spine. The beast waivered as a disgusting torrent of fluids and internal organs emptied to the ground. Ghrakib suffered a growing disconnection between body and mind, which led to an unfortunate misjudgment in the collapse of the dying beast. As it twisted around backwards, it fell on the injured warrior. With his good arm now pinned, he was at a marked disadvantage. He struggled to move the stinking hulk without success. In the midst of a steep dive to drive off the second creature, his Corvus felt his keeper’s distress. Wheeling and turning hard, it caught just enough of the ragged fur to free Ghrakib, and then climbed as fast as possible to provide air support. Slowly getting to his knees, the warrior knew his injuries were very serious. The second beast stood over the sled, untying the cargo. Puzzled by the beasts repeated efforts to access the cargo, Ghrakib got to his feet. With his staff as a crutch, he hobbled over to the dead buffalo. He made two well-placed cuts and removed the head. Taking it in his good hand, he heaved it toward the sled. Making direct contact with a wet thud, the beast forgot the sled and charged. In spite of his condition, the Orabona warrior anticipated the fast yet clumsy attacker. On the first pass Ghrakib amputated two of its arms. The upright buffalo ran at him again, he countered by ramming his weapon into the shoulder hump, causing an eruption of fluids. Returning for another assault, he slashed at its hooves, severing one, bringing it down. With his good hand, he looped the lead lines on the harness around the beast’s neck and choked the life out of it. Confident of the kill, Ghrakib removed the braided sinews, and then cut the head off for good measure. With no time to clean his wounds or rest, he confirmed the cargo held tight and remained secure. He leaned heavily on his staff. Adjusting the harness was a bother, but he pressed on. Ghrakib had but one option; he must continue.
Staggering awkwardly out of the foothills, the ramshackle sled remained secure even with having lost a runner. Clotted blood and dirt matted to the cuts from the harness that crossed his chest and bit into his shoulders. He felt nothing. He was completely anesthetized from the ordeal. He needed only to get to the water in order to escape. He relied on his battered staff as he fought with every step. The terrain remained brutal, finding menacing ways to trip him and yet the warrior refused to stay down. He no longer felt his left arm, badly broken and rendered useless. Every time the heavy sled bound up, it retarded his progress. Every yard brought him closer to his objective. Not only did the rescue mean saving his sister, it also held the potential of ensuring the permanence of the Orabona. He did not understand what it meant, only that the Ancients required her safe return. Hour after hour he marched, forcing himself forward without a word of complaint. No matter what the Darkness threw at him, Ghrakib endured. Cresting the final bluff, he could finally see the black water he crossed the day before. He could barely make out where he beached the small kayak. Amid all of the noise and pain that filled his mind, he sensed a different presence this time. As the Darkness frantically searched for him, the talisman vibrated again. Summoning the last of his energy, he took the most direct route to the coast. A maze of steep drop-offs and washed stone made it treacherous to navigate. Missing a step, Ghrakib fell tumbling down hundreds of feet, the sled in tow. When he finally came to a stop, he rolled over and saw the cargo on its side. Getting up, he limped around to right the sled. The only causality was the loss of his staff. Being in no position to search for it, he returned back to the shore. Lightning frequently lit up the sky, but its frequency and location changed since the last fall. Possessing the ability to predict every strike, Ghrakib felt confident they were safe, at least for the time being. The only concern came from the pulsating beads around his neck. It was only a matter of time before the presence caught up to him.
The closer he got to the shoreline, the worse the lightning became. Not yet in the cross hairs, the Darkness kept striking randomly in his general area. Fighting against the shearing winds that made flying almost impossible, the Corvus finally caught up to his keeper. While Ghrakib laboured at the edge of the shore, a distorted miscreation lay in wait. Setting its eyes on the warrior, it missed the massive blackbird reaching terminal velocity. At the same time as the creature pounced, the Corvus screamed over its keeper, plucking it out of midair. Twisting its talons to shake and tear the life from the filthy beast, it deposited the severed remains to the black water. The bird rushed back to assist with the final preparations.
While appreciative of his birds’ exceptional timing, he had no time to celebrate. The second his feet hit the sand, Ghrakib switched into high gear. He dropped the sled and moved the best he could to prepare the kayak. He knew time would be short; as the longer he remained stationary, the more accurate the Darkness would get. With the bow of the kayak in the water, he returned to the sled and unwrapped his sister’s burial shroud. Putting his good hand on Olstair's chest, a flicker of energy percolated between Ghrakib's fingers. In mere seconds, her reanimation was complete. The two siblings helped each other up off the sled and made their way to the little boat. Ghrakib steadied the kayak as his younger sister climbed in and readied the paddles. Turning back to the sled, lightning struck the ground only three steps away. Ghrakib saw it coming but it still shook him. Untying the accompanying bundles, he carefully gathered them up. The larger one was that of her Corvus, Aja, a mean spirited old bird that most likely died protecting her. He would ride between her feet. The second bundle he wrapped in her tunic. It appeared to be a small bird, a chickadee or finch. Obviously, an unfortunate spectator caught up in an ambush. Ghrakib ever so briefly placed his swollen bloodied hand against his sister’s face. In a final gesture, he removed his talisman, glowing brilliant sapphire and singing, and put it around her neck.
“This will see you safely home. I will stay until you are out of sight.”
Olstair leaned forward, accepting the gift, knowing what it meant.
“Your name will not be forgotten,” Olstair shouted over the wind. Their arms and hands embraced as another forked bolt struck the sand. Releasing his grip, Ghrakib pushed with his one good arm. The stern let go of the sand. Olstair paddled against the heavy surf without as much as a second look. Destiny awaited her elsewhere. To ensure her deliverance, he released his Corvus into service and protection of his little sister. The bird accepted and followed in the wake of the kayak. Turning from the water, Ghrakib did not watch them leave. He hobbled down the shore to face a destiny of his own.
When Edgar finished the story, Allison felt immensely disappointed. It could not just end there. There was so much more to the story. She made a mental list of inquiries, but knew the old man did not take questions following a lesson. She needed a hook. Immediately following the harrowing tale, Edgar removed the enchantment that created the illusion of being on the rocky outcropping. They were in a small room with more chairs than bodies. The room from the first lesson felt larger, almost spacious by comparison. The remaining eight, still in their semiconscious condition, continued to comprehend all of the input going on around them. Allison sat in a chair directly across from the old storyteller with a curious look on her face.
“I get the impression that you want to ask me a few questions about the story.”
“It is more like twenty questions, but yes!”
“And if I refuse?” he asked, baiting her.
“I thought it might benefit all nine of us, don’t you agree?” Her logic gambit paid off. He began by saying that he would answer her first two questions without her having to ask them.
“Yes, the entire story is true. I happened to sit on the council that authenticated the details you heard here. Next, Ghrakib and Olstair both existed and in life lived as brother and sister. I knew them both well. Olstair is still alive, but is very old. Ghrakib, on the other hand, we presumed him lost to the Darkness. In over 1500 years without contact, our belief is that he died.”
Neither of his answers satisfied Allison’s first two questions but she knew she would get them in somewhere.
“I have a follow up about why Olstair went to Amkata in the first place, when she seemed so ill prepared and grossly outmatched?”
Edgar became visibly uncomfortable and twisted the arms of his chair.
“An unfortunate conclusion drawn from our history, led her to believe that she might be something greater than herself. Why she went on this expedition is unclear. Questioned at length as to her motivation, she would not, or could not, explain her actions. Only by her brother’s sacrifice did she get back alive.”
Allison tried to garner some understanding from the genuine reply because his discomfort suggested there was much more to the story.
“And the two companions who perished?” she asked with caution. Allison did not want to come on too strong and lose Edgar’s involvement.
“Her Corvus died in battle protecting her, and…,” the old man paused, appearing to brush tear from his eye. She froze because her father told her that the Ancients were beyond emotion, enabling them to make impossible choices. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he continued,
“The small bundle held a very dear friend of mine who requested the adventure. I knew that Olstair planned to venture off somewhere, so I asked her to take Ruton the finch, along with her. If only I’d known where she intended to go.”
“I’m so sorry Edgar, I had no idea.”
“It happened 1500 years ago, it’s long since passed,” he grumbled. “Next question,” he barked.
“You said that Ghrakib knew Olstair activated both of her symbols that deliver lifesaving care. Where are they and how did he know?”
Impressed by her question, it offered him an opportunity to discuss an important factor that the youth of today knew nothing about. Despite this particular information being revealed following a youth's ascension, the context of such may have little relevance. Edgar reached over, pulling Allison’s chair beside his. He then rolled up both sleeves. Presenting his wrists for inspection, he explained how the symbols work.
“Before we came to Earth, and I suppose even until about 200 years ago, all Orabona elders wore their symbols proudly. Upon ascension, your wrists will be adorned as mine are.” She saw the same five symbols she had seen in the cathedral, on each wrist. Each about the size of a quarter and evenly spaced, both held the same symbols. Edgar explained the every elder has two symbols that perform the same functions. First is a weapon of choice, the second is critical first aid. The other three were customizable by the individual elders as they saw fit. Pointing at a symbol, he said,
“When I hold my finger on this, you will understand.”
Allison waited in nervous anticipation. Magically, a brilliant short sword appeared in Edgar’s hand. She covered her mouth so she would not scream. He held it out for her to touch and confirm that it was indeed real.
“See how the symbol has faded now that the weapon has activated? That is how Ghrakib knew his sister used both of her charms.” Pressing it again, the sword vanished, reinstating the symbol.
“You said that every elder has these symbols?”
“Yes, Allison, it is a rite of being an elder.”
“How come I have never seen them before, like on my parents arms?”
“We are exiles here on Earth. We have to, more correctly, we must conform to what humans find acceptable. After several unfortunate incidents that highlighted just how different the races were, the Ancients decided that we must hide them away. You will learn a charm to disguise them. This is not our home and this is not our way.”
Getting more than she bargained for on the last question, she almost reconsidered asking any more. Her follow-up question regarded what happened just after her brother located her.
“What did Ghrakib give his sister to drink that made her die, and why would he do such a thing?”
Edgar cleared his throat and shook out the cuffs of his robe.
“We believe the liquid he gave her was Owtasi. It is an elixir made from the bark of a wishing tree among other rare elements. It works like a nerve agent, by putting the elder into suspended animation in such situations. Ghrakib must have added an accelerant with healing properties. I believe the reason he gave it to her, dealt directly with how the Kenaima hunt. Roving in packs, their numbers reflected how many Orabona elders they perceived. The Darkness sent out at least six after just him. Had Olstair been alive, the number could easily have doubled.
“And the Kenaima kept trying to steal her body from the sled because they knew she was not technically dead?”
“That question is hard to answer Allison. We believe that they were certainly curious because something alive remained, but not enough to warrant an attack. It is a question we have not been able to resolve.”
Allison sat silent for several minutes, a fact that Edgar felt worthy of commentary. Before he could get the words out, she asked her final question.
“Why did Ghrakib stay behind? It seemed unnecessary to sacrifice himself like that. The only problem I have with the story is the use of the word, ‘destiny’. Orabona do not believe in destiny, do we?”
Edgar considered rethinking his answers but knew they would not change, so he dove right in.
“The short version is this. Ghrakib turned back to face the evil entity, ensuring Olstair’s safety. If they had left together, the Darkness would not have relented, jeopardizing the entire rescue. Destiny prevailed when telling the story because of the impediment of using the correct word, hyghdarence. Its base meaning suggests, “in a field beyond, where we are to meet once again.” The actual definition is much longer. Upon review and much reflection, another word, foreordained, was considered but destiny served the best explanation and as such, remains.”
Allison was not sure what to make of that, but it satisfied her curiosity, Edgar took a moment to let his explanation sink in, and then returned to his previous statement.
“I am impressed by your questions Allison, and your knowledge that we do not hold our lives to the indulgence of destiny.”
She smiled, collecting more secrets of her people. Before he released the other eight, the question of destiny troubled him. Are we not pinning the hopes of our return to Amkata on the predestination of a girl born on a day so rare that it has taken thousands of years to calculate?
“If not destiny, then what,” he said aloud, ending the charm and releasing the students. Edgar looked at Allison and quietly said,
“There is much work to do child.”
To which she sincerely replied, “I know.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Charlie collapsed to the floor of his bedroom, the moment after he stepped through the door. His wet clothing retained the faint odour of sour mud. Gradually readjusting to the bright lights of the house, the trouble with his eyesight came as a surprise. Compounding that, four fingers on his right hand were still numb. He took several deep breaths and tried to sort himself out. Thinking back over the strange set of circumstances that comprised the last ten hours, Charlie could not really believe it happened. Nor could he even speak about what they uncovered.
It started the day before, at the monthly family get-together. Charlie’s family hosted Molly and Graham Hannaburg, his aunt, uncle with cousin Allison. The two youth had known each other pretty much all their lives. He could not be sure but he thought he was a few months older. They went to the same school but moved in very different social classes. Even though they shared about eighty percent of the same classes, they never really hung out together. Being family and seeing one another everyday yielded no guarantee of being friends. With all that said, Charlie could tell Allison seemed on edge. He had no idea what about and was in no position to guess. While the elders were talking around the dining room table, he joined his cousin outside on an old wooden bench. The first sixty seconds were silent, going by without notice. Every second after that, for some reason, caused the tension between them to increase. Unable to tolerate it any longer, Charlie finally spoke,
“Is something bothering you Ally? Because, I get the impression that you have something you want to say.”
Her response almost exploded out of her, catching Charlie completely off guard.
“Tell me what you remember from the last lesson with Edgar. I just want to compare notes because I haven’t seen you since then.”
“Haven’t seen me, it happened yesterday. Not to mention we have spent most of the day together.”
“I know. Look, that doesn't matter now. I just need to know what you got out of it.”
Charlie thought back to the previous morning, sitting in the little kitchen with Allison and the other seven. Edgar escorted them into a windowless room with uncomfortable chairs, then…
“For the life of me, I do not recall what happened after we left the kitchen for the other room. Come to think of it, I have no idea how I got home,” Charlie said with a confused look on his face. Allison watched him intently; her eyes alive like distant stars. He never noticed them blaze like that before; the fire within seemed so realistic, Charlie found it remarkable. She was swift to pick up again,
“That's what I suspected.” She mumbled to herself, then said,
“I am going to share some information with you, but you, have to promise not to tell anyone. Okay Charlie? I mean it. You don’t tell anyone at all.”
“I promise,” he offered as confidently as he could.
She relayed the story of her experience that same day. She tried to be as specific as possible. The intention was to activate some of the unconscious memories. The expressions on Charlie’s face told the whole story. It changed from surprise to disbelief and back again as she explained the history of their home planet, how that they were not human, but something very different altogether. At this point, her cousin became very animated and told her to stop. Imagining that he was finished and wanted out, Allison paused to let him deal with the magnitude of her conflicting narrative.
“I believe you,” he shouted. Charlie gave a short but detailed account of the old text he found and the story of the Creation Beings.
“The two stories have to be related. The fact that we both have evidence that something strange exists outside of our reality cannot be a coincidence.”
Allison put her hand on top of his and spoke in hushed tones.
“It isn’t, Charlie, and I can prove it.”
“Prove it, how?” he asked, followed quickly by, “Did you just read my mind?”
“Yes, but I don’t have a lot of time to explain all of that. Suffice to say, I have had the ability since I turned five. I do it all the time so it’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal, are you freaking serious? This is huge.”
Allison tightened her grip on his hand to keep him sitting. He looked down at his hand, then at her and understood the sign.
“I’ll explain that later, more importantly, I will show you what I mean. Not here obviously, but if you really want to see, I will message you later. You will have to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. Meet me in my backyard. Oh, and make sure you bring rain gear and boots.”
“Are you for real, it has not rained around here for weeks?”
“Trust me Charlie. Where we are going is unlike anywhere you have ever imagined.”
Allison removed her hand and brushed it against her knee. She could tell her cousin had some serious reservations, but the excitement of it all outweighed the concerns. With their plan effectively in place, the pair returned to the kitchen in time for desert.
A little before 10:30pm Charlie’s phone buzzed with a short message that read – be here before 11, do not be late. Having pre-packed, he grabbed his bag, crept down the back stairs, and carefully closed the door behind him. He raced along the quiet streets to the Hannaburg residence. He noticed a single light still on in the kitchen. Carefully maneuvering along the driveway to the backyard, halfway to the fence, he stopped dead. A foreign presence in his head began to cause him a combination of grief and fascination. Upon recognizing the voice, Charlie could not grasp how it worked. Allison, seemingly out of nowhere reached forward and put her hand on his shoulder. It helped to ease the peculiar initial sensations telepathy presented. It came as a surprise to learn that his parents never shared this with him. Perhaps they assumed that he had picked it up from his two older sisters, both of whom ascended. Telepathy remained the cornerstone of Orabona communication. In the span of five minutes, Charlie sorted out the basics of the new style of dialogue. Allison told him to change into his gear, stow his bag behind the shed and then follow her. A few minutes later, as she looked back at her cousin preparing to scale the first fence, she could not help but comment on the spectacle.
“Is that rain gear your dad’s? It’s got to be three sizes too big Charlie, and its’ just so, so yellow.”
“It’s all I could find with no warning Ally, so lay off.”
“At least I won’t lose you,” she replied with a silent laugh. Her tone turned serious.
“Be careful up here, it gets tricky at the junction.”
The fence line poses some early difficulties, but Charlie managed despite the oversized rain pants snagging and constantly in the way. His overall lack of agility did more to hold him back. When they both reached the secluded area behind the workshop, Allison briefly explained how she found the portal, but avoided discussing the other side just yet. Using his newfound telepathic ability, he asked more questions than she could contend with, let alone answer. At the peak of her annoyance, Allison barked,
“If you do not believe me then throw a rock into it.”
That comment abruptly shut him up. Kneeling down, he picked up a stone the size of his fist. Standing directly in front of the shimmering void, Charlie raised his arm.
“If you miss, it will end up in Mrs. Winter’s bathroom,” Allison said with a smirk. Shaking his head, he cocked his arm back and threw it dead center. The portal quivered for an instant and the stone disappeared. Punching him in the shoulder, Allison asked,
“Do you believe me now?”
Momentarily speechless, Charlie rubbed his arm and calmly replied,
“Yes, I think I do.”
“Good, now get going,” she told him confidently, “Just step on the gnarly root and climb through, but be prepared the weather is going to be really awful.” Before he had a chance to move, she told him one more thing.
“Whatever you do, do not wander off. Just wait for me and I will show you the way. Mind you, with your outfit as yellow as a banana, I will be able to see you for miles.”
The mention of a banana made him ask,
“Did you pack anything to eat because I’m starving?”
“Eat, are you mental? No, you will have to go hungry for a couple of hours,” she said pushing him along. He got the hint, climbed up into the portal, and vanished. Two steps behind, Allison remembered what Edgar told her the last time they spoke. It was too late for that now, she thought as she felt the cold rain on her face.
By the time the pair made it to the cathedral, Charlie was completely overwhelmed. He found it necessary to recite a running dialogue of everything he witnessed, regularly quoting,
“That it was even more amazing than Allison explained. Aside from the horrid weather and bitter stench, just to be here, the unbelievable reality of another world with a mysterious past. The unreal had just become real…”
He noticed certain new and surprising abilities. The night vision came as a shock because he did not realize what he actually saw until later. When he asked if she could see in the dark, Allison just nodded. The other noticeable changes were all internal. He felt more alive, like a tingling or perhaps sparkling inside. His senses activated and changed suddenly. A host of certain enhancements left him feeling exceptional, unlike any previous experience. The ominous smell that seemed to cling to everything had dimension. He could identify its various components. An additional aptitude developed as he put his first foot down on Amkata. It took a minute to grasp, but in the face of the storm, Charlie heard an asymmetrical throbbing, separate from the wind. His first thought imagined something fantastic adding to the allure of this new world. He let it go when Allison joined him. They walked through the staggering expanse of the cathedral. The year before his family traveled in Europe and saw the most famous cathedral up close. They were awesome, but this building belonged in a different strata. Exceptional in every way: the detailing, the finish, the lighting, the grand scale. All the while, the cathedral retained subtle elegance in its understated grandeur. Following his cousin's lead, Charlie stopped fast when he saw the first set of five symbols. His eyes then darted from pillar to archway.
“Allison, I know these symbols. I’ve seen them before,” he said softly, seemingly concerned that he might wake them. Turning back, Allison knew exactly what he was talking about. He went to point to the ones on the archway. They saw that they adorned the entire structure. Pointing all around, he said,
“Those ones, the same five symbols were on the spine of the book I told you about. Do you know what they mean?”
Allison had some personal ideas but just shook her head. He knew they were obviously significant and in their current position, all they needed to know.
Charlie found his emotions to be hyper-stimulated. Feeling adventurous, he wandered away from Allison, who seemed focused on something herself. Looking at everything like a small child, he touched the walls and floors to gauge the texture. He wondered how the light came from the building. He returned to internally soliciting nonstop questions, forgetting that each thought broadcast outward. Catching up to him, Allison settled him down. She reminded Charlie that they were here on a mission and only had a limited amount of time. After listening to all of his reasons for having a quick look around, she relented. The pair retraced her original steps, giving him a tour of some of the incredible wonders hidden within the cathedral. When he caught a glimpse of the display boxes, it took a herculean effort to keep him from running towards them.
“When we get back, okay?” she reassured him. “We do not have the time now, and they are not going anywhere.”
Her decision irritated him for as long as it took to climb the staircase to the dais. At the top, not only did Charlie forget about the boxes, but was transfixed by the windows. They magically served to impart a much greater sense of where they were. Lightning strikes lit up the sky providing definition to the rugged peaks of the silhouetted distant sierras. He could see the strange grey glow somewhere off in the foothills, just as his cousin had explained. The only difference from her version was that the Darkness seemed to have started to pulse. It did not match the sound he could hear in the background. Turning to his partner, Charlie asked,
“Can you hear that?”
She listened carefully for a minute. The cathedral kept out the constant uproar of the storm and virtually silent otherwise.
“No, Charlie, I do not hear anything. Am I missing something?”
He tried his best to describe what he could hear. How it came and went around and between the glowing pulses. From what he could determine, it was unstructured, without a pattern or design. It was almost like something was struggling to breathe, sudden, irregular, deep and shallow breaths without symmetry. From the time he first heard it, he could not make out any discernible sequencing. Allison, already curious about the change in the Darkness, found Charlie’s ability to hear something she could not beneficial. It fueled her interest in locating whatever it was and getting some answers. Interested equally in the architecture of the cathedral and the dark wonders beyond the windows, Charlie failed to notice the massive organ surrounding him. Allison intended to keep it as nothing more than a curiosity, a treasure for another time. Her plan fell apart when he innocently rested his hand upon the keys. A bright arc connected the young Orabona and the organ, expressing such a colossal sound, it rendered mere words impotent in describing the beauty, warmth and character of the five notes. Allison recognized the substantial incidence in comparison to her own but knew nothing more. She took a few steps toward her cousin who had slumped to the floor. When she got him to his feet, he looked to be having a conversation in an unfamiliar language. Listening closely, she placed it as the same language she saw on the display boxes. The only difference being that is was the first time she had heard it spoken. Charlie’s eyes glazed over as he kept repeating the same passage.
“Be not subservient to any supernatural force which controls destinies, and which arbitrarily rewards and punishes.”
Allison shook him gently by the shoulders until she felt his muscles relax. Gradually, he came around. Wiping his face, his first question seemed clear,
“What happened?”
“I do not know. I was going to ask you the same thing. You touched the organ and the next thing I knew, you were on the ground reciting some kind…”
“Of passage,” he said, cutting her off. Whatever knowledge the flash implanted into Charlie came rushing forward. “It is not simply an organ Allison. This precise instrument serves many functions. It is able to share knowledge, principles and wisdom in languages and forms I do not yet understand. The revelation of this first layer feels just like an introduction. The words I spoke are part of a much larger narrative. They must have transmitted information in the form of music with the message structured into those first five notes.”
Allison found all of what he said a little more unbelievable than the rest of their current reality. Before she could ask a question, Charlie carried on,
“Not only messages, but something beyond that, something universal. The organ contains every colour and every musical note in the entirety of space. Using light, colour and sound to deliver messages of goodwill and understanding to a call to arms or outright war, the organ enabled the Orabona the ability to speak to every being on every celestial body, no matter the distance. It is remarkable. It is a beacon in the darklight of space. Our ancestors were not just cartographers Allison, they were peacemakers, and this was their shield.”
“You got all that from a handful of notes?”
“Yes. I can tell from the look on your face that you heard only the organ?”
“Me, no. I have other things on my mind right now.” A slight awkward pause ended in Allison suggesting the time had come to get moving.
“Time is different here Charlie, than it is back on Earth,” she added.
As they made their way back down to the main floor, Charlie asked what she meant by that statement. She explained how time here seemed to go twice as fast as on Earth. Four hours spent on Amkata turned out to be around eight hours back home. She had some ideas of what might be the root cause of it but she could not explain why. It remained consistent with the two previous times she had been here.
“The second time I came, I was aware of the time differential so I had less explaining to do.”
“This is your third time here?” Charlie asked in disbelief.
“I would have come back more often but I could not get away. It has only been just over a week since I was here last.”
“That’s awesome.”
Detailing her plan, she wanted to get as close to the Darkness as possible while avoiding the graveyard she encountered on her last visit. Leaving out that last major detail, Allison drew a roundabout route that Charlie did not question. She informed him about the challenging conditions: weather and terrain; the importance of him keeping pace plus, if he saw anything strange to let her know immediately.
“What do you mean, strange?” he asked timidly.
Thinking about how she wanted to answer his question, she replied,
“If you see anything or anyone other than the two of us out there, let me know.”
With that and a comforting pat on the back, the cousins turned explorers walked through the cathedral doors, out into the raging tempest, in search of the now pulsing Darkness.
For over ninety minutes, Charlie worked very hard to keep up with his younger companion. Challenging enough to match her pace, the addition of boots and ill-fitting rain gear, made it even worse. The driving wind and rain made it hard to get a good look around. When he did stop, he only fell further behind. The second time she stopped to wait for him, she pointed out that they were at the edge of a plateau that slopped down to a narrow valley at the foot of a giant forest. They followed the ridge line as it curved back and forth with the natural curvatures of the land. The ground felt more favourable here due to the considerable drainage the cliff offered. Closer now to the Darkness than either had ever been, Allison began to have serious concerns. Something awful out there waited for her. She felt something deep in her guts. Hiding, the Darkness protected itself from letting her get a look at it. Elusive and living amongst the shadows, she imagined it was either too shrewd or too dreadful to show itself. For nearly a decade, Allison’s perception suggested she had a higher calling. She never let the thought of greatness guide her; it just tagged along. In this polarizing moment, Allison knew that she now had purpose. A stream of energy rose up out of the ground and surrounded her. Her sole objective being to vanquish this evil from Amkata. The sensations lingered and filtered through, giving her clarity of purpose. She then realized that Charlie must have been feeling something because her discomfort had peaked. Even though they were making good progress, she felt the need to check in with her cousin. She also knew he would appreciate the break.
Allison abruptly stopped and turned around. Charlie, only a few paces behind, noticed the forced march had halted. Shaking the water from his hair, he leaned in close and asked,
“What’s up Ally?”
“I just want to make sure that you are okay. I have been noticing a powerful, uncomfortable feeling as we get closer to the glow.”
“Is it like a pressure in your chest combined with the feeling of wanting to cry?”
“Exactly,” she said.
“No, I have not felt that at all,” he laughed and pushed gently on her shoulder. That little shove caught her off guard, causing her to take a step back. When her left foot touched down, the soft ground gave way and she tumbled over backwards. Charlie leapt forward, reaching out to catch her but missed. The instability of the cliff’s edge crumbled. He tried desperately to counter but lost his footing, falling down the steep slope to the valley below.
The 400-foot drop declined at an angle that caused them both to tumble out of control more than free fall. The soggy conditions added further protection for the pair, as a fall of that distance onto hard, rocky ground would have been devastating. Once the unwelcome movement ceased, Allison got up and looked for Charlie, sensing that he felt about as beat up as she did. Her ribs and backside got the worst of it, with her head fortunately escaping any serious damage. When her companion finally stood up, the brightly coloured rain pants, three sizes too big, were now effectively shorts. The pant legs bore the brunt of the fall and were now useless. Allison went to speak, when he put his hand up.
“The sound that I have been hearing is so much more defined here. If I had to guess, we are closer to its starting point.” Turning his body around, he listened for clues to its origin. Pointing westward, he said,
“It’s coming from that way.”
Getting to her feet, Allison looked in the direction of the sound that she could not hear. She wondered what Charlie could actually pick up, then considering their predicament, what their next move should be. Her mind worked on that and a half dozen other things when she noticed her cousin staring at something unsettling.
“Allison, what is that?” he said, pointing to a strange tube like structure, that materialized out of the ground. She turned around to see the faint outline of what appeared to be a covered walkway. A shiver raced through her. Associated with it was the terrible feeling of not being alone. Whoever built this corridor used a very specific type of magic, something far beyond her comprehension. From where they stood, it looked as if it wound its way through the entire valley. Allison replied slowly, because she was still forming her response.
“That is something we are going to have to investigate, because I really do not have a clue what it is.”
Cautiously, they approached the walkway. In spite of it having a defined shape and size, they found it to be without form. Nor did it move or make any sound. Passing her hand through the walkway, Allison found, much to her surprise that it felt protected from the weather on the inside. Charlie experienced the same sensation when he stuck his arm into it. While he busily retested its weatherproof features, Allison made a curious and unnerving discovery. Walking along the corridor, she stared at the ground inside it. When Charlie noticed his cousin investigating something he could not see, he stopped playing and followed along beside her.
“What are you looking at?” he whispered, already sensing something unpleasant.
“Tell me what you see on the ground, between the walls of the corridor.”
He looked closely for a minute, then it donned on him.
“Are those shoe prints?” he asked, certain that they were.
“Look closer Charlie.”
“I think there are actually two sets of shoe prints, and they go in both directions. The big ones look about your size,” he joked. Looking back, what he actually saw began to sink in. His voice turned grave,
“They are very distinct and follow a pattern that is very precise. The others…” he stopped talking, as the awful reality of what they both imagined appeared to be true.
“How many small shoe prints did you count?” he wondered aloud, no longer sure where to look.
“I lost count at thirty. I have a bad feeling that it is far greater than that. I want to know why the little ones only go one way.”
Charlie paced back and forth, trying to rid his mind of some evil being bringing kids to the horrible place.
“What should we do Ally?” his voice sounded small and wounded.
“I don’t really know right now,” she replied, walking further along the corridor, trying to make up her mind. Her cousin was now visibly upset but wanted more information. He decided on taking a closer look. Hoping to collect some information of how the passageway operated, he knelt down and leaned his head in. Instantly, it amplified the sound that had plagued him for the last few hours and confirmed the location of its origin. Gripped by shock and fear, Charlie started to scream. Reaching in and yanking him out, Allison could not get a read on what caused the outburst. Moments after settling down, her cousin seemed to have found a boost of confidence, announcing that he knew which way they needed to go.
The chronic and bothersome sound came from the opposite direction that the small footprints headed. Charlie made it clear that they had to investigate that clue first. Allison agreed and they decided to follow it until they found its source. Entering the corridor, the pair carefully followed in the same footsteps they found on the floor, in an attempt to hide their own trespasses. The protection from the storm came as a blessing. It made the continuation of their adventure tolerable despite the increasing discomfort Charlie felt, as they got closer to the source. Carefully, they managed to stay in step, with Allison providing words of encouragement to her cousin. As they cleared the last small ridge of the valley, the coastline opened up in front of them. Unexpectedly she stopped her progress. She whispered to Charlie to stop as well. He complied, and then checked to make sure his feet were in the right place. Suggesting that a magical object such as this might have some sort of security device. Subsequently, Charlie watched where he walked. Taking a few steps forward, Allison stepped off the grassy ridge and down onto the beach. Charlie watched as his companion moved down the wet sand. He went to say something but understood that the sound was drawing him to the source. He figured out the mechanics that created the unbalanced vibration. It no longer sounded like breathing; the patterns were too structured. Containing so much complexity, it affected his objectivity, whereby listening to it was a massive seduction. Hearing his name on the fourth time, snapped him out of the cerebral vortex and back to reality. When he actually saw the thing Allison was eluding to, Charlie could not believe his eyes. Situated some thirty feet off shore, it looked exactly like the one they passed through to get here.
“That is the source of the noise Ally,” he said pointing to the portal.
“I have a bad feeling about that,” she replied, with Edgar’s words of warning returning at the most inappropriate moment. She needed to think what a second portal could mean, not to mention where it could lead them. She could hear Charlie working on his own “for and against” list, but this adventure required her to make some tough choices. Pulling him alongside, she said calmly,
“I guess we should see where it leads to.”
“Why?”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Right now, no!”
“You aren’t scared are you?”
“Me? No, I am not. I am just not as confident as you are.”
“Want me to go first then?”
“I think that would be best. I’ll just wait right here.”
Following the footsteps in the sand, Allison discovered that they disappeared into the surf. To her amazement, for the last twenty feet, she walked suspended over the water. An invisible platform delivered uninterrupted access. The shimmering portal looked very familiar. Examine it closely; she concluded. It occurred to her that she had nothing to test the stability of the other side. Summoning all of her courage, Allison passed through.
Watching as she vanished, Charlie slowly followed her steps onto the beach, then out above the water. He tried to count the seconds since she left, but the sound from the portal would not let him get much past five. Standing within arm’s reach of it, Charlie felt aware of the unnatural quality of the sound. He did not have the words to explain what the sensation within him tried to express. The part that he did understand related to an anomaly. The chills and wretched association with that led him to believe the cause of the sound stemmed from some malicious intent. He began to worry that Allison had been gone too long. Struggling to keep his mind from assuming the worst, he envisioned the portal sending her out into deep space without a tether. He thought then maybe he would have to rescue her. Then he worried about what might happen if… Unexpectedly, he felt something touch his arm. He screamed and spun around. Allison’s hand motioned for him to come through. Yet again, he felt silly for overreacting, but shook it off and followed her lead into the portal to investigate what lay beyond.
The second Charlie put his feet on the ground two things hit him. The first was how bright the lights were, the other, and somewhat more disturbing, was Allison’s bloody nose. He intended to comment on it but found the curious location a better place to start. The look on his face made his cousin smile as she attempted to hold off the trickle of blood, more annoying now than it was life threatening.
“What’s with your nose?” he chose as his opening remark.
“I smacked my face into the furniture here when I missed my dismount. It is nothing to worry about.” She walked along the far wall, staring from the corner of the room. Meticulously inspecting the floor, she slowed her pace when she found some interesting detail. Unknown elements surrounded her, and it was clear that none of them were good.
“I get a really bad feeling here Charlie. It gives me the creeps, you know?”
Nodding his head and trying not to think about the oppressive disposition of the room.
“Do you have any idea where we are?” he asked, stepping down on to the dusty floor.
“Yes and no,” she replied. Before he took his next step, she called out,
“Careful, there are tons of little shoe prints all over the place. Just stick to the perimeter.”
Once again watching the ground for clues beyond his own lumbering footsteps, Charlie paid much closer attention. Looking at the dirt, he could see hundreds of prints at first. When he opened his eyes and examined more carefully, considerable dimensions developed not visible to the human eye.
“What is this place?” he groaned, agonizing over his earlier concern for the little ones.
“As far as I can tell, we are in a small barn on an acreage somewhere on Earth. I went outside to focus my bearings, but came up empty. I brushed it off at first, but then it nagged at me, which is concerning. I do not want to be paranoid, but perhaps we missed the security system. I am only guessing, but considering what we have seen so far, it might not be a far stretch of the imagination. More disturbing, I cannot shake this terrible feeling that we are not that far from home.”
Charlie made his way to the only door and looked outside. A non-descript gravel drive, shrouded by a grove of tall deciduous trees on a section of range land at the convergence of two rolling hills. He thought that this place could be absolutely anywhere. Closing his eyes, Charlie listened for any sounds. He did not hear any vehicle traffic, leading him to conclude that the building was far from any major routes. It all seemed inexplicable, generating more questions than answers. Unexpectedly, his hunger returned more significantly that before. He did not dare ask Allison for anything after what happened at the onset. Reaching into his back pocket, Charlie found one of those gross candies he got from his aunt while landscaping. The colour did not match the flavour, which tasted like burnt almond, but not quite. He put it in his mouth hoping it would take the edge off. He almost tossed the wrapper but after giving it a second thought, stuck it back in his pocket. Allison continued to pace the far wall. Watching the ground, she contemplated several alternatives to make some sense of this. She knelt down every so often and hovered over the floor. Gently touching the dirt as not to disturb the prints, she counted her observations. Allison began to create a model in her mind from what her eyes were seeing. She observed layers of footprints in three dimensions, all on top of one another that had order, both consecutive and in multiples, disguising the layers below. Waves of unease and nausea collided in her core as the scene became a little too much. Oblivious that his cousin's focus had abruptly shifted to something much greater, Charlie interrupted her.
“Do you feel hungry right now?”
She ignored his first question, but when he persisted, she stopped counting. Looking up at him, she replied,
“I do not know, maybe. Why?”
“Because, before we left, remember I told you I was starving. The whole time we were on the other planet, I never thought about food. Not once. Then less than a minute after being in this barn, I am hungry again. Doesn’t that seem weird?”
“All of this is weird Charlie, don’t you think? You being hungry or not is not mind blowing. I am trying to get a sense of whatever this place is before I lose my cool.”
He put his hands up in frustrated surrender. Recognizing they were both in this together, he asked in the calmest tone he could muster,
“What were you counting down there?”
Allison touched her nose for the tenth time, to see it was still bleeding before she answered.
“Well, I have a bad feeling that this room served as a holding area, maybe a waiting room of some sort. I can see many layers of shoe prints, in neat orderly rows, some containing a dozen or more prints, more or less on top of one another. That multiplied by the number of rows, and then individuals per row, as you can imagine, the number is too high to be real.”
“What about the larger prints we saw in the corridor?”
“There appears to be only one set.”
Charlie scratched his head and gazed at the ground for a minute.
“Perhaps we are thinking about this all wrong. Maybe, it is just some kind of expedition,” he said unconvincingly.
“One, that takes little kids, one way, into that brutal storm? And then what?” she snapped, bile rising in her throat.
“I have no idea,” was all he said.
Five minutes of quiet followed their exchange as each did their best to rationalize the unfortunate reality they had stumbled into. Finally, Allison had an idea.
“Here, help me open the barn doors. Conceivably, the extra light will give me a better idea of how many little ones came through here.”
Pulling the release, Charlie pushed open the double doors. A breath of wind blew through the space, causing something to flutter. Immediately catching his eye. Allison found that the extra light made all the difference. No longer contending with shadows, the increase in resolution and detail made the task easier. Before she began, a moment of hesitation gripped her, as she feared the floor would give up more of its potentially volatile secrets. Across the room, walking right to the edge of one of the bureaus that book ended the portal, Charlie reached down and picked up the object he saw move. Even before he looked at it, he knew it by feel. His first reaction was to check his back pocket, but his had not moved. The weight of the wrapper in his hand is what made him afraid. Although strong, his initial denial stated that there could be no possible way to make a connection between the two wrappers. Millions of candies, just nothing more than a coincidence, he told himself. The only problem now was his confidence was shaken because what once was impossible suddenly changed into a ‘what-if’ scenario. That then quickly degraded to questions that asked how and why. Unable to steady his trembling hands, Charlie examined the wrapper once more in detail. The most damning piece of evidence was in the candy's labeling. By no means, run of the mill, its colour and font suggested a very specific, rare and he assumed expensive type of candy. Which just happened to be an exact match to the wrapper in his back pocket. Disgusted by the revelation, he spit the remaining candy out. His cousin looked up from the other side of the room. Before she could ask, he said in an unfamiliar tone,
“Allison, we have a major problem.”
It took Charlie the better part of five minutes to tell the story of the lawn cutting, the candy and the peculiar behaviour he witnessed that day. At the end of it, Allison did not know what to think. She simply could not believe what Charlie suggested. They did not have any evidence to support the idea that anything bad even took place. Although it did feel like the growing list of bizarre, unexplainable events brought cause for alarm. One misplaced candy wrapper, no matter how unique, did not equate to any form of blame, let alone guilt. Allison did everything she could to keep from thinking about the little ones ending up on Amkata. Then, she wondered what triggered the Darkness to pulse. She drowned out those thoughts to protect Charlie. Certain that he had not made that mental leap yet, she hoped for his sake that he would not.
“I have had enough, Ally. Don’t you think we should get out of here and go back home?” Charlie asked in a low flat tone.
“Okay, let’s do that. We need to close up and make it look like we were never here.”
With the doors shut, Allison stood on the stool in front of the portal, the purple curtain pulled to one side. Charlie wandered slowly towards her and saw the yellow candy he spit out earlier. He went to kick it under the furniture but overshot it and kicked the leg of the bureau as well. A strange bump came from the top of the cabinet. Reaching up and fishing her hand over the molding, Allison located the source of the sound. Lifting up the eyeglasses, the only words she could manage to say were,
“Oh Charlie, I am so sorry. You were right; we need to leave right now.”
Neither spoke a word since their hasty departure. Allison endeavoured to move quickly but could not risk losing Charlie. Her plan involved making their way back to the point of the fall then climbing up the cliff. It was not much, but she could at least see the route. All of her abilities were on high alert. She never felt more deliberate or aware. She could not feel any other presence, but the corridor did not give the whole picture. The next level magic used to create it interested her. How could something so unstructured provide such complete protection from the elements? She wished she had time to investigate and study it further. Right now, her only concern revolved around the false sense of security the corridor afforded. Allison suffered with the utter lack of confidence that she could not feel any threats beyond it. Something about the scenario was not ringing true. Charlie, on the other hand, was doing his best to keep up. He understood the nature of their escape, but remained plagued by a constant parade of terrifying visions. He knew that they were only manifestations of his imagination. Even so, that did not make it any easier to deal with. In the middle of arguing with himself, he lost his concentration for just a second. Having stepped out of the original footsteps, he instantly found himself immobilized.
“Ally!” he screamed, “help, I’m stuck.”
Turning around, she saw him four paces behind. Mindful that the atmosphere in the corridor was rapidly transforming Allison just reacted. In a moment, that Charlie will end up telling his great grandchildren about, in the same instant that Allison reached out her right hand to grasp his outstretched arm, a bolt of lightning discharged from within the corridor itself. When Charlie opened his eyes, Allison held the lightning in her left. Her right hand tightly gripped his forearm. Calmly she pulled him free. Critically aware of the heavy burden, she released the lightning into the ground where he had just stood, and dove clear of the corridor as the bolt of energy ignited, taking part of the walkway with it. Thinking only of their survival, Allison now had to change plans. She grabbed her dazed cousin and ran. Forcing him to keep up, she made for the coastline, far west of the portal. A powerful instinct drove her in that direction. She did not resist. For once, the rain felt comforting as the confines of the corridor served as nothing more than a hostile temporary shelter. When they found the place where she felt assured they would be safe, she let Charlie go. They walked in the relative protection that existed between the steep cliffs and the massive waves that crashed against the shoreline. Following along blindly, Charlie shook his fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. She knew that her cousin would want some answers. When they got back to the safety of the cathedral, she figured upon trying to explain at least some of it. Pausing for a breath, the two shared a tender, albeit brief, moment. Charlie looked at her and asked,
“How?”
“I got lucky,” she replied.
Allison could see the escape route they needed to follow develop clearly in her mind. Appearing out of nothing, the difficulty it presented made her question if they could even survive the crossing. Within the three-dimensional map came something she could not identify. Ignoring it for the time being, she concentrated on shaking off the doubt. Turning to her cousin, Allison took both of his hands in hers and spoke clearly,
“Charlie, you and I are going to get out of this together. We have a long climb that looks bad, but it is a test that all of our people have mastered. We will not lose hope for we are Orabona. It is now our turn to prove that we are greater than we imagine.”

It seemed to take all of his effort just to nod his head in agreement. Leading the way down the coast, she found the beginning of their ascent. Before them lay a set of stairs, cut into the rock face. The washed stone steps looked slippery and precariously narrow. The swirling winds, constant downpour and lack of handrail made the task seem even more precarious. Allison gazed up toward the black clouds, plotting out the most direct route when Charlie interrupted her. Putting his hand on her arm, he said,
“I can see the map too Ally. I’ll go first; it’s my turn to take point.”
His words left her both speechless and proud. Shading her eyes from the stinging rain, she watched her cousin confidently climb the worst staircase imaginable.
The two climbed for some time with only a few narrow escapes before they reached the first of many plateaus. A wide gorge separated the pair from the next set of stairs. The rope bridge that spanned the divide gave every indication that it would not support anyone crossing it. Without hesitation, Charlie stepped out across one plank at a time. Allison waited until he made it safely across before she braved her way. The rest of the climb varied between assorted renderings of the same challenging theme. At no time did the stairs become easier to ascend. One rope bridge in particular, swayed so violently that they were sure it would not hold. When they finally reached the top, the cousins enthusiastically embraced.
The cathedral doors closed on demand, shutting out the storm, as the pair, weary to the core, laid on the warm stone floor. Only the sound of their shallow breathing echoed in the halls. For all the comfort the cathedral provided, there were some massive revelations to address. Breaking the silence and hoping she had an answer, Charlie finally asked,
“What do we do now Ally?”
“The first thing we do is to never talk about this with anyone else. We are not supposed to be here and we do not know anything for sure.”
“I know, but seriously Allison.”
“Damnit Charlie, I mean it. No one can know, or at least not till we get some more information.”
“Okay fine, I won’t tell anyone. This is just so crazy. Honestly, I wish I could just forget most of it.”
“Something is going on here, but it is way beyond me or my abilities.”
“Right. You caught a lightning bolt. Out of the sky. With your bare hand. I think you will be okay.”
“It was just a survival instinct,” she replied. The conversation stopped for a few minutes as they both felt the tension between them build. After a couple of deep breaths, Allison reviewed her last thought,.
“The security system activated when you missed a step, which is in turn, what froze you. That same system is what discharged the lightning. When the pressure changed, I knew what came next because I can predict lightning strikes. My plan to pull you free changed when the bolt came from behind me. All of that is immaterial. Our main concern is that someone has unadulterated access to Amkata and looks to have an evil intent.”
Charlie thought very carefully about what she said and just held on to it for a minute.
“I saw your thoughts while you were running. I mean like I saw the map you were following.”
For the first time she smiled.
“Oh that is such good news Charlie. Things will never be the same you know.”
Before he could say anything, she asked,
“Did you understand what the other part of that message contained, the part separate from the map?”
“Some sort of scorecard maybe, like to keep a record of progress. Perhaps it had some sort of competitive aspect," he offered almost embarrassed for saying it. He squeezed his hand repeatedly to get some life back into it. It was coming but slowly. He felt the need to ask Allison once more about their agreement.
“Just so we are clear, I am supposed to just go back home and pretend like this did not happen?”
“Yes, I think so for now, at least. I have to talk to Edgar about something else and maybe I can sneak in a little of what happened here today.”
“Don’t tell him I came with you,” he said in feigned protest.
“He is a wizard Charlie, he most likely knows already.”
They lay there silently as the cathedral dried their clothes and calmed them. Still restless, Charlie sat up and turned his attention to the symbols that surrounded him.
“I hope we don’t get caught. I mean there is something bigger and more complex to the whole thing you know. I mean like…” and then he paused, almost as if the thought was truncated midstream. “Oh hell, I don’t even know what I’m talking about.”
“My presumption is that whoever controls the corridor will already know that we broke into it. It is only a guess; but maybe we will get away scot-free.”
Charlie laughed at the thought, and then tried to relax in the quiet for another few minutes. Looking up to the highest point of the ceiling, he admired the stunning artistry. He could not fully enjoy the sight because something nagged at him. It felt as if the one thing he had grown accustomed to had ceased to exist. The more he thought, the more troubling it became. Digging his hands in his pockets, he found only the one candy wrapper. He had been very careful not to bring the other one. Something about the wrapper made him think that something else was missing. The more he chewed over his options, the idea seemed to get further away. He puzzled over the adverse feelings, and then figured that whatever it was, had been missing for many hours now. After agonizing over the varying clues, when he fully recognized the change, it was too obvious. The silence that surrounded them filled Charlie with dread. In a soft tone that made Allison genuinely concerned, he uttered,
“The sound is gone Ally. We must have changed something. Whatever it is will know that we were there.”
Allison intended to reply but thought about it instead. Standing up, she shook out her hair, and then half-heartedly wrapped it back up again.
“We should probably be getting back now, don’t you think? I know I have had more than enough for one day.”
She offered her cousin a hand up and they hurried towards the far doors. On the way by Charlie asked about having a quick look at the display boxes.
“Maybe next time,” was all she said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“I’ve got it mom,” Allison shouted, reaching for the ringing phone. When she answered, her mother had clearly beaten her to it somewhere upstairs. Returning the handset to the charging station, she idly wondered who called. Her curiosity quickly faded as she resumed her weekend chores. She rather enjoyed them, and usually did not mind lending her mother a hand around the house. Today, in particular, as it provided some distraction from the unpleasant business that lingered for the better part of the last forty-eight hours. The strain of having to make a serious decision and the uncertainty of not knowing what to do stressed her. Faced with a dilemma in which she did not feel one hundred percent positive of the perpetrators’ identity, deep down, Allison felt it could not be anyone else. The added burden of keeping it quiet, limiting the ability to ask for help, made her feel crazy. She believed that somebody knew something; they had to. In the worst way she was stuck. Within that, did she implicate an innocent person or allow some possible horror to continue? The amount of effort she put into thinking about this enormous mess made her brain hurt. No longer did she feel like an explorer or a hero for exposing an evil deed. She had become a fool for not listening to Edgar. She was now paying the price for finding herself in this unenviable position. She hung on to the last thought until she heard her name in the distance.
“I think you might buff the grain right out of that hutch Allison. You look troubled honey, is there something on your mind?” her mother asked from across the open kitchen. She sat at the table folding a weeks’ worth of colourful napkins. Gathering up her cleaning supplies, Allison moved on to the next piece of furniture and tried to conceal her minor embarrassment.
“I think I’m okay mom, I must have been daydreaming,” she replied, trying to sound confident. “Oh, I almost forgot, who were you talking to?”
“Your Nana Rose called and will be joining us for lunch today.”
Nana Rose, or more correctly, Rosamund Olstair Hannaburg, grandmother to Allison and mother to Graham. She visited every other month and always told funny stories about her father. They were often mildly humiliating ones that usually made him cringe. She was smart, funny and utterly fearless. She rated, quite possibly with the exception of Edgar, as the most interesting person Allison knew. Existing in stark contrast was her grandfather Lester. He did not like to leave their home. It overlooked the ocean, apparently reminding him of a place he never talked about. He was content to tend to his garden and his birds. Despite his dull exterior, Allison knew him to be very kind and sweet. She sometimes wondered if he felt sad being here. With all that aside, she looked forward to Nana Rose visiting. In the formation of that last thought, came a major revelation. It began with the knowledge of being something other than human, followed by the shock of her parents’ ages. The best stuff came in the lessons that Edgar taught. If she were to add her own experiences on Amkata, it could throw a wrench into the mix. Her excitement grew in leaps and bounds, spiraling to the edges of control. There were now at least a hundred questions to ask her Nana. All of a sudden, her excitement evaporated as Allison realized that her mother had stopped talking. Her body language combined with the look on her face needed no interpretation.
“Are you quite finished young lady?” Molly asked sternly.
“Yep, sorry mom, I’m right with you.”
“Fine, then repeat the last five words I just said.”
“No salmon cause Nana’s allergic?”
“Try again.”
“I wish I paid better attention and I’m sorry?”
A sigh of resignation heralded the acceptance that Molly’s teenaged daughter had turned out to be a clown.
“Again, for your benefit, Nana is going to be spending a couple of days with us. They currently have no hot water. The plumber cannot replace the hot water tank until the day after tomorrow. Your stubborn grandfather apparently does not seem to mind the cold water. That my child is typical Hannaburg stubbornness. Your father inherited it and you have more than your fair share.”
Allison smiled at the reference to being stubborn like her father. He was her champion and her number one fan. She liked the association to him in that way. As she tidied up an arrangement of flowers, her mother said,
“I am going to make up the back bedroom for your Nana. What I need you to do is make lunch; just reheat the soup in the refrigerator and make a nice salad for all of us, okay?”
“You can count on me mom,” Allison replied with an awkward partial salute. Molly shook her head at her daughters’ antics, and then headed upstairs.
Putting down her spoon, Nana Rose wore a big smile that lit up her face. Leaning back from the kitchen table, she declared,
“Molly my dear, I could never make that soup as well as you do, and oh how I have tried.” She ran her finger around the rim of the bowl and stuck it in her mouth.
“It’s your recipe Nana. All I do is follow the instructions,” replied Molly.
“That is what makes it so galling.”
Allison delighted in the opportunity to just sit and listen as the two elders caught up on all of the family particulars. Stories about who is doing what where, new loves, new babies, and the usual information to keep on top of in case it ever became important. Allison thought she noticed several times during the conversation, her Nana glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. She wondered if her Nana actually meant to get her attention, or if she just read the signs wrong. Allison fought the temptation to read her Nana’s thoughts. After what seemed like eight perfect opportunities, she decided against it in case she noticed. The scene that played out in her head from that potential exchange went poorly. Most likely, it would have resulted in her being severely punished for exercising a serious lack of consideration. Employing significant restraint, she remained hopeful in getting some personal time. There were ten, if not twenty provocative questions she needed answers to. At the end of the meal, all three moved out to the backyard. The afternoon sun highlighted the exceptional garden Molly planted. A kaleidoscope of colours hung in baskets and planter boxes that hemmed the edges of the rustic cedar deck. The conversation flowed from the kitchen to the outside. Just before Nana Rose sat down, she noticed something tucked under the heather.
“Is that who I think that is?” she asked no one in particular. Stepping away from the lounge chair, she crept along the grass, slowly as not to disturb the sleeping, and yet unknown creature.
“It is you,” she whispered as she lifted Hennessy, the family's orange tabby and all around protector of the house. Allison could not believe the feline's demeanour. Her Nana just picked him up out of a dead sleep and it did not bother him at all. She tried something less evasive last weekend and received swift and painful retaliation. The unwritten rule of the family proclaimed that you did not mess with the cat while it slept. That rule obviously did not apply to her because the outpouring of purring and affection suggested that perhaps Hennessy favoured her. To call it strange did not even come close. She carried the overgrown fur ball like a newborn against her chest, back to her seat. They proceeded to have a quick conversation, as Molly and Allison exchanged glances, neither sure what to say. Once the cat finished with his story, he curled up comfortably in her lap and went back to sleep.
“Everything alright with the cat Nana?” asked Allison.
“Ally dear, you must always use his proper name. He is well aware of being a cat. You need not continue to refer to him as such. We do not call you girl now do we?”
“I never thought about it that way, no,” she replied. Allison found it nearly impossible to tell whether she was serious or if she and Hennessy were having a laugh at her expense. Erring on the side of caution, she responded,
“I’ll be sure to remember that Nana.”
Molly scrambled to change the subject, knowing that her daughter would already have questions that may be inappropriate for this setting. Before she could say a single word, Allison already beat her to it.
“Nana, I did not know you could talk to Hennessy.”
“Why of course dear, we all can.”
Allison shot a look of disdain across the table at her mother.
“He is very wise and quite a scoundrel with a marvelous sense of humour.”
“But he has never talked to me Nana, and I spend the most amount of time with him,” she complained.
“Well, have you ever thought to ask him anything?”
“I asked him if he wanted a bite of my chicken sandwich once. Does that count?”
The silence in the backyard confirmed her suspicions about the answer being a firm no.
“He will not just talk to you Allison. He will, however, have a conversation if you ask the right questions.” She patted his soft cognac and cream coloured fur then stated,
“Cats are magic. They help us heal and work to keep our minds calm. They are vigilant, and if need be, will savagely protect our homes and those in it. They keep our secrets, sometimes even from ourselves. A cat is the most loyal and dedicated partner a family can have, outside of their raven. And even then, cats have something to say about that too.” Hearing that high praise, Hennessy lifted his head briefly, and then tucked it back under his paw. Molly looked at her daughter and smiled. She could tell by the change in her body language that this revelation made Allison think or at least consider options other than the obvious. She hoped with Allison’s renewed appreciation for Hennessy that it might turn into a conciliatory friendship. If nothing else, she trusted it would stop her from referring to him as the mangy old house cat.
They spent the next hour in comfortable stillness. By listening carefully, one could hear the bumblebees pollinating assorted flowers. Molly brought out cold lemonade and biscuits and then returned to the kitchen. Allison considered several times asking her Nana another question or two, but did not want to annoy her. Letting the thought go, she closed her eyes, laid back, and let the sunshine work its magic. The familiar sound of ice and liquid filling a glass registered as the first thing she recalled. Opening her eyes, Allison attempted to pull herself up in the lounger. Her Nana sat directly in front and held a full glass. Taking a sip, she wiped her mouth with her bare forearm and said,
“Oh good, you are awake.”
Suddenly unaware of the time Allison asked, “How long did I sleep?”
“Oh, not to worry; only a short while. You did not give away any secrets,” she said with a chuckle.
“That is a relief.” Standing up, she shook out her sweaty t-shirt; she never understood why they always bunched up at the back. When she sat down, her Nana asked her a question that caught her completely off guard.
“Allison, tell me about the last time you were on Amkata.” The look in her grandmother's eyes spoke volumes. They suggested concern but with resignation; similar to the look animals have the second before impact. It did not register as good or bad. It is much more like inevitable acceptance. Clearing her throat, Allison wondered if she still had the ability to speak. Taking a moment to think through all of her options, she decided to answer her Nana truthfully. Especially in this case because someone else obviously knew she had been there. That list only contained two names. Allison could not imagine why he would have told her of all people.
“I went back just a few days ago, Nana.” She spoke undaunted and prepared for any backlash.
“Describe it to me child.”
Allison found it best to start right from the beginning, the morning she found the portal. Portraying everything in as much detail as possible, she included the feelings she had experienced prior and subsequently to her crossing over. Sketching the outline of the cathedral, then filling in the details and retracing the steps, made the building come alive. Her Nana sat back in her chair with a hand to her mouth, as if stifling a sneeze. A second later Allison realized that her Nana had begun to sob. Pausing her story midsentence, she got up to comfort her grandmother. Between sobs, she explained what set her off,
“Your grandfather and I were bound together in the great hall. Hearing your account brought back some joyous memories. Please Allison, continue.”
Allison then spoke of the organ, the bell tower and any other details she thought her Nana might find interesting. In returning to the original question, Allison found it hard to explain the severity and the wasting of the planet from her limited perspective. Instead, she decided upon a different approach.
“Nana, during my second visit, I had a vision. The cathedral showed me what our world used to be like; its glory before the Torment and the Darkness took hold. I am sorry to say that the ground has turned sour, and the water runs black. From all of what I have seen, Amkata looks like she is near death, but,” Allison stopped, rubbing her brow. It looked as if she was trying to massage the bad news out of her mind. Nana Rose looked up and said,
“But what?”
“It is very difficult to explain. I keep getting conflicting internal sensations. It sounds like voices but I cannot understand them. I know the Ancients have strong opinions about this topic, but I do not believe the planet is dying at all. It all just feels like window dressing to me, you know? Nana, the real problem is that I can't prove anything I've just said.”
This statement changed the entire scope of their conversation. What she suggested threw 2200 years’ worth of belief on its side. Nana Rose eventually convinced her granddaughter to keep that thought to herself, because the potential of giving the Orabona false hope would be more damning than no hope at all. The backyard went quiet as the two considered the pros and cons of what Allison insinuated. It would resonate for some time or at least until verified on one side or the other. Nana broke the silence first, as she still had questions.
“Have you seen the gray glow in the sky, dear?”
“Yes, Nana, I have seen it several times from the cathedral, and once from a spot, perhaps a day’s hike away. I stood on a high plateau above a river valley, east of the forests.”
“I know that area. We used to play along that ridge when we were young.”
She listened intently as her grandmother reflected on things that were mysterious. She talked about many places and things, as she spoke about different people by name and with great fondness. She mentioned a brother once, but he remained nameless. This detail seemed very odd considering the stories she told. More than that, there had never been a mention of it before, nor had she ever met a great uncle. Allison thought that perhaps he died in the Short War and just let it be. When her Nana finished telling the last of her old stories, she asked a follow-up question.
“When we left for Earth, the Darkness gave off a dull glow that could only be seen at certain times from the highlands. You said you could see it from the bell tower?”
“I first saw it from the dais where the organ resides. It is bright enough to throw shadows across the lands. Something changed in the last week because the glow started to act abnormally. I did not notice it at first, but the glow seems to be pulsing, a rhythmic cadence for the entire time I was there.”
For the first time in Allison’s short life, she saw both fear and anger in her Nana’s face. Taking great care to find the right words to explain what to her granddaughter had seen, she replied,
“Oh my dear Allison, this is very grave. When the glow pulsates, it is a by-product of when the Darkness is feeding.”
The echo of the last statement unnaturally hung in the air, like soiled bed sheets in a haze. The accompanying odour, fetid and vile, overcame Allison. Catching her between breaths, an invisible hand seized her midsection and tightened its grasp. An attempted scream emitted only empty silence. With wide unseeing eyes, she imagined shadows in her periphery, but too far gone to notice. The unseen fingers were determined to crush the life out of her. Allison's only consideration was how unfortunate it would be to die this way.
The magnitude of the panic attack that paralyzed Allison registered on the cataclysmic end of the scale. Her eyes were open and dilated, her mouth frozen in a silent scream. Nana Rose caught her before she fell to the ground. Molly appeared in seconds responding to her mother in law's sharply worded call. The elder Hannaburg women attended to the prone redhead. As the cascading discharges of fear receded, it took only minutes before they had the girl sitting up, nursing a cup of lemonade, feeling confused and embarrassed.
“How are you feeling honey?” her mother asked, genuinely concerned considering the rapid and all-encompassing impact the attack had on her.
“I’m okay, I guess?” she replied, sipping from her cup. “I have no idea what happened.” She had a thought developing, but it still required work to find its way out of the haze.
“I used to have attacks like this before my ascension,” Nana Rose quickly pointed out. “My father told me regularly that it came to prepare me for what I needed to know. Fear not child, for this is but an introduction to your mastery.”
Allison saw the exact same look in her grandmother's eyes, but this time she understood what she meant. She intentionally telegraphed that message, direct and unmistakable. Tired of sitting, she sat her cup on the deck and then pushed herself up. Molly reached over to give her daughter a hand.
“Are you strong enough to stand Ally? Maybe you want to sit for a little bit longer?”
Taking a few strides, feeling her feet solid against the stained wood deck, Allison announced,
“Nope! I’m good Mom, and stronger for the experience. If you’ll excuse me, I have to make a phone call.”
Molly and Nana Rose, packed up the patio table after all the excitement. They both muddled around for half an hour until Nana decided upon a well-deserved nap. Molly returned to the stack of papers she dropped during the non-emergency on the patio. She found the task of looking after the household accounting peaceful. Keeping up with it helped avoid any confusion later on. Graham never liked to do it, and greatly appreciated her willingness to assume the responsibility. Molly totaled the monthly expenditures after having rechecked the numbers. She went to start a new page in the ledger when Allison appeared out of nowhere.
“How many times have I told you that I do not like you sneaking up on my like that?” her mother scolded, sticking the pencil she held into the bundle of hair on the top of her head, like some sort of exclamation.
“It’s not like that at all mom. I wanted to show you that, a second ago, I was standing in my room and now I am in the kitchen.”
“Well okay, but I still don’t like it,” her mother said, only half listening. Shaking her head, Allison turned, pacing back and forth in front of the refrigerator. She had nothing to say until she found the right words. In the end, she felt confident enough to ad-lib her question.
“Mom, I want to know why you and Dad never told me about Hennessy’s ability to talk.”
At first, her mother smirked, but then it grew into a genuine smile.
“It is not a secret Ally, nor has it ever been. When you were five, the two of you used to talk every day, and for hours on end. Your dad and I never knew what you were talking about.”
Allison scrambled to dig deep into her memory bank, while her mother kept talking.
“Personally, we talk quite regularly,” replied Molly.
“For real, what does he tell you?”
“Why, is there something you feel guilty about?” Molly asked playfully.
“Mom, seriously please.”
“Very well, Hennessy is there when I need him. It is not idle chitchat. I look to him in times of crisis; when I am stuck and need to make an important decision; or when there is nowhere else to turn. He may not have the answers I seek, but I know he will point me in the right direction.”
“Really, I had no idea Mom.”
“That is why he is so important Ally. All the things that Nana Rose said today are true. Hennessy is as much a part of this family as any one of us.”
Considering her next question, she then opted for the most obvious.
“Did you understand the peculiar affection shown between the two of them today? I know that if I woke him up like that, I would have needed stitches.”
Her mother laughed aloud, most likely imagining the truth behind the statement.
“Nana Rose and Hennessy have a special bond, which goes without saying.”
“I know, but she has been here a hundred times and seen him every single time. I do not understand what about today caused the ardent reunion.”
“The truth of the matter is complex. All I know is that they have known each other for a very long time.”
“That’s it?” Allison asked in disbelief.
“You can ask both of them. I am so confident that you will get no more information than I have told you that I will wager $100.”
“You are on,” she replied, slapping her mother’s hand to seal the bet. “Thanks Mom, that’s all I really wanted to know.”
“Anytime honey.”
Molly then retreated to her previous endeavour. Allison flopped down on the sofa and turned on the television. She surfed the channels, finding the end of a syndicated rerun she found funny. Watching most of the next episode, she grew bored and decided to go back to her room.
It had been just over an hour since she requested the deep memory search when the first hit came in. She stopped midway up the staircase as the memories came crashing into her like an out of control locomotive. At least fifteen recollections, all crystal clear, served to overwhelm her. She saw herself with Hennessy, as a little girl, just as her mother explained. They talked about all of her new abilities in her bedroom closet, hidden under blankets in the kitchen, or tucked in behind the sofa. Then under a protective dome when she could create magic. She remembered how he had instructed her to master her skills, then to learn them with both hands. He reinforced the Orabona code of ethics from the beginning, to add perception and knowledge to her earliest experiences. Once Allison became an expert, Hennessy tutored her on the necessity of hiding her abilities away. No one but the Ancients and her parents could ever know. His reasoning had been obscure, only that it had to do with her safety. It began to sink in that Hennessy remained the one constant throughout her development. That is why she found him at the shelter. His objective apart from his standard feline duties was to teach her proficiency, skill and control. He showed her how to wait patiently, without concerning herself with why. Only now did she start to see what her objective might be. An unfortunate memory came in behind the first set and it felt like a bomb going off. The crushing sadness forced her to sit down. She could not escape the heartache of her family and friends who gathered by the gnarly old Arbutus tree. Allison now understood that the funeral was actually the end of Hennessy’s fourth life. The sense of loss complicated her understanding of how the cat regenerated. It did not seem to matter due to the inordinate sense of grief of his passing. It all seemed too much. Allison put her head in her hands and started to cry. She stopped suddenly because what she really needed was in the kitchen.
Hearing soft footsteps, Molly looked up to see the saddest face she had seen in a very long time. She got up and met her daughter mid step, embracing her tightly. Feeling the security of her mother’s arms, Allison bawled into her shoulder. The loving display of compassion played out in the long shadows of the afternoon sun. Having shed most of her tears, she touched her mother’s face gently, framing her cheekbones with her palms. Allison leaned in close and kissed her mother’s forehead, thanking her for the support.
“I’m always happy to help Ally, you know that,” Molly replied. “I did not ask before but what did you remember?”
Allison’s eyes turned serious, with clarity and purpose. She replied with the same tone,
“I remember everything Mom, right back to the beginning.”
The balance of the day proved uneventful; a welcome change from the frenetic pace of the morning. They ordered dinner in based upon a suggestion from Nana Rose. Indian food served as a welcome substitute from the regular three topping pizza from Sorrentino’s. The conversation revolved around benign topics such as Molly’s work at the university and the classes at Allison’s school. With no mention of the earlier part of the day, they chalked up the events as simply part of the year of ascension. Nana professed that Orabona youth tended to manifest strange behaviour from time to time. She preferred to celebrate the peculiar, as concepts like shame were foreign to the Orabona, at least in the human context. They appeared to have so many ways to make themselves and other feel bad. They would never understand the complex tapestry of negative feelings that compromised humans. It all just seemed so pointless. Molly commented regularly that if humans experienced a period of confirmation, such as ascension, that they might have a substantial foundation to stand on. Either way, being only visitors on Earth, they were in no position to complain about their hosts.
Upon her arrival home, Petunia found the house empty and largely, just as she left it. The drive in from the barn was tedious and irritating; presenting some troubling questions. After putting her bags away in her private bedroom, she checked the study. Dark and quiet, it seemed odd for her husband to be absent from his desk, let alone out of the house. Not giving it another thought, she had to attend to some unfinished business. Descending into the root cellar, she secured the door behind her. On the drive back from the farm, Petunia felt undone. She spent the entire ninety miles festering on the blatant security breach. That alone had the potential to expose her connection to Amkata. Any link back to the Order would have an unraveling effect. She worked too long and too hard to let that happen. It would be an understatement to suggest this problem was a matter of life and death. Petunia knew all too well that this analogy did not carry the gravity of what would happen if torn from the Darkness. The terror of that separation motivated every aspect of her life. The imagery it had shown her, of its limitless propensity for catastrophe and malevolence, kept her rebellious spirit at bay.
She went over a series of events, time and again, that transpired during the last part of her day. Starting from the instant she became aware of another presence on Amkata right up to the discharge of the walkway security system. Putting those pieces in order began with the note that came from the cathedral organ. The first time she heard it, it was almost as if she had imagined it. No structure, nothing musical about it. When it happened again, days later, she could not help but visualize someone with the knowledge and ability to play the instrument. It was unsettling. Next, she could not rectify how that person got from the cathedral to the corridor. A challenging twenty miles at least, an impossible distance given the conditions and time period parameters. The intruder then used the corridor to get to the portal. Somehow, the individual ascertained the safest route meant following her footsteps, thereby disguising their presence. Petunia found evidence that suggested that someone went through into the barn. Beyond that, she could not be positive if the intruder poked their nose into anything else. Both bureaus remained secure but the problematic item in question were her eyeglasses. Habitually, she always put her glasses in the same place every time. Doing so without fail for as many years as she had, not only did she feel confident that they had been disturbed, but more disconcerting, moved altogether. Furthermore, after the intruder left, the corridor defense system activated. She did not rush to the scene as it signaled a kill. To add insult to injury, Petunia found no corpse or body of any kind.
The upset created another crucial problem. The design of the corridor made it impossible to avoid a lightning strike from less than eight feet away. Somehow, the intruder did just that, and then vanished. She considered a very small group of possible candidates that, at their absolute best, would have had a tough time engineering. One name kept rising above the others. The blood in Petunias veins began to boil as she crossed names off her master list. Of the last four names, she disqualified three due to their recent ascension. She well knew that the grotesque Kenaima warriors would have recognized the stink of an Orabona elder and hunted them down. No, Petunia knew that only one of them had the speed required, who possessed enormous, untapped powers, yet still embraced the curiosity of a child. It appeared now that the very same individual was foolish enough to venture into a world where she did not belong. The intruder could be none other than Allison Hannaburg. Just thinking the girls name made her want to spit. Her hatred of the girl, stoked by a primal fear of her existence, coupled with a seething rage that had been festering for centuries. Petunia then swore an oath to her Master that she would deliver the girl, no matter the cost. She did not seek death for the girl. She imagined a fate immeasurably worse.
In the darkest part of the cellar, far in the back corner sat a small wooden box. It resided there from the day they moved into the house, just as it had in every house before it. It contained a botanical experiment Petunia laboured with for many years. Initially she combined and crossbred three separate flowers, all of which, when ingested, caused mental disorders in humans. Her sole interest revolved around what effect it would have on the Orabona. Her earliest tests were dismal failures, achieving one of two effects; nothing changed in the subjects whatsoever, or the Orabona elders suffered a gruesome death. During the last seven hundred years, her success rate soared, bringing her closer to perfecting her hybrid. Standing in the cold dark of the cellar, Petunia scrutinized the transgressions committed against her. She harnessed her fury, taking into consideration that she may have to rearrange her plans to implement a final, real live experiment. Confident that the potency met requirements, the dose varied on previous subjects. She managed the effective dosage problem through a second measure. Now it only required a reliable delivery method. She knew of several ideas that needed confirmation. For the time being, Petunia needed to be at least seven steps removed from the actual function of the plan. With a remote chance of her association in this endeavour, every precaution would be required. Turning to the corner, Petunia started to argue with herself. Her own imperceptive human ego brought this upon her. An Orabona would never have handled the security measures of the portal with such inattention. If only she could have cut the useless side out, then she would be unburdened. That thought caused her human side to retaliate. Fighting back, intense guilt and heartache took over and brought Petunia to her knees. Feral screams filled the tiny cellar as the two distinct and incompatible lineages, that never fit properly, waged an internal holy war.
Following the sunset, Petunia returned to the kitchen. Her body, so beset with pain, the kind that no pharmaceutical could satiate, wanted nothing more than to sleep. The problem she faced in keeping up with the appearance of a loving, happily married Orabona elder was that she had so much to do to make it look seamless. She found the task growing more and more difficult. Petunia could feel the entire fabric of her being, slowly torn apart from the inside out. This did not include the never-ending demands of the Darkness. Her personal vendetta against the Orabona is what kept her in the house with Edgar. She remembered at least a thousand opportunities to make him suffer for what he imposed upon her family all those years ago. To execute him would have been too easy, and simply a waste. Instead, she bided her time, gradually learning what she needed to, “test it,” and then backing off. Always mindful, she made moves like a chess grand-master, visualizing the outcomes of her actions, ten, twenty moves in advance.

In her very long life, Petunia enlisted the services of an assortment of agents. When required, they, at a moment’s notice could provide many different levels of assistance. Their skills varied across the board, but assuredly they all dealt from the bottom of the deck, and were always on the other side of the law. They were beneficial in rolling out her grand plan of denying Orabona youth their ascension. It had developed slowly over the years, and only recently moved into an accelerated phase. She knew she could not get every one of them because the second they figured it out, they would scurry into hiding like the roaches they were. She wanted to make their existence on Earth as unpleasant as possible and, hopefully, without a future. Petunia slowed herself from chasing the unobtainable dream; the key trigger to her losing control again. She forced herself to stay focused on the list of routine things that she always did when she returned from visiting her sister. She started a load of laundry, baked some scones and then her husband’s favourite, an apricot loaf. With Edgar out of the house at this late hour, it made her transition much easier but seemed strange. She then wondered if she really knew his schedule at all. Avoiding the distraction of trying to sort out Edgar's comings and goings, she puttered around the house removing the accumulation of dust, feathers and crumbs that collected in several conspicuous corners. A creature of habit, Edgar did his best to deny it, but he took his late morning tea at the eastern window and his after dinner coffee at the western one. He would often pause during a walk if an idea worth contemplating came into mind. Thankful that he did not smoke, she understood that if he were as absent minded about his cigars as his trail of crumbs and half-empty cups, the house might have burned down years ago. Having just sat down to a cup of tea herself, the front door opened. The familiar footsteps and ever-present flapping of tiny wings filled the main hall.
“Edgar dear, is that you?” she called out. He coughed and grumbled his standard reply about the necessity to conclude the thought occupying his mind. Then something about his study, where his voice either trailed off or was blocked by the ill-fitting door to his sanctuary. Standing up to put the kettle on again for she knew that, shortly upon his return, a cup of tea was always appreciated. These established, simple gestures of concern were becoming harder to feign. Varying from the plan served to undo all of the effort she had invested. At this point, thoughts that might derail her mission were unacceptable. The kettle boiled as the clock struck the hour. Good fortune is upon us, she whispered under her breath, pouring the hot water into the teapot. She set out a cup for her husband, and then nibbled on a small chunk of scone, waiting patiently.
Edgar did finally join her at the table. They ate and drank tea, talking of the events of the past weeks. Petunia talked about how her sister’s health wavered and how grateful she sounded for her never-ending concern. She mentioned that she hoped to return in a month or so. To her surprise, his standard reply to her statement changed this time. It came across very subtly. She feared that some hesitancy or doubt crept into his voice. One half of her inner person began to scream irrational, paranoid suggestions of how Edgar had figured out what she was doing and planned to expose her. The other, more rational side remained quiet and unaffected. As volatile as her inner workings had become, her only option was to hold on the best she could. Edgar spoke about the reason for his tardiness only in generalities and vague references. She could not ever remember being that interested, preferring not having to listen to the details of some elder's lack of preparation for an upcoming ascension. In her opinion, the Orabona became as lazy and negligent as their human counterparts had. Once their conversation peaked, Edgar stood and with a kiss on the cheek, welcomed her home. Bidding her goodnight, he made for his bedroom. She did not move until the door closed. In that brief interlude, Petunia decided upon the first phase of her plan, reconnaissance.
The sound of rock and roll music woke Allison from a peaceful sleep. It seemed very strange. Neither the song choice nor the volume were the issue. It was just that no one ever played that style of music in the house. Cautiously opening her eyes, hopeful that nothing had changed from the night before, she could not be too sure anymore. The clock radio read half past eight, which in reality, meant that she would be late for school again. She threw on a robe and headed for the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, she smelled something nutty and sweet. In a snap, Allison stepped into the kitchen to find her Nana turning banana nut bread into French toast. The song changed as she poured herself a glass of orange juice and then gave her Nana a big hug from behind.
“I hope you are hungry, Ally. It got away from me and I made a lot, plus there is bacon in the oven.”
It all smells so good Nana; I am starving. The only problem is that I have school in twenty minutes.”
“Never fear child, your mom called the school and,” then reading from a prepared statement, said, “due to a family concern, will be unable to attend for the balance of the week.” Her recitation came with great enthusiasm. Allison smiled and grabbed a plate. Loading three thick slices of perfectly toasted breakfast goodness onto her plate, she tucked in several rashers of bacon. She required a quick pit stop at the refrigerator for her special jar. When she sat back down, her Nana was already a bite ahead. She wriggled in her seat as if the French toast made her all bubbly inside. Allison put an entire slice of bacon in her mouth as she opened the jar. Scooping out a heaping tablespoon, she smeared it all over the banana bread, and then pushed another slice in with the first. Closing the jar and setting the spoon aside, Allison could tell her Nana wanted to say something. She had stopped eating and stared at her breakfast ritual. Nana Rose well knew about Allison’s penchant for marmalade. It was very peculiar because before Allison; no one in the Hannaburg family had ever eaten it. Whatever exposure she had to the spread, developed into a serious ritual. It began eleven years ago and no one dared interrupt the process. Graham and Molly were initially concerned that she might be associating the preserve with something else. Unsure of what it represented, if anything at all, they witnessed that on these rare occasions where they ran out of marmalade, Allison would stop eating breakfast altogether. Early on, she would not eat it at any other time than first thing in the morning. More recently, it became a daily snack. If they were out of bread, a tablespoon would most certainly find its way to her plate. It became a part of her eccentricity. Considering all of the other unfortunate choices, a jar a week was a small price to pay. Having said that, it had been years since anyone commented on her unique interest. Nana Rose never received a definitive answer from the young girl with the curly red hair; that very same girl currently holding a fork full that appeared too big for her mouth.
“Before you eat all of that, I wondered if you could answer a question for me Ally.”
Putting down her fork, she replied,
“Sure Nana, what is on your mind?”
“Tell me what it is about marmalade that gives you such enjoyment.”
Allison closed her eyes. Her tongue searched the back of her teeth until she found a random shred of citrus peel. Gently, she feathered it between her front teeth, making tiny bites, cutting it into a fine grain. From there, she pressed the bits onto her palette, just above and behind her front teeth. That very spot allowed the perfect extraction of the subtle components found in the highly complex preserve. As easy as the question seemed to answer, Allison knew that not one simple answer would suffice. After measuring the situation, it was apparent that even if she could articulate a clear understanding, her reply might not make sense. Therefore, she never gave it another thought, at least until now. Confident that her answer would not diminish its enjoyment, she prepared to respond in hopes of satisfying her grandmother's curiosity.
“To answer your question Nana, marmalade…” Allison suddenly stopped talking. Her opening thought, blatantly hijacked, sharply replaced by a message that did not originate from her mind. Not as she recognized it at least. Something intervened and changed the words, to something more straightforward and imparting a more comprehensive answer. Nana Rose noticed the change in her granddaughter the instant it happened. Her experience prevented her from interrupting as she waited for Allison to come to grips with the abrupt change in course. Empathetic to her struggle, she sensed no danger. She also had another bite of breakfast calling and took advantage of it.
A long minute went by, and then without skipping a beat, Allison returned,
“…marmalade reminds me of something. I did not know what at first, but it contained elements that I could smell in the house already. Oranges, yes, but they are only part of it. I first discovered marmalade amongst a bowl of portioned jams at a breakfast restaurant. My dad and I have gone there every other weekend for years. Just before I turned four, I put two packets in my pocket and later asked my mom to buy some. Having not tried it yet, she made me some toast and the rest is history. She bought a small jar the next day and I have been eating it ever since. It reminds me of a place where I am certain I have never been but have a burning desire to visit. The complexity of the feelings suggest that I have to leave here, nor, conversely, need to be there. It is just that I am searching for the space between mastery and annihilation. Within that tiny aperture exists a space, which holds the same conclusions I find in marmalade.”
Allison concluded her declaration by putting almost half a slice of French toast in her mouth. Nana Rose had set her cutlery down at the word oranges. By the time Allison finished speaking, she knew two things for sure. The first being that she could not make sense of her granddaughter's analogy, and the second happened to be that this story had only begun, whether she knew it or not. Regarding this as a cryptic message requiring a more experienced mind than her own, Nana Rose would have to make some arrangements. The challenge now regarded finding the question that might bring some understanding. Taking her time, Nana Rose felt comfortable that she knew someone to ask.
“Allison, you said that the fundamental solution has to do with marmalade.” Lifting the jar off the table, she asked,
“You do not mean this do you?”
“Nana, be serious. Not literal marmalade, more so what it represents, or some of its tangible properties. It could be the process of how something changes from sour to sweet but not all the way.” Allison went very quiet for a few seconds, then shouted,
“Bittersweet. That is the middle isn’t it?”
Nana Rose could not tell if she witnessed an epiphany or her granddaughter losing her mind.
“Is that the answer Ally, bittersweet?”
“It is the beginning, but it is still far beyond my current understanding. I should talk to Edgar about this. Maybe he knows what it means.”
“I think that is a very good idea. I’m sure that old man will have some insight.”
They finished the last bits of breakfast, followed by a quick tidy and washing of the dishes. While they sat on the rack, air-drying, Allison thanked her Nana for the special treat and wanted to know if she would mind answering a personal type question.
“What is your impression of Petunia?”
The question came as a complete surprise, forcing a stumble with her reply. This moment of hesitation allowed Allison unfettered access to read her grandmothers thoughts. She had not intended for it to work out this way, but she knew that with her Nana busy thinking, it was the perfect opportunity. What Allison saw about Petunia confused her. Worse still were many other things she knew, but should not have seen. In the instant before she started to reply, Allison felt a momentary flash of regret, having obtained the volatile new information. Pushing it aside for the time being, she focused her attention back on her Nana.
“I have had little interaction with the woman, and thusly do not know her very well. I know that she is very private, and dotes over Edgar. I know that she has a sister down south that has been ill or dying for what seems like a hundred years.” She laughed nervously as she doubted her last statement. “Ages ago, she used to do some service work but I think that ended.”
Allison went to speak, but recognized that her grandmother had only paused.
“I am not one to speak ill of anyone, but something about her has always seemed off; like the way she would look at me sometimes. The stare in those unblinking eyes felt disconnected; as if two sets of eyes were competing against one another. I find it, and her, unnerving.”
This time Allison nodded her head in agreement with her grandmother's assessment of the creepy old woman.
“Why did you want to know what I thought about her?”
“Well my cousin Charlie has had a couple of strange run-ins with her lately. He actually quit working for her because of it. Not to mention, she gives both of us an uncomfortable feeling.”
She stopped there because anymore would have required a much longer explanation.
“Oh Charlie, I have always liked him. Is he still as shy and timid as ever?”
“No Nana, I think he has started to grow out of it.”
“That makes me happy; he will make a strong elder one day. We can be thankful that Petunia is not family or that she does not have a contract out on you,” her Nana said with a hearty laugh. The unlikeliest possibility of that flashed, and then disappeared, keeping Allison from registering a smile. She could no longer focus on the work set out before her. For the very first time, she felt an anomalous genus of disorder in her mind.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Confident that all preparations were in order, and the strict security measures were in place, Edgar motioned to begin. The gray finch stood upon its perch and sang a song unknown to any other bird. A multidimensional aria that transcended the discord of the world; a call for the Ancients to convene. The song spoke to the other four individuals, and to each in its own special way. The notes within the music beckoned to them independently, while the song itself is what made the Council whole. Without the Five, they could not be one. The finch knew the importance of this moment, ensuring his delivery neared perfection. Edgar shifted his weight from one foot to the other, pushing down his internal disquiet. The lump at the back of his throat signaled that the sickly feeling of foreboding had returned. Following the solo, a moment of quiet passed before a firm hand knocked, announcing the first of Edgar’s equals. Over the next hour, several dozen ravens, shape shifting as decoys, assured the safe arrival of Aelish Boas, Weir Barnes, Odgen Hoxley and Telpina Sharif. Whisked into a private chamber that not even the finch had access to and so protected that when the door closed, it ceased to exist. Tradition, ritual and protocol governed the annual meeting of the Council. There were rigid adherences to the old ways regarding language, procedure, and agenda. In rare cases, actions directed from the table. No one spoke waiting for the last to arrive. There would be enough time for that. Having attended to the birds, Edgar pulled the door closed behind him and stepped to the front. All Five now stood around the circular table, eight feet in diameter. A chair, emblazoned with the symbol that each member represented, stood close by. There were five tumblers, each half full with a clear, tawny liquid. In the center sat an empty wooden box with its top open. Together they all lifted their glasses in tribute and offered a prayer.
“We will not mourn the past;
we yearn not for what is to come,
Stewards of the Cosmos, delight!
Children of the Ancients, ascend!
Oh Amkata, accept the Five as one.”
They emptied their tumblers, and left their glasses overturned. According to custom, the meeting could not begin without adherence to a sacred ritual. Swiftly and lacking hesitation, the Five each unsheathed a small blade hidden with their robes. They proceeded to bare their right side. They then willingly cut out a small section of flesh, an offering in recognition of the first Creation Beings. Holding their flesh and blood aloft, the Five joined hands above the table. In a flash, the offerings transformed into a small fragment, known only as the Treasure. Acting as designate, Weir Barnes placed the object into the wooden box, sealed it and slipped the box into his robes. Acknowledging the completion of the first and most revered ritual, the Five took their seats. The symbol illuminated as each Ancient sat down, confirming their place. Edgar, who represented the symbol that bound them together, took his seat last. When he did, the entire room vanished.
Sixty light years away, on their home planet, the Five reappeared in a chamber of the cathedral, some distance underground. The requisite, impenetrable space, was designed to accommodate only Five together and in possession of the Treasure. There was no other way to gain access. Master Barnes began the proceedings bestowing the latest Treasure on a wall that held every single box from the very beginning. He pressed his hand against the long railing that protected the boxes. He could feel the momentous wave of energy radiating from the wall, evidence of their life force, nearly bringing him to tears. Realizing the time deficit, he checked his emotions and made his way back to the table. With the Five now together, the assembly could officially begin.
Admission to the annual gathering of the Council followed strict guidelines with respect to codes of conduct. Initially allotted one hour, each member outlined the concerns that arose in their specific geographic location over the past twelve months. Although sometimes generalized, repetitious or shared across regions, it allowed each member to speak uninterrupted for sixty minutes. At the end of the first session, they drew up an agenda to deal with each member’s personal concerns, along with the ongoing issues surrounding the safety and well-being of the Orabona. These included, but were not limited to, policies concerning ascension rituals and training; the illegal use of magic and any subsequent changes that enrich the lives of their people. Other matters, always open for discussion, dealt with the state of Amkata. It always seemed to be the most difficult. Throughout the years, something plagued the council. There had been little progress, despite pooling their efforts together, they remained desperately short of their objective. This year, the urgency to solve the Ral Dhomi 800 equation looked to be the major obstruction. All five council members, brilliant mathematicians with expert knowledge of the universe, wrestled with this particular problem. It seemed to have taken on a life of its own. The degree of difficulty and sheer complexity was one thing. The real power lay in the answer. It held a potential value that could exist beyond measure. The Five knew this and thereby worked with a superabundant rush of purpose. The Ancients calculated their portion of the equation with absolute certainty of its accuracy. They all knew that if they did not achieve unequivocal perfection this time, they might never know the answer nor its implications. That sense alone motivated them beyond what they considered possible.
Tradition dictated that the youngest member, Telpina Sherif, have the first hour. From that moment until the adjournment in five days’ time, there would be no breaks or adjournments for any reason. Orabona on Amkata did not require food, drink, sleep or any of the human constructs required on, Earth. When they arrived, the black walls of the chamber reflected only the Ancients movements. That changed the minute the wall absorbed the Treasure, confirming legitimacy. During the first few minutes it took everyone to settle in, the walls came alive with colour and images ranging from open landscapes of burnt orange sand dunes ripples by the wind, alabaster cliffs towering over emerald green seas, a binary pulsar appearing as an intense two star galactic light house. The pictures, random in order, provided the members with a constant and positive reminder of what their home once looked like. It also highlighted some of the discoveries the Orabona made far beyond the relative security of their planet. It ran as a lasting memento. It ran to ensure that the Five never forgot where they came from. Weir Barnes abruptly raised his hand, bringing everything to a halt. He diplomatically introduced each member and then called the meeting to order.
“Master Sharif, the compendium states that you have the first interval, and the regard of the One.”
Edgar sat back in his chair trying to get comfortable. He habitually shifted his weight from one side to the other. Finding no benefit to leaning on either arm, he attributed it to the earlier disquiet having returned. Listening to his dear friend recount the detailed concerns of her region, he found himself preoccupied. He endeavoured to pay attention. Something about her reporting bothered him. He knew nothing of the account, but he knew it sounded too much like his own. Some of the points did not sit right; driving his first thought to a bad place. He unwittingly considered that this might be a trend. Furthermore, the way she spoke was worrying. Unsure whether it was her tone or choice of language that grated at him, and unable to pinpoint it, Edgar made a note to discuss it with her later that evening. He watched the walls again. The images moved in time with Master Sharif's words. When she spoke in specifics, be it a youth or an entire family, their pictures displayed in magnificent resolution. He noticed that certain families reflected an uncharacteristic look about them, as if, they were hiding something. He could not get a sense of it, but his internal barometer saw a degree of apprehension. Sitting on the edge of his chair, Edgar watched the families cross the walls. After witnessing thirty families in all, he could not help but wonder why they appeared to be so uneasy. The more attention he paid to them, the more revealing it became. He carefully observed each face. He could see the shadow in their eyes. He saw the very same indicator long ago. Regardless of circumstance or emotion involved, the same subtle expression of gloom remained. Having never paid enough attention to recognize that this affliction could affect the entire population, Edgar separated himself from the images. He found it too difficult to focus on Master Sharif’s visual offering, let alone her dissertation. Closing his eyes, he saw the faces of the Orabona families from the southern region, his constituency.
Edgar knew the Orabona population acknowledged they were not from this planet. He found that feeling still permeated throughout despite the minor cultural changes they faced. Whatever they did, no matter how hard they tried, they would not ever belong. Moreover, that their distant home, wherever it abided in the universe, remained an elusive and unanswered question. Edgar estimated that over ninety percent of the Orabona never experienced life on Amkata. The remainder had not returned since the mass exodus two thousand plus years before. After nearly an hour of considerations, he determined that the look on the faces amounted to a lifetime of longing. The burning desire, left to smoulder, rendered to only embers and ash. If any attempt to return home was to be mounted, the Council had to harness this critical instinctive energy. This he knew for sure. The nagging disquiet suggested something else. It was as if he found himself in the midst of a brewing storm. The longing he understood, but also feared that there lurked another, more sinister preoccupation. Edgar was confused by his sensitivity to these emotions. He could not grasp the true meaning, but the reality of it flashed on the screens all around him. The truth heralded in the names of the afflicted families. The real difficulty came in addressing the unfortunate facts all around them. He began to run a string of calculations in his head as the next Ancient, Master Hoxley, started to speak. Only half listening to his opening statements, Edgar set a list of parameters and began to populate it with figures. A short time later, he felt ill coming to grips with the implications of his early computations. The haunting images of the multiple families made him cringe. He identified numerous reasons to formulate an entirely new discussion paper. As he worked on that in the back of his mind, Master Hoxley presented updates that sounded far too familiar to be a coincidence. This only added defensible numbers to his working hypothesis. He would not allow himself to feel anything this time while watching an entirely new group of families. He was at a loss searching for other connections. Without any further details, the next two hours identified a seemingly silent epidemic that somehow made its way through an unreasonable percentage of the Orabona population worldwide. He determined seventeen metrics to compare each household against all the others. He believed there had to be a correlation amongst them, and, if so, perhaps some kind of understanding. Edgar stewed on this conundrum until Master Boas made an innocent declaration. Like she had cast it out to the other members in hopes of getting a bite. While discussing the disparity between her genuine and ongoing concerns, she made her point. She understood completely that time, and a combined effort, often furnished the best solution, but that did not remedy her genuine concerns. Surrounded with unknowns, the distinct uptick in illegal detentions could not be resolved. The Orabona never gave anyone a reason to be hostile, let alone detained. The discrepancies between races remained a closely guarded secret. So well protected that the number of afflicted families became something of an impossibility. She then made two important statements, of which Edgar heard only the first.
“Following interviews with several families, I found a chilling correlation between a detained elder and the impending ascension of the youth.” Pausing for a moment to ensure her words made the intended impact.
“It is in my estimation that this is being perpetrated by an insider.”
With that clue, it allowed the pieces to fell into place. Edgar hastily reviewed the names in his mental database. The disquiet jabbed at him as each household revealed the same connection. Even though he could envision the outcome, he ran through the entire list. Despite having missed the current list Master Boas outlined, it provided the only opportunity for an anomaly. His own region echoed the same grim results, as did the others. Unexplained detentions of innocent Orabona elders with a youth near ascension. It was a key indicator overlooked or missed altogether. However, it did not matter now. Preoccupied by the serious nature of his findings, Edgar could not attend to the rest of the discussion. The more he thought about how something like this could have occurred without any alarm bells going off, the more it angered him. It just created more questions that went nowhere. During the course of their exile on Earth, very few groups or leaders tried to oppress or even murder an Orabona family. It is not to say that some did not try, but those warranted a definitive response. They always explored nonviolent avenues to help manage any potential problems. In modern times, the Orabona successfully stayed off everyone’s radar. This newest dilemma inferred something altogether different. It had the trappings of an organized, global network that targeted specific families with the benefit of insider information. He worked the reasoning behind the abductions, trying to associate what they might want with each elder. Going around in circles and getting angry, Edgar leaned over in his chair and rested on his knees. He stared at the plum coloured weave in the massive rug that covered the floor. He allowed his eyes to drift along the pictogram that, in fine detail, illuminated and described the Orabona cycle of life. Looking at it for the ten thousandth time, an unanticipated feature jumped out at him. Edgar saw what the objective might be, presenting a crisis far worse than he originally envisaged. Minutes later, as his time drew near, he sat rigid but for the silent strumming of his fingertips on the black stone tabletop. He anticipated his opportunity to speak. He had already heard more than enough. Several times he bit his tongue bloody so as not to interrupt. The combined tastes of iron and saline in his mouth only added to his growing indignation. Edgar respected tradition and the sanctity of the Council. Each member brought forth a great number of concerns for review. More worrisome were the volume of issues repeated by each member. Aside from the disturbing insights he held onto, Edgar felt distressed by the tone of their opening messages. He did not understand the disconnection whereby each member had constantly misinterpreted direct comments made by a collection of elders. It bothered him at the beginning and again with Master Boas wrapping up her final statement. The disquiet had now taken on a life of its own. When her final syllable faded from their minds, Edgar jumped up, forcing his seat back into the invisible wall. Extending his right arm, he pointed a stern finger at every one of his equals. The absence of sound filled the chamber. His frustration turned to exasperation, the mask obvious on his face. His eyes burned like hot stars. None of the four dared to move, having never seen him this animated. No matter his demeanour, they were required to bear the next sixty minutes and what it contained. Without warning, Edgar pounded his outstretched hand onto the table. The energy it created activated the walls, displaying two distinct images. When he spoke, his voice boomed, loud and dark as thunder.
“Council members, I have endured the past four hours listening intently. I have noticed that we share the same two problems, either one of which will be the end of us. Bear with me and I will paint a picture to clarify my growing concerns for our dwindling future. It occurred to me that we have talked about the same handful of things for what, fifty, a hundred years perhaps. Yet, we lack solutions to these simple issues. Have we grown fat and lazy in our comfortable lives on Earth? Are we now so complacent that we cannot see that it is in our failings that we are unable to bestow the necessary guidance to our people? We are Orabona!” he shouted, taking a step back from the table and kicking over his chair. He ambled purposefully around the chamber, pausing at each member’s seat to personalize his outrage. The images shown on the walls were very old. A collage of pictures containing familiar faces and fantastic panoramas. Each member recognized an element that invoked a strong emotion.
“We are at war!” Edgar’s voice resonated, shocking the other four back to the reality at hand. The pleasant images went dark, instantly replaced with the most recent representations or the planet surface less than three hundred feet above them.
“We are exiles on Earth, or have you forgotten? Our sole purpose is to protect the Orabona, collective, culture and to find a way home. The objective of this council, upon arrival, started out addressing these clear directives. However, all I have heard over the years and again today is the homogenizing of major issues with petty concerns from our people. More and more they appear to be acting like humans. How long will it be until we have a repeat of the Torment? This is not protection. This is not the development of a plan to bring us home.” Righting his chair, Edgar continued to stand,
“We have grown indolent and weak. We are far less prepared than we were five hundred years ago. We faced serious problems then. We made painful decisions and unfortunate sacrifices. Now, all I hear is that elders are delaying telepathic development because they do not want their young to be different.” Slamming his hand down harder this time, he erupted,
“We are different. Telepathy is fundamental. It is how we communicate or has everyone gone blind? As Ancients it is our duty; no, it is our obligation to ensure there is a standard level of training. If it is not, then it is our responsibility to enforce that standard. Even if that means going home to home and doing it ourselves.”
The faces of the council members were a complex display of emotions. He witnessed humbled misunderstanding through to outright insult.
“We must double our efforts to prepare the elders and their youth that follow for a triumphant return to Amkata. We must be of one mind on this point, for I believe that if we are not, then we are already lost. I regard this issue of such importance that I invoke regulation eleven, ordering this council to remain until such time that an agreement can be reached.”
Out of turn and much to the shock of the others, Ogden Hoxley spoke.
“You have no authority or right to keep the council assembled past the fifth day.”
“Silence!” Edgar shouted, projecting his anger into an image that made him appear enormous. “Your time has ended; interrupt me no more. Our planet continues to suffer, is under constant attack, and we remain impotent in our response. Who here has been back home in the last year?”
No one moved.
“The last five years?”
Again, nothing.
“Ten, twenty? Fifty, one hundred?”
None of them could make eye contact. Edgar felt the anger flooding his mind, but he stopped himself. Deciding on an alternate approach, he asked,
“Have we really given up? Have we lost ourselves, darkened our hearts and put aside the sacrifices made, only so we could escape?” He paused for a breath, then screamed,
“Have we? Because if so, take a long look at one another, for it may, very soon, be your last.”
Edgar sat down, his constant outburst draining his energy; put his head in his hands; and breathed in slowly. The task of calming the frayed network of his mind caused physical pain. The pointless anger directed at his equals garnered no effect other than shock value, which by now had all but evaporated. On top of that, it made him feel wretched. After a short pause, he searched his center and softened his tone. The subject matter for the next portion of his hour required a much different dialogue and a united front. For, if his preliminary assumptions held true, someone had a massive advantage over them. In the back of his mind, he feared a systematic suppression, if not the complete eradication of their race. The party responsible had found a rather unsophisticated way to deny ascension to their young. As far as priorities went, this rocketed to the top. Lifting his head and meeting the four sets of eyes, they shared a moment of universal understanding. Edgar began to explain and defend what he believed to be the most serious issue currently facing the Orabona.
Having stalled, time currently served no purpose. Only counting the measures that signaled another positive outcome mattered. Rachel spent the last week in a state of meditative readiness. She stayed within reach of the camp, venturing to the ocean only to bathe. She ate once daily and never let the fire die out. She celebrated the various stages of her son's progress. Rachel felt a rush, noticeably emphasized by any source of combustion. Lights would brighten. Fires would dance as the transfer of energy returned to its source. Much to her delight, she also heard a measure, a unique bar of music that, once complete, would be her son’s distinctive signature. Every elder had one, and there were many theories surrounding its meaning. It had never mattered thus far, so no one asked anymore. Her son only had one challenge remaining, so her anticipation had peaked. Rachel in turn forced herself to sit and concentrate on other matters.
The second challenge caused Gary a great deal of inconvenience. He felt ill prepared and unable to endure. Granted a reckoning, this allowed him to carry on with the understanding of revisiting the same problem at the end. The next three challenges tested him greatly, pushing the limits of every ability and function in his body. They made the mountain climb seem simple. Transported away, only to find himself interrogated in languages he did not understand, prosecuted and persecuted for unimaginable crimes. Finally, in the end, Gary rescued the most dubious character that deserved a much worse fate. He learned things about himself he never knew were possible. More importantly, he started to understand that he was not alone, and how that creates a power greater than oneself. When the fifth challenge reappeared, he saw it differently. Before, he felt nervous and inadequate. This time around, Gary walked through the grove of trees to get a sense of their resolve. Touching each tree, he spoke to them, providing kind words and accepting a sliver of their spirit. He collected a small twig bearing a fresh leaf from the entire grove. Standing in front of the infected tree, Gary held aloft the promise of the family's offering. With his hands full of new life, he stepped forward and embraced the afflicted tree. He brought the bond of fellowship and a pledge of succour. The lone tree murmured faint, disconnected sounds at his presence. He explained his intentions along with, what he delivered in relief. Serving as a conduit, the youth stood and accepted the trees illness and disease; replacing it with boundless spirit, compassion and empathy from its brothers and sisters. A slow transformation filled Gary with rot and needle worms. His skin peeled and split, exposing the raw flesh to the elements. The countless number of worms, moving in waves, wove and bore holes through his bones. Their savage intent was prevalent throughout his entire body. When both legs fractured, it made his stand all the more torturous. Despite the anguish, he would not relent. Calling upon the collective spirit for assistance, Gary offered more of himself. An intense agony raged inside his body. Unwilling to let go of the tree, he extracted another wave of poisons from the hardwood. Once exposed to light, the bacteria caused the skin on his back to liquefy. Gary only held the tree closer. The transmutation between youth and tree lasted lifetimes. He experienced a protracted deterioration of his body. The needle worms took his sight and hearing by degrees. The fractures and rot took his ability to stand. His skin, having dissolved, left the rest of his body exposed to less virile strains to feast on. When he lost the feeling in his hands, Gary wondered if the offerings had made any difference. The broken and bloodied mass remained steadfast where it started. His only ability allowed him to recite all of the feelings the grove had bestowed upon him. Near death, Gary could only think about sharing the spirit of the grove with the single tree. With his last breath, he told the tree,
“You are loved.”
Rachel woke with a start, recollecting a series of strange occurrences that had recently taken place in their town. It started as a rumour to which no one really paid any attention. Now, there were too many coincidences for it not to be real. The firsthand information she received seemed a little too much. A father and daughter were coming home from the movies, when they pulled over in what looked to be a routine traffic stop. In the dark and pouring rain, the elder got a bad feeling of being set up. Unable to escape the scene, the elder did not go without a fight. They exchanged words and violence ensued. Forced to watch, the youth could only scream as they took her father away. Rachel could not recall the charges or length of his sentence, only that it interfered with the girls’ ascension, leaving her as one of the unfortunates. Rubbing her eyes, she could not imagine what that family must be going through. Clapping her hands together, Rachel understood her good fortune in getting Gary safely away. Hopping out of her tent, she stoked the fire, adding another log. She looked out at the great expanse of the ocean and let her mind wander. Her raven, Kosi, had not slept in eight days. He faithfully patrolled the skies, land and sea in the off chance someone decided to show up uninvited. They shared a few kind words as the bird flew overhead. The fire suddenly bloomed as an intense rush thundered through her body. Her son’s song now played in her ears. Her heart filled to overflowing with joy and gratitude. She could not wait to see him. Rachel had no idea how long it would take him to reappear once he completed his ascension. Feeling strangely ill equipped, she set upon making him comfortable when he returned.
Gary’s fingertips tingled. That first sensation made him happy. Laying prone on a comfortable substance, he could tell that his body had returned to its previous state. He felt no pain, inside or out. When he opened his eyes, his location did not immediately register. He rested on some kind of bench in the middle of the universe. Considering what he had just been through, it seemed fitting. Nervously giggling to himself, Gary thought about taking a step, but then thought twice, content to watch and wait, knowing this entire event was full of surprises. Something about the coordinates looked familiar from the first lesson with the Ancient. Consulting his star chart, he located his position. At first, it did not click but, after a second look, he knew that the planet in front of him was Amkata. Inside of Gary’s being, a spark ignited that would shortly ignite the burning desire that all elders felt. Bestowed upon each new elder at the end of the ascension ritual is one opportunity to better themselves. There are no parameters, but almost all Orabona select an element they discovered during the challenges. Upon hearing the question, Gary knew exactly what he wanted to address.
Ever since Rachel got the confirmation, time had turned on her. The first half of the day, she felt elated. However, that faded as the sunset arrived and still no Gary. The problem of not knowing what to expect provided unreasonable conjecture adding to her already burgeoning anticipation. Every sound from the forest made her turn in hopes of his reappearance. A poor sleep combined with a dramatic change in weather left her wondering. The wind started to pick up and waves were breaking on the beach. Rachel counted nine full days since she activated the charm and almost twenty-four hours since the final endorsement. The puzzling question remained, where could he be? Several more hours passed as the conditions deteriorated, forcing Rachel into her tent. More curious than concerned, she wondered what her father went through all those years ago. She imagined this area looked very similar. Without warning, Kosi called to her, signaling danger off shore. It located a figure underwater, moving slowly to her position. The rough water made it virtually impossible to get a solid fix on it. Kosi let her know that both air and water defenses were tracking. The raven turned and prepared to intercept. Rachel’s warrior nature kicked in, instantly flooding her body with the necessary requirements. She got up and left the security of her tent, activated her weapon and ran down the beach. Standing eight feet from the waterline, Rachel looked skyward, then back to the crashing waves. Whatever came out of the surf did not stand a chance. When the figure first broke the surface, the water disguised its features. When she saw what the being held in its right hand, Rachel dropped her sword and ran into the water. Walking out of the rolling surf, chain in hand, was Gary. As his mother wrapped her arms around his wet body, the realization of having bested the ritual and his transformation to elder was complete. Walking back to camp, they decided to stay another night because of the dark having already settled in. Additionally, after not eating for a week and a half, Gary had some catching up to do. Rachel did not pry into any specifics of his ritual but very much wanted to, knowing that every ascension had its own unique dimensions. They did talk about a multitude of things that were new to her son. Between mouthfuls, he quizzed her on a number of aspects regarding their race, homeland and what happens now. Looking only for clarification, Gary discerned the connection he shared with his mother had grown stronger, almost boundless. Having grown closer after his father’s death, this new sensation felt unlike anything before. He appreciated her sacrifices and viewed her in an entirely different light. They were now comrades of the same collective; a bond deeper than mother and son. He could tell that she wanted to ask him a question, so he offered her the opportunity to do just that.
“Tell me Gary, why did you come out of the surf like that?”
“I wanted to address my fear of the water. I did not know what to expect, but the results were incredible. I swam on the surface and at depths where sunlight does not reach. I walked for miles on underwater mountain ranges. Every creature I encountered had some understanding in regards to my being there.”
She put her hand out and gripped his tightly. High above the pair, two birds circled, waiting for the signal. Once initiated, they leisurely descended into the hidden cove. Rachel’s final gesture arrived alongside Kosi, who presented Gary with a young raven, a yearling from its brood. Taking the adolescent bird, she offered it to her son. She explained the lifelong connection they would share. This unexpected gift touched the young elder, knowing how much it stood for. He remembered his grandfather telling old tales of warriors and their birds. Only now could he see that the tales were in fact true stories. The next morning they broke camp and made the trek back to the car. On their return home, neither Haynes felt much like talking. It was not until they were a few miles from home that the spark inside Gary ignited. She knew what happened before he did. Nevertheless, he turned to his mother and asked,
“Mom, when will we return to Amkata?”
Having spent nine days considering an answer, and a lifetime of wondering herself, Rachel did not have an answer that would satisfy either of them. Instead, she balked and changed the subject. She quietly hoped against hope that the answer they all sought after would become reality in their lifetime.
A light breeze disturbed only the fresh growth on the poplar trees. They lined the perimeter of a small lake on three sides, providing a natural buffering effect. A solitary pier extended thirty feet into the water, giving any angler superior cast selection. Whomever constructed it had the angler in mind with notches and cutouts for an assortment of rods, nets and creels. The weather worn end rail held the engraved initials of young romantics. Its stout engineering suggested it would be there for another eternity. Edgar's young companion ran on ahead. She busily tied her lure as he approached. Looking at her choice, he suggested another, a little less flamboyant because the fish in this lake were downright fussy. Ignoring him, she carried on with her task, adding on a few weights, and then stood at the railing. He watched as she set the line, drew back her arm and launched the hook a great distance out into the blue water. Reeling in enough line to hold tension, she focused her attention on the red and white float. The old man completed his setup, and then cast in a similar fashion to the opposite. During these periods of waiting, the young girl usually peppered him with questions on every topic imaginable. Today, he sensed something distinctive. His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of excitement, as she reeled in her first fish of the day. Dropping it in the bucket, she cast out to the same spot. Moments later, she confidently manhandled a much larger fish, dropping it in with the first. Her casting proficiency and skill had not been lost on the old man, especially since he had yet to get a bite. He asked the girl how she managed to catch the fish and more than likely her daily limit within the first hour.
“I asked the fish if any of them were hungry and if they wanted to go on an adventure. Six said yes, so I asked them what they wanted to eat.”
Stunned, the old man did not have a comeback. He felt the need to laugh at the simplest answer being the best one. Edgar imagined that the hungry fish were eager to see what she had to offer. He felt the touch of her soft hand on his as she said purposefully,
“Do not worry Edgar; I know what I am doing. It has become evident what my true calling is. You do not have to worry because it has already begun.”
Rubbing the back of his hand as if to recall more of the image, the Master heard what sounded like his name being called.
“Edgar, are you certain? What I mean to say is how could we have missed something so critical? Edgar, are you listening to me” beckoned Master Sharif.
Upon hearing his name a second time, the dream collapsed around him but it did not disappear. What did she mean by her last statement? Stuck in an unfortunate moment, he fought to retain every instant of the dream. Rallying several aspects gifted only to Ancients, he gathered the fragments of the dream and began to reassemble her message. Hearing his name one additional time signaled the urgency of a response.
“I am sorry. What I am suggesting, is that it’s not so much we missed it. It is more along the lines of disregarding the significance of the number, year to year. It did not really change; subsequently, we did not concern ourselves with it. The data that we collected in the last twelve months shows a dramatic increase. When I compared it to the previous decade, I saw a small but steady increase year over year. Without the spike in numbers last year, we might not have noticed at all. Therefore, I am confident in that based on this evidence, that we are the target of malevolence.” This last statement was said in a calm tone. His active mind began the arduous process of trying to determine who could organize such a well-coordinated and silent operation. His first thoughts came up empty, considering they had no genuine enemies. He also knew it could not be an Orabona. They were incapable of such crimes, even when under duress. A single elder could not divulge the secrets of its race because they only carried enough information to impact his direct family. No Orabona, even under threat of death, would give up their family. The collective power of the Orabona came from being part of so much more, which made the reality of obtaining secrets relating to some global event highly unlikely. The most expedient way for anyone to access, the collective came by tapping into one of the members of the council. The seemed even more remote. All Five members utilized strict security measures, had held their post for at least five thousand years and any irregularities would have been exposed through self-reflection or as the council convened every year. Edgar nearly dismissed the thought as an impossibility. Due to the gravity of recent findings, he decided that perhaps nothing was impossible any longer.
“Master Negati, for the sake of clarity, could you walk us through your contention once more. I believe I speak for everyone when I say that this may pose a greater threat than the Darkness. If not, it is coming at us from a far more terrifying vector,” stated Master Barnes, conceding the floor.
Edgar stood, far more reserved this time. The thought of an outside force working to crush the resolve of the Orabona angered him. Certain that he could make them feel it as well, he began,
“Our population in exile is currently 160,254. Between the Five of us, we know every one of them, their names, dates of birth, where they live and work, everything! We know who is ill, when magic is used, the entire inside line. They are our responsibility and we provide for them accordingly. As infallible as we Orabona are, the humans have enacted laws to which we must conform. A small percentage of our people have chronically breached those laws and found themselves in trouble with the law. Some spent time incarcerated for short periods. This year, I personally looked over the numbers in preparation of this week and found them inconsistent but nothing untoward. Then, as I listened to each account, the uncomfortable feeling I have wrestled with for several days now, started to expand. My inner voice told me that something inside the numbers was problematic. I sorted through the last ten years. I took a critical look at the number of arrests per region by year. I found a small but steady increase. Ten years ago, six hundred and four had increased to just under sixteen hundred the year before last. I found another thread that stood out. The length of the sentence for any Orabona never amounted to any more than four months. All charges were bogus, insignificant or trivial and without need of trial. That alone made me dig deeper. Not one Orabona was ever detained a second time. I went back hundreds of years to confirm that claim. That indication suggested that something was amiss. From there, I processed the details of the detainees. It presented a random selection between male and female, all over the age of ascension. Then I stalled, as I could not find a correlation in the twenty metrics I considered. Not until Master Boas offered her findings, did I see the connection. Rerunning the numbers, the truth of the matter shocked me. After the first twenty-five elders came back as exact matches, my heart sank. I knew that all the rest fit the pattern and would provide devastating results. It confirmed the dire fears that have unsettled me lately. Every elder, detained for whatever length of time, coincided with their youths fifteenth birthday. This effectively separated the elder from the youth at the most critical moment of their lives, causing the opportunity of their ascension to lapse. I do not need to explain what the principle effect of foregoing one's ascension by any means is.” Edgar let the weight of his thesis sink in temporarily. The compulsion to search for answers drove him on.
“The numbers tell a dreadful tale and one that I find personally too tragic to believe. I estimate that nearly eleven thousand elders, some ten percent of the elder population, found themselves detained over the past fifty years. We must postulate the equivalent number of youth whose ascension went unrealized. This represents some twenty-six percent of our families affected. The numbers from last year showed further increases over the year before. I have no idea who is behind these attacks. It is clear that they intend to eradicate our species by appropriating the prospect of ascension. Stealing from our youth and watching us die a slow death without the hope of future generations. I believe that this is our new reality.”
“How long do we have Master Negati?” several voices asked in unison.
“If the pace of the detentions is allowed to continue, I do not believe that we will have any youth to ascend by the end of the next decade.”
Listening intently, Master Hoxley pinched the bridge of his nose. Looking up, he addressed the council,
“We must take drastic measures to ensure the safety and security of the families who may become targets.”
“How did we miss this?” Master Boas asked again openly. “Is it not our function to protect those who we have let down through our inaction?”
“Yes Aelish, you are absolutely correct in asking that. We will deal with those questions another time. Our primary concern must be securing the vulnerable families. Next, we can develop something more concrete to find the link to whomever is behind this. We must rally our flocks and send word that this is a general alarm. Let every family know that this concern is all too real,” commanded Edgar. As he busily drafted the message, Weir Barnes asked a simple yet very challenging question.
“How do we know that whoever is orchestrating this is not in a position to intercept the message?”
The other members froze in response to his query. No one spoke for an unreasonably long period. The Ancients put their minds together to solve this. When they finally reasoned the solution, they would deliver the candid message to only one member of the exposed families, the elder at risk. The chance of the mastermind being an elder with a youth under the age of fifteen seemed like a longshot and worth the risk. Communication became their only course of action. Immediately, they sent the message out on an ancient safeguarded conveyance. Within seconds, hundreds of ravens took flight back on Earth. Their only purpose, to find their keepers and relay the urgent message which included a course of action to follow for the immediate future. In effect, the message said to be as diligent as possible and, if the opportunity presented itself, to begin the ritual early or go into hiding. Following the broadcast, the Five moved to their next order of business, understanding that any more intervention may potentially alert the wrong party. Confident the messages and countermeasures in place would be enough for now, they set the matter aside.
Keen to discuss the state of Amkata, Edgar needed the council to appreciate the new realities. He understood their misconceptions, but knew they were wrong. He had every intention to continue his aggressive stance in developing a plan beyond surveying the damage. This time the plan would be to return. The first option seemed the most logical place to start, regarding it as being an easier selling point to the other members. Tired of taking the easy way out, he would fight for the hard option. Edgar extended this and one other topic on the table for discussion; each requiring a major commitment on its own merits. Master Barnes signaled for the council to reconvene. An eloquent speaker, his voice sounded weak and threadbare. He addressed the members in surprising fashion.
“Family members of the Orabona, brothers and sisters all, it is obvious that we are under attack. We know nothing of the perpetrators of these crimes. The evidence is clear that their intention is to render our species barren, leading to our extinction with the passage of time. As exiles, and limited by our abilities within the laws of the lands we inhabit, extreme caution is currently our only ally. We will develop a plan to ensure that we do not lose another elder in turn, saving the youth. If by chance we do lose any elders, investigations, vehemently conducted, will to determine the validity of the charges. Our ravens will play a large part in providing details to which we do not have access. Second, through whatever means necessary, the required training, including an accelerated program, is now compulsory for all ascension aged Orabona. The six-month rule we have observed is not law and is thereby suspended. The day a youth turns of age, their opportunity begins. The key is to get ahead of whoever is directing this madness.”
“I would prefer to see a youth struggle for three months through the process then to never get the chance at all,” Sister Sharif commented.
“My point exactly. To echo Master Negati, we are at war. Only now on two fronts. We can discuss the finer details of our spearheaded approach to the matter of note on Earth for later. It is time we consider our return to Amkata. Seeing Master Negati is the only one of us to have returned to the surface in a very long time, I will surrender the floor to him.”
The speed and urgency in which they handled these issues caught Edgar somewhat off guard. Ever prepared, the man reached into his robe and let the contents of his inner pocket fill his hand.
“We are at the most acute junction in our history. We are on Earth through the mismanagement of our people and another culture we did not fully understand. Now it seems we have made a similar error in judgment and a malevolent force has taken advantage of our inattention. I must commend Master Barnes on his decisive thinking, and direct action to secure our families back on Earth. For the moment my focus is Amkata.” Edgar pulled his chair in close, leaning onto the table as an offering of consolidation for his previous outbursts. With acceptance by all, he carried on.
“I have returned home every year since we left. I cannot ever stay long as the Kenaima is a cunning hunter. I did bring you all something, a souvenir of sorts.” He opened his hand and tossed out five blue and yellow stones. Each perfectly cylindrical in shape, they fanned out across the dark black table. The Councilors all reached out and held the small stones in their hands. A sudden hush came over the chamber as each recalled the last time they held an Eskori stone. Grown and harvested in only one place on Amkata, it proved Edgar had been back home. The other four found themselves so wrapped up in reminiscing that none of them understood the stones' true value.
“These are my gifts to you from our homeland,” he said as they all continued to admire the colourful objects.
“Such a touching gesture Master Negati. I have not seen an Eskori stone since long before we left. Where did you have these stored, they look quite fresh?” asked Master Sharif.
“I harvested these stones from the Celbour earlier this week,” Edgar replied.
The looks thrown around the table were nothing short of astonished. Of the four, only Master Hoxley found himself able to speak.
“Before this Council goes any further, I have a duty to inform you that the penalty for misrepresentation, or providing false information.”
“Yes, I am aware of the lifetime ban.”
“And yet you dare continue with your account of being on Amkata within the week?”
Looking at his equals with empathetic eyes, Edgar said, “ Master Hoxley, I intend to prove it.”
He reached forward, picking up the blue and yellow cylinder. Gently, he rolled it between his index finger and thumb. The Council members watched as the stone began to change. The yellow converged in the center as the stone itself grew. Once it was approximately four times its original size and the yellow was but a thin ribbon in the middle, Edgar placed it on the table. With a hard flick of his finger, the stone started to spin. Instead of gradually slowing, the speed of the rotations increased. The remarkable velocity of its spin caused it to levitate off the table several inches. Within ten seconds of takeoff, they all heard a soft pop. Standing on the table appeared a tiny winged lizard. Its bright green and gold colour contrasted well against the black of the table. Holding still, the creature unique to Amkata walked amid the fragments of the stone and onto Edgar’s outstretched hand.
“We all recall that the Eskori bird can only hatch within ten days of harvest. I encourage you to reintroduce yourselves to them. What I have found is just the beginning. It only makes me wonder what else is alive.”
His question garnered no response because of the stones and the sheer insanity of it all. Knowing that he had their full attention, he carefully delivered the bulk of his message.
“I believe that our world is not dead at all, For that matter, I do not think it is even dying despite what we can see. I cannot shake the feeling that this has all been an elaborate illusion to keep us away. Undeniably, the Kenaima are a genuine concern, but given what little we know about them, they are not without death. The Darkness itself must have a weakness somewhere. Your hesitancy to return is comprised of a host of conditions; conditions we have all been guilty at looking back upon, and saying to ourselves, “what a shame.” It is time we consider that there is something there worth returning to. We have waited long enough; it is time to take the battle to our oppressors.”
On the heels of that statement, Edgar switched gears. What came next required some tact. The problem remained how to deliver it. He could sprinkle it, but grew tired of the nonsense. He then thought seriously about doling out the tact by the fist full. Laughing at himself, at the suggestion of such a thing, Edgar curtailed his emotions and went ahead with his brief address.
“Now this leads me to my final objective, the realization of the Ral Dhomi 800. We are very close to a solution that will determine precise data for the previous event and the length of interval between the two. Once we have that, crosscheck the data, and confirm our calculations, I will tentatively start the search. Until that time, I cannot regard any Orabona with confidence. There is a firm directive this time. It must be exact or nothing.”
The body language displayed by the Ancients suggested the level of discomfort was verging on extreme. In the past 1800 years, the Council determined only two youth worthy of the title of Essential. The term did not signify a saviour or liberator. It referred to something much less dramatic; explained as a beacon, provisional yet constitutional. Any youth born during the same minute that the Ral Dhomi comet crossed between the white sun and the smaller orange sun, they were destined to be the Essential. The transit of the comet ranged around once every five million years, but the timing needed to be more exacting than that. In the entire existence of the Orabona, the council had yet to introduce such a being. When they lived on Amkata, access to the archives through the collective mind made considering the Essential a rarity. That all changed when they came to Earth. The search helped to connect everyone in light of the situation. Fueled by misinformation, the idea that the youth would deliver the Orabona home snowballed. Some claimed it would be their emancipator, brought to rescue them all. It turned out that some Orabona found influence from the religions of Earth and used that doctrine against the Ancients. It took several years to reconnect the scores of Orabona with their roots. Three hundred years after that crisis of conscience, an entry in a text, brought from Amkata, gave the first hint as to the date of the previous celestial event. After doing some preliminary calculations, it become apparent that, somewhere within a 4000-year window, the Essential had been or had yet to be born. Challenges proliferated regarding the exactness of the information. If a child was actually born in that specific minute, a list of potential questions continued to grow at a pace that outmatched the interest in solving it. Over the years, more texts offered random clues that brought the event into focus.
Celebrated with finding the cornerstone, Weir Barnes sustained some remaining guilt. Locked away in an old desk, unopened in seven centuries, he located the starting point. This allowed the Five to work on an equation in earnest. Arguments swirled around the figures and calculations that went nowhere. Master Barnes managed the equation for the first four centuries. Towards the end of his tenure, a fundamental error occurred. It was a unilateral decision that almost cost a youth his life. Previously, the council agreed, based upon a great deal of research, that any candidate for consideration must possess exceptional skills and abilities at age fourteen. This prerequisite had to coincide with a host of other key elements. The damning effect of Master Barnes fervent interest in proving the equation resulted in his taking shortcuts, making mistakes, and in the end, guessing. The six abilities the youth possessed were less than half of the minimum deemed necessary. Fortunately, for everyone concerned, the first trial to prove his hypothesis failed miserably with nothing to show for it. Master Negati assumed responsibility of the equation from that moment forward.
Nothing had ever convinced Edgar that the Essential ever existed except in the hearts and minds of his people. There were no books, stories or artwork to suggest it even had fairy tale status. Yet, he found himself wrapped up in the search approximately six hundred years later. Large gains in the development of the equation meant they were closer to an answer. Each Council member worked on a portion that fit their expertise. Master Barnes, having learned a dose of humility, put those lessons into his work. One late afternoon, after having run the calculations for the hundredth time, Master Negati felt something. Looking at his work, the answer appeared sooner than expected. Certainty shivered through him. In a brief moment of imperfection, he amassed the three candidates, all of whom fit the criteria... almost. He subjected them to strict tests meant to measure their skills, their ability to think, react and deal with a foreign entity. The three did poorly at the start, by the time they gave up, Master Negati recognized what he had done. At that juncture, he swore never to project the will of the Council upon another youth until they had determined the answer to the question.
Master Negati intended to leave his statement concerning the Ral Dhomi objective there. Looking around the table at their pallid expressions, he felt a combination of emotions. The quiet in the room came as a comfort. As he went to pull his chair closer to the table, a strange sensation invaded his mind that had no business being there. Gauging the look of the other Council members, they experienced the same input collectively. It felt almost exactly like it sounded, as if a small door in their minds, rusty and creaking, opened for the first time. Given their secure location, fear and outrage were the first two reactions. The immediate concern had to do with the unknown being somehow gaining access to the inaccessible. The chamber was equipped with an escape system; a complex multi-leveled series of devices that in case of invasion, vapourized the chamber. The time between the first sensation and the next did not allow for any flight or possibility of escape. Out of nowhere came a voice, quiet and distant. The girl, who spoke, did so clearly and with confidence.
“Edgar, can you hear me?”
Unable to respond, he hoped she would carry on with the single line of communication.
“I could not find you, but something inside me activated this ancient channel. It is imperative that I speak to you. I encountered the One who Knows. I chased him through many puzzles and in the end; I came face to face with a Lorath. It gave me some sort of cryptic road map.”
No one moved. The available portions of their minds not attached to the conversation were trying to process what the girl had just said.
“I have to say that it is clear that we have neglected our duty, spending far too long dancing around the subject of the Darkness. When we could have been planning our return home. I have some preliminary plans already drawn up. We must move on this before it is actually too late. I am hopeful you heard this message. Time is short and getting less than. I will gladly repeat myself when I see you again.”
When the conversation ended and the mental doors snapped shut, it left a vacuum in the chamber. As each member prepared the same questions that demanded answers, Edgar beat them to the punch. He gave them the only answer that mattered.
“That girl is Allison Hannaburg, and she is meant to play a major role in what is to come.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Walking through the open garage door, things finally started to feel normal. A few days after their escape, Charlie calmed down seeing that nothing had reached out to bite him. He thought about how they got away, respectful of all the things that could have gone wrong. Returning now to his regular schedule of school, chores and band practice, he tried to pretend it had all been a dream. He knew better than that. He quit his landscaping job because of the strange suspicion he got the last time. Combining that with credible evidence, he made the decision he would only go back to that house with an escort. One thing persistently bothered him since that day, the large black bird. Reason being that it showed itself every day since. Certain things about the bird looked out of the ordinary. The things he found most peculiar were that, no one else could see the blackbird. After exhaustive research, it did not appear to be a raven at all. He supposed it might be a distant relative, but the size, colour and plumage, along with a handful of other characteristics, were all too different. Closely studying the four ravens in the family's aviary, Charlie determined that this new bird had to be a one of a kind. He contemplated asking his father about it, but decided that could lead to a discussion he really did not want to have. Allison might have some idea, but he wanted to try to sort it out on his own. Besides, if only he could see it, Charlie did not want to explain something that did not appear to exist. With his family already concerned for his stability, this might just be the catalyst to have him committed. Seeing and talking to things that were invisible could just make such a case.
Charlie’s interaction with the blackbird remained solely one way. Always appearing in flight, as far as he could tell, out of nowhere. Landing close by, and no matter the weather, it would shake the cold water from its wings. He did not attempt to touch it because he was not convinced it was real. Yet, the water it shed felt like the real thing. The same bird returned each time. Aside from the first time in his front yard, it made no effort to communicate. Not knowing what the bird wanted, Charlie just let it follow him. He could not make any sense of it because the bird sought him.
The next day at school, Charlie saw Allison across the yard. He did not dare wave in case they had resorted to their pre-adventuring cliques. A quick second thought determined he did not care about any of that. Looking again, she and her friends were gone. His recent mastery of telepathy lapsed, having been far superior on the other side of the portal. Here, Charlie struggled daily to keep his own thoughts organized. He did not want to think what he would do with another’s rattling about. Instead of concentrating on the lesson in math class, he thought about calling his oldest sister Lynn. She might know something about the bird. She never made him feel small or stupid, unlike the middle child his sister Brielle, who did. Charlie regularly commented that his next older sister must have been adopted from parents who were criminally insane, often with her in the room for effect. Taking any chance to pick on him, she was both mean and enjoyed tormenting him in some demeaning fashion. Charlie silently could not wait until a prison barge job or snowflake counter position in Antarctica opened up. She would be perfect for either. The final bell of the day sounded, bringing him back to reality. Exchanging a couple of things in his locker, he pulled on his backpack and funneled out with the rest of the students. Aware that band practice started in fifteen minutes, he did not care today. He just felt like being alone for a while.
Charlie once figured that, at a slow walk, it took about ten minutes to get home from school. He had run it several times, like when he forgot his lunch or homework, in just over three. If he took the long way round, following the dried up river, under the train bridge, and through the old orchard. The walk spanned closer to three quarters of an hour. Walking across the schoolyard, he coasted toward home. At the last minute, he changed his mind. Veering off to the left, he followed the narrow gravel path down to the old riverbed. Unbeknownst to him, choosing to take the long way round would, years from now, confirm his place in Orabona folklore. Heavily overgrown and poorly maintained, the trail offered just enough room to stay clear of the brambles and thickets that choked the small river valley. He remembered seeing pictures from two generations before where kids fished along the banks with a train on the trestle up ahead. His thoughts drifted off, wondering what caused a sizable river to dry up. Only the overgrown brush remained a sorry by-product in the demise of the ecosystem. No water led to a decreased volume of trail users and finally neglect of the parkland. Charlie always enjoyed reasoning through challenging topics, thinking that if he could make sense of the steps, the beginning and end would be easy to grasp. He had a growing list of issues still to sort out. He just required more information. Drifting off the trail a step, he caught himself, managing not to fall victim to the aggressive vines that threatened to take him hostage. Concentrating on his footsteps, he heard it before it appeared. It did not follow him, nor did it approach. It circled above, a little ways off, but clearly, Charlie knew it was the same bird. Its exceptional wingspan and proportions gave it away. Looking up at it, a tingling sensation filled his body. That confirmation provided absolute certainty that the bird had come for him. In what manner of speaking, he could not say; only that it mattered. Farther down the trail, Charlie remarked that a train once crossed the river. Standing in the shadow of the derelict trestle, he wondered, given the geographical direction of the crossing, how far southwest the train actually went. He lived all but three blocks in that general direction. What did the train haul and to where? He made a mental note to do some research about the mysterious rail line. Charlie glanced up to see if the bird still shadowed him. It looked to be turning hard, as large birds are apt to do on warm updrafts. Taking a few more steps, he stopped. Compelled to remove his backpack, he knew the extra burden served no purpose. It became readily apparent that some dynamic change was taking place. He could not describe it in words, but likened it to confident anticipation. Bending down to tie up the lace of his shoe, Charlie felt ready. Standing tall, a bright flash caught his eye. For a second, he thought something reflected off the trestle. He knew very well what the flash heralded. With blinding speed, the blackbird dove out of the sky, flying under the old bridge and directly into Charlie’s body. The first thing he noticed was the altitude. It did not last long because the sensation of flying took over. Not so much as a passenger, but as an actual part of the bird. Every sense the blackbird employed, Charlie shared complete integration and functionality. It was seamless. It felt comfortable as if he had always been a Corvus. He laughed to himself as the connection between the giant blackbird and the Orabona made sense. The Corvus of Amkata were what the ravens are on Earth. The two large birds are direct relatives, some thousand generations removed. He now understood their secrets. The entire history of the Amkata Corvus opened up to him as if he had actually experienced it. The sudden exchange between character and form did not move Charlie at all. It was completely natural. The constant list of worries and concerns he carried with him were left somewhere on the trail. Presently flying over playing fields and rows of houses, he did not have a care in the world. As he enjoyed the view, a beacon activated in his mind, signaling it was time to leave. The required coordinates covered a considerable distance. Before he could feel insecure, he saw exactly how to get there. The flight commenced by climbing several thousand feet and then turning northward. Charlie could feel the muscles in his wings expand and contract as the air rushed over them. The exhilaration combined with the purpose of this righteous journey lifted his spirit as he soared for home.
At the beginning of Orabona existence, the Creation Beings charged each with the care of an egg. Those eggs hatched massive, fully formed blackbirds known as the Corvus. The great birds became the consorts of the Orabona. Telepathically connected, the two were inseparable. Traditionally, they traveled together during long expeditions, as they mapped the galaxies. The birds were key in providing the necessary assistance to see the otherwise unobtainable. They shared an unbreakable bond; the bird an extension of the elder. The pair shared a mind, a language, an entire lifetime. Exceptional hunters, diligent scouts and fierce protectors, the Corvus played a part in every Orabona family. To this day, their role remained a vital component to Orabona culture. A change took place after the Torment, with the development of the Darkness. The Corvus started to lose certain important aspects of their abilities. Communication with their keepers, usually crystal clear for immense distances, grew intermittent, then terminated. The birds witnessed critical events taking place. The development of the rift and the growing expanse of the glow. Silenced by some unknown source, their information went nowhere. During the Orabona attempts to seal off and destroy the Darkness, the Corvus considered that they should participate in some form of attack. They planned to dive bomb it with debris but as their keepers’ efforts failed, the blackbirds contemplated further, more desperate, attacks. Shamefully, none of them ever took place. This remained an unresolved, raw and open wound among the Corvus population. Taught to the generations that followed, a Corvus' duty above all else was to assist and protect its keeper. Throughout the exodus, an allotment of birds went to Earth. The majority that stayed behind fought with the Orabona against the Kenaima. Most perished. Some escaped to the hills or the forest, while others flew out to sea. The accounting of those birds unable to fight and the roosting birds who refused to abandon their nests was lost to time. As the focus of the Darkness changed, the Corvus ventured bravely from its concealed realm and returned to the skies. The violent storms and sourness in the air made their ability to fly both dangerous and unpleasant.
The internal instruments that directed him to the magnetic north pole broadcast an alert that he had reached the objective. He required more altitude for the maneuver, so he flexed his wings to climb. The cold air and sprawling display of the aurora borealis made Charlie feel more alive than ever before. His Corvus mind well acquainted with the next procedure, explained the highlights. It did nothing to stop the flood of adrenaline in expectation of the actual experience. He still could not believe it worked. Soaring continuously upward, he felt it in his eye when he reached the correct altitude. With that confirmation, it took a gentle tip of the wing to turn into a rapid descent. Fearlessly locked on target, Charlie could hear the silence all around him. More accurately it was completely soundless, like no sound ever existed. The ground hastily came into focus. Confidence and wonder guided the final moments of the dive.
Without warning, Charlie felt a loud snap of electrical energy, followed by a dramatic change in weather conditions. It took every ounce of his concentration to remain level. Small vortices within the clouds tenaciously continued to spin him wildly out of control. All around lightning flashed trying to force him down. Charlie worked diligently to maintain the course that his homing beacon emitted. He could see the cathedral; awestruck by its dimensions. Every time he tried to turn southwest, toward the sierras, he came up against brutal resistance. When he relaxed his mind, and let his Corvus' experience take over, it was clear that the mountain ranges were too high and grueling to fly over. The unpredictable weather made them all but impossible to manage. The best route followed the coastline with a sharp turn into the giant forest. Having relinquished control to the veteran autopilot, looking down at Amkata from this perspective, Charlie realized what purpose the birds’ furry crown served. The Corvus wore a ring of fur-like feathers that surrounded the front of its head. It deflected the majority of the water from the birds’ eyes, thereby allowing the Corvus to retain its exceptional vision despite the constant storms. Searching the terrestrial plains below, Charlie did not see anything move. Scanning back and forth, his eyes focused and aimed sharply on the landscape; and still nothing. Before his emotions took over, he knew that nothing would be out in this mess. He turned and started his descent into the massive forests that blurred the horizon. Preparing to land on a branch only a few feet off the ground, the autopilot shuddered. Taking a hard left, the blackbird dove into a small cave in the forest floor.
Charlie had not seen it coming. The connection he shared with the bird now only registered static. He did not understand what was happening. Nothing else had changed, only his ability to share thoughts. Flying comfortably in the darklight, he took great care to compare the birds’ nocturnal vision to his own. What he could see now, outmatched what he thought possible. Far superior to his own, it allowed him to see granular dimensions at great distances in near absolute dark. The tunnel they flew through offered no indication of their objective. Charlie felt certain that he could hear a combination of sounds. The most curious almost sounded like voices. Taking a closer look at the underground passage, aside from the protection from the weather, something about it suggested that it had not evolved naturally. The gloom of the pitch-black eased as a flicker of light in the distance gradually grew brighter. Attempting to re-establish communications, the bird would not give up any more secrets. Just over a minute later, as the blackbird flew out of the tunnel, Charlie could not believe his eyes. Words alone could not describe the overwhelming scene. Entering into a colossal, subterranean world, created in conjunction between the Orabona and Corvus, he recalled his father talking one night about the rumours.
“No, he used the word fable regarding its existence. The fables told that following the exodus, those who would or could not leave found shelter underground. The general assumptions presumed that they had all perished. Won’t they be surprised,” he told himself. Flying deeper into the ten story high sanctuary, he landed on a stone platform. Charlie felt a peculiar sensation, then disconnected from the bird. Three elders seemed to be expecting him. Uncertain how to greet them properly, he just introduced himself. They did not react in any way. The central figure lifted its hand, creating the same complex tones his cousin had first introduced. Quick to recognize the telepathic signal, but not speaking their language, he tried every foreign word he knew. Concentrating hard on his family, an unexpected word came to him.
“Armaw,” he said with confidence. It served as a general Orabona greeting, meaning, ‘nice to meet you’ or ‘happy to be here’. The elders, visibly moved by the boy's ability to communicate, embarked on a long discussion. The more he spoke, the more literate he became. Concepts initially beyond his comprehension became second nature. Within the hour, Charlie no longer required assistance. Taking turns, the elders relayed the story of what drove them underground. Even more compelling was the real reason the Corvus brought him to this place, to show him what they found.
At the conclusion of the Short War, every elder on the battlefield was dead. By some unknown stroke of luck, the youth who stood alongside their families survived. Spared from the physical violence, among the hundreds of youth in attendance, not a single one was wounded. The curiosity remained until the elders who could not fight returned to bury the dead. The Kenaima returned in droves, scaring the elders away leaving the youth alone yet again. Serious debates raged, arguing varying opinions. In the end, they determined all youth under fourteen were either invisible or not considered threats. The unfortunate task of burying the dead fell to the youth. The ordeal took longer than anyone imagined. In the end, a general invocation ensured peace for all the fallen warriors. Some of the youth swore they saw tiny particles twinkling in the rain over the graveyard, but no one ever paid it any more attention.
With the dead now buried, the remaining elders and youth sought, more suitable lodging in the great forest. The woodland provided a marginal barrier between the Kenaima and elder Orabona. The shield it presented was temporary and required the population to move regularly. With limited choice, the elders tested the effectiveness of living among the birds. Finding that it yielded a safer environment, they followed the Corvus to their shelters in the roots of the gigantic trees. The birds burrowed deeply into the root soil where they made their nests and hibernation chambers. The trees supplied far superior protection from the Darkness, but patrols kept watch nevertheless. The Orabona apprehended the problem before it became an issue. The Corvus assemblage could not accommodate an additional 1300 bodies. Weighing all of their options, the populace decided to dig their own shelters in neighbouring trees. Close proximity would assist in securing the thicket, ensuring safety in numbers.
A youth, excited to be participating, missed the details and directions given by the elders. He chose to dig in a natural depression somewhere between two trees. Good fortune smiled upon the boy that day. As he reached the depth of about four feet, his crude spade broke through something in the soil. Pushing the tip deeper, a section of the ground gave way taking the spade with it. Falling for many seconds before making a splash, the boy panicked. Carefully climbing out of his shallow excavation, the youth called an elder over to investigate his find. Word spread quickly. Enlisting two other youth to excavate the hole further, they slowly removed more dirt and loam from the shoring of the original site. A crowd gathered as the youth started to pick away at the edges of the opening. Fractures appeared like on an eggshell; clumps of dirt fell away silently until hitting water below. The group of elders worked together to formulate a plan. They took advantage of a considerable fracture in the soil. Determining that several well-placed shovel blows would get it to release. What broke off was a large section of dirt, opening up a fissure, giving them a first look into the cave. They summoned two birds, who took flight and dove into the fissure. Disappearing from view, one of the keepers retained a telepathic connection and relayed the imagery they witnessed. The elder could not believe his words as he spoke them,
“The main cavern stands easily in excess of one hundred feet tall and half as wide. Fresh running water divides into two streams. The limestone walls taper up at a gradual slope, making accessibility a non-issue. The air is sweet and climate temperate. Most importantly, there are no signs of life, no prints, nothing to believe it is inhabited.”
Before the birds returned, the Orabona shifted their decision to making this their new home, at least for the time being. With their shelter concerns looked after, the cascade of problems showed no sign of slowing down. By the end of that same year, the elders faced another dilemma - ascension. Less than ten percent of the youth had a surviving elder on Amkata that could perform the ritual. This meant that over seven hundred of them would never have offspring, and by all accounts, die long before their time. Desperate attempts to find some family connections; lineages tapped and traced as far back as possible in hopes of finding someone. The first hundred years in the cave produced a death to birth ratio of around ten to one. The next hundred years, it jumped to thirty to one. In the three hundredth year, the population had dwindled to just under five hundred. The Orabona did not panic. They returned to the old ways, training their young the mastery of the Quixotic, focusing on a foundational approach to the Five Pillars of the Orabona code. They were at the headwaters of a spectacular cave system, so it seemed only natural that they map the subterranean aspect of the planet. These simple changes became the turning point of their existence underground.
In turn, the Corvus left their root based shelter and joined the Orabona in the caves. The hyper-intelligent birds adapted effortlessly and evolved to fit their environment. They found cliff faces easily manipulated and malleable, carving nests deep into them. They fabricated perches and other points to stand guard. They designed the entry system that would deter the Kenaima, while allowing themselves easy access. Small chambers off the main hall served as flight ways, training grounds for young and elder birds alike. They found deep caverns further in, which over time became breeding grounds and formal training facilities for the larger birds. The curious underground world became their sanctuary, giving the Orabona reason to be optimistic.
“The justification for bringing you here is to bear witness. We located a force that words cannot explain. It is at our request that you see it with your own eyes. Once that is complete, we have chosen you to deliver this message. We will explain in greater detail after you return from the 'Aberration'.”
Charlie’s skin crawled as the word echoed in his ears. An 'Aberration', he was not sure what the word even meant. He really did not even know what the Darkness was yet, and now there is something else. Insistent that he leave immediately, the elders led the small procession along a trail that paralleled a clear flowing stream. Looking around, he could not believe how well they had done despite the circumstances. There looked to be perhaps 3000 Orabona but with no way to be exact, still very different from the 485. They stopped at the junction between two large tunnels. Water flowed in both directions. The elders presented a young boy, perhaps ten or eleven.
“This is Manito. He will be your guide, listen to what he says.”
“You are not coming with us?” Charlie asked, somewhat surprised.
“No, only the unascended may view it without concern. We wish not to wake the evil that dwells within.”
Agreeing with the elders macabre statement, he looked at his new friend and said,
“Let’s go see what you have found.”
For an hour, Charlie laboured to keep up with the younger Manito. He followed a complicated combination of quick steps, short jumps over water and blind turns. The syncopated rhythm of the boys footfalls were hard to match. He tried several times to communicate with his guide but he either was not receiving or told not to. Giving up, he stayed focused and did his best not to get lost. Not long after, Charlie yelped as a powerful stinging sensation invaded his body. Everything burned from the inside out. He needed to stop but did not dare fall behind any further. He knew they were getting close when his teeth started to ache. Not just one tooth, but all of them. The complex nature of the pain threatened to overpower him. Manito’s pace remained constant from the beginning, so he tried to focus on that. When the boy took the final right hand turn, Charlie almost knocked him over. Quick reflexes on both sides averted a potential disaster. Manito took both of Charlie’s hands in his and said,
“Around the next two corners you will find the Aberration. I know you can feel it because it is obvious in your face. I am immune because it has been here in my forever.”
Looking at the boy, he looked for a measure of emotion. He found the boy doing nothing more than reciting a story.
“What is it really?” Charlie asked.
“You must see for yourself. It is around to the left about forty paces.”
Gently shaking the boy's hands free, he started towards the left. The boy called out in a voice that filled the hollow of his mind,
“Do not stare at the Aberration directly and do not go into the chamber itself. These two things are absolute.”
Looking at the boy for another second, Charlie stepped away and walked slowly, counting his paces out loud: 38…39…40. Stopping and looking down at his feet, the shoes he wore deflected a little of the intense pressure radiating off the force in front of him. It served to amplify the pain in his body. He fought through it because he now felt the purpose the elders had called him to serve. What he saw made all the synonyms of evil seem inadequate. Careful not to make direct eye contact, Charlie used his hand to cover most of his face, spreading a couple of fingers as if her were looking into the sun. The distinguishable flotsam instantly made him want to turn and run. Run past Manito, out of the cave, across the prairie to the portal exit. He felt the boy behind him, pressing his hands into his shoulders. This caused the hysteria to drain from his system, allowing him to think more objectively.
“It looks like a hot cauldron of torn fragments, swirling around in that god awful, grayish mucus.” Charlie understood straightaway the warning forbidding him to stare. The preventative measure was designed to keep from looking long enough to identify anything in the unholy amalgam. With some urgency, the boy pointed to the ceiling of the chamber. Watching to keep clear of the inner chamber, Charlie knelt down and looked up. It took only a second but when he realized what Manito wanted him to see, a flash of brilliance registered. As sick as it made him feel, he saw true potential. Having seen all he needed to, they made their way back to the main chamber. On the way back, he had questions for the elders, serious questions. He also needed to get home and talk to Allison about this hidden treasure. Returning to the great hall withdrew all of the bad feelings associated with the Aberration. He made mental notes of his experience, just in case. Regarding the horrifying spectacle, Charlie did not know what his next move should be. Here, the underground Orabona had found a crucible of evil, the vile wellspring of death and destruction. They brought him here to see it with his own eyes, enabling him to attest to, not only its existence but its scope as well. The same three elders met him as Manito shrank back from the platform. Keeping the waiver from his voice, Charlie said,
“It is worse than I imagined. Do you have any idea how to combat that malignant tumour you have found?”
“We have a detailed plan, but due to our poor circumstance, there has been no way to implement it without certain death. We have tried to make contact with the Ancients, but the Darkness uses Amkata against us. By combining our efforts and concentrating our energy, we have persistently searched over many centuries to locate a youth with the right characteristics and worthy of our news. Our plan has some amendments as we learned about the Aberration, but is fundamentally the same from the day we found it. To drive any meaningful change will require an enormous effort on the part of our exiled brothers and sisters. We stand ready. You must deliver this news to the Council.”
The elders spent a great deal of time laying out their plan in detail. Ensuring Charlie understood every aspect of it; he committed the plan to memory. He absorbed everything knowing what it meant to his race. When the day of reckoning came, they would be prepared. Satisfied that he appreciated the gravity of the situation, the elders released him from their guardianship. Without any sort of farewell, they retreated to the confines of their dwelling. Charlie did not get a chance to have a look around before the same Corvus took over. With massive elegant strokes of its wings, they returned to the incessant storms and beyond.
“Son, are you alright?” asked a kindly older man. His little dog, at the end of its leash, barked without interruption. The scene seemed very strange considering where he had just been. He had things to do, so he pushed himself up and tried to stand. His legs currently refused to abide. Charlie did manage to get to his knees.
“Do you want me to call someone? I think you had a seizure son.”
Wanting to tell the old man about what he had just witnessed, he changed his mind because his mouth and legs were several steps behind his mind. The old man went for his phone. Charlie reached out and caught him before he made the unnecessary call. Looking up at the old man, he said,
“I am alright sir I just flew a long way, and my arms are really tired.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“If you could see it from my perspective, you would think so.”
“You are certain you feel alright?”
“I promise, thank you for looking out for me,” Charlie offered in consolation, as he got to his feet, dusting himself off. The old man shook his head one final time, and then tugged on the leash which brought an abrupt end to the barking. Falling into formation, the two wandered down the trail. Waiting until they were out of sight, Charlie threw on his backpack and headed straight up the bank. Ignoring the blackberry thicket, he held an urgent message and for the first time in his life, felt as if he had an important part to play.
Allison awoke inside of her dream, or at least part of her had. The unconventional phenomenon happened most nights during the week. Always taking place without her input, this evening’s imperative duty required her background. Her personal subconscious and voice of reason were unwelcome at these events, although they were aware that they existed. The essential vibration that previously and somewhat awkwardly introduced itself to Allison now filled every molecule of her being. The second, inner monologue referred to itself as the Nigredo. It signified the initial state of substance, unformed, but full of potential. Allison agreed to shorten it and call it the Nido. It could not explain what the future held, but knew that they were now inseparable and would grow together. The Nido did not interrupt her daily functions of being a teenager. In the beginning, before they found the correct synchronization, the Nido did not always sit right. It sometimes made her feel uncomfortable. She likened it to a new pair of boots that would take some time to break in. Thankfully, it had stopped speaking for her at inappropriate times. Recently, nighttime was proving to be the most demanding. While she slept, the Nido separated certain parts of her mind for augmentation. The changes were like planting seeds in a fertile garden that would bear fruit later. Planting an assortment, in different areas, assured the production of a successful harvest. Her subconscious, by pure reflex, tried to wake her up because of the unauthorized brain activity. To calm the alert, the Nido released an enzyme to ease the concerns of the natural mind, allowing the important work to continue. The most annoying aspect of the Nido welcomed Allison some mornings as she woke up. In combination with the awareness of something at work in her mind, it also presented her with unresolved things it found in her memory. Allison imagined the Nido was cleaning out her memory attic and pushing her to attend to the remnants. So far most of them were easy to deal with. That evening, an unearthed kernel presented something very unusual.
The Nido did not know what it had, but from the sheer size, it knew Allison was harbouring a complicated dream scape. Creating a unique space with a wide lane through it to lay out the dream, the Nido extracted the entire bizarre vision. Having experienced it in real time did not help. The sole purpose of this union centered on the complete integration between the Nido and the girl. Her preparation was paramount, with everything else a distant second. Curiosity got the best of the Nido. Moving through the panels of the dream, it examined it once. Then starting again from the top, it raced through the whole progression again. It continued this routine, following different threads through the imagery. Subsequent reviews of the dream suggested, multiple messages coded within for Allison to decrypt.
Before she knew it, Allison found herself deposited into a fabricated scene in which the perspective looked like a child had drawn it. She could not tell up from down. The colours clashed, and it felt like everything in the space had better places to be. Growing ever comfortable with strange occurrences, Allison sat on what appeared to be the ground. There had to be purpose for bringing her here, so she waited patiently. She sensed its presence long before she saw it. The Nido encompassed her with the best feelings imaginable. Passing through her, it allowed Allison a glimpse of what it looked like. Existing only as energy, the Nido reorganized its phase configurations just enough from her natural range that its wave patterns became visible. The communication they shared would be equivalent to talking to yourself in private. Sharing everything down to the cellular level, the rudimentary act of talking served no purpose. Displaying the implanted daydream, frame by frame, the Nido found some surprising revelations. Without any relevant context, they meant nothing. Allison knew the dream so well that she did not need to see the pictures.
Her live participation in the daydream created a structured network of impenetrable markers in a tiny part of her mind. The vision told a story on a peculiar timeline, with the three realities of standard time all confused. The Nido identified images from her past, present and presumably Allison’s future. The main difficulty came when it tried to parse one reality from the next. Unable to translate the messages contained within, it became imperative to wake the girl and begin working through the puzzling metaphors. The Nido also expected to find something beyond the visual spectrum, judging from the effort that went into the production. They identified fourteen specific portents but the order did not make any sense. Reorganizing them a million different ways, the Nido finally found a sequence that fit. Releasing the findings to its host, Allison initially balked at the thought of going through that endless nightmare. That proved a mistake. Allison learned to comply with the Nido. As she came to terms with the fact that it was now a vital part of her being, she came to understand that she was only fighting with herself. Subsequently, whatever the Nido wanted was eventually happen whether she liked it or not. Taking this newfound lucidity to heart, she wisely assisted in working through her reactions during the transmission as delivered by the One who Knows. After extracting her complete physical and emotional responses, the Nido released her. Allison knew that the message contained something cryptic but she did not understand its urgency. In addition, she had met with the old man. What more did she need to know? Free from her silent partner for the time being, sleep became an imperative.
Arriving the second after Allison returned to sleep, the morning looked as if it had planned a sneak attack on her. Conspiring with the clock radio industry and the downstairs occupants, she surrendered to the routine of getting ready for school. The blur of the morning slowed as she stepped off the bus. Waiting at the crosswalk, Allison clearly heard the echo of a dog barking. Not from anywhere around her but from further away. Bumped as the light changed, Allison stood her ground. Other kids, quick with disparaging comments, had no effect because she did not hear them. She busily chased the sound. While her body remained stationary, another part of her, too difficult to identify, would not let it go. When the sidewalk filled a second time, kids were asking her if she felt okay. Unwilling to furnish a response, due in part to her frantic search, she appeared to ignore them. The echo slowly faded into the surrounding white noise, leaving Allison without answers, standing alone and late for class. Crossing against the light, she ran to her first period, trying to put the barking out of her mind. Later in P.E. class, the cancellation of their weekly long run saw a restructuring of a shorter route. It sent them on a fast out and back along Colette Creek. The flat, narrow trail would be easy, and the shorter distance was a bonus. When they started, all sixteen girls fell into a long line based upon speed and interest level. Allison could run very fast but did not want to show off. Somewhere in the middle satisfied all of the requirements of her participation in grade-nine gym. The line stretched out across the field. The first two girls had already turned onto the gravel trail. As Allison approached, the earlier echo returned in a big way. She could almost see the breed of dog from its barking. Moving down the trail, she fully expected to see some yappy abandoned dog caught up in a bush. What she discovered was a whole lot more. One spot on the trail sparkled when she stepped on it. Seeing as she did not have the capability to perceive its discrete magic, she carried on. What she stepped on acted like a slow fuse, burning itself into a place where it opened more than her eyes. On the way back from the turnaround, what she saw rapidly developing shocked her. The stunning image appearing rather unexpectedly, caused her to shout out loud.
“Charliebird!”
Running alongside, a classmate laughed at Allison’s outburst. The image suspended her normal filters. She could find no other way to describe what she saw than that. Obviously, she was missing a huge part of the story and needed to see her cousin right away for more details. Picking up the pace, she left the girl who laughed in the dust.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Allison left an urgent voicemail that verged on the hysterical. It outlined the specific details of the remarkable news she had just received. She repeated the phrase, ‘call me back as soon as you can,’ five times, intended to highlight her insistence and the priority of her message. That particular afternoon happened to be a Thursday. Almost instantly, the phone Allison called started to ring. A small red light began to blink. A message awaited that required attention.
Charlie sprinted home the long way round. He charged through the door with such force that it nearly came off the hinges. Taking the stairs three at a time up to his bedroom, he quickly changed out of his school uniform. Trying to find something comfortable, he looked at himself in the mirror and wondered if he had even changed at all. Edgar did not need to see him in shorts and a t-shirt. Swearing aloud, Charlie changed back. Without a moment of hesitancy, he raced down the stairs and out the door. He ran towards Master Negati’s house because of the exceptional information he possessed. In less than fifteen minutes, he stood on the front step. Charlie noticed that the landscaping had fallen into disarray since having quit. Knocking four times, he smoothed out his wrinkled shirt while he waited. When the door opened, he got a shock he had not prepared for. The lady of the house opened the door. Resting one hand on her hip, she looked Charlie up and down.
“Have you come to apologize and finish the work you ran out on last weekend Charlie?” Petunia asked directly.
Frozen for just a moment, Charlie tried not to stare at her. It was unmistakable, he concentrated rather on the bitter candy between her teeth; trapped by the knowledge of her exploits. The fear accompanying it plus his oversight in bracing for this exact situation left him exposed.
“Well?” she spoke through an exhalation, “I asked you a question young man.”
The second question sounded more like a demand, giving Charlie just enough time to spit out an answer.
“I have come for Edgar, is he in?”
“What do you need to see Edgar for? All household duties are handle by me. I am quite aware that youth do not need to see my husband until their pre-ascension lessons. Memory serves that yours are already complete.”
Frustrated by the old woman, Charlie could not think straight. Having never been a good liar, worse under pressure, all his excuses fell apart.
“It’s not important,” Charlie said, trying to stay calm, “I’ll call again another time.” He then turned and walked to the curb, hiding his fear in case she could smell it. Petunia's voice reverberated through the overgrown shrubbery as he tried to get as far away as possible.
“Awful strange, a youth comes lookin’ for a Master, then just walking away. It'll be our little secret,” Petunia called out. The last few words broke into a dreadful laugh that continued until the heavy front door closed.
Charlie bolted. When he arrived home a second time, both sisters were there, giving him disinterested looks. Closing the door to his room, he flopped down on the bed, shoes and all. Through wide-open eyes, he recalled every second on his travels with uninterrupted precision. Confident of his recall and ability to deliver the details of the proposed mission, Charlie knew the critical nature of the plan. When the time came, his role would be instrumental to its success.
Missing from the last thought were the usual pangs of uncertainty and self-doubt. He could not remember that ever happening before. Careful not to jinx it, Charlie certainly felt like he had found some resolute confidence. He interpreted Edgar's not being home as strange sign. The old man rarely left the house. This caused a twinge of concern as Petunia lived in the same place. He tried, but just could not shake off the creepy feeling. Seeing the old woman again, in the exact same frames from the barn, proved to him beyond all doubt. Petunia had to be the person responsible for whatever happened to those kids. Charlie's desperate need to talk to Edgar would have to wait; not willing to risk another face-to-face like today. Despite the underground Orabona having waited twenty-two centuries, and that any delay allowed the Darkness to grow stronger, Charlie knew he could not go back to that house alone again. Deciding to wait a day or two, his next priority involved calling his cousin to tell her about his amazing adventure.
Technology and Charlie have shared a curious, if not irregular, relationship. Between his smartphone and laptop, every moment and written word from the entire human existence were readily available. Unfettered access has its high points, and conversely the lows are unfortunate and bothersome. It is in the communication aspect of technology where Charlie failed. It started a decade before. When he started answering the house phone, he refused to take messages; requesting the caller phone back. He would randomly hang up on people, or simply lift the receiver and set it down again. Even after his parents threatened everything short of physical violence, Charlie continued to refuse to take messages. At first, it appeared as if he were exercising some bizarre power exchange. Finally, his parents forbid him to answer the telephone. The problem perpetuated when he got his first cell phone. Aside from not setting up the automatic answering service, he also refused to return missed calls; almost as if they never existed. His parents took him to specialists who tested him for possible psychosis, neurological damage, deafness or anything that looked abnormal. They wanted something that would give them an explanation as to his absolute aversion to normal communicative behaviour. The findings were all negative, leaving everyone stumped. Months later, following a minor family crisis, in which Charlie missed or ignored a multitude of important messages, his family arranged an intervention of sorts. In their own special way, his entire family highlighted an abundance of reasons concerning the significance of being more attentive to others than just himself. Planning to confiscate his son's phone, Stephen Gilmet reconsidered, not believing it would convince Charlie to focus. Frustrated by this ongoing behaviour, Stephen spoke clearly.
“One day a message may come for you, my boy that could alter the course of history.”
Almost scoffing at the thought, Charlie decided against it, given the current circumstances. The meeting lasted nearly ninety minutes with each having their say. Then, feeling pleased with themselves, they outlined the results of the intervention whereby Charlie must check his phone a minimum of once per day, listen and reply to all messages, and endeavour to listen more to the world around him. In exchange, the family promised to lay off him, especially Brielle, who for some reason took his avoidance strategy personally. He adhered to the new order and policy changes as best he could for a number of weeks. He then started to backslide into a return to his old ways. The family gave up on trying to reform him anymore. They dealt with him on a personal level, regarding messages. Unfortunately, the rest of the world remained on its own to deal with him. The red light on his phone flashed undeterred somewhere it registered in Charlie’s brain that a message awaited. He picked up his phone. Keying in his access code, a frantic voice raged about something he could not believe; let alone accept. He listened to it several times, just to be certain that Charlie heard his cousin correctly. In the midst of fumbling to call her back while putting aside his own news, he made a mental note to tell his father someday just how accurate his wisdom had been.
The next morning Charlie woke hours before his usual time. Following Allison’s instructions, he crept out of the house without waking anyone. Taking his bike, he rode southeast to Cardinal Point, a small finger of land that swept out almost half a mile, creating a natural break into Elliot Bay. Allison scheduled the meeting thirty minutes before sunrise because it would be empty and secure. Not known for these types of clandestine meetings or for being an early riser, Charlie did his best. Knowing the value of what she had told him, he promised he would not be late. When he asked why sunrise, her long drawn out response made him wish he had left it a mystery. The meeting site, a sheltered bench at the far end of the point, faced east with unobstructed views of the horizon. Riding down the asphalt path, he saw his cousin had arrived early. Leaning his bike against the stone pillar that framed the bench, Charlie wondered where she had stashed her bike. He wandered into the shelter and sat down beside her. The cool of the concrete felt much better than the narrow seat. Never one to wait, Allison punched him in the arm, and then opened up with both barrels.
“I called you four days ago. I have called you every day since then. Is your telepathy not working? What is your deal Charlie! I thought we were partners. I mean this is huge.”
Shying away and rubbing his bicep, he stumbled over his words.
“Well, I got busy and I have news for you too, you know.”
Still angry, Allison temporarily discredited his statement.
“I thought they had some kind of message intervention for you last year?”
A rush of embarrassment and rage caught Charlie in the midsection. Sucking in an uncomfortable breath, he barked,
“Who told you that? It was not an intervention. I just have trouble…Damnit! Brielle told you, I know it.”
“Look, it does not matter right now. The important thing is what my Nana Rose told me.”
Cutting her off, Charlie asked,
“That the Darkness pulses as it feeds, sure. But feeding on what?”
“Don’t be obtuse. You know as well as I do, on what,” Allison said as if she were speaking to the sky. Charlie fell quiet as they shared the uncomfortable memories of the strange reality they exposed and were now just coming to terms with. The worst part now was what the discovery inferred. They felt like they were standing at the precipice of evil, about which they knew so little. The first question they had to answer regarded what kind of role did Petunia play. Beyond that, the logistics of how the children got to the barn, who they were, where they came from, and what happened to them in the end. The sheer magnitude of the calamity, on the outside, felt very organized. The pair did not want to admit it, but the sobering reality suggested the children’s fate found them fed to the Darkness somehow, for reasons beyond their grasp. Charlie broke the silence by saying,
“I know for a fact Petunia left her glasses in the barn. I am absolutely certain.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I went to see Edgar yesterday but she answered. She asked if I had come for my old job back.” He shuddered with dread. “She had on those same, exact frames, and she had one of those disgusting candies in her mouth too.”
Allison remained confident of Petunia’s guilt up to this point, but hearing Charlie substantiate the evidence they witnessed, gave her the feeling of only partial satisfaction. The mountain of remaining questions were left unanswered. They could not yet implicate Petunia of any crime whatsoever, but the evidence continued to mount against her. Allison thought about what Charlie said a few moments earlier. Something did not seem to fit. Turning to him, she asked,
“Why did you go to see Edgar?”
She watched his face light up.
“Okay, are you sitting down?” he asked. She motioned as if to say, obviously. In detail, Charlie narrated the story of his flight to the underground world. He told her of what they had found hidden deep in the mountain. He confided in her the plan developed by the elders. Allison found herself lost in her cousin's details, the images in his mind furnishing colour and sound from the great hall to the core of the Darkness.
The sun began its ascent, briefly superimposed, appearing gigantic as the atmosphere bent the rays of light in the eastern sky. The slow change of colours from blood orange to radiant yellow appeared spectacular. The two explorers, having come to greet the sunrise found themselves elsewhere. Allison found Charlie's recounting of his adventure so engrossing that they missed the dawn altogether. Neither one noticed. At the very end of the story, they shared a renewed sense of urgency.
“You have to tell Edgar, Charlie. This news cannot wait,” Allison pressed.
“Don’t you think I realize that? The last time with Petunia…no, it was just too much. I could feel the evil radiating off of her.”
Allison understood, but knew that without getting this information to Edgar, the Darkness would grow like a cancer. Petunia would keep feeding it children, and Amkata would edge closer to extinction. It had to stop. Without hesitation, Allison said,
“We will go tomorrow. You and I, right after school.”
With that decision they would go together as a united front and deliver the message. Charlie appreciated the moral support. At the same time, he knew if things got weird, his cousin could handle pretty much anything. Looking out towards the sunrise, Allison whispered,
“I saw you fly Charlie, it looked really cool.”
The question he had already framed, abruptly found itself at the back of the line. Not sure, what he had heard, he asked,
“What did you say?”
“I don’t know. We were running on the Collete Creek trail and I stepped on something that sparkled. Next thing I knew, there you were.”
“Go figure. Well, I cannot explain it except that I felt part of something greater. For once, I felt like I belonged; more than I have ever at home. You know? The best part is that it has not worn off, I still feel connected.”
The quiet returned as Charlie rekindled his earlier question. Twisting around to face her, he asked,
“Where is your bike? I thought you said we were going to ride here.”
“Yeah, about that. Well, I kinda don’t have to ride anymore.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, puzzled by her reply.
“Just call me later and I’ll explain, okay?”
Before he could say another word, Allison vanished. He sat on the bench for a while, thinking he had been the victim of a practical joke. When he accepted that she had disappeared for real, he shook his head, bewildered. Standing up, he grabbed his bike and prepared for the long ride home.
Having just switched the coffee maker on, Graham returned to mixing his pancake batter when he perceived movement behind him. Confident that Molly had initiated a sneak attack, he spun around to counter her surprise.
“Gotcha,” he snapped. Both parties realized they faced a strange version of the unexpected, causing considerable confusion. Graham found his daughter trying to slink away.
“Isn’t it rather early for you to be awake Ally, or are you just getting home?” asked her father with a sly grin. Unprepared for this inconvenient situation, Allison lost her one chance at escape. She knew that he had already formulated the twenty questions he would want her to answer; although not yet an interrogation, it was beginning to feel that way. She stood between the kitchen table and the pantry, disappointed that she missed her mark by one floor. Her father gave her the look, and she sat down. With the coffee ready, he poured himself a cup sat across the table from her, taking his time to prepare.
“Let’s see if you can tell me what is wrong with this picture Allison. It is…” he leaned over to check the microwave, “6:14 am on a Thursday. A school day like any other, where you would get up as late as possible. You would panic to dress, eat and leave for the last bus. So, imagine my amazement to find you not only up but fully dressed and looking like you have a secret.” Graham took a sip of his coffee and let his words linger. “The real problem I have with this particular circumstance stems from your total lack of justification. No witty remarks or commentary to bewilder me. Now, this is either a very serious matter, or you are up to something you should not be. I recommend you tell me before your mother gets up.”
Allison heard all of his words right before he said them and wrestled with a decision of what to tell him. Petunia was off the table completely. Charlie’s story; well Edgar needed to hear that before anyone else. Her new ability did not require her to be fully dressed. Allison was not willing to implicate her cousin in this line of questioning, not knowing what rules his parents enforced. Opting for her own story, Allison felt confident she could sell it. She looked at her father directly and said,
“A couple of weeks ago, I developed a new ability. I tried to show mom but she did not get it because she was too distracted. This morning I thought I would try it out before anybody woke up.”
Her father listened politely to her response. His daughters’ proclivity for speaking a lot, but not saying anything had always bothered him. Therefore, he asked the most logical question.
“What is your new ability Allison?”
She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and said,
“Do not take your eyes off me okay dad.”
“Sure thing kid,” he replied, excited about what might happen. Watching, she sat very still, her fingers relaxed in the armrests of the chair. Then, in the space between two heartbeats, she disappeared. Graham froze, unsure of what just happened. His mind did not yet register that his daughter just evaporated. Getting up, he flew around the table to check her chair, underneath it, nothing. He wondered where she went. The sound of the sliding glass door brought him back to reality. He turned to see his daughter coming in off the patio. Dumbfounded, he collapsed into his chair. Allison pulled a chair over beside him and sat down. She held his warm hand in hers, feeling the internal struggle as he tried to find the right words. When her father finally did, what he asked caught her by surprise.
“How far can you go, Allison?”
Having never considered distance, she did not have an answer. She told him about her morning, without the important details, estimating her travel came close to about five miles. Telling him that it mattered more to imagine the place, putting herself there than anything else. Still learning the controls, she did not want to end up somewhere unfortunate. Faced once again with inquiries about how it all worked, Graham did his best to keep them to himself. They were akin to asking how it feels to walk or breathe.
“Does anyone else know about what you can do?”
Prepared for that question, she replied confidently,
“No dad, just the two of us.”
Figuring that was enough for now, she excused herself to her bedroom, and quickly changed for school. When she returned, her father stood where she originally found him.
“Dad, can we not tell mom about this just yet? You know how she is sometimes. I think my being able to teleport downtown might just give her an aneurism or something.”
He turned around with the bowl of pancake batter in one hand and a wire whisk in the other.
“This one time I have to agree with you. I am not going to keep it secret though. No, I am going to make like I never knew.” He scrunched his eyes closed and shook his head wildly. Allison burst out laughing, watching her father act like a crazy man.
“What is so funny this morning you two?” Molly asked as she lifted a cup off a brass hook and made for the coffee pot. The scene had just ended and Allison offered a quick reply,
“I think dad put some type of curse on our pancakes.”
“Oh great,” Molly replied, “more damned pancakes.”
A brief pause lapsed before all three of them broke out laughing. It lasted until their sides hurt and they could not remember what had been so funny in the first place.
At half past three, Allison’s cell phone rang. The instant she heard Charlie’s voice, she could tell that he had nearly turned himself inside out. She imagined he was probably frothing at the mouth, concerned over his return to the Negati’s house. She understood his anxiety concerning Petunia. The comment her Nana made about the old women having two sets of eyes, competing against themselves, stayed clear in her mind. Afraid that her observation may well be the true embodiment of the woman, Allison did not want to provoke her. Assuring him that he had nothing to worry about, she tried her best to calm her cousin down. He asked several times to confirm their plan. Meet in thirty minutes out front of the house. Allison would take point, knock and ask for Edgar. Check and double check. When the call ended, she expected him to call back to reconfirm. While she waited, Allison recognized how much she actually liked her cousin. A bit squirrelly sometimes, and a constant worrier, she had noted some positive qualities. A growing sense of adventure and flashes of actual confidence. She could only imagine what he experienced underground. Allison knew she could count on him. She felt proud which made her glad they were a team. Looking at the time, she had over twenty minutes until she needed to leave. It gave her time to recite her prepared statement in case they actually ended up facing the old woman head on. Last week, during a moment of frustration trying to resolve the Petunia nightmare, Allison was going to go the Negati’s house unannounced. Her interests were pure; looking only for evidence to corroborate their story. Further thought made it seem like a bad idea. Allison could not bring herself to intrude. The most serious concern revolved around her lack of accuracy in transporting herself. Well aware that Edgar’s house contained a labyrinth of rooms, chambers and secret places, she could not take that kind of risk. Not right now. Having just missed her bedroom by an entire floor, Allison did not want to appear somewhere she did not belong. This time Allison would test a variation on travel. She spent the next few minutes lying quietly on her bed, lost between stroking Hennessy’s shoulders and focusing her concentration on a specific spot. Once she had the place secure in her mind, Allison got up. Checking her reflection in the mirror, she slipped on her shoes and vanished.
Charlie could not decide about his wardrobe. He had never met Edgar in an official capacity like this before. He did not know the protocol. He did not want anyone in his family asking questions. If he wore a blazer after school, everyone would notice and make a stink about it. After fifteen minutes of indecision, Charlie hung the formal wear back in the closet, opting for a clean shirt and jeans. In the end, his decision made no difference because no one noticed him leave. Prepared as he could be, Charlie headed for their 4 pm rendezvous. It was a short but annoying walk. Crossing the street at the intersection, Charlie headed for the fourth house on the right. The steep grade of the hill always added insult to injury. He did not see Allison anywhere, but had planned to be a little early so it was not a big deal. Midway up the hill, his shoe caught a rock that bounced across the poorly maintained asphalt. Following its trajectory, Allison stood where nothing had been two seconds before. Standing on the granite walkway that led to the house, she looked rather pleased with herself. Stunned for a second, it donned on him that she just appeared, the same way she disappeared the other morning. When he reached her, Charlie asked,
“You have to tell me about this new magic trick. How did it come to be?”
Chuckling under her breath, Allison replied,
“How did it come to be? Who even asks questions like that, really? Can it wait until we see Edgar; I already had to tell my dad.”
“Okay, but if he isn’t home; you have to tell me alright?”
“Deal,” Allison said putting out her hand. Charlie took it to shake, but she pulled him close and whispered,
“Let’s go get this old witch.”
Charlie did not know quite what to think, so he just smiled, nodded his head, and followed his cousin to the front door.
On this day, admittance to the Negati residence came at no cost other than undue worry. The instant Edgar opened the door, Charlie could breathe comfortably again. It felt like the knots he had tied himself into were magically undone. Walking the pair into the kitchen, the elder put on the kettle. He pointed for them to sit while he arranged a serving tray. Neither of them spoke in that moment, knowing better to wait until he joined them. With the tea brewed and three steaming cups poured, Edgar opened the informal proceedings,
“I have the distinct impression that you two are not here on a purely social call.”
Earlier, on the walkway, Allison stopped her cousin and instructed him to stick to his story only.
“The elders entrusted you with, and require you to deliver, their message Charlie. We cannot discuss or even consider the other thing. We still need more proof before we tell him.” She made him promise not to think about Petunia or mention anything at all. Looking at his tea, Charlie coughed into his hand and then offered a reply,
“No Edgar it is not. I have been sent here to relay a message from the triumvirate council that exists in the subterranean sphere of Amkata.”
Sitting up straight, he recounted his narrative beginning with the Corvus taking over his body. In exacting detail, he described the introduction to the underground Orabona and the sight of the central core of the Darkness. For over an hour, Edgar asked Charlie question after question concerning various facets of their survival, their health and well-being; and the proposed battle plan. Allison watched Edgar closely. He shifted in his seat several times, but gave no indication of an emotional response. He did make one off handed comment that she took to be angry sarcasm, or perhaps veiled regret. It came after Charlie explained what they had done when their numbers dwindled to a point critical for their survival. Edgar commented,
“If these particular Orabona had gone to Earth, the Torment would not be part of our history.”
She ascertained that he had great faith in the collective of underground dwellers. The one thing Allison regarded as strange was how, as Edgar listened to the news; it did not appear to deter him. She wondered if he did not already know, somehow or that perhaps he had always held out hope. Either way, the old man with a lifetime of secrets, now had confirmation of life on their home planet.
Of the three of them, only Allison drank her tea. Away from the conversation, she separated her mind, questioning if the old woman was home. She did not feel anything in the house that caused her concern or did not belong. She concluded that Petunia would have enough cunning to cleanse herself of any trace of the malevolent behaviour long before she returned home. Looking around the kitchen, Allison scrutinized the windowsills, china cabinet and any other spot where a small, trivial notion would sit. She read once that serial killers refer to such items as trophies. She feared that Petunia had some collection of them somewhere. In a house of this size, they would simply blend in. ‘The bureaus,’ she thought. With blinding speed, a wave of emotion smashed into her. It came on so strong that it interrupted Charlies’ story. Turning to the girl, Edgar asked,
“What bureaus?”
The look on her cousins’ face registered as stunned bewilderment. Allison quickly collected herself, comprehending that she had just dug a massive hole. In the time, it took her to formulate a response, Charlie jumped on the opportunity.
“I thought we were not going to mention the bureaus Ally, because of the surprise we planned?” He regretted his choice of the word surprise the instant he said it. He hoped she would avoid the whole mess. Looking at him queerly, she questioned his direction. A quick wink made her confident he had some sort of idea.
“Oh I hope that did not spoil anything,” she replied in less than a convincing tone. Edgar stared at both of them, aware that this smoke screen did not hide the fact that there was much more to the story.
“I find it strange that a benign thought like furniture came with such strong emotion Allison. Are you certain that you are not hiding something else?” Edgar tried and failed to navigate the impenetrability of her mental defenses. Similar in design to his own, but far superior in strength. He could not imagine why she felt the need to be so protective.
“I beg your pardon Edgar, but I’m only fourteen. I am always emotional. It is bureaus one minute; the next it is shoes.” She looked over at Charlie and smirked, “and yes we are hiding something for good reason. It is not bureaus or anything, we just ask you to be patient until we find out more.”
Unsatisfied with her response and irritated by their sheer lack of respect, seemingly treating this situation like some type of game, Edgar got angry.
“What sort of prank are you two playing?”
Fearful his cousin would continue talking, Charlie jumped in once more.
“I swear Edgar; we found something you might be interested in but…”
“But what?” he barked as the last of his patience evaporated. Allison put up her hand and replied,
“We are just not sure what we have right now.”
Having spent most of his life perfecting the art of conversation, Edgar knew half of the details were in body language and eye contact. He spotted the pair covering something. He knew that if he gave them the chance to open up, they would be falling over each other to tell everything in the end. When someone intended to protect private information, the tactic changed. These two youth were different; Allison obviously but the boy? He could not put his finger on it just yet, but Charlie encountered some manner of alteration himself. Nevertheless, badgering them for hours to give up the information they may not understand was pointless. Having focused so much energy trying to get around the girl's defenses, Edgar simply forgot the boy shared the same experiences. Undefended and reasonably unaware, he cleaned house. Processing the information turned out to be far more than he bargained for. The images and detailed information shook him to the core. The potential ramifications if the evidence proved accurate, could spell disaster for the Orabona. Edgar swiftly choked it down. He suddenly had to attend to other pressing matters. How they came by the information was evident but perplexing. Always the Master, he carefully hid his discontent. Participating in the charade the pair were playing, made Edgar want to punish them both sternly and have them sent away. It was not until he grasped the gravity of what they knew that it mattered. They had quietly held onto this secret, with not even a whisper of it to anyone. Qualities like that were rare in elders, let alone two nosy fourteen year olds. At the end of the conversation, Edgar raised his hands in an expression of surrender. Reaching for his teacup, he lifted it to his lips, and then returned it to the saucer. Excusing himself, he walked down a darkened hall adjacent to the kitchen. The pair listened as a door opened, followed by a flight of stairs. Another door creaked open, followed by silence. Charlie glared at Allison. She shrugged her shoulders, as if to say, whatever.
“Bureaus?” he questioned. “And after you grilled me about not slipping up, you give Edgar bureaus. He must think we are slow, in the head I mean. Seriously, I almost wet my pants.”
“Don’t worry Charlie, we are fine. He has enough going on with all of what you told him to bother with anything else. I am sure he is not going to be spending any time thinking about a couple of dressers out there in the middle of the countryside. I’ll bet you he’s already forgotten about it.”
Stepping out onto the roof, Edgar walked to the south side where the aviary stood. Leaning inside, he addressed his two prized ravens individually. The first he entrusted with a serious reconnaissance mission. Illuminating the bird with the base details he gathered from Charlie’s experience, the raven understood the parameters of not returning until it found the location. The second raven sat with Edgar for a time, ensuring it fully comprehended what he expected of it. The birds understood their tasks were critical, time sensitive assignments. Releasing them to the sky, Edgar swallowed his anger along with his pride. The ravens flew in different directions, in search of separate yet related objects.
“It appears that the two of you have been called to be part of something far beyond what I had hoped.” He spoke in a hushed tone directly behind the two. They both jumped, believing the old man was still upstairs.
“I must consult the council on how we administer the first step of the process.”
Allison could sense that he fought back an outpouring of emotion. She wanted to say something although nothing she could provide would have any true meaning. Pacing in the tiny kitchen, Edgar spent a great deal of time reasoning through these new considerations. He acknowledged that today’s date recognized the commencement of an unresolved 2204-year-old war; a strange coincidence pairing all of the activity above and below Amkata with the councils stand on returning home. Subsequently, these two youth arrived unannounced with specific, life changing information. With a turn of the wheel, all of their lives would now change. The Orabona had long anticipated a moment such as this, but no one ever believed it would actually happen. The time to engage was upon them. Complacency and platitudes no longer served a purpose. They could not abide this assured death spiral of Amkata. Decisive factors looked to have changed and a call to action would unify the collective. In the next phase, a great deal of planning was required before any real change took place. Regardless, the long sleep of the Orabona ended at once. A sudden chill agitated him. Fear and confusion would no longer represent their governance. Standing tall, Edgar shook out his robes. Placing his palms on the wooden table, he examined both youth in detail. Confident that he saw something only an Ancient could see, he spoke in a resolute tone,
“From this moment forward, neither of you will discuss the plan you were given with anyone. Not parents, friends, no one. Is that clear?”
Both youth answered with an emphatic yes.
“There is a substantial amount of reflection that I must undertake before we can act. Until we finalize certain decisions, I cannot be answering questions regarding any of it. Currently, there are only the three of us who know. With the addition of the council, it must remain that way.” Both Allison and Charlie understood the importance and value of keeping it secret. When Edgar lifted his hands from the table, involuntarily so did the pair rise from their seats. Looking at each other, they wondered if he did it on purpose.
“It is time for both of you to be leaving,” he stated, the earlier politeness now gone. Walking them down the front hallway, Edgar found himself wrapped up in considering Allison’s mental safeguards. Before Charlie reached the door, they stopped.
“Turn around Miss Hannaburg,” Edgar said gruffly. She turned on her heel to face the old man. Directly, he asked, “What are you hiding from me?”
Taking a deep breath, Allison smiled at the elder. Exhaling slowly, she disappeared. Seconds later, a firm knock on the other side of the door, echoed down the hallway. Gesturing to the boy regarding the front door, Charlie opened it. Allison strutted in. Before Edgar could speak, she vanished again. A moment later, the back door opened. Walking through the kitchen, she rejoined them once again. Edgar took two steps toward Charlie and pushed the front door closed. Walking back into the house through the maze of books and cases, he opened the door to his study. Standing in the doorway, the pair got the hint that they were not leaving anytime soon. The sound of moving chairs and the soft flutter of wings remained in the hallway as the doors closed.
The minute they were secure in his study, Edgar requested the pair stand while he prepared a space for them. Charlie wondered if Edgar ever found out about the first time, he infringed on the sanctity of the room. That thought faded when a small bird hopped out of a nook in a shelf piled with books. The small, gray bird took flight, circling the room several times before landing on the old man’s shoulder.
“I thought we did not accept visitors’ old man.”
Charlie almost fainted as a rich English accent came out of the little bird.
“This is different Finch. They have news and I believe it has begun.” That statement resulted in a considerable silence. Allison recognized that Edgar and the bird were speaking in code. Not one to be left out, she asked,
“What has begun?”
Both residents turned to look at her. She could tell from their demeanour that the previous statement was private, meant for the bird only. Concluding his reorganization efforts, Edgar offered the pair a seat. Allison concentrated on the old man while Charlie’s eyes drifted towards the thousands of volumes filling every inch of available space above the floor. Knowing he needed some one on one time with the girl, Edgar offered the boy the opportunity of a lifetime, examining texts at his leisure. Charlie almost leapt out of his seat. The offer came with a caveat that he must return the books to their original location, unlike last time. The boy accepted the terms, knowing that he had failed in his original clandestine research. He would not let that happen again as he walked into the best library anywhere.
Ignoring the girl for a time, Edgar readied himself for the challenging ordeal that came next.
“You asked me what has begun. I cannot honestly tell you, but there are definitive points of reference used to guide my search.”
“Can you be a little less mysterious please? What does this have to do with me?”
“Absolutely everything.”
Allison did not expect that answer. It made her feel embarrassed.
“I kept Charlie here today because you two are developing exceptionally well together. The contrast of interests and abilities is promising. It seems that he is vital to our effort, but it is you I need to analyze.”
“Analyze for what?”
“For those mysterious points of reference.”
“Please do not treat me like that. Be honest with me, what are you looking for?”
Edgar put his hand out and held hers. In the most sincere expression, he replied,
“It is something I have never seen, but have spent over 50,000 years looking for.”
Convinced this meant more than he could explain in simple words, Allison shook her head and said,
“Where do we begin?”
Standing, Edgar removed his cloak and positioned himself halfway across the room from the girl. He told her to stand and face him. He developed the first set of tests to demonstrate the concentration of her special abilities. He required an example of each one, at maximum efficiency if warranted. He could supply specific environments if needed. Allison felt silly as she demonstrated the easy things she learned ten years before. Edgar challenged her to expand her range and stop limiting the intensity on each ability. Proving her telepathic skill, he wanted to know is she could manage more than one conversation in more than one language. In the end, she found she could handle six independent discussions at the same time. When she predicted several earthquakes that would happen the next morning, Edgar wanted to know if she could feel anything else. To her surprise, she could feel the rotation of the planet. Taking notes, the old man did not let up. Her earlier example of her teleportation impressed him enough to get her to this point. He needed to see if she could manage a massive jump, like just how far could she go. Finding it humourous that it was the second time someone asked, it began to make her wonder. Giving her ten seconds to get as far away as possible and return, Allison did not close her eyes this time. The Nido took over. When the command came down to start, she was already gone. Leaning back against a cabinet, Edgar counted backwards while he waited. The Finch landed close by.
“Where did she go old man?”
“Be patient Finch, she could be anywhere.”
Reappearing in the exact same spot she started from, Allison stepped to Edgar and showed him the pictures on her phone.
“Nine international landmarks circumnavigating the globe. Well done Miss Hannaburg, this is impressive indeed.”
“It is very loud and strange out there.”
“Such is most of this world my dear,” Mr. Finch explained.
Edgar could not accurately measure Allison's telekinetic powers because of her ability to move everything he offered, including her cousin. Charlie in fact, did not find the experience very funny. Everything changed when Charlie felt compelled to retell the story about the lightning in the corridor. For some reason, Allison wanted to keep that private. Almost as if she knew, it would be the deciding factor. Edgar, on the other hand, appeared awestruck. Predicting lightning came with being an elder. Catching a bolt of lightning just did not happen. He could recall a rare event of it ever happening in his lifetime. Understood by scholars and laymen alike, that you only ever caught one. Moving quickly to the second floor, Edgar prepared a room where the inner capacity of the space had expanded to several thousand acres. He invoked a thunderstorm with intermittent lightning. As the storm cloud drew nearer, Allison pointed out the strike pattern in the ground. Then for some unknown reason, she rushed towards the storm. The first bolt she caught, she let return to the cloud, as if she were testing it. The next bolt she caught in her left hand. The way she held it, he could see that she was harnessing the energy. What she did next convinced Edgar that she stood alone. The storm fired two bolts crackling down toward her. Without looking, she caught the first one, in her free hand, and then smashed the two together in time to absorb the third. Holding the equivalent power and brightness of a small star, Allison displayed all of the hallmarks of his search. Her speed, concentration and fearlessness were the best he had ever seen.
Returning to the study, they found Charlie sitting in his chair reading about a mapping assignment to some unique galaxy arrangement. The notations on the page described in glowing detail every facet of the entire system. The sequence of numbers related to that collection seemed impossible. There were just too many stars to be real. Edgar asked Allison to sit, as the next portion did not require her to stand.
“What I want you to do is lower all of your mental defenses. I will try to access a benign memory. The instant you sense my presence, protect yourself.”
Changing her posture from passive to defensive, she replied,
“That’s it?”
Rising to her challenge, Edgar asked,
“Do you have a better idea?”
“How about you protect yourself and I’ll find the combination to the safe you have hidden under your desk?”
“Wherever did you get such a…how did you know about that?”
“You thought about it not long after we sat down the first time,” she answered as if it were common knowledge. Mr. Finch whistled a tune to break the tension that suddenly filled the room. Charlie stopped reading and curiously watched the Master and his cousin. Accepting her formidable offer, Edgar knew this would be the test of his life. Allison felt content to pick at a burr on her fingernail, as if it had priority. When the old man gave the signal to begin, Allison focused her inner vibrations, paralyzing the multiple layers of his protection. Then using variable, multichanneled approaches, she looked for cracks and vulnerabilities in his second tier defenses. Once inside, she rapidly parsed his mind, finding that all of his memories were a complicated design of compartmentalized fragments. Units containing millions of shards in which each piece related to a million others, scattered throughout his mind. The genius behind this style of concealment was that only the host had the ability to reconstruct the fragments, and bring a memory back to life. Opening the first compartment, Allison touched a shard. She instantly felt a unique sensation surge through her fingertip into her body. It seemed she overlooked another layer of protection. The Nido swiftly stepped in and neutralized it, freeing her to continue. The non-descript shard looked similar to the others, with minor variations. The opaque colouring suggested nothing in the way of a clue. Holding it in her hand, Allison squeezed it just tightly enough to instill her own energy, tricking it into thinking the host recalled the memory. She made several connections before she extracted herself. Edgar sat comfortably in his chair, causing Allison to wonder if he even noticed her intrusion. Not wanting to disturb him, she thought it more important to lay out what she had discovered.
“You began your apprenticeship under Talgoe in your sixteenth year. You discovered the first twin black holes, more accurately, a black hole within a black hole. You were never comfortable with the plans to fight the Darkness, suggesting that it must have a weakness. You were also certain that survivors remained explaining your brief, annual expeditions and that is why you kept the portal open.”
“Enough damnit, enough!” Edgar shouted. “What is it that you cannot see Allison?”
“Given the time, I could see everything, or almost. There were some things I could not see, no matter how hard I tried.”
Charlie, mouth open, hung on to the edge of his seat. He considered adding a comment, but knew better and just sat quietly and watched. Allison grew tired of whatever game they were playing. She knew all too well that her abilities and experiences were adding up to some specific thing that no one would discuss. With her spirit of inquiry now tapped, she needed answers.
“What is this all about Edgar? The analysis, the cerebral gymnastics, just what is going on?”
Getting up and making a production of donning his cloak, Edgar returned to his desk and slid open a drawer. He took out a small container and shook it several times. The instant he popped the lid, Mr. Finch appeared from his burrow, as if by magic. He poured out a serving of the special birdseed into a pewter dish. Resealing the lid, Edgar turned to the cousins, that sat across from him. Reiterating the serious disclaimer from earlier, Edgar made it clear that from this moment forward the information discussed in the study did not leave the study. They could not even speak about it with each other in any setting without his consent. After agreeing to the rules, Edgar proceeded to set the stage.
“The history of our race dates back billions of years. When the Creation Beings completed the cosmos, the Orabona were born to be the stewards, proclaimed the Children of the Ancients. The Orabona followed precise codes of conduct; and the family, work and the collective mind were spokes of the same wheel. This is what life provided. In the wake of the Torment, and prior to the exodus, everything turned upside down. The council had to decide on specific necessities to instill in our people. Aspects that were so foreign from our previous lives but necessary to our survival. We would have to engage with potentially hostile people. Directives, such as no inter breeding with any other race ever, had always seemed unnecessary until the results of the last engagement with humans. Other rules dealt with engagement and integration. We amended these directives as times changed. Returning to the point, life on Amkata flowed. Something new and exciting came from every portal as returning expedition parties unveiled their discoveries. Our ancient ancestors had done the same occupation in different regions of space. This provided a great feeling of kinship and belonging. The first generation Orabona told of a prophecy that involved a hyper-dynamic youth linked to a specific event. Everyone knew the story well, but paid no attention because the opportunity for it only came around approximately once every five million years. The event, identified eons before, takes place in Amkata’s binary star system. The planet orbits the main sun, a white giant star. An orange dwarf star travels round the white sun on an elliptical orbit every eight hundred days. It is only visible for nine of those days, blending the light of both stars, creating an orange sky. The effect peaks on the fifth day. The prophecy states that once every five million years or so, a comet passes through on the fifth day of the orange suns travel, releasing an energy unlike anything known in the universe. For any child born during its sixty-second transit, referred to as the Essential, there is nothing more. The prophecy is open ended, without explanation. The occurrence of the event is so rare that all of the Ancients before me have never seriously considered its feasibility.”
He gave the pair a moment to let the information sink in because the bulk of the material was yet to come.
“The process of connecting the exact date and time of the comet would be simple if we lived on Amkata. The problem comes from having no access to the collective mind; sequestered away for security reasons. In all honesty, the council members have worked on an equation for nearly a thousand years, and we keep running into roadblocks. Whether it is data procurement or errors in calculations, it has taken a toll on all of us. We are closer than we have ever been, but the result is still a guess. Over the years, we believed we had two strong candidates, but realized our error before things got out of hand.” Allison went to speak, but Edgar raised his hand for her to wait.
“Now, Miss Hannaburg! The reason you are here is because of the significant changes we have noticed in your development. These modifications come from the inside out. They are not only remarkable, but also evolutionary. You may not feel them, yet; but every indication tells me it is true. I cannot tell you for sure until we solve the equation, although I am willing to bet that the comet raced around the sky fourteen years ago at 7:07 pm, on April 5th.”
Charlie turned his head from Edgar to look at Allison. She turned and gave him an odd look. Thinking for a second, she said,
“Isn’t this a bit much, Edgar. With everything riding on this math problem, you put this on me?”
“My objective is to ensure that you have all the hallmarks of what the prophecy requires. There is more though, Allison. The fact that this is now a possibility weighs very heavily on you certainly, but on the collective as well. What matters is that you are confident, educated and prepared if we are to return to Amkata before long.” Pushing his chair back, he knelt under his desk and disappeared. Several minutes later, he stood with a small box in his hand. Opening it, he pulled a long braided chain that held a petite oval amulet. From across the room, it did not look like much at all. Walking over to Allison, Edgar asked her to stand.
“As I said earlier, nothing leaves this room.” Getting confirmation from each youth, he lifted the chain and put it around her neck. The instant the amulet touched her chest, the room exploded with light that seemed alive. All of the other energy in the study was stimulated. Astonished, Charlie could not fathom what had just taken place. A brilliant glare saturated the amulet, fueled from Allison’s internal energy. Glaring at Edgar, she demanded an answer.
“What the hell just happened?”
“It proves my earlier statement that it had begun.”
“Will you stop with all the riddles, please? Just tell me what you are talking about.”
“Your ascension Allison; usolicited and without elder sponsorship. The hallmark we have been looking for.”
Her mind raced as she processed his remark. With this news, a few things started to make sense. Charlie had a much different reaction. He jumped out of his seat, seemingly overjoyed at the fascinating turn of events.
The following hour lacked the enjoyment of the first. Edgar removed the amulet and hid it away. He had only brought it out to prove a point. The light it contained illuminated the space under his desk until he closed the hidden door. Allison, overcome with the notion that the old man was not pretending about the prophecy nonsense, did not know what to do next. He shared some kind words, advising her not to change anything. She was to embrace the changes as they came and allow the radiant energy to infuse her being. He could not determine a precise time frame when her ascension would be complete, nor could he explain what she might experience as her exclusive situation had no documentation. He assured them both that they had some time and that any plans regarding Amkata would be months in the making. The only thing either of them could do now would be to look out for one another. He intended not to mention the issue regarding the bureaus. At the last minute, he changed his mind, deciding the circumstance necessitated he say something.
“I want to commend you two on your investigation regarding the mysterious furniture. Considering the delicate nature of this matter, I will trust that you will leave the rest to me?”
The cousins were comfortable with that and agreed to leave it alone despite Allison’s misgivings on what they had not seen further up the corridor. At that point, Edgar turned suddenly, and walked to the door of his study. The pair had yet to realize the session had ended.
“You are both expected home shortly.” he was quick to remind the twosome.
They filed past him into the main hallway. The door to the study shut behind them. Charlie opened the front door and let Allison go past. Taking a long look back, Charile wondered about Edgar and the enormous burden he now faced.
As they made their way home, Charlie's first thought centered on how he would explain his absence for most of the day. Certainly, he could say he spent the day with Edgar, but no more. It seemed easier to make something up so his family did not give him the third degree. He never really liked his home life, and times like this made it even more difficult. Allison on the other hand understood all of what Edgar told her to begin with. When he kept eluding to fundamentals beyond the scope of the conversation, she found herself out of her element. He finally let up as it all seemed a little over the top; the way he went about it - like an excitable child that will not stand still. She could feel his satisfaction by the time they left. Her thoughts drifted to what kind of investigation would greet her at home. More importantly, she wondered if anyone had saved her anything to eat.
Twenty minutes later, as they walked into their respective homes, they received a welcome that conflicted with their expectations. No one asked about their whereabouts or any specific details whatsoever. They had walked into environments that were generally supportive. Neither cousin felt comfortable. Eating their individual dinners, the cousins found themselves wondering what Edgar had said to invoke such radical change.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A lone butterfly floated on the breeze above the wilting rhododendrons boarding the northeast corner of the house. The Monarch brushed against the glass barrier designed to keep it outside. In a sudden flurry of movement, an orange streak launched itself upon the windowpane. The ill-conceived plan allowed the butterfly to escape unharmed, leaving the cat to wonder where it went wrong. Despite all of his supernatural powers, Hennessy proved an unproductive hunter. The elder of the house once commented that if the cat were a vegetarian in the wild, the grass would have a fighting chance. Having missed the insect, he did not have to contend with what to do with it. He had no interest in eating it, or for that matter, killing it. The impulse must be instinctual he told himself. No matter how hard he tried not to be a cat, the feline genes were unavoidable from any angle. Hennessy tried to make the best of it. Sensing a family member returning home, he shook out his fur and strolled to the front door.
With two free periods in the afternoon, Allison made the rare decision to visit the mall. Disinterested in purchasing or collecting items like many of the girls her age did, she used the tour as a distraction. Allison recognized several girls from school, wondering why they chose to skip out of class to come here. The cathedral style clock struck numerous chimes signaling the half hour. Having had enough, Allison figured she could make the next bus if she hurried. Hustling down the escalators, she pressed her way through a small group of people at the exit.
Flashing her student pass to the driver, Allison boarded and found an empty seat. The same thought she had been mulling over for days hastily returned. Unconventional as thoughts went, she only got a sense of this one; like an enigma. She identified that there were two related ideas, but could not decipher the first clue. Edgar said something important in the middle of the second ascension lesson. Due to her inattention and other contributing factors notwithstanding, what she heard him say sounded like, “something, something his eyes.” She could not even be sure if he had said two or three “somethings.” He just moved on with the lesson, as if nothing had ever happened. Too busy at the time protecting her developing understanding of Edgar's lesson, the impact of missing that statement now caused her significant discomfort. Allison knew it meant more than just four words because Edgar chose to tell them only to her. The uneventful bus ride did nothing to settle her mind. The second part of the troubles stemmed from the ongoing conversations with Charlie and Edgar. Feeling that the old man had something planned for her of a delicate nature, Allison searched for specifics. Smartly, he had tucked away any details she could exploit. The more they discussed the various plans, the more she yearned for a thing she had never experienced, or at least not like Edgar had explained. It took her days to sort out what it looked like. When she finally let herself consider it, what Allison craved was a sense of community; not the forced, sometimes awkward moments she shared with the like people from time to time. She yearned to experience the Orabona community before the era of the Darkness. It developed from her own perception of longing; in conjunction with the short expeditions to her suffering planet, which cemented her resolve. The only way to return Amkata to a viable world for all meant taking it back. So convinced she could lead the charge, Allison started to conceptualize how the Darkness could be constrained and annihilated. It borrowed heavily from the plan developed underground. She envisioned a very different style of attack on the surface, having already confirmed the dynamic groundwork preparation. She could see the image of an eternal being, patiently tending to the fields of an ancient army, prepared for a final call to arms. Allison knew of only a few things for certain; her parents love, the power of marmalade and a dislike of her accounting class. Adding her passion for the ensuing battle to her list, which was to become her avocation. She knew exactly what she had to do. The power and conviction that accompanied her decision, followed right through the front door of the house. Hennessy sat proudly waiting for the youngest Hannaburg to arrive home. Truthfully, he had not eaten in some time and could use a good scratch; it just looked good to be ready at the door. Allison was in the foyer just long enough to drop her pack, kick off her shoes, and race upstairs. Getting the best of him, curiosity forced Hennessy to put his hopes of a quick snack on hold and followed the girl upstairs.
Focused on completing her entire thought of battle considerations, Allison did not notice her bedroom door move. The pen she used died mid-sentence and at a critical moment. Tossing it in the bin, she wrenched open her drawer in search of another. Her options were limited to a black marker or a pink sparkle pen. She pushed aside the marker and cringed. Returning to listing the challenges she could identify at first glance; the main problem she saw with Charlie’s plan called for far more bodies than the Orabona could supply. There were other requirements in the same plan that demanded substantial effort from almost every Orabona on Earth. Beyond that, the challenges that followed made the first two look easy. Working in Allison’s’ favour was the fact that all of this news would be on everyone’s mind very shortly. This matter remained the topic of conversation for the past 2204 years. It was only now that they would be convincing the time for talking was over. Determined to uncover a solution for conquering the Darkness, Allison used fundamentals from several sources and considered the option of rerouting some very powerful, yet underutilized magic. At least her observations made it feel that way. Not wanting to involve anyone else just yet, she intended to sort out the finer details while doing the fieldwork alone. Taking Charlie back to Amkata could alert Edgar that they had reneged on their agreement. She could move back and forth unnoticed. Charlie would understand. Things were different now. The window blind fluttered, interrupting her thought for a moment, as the cat appeared out from behind. She reached out and patted his head. Taking that as an invitation, Hennessy jumped from the window onto the middle of the desk, promptly laying down as if to imply the desk now belonged to him. Ever since her Nana spent a couple of nights, Allison attempted to talk with the feline. Continuing to give her the silent treatment, he seemed considerably more affectionate of late. In all fairness, she had stopped calling him the orange dust mop; the fat lump of fur or just the cat. Her attempts to communicate varied from getting down to his level; all the way to bringing him up to hers. Allison would not let this, or any other cat, get the best of her.
“Seriously Hennessy, I am trying to work here!” she hollered as he stretched out and struggled to roll over. On the third try he managed to right himself and sit up, just enough to be adorable. Accepting that this scene would keep repeating itself, she said,
“I am going for a snack, are you coming?”
Before she stood up from her chair, the orange rocket ran out the door, and more than likely sat beside his dish. Looking down at the sheets of paper that contained her notes, Allison saw a pattern in the chaos. Covered in orange and white cat hair, what she noticed was how the sparkles lit up the page. She knew exactly what her plan required. Putting the pink pen on the desk, she joined Hennessy in the kitchen for a well-deserved treat.
Allison preferred the house empty and quiet as it furnished her sanctuary without distraction. She felt her most content, comfortable and free there, rarely having to censor herself. Graham and Molly, in spite of their concerned interference, loved her dearly and in some respects were her best friends. Allison did not feel sadness or self-pity. She understood her good fortune. Chewing the last bite as she rinsed her plate, the warm water suddenly connected the thought that Allison had not talked to her father in over a week. She scribbled a reminder on a post it to call him after 7 pm. A quick check of the clock confirmed she still had a couple of hours to herself. She turned the television to the correct channel; her favourite soap opera would be on shortly. Allison considered it one of the guilty pleasures humans actually got right.
She returned to her room once it became clear that the network had substituted a rerun. The earlier epiphany that laid on her desk still highlighted the elements that she did not know were even available in each design. Somehow, Hennessy assisted once again without saying a word. She surrounded herself with the competing theories and began to look for a solution. She envisioned a unified approach, using a combination of tactics to keep the Darkness at odds. She used the same process repeatedly, changing different variables to achieve the best results. Hours later, she heard a knock at her door. Pushing it open wide, her mother poked her head in.
“What are you working on honey?”
“I have a mountain of homework mom, and a big test coming up soon.”
“Okay, it is just that I called you a couple of times. I made dinner if you're hungry, it’s your favourite.”
Allison almost teleported downstairs; stopping herself at the last second. It would not be a good way to start the evening. During dinner, they talked about her mother’s research at the university, which had something to do with blood. Allison knew she should take a greater interest, but currently had enough on her plate. Her preoccupation with the pressing matters surrounding Edgar, Charlie and Amkata stole the bulk of her focus. The one thing that did not suffer any distraction was the mound of lasagna on her plate.
Following the dinner cleanup, the rapid-fire sounds coming from the kitchen signaled the near completion of a bag of popcorn. Allison hopped up, carefully extracting the steaming hot paper bag from the microwave. Pouring its contents into a red plastic bowl emblazoned with the word popcorn in white capital letters, she returned to the sofa. Allison placed the bowl beside her mother. Sitting within reach, Allison restarted the last half of the movie. Molly looked over at her daughter and thought how quickly she had grown up. Even before her first ability manifested, she knew her daughter had a destiny with a greater purpose. Only now could see truly begin to see it. Her little girl had become more serious; focused on objectives that did not require her parents’ involvement. At dinner, Molly had noticed that Allison appeared to be working from two levels of consciousness. The first time she noticed, the tremor at the corner of Allison’s left eye, did not bare comment. The next few times Molly saw it, the tiny movements looked to coincide with a collection of work piled on her desk. At the beginning of the meal, her eye looked fine. Molly did not know what triggered it, but that turning point caused the tremor to return. Whether holding a conversation, eating dinner, or watching the movie on one level, she concurrently contemplated star movements or solved problems beyond Molly’s comprehension. She reached over and put her hand on her daughter's arm. Allison leaned over and kissed the back of her hand. It was an otherwise loving gesture but very much out of the ordinary. Molly could not make sense of what it suggested. It was as if the tremor inducing part of her mind was trying to say something.
Two unanswered phone calls later, Allison decided to go to bed. She left funny messages for her father both times, knowing he would get a kick out of her strange sense of humour. Compared to brushing her teeth, combing the knots out of her hair took considerably longer than expected. As she pulled the covers up, the waves of tiredness were beginning to crest. For the first time in days, Allison found a way to silence her mind, putting aside the cascade of thoughts that threatened to consume her. Allison stretched out; managing to enjoy about forty five seconds of peace. Suddenly, at the foot of her bed, leapt the sixteen pound tabby cat, his presence undeniable. Allison almost kicked him off but thought better of it. Hennessy had taken to sleeping with her a few days a week. Assuming that today must have been her lucky one; Allison noticed that his movements were peculiar, almost out of order. Instead of making his usual hollow by her feet, and camping there, tonight Hennessy walked along the length of the bed. When he sat down at the edge of her pillow, Allison looked at him in the darklight and met his gaze. She knew something was up when he stopped flicking his tail. The two sat silently staring at one another for a substantial period. Once the conversation commenced, there was no turning back.
“To what do I owe the honour?” Allison asked playfully.
“I have the answer you seek.”
“What answer is that?”
“The one you are looking for.”
“I do not think I understand.”
“Yes, Allison you do. Think like an Orabona.”
The only thing she could think of had to do with the bothersome sensation that clung to her.
“I have a feeling that I have forgotten something valuable, which is absurd because I am not missing anything.”
“Trust your inherent foresight child. Stop thinking in such colourless tones. Think Allison! What did Edgar tell you?” the feline demanded.
“Tell me? He did not tell me anything. And if he did, it obviously could not have been that important.”
“Edgar only speaks of wisdom and truth, young lady. Is it not more reasonable to assume that you did not hear him clearly?”
“I don’t know, maybe?”
“The paradox haunting you can be recalled. Concentrate and you will hear him.”
Not in the mood to argue, Allison attempted to recall the moment with no success. The sage old cat, aware of her disconnection, cozied up beside her. Waves radiated outward from his fur, instilling a profound anaesthetizing effect which, as it wore off, provided a feeling of deep relaxation. Sensing her opportunity, she tried again. Her mind returned to the precise instance when Edgar spoke to her. Filtering out the background noise, the six words he offered became unquestionably clear.
“The answer is in his eyes,” she said aloud. “Hennessy, what does that even mean, and who is the man? This is not an answer. It is an obscure riddle that has no context.”
“I was asked only to assist you in the recall of his words, I know nothing more. Whatever comes next will be up to you Allison.” With his work now complete, Hennessy got up and returned to his spot at the end of the bed. Before he lay down, she whispered,
“Can you give me a hint or a starting point at least?”
His reply came in the form of silence.
“Always nice talking to you,” she concluded the conversation, as the feline made himself comfortable. At the end, she would have sworn that he winked at her.
The next morning, Allison woke up in a foul mood. Her bed looked as if it had been involved in a high-speed rollover accident. During which time, Allison gathered a handful of unconsciousness moments. These short fragments were interrupted by Hennessy's strange offering. Hearing her mother in the kitchen, Allison had no interest in breakfast. She felt the same about school. Intent on sleeping past noon, forces beyond her control had other ideas. The restlessness that affected her during the small hours returned. The stillness she felt ten hours earlier no longer existed; sideswiped and replaced by an uneasiness that threatened to consume her. There were moments of distress, annoyance and frenzy; interspersed with apprehension and torment. She felt lost within the complexity of a labyrinth; blindly searching for answers, but finding nothing but dead ends. Each time she tried to address the feeling, it slipped away; eluding her. When she looked in the mirror, there were no obvious signs of her miserable sleep, other than the fact she forgot to braid her hair before bed. It gave her the appearance of having sustained numerous 50,000-volt shocks. Standing in the bathroom, Allison fought a losing battle to gain control over her curls. Even in this stressful minute, dealing with a minor catastrophe, she could not avoid Edgar’s paradox. It kept bubbling up. She felt like her being was creating this inner turmoil, conspiring against herself and forcing her to find the solution to the riddle. Too tired to argue with her own thoughts any longer, Allison decided at least to get dressed. The answers she needed were certainly not in her bedroom.
Making her way down to the kitchen, she heard the television. It came as an oddity because her mother had a fastidious habit of turning everything off before leaving for work. Unconcerned, she began her morning ritual without a conscious thought. The bread, busily becoming toast, while she drank orange juice straight out of the carton. Celebrating with a loud belch, a voice from the living room said,
“Very lady like.”
Allison almost wet her pants. The combination of being preoccupied and thinking the house was empty left her vulnerable.
“Holy crap mom, you scared me. I did not know you were home.”
“It’s okay honey; I have caught your dad doing the same thing.”
The toaster popped. After its preparation, Allison joined her mother at the table.
“I really do not feel like going to school today, but seeing I’m already dressed I’ll go for second period.”
Her mother started to laugh, doing her best to maintain her composure while Allison filled her face with a warm slice. Just as she swallowed it, Molly regained her self-control and stifled the giggles.
“Really mom, am I that funny?” Allison asked indignantly.
“Ally, its Saturday.”
Looking around for a calendar, or some other point of reference, she felt stricken. When the television confirmed her mother’s earlier statement, she abruptly got up and took her empty plate to the kitchen. Setting it on the counter, she headed back up to her room. The soft sound of her mothers’ laughter echoed until she closed the door.
A familiar soft sound caused Allison to open her eyes. The clock displayed a few minutes after five pm. She felt so much better than she had the first time she woke up. Imagining that her mother had gone to pick up dinner, Allison jumped in the shower. Ten minutes later, she sat blow-drying her hair. She felt Hennessy staring at her. Before Allison could take her next breath, she knew something had shifted. His modus operandi was to ignore her when she did her hair, but today his gaze seemed arresting. Turning off the hairdryer, she waited for him to do something. Nothing happened for several minutes. She was about to speculate whether the feline had fallen asleep with his eyes open while meditating, when he did finally speak. It scared her as the statement came not of the cat, but more of a conduit to deliver its message. Ethereal, distant and pleading, the voice declared,
“It is time to leave, for the being you seek has returned.”
Immediately following the statement, Hennessy coughed several times, shook his head violently, and then returned to the place he awoke from. Allison got the impression that he would not recall any of what just happened. This added another wrinkle in the complex patchwork story she did not yet fully understand. Quickly finishing her braid, she hustled downstairs to see what her mother decided on for dinner. Posted on the countertop, in bright orange notepaper outlined where her mother had gone and when she may be home. She attached a $20 bill in case she got hungry later. Allison grabbed the cash and instantly returned to her room; something requested her presence and she felt obliged to answer the call. In the span of fifteen minutes, standing in her usual adventuring outfit and preparing to climb her first fence, she did not recall getting ready. She needed to tell Charlie something, but as the ringing turned to voicemail, Allison could not think of what to say. She hung up and put away her phone. The long ribbon of fence line felt familiar leading toward another journey. In the narrow passage, the two birch trees seemed somewhat brighter, more brilliant bookends guarding the portal. Before she took her first step up, she sensed a hesitation. Nothing else looked out of place and Allison knew she did not waver; something had caused her to. On second thought, it seemed more purposeful, as if intended. Taking a step back, she was not sure what to think. Shrugging it off as an anomaly, she went to step onto the roots of the tree. This time she was forcibly blocked. Concerned that some kind of barrier was preventing her access, she reached down and picked up a rock. Throwing it between the trees, she watched it disappear, suggesting that the portal was still functional. Dismayed by this turn of events, Allison could not understand why it was blocking her. Sitting on a stump, Allison systematically reconsidered what led her here tonight. In doing so, looked for answers as to what was really going on. By the time she ran through all the potential explanations, the sun had set. It took another hour to get around to thinking critically. She began to understand what Hennessy meant about thinking in colourless tones. She had not been true to herself. She must think larger and more expansively. When the true intention finally came to her, it arrived as a vision, crystal clear and developed. It also came with considerable apprehension. Inherently courageous, Allison knew this one option supplied everything she would need. Having never attempted anything like this before, she chose to concentrate on the first image she saw when Hennessy first mentioned it. Calming her breathing, Allison mustered all of her strength and focused it toward a specific bearing. With absolute certainty, she closed her eyes and vanished.
In what felt like a short second later, Allison arrived, but could not ascertain exactly where she had landed. Consulting her inner star chart, she got only short bursts of static on all channels. There was a familiar quality about it, but nothing definitive. She stood in a field of waist high grass that bent slightly in the gentle breeze. Turning around, Allison could see that she was in the center of a wide valley. The mountains to her left fielded groves of bright red trees. She could hear a waterfall about halfway up the mountainside, hidden in a narrow gap. The sky appeared unnatural; a soft chartreuse colour bleeding more green than yellow. The fuzzy white sun provided all the clouds with unseen benefits, much different from what she was accustomed to on Earth. Picking up a collection of unique, faint electrical signatures from the ground, she made some quick field calculations. Allison felt confident that she stood on her home planet with some intriguing and unexplained differences. She based the most obvious upon her personal experience of actually being on Amkata. Knowing that where she currently stood did not represent the reality of the place at all. The “Darkness” destroyed everything and the possibility seemed far too remote to imagine. Yet, every fiber of her being screamed out that she was home. Both could not be true, unless… She walked for a few steps then stopped. Allison found that her senses had come alive again, a telltale sign of her locale. She listened carefully for sounds beyond the waterfall. Nothing moved on the land or in the sky that she could see. A more definitive assessment took another few minutes, but in that, she found no signs of life and the breeze rustling through the grass caused the only other sounds. As realistic as the landscape appeared, Allison noticed an unnatural quality about it. She could not quite put a finger on it. Growing tired of standing around, she decided to explore, in an effort to see more of the strange land. Turning to what she regarded as the east, something compelled her to turn around and travel in the opposite direction. Not questioning the course correction, Allison operated on a scaled back version of autopilot. All she did was watch where she walked without overtly examining everything in detail. Making her way through the tall grass, she scanned the horizon for landmarks or anything that might suggest that someone lived here. Noticing a bothersome trend, she stopped walking. Going nowhere, it felt like being on a treadmill. Regardless of the distance walked, or the speed at which she moved, everything looked the same. The skyline, the perspective of the landscape, the field she stood in, even the relative distance to the mountains; nothing changed. Swiping her hand across the top of the grass in frustration made her pause. Allison reached out, grabbing a handful of the tall stalks and pulled. Far more resilient than back home, it did not break as expected. Even the most robust Northern grasses gave way under stress. Picking a single blade, she pulled on it hard. Nothing happened. She reset, and, using both hands, attempted to pull it out of the ground. Giving up after a handful of tries, she found that it would not fracture, let alone come free. The fluffy seedpod and stem felt odd. Kneeling down, Allison took a closer look. Something different from grass on Earth, she had a sneaking suspicion that this only was intended to appear like grass. It had a synthetic quality, it certainly did not grow and posed a greater mystery. Brushing her hands together, Allison brought her palms to her face. With the excitement and other strange things taking place, she had ignored her sense of smell. Initially, she did not smell anything but that did not mean anything. Her hands confirmed that this world exhibited a scent free environment. Not the grass, trees or anything in the air. The residue on her hands had no smell, not even an engineered one. The fact that nothing produced any kind of scent gave her another clue regarding how this world existed but contained nothing real.
Walking to the Hannaburg residence, Petunia ruminated about how she would frame her questions in hopes of garnering the details she wanted. Shifting the wrapped decorative gift from one hand to the other, she wished she had left it at home. Her research suggested that providing a courtesy to an unsuspecting host greatly increased her chances of entry. The sun came out from behind the clouds and did nothing to improve her mood. Tearing herself from her own internal childish distractions, Petunia returned to her original train of thought. Aware that the girl's ascension would begin anytime, she required the date of her fifteenth birthday. The only one she could not poach from her husband’s records. After hearing the rumours about the girl's impressive skillset that either surpassed Edgar or were unique to her alone, indicated she might be more dynamic than originally thought. No one had actually said those words, but interest continued to grow and whispers suggested that she might be the Essential. Edgar adamantly discredited the notion, calling it irresponsible and far too early to gauge, even though he was aware of the signs for nearly a decade. Having previously considered intervening in the girl's progression, Petunia decided to see to what extent her abilities had developed. It all started to fall apart when she found traces of the girl on Amkata and in the barn. Those were sacred places, and Allison’s trespasses required a severe response. The Hannaburg girl interfered in a place she did not belong and knew nothing about. Petunia became gravely concerned that the girl had become stronger than she ever imagined. She decided that she had to nip this in the bud. Her irrational insecurities began to rev up as she wondered how many other times Allison visited Amkata, and what she witnessed. Certain that she had seen a shadow in a place where shadows do not exist, Petunia instantly assumed the worst. Someone or something had been there and now she knew the interloper's identity. Determining that she had to put a stop to this sooner than later, Petunia set out to gather what she needed to gain the upper hand.
Molly remembered the time clearly, that exact moment when she regretted answering the door. Getting up from the window seat, she glanced at the clock on the stove. Not expecting anyone, she wondered who it could be. Forced to use every ounce of her self-control when she opened the door, Molly fought the urge to show her displeasure. On the doorstep stood a stone faced Petunia Negati, holding a small plate. The drab grey house frock she wore instilled little confidence that she had given her wardrobe any consideration before leaving the house. Something about the woman just did not sit right. Molly held the door open, asking politely as possible,
“Petunia, this is a surprise. To what do I owe the honour of a visit?”
“I thought we might have tea and catch up. I brought some fresh scones?”
Molly faked a smile as she accepted the gift. Glued to the plate, they did not look fresh, nor did they look like scones.
“I have an hour free, please come in,” she offered as the old woman breezed by as a wraith might in a haunted house. She felt an eerie sensation causing her skin to bristle. Closing the door, Molly wondered if this particular decision might not have been the best one she could have made. Walking into the kitchen, she found Petunia leaning against the wall, scones in hand. She appeared to be looking into the backyard.
“You have such a lovely yard. I cannot ever get anything to grow. It is quite vexing really, because I have tried everything over the years,” she stated, all the while, staring out the window.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” Molly suggested as she put the kettle on. At the same time keeping an eye on the old woman, trying to figure out what she wanted. It took a minute as Molly tried to remember the last time she had actually seen Petunia. She knew comfortably that it had never been one on one. Before today, she could only recall her being at Allison’s fifth birthday and a very brief visit just after she had given birth. Both times accompanied by Edgar, who did almost all of the talking. Unclear why she decided to visit now, unexpectedly, Molly figured she would play along and try to find out what she really wanted. If the first five minutes were any indication of how the hour would go, she would need to be on her toes. The kettle whistled its sharp note of completion. Filling the teapot, she set it on the round table in the sitting room just off the kitchen. Molly said,
“I hope Earl Grey is to your liking?”
Getting no response, she arranged the cups and saucers. She noticed that her guest appeared distant, almost dreamlike; wavering in and out like an underpowered AM radio station. Abruptly, she said,
“Yes, that is just fine dear.”
Those were all the words she used for the next few minutes. Seeing that she had committed to the hour, Molly sensed that the old woman masked her intentions with fragility. In a sudden burst of energy, Petunia attended to her tea. For the next fifteen minutes or so, she asked general interest questions about Molly’s teaching at the university, and some inquiries about Graham’s job at the mine. She quoted an article that suggested the impending downturn in the market. Molly did not feel like pointing out she had quoted the wrong market. The questionable scones sat off to the side, still wrapped in plastic as the conversation slowly deteriorated. It was not until Petunia began asking questions about her daughter that Molly doubted the sincerity of her visit.
“I noticed Allison at her pre-ascension lessons,” the old woman stated, almost as an accusation. This triggered a defensive response in Molly because no Orabona ever referred to their lessons like that. Formally known as the Rubric interpretations, Molly resolved it best to be very cautious from now on.
“Her ascension must not be too far off I imagine?”
“I believe all nine youth in that class are of the same age. What is your interest with my daughter?”
“Why, I am only curious if she had been anywhere that she does not belong. Perhaps she has mentioned something to you?”
Molly felt a flood of energy race through her body as she prepared to stand her ground. Despite their conciliatory preference, Orabona remain ruthless warriors that will protect their own at any cost. This line of questioning came off as aggressive and unreasonable. Before Molly could reply, Petunia tried to defend her position.
“I caught her little cousin in Edgar’s study one day when he should have been working outside for me. I had no choice but to let him go because of it.”
Knowing this story very well, after having heard it from both her sister and daughter, the version she told was nothing close to the truth. Not sure what to say anymore, she poured the old woman another cup of tea. What happened next defied explanation and reaffirmed a lifelong friendship. Watching across the table, she noticed that Petunia appeared to hold her breath. At the start, nothing happened. Her face started to convulse and turn blue. Then, her head shook violently from side to side at least a half dozen times. Staring directly at Molly, the old woman started to cough, escalating to her choking; gasping for breath. It cleared in an instant leaving Petunia rigid and unblinking. The next display came in the form of growing agitation as she started to argue with herself. Molly felt caught in the middle of something she did not understand. The longer her personal battle carried on, the more she showed signs of weakness and fatigue. Knowing that the only people that argued with themselves were the crazy ones, she regarded this exhibition in the sitting room a textbook case.
Having spent the morning lazing on the deck, Hennessy remained completely unaware of the spectacle unfolding inside. The second he stepped into the house, his defensive systems activated. He recognized the scent. Significantly more worrying, he could feel the malevolence radiating from inside the woman. Hennessy knew that something evil had entered their home and he went in search of its source. A quick check of the main floor brought his target into focus. Molly did not comprehend the danger facing her, so Hennessy made a snap decision. Transfixed by watching the old woman’s inner battle, Molly searched for the appropriate words to interrupt the conflict but never got a chance to speak them aloud. From the corner of her eye, she caught the cat sprinting past. In slow motion, the scene of devastation took on a rather humourous appearance. Fearlessly, Hennessy dove onto the table at a considerable rate of speed. With no intention of stopping, he used his substantial body weight to shift the tea service with assistance from the tablecloth, onto Petunia’s lap. He skidded across the table, returning to the floor in preparation for his next attack. The cascade of hot liquid and shattered porcelain snapped the old woman out of her trance. Shocked at how quickly Petunia sprung out of her seat, Molly froze. She would have drawn her weapon but the crazy turned violent just did not make sense. The sounds coming from Hennessy were definitive warnings that she needed to leave. Petunia screamed a short burst of obscenities at the cat. She then lunged at Molly. Flashing in her hand, she readied her sword. Readily aware of the old woman’s motives, the table and expanse of the room provided Molly ample space to avoid any serious threat. Quick to defend herself and working to keep her distracted, the cat dove at the old woman’s legs. Tearing into her with savage abandon, Hennessy connected. Dropping to one knee at the initial attack, she was able to avoid some of the second ground assault, turned, and ran for the door. The telltale slashes of the cats claws smeared with blood. Hennessy chased after her, slamming into the front door as it closed behind her. With a quick shake of his fur, the orange tabby returned to the kitchen triumphant. Molly picked up her old friend and congratulated his quick thinking and courageous actions. They shared a moment regarding how to process the events and decided it might be better to let everything calm down and do it another time. Once Molly cleared up the broken dishes, only one thing remained. The plate full of scones survived the attack. Warily picking them up, she deposited them into the garbage, plate and all.
Allison had tried all manner of ways to make sense of her location. She whistled and yelled to find an echo. She ran in each direction on the compass. She dug into the soil but found that just as frustrating as the situation with the grass. For an unknown reason, this place contained counterfeit reproductions, made intentionally to create some sort of illusion. Allison took notice that each blade of grass were identical to one another. Not closely related but exact duplicates. Knowing that this phenomenon did not occur in nature, regardless of the planet. This made her very curious. The earlier feeling about this place continued to grow more pronounced and well defined. She abruptly clapped her hands together. A burst of energy rocketed outwards at an incredible rate of speed. Travelling through the grass, up the mountainsides and into the trees. Certain that her magic worked, Allison found that the landscape had absorbed all of it. She knew this because both the waterfall and breeze were unaffected. Now at a loss to explain this world and the laws governing it, she did not feel discouraged. Much the opposite, this happened to be such a serious contradiction to the natural order of things, as she understood them. Allison came to the decision that she required some inner reflection. Sitting in the now chin high grass, she took all the information gathered thus far and meditated on the specific intention and meaning of this place. She just let go and allowed opportunities to present themselves. After a considerable period, she opened her eyes. Nothing looked to have changed. A collection of farfetched ideas had come and gone during her introspection. However, within that, something had begun to percolate. Standing up, she clearly felt the ground beneath her feet now. In the middle of that sensation, something else happened; it looked like movement. Despite the distance, Allison was confident that she had seen it somewhere before. Prior to her next thought about it, the apparition vapourized. Excited by the introduction of a new feature, she decided to walk again. Allison knew the planet by its signature motion before she took her first step. The world surrounding her had to be a deliberate illusion. That much she knew; anything else would be speculation. Instead of walking in straight lines, she varied her progress by walking in wide exaggerated S-patterns. Allison considered this might give her a better line of sight in case the image came back. Unable to measure her distance travelled, she persevered. Then, for the briefest of moments, a familiar shape appeared that had been in a dream. When she turned her head to face it, the image disappeared. It required another twenty times, playing out the same routine, before Allison recognized that something was using memories to guide her. It did not matter about the laws of nature or the fabricated environment. Even if she could get a good look at it, she could not move in any way without it hiding. Thinking in nonspecific terms, the answer finally came to her. Almost embarrassed for not realizing it sooner, it occurred to her that she had known it all along. Standing still, Allison waited for the shape to reappear. In a matter of minutes, out of the corner of her left eye, she saw the apparition. This time it showed its true self; the black shadowy figure from her daydream. Without any excessive movements, Allison shuffled slowly in the direction of the figure. She took great care not to move too quickly. Knowing the measurement of time meant nothing here; she gauged her progress by counting her steps. At fifty paces, she could not define any change in distance. At three hundred, the distance decreased dramatically. Focused on the task and suppressing her emotions, Allison did not let her concentration wander. By six hundred and fifty, she could see more than just the shadowy figure. She saw a remarkable looking man, haggard and emaciated, leaning heavily on a staff. The black cloak he wore was now nothing more than tattered rags, the breeze exposing the threadbare holes. Close enough to call out to him Allison held her tongue, for fear of scaring him off. She could not comprehend why he consistently turned away from her. He had to know who she was, if not the reason for her summons. The grass abruptly ended, having reached what appeared to be the edge of his camp. It consisted of nothing more than a small shelter and a decrepit fire pit but little else. When she cleared the edge of the grasslands, the figure moved. She froze mid step. Using his staff more like a crutch, he favoured his left side with a severe limp. Motionless, she watched the man struggle as he entered his abode. Undeterred by his difficulty moving, Allison held fast until she felt safe to continue. Proceeding with caution until she stood at the threshold of the haphazard door. Laced together with narrow slats of wood and a thin gauze like material, the handle was a small bone tied with a piece of faded red sinew. Without knocking, she pulled it open and stepped inside.
Much to Allison’s surprise, the interior delivered an overwhelming assault on her senses. She could smell at least two dozen unique scents. Impregnated with various light sources, the black walls came to life. Three small orbs floated around the room. They changed colour and shape, melting into one orb, and then splitting into three again. The figure from her daydream knelt in a corner. Uncertain of his motivation, Allison decided the smart thing to do would be to let him finish. Technically an intruder, she found a spot on the floor and sat down. The Nido was awake and took full advantage of such unparalleled access to the fantastic. Sensing his movement before it happened; she sat up straight. The scraping sound of his staff against the hard ground signaled the dark figure's intention of standing. Allison remained, conscious of her position, yet unsure of his motive for bringing her here. She did not understand that if he had the ability to drill down into her dreams with such accuracy, why go to all the effort to call her here on some obscure channel. Cutting the thought short, Allison got a much closer look at the injuries the figure sustained. Finding herself awestruck that he survived them, let alone having the ability to get around. His left arm had atrophied and rendered useless. The deep scars he bore on his thigh muscles crippled him, accounting for the pronounced limp. His chest, arms and shoulders carried further examples of serious wounds sustained a lifetime ago. Allison watched him closely making his way around the small room. He appeared to be looking for something. Methodically pushing boxes and assorted containers out of his way, until he found the object. Turning around, Allison saw his face clearly for the first time. Inhaling sharply, she considered screaming. The shock of seeing him was almost too much for her. His face did not match the age or weathering of his body. Worse still, she would have sworn that she recognized him. The effort to make the short walk from his bench to a spot across from Allison tripled as he endeavoured to sit down. Tapping his staff on the shallow depression in front of him, a meagre fire ignited. A long silence followed as the figure sat motionless. Nervous and excited at the same time, Allison tried every possible combination of magic she knew in an effort to read his mind. Repeatedly, she came up empty. The Nido failed as well, without as much as a whiff. His mind did not present as inaccessible it registered as a void. Giving up for the time being, she turned her attention to the actual figure sat across the fire from her. She noticed that he had a tendency to staring at the ground. She could only see the sides of his face. From what she had seen, somehow his face had not aged. The urgency surrounding this extraordinary event obligated Allison to speak. The words in her mind did not find their way out, blocked by an external force. Closing her mouth, the figure looked up at her. Everything became clear. Allison could not believe what she saw, simply too incredible for words. He told her why he had brought her to this place. He created it, an illusion frozen in time, to help him hold on to the Amkata he remembered. After escaping the Kenaima, he tried everything to undermine the Darkness. He began to experiment with dimensional phase travel but got lost along the way. He explained how he fractured his mind from an epic battle against time. He thought once that there might be a way through, but ended up here. His descriptions varied from the hypothetical to the hysterical. Little of what he said made any sense to her. Fascinated by his testimonial, Allison finally had the opportunity to ask a question.
“Who are you?”
The figure stopped everything. He seemed to wrestle with the question. She asked again, softer this time. She noticed a definite level of discomfort associated with her query. Looking down at the floor again, he made a sad attempt to hide. Allison felt a wave of empathy and kindness for the old man trapped here by design. Stepping around the fire, she knelt in front of him and took his worn, calloused hand in hers. She whispered,
“Who were you before time ravaged your mind?”
When he looked up at her, his eyes spoke volumes. The statement Edgar made echoed in her head as the answer sat before her. Allison found herself drawn in, staring deeply into the eyes of the old man. Devoid of colour, they told the true name. He knew he had traded his life so another could live. He eluded the Kenaima and the Darkness. He searched for answers in places too extreme to venture. A combination of failures brought him here. His dedication to the collective is all that sustains him now. Opening his hand, the old man presented an amulet. Forcing it upon her, she hesitantly accepted it. It was only then that he tried to explain to her why he previously made contact, as disconnected as it was. How he had seen her future or fragments of it at least and understood the necessity to warn her. Bringing her to this place allowed him to reinforce the warnings. She needed to be vigilant because forces beyond her comprehension were conspiring against her. All of the Orabona were in danger. Their lives, their freedoms, their very existence. A cancer had metastasized and now threatened them all. When Allison asked her final question, she spoke only one name.
“Petunia?”
His dark eyes flared. Confirming all of the specific worries, she and Charlie shared in horrific detail. She saw all of the evil deeds dating back to the beginning. She witnessed Petunia’s role in the continuous growth of the Darkness. The burden of truth threatened to be more than she could accept. Allison sensed a change, a paradigm shift, centered in her hand that held the amulet. She lifted it up by its chain, holding it at arm’s length. Reaching out his gnarled hand and touched it with a finger. When he pulled it away, it gave off a rich pomegranate radiance. Allison had never seen such a colour before. Suddenly his voice changed, telling her that the amulet guaranteed secure travel home. For her safety, their time together was over. To set the charm in motion, she only need put it around her neck. Allison looked at the wretched old man and knew she still wanted answers to questions she did not know how to ask. She gave up trying to negotiate for more time. She came here with a mountain of priorities left strewn across her desk. Allison also had a funny feeling that this experience lasted a lot longer that it seemed. A small part of her worried about the repercussions about running late. Knowing her stay had indeed ended; Allison touched the old man’s hand, and then slipped the amulet around her neck. Instantly, she started to fall backwards into the fire. Before she inhaled her next breath, she entered through infinite vortices furnishing a never-ending cascade of imagery. Conscious of her surrounding, Allison recognized the dreamscape before her, as a chronicle of the dark figures life story told in reverse. The hyper-immersive pictures impressed their sensation into her. Forced through the entire range of emotions, Allison tumbled repeatedly as the storyline persisted. The final story had a scene she was quite familiar with, only this time she knew who the characters were. It became self-evident, the further back it went. Feeling a shudder, as if she started to slow down, the imagery stopped. Familiar scents invaded her nasal cavity and the night air felt damp and cool. The next thing she knew, Allison stood in the centre of the driveway beside her house. The brake lights of the Subaru were on, and then went out. The driver’s door burst open and in all of four paces, her mother was close enough to touch.
Worried sick, it was nearly two days since Molly had heard from her daughter. Her phone went directly to voicemail and no one recalled seeing her. Charlie said that Allison called him the night before last but did not leave message. Molly waited up all night, then spent most of Sunday driving around, in hopes of finding her. Now at the peak of her anxiety, her daughter just decides to reappear; treating this like it is some kind of game. When she saw her standing behind the car, she jumped out fully prepared to have it out for the last time. As she approached her daughter, warning bells sounded. A closer look revealed Allison was in some sort of distress. Only then did Molly notice that something was seriously wrong. Filthy, shaking and exhausted, she supported her child into the house. Laying her down on the laundry room floor, she tried to make her as comfortable as possible.
“Ally honey, where have you been? I have been looking for you in every place I could think of.”
Taking her mother’s hand in hers, Allison held back her tears long enough to whisper,
“Mommy, there is something I need to tell you.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

In full flight of the menacing feline, the instant she cleared the threshold, the doorframe shook from the authoritative force that closed it. Petunia felt it to be a brusque but fitting exclamation on what became the decision to hasten her objective. With every step toward home, the pressure in her chest grew. It distracted her thoughts. She knew exactly what caused it but managing the firestorm almost killed her. Arriving on her front step, the inner dysfunction she carried, quickly approached critical mass. Walking through the entrance, Petunia turned and pressed the door closed. Throughout the agonizing return home, her outward appearance remained the usual stoic façade. Her internal purgatory thundered, threatening to self-destruct at any moment. The Darkness did not control these sensations. They existed as part of the perpetual inner battle of being a half-breed. Suppressing it as best she knew how, Petunia navigated the narrow pathways through the house. The limited access and confined space felt more like a warren than a home. She would not miss this or any other aspect. In her dressing room, the quiet privacy helped her to calm down. Outraged and appalled by the earlier part of her day, it did nothing but expose her insecurities and lack of preparation. Going in, the plan seemed so simple. Tea with the mother of the child that somehow interfered with her life’s work. She hoped that Molly would freely offer some information to substantiate her assumptions. If not, the scones, her offering of kindness, should have helped her to remember anything useful. Petunia knew she did not have control over her two individual halves. An impure bastard born of human father and Orabona mother, Petunia was the unfortunate recipient of two sets of incompatible genetic material. As she aged, Petunia fought with herself from time to time. Now, it was a constant battle. That inability to manage herself undid the teatime visit. Her rage fuelled human side clashed against strong opposition from the Orabona side. This led to her missing the silent attack until the cat landed on the table. She wanted nothing more than to wring the little monsters’ neck. Facing the wall, she mindlessly undid the buttons on her stained dress and let it fall. She attended to the deep wounds on her calves and ankles. Cleaning the blood off her skin was an obvious example that she had played the wrong cards. Now she was cornered. Left with only a single play, Petunia had no choice but to attack on all fronts at the same time. She put her face in her hands. She wanted to scream. Just as her mother did whilst being butchered trying to protect her. Despite her tiredness, anger and frustration, she could not help consider her next move. A complex order of operations required delicate handling. Standing in the grey shadows with the soiled dress around her ankles, despair started to overcrowd her being. Subsequently, everything inside of her came to a halt. The malice, the sorrow, the tortured feelings. Her sight dimmed, her breathing slowed. With reluctance, her heart stopped beating. The extent of the agony was merciless, leaving her upright, clinically dead, yet unable to die. Immobilized but conscious, Petunia registered what the first few seconds of eternity in the abyss would feel like. The apoplectic cauldron that contained the crucial fragments of the two separate races, comprising her unnatural structure, did not stop churning. It boiled deep within her guts. Starved for breath, she could not bear to watch if this was how her life ended. The severity of the pain already started to take its toll, as a new type of pressure invaded her body. The cruelest persecution yet; it felt like every cell was distended, ready to burst. The relentless ordeal continued until a sudden spasm within the cauldron that brought Petunia back to life. With it came an entirely new perspective, allowing her to see beyond her shortcomings. Fresh ideas percolated up from the surface of her mind, crystallizing and forming divergent patterns. With this new internal metamorphosis, Petunia could focus her attention. Things started to take shape and fit together nicely. She could almost not believe its simplicity. It gave her a clear direction toward the one person, the only family that dared interfere with her ambitions. The insult she suffered at tea would pale in comparison to the suffering and heartache soon to befall the Hannaburg family. She kicked the dress aside. Putting on something far more appropriate for her next task, she now had a wellspring of purpose and motivation. Time factored greatly in her decision making now. Never having enough of it, she could not waste a second. In light of the multiple, indirect connections with her dealings on Amkata and the girl, too many too close together to be a coincidence, it made her nervous and angry. Petunia had no other option but to take drastic measures. Wanting to use her last days on Earth wisely, Petunia thought that her best option was using concurrent strikes at multiple targets. Two separate but equally important tasks required her attention to complete before anything else could go forward. Several phone calls later, she activated members of her personal militia. With one thing checked off her internal list, she returned to the labyrinth that made up the interior of the house. She harnessed her excitement as she looked down the hallway to her husband’s study. The ill-fitting door revealed the soft shadows of its occupation with his form. Petunia anticipated that she had six hours before he would emerge again. Pulling a frayed piece of twine, a florescent bulb flickered. Without a second thought, she turned down to the root cellar, this time with a certainty that would sustain her.
Graham received a notice from the council early the same morning he completed his last shift of his two-week stretch. With only a half day of work, he intended to read it while waiting for his flight. Good intentions aside, he did not get around to reading it until in the taxi en route home from the airport. A message from Molly said she could not pick him up and to come straight home. His paternal instinct made him think that Allison must be the reason why. He laughed to himself until he read the Masters dispatch. To say the least, he found it out of the ordinary. He should have realized something was up at the beginning with the level of security required just to access the notice. He did not know what to make of it. There must be some serious concern with the extent they went to keep it secure. They had some extraordinary information. At that moment, the cab passed a train moving in the opposite direction. The colourful grain cars looked poetic against the midday prairie sky. It reminded him of a song; he knew the tune but the lyrics eluded him. Reading the message for the third time, Graham grasped an unprecedented move like this suggested far more than general anxiety. It troubled him, that he could not discuss it with anyone. He did not know how Molly could not be a part of this. Upon reflection, Graham recognized why their directive came only to the people it did. It must be that the Masters do not know the miscreants identity, nor do they have enough to make an educated guess. Some of the mandated bullet points seemed a bit reactionary and overdone. ‘All routines must be augmented’. His current forty-five minute cab ride should be broken into two separate pieces. ‘Alternate routes should be considered’. With only one way in and out of the airport. This would prove to be a real chore. Reviewing the six other suggestions, Graham laughed at the absurdity of it all. Pulling up to the curb, he paid the driver, grabbed his bags and laughed all the way, until he walked through the front door. He could tell instantly that something was not right. Putting his bags down, something nudged his leg. Hennessy greeted him, leading him to where the women had sequestered themselves. He wanted to ask the most obvious question, but tried to get a read on the situation first. The only thing he could gather registered as confusion. Identifying that the problem ran deeper than he imagined, he knelt down and said,
“Tell me what I can do.”
Molly spoke first, her voice lacking its usual conviction.
“Allison can teleport.” He knew that already but the way she spoke those three words seemed indicative of a much larger story. Graham waited as his wife searched for her next statement.
“Sixty light years away from here. Is that not something Graham?” Her voice sounded as if the idea was initially too much to believe, but then something changed. Perhaps she had proof that it was actually true. Graham had arrived at the moment when the reality of it all was beginning to sink in.
“What do you mean sixty light years, Molly?”
Appearing without notice, Allison put her hand on her mother's arm as she went to answer. In all the time he had known his wife, Graham could not recall her being so lost for words. Allison motioned for her parents to sit down as it seemed clear she had something to say.
“Dad, I am going to tell you what I told mom. You just have to promise not to freak out.”
“Is that what your mom did?” he asked.
“Kind of, plus she invited Petunia in for tea today, and well things just went sideways. She has had quite the day.”
“Petunia, Edgar’s wife? Isn’t she just an old house frau?”
“We will get to that later. First, you have to promise.”
“Okay, sure, I promise. Now what does sixty light years have to do with anything?” The instant he asked the question, the familiar measure of distance came clearly into focus, as things began to take shape. Outside the scope of his imagination, Graham grappled with what, he felt certain, might be the answer. Allison read every word of his thoughts and tried to make it easier for him.
“Remember a couple of weeks ago, you asked how far I could go, you know, teleport like? Well, with some assistance, I went all the way to Amkata, or at least it felt that way.”
The room went quiet, not even the wall clock dared to tick for half a minute.
“I am sorry Allison. It sounded like you said you went to Amkata?”
“Yes, I have been four times now.”
The look on her father’s face matched the one on her mother's. He abruptly sat with his hands folded in his lap, like a little boy. She knew hearing these things created waves in her parent's minds. They needed to find out sometime, but not like this. The sudden change in Petunia’s strategy caused Allison to review her own. This necessitated the accelerated conveyance of her private knowledge upon her parents without a filter. In an attempt to bring him out of his daze, she reached over, took his hand and shook it gently. Graham got up and hugged his daughter. Really hugged her. He then sat down beside his wife and whispered something that made her smile.
“Like I told mom earlier, I need to provide some background on my adventures. I do not know if it will make it any easier for you, but it gives some context that will assist in understanding how we all ended up here.”
Allison outlined the discovery of the portal and her first few adventures. She talked at length about how being on Amkata made her feel stronger, more refined and alive. She explained how crossing over made the connection to a place she somehow experienced, but never knew existed. Allison noticed the expression on her father’s face change when she spoke of the cathedral giving up its secrets to her.
“What do you know dad? Something I said made you recall an old memory,” she asked, putting him on the spot.
“You will have to ask Edgar about this, but I believe it was our ancestors who built that cathedral. Perhaps that is the connection?”
His answer came as a surprise because it had never come up. She made a note to ask the old man next time. She provided unedited details of the battle scenes. Her father sat in awe as she relayed specific details about their weapons, outfits and most of all their names. She easily named fifty Orabona from eight different families. She described how they courageously fought in a battle where they had no prospect of victory. Allison described the things she saw with tenderness and emotion, easily portraying the decimated landscape with the words of poet. She met every mention of the grey smear of the Darkness with distain and purpose. She bemoaned her inability to find its location due to the impossible weather conditions. Allison left her cousin out of the discussion for his own good. The narrative about the walkway to the second portal, and what she found there made for some creative storytelling. She knew her father understood what she delicately tried not to say. When she recited the words Nana Rose told her, the scope of the grisly business related to the Darkness became apparent. This opened up the start of seeing Petunia as the guilty party. Only having circumstantial evidence, it became a necessity to find something concrete. For some reason, Allison felt it was vital to tell her father that she caught a bolt of lightning. As impressed as Graham looked by her amazing feat, something about this part of the story did not hold up. He put his hand up for a pause. Giving her father a moment to absorb the whirlwind of information, she happily waited. Parsing the information in his own strange way, he worked through what she had said. The last part felt different from the rest of the story; edited almost. Therefore, having collected his ideas together, he asked his daughter to tell the whole story. Allison, unfamiliar with lying and certainly not to her parents on purpose, hesitated.
“I cannot because I am protecting someone and I do not want to get them in trouble.”
“Do you mean Charlie honey?” asked her mother from within her husband’s embrace. “It’s okay, Kelly called me several weeks ago, wondering if you two were up to something. Charlie could not explain what had happened to a pair of filthy, torn rain pants.”
“Were they yellow?”
Her mother nodded. Allison muttered a curse under her breath. Careful as she tried to be, more people would soon find out. She did not have the plan fully formed yet. She also could not risk anyone messing around in a place that she could barely manage herself.
“Yes, Charlie. He thought it might be Petunia before I did. He recognized her eyeglasses and found a distinct candy wrapper that she often eats.”
“Did you actually catch lightning then?”
“Yes, but only because Charlie stepped out of line. He is a great partner and far more brave than he gets credit for.”
Both parents look at one another, but could not come up with a question between them.
“But all of this pales in comparison to what I just experienced.”
Allison explained the bizarre daydream she took part in a few weeks back. She described how none of it made any sense, as one scene plunged headlong into another. An apparent message in the form of a conundrum, seemingly intended to provide some assistance in her time of need. Allison had put it away in her memory for closer review when she had the time.
“Then the day before yesterday, I felt compelled to go back to Amkata, or at least a place I believed it to be. The usual method did not work for some reason, so I thought about using my ability to teleport. It worked, but not as I had imagined.” Allison explained to her father the intricate detail of the world she happened upon. She told him what she did to find her way to camp and how she used clues from other experiences to solve the riddle. Allison took a short break before the final part of the story. She explained how the cloaked figure confirmed the dreadful actions of Petunia, dating back centuries.
“He knew the most incredible things, but could not put them in any functional order. When I tried to read his mind, it looked like a million index cards, each with detailed information, blown across a barren desert by hurricane force winds. I was brought there because he wanted to enlighten me to the terrifying things that hide in the shadows.” Allison related the strange conduit that opened when she put on the amulet. The blaze of red pomegranate energy protected her, providing enough energy to deliver her back home. What he did not tell her came as an awakening. The amulet felt fragile, like it was supra ancient, having almost no mass. The instant she put it around her neck, whatever power it contained surrounded her. Allison felt the sudden sensation of sitting at the top of an enormous slide. Falling backwards into the fire, the amulet opened up inside of her. The environment moved slowly in the beginning, and then took off racing. Just as a flower blossom exposes every petal to the warmth of the sun, the amulet worked in reverse. It told the story of the cloaked figure and his shattered mind. As she began to fall through the fire, it stepped backward in time. Chronologically, it depicted how he ended up trapped by Time and the development of the counterfeit world. It illuminated the battles he fought, locked in endless loops as his mind twisted and fractured under the constant pressure. She never felt the heat from the flames, yet the story endured. The location of the imagery looked more familiar. The figure emerged considerably younger now. His injuries were more severe than the weathered scars he currently wore. He moved constantly, as if a target. Maybe, not so much a target but as prey. The next moment back in time offered telltale signs, so obvious, that Allison wondered how she could have missed them in the first place. The massive trauma to his left side, using a staff to get around. In constant motion to avoid the relentless Kenaima. The next images went back another step, confirming what she only dared to dream. The amulet showed clearly the sled he constructed, to pull his sister to safety. Allison saved the most dramatic twist for last, when she recognized the girl to be Olstair, meaning, that the cloaked figure could be none other than… It hit them like a punch in the gut. The amulet then delivered on its promise. As she crashed into the fire sixty light years away, she appeared in the middle of the driveway back home. The story ended there. No one spoke. Hennessy sat at the edge of the living room cleaning his face as he listened to the entire story. Sauntering in unnoticed, he made himself comfortable on the vibrant area rug. Certain of his personal message, he only hedged on when to deliver it. Giving the family a little more time to reflect, he scratched an itch behind his ear. Feline patience was not nearly as developed as the Orabona, so he decided to make his statement. Sitting up straight with his front paws boarding his belly, his orange and white ringed tail snapped back and forth; a sure sign of his rancor. He cleared his throat; each of the Hannaburgs took notice and sat up. These rare moments when Hennessy spoke first, always surpassed expectations.
“Family, in light of these spectacular revelations, I believe there is an order to which we must process them. Of paramount importance is Allison’s security. You have now an energy of unknown means. If Petunia's power is in fact connected to the Darkness, as I fear, it is not to be aggravated. As powerful as you are child, your opponent is an immoral force of catastrophic proportions, which has kept the Orabona at bay for two millennia. I mention your security because if Ghrakib himself sought you out to provide assistance in your time of need, it is evident this exceeds personal concern. We must view his awareness of the future with limited confidence. The reality is that we need to take this seriously. It is necessary to consult to with Edgar and bring him up to speed. On a similar note, despite his condition if her brother is still alive, this is fantastic news. Nana Rose should be told as well.”
Two conversations started as soon as he stopped talking. Allison sat and watched her parents talk about the same thing from opposite positions; finally arguing over whether it should be twelve or a dozen. Graham finally broke the deadlock. Seeing it was his mother they were talking about, his first statement came out harshly; far more so than intended.
“I guess someone should let her know. It has only been 1500 years so since she thought he died saving her. Now to come back like this? How is she supposed to react? She has always blamed herself for his death.” His voice trailed off as the reality of his existence started to sink in. Molly put her hand on his and offered,
“I am seeing your folks tomorrow for lunch. I could find a delicate way to bring it up and see how she reacts?”
After saying it, Molly wondered how she might open a conversation like that. Hennessy turned away, as he started to cough, fighting with a nagging hairball. When he calmed down, he shook his fur and carried on.
“I should be the one to tell her Graham. Your mother came to me soon after her rescue. She regretted risking going back to Amkata due in part to her excitement fuelling her lack of preparation, which in turn led her brother to come looking for her.”
“How old are you?” Allison blurted out. The look she received from Hennessy said more than the looks from her parents. Putting her hands up in surrender, she retreated to the corner of the sofa. In the final matter regarding Nana Rose, they agreed that both Hennessy and Molly would share the duty. Graham found the whole idea a little too hard to swallow and needed time to process it all. His long relationship with Nana Rose plus his ability to distance himself emotionally, Hennessy would be able to deliver the news, as they had it, without fear of a meltdown. Molly did not fear herself breaking down, but knew the importance of being there for moral support. She encouraged Graham and Allison to spend some time together. Tomorrow afternoon they would all meet up to have some dinner and formulate a plan. None of them could decide what to call the actual news. It had the potential to be very good if everything worked out. Currently, it sounded more like what a surgeon might say to make you feel better about really bad prognosis,
“It is good news because we only have to amputate from the knee down. It’s not like it’s the whole leg.”
Even Allison, having experienced the entire event, did not know what to make of it. While her parents discussed the details of the feline’s proposal, she tried to get comfortable. In a spot that embodied comfort, with soft cushions, pillows and plush fabric, it felt no different to her from concrete. It was the first time that Allison considered the reality of Petunia and that she knew something about them being on Amkata. It settled into her bones just long enough for her to take it seriously. What she needed to do was alert Charlie about what happened here. The meeting broke unexpectedly when Hennessy left, requiring as much time as possible to gather information in preparation of meeting with Edgar. The more Allison tried not to think about what she experienced, the worse it became. Even after having lived through it and since then replaying it twice, her mind could not let go of the images. The collection of powers, good or evil, that imperiled her journey, did nothing more than wear her out. She never wanted this. As fun as it seemed, it felt more like a burden. Closing her eyes, Allison tried to relax on the concrete sofa. She let her mind uncouple in hopes of getting a little bit of peace. One frame of her mind saw sun kissed, windswept vistas, then the aurora borealis; while the other side wondered why she did not remember the time between arriving in the driveway and her mother explaining the mystifying visit from Petunia. It started with just a quick reflection. Like a scab, the minute she started picking at it, she would not be able to stop until she got it all. Her thought quickly grew roots and demanded resolution. This required complete brain participation, dousing the Northern lights and their peaceful sentiment for the time being. She searched back through the hours since she arrived home. Everything fell into order except for about thirty minutes or so. She remembered seeing her mother in the driveway and getting help into the house, then it went black. This type of event had never happened to her before. Allison ventured many different approaches to unlock that period from her memory. On all accounts, it were as if it never existed. The only problem with that hypothesis was that she existed prior to and immediately after it. So logic maintained that she must have been here as well. At the fringes of her patience, Allison broke down and finally asked her mother. Molly suddenly became very serious. Squeezing Graham’s hand, she said,
“I almost lost you for a minute there when you got home. I do not have any idea what caused it. Fortunately, I was there and acted quickly; you are here and that is that.”
“What are you talking about mom, I mean, like seriously?” Allison extended the last few syllables for effect.
“I held you up until we got inside. I managed to grab you under the arms as we limped awkwardly into the laundry room. I lay you down, then raced into the kitchen. When I returned you were starting to drift in and out of consciousness. I laid you on the floor and tried to wash the ashes off your face. You were speaking so softly, I could barely hear you. Unable to make any of it out, I just patted your cheeks and forehead. Whatever you said, those few words could have been your last. Without warning, your body became rigid and you stopped breathing. Ginger coloured bubbles started to fill your mouth. Thinking about it now, it caught me completely off guard, at least initially. The fear I expected never materialized. The intrinsic inculcation that permeates every Orabona instantly took over. I became your rescuer. I unbuckled your jacket and pulled it open. I rolled up my sleeves and rubbed the symbol that delivers lifesaving care. My left hand filled with tiny beads. Their pink colour and sticky texture took me by surprise. I pressed them hard into your chest. They dissolved and I watched as the colourful energy surged through you. Once it found the cause of your sickness, it raged with intention until it, it…” Molly turned away and brushed a stray tear from the corner of her eye. Allison hung on every word. Graham hung on to her hand as she pressed on.
“It cured whatever made you so ill. Never having used the symbol before, I did not know what to expect. Even before I pressed the magic into you, I knew that the phenomenon that tried to take your life did not stand a chance. I felt it. In a matter of minutes, you tried to stand up. You only got to your knees before a violent retching paroxysm gripped you. I tried to help you further but this you had to overcome yourself. I held you as you gasped for breath, almost choking until a foreign substance appeared. You spit the resulting slimy matter on to the floor. It looked like the remnants of the ginger bubbles I witnessed earlier. Before I could clean them up, they evaporated. At the same time, I held my breath waiting for you to come back to life. When you finally found your voice, the first thing you said came as a considerable shock.”
“I said why did you let Petunia in the house, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and do you know what I found the most troubling about it, aside from your near death experience?”
Allison shrugged her shoulders. Meanwhile, Graham thoroughly engrossed in the compelling story, sat on the edge of his seat.
“How did you know that Petunia had been here? Having spent less than thirty minutes here, nearly thirty-six hours beforehand, where she only visited the kitchen and front hall. Then you come to and ask why I let her in?” Molly felt the sheer gravity of the last two days weighing heavily on her. A substantial number of unanswered questions remained. That along with the frustration of having no idea what strange reality suddenly sideswiped their lives. Allison, sensing her strain on her mother’s nerves, gently contemplated an answer that might give her some clarity.
“To answer your question mom, regarding Petunia; I could smell her everywhere, the instant I took my first breath. The same way you know someone painted a room in a house with cheap paint. The stink just lingers. I am sure that is how Hennessy knew to attack, no matter the cost. That is one smart cat.”
The Hannaburg family decided to revisit this extraordinary change of both course and direction, in the morning. With good nights exchanged, Allison sat in the small bay window of her bedroom, the center pane ajar, waiting for the return of the house protector. She needed some answers to the questions she finally knew how to ask.
During the multiple unsanctioned and illegal tests she performed, Petunia finally experimented with the toxin she developed over the course of hundreds of years. The hapless subjects chosen for field trials did so without knowledge or consent. The seven Orabona provided a tiny sample of male and female, elders and youth. They all received various dosages, and then monitored for reactions. The panel of manifestations that indicated specific physical responses saw almost no change. The illicit reactions came from the psychological and mental aspects of the subjects. Two of the seven suffered complex and complete degeneration of their cerebral matter, which ended their lives. The remaining five experienced varied degrees of mental deterioration. Regardless of age or sex, the characteristics most affected were memory, speech and cognition. Deeper examinations showed that all but one could no longer read or write. They all exhibited great difficulty completing simple tasks. With the loss of their fine motor skills, Petunia equated the mental capacity to that of a toddler. Chemical analysis showed that in every subject, the toxin fused with a specific protein, attempting to rearrange or filter the blood useless as the integration was permanent. The seventh subject retained some greater abilities but held no concern for the trials. A secondary dosage given to the outlier confirmed that all seven succumbed, providing a one hundred percent success rate. Petunia felt confident that the toxin met all of the metrics and criteria she required. The next problem was a much greater challenge. She needed a failsafe delivery system that came with a long list of conditions. A compulsory single dose was destined for the Hannaburg girl. The physical setting of the event along with the specific position of the injection site were immaterial. If the procedure went according to plan and left the girl fully dosed, everything else would fall into place. Requiring an alibi, Petunia planned to be away when the event took place. It ought to look like she had nothing to do with it. She measured a number of other issues that, with some planning, would sort themselves out. The method of delivery plagued her. An innocent, glancing blow would not suffice. With just a single dose remaining, it had to be exact and guaranteed. Holding the small vial of milky white liquid up to the light, Petunia stared through it in hopes of finding the answer on the other side. Giving in for the time being, she looked around the sixteen by sixteen foot room that housed her sanctuary for the past eighty-five years. Knowing that this visit to the cellar would be her last, a thin wisp of sentiment escaped her stolid exterior. She followed an obsessive regiment when she collected any excess and unused materials from her experiments. Regardless of the science, she methodically cleaned, sanitized and left absolutely no trace of her dealings. Fear continued to motivate her, but she refused to be a slave to it. She had but one Master. She intended to keep people guessing, and if she ever became a suspect, the lack of evidence would exonerate her. Petunia knew that the human ego required constant attention and maintenance but she would not indulge it because she did not care. Through all their years together, Edgar had never once asked about what she tended to in the cellar. Little did he know that his neat homemaker had developed a plant with a flower capable of producing a poison so destructive, that it could liquefy the brains of a healthy Orabona. Without recognizing it, her ego reappeared. It had the tendency to show up unannounced. A wave of disappointment hit Petunia, surrounding her inability to mass-produce the fragile flowers her plant yielded. She pushed the feeling aside for the time being, as she needed to focus on completing her final task. Putting the vial away for safekeeping, Petunia set out to decontaminate and sterilize the room one last time. It would be insurance against, what would certainly be, an investigation in the very near future. She got down on her hands and knees to begin her systematic, hard target search.

Graham turned off the lamp and lay flat on his back. Molly lay beside him reading a massive text on a subject he could not pretend to understand. Staring at the textured ceiling, it looked faintly similar to upside down meringue. It also collected the cobwebs. Any attempt to clean the ceiling served to expose the fragility of the texture, which then required a vacuum to pick up the plaster dust. Textured ceilings indeed, he thought. The past eight hours revealed how quickly life can twist and turn. The complete Petunia saga did not seem possible because of her proximity to Edgar. It just created so many questions; how did she hide her evil dealings from one of the most respected Orabona? He then thought that if someone was so motivated, could easily live a separate life under a partners’ nose. It came across as utterly perplexing considering Edgar’s office. The real statement of the evening regarded his daughter. He had compartmentalized all of what he heard tonight, fully intending to deal with both it and Allison first thing in the morning.
Having dealt with the unfinished business, he listened as Molly turned another page. He knew when the book she was reading held her attention by the way she turned the pages. If the book connected, they turned very slowly. He imagined, in the last half of the page, her fingers would find the correct location. As she got closer to the end of the final paragraph, with each passing word, an incremental shift in pressure registered in her fingers. With the page starting to bend, at the final word, the page tore across, sitting atop the previous, providing unfettered access to the first word at the top of the next page. The process repeated itself in another page and a half. Graham had listened to her turn millions of them over the years. The rhythmic sound filled him with a tremendous sense of peace. Unfortunately, an obstruction thwarted his capability to experience the calm he longed for. Instead, he wrestled with the terms of the message he received in the taxi on the ride home. The gravity of the council’s proposal came as a surprise. It required serious scrutiny and analysis, but now with the new information, it all made sense. It made him think about things that only occurred in bad dreams. It was unfathomable that one of their own planned a systemic annihilation of the Orabona race. Graham decided that Molly needed to know about the message. He waited for her page turning to slow. When she finished with her book, he sat up and told her the story. Over the next ten minutes, by virtue of telling his wife, he had broken his oath of secrecy. In light of recent events, Graham figured that the council would issue him a pass on this one.
After waking up just past midnight, Allison spent forty-five minutes trying to get comfortable again. Getting out of bed, an intolerable feeling settled upon her. Having been there all day, it was only now that she could feel it. Hennessy, in his own way, tried to address it somewhat the night before, but in doing so only confused the issue. Allison could manage it for the time being. She really just needed to prioritize her thoughts. The plans to retake Amkata required serious deliberation with a caucus, with time to organize the structure and requirements. It remained fluid for the time being and required Charlie’s insight. The Petunia issue deteriorated in the last day. Allison feared, with the current state of her irrational behaviour, that she might explode if she found out that the entire Hannaburg family knew of her perverse scheme. This only added to the uncertainty of how to address these findings to Edgar. Exposing his wife as a cruel villain was not a simple matter. The more she weighed her options, only a straightforward approach would do. Allison would have to lay out the facts as she knew them and let Edgar come to his own conclusions. In addition to all of this, Allison had homework to do, a social life and other, less pressing, measures. Planning the Orabona return and the Petunia matter alone took up more of her time than necessary. It is not that she felt overwhelmed. Quite the opposite, she felt stalled.
The next time she woke up, Allison found herself curled up on the floor with her blanket and several stuffed animals. Feeling poorly, she headed directly for the shower. Toweling off minutes later, feeling nothing more than cold and wet, she got dressed and went in search of food. Entering the kitchen, she got a surprise.
“Put your shoes on Ally, we are going for late breakfast out, just you and me.”
Complying with her father’s request, she sat in the passenger seat, listening to the radio, feeling the motion of the truck on the road. She returned to her earlier thought. In this time of inactivity, with so many things on the horizon, she desperately wanted to get on with something. The toll of her adventuring had caught up with her, supplying burdens for any imagination. The Nido presented her the opportunity to think like a warrior. Its presentation enabled her to gather the complex details of what she already knew. This master class solidified all of what she believed to be true, measured against the collective for confirmation. A sense of urgency combined with nervous excitement enticed her to return to Ghrakib’s abode for a more detailed explanation. Suddenly something caught her eye.
“There it is, the big ‘G’,” her father exclaimed, turning into the busy parking lot.
By the top of the hour, father and daughter sat across from one another at a faded pink Formica table. Eating at the recognizable landmark of Gord’s Diner, turned out to be a first for both of them.
“A mechanic I work with swears this is the only place to eat breakfast in town,” her father proclaimed with a little too much excitement for the morning. After ordering, Allison looked around, finding the décor strange. It appeared as if three different people decorated it. Old album covers made up the top layer. They encircled the entire restaurant, bringing a curious and idiosyncratic taste in music to the room. Below that, a garage themed display took over. Old service station paraphernalia, advertisements and traffic signs adorned the walls. A semi functioning three-bulb intersection stoplight stood between a display case and the cash register. The final and strangest motif centered on aviation. Rows and rows of model aircraft sat on dusty shelves amid the album jackets and Chevron signs. Allison felt that the shelves existed before anything else and out of respect, remained untouched. That did not explain the bona fide airplane wing suspended from the ceiling. At twenty-three feet in length, she thought a plane must have crashed here and they just built the diner around it. She hoped the faith her father’s friend held it the food paid off.
“What’s with the overhead wing dad?” she asked, hopeful he could shed some light on the minor mystery.
“I don’t know, but it sure looks cool. I will bet it is authentic; it kind of adds to the character of the place.”
She just shook her head at her father’s weird sense of taste. Before she could ask her next question, the waitress returned with their food. Stifled by her pungent cigarette based perfume, Allison hoped it was not a sign. Her first glance at her meal revived the mechanic’s praise. After her third bite, she became a believer in the faith of Gord’s holy diner.
Setting the fork down on the edge of his plate, Graham took a rare moment to admire his daughter. She looked different from the last time he had seen her in this kind of setting. Despite her hair needing some serious maintenance, he could only describe what he saw as elevated. He could not find the right words but recognized Allison now carried herself like a seasoned master; comfortable in her art, well trained and proficient. Her stories of the homeland, including the harrowing tales of what they found regarding the old woman, still sounded too implausible. If anyone else had told them, he might have found it too much to believe. However, just by watching his daughter this morning, her calm demeanour with those intense blue eyes, he knew all of what she told them was the absolute truth.
“Can I ask you something about the comment you made last night Ally?” he whispered across the table.
Wiping her mouth, she replied,
“Sure thing dad, what’s on your mind?”
“You said something about the impossible weather conditions. What did you mean by that exactly?”
For the next thirty-five minutes, Allison answered all of her father’s questions without hesitation. The conversation flowed naturally, as Graham passed no judgment on any of the decisions she had made. When she felt that he hesitated or chose not to ask certain questions, she found a way to include it in her next answer. Blown away by her openness, and in awe of her comprehension and history of Amkata, he found another level of appreciation for his daughter.
By early afternoon, the father daughter team had attended to all of the items on their list but one. That required a drive out to the orchard for two cases of apples. Every year for the past ten, Molly made apple pies, applesauce and other goodies from the apples of this particular orchard. The sun broke through the clouds making the drive along the winding country roads that much more enjoyable. The radio played over the sound of the wind rushing through the open windows. These moments happened far too infrequently for Allison because they were the ones she enjoyed the most. She did not have any reason to complain about anything. Deep down she longed for a different life, one free of the ongoing burdens, but she knew that was a dream that would never happen. Left only with her own brand of unique peculiarities and the heavy weight of the brewing storms on the horizon. Her concerns about them converging somehow felt all too possible. It left an awful taste in her mouth. She did not want to think about these things right now. She wanted a normal life, just as the kids at her school appeared to have. Where her father did not have to go away to work two thirds of the year. In the middle of Allison’s moment of self-pity, they came to a stop.
“I could really go for an apple,” her father joked, climbing out of the truck.
“You go dad,” she whispered under her breath. This same routine played out every year at this time. Allison followed a few steps behind, still ruminating about some alternative reality. They spent the next hour hand selecting the apples from the large bins that contained thousands of specimens fresh out of the orchard. Grading them by size and firmness first, she set them aside for her father’s final say so. Once they filled their two boxes, Graham wheeled them over to the scale to calculate the weight and payment. The old farmer who owned the orchard handed Allison a perfect apple. As she took it in her hand, she thought the satisfaction of her mighty breakfast left no room for the obligatory apple he always bestowed upon her. A strange moment suddenly flashed in the back of Allison's mind. Supplanted by an illusionary feeling of having already experienced this entire situation, it made Allison uncomfortable. It lapped at her heels like a warning, but the definition was all muddled. The apple always culminated the transaction, but this time it did not sit right. Following her father back to the truck, Allison thought the apple felt forced upon her. Holding it in her hand, she examined it as she had the five hundred or so that rode in the boxes in the back of the truck. Her father drove slowly through the orchard, back to the main road. Transfixed on the fruit, Allison did not move. Noticing his daughters’ preoccupation, he decided to ask,
“Well, are you going to eat it or save it for a special occasion?”
Allison gave him her standard look as she deliberated her reply.
“Something about this apple does not feel right.”
“It looks perfect to me,” her father replied.
“I know, a little too perfect for my liking. It comes across as odd to me, that’s all.”
At the end of the gravel road, where the open gate met the asphalt, Graham indicated a left hand turn. Allison caught herself before she spoke. She felt obligated to say something, but did not want to let on that she knew of the council’s directive. Allison wanted to suggest a secondary route home, but it seemed too transparent. She went to speak, and then hesitated, giving herself a moment to think.
“Did you say something Ally?” he asked, turning to face her, the left hand turn signal still blinking.
“Um, couldn’t we take the long way home? I think the sheep might be in the pasture down along Station Farms.” It was not much to work with but she found herself in a challenging position.
“Not today honey; it is already after four, plus the hour to get home from here. Maybe next time we are out this way, we can visit the sheep. I do not think they are going anywhere.”
Allison made her most disappointed face and held it for a three count.
“Really, but dad…aren’t you supposed to…” her voice trailed off, fearing her brain and mouth forgot their agreement.
“Supposed to what?” he asked, somewhat confused by her line of questioning.
“Oh, I don’t know, get these apples home quick?” she tried to sound as perky as possible.
Capitalizing on the absence of traffic, the elder Hannaburg turned the truck for home.
The first five miles felt like they were on a hamster wheel. It all looked the same, old wooden fences paralleled the two-lane road, and both sides were a continuous ribbon of green fields, small groves of maple trees and weathered farmhouses. Mailboxes stood on old fence posts, some colourful, others rusted through. At the speed they were travelling, the sound of the birds disappeared while the tranquility of the valley lived up to expectations. All of a sudden, Allison began to feel very uneasy; almost as if, they had just driven through some sort of invisible fabric. Her father appeared not to have noticed anything, but she knew they entered into an unnatural panoply, that was surrounding them. Watching the road ahead, Allison did not see anything out of the ordinary. Remaining hyper-vigilant, she gauged every corner or crest of a small rise with suspicion. Having tensed up, she almost wet her pants when a lone motorcycle shot past them. She had not heard the bike approaching, only as it went by. The apple the old man gave her suddenly annoyed the Nido. In an abrupt move, the apple flew out the window. Her father bemoaned the loss of a good piece of fruit but Allison was not listening. Since leaving the orchard, no one had passed them in the opposite direction. No one. This alone made her suspect an unknown enterprise. The motorcycle that raced past. The perfect apple. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the obscure puzzle pieces. In multi dimensions, she worked the angles, searching for an association. Repeatedly she endeavoured to find the thread that connected them. Lost in the framework of her mind, she did not hear the first words her father said, because she had figured it out. They were driving into some sort of snare, which started with the apple as a homing device plus the motorcycle for visual confirmation. Before Allison could tell her father to stop, Graham repeated his initial warning to hold on. The rapid deceleration of the truck, combined with overaggressive maneuvers, caused the pickup to spin out of control. Allison retained total control of her faculties, watching as centrifugal force disconnected her father’s hands from the steering wheel. She felt a shift in gravity push her deep into the seat. At the beginning of the second rotation, the truck began to make unfortunate sounds as pieces started to fail or give way. Knowing what she needed to do, Allison attempted to slow time. She fought to bring her hands together in the proper fashion, disabled by the violent spinning. Unable to clap, she denied her next thought because she could not leave her father at a time like this. Wishing the spinning would stop, the Ford smashed headlong into a concrete barrier.
Two small SUV’s pulled alongside the battered pickup. Five masked individuals rapidly exited and attended to the two unconscious passengers. The first three extracted the father, transporting him to the lead vehicle and drove off. The other two examined the girl for any serious injuries, finding nothing more than a bump on the head. Once they had confirmed she was the target, the pair began a well-choreographed undertaking. Working quickly with deliberate movements, they lifted the girl from the front seat and placed her on the ground. As the first removed her left sock and shoe, the second pressed a needle into a vial of milky white liquid. When the second met the first, the girls’ foot was prepared. In the swift movements of a professional, the needle entered between her second and third toes. The plunger emptied the syringe of its toxic contents. They then redressed her foot, returning the girl to the vehicle. Rushing back to their running SUV, the pair raced off. In the span of four minutes, everything turned upside down.
CHAPTER TWENTY

Like most things in Charlie’s life, music furnished him with considerable challenges. He played the drums; well enough to be in the school band. Initially, he did not understand all the components; the sheet music, rhythm or his bandmates. The commitment of three afternoon sessions a week hardly interfered with his otherwise barren social schedule. The most formidable aspect he faced centered on the beat. As the keeper of it, not only had it become an issue regarding his inability to count properly, but also served to drive the other students crazy. Secretly, he worked diligently to address his musical shortcomings, while attempting to overcome some of his more significant insecurities. Having secured his spot in the band again this year, Charlie tried to improve his drumming techniques. After a productive Friday practice, he almost started to believe that, for just once, things were going his way. He enjoyed the confidence and its benefits. The daily nonsense he found himself subjected to by his sociopathic middle sister, just bounced right off him. At dinnertime, much to the delight of his parents, he participated in the conversation for the first time in weeks. Furthermore, Charlie unexpectedly joined the family for movie night. Later, in his room, he put the final additions on a preparatory draft of the underground attack proposal. The weekend had been set aside to meet with his cousin and discuss the structure of the two corresponding game plans. He knew that they disagreed on several points and talking it over could not hurt. It meant progress and another step closer to making a major decision. He checked his phone as promised, with still no message. It was odd that Allison had not yet replied. Glancing at the calendar, Charlie remembered that her father arrived home this week. He let go of the thought of getting a message before tomorrow. Satisfied with his day, he climbed into bed and waited for sleep.
In the earliest hours of the morning, long before he opened his eyes, Charlie’s right hand began to move. Independently, the fingers shifted in distinct progressions; structured and purposeful. Each gesture discreet, the unique composition advancing without a single repetition. Waking several hours later, feeling rested and happy, Charlie’s mood quickly changed. His plans took a sudden backseat when he observed that his right hand appeared to have developed a mind of its own. Remarkable and concerning, Charlie had no sensation of the moving appendage. Powerless to stop the sequence, he assumed this to be a natural phenomenon. In wake of the initial shock, he curtailed himself to keep from screaming. He watched, contemplating the fine, almost wispy movements of his fingers with awe. Too caught up in the beauty he never considered what caused the movement. He observed the delicate motion as his fingertips danced across the wooden nightstand, each digit applying various amounts of pressure. The frenzied pacing coupled with the precision held his attention. When Charlie started to envision what might be causing his hand to act the way it did, he found the whole experience too fantastic to hazard a guess. Something in the depths of his mind yearned to see it as a sign. If so, whatever this hint suggested made absolutely no sense. Now fully awake and in need of fulfilling his normal morning routines, he managed, somewhat cautiously, to lift and shake out his hand, discharging the enchantment. Slowly regaining control, he climbed out of bed and got on with his day. By the time he arrived in the kitchen, Charlie filed the strange event; putting it away for another time. Within the hour, the confidence from the night before returned; setting out the plans for his day. Intending to give Allison several hours alone with her father before calling, he decided on having cereal. In the midst of pouring himself a bowl, a pair of cells in the boys’ molecular structure resonated a distinctive frequency. Those cells had lay dormant since birth, but were activated early this morning. His hand movements began at the exact moment a clock in Edgar’s house struck the top of the hour. That same clock kept time on Amkata. Charlie’s body did not register the change yet. As the concentration of active cells began to cluster together, the fuzziness Charlie felt in his fingertips would become something far more magical.
Molly backed the Subaru out of the driveway, followed by her husband’s truck. They waved to each other at the end of the street. Considering what they learned last evening, she felt rather self-assured. There was a sea change coming. Despite the hesitancy and vacillation, a whisper of promise started to form. Although quiet and hidden deep in her mind, Molly saw a return to Amkata as a real possibility. Always a dream unrealized; today she held its beginning in her hand. The short drive to her husband's parents’ house took her through the old part of town. A historical site, turned parkland, allowed visitors to experience a massive green space, combined with several centuries of history. Its highest point, Kyrie Hill, functioned as a lookout, a signal station, cannon outpost and a radio relay during the wars that burdened the country over the last two centuries. Molly turned into the park, following the ring road. A thin blanket of leaves covered the ground now. Their bright colours faded with the change of season. The sun, although still bright, had lost some of its intensity, evidenced by most walkers wearing jackets. Circumnavigating the park's centerpiece with its windblown junipers and singular flagpole, Molly pulled the car over. A group of young people ran by dressed in colourful shorts and shoes as she put the car in park. Letting it idle, she unexpectedly felt the blow from Allison’s news. The sudden shift in gravity and what seemed like an uncertain future. She did not doubt a single word of it, but tried to remain strong and not let the sheer magnitude of the exceptional story overwhelm her. Sitting here now, not far from Nana Rose, Molly did not know what she, or Hennessy for that matter, could say that might provide any clarity beyond the first unsettling statement. They could not keep it from her, but…Molly fought with herself to complete the thought. Faced with only one option, she put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road. The last few miles of road paralleled the coastline. Her thoughts were drifting, a result of the multitude of priority items on her mind. The only thing she could be sure of had to do with why Lester never wanted to leave the house. Parking out front, Molly took a second to relish in the unobstructed view of the ocean and snow-capped mountains to the south. Met at the front door by Nana Rose, they shared an embrace then made their way inside. The well-dressed man of the house acknowledged her from the living room with his obligatory grumble and half-hearted wave. A man of few words, her father-in-law, spent most of his time reading. As long as she had known him, and even still to this day, she wondered if he was studying for something. She had never dug up the courage to ask. Before she sat down in the solarium, Molly called out to Hennessy on their personal channel. After the third time she gave up. Unlike him not to answer, especially at a time like this. This only served to make her more uncomfortable about how to handle such delicate information. Before she could make a decision, Molly stumbled into the middle of it. Knowing that her mother in law retained abilities far beyond her own, she laboured to mask her feelings of apprehension behind something unrelated. This stunt may have worked on an average Orabona homemaker with three children nagging at her, like her sister Kathy. Unfortunately, Nana Rose, noticing her discomfort early on and without digging any deeper, simply asked what troubled her. Molly searched for a place to look; the floor was out of the question, too guilty; the windows did not work either, too aloof; the tablecloth was impossible, far too yellow. Her only option was evident. She sat up straight, brushed the palms of her hands slowly against the fabric of her jeans and said,
“There is strong reason to believe that your brother, Ghrakib is alive.”
For an unbearable amount of time, the house sat quiet. Rather unexpectedly, Lester appeared and pulled up a chair alongside his wife and sat down. He took her trembling hand in his. With eyes that had witnessed more than most could endure, Lester looked at Molly and carefully chose his words,
“Before you say another word, remember these old wounds have never healed, so step lightly.”
Molly exhaled. Nodding in understanding, she now wished Hennessy sat with her. Molly went back to the beginning. When Allison explained the strange daydream and the cloaked figure. She did not know why, except perhaps to give the couple some context. Molly spent some time on a brief description of the world he had created, but more time on the interior of his shelter, the amulet and the historical accounting Allison witnessed before arriving home. Molly watched the old couple react to her words through physical manifestations. Nana Rose clutched her heart as if to say she felt it breaking all over again. Lester held her, brushing away the tears that flowed. He asked that they take a short break. Molly needed it as much as they did. When they disappeared into the house, she stood by the front window. Looking out into the deep blue water of the Pacific inlet, Molly searched for a connection to the safe haven Ghrakib had created for himself. She wanted those things to exist, but the reality of it seemed so remote. She believed that Allison experienced something, but nothing more than imagined samples of a lesson taught by Edgar. Whole-heartedly Molly wanted to accept her daughter's narrative, but it just could not have happened. Lost and not knowing what to believe, she asked the blue water again for assistance. Fifteen minutes elapsed since the couple had left the table. Not clear on how long things like this took to sort out, Molly searched the horizon for some sign of inspiration. Hearing footsteps in the kitchen, she shook out her hands in preparation for part two. She made the decision to offer another option, which was that perhaps Allison suffered from some type of delusion that lead to this whole episode. She hoped that it would soften the blow and take away some of the upset. Lester met her in the alcove before the kitchen. Without a word, he offered Molly his hand. She took it and followed him into Nana Rose's morning room. Utterly remarkable because in all the years of coming to this house, it was the first time she had ever entered it. The architecture and décor did not match the rest of the house at all. The walls, accent pieces, the form and function of the room gave Molly the impression that it somehow intended to speak. Its colour, an intense shade of purple masterfully blended with red, looked familiar. She felt like she had walked into a throne room. As the last thought swirled around, unexpectedly Nana Rose appeared. Molly nearly fainted. Dressed in robes like that of Edgar's, the scope of the narrative began to take shape. The fabric of her robes matched the colour of the walls. Suddenly it struck her, pomegranate. In a voice more befitting a star struck teen, Molly asked,
“You are Olstair, I mean like the real Olstair from our history, aren’t you?”
“Yes child I am.”
“Holy shit,” Molly exclaimed, finding her way down to sitting on the floor.
“I had always believed Ghrakib survived by some means. I could feel his essence no matter how faint. If he truly contacted Allison, he must have vital knowledge.”
Molly did not know what else to say. She looked at her mother-in-law, dressed in her formal wear and knew that every word of Allison’s story was true. Even more than that, the rest of that same story still beckoned.
“What do we do now, Rose?” she asked, knowing at least part of the answer.
“First, I must talk with Allison. I need specifics in case Ghrakib interlaced his message with other clues that only I would understand. Then it will be time to get everyone who knows about this to convene. The time for maximum effort has arrived. We cannot sleep any longer.”
As she spoke, the tips of Nana Rose's fingers sparkled with energy. Molly then felt that she had returned to her feet, letting out a timid giggle. Underneath the nervousness, an internal flood of excitement and anticipation threatened to detonate. Reigning in her emotions, Molly pulled out her phone and called her husband. The apples could wait, this new revelation took priority.
With all of his life experience and brilliance, Hennessy found being a cat sometimes challenging. Instead of having a physique designed for speed and agility, he would rather have been in the body of a jersey cow. No quick movements and no jumping. His displeasure echoed his situation. After missing an easy jump on the short hike to the Negati residence, the sure-footed cat ended up stuck. Unsure whether to climb up or fall further, he found his back paws touched nothing but air. Unable to grasp anything useful with his front ones, he identified his only option as to wiggle his sizable frame in a desperate attempt to extricate himself. The first tries did little. After at least a dozen more, he noticed some movement. Buoyed by this, Hennessy shook violently. Unexpectedly dislodged, he fell to the ground. The wet landing irritated him almost as much as being stuck. Arriving on the back deck later than he had hoped, Hennessy endeavoured to clean himself before meeting with his old friend. Feeling somewhat presentable, the feline strolled toward the back door. The closer he got, the more disconnected from it he felt. Almost like every step forward pushed him three steps away. He tried several times, but it kept happening. Taking a run at it did nothing but increase the distance he found himself from the house. Thoroughly annoyed, he critically accessed this worrisome feature. The only answer Hennessy could figure centered on Edgar having put some sort of protection over the house. The question that followed dealt with whether he intended to keep something out, or worse, something in. He would not let himself believe that Edgar would use his home as a prison. All conjecture aside, Hennessy required access and had no time left to waste. A rapid survey of the house highlighted a magnolia tree that grew close enough, with branches that extended to the roof. Aware that the aviary sat in a blind enclosure behind the main peak, he had a good shot of getting in that way. The deciding factor involved him climbing at least thirty feet, and then jumping another seven or eight to the roof. All of which, for a normal cat could be done in under a minute. The sheer thought of the climb made him nauseous. The jump, he regarded as impossible. Two feet, perhaps but not eight. Choosing the less stressful option, he crept up on the house at the very limit of the protection. Sitting down, he inhaled deeply and then started to meow. The sound he made did not qualify as a standard greeting. The persistent sound penetrated the defenses, through the walls as well, alerting anyone inside to his presence. It did not take long until the back door opened, held so by a familiar hand. The door closed tightly once the cat entered. The invisible protection automatically resumed.
Old friends often do not have to speak to have a conversation. Wise old friends know when to hold their tongues on matters of principle. This extraordinary circumstance did not allow for such graces. Before Hennessy could make himself comfortable, Edgar erupted with his latest news. The feline did not hear him because he too had started in on his own disclosure. They failed to talk over one another, both conceding the floor. An uncomfortable few seconds went by, when finally Hennessy asked his first question.
“Something I should know about the new security system? It seems a bit elaborate for this neighbourhood, don’t you think?”
“Yes, that. It is the unfortunate reaction. A statement after the fact. I feel it is far too late for the purpose it serves.”
Hennessy looked at Edgar and for the first time ever saw sadness in his face. The closer he looked, the deeper the emotion reflected. The feline identified his friend verging on despondence: heartbroken and in a state of shock. Edgar also blamed himself for something, but he floundered in his assessment of what it could be. This version of the old man made him uncomfortable. The Master lacked his easy confidence. The emphatic charisma that softened the harshest of adversaries had all but washed away. Over the centuries, Hennessy learned to let the old man talk out his complications. Although, it remained crucial that Hennessy stay close. At this moment, Edgar needed to start sorting things into workable sections without a smart mouthed cat interrupting his train of thought. Once the old man parsed his ideas, he would require the feline’s expertise and understanding to develop and furnish a solution. Not one for outward displays of emotion, Edgar quietly paced along the corridor that divided the north and south sides of the house. Hennessy spied a perch in line with the tan coloured refrigerator, giving him unencumbered access during this curious process. It would also provide some height and distance, both of which he preferred. The very fact that Edgar had not spoken caused the feline to worry. His friend made many more passes without voicing a single word. Hennessy decided that when he left the room this time around, it would be enough time to settle into the new location. At the termination of his last lap back to the hallway, Edgar’s foot caught the cord of a lamp, pulling it off the stand. The otherwise trivial moment became the catalyst to an emotional surge of complex and intense anger. His rage exploded with the decaying cinders of memories woven through thoughts of abject savagery. What Edgar viewed as a fine romance had suddenly turned into a house of treachery. Reaching down and grabbing the fallen lamp, he threw it against the far wall. It exploded on impact. The stand it sat on followed right after. Edgar chased after it and stomped the wood into splinters. Next, he sent multiple volumes of ancient text into the wall veneer. The paneling buckled under the persistent assault. The final straw came when the old man threw a solid maple chair. As a result, the wall gave way of the heavy bombardment. The commotion caused three things to happen in the same instant. First, Mr. Finch, the resident of his masters’ study, had no idea that the attack came from within. Panicked, he left his home racing towards the presumptive safety of the kitchen and landed on the perch above the refrigerator. Second, Hennessy in spite benefiting from his awareness of Edgar’s three actions hesitated just long enough to lose out of his spot on the perch. Finally, unburdened from his most acute pain, Edgar looked at the chair dangling from the fractured beams between the two rooms and regarded the view of his study he had not seen before. Turning back to the kitchen, he knew what he had to do; the only concern was that it might already be too late.
A massive internal shock snapped the unconscious hold that kept Allison immobilized. Located in a small pocket toward the middle of her upper jaw was the Orabona mesial system. Its purpose was to work behind the scenes, monitoring the health of each Orabona. Activating millions of times every day, it most often went unnoticed. In desperate circumstances, the system could assist an individual to get up from a serious incident and find safety. It provides a dramatic increase in energy to the internal facilities that need it. Consciousness is the first requirement. The body creates systematic order of operations once the scan is complete. Beyond that, the Orabona receives, in rapid succession, the requisite stimulants, analgesics and other indispensable items required. It differs greatly from the symbol the elders have at their disposal. The mesial system is the care of last resort, meant to stabilize until help arrives. Awake, but far from aware of her surroundings, Allison knew that she felt considerable pain. Afraid to move, she remained.
A second shock brought her out of the unconscious state that once again gripped her. The nine components of the system worked in conjunction with one another. The first scan ended as she reached consciousness. The data received to that point appeared abnormal but remained unprocessed. The second scan called for the allocation of a substantial dose of medication to keep Allison awake and manage her pain. Her brain started to compile the data, and, almost at once, problems began to develop. It found information it could not process. What the mesial systems found defied logic. It showed that some of her unified structure, the fundamental elements that made her Orabona, were either corrupted or ceased to exist. Without a complete detailed scan, her mind became a chaotic interchange of dead ends. Faced with an impossible scenario of not being able to resolve anything, her mind spun wildly out of control . Meanwhile, Allison found that externally, almost every inch of her body hurt. She did not think any bones were broken, but the aching from where the seat belt caught here was brutal. The pain in her head radiated outward, right down to her toes. When she opened her eyes the first time, she could only manage a few seconds. A little later, she tried again; more guarded this time. Even through half open eyes, the filtered light exposed where it hurt the most. She wanted to cry. It took minutes to absorb and identify her whereabouts. Large gaps separated the little bits she could remember. She felt like an extra in a low budget horror film; she could not remember her lines, nor where the movie was set. Allison tried to piece together what led up to the accident, but her head hurt so much that it made it all but impossible to concentrate. She did wonder who drove the truck and why they left her. Lifting a hand to her forehead, she felt a large contusion on the right side. A sense of dread permeated her being as she pulled her hand away. The sight of her own blood paralyzed her. It appeared sticky, running between her fingers and covering her whole hand. The longer she looked at it, the worse it got. An unexpected reflex caused her to vomit. The abrupt movement made her scream, as the pain detonated outward. Crying through closed eyes, she spit the remnants of her breakfast onto the floor. She had become frightfully aware that this situation just turned intensely serious. Afraid and in a state of shock, Allison managed to unbuckle herself. The confinement provided a hidden benefit of compressing her chest just enough to keep from taking a deep breath, lost the moment she popped the mechanism. Her first reflex was to draw in a deep breath and twist in the seat. The residual shrieking lingered until she learned to resist the temptation to thrash around while controlling her breathing.
The manic processing of her mind tentatively found some order. Quarantining the corrupt data, that resulted from abnormal scans. Her mind then made decisions based upon the remaining information. A microsecond later, a warm sensation flooded her entire body. It happened so fast that Allison did not notice anything initially. Slowly, the intensity of the pain she felt softened. Her breathing became more rhythmic and less laboured. Despite her injuries, she groped for the handle and pulled. The heavy door popped open; her first step to freedom. Allison saw flashes from behind her eyes as she carefully shifted her battered body. The short bursts of light were bothersome and indicators of pain, but she knew she could not stay put. Focused on extracting herself from the wreckage, Allison paid little attention to the warnings coming from her mind. Tightly gripping the doorframe, the redhead slid off the seat until her feet touched the ground. Relieved to be out of the truck, she let go and stood on her own. The sudden shift of weight, blood and pressure to her lower body caused Allison to collapse. Lying in a crumpled mess on the gravel, burning torrents of pain were her only companion. Defeated, she did the only thing she could; she lay as still as possible and sobbed, hoping someone would hear her.
Picking up the phone again, Charlie started to think his cousin might be avoiding him. Already, mid-afternoon with four unanswered calls made him wonder. Their plans were rarely specific but Allison always, without fail, replied to his texts. He considered that even if she and her father had gone to a matinee, she still had an hour either side of it to get back to him. She called the meeting in the first place, making it all the more uncharacteristic. Putting it out of his mind for the time being, Charlie returned to his strategic diagram. The call for dinner did not register until the third time. It took him the distance from his bedroom to the kitchen to come back to reality. Joining the family at the table, his oldest sister's chair sat empty.
“Where’s Lynn tonight?” he asked, taking a couple of breadsticks from the basket. The middle daughter, quick with a snotty comment, and only too happy to suggest something untoward, said,
“She’s out with her new boyfriend and his fancy new car.”
“At least she has interests Brielle. For an elder, you have a great deal to learn about manners and tact,” her father said, putting her in her place. Following that moment, the mood around the table turned lighthearted and centered on a family vacation planned for the summer. Charlie silently wondered if any of them would ever make it that far. His proposal to return to Amkata called for action the month before the annual family trip. In that instant, he realized that Brielle was eavesdropping on his thoughts.
“Nothing,” he said aloud.
“What’s nothing?” his nosy sister asked.
“None of your business,” he fired back.
“Loser.”
“Troll!”
Kelly slammed her hand down on the table to get their attention. As mother of the two combatants, she stated,
“That is enough, you two. I have the presence of mind to lock you both in a room and let you fight it out. It is just that I do not want to have to deal with the mess afterwards. So stop it immediately or I promise…”
“Now Charlie, is there something you want to talk about here?” asked his father.
“No,” he replied.
“Very well, there is pie for dessert if you want. Just help yourself.”
An hour later as Charlie was finishing his chores and loading the last of the cutlery, his mother appeared in the doorway. Closing the dishwasher and activating the machine, he quickly rinsed his hands then turned to her. She motioned for him to follow. They met in the sewing room, a strange name seeing as no sewing ever took place there. His mother shut the door, sat comfortably across from her son with a curious look on her face.
“Tell me what is on your mind Charlie,” she asked in a quiet tone.
“How about I tell you what is bothering me instead, mom?”
“If that works for you, then certainly.”
He gave her a three-minute explanation regarding the atypical behaviour displayed by the only other person he knew that would not leave him hanging. His mother could see through her son’s genuine concern and knew it went much deeper than that. She also knew that he edited some of the earlier content. She did not feel alarmed, nor did she feel the need to put him on the spot. What she did was remember something from her past that might help. She and Molly used to do it all the time; kind of like a game they played between sisters. Kelly did not know if it would work for cousins. When you went looking for someone, it was how close you were to the person that mattered more than anything else. She thought about it again and realized that her ancestors located each other at the ends of the cosmos. Finding Allison should be easy.
“I have something you can try Charlie. Your aunt and I used to play with it all the time when we were little girls.” Never ceasing to be amazed by his mother, he asked,
“What are you talking about mom?”
“Give me a minute; it has been a very long time since I have done this.”
Charlie sat back and watched. He could see her trying to remember the steps. In far less time than he imagined, she looked ready.
“I am going to do a test run to ensure I’ve remembered everything correctly. This won’t take very long,” she said self-assuredly.
“You aren’t going to shake or do anything weird are you?”
Trying not to laugh she replied, “No, I think it is reasonably uneventful.”
She winked at him as she, began the procedure of small movements to create the image you want to contact. “Once complete, it is as simple as stepping into the essence of the subject. By doing so, you as the visitor are able to feel what the other person is doing. There is no element of control. The host is aware.”
Charlie suddenly understood that his mother was narrating the steps as she participated.
“They are aware that you are there and understand that you are looking through their eyes. That is all. There is no other possible form of communication and its entire duration lasts all of five seconds. It is only meant to locate, nothing more.”
The instant Kelly stepped into her sister's body, an unexpected image caught her off guard. The accompanying emotions, all bunched up and confused, as if her sister could not make any sense of it. Having no context, Kelly returned to the sewing room, confident that she recalled the process correctly. Charlie did not notice any change in his mother over the last few seconds. When she spoke, he fully expected her to say that it failed. Much to his surprise, she now stood in front of him and commenced with the descriptions of how to hold his tongue against the roof of his mouth; the necessity of breathing only through his nose; as well as having both hands balled into fists with the thumbs tucked inside. She could not stress this last point enough. It was not that he risked having them torn off, but if he left them out the pain would make them feel that way. Kelly asked her son to find an image of his cousin, and then hold it in his mind so gently that it floats. Once it settled, he was to focus every ounce of energy into it. Count down from five and if he got it right, by zero he should be with her. If it failed, start over again with a clearer image and greater focus. Charlie followed his mother's instructions to the letter. The image that came to mind originated on their hurried escape from Amkata. As clear as it was being there, he concentrated on Allison, summoning all of his strength into her image. Before the count reached two, Charlie knew he made a mistake. The connection must have misfired because as he stepped into a female form. The girl felt nothing like his cousin. Instantaneously, a rush of a million different sensory receptors attacked his body, causing him to writhe in acute pain. Her son's sudden display of agony combined with what Kelly could only imagine to be the screams that accompanied the anguish, made her call out for help. When Stephen arrived, Charlie lay as a trembling mass on the floor, trying to call for help. The link never lasted for more than five seconds, but Kelly knew that rule did not apply here. The couple looked at one another, uncertain if they could do anything about the psychic link built between the two individuals. It was a virtual private pathway, neither elder had the ability to interrupt or terminate. Considering the most desperate option, Stephen sprinted out of the room and returned with Brielle. He outlined the details of what was happening. She did not quite understand what they wanted with her. When her parents explained what they needed her to try to do, she nodded and followed the instructions. Charlie’s sister, as an elder, held powers that he did not, and this is what Stephen was counting on to pull him out. When she stepped into her brother, she faced a chaotic scene, confused and in disarray. She felt Allison’s desperation clinging to Charlie. A pulse of empathy hit her hard but she came to do a job. After positioning herself in the best spot available to separate the pair, she began to berate her brother as only she could. Conscious of the time, Brielle ramped up her verbal attacks in tandem with pulling his hair and pinching the back of his arms. Her vision blurred, and then she found herself on the floor beside Charlie. Holding their collective breath, the parents waited to see if their gamble worked. Convulsing twice, Charlie rolled over from his back to one side. He tried to take a deep breath, cut short by a savage fit of coughing. When he finally pushed himself up to his knees, he found breathing much easier but kept blinking as if to refocus his eyes. The second he saw Brielle beside him, he grabbed her tightly and started to cry. Kelly bent down to ask him what he witnessed. His sister stopped her.
“He found Allison mom. She is hurt bad and all alone. I almost did not bring him back because she needs him. I do not know where she is but I can find it. Dad and I should leave right now.”
Stephen Gilmet drove like a man possessed. The second after Brielle communicated with her raven to find Allison, they left. He paid no attention to posted speed limits along with many other driving regulations. He listened to the directions from his daughter, who had unexpectedly grown up in the last half hour. He made a mental note to thank her. Driving south on a narrow two lane road, her raven had located the girl. Telling him to slow down, she pointed west and alerted her father that they were not very far now. Over the next rise, the scene of the accident came into full view. Sliding on the dry gravel to an abrupt stop, both occupants raced to Allison’s aid. Not bothering with any sort of assessment, they both activated a symbol and packed the beads into the girl’s body. Her head wound still oozed blood so Stephen pulled off his shirt, tore it in strips and bandaged it up. Commending her raven, Brielle sent it home. She searched the wreckage finding nothing but scores of apples. She suspected there was something about this place that felt wrong when she saw it through Charlie’s eyes. Being here now just made her angry. She turned her attention to the obvious. Her uncle was missing. Under no circumstances would he have left his injured daughter beside the truck. Next, why were they on an abandoned road? She got the feeling that no one travelled this route anymore, considering the difficulty in finding it. What then caused her uncle to go this way? More unusual still is why Allison did not say something. Looking at the scene more closely, a single vehicle accident, the driver missing, and passenger left for dead, the whole thing seemed staged. The set up seemed reminiscent of a story one girl at school had talked about. Late last year, a similar occurrence about 800 miles south of here. The story she remembered claimed someone forced her aunt off the road, detained on a bogus list of charges, held in a detention center for about five months and then released without any explanation. Something about that made Brielle think there might be a connection. She could not put her finger on it but it smelled fishy. She wondered if it was a trap. She struggled to believe that anyone would want to hurt them. There had to be someone or something else involved. Reaching into the truck, she pulled out a few personal items that were better off at home. Returning to her father, surprised by the change in her cousin’s appearance considering how she looked upon their arrival. Sensing her father’s discomfort, they worked together to bring Allison to her feet. Deciding the best option for transport meant putting her in the front with Brielle directly behind, in case something unforeseen happened. Stephen knew she would be fine for the time being, but some things did not add up. Erring on the side of caution, the second the last buckle snapped shut; he turned the car around and raced back to town.
Feeling the sensation of her sister peering in from behind startled Molly. She counted the number of years since they last played with the linkage. It warranted a phone call the minute she finished up with the in-laws, but considering the revelations, it may be some time. The ringing in her ears reminded her of being a little girl. The feeling felt so familiar, it took her back to the last time they had played their little game. An augmented version of hide and seek, Kelly would disappear into the forest, thick and lush, Molly into the rugged foothills with its blind corners and narrow caves. For hours, they took turns linking up and guessing where each other was hiding. At mealtime, neither girl heard the call because of the temporary deafness associated with the exercise. A stern warning and extra chores deterred their play for years. They put the link away and forgot about it. To feel it now, at this precise moment, was not a coincidence. Molly blinked rapidly to clear her eyes. The ringing persisted and would for another hour. Having no time to reminisce, she reached for her phone. It rang before she dialed the first number. Glancing at the caller ID, she answered the call.
The exceptional series of events that followed verged on chaos. Urgent phone calls filled with overwrought voices demanding some sort of action. Calls that went unanswered, no matter that number of attempts made. Frantic movements of family members trying to find one another. Rapid exchanges echoed the same unsatisfactory responses. An overabundance of apprehension and withdrawal only served to exacerbate the growing frustration and anger. The entire extended family worked simultaneously on several fronts until the party involved could be located and brought to the fore. Hours blended into one another. The sole concern focused on Allison. With six blood relatives ministering to the damaged young girl, her condition was stable. Charlie and his father set up a bed for her in the living room to keep everyone centralized. With the initial feelings of confusion and panic subsiding, now supplanted by anger and outrage, they had no one to pin it on. Amid the ongoing care for Allison, the growing concern for her missing father and the unknown whereabouts of both Edgar and Hennessy, there remained an inaudible stillness. Everyone could feel it in the corners of eyes and the backs of throats. Nana Rose and Lester identified it immediately. They were in no mood to explain what had arrived. Suffice it to say that the Orabona collective energy slowly filled the house. Despite its unimaginable powers, Allison resisted the healing properties. Her wounds looked to have healed and her condition remained stable; yet, something persisted. Following Nana Rose’s direction, the elders invoked every consequential substance of their being into the girl. With absolutely no change, Molly sat at her daughter's bedside wondering what she might be thinking as she lay there silently. Brielle found a place to sit at the foot of the staircase rubbing her eyes. Charlie walked over, regarding her very differently now, he sat beside her and asked,
“Your eyes itchy as well?”
Interlacing her fingers in her lap, she nodded. Clearly uncomfortable about the whole situation, Brielle finally said,
“My throat is scratchy too. It all started just a little while ago. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes, everyone feels the same, but no one is saying anything. I do not get the impression that there is anything malevolent about it though. He put his arm around her, feeling completely lost for the first time ever. A hush fell over the house as, in the span of a few hours, everything changed.
The raven translated the exact coordinates that put Edgar in the center of a gravel parking lot that bordered a small barn. Opening his robes, he extracted Hennessy and Mr. Finch. A long love hate relationship existed between the mortal enemies. Over many years, they assisted the old man with remarkably challenging problems. Both assistants held very different skill sets and contributed viewpoints that both provoked and questioned his own. At this particular moment, cat and bird alike put aside their differences. Edgar brought them to this strange place in search of answers to some anguished personal mystery. The finch flew on ahead, landing on a long forgotten flower basket. Hennessy followed a few paces behind; unsure what this place represented and uneasy about what they would find. Both animals shared a growing sense of foreboding with the uncertainty of why they had come. A raven had returned home shortly after the old man’s outburst. Following the conversation with the bird, Edgar said very little except that they were all going on a reconnaissance mission. They now stood in front of a deserted building a long way from anywhere. Appearing tentative, Edgar looked unwilling to touch anything for fear of disturbing some kind of wraith. The door to the left did not open the first time he tried it. Another few shakes verified it remained locked. Not one to give up easily, he took a step back and in a sudden burst, kicked in the door. Storming into the small room, Edgar wasted no time investigating its contents. Less than a minute later, he tore out of the room with such conviction that it startled his colleagues. Without hesitancy this time, he barreled thought the unlocked doors and charged in. Only after the old man opened the main entry did Hennessy proceed into the large room. A chilling familiarity caused him to stop moving. The finch flew around the interior then got a sense of why they had come to this place. Landing gently on Edgar’s shoulder, the talented wordsmith found himself unable to speak. No one moved for an excruciatingly long time. When the old man finally did move, he stepped to one bureau, pulled on the handle and found it locked. He chose another, then another with the same results. Stepping to the right, he repeated the process. Thwarted by simple locks set into finely crafted woodwork, something perplexing happened. Edgar reached up and shooed the finch away. He then gave Hennessy a push with his foot. Before they could protest, he wielded a sapphire axe. The brilliant blade came down with a thundering smash, devastating the wooden furniture in a single stroke. He laid waste to the second bureau then withdrew his weapon. Standing in the splintered remains, significant amounts of evidence lay strewn across the floor. Only one of the assistants understood what the random assortment of toys and strange clothing represented. Stopping at the point he did, Hennessy found the combination of evil and sorrow almost too much to bare. Despite his preconceived notions, the room contained more than enough to convince him of the guilty party. The finch looked at the cat, then at Edgar. A number of questions jumped out at him but seemed impossible to ask. The pair watched their friend sift through the shrapnel with his feet. Hennessy sensed it first. The rancor frightened him. The finch did not notice it right away, but when he did, he flew to the rafters. The feline watched the old man, his face a portrait of rage and resentment, as he turned on his heel. Walking forward, he reached out and grabbed the edge of the purple curtain. Hoping against hope, he tore the fabric aside exposing a shimmering void. Stunned silence erupted in that moment. The most serious concern that presented itself dealt directly with the security of the Orabona. His fear being that none of them would ever be safe on Earth again. The shocking revelation of a portal confounded his colleagues. The lack of dialogue made Hennessy uncomfortable. He knew that Edgar kept the magnitude of the ravens’ information close to the chest. This inconceivable reality in front of them could now potentially affect everyone. Taking into account the ramifications of its discovery, the feline appreciated that getting the details out of Edgar was a priority. They could only begin to work on some sort of resolution if they were all on the same page. With each passing second, the list of imperatives grew. Getting up, and careful to stay in his periphery so as not to startle him, Hennessy crept closer. The old man picked up some of the small toys that lay scattered on the dusty floor. They seemed as out of place as the rest of the building. A bag of marbles, an old slot car and a small prayer book. Edgar reminded himself that whatever these items symbolized only told half of the story. The notion that the owners of these objects climbed the three steps up and crossed over was too vile to contemplate. Unsure what he would tell his companions, he turned to face the orange tabby sideling up to him. He heard the wings of the finch preparing for flight, as he reached down to stroke the cat's fur. Kneeling down, Edgar formulated the first part of his explanation regarding the past few hours. The little bird dove off the faded timber and flapped its wings madly into a delicate dive. The instant before he committed to landing on the old man’s shoulder, the bird took a hard right and disappeared into the portal. Jumping to his feet, Edgar shouted making a futile attempt to gather the bird. Hennessy, caught by surprise, wondered what the finch was thinking. Seconds later, he returned landing on a broken piece of furniture. Shaking the cold water from his wings, he did not get as much as a breath before Edgar grabbed him. Looking eye to eye, the finch said forcefully,
“Kindly put me down sir, finches are not to be handled by anyone.”
Putting him back on the spot, he first landed, the bird continued,
“Something is very different on Amkata now. It is palpable and I am certain it relates to your recent news and subsequent foul mood.”
Before Edgar replied, the finch saw the look on the cat’s face change, knowing he had just received the same message. Edgar haphazardly pressed the pair into his robes and the next thing he knew, whisked away.
Stepping through the front door of the Hannaburg residence, everything seemed out of place. Pandemonium had set in and a primary observation found everyone confused, distraught and deeply concerned. He got a particularly disturbing assessment from Charlie regarding Allison. Releasing Hennessy from his robes, Edgar sat beside Molly. Apologies for the length of time it took to get her could wait. He asked for a detailed account of what led up to this point. Charlie sat at the end of her bed, unflinching and quietly seething. Other family members either helped or related the necessary details as required. Hennessy jumped onto Allison’s bed, getting a sense of the situation from his unique perspective. He nuzzled into her armpit, then around her neck and ears. Careful not to step on her, he pressed into her hips, following down her legs to her feet. One foot in particular caused him to react adversely but he had to keep going until he completed his analysis. Returning to where he started, he did not say a word. Gently stepping onto Allison’s thigh, he gingerly crept up and curled himself into a ball in the middle of her belly. Closing his eyes, Hennessy concentrated his power and mastery into the young girl. A field of energy ballooned out from the connection between the two. It radiated slowly outward, enveloping Allison. Pinpointing the mystical healing powers of the feline to the places necessitated by his original scan. The room went quiet as only the oldest elders had an awareness of what Hennessy could do. Charlie did not move or react at all. His eyes focused on Allison; his resentment growing exponentially. The felines energy field flickered once and again, fleetingly before it evaporated. Edgar suspected a problem, but Molly reacted first. She pulled Hennessy off her daughter and ran to the kitchen sink. Wrenching on the cold water, she laid him on his back flooding his exposed fur. The spot where he laid was soaked with his own blood. Lester held Hennessy as Molly frantically scrubbed his haunches to remove the contaminant. Desperation spread quickly throughout the family. When the cat coughed for the first time, there was a collective sigh of relief. Edgar walked around her bed twice, staring deeper into Allison than the others could see. By all accounts, contact with her family members healed the minor wounds she suffered in the accident. The adverse reaction he just witnessed concerned him greatly. Only a rare handful of contagions would cause such a rapid and serious reaction. Taking into account Hennessy’s experience and abilities, there was no good reason for such instant and unexpected injury. Edgar thought for an instant that she might have picked up a mutated disease on Amkata but immediately discarded it as foolish. What they were now facing turned far more serious. He needed to return home for some specific items. In the few brief moments, it took to return, the only one aware of his departure was Charlie. Unwilling to move, he watched over his cousin like a sentinel. The growing feeling amongst the family moved from distress to apprehension. Nana Rose and Molly attended to Hennessy now, Lester having moved to the carpeted hallway, deep in thought and a million miles away. Stephen, Lynn and Brielle searched the collective for any possible ideas. The finch found a perch where he could see everyone. Edgar reached into his pocket and pulled out a talisman that glowed the colour of honey. Its radiance brought everyone to the front room. Only Nana Rose knew what Edgar intended to do. Hennessy drifted in and out of consciousness but looked to make a full recovery. The rest of the family focused their attention on Edgar. Enlisting the assistance of the sisters, they bared Allison’s chest. Holding the talisman in his hands and standing over her, the old man squeezed tightly. The static object launched into a boiling sphere of intense light. Drawing all of his strength, Edgar contained the energy until the critical moment when he released it into Allison’s unconscious body. Instantly, the light energy filled her, turning her skin from pale to blue to dark brown and back again, as it sought out the invisible threat that existed within. The energy surged through her but the results Edgar expected should have manifested by now. Nana Rose could tell by the look on his face that an unexpected turn of events troubled him. She also knew that this process delivered instant results. Closing in on six minutes, the experiment looked to have failed. Charlie did not shade his eyes from the bright light, nor did he ask questions. He sat watching with one hand holding the edge of his cousin’s blanket. Having regained consciousness, Hennessy watched from Molly’s arms. Edgar ended the procedure, extracting the energy and returning it to the talisman. He needed to reassess the girl's condition before considering the next level of care.
“The sol harpon charm failed didn’t it Edgar?” a soft voice asked.
“How did you know?” he replied without surprise.
“Because I know what it is not. I have no immunization against it. I have never encountered anything even remotely close. Once I began to connect, it had already started into me. Whatever is going on inside of Allison is beyond the scope of my abilities.”
Edgar shook his head and sat down. For the first time, worry filled the house. The finch flew down off his perch, landing on the old man’s shoulder, knowing he might need a friend to talk out the next step with. Having listened to every word over the last few hours, Charlie finally stood up. His mother went to ask him a question but hesitated. Walking to the head of the bed, he turned and faced the assembled family members. Harnessing his anger and fixing his mind, he went to speak. Unfortunately, his frustration boiled over and ruled the podium.
“This,” pointing to Allison, “is not natural. Something, no, someone did this. You may have your doubts but I will bet my life on it.”
No one said a word as he walked to the opposite end of the bed. He lifted Allison’s left foot and searched for anything foreign. When he found it, he continued,
“When Hennessy did his initial assessment, something gave him pause at her left foot. Am I the only one who saw it?” Getting no response, he changed his tone.
“Right here, between her toes is what looks like a puncture wound, like a needle might make. Am I getting through to any of you? Is it so bloody obvious and none of you can see it?” Charlie screamed aloud as the pressure of his desperate concern for his cousin raged on. Everyone exchanged nervous glances, unsure as to the direction of his speech. Pointing his finger directly at Edgar, the youth commanded,
“Look at me.”
The doctrine regarding how the Orabona are to conduct themselves around the Ancients is very clear. On Earth, some formality was lost but no one dared to speak in such defiant tones. Especially from a fourteen year old. Edgar turned to face Charlie. When their eyes met, the elder knew what the youth intended to ask. Charlie, on the other hand, having spent significant time with Allison, had learned to mask his thoughts. Using this skill to his advantage, Charlie asked,
“How long have you known that Petunia was not who she pretended to be? Then tell Allison that you have a terrible feeling that what you see before you is a direct result of Petunia’s desire to silence one of the voices that could expose her.”
Charlie ended his verbal assault in an authoritative manner that demanded an answer. Instantly, something sucked all of the air out of the room. No one moved. Standing his ground, Charlie did not flinch from his angry stare aimed squarely at the old man. The tension that filled the house was akin to the last few seconds of a fuse burning toward a stick of dynamite. When the room finally erupted, many conversations spawned a mass of urgent questions. Both Edgar and Charlie facing comparable treatment encountered a minor interrogation for more information regarding this unfortunate situation. Having said his piece, Charlie held Allison’s foot and waited. Stephen stepped forward and took his son by the arm. Charlie snapped himself free and glared at his father with such intensity that he did not grab for him a second time. Returning to his seat at the end of the bed, Charlie would wait as long as it took. The noise level climbed as the base emotions filtered through everyone. Fear gripped everyone no matter how experienced. In the first instance, neither Charlie nor Edgar sensed anything. The next time it happened, the boy felt movement. While the family endeavoured to cope with the emotional burden, the same sense of movement happened again. This time he knew, without a doubt that she had moved. It was not simply a reflex action; she stretched and extended her toes. Edgar watched the muscles in her face move deliberately. Slowly, the attention returned to Allison. Minutes later, gradually and with her mother’s assistance, the young girl sat up. Opening her bloodshot eyes, she asked in a shaky voice,
“What are you all doing here?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The cold of the concrete pressed against his face paled in comparison to the stench of urine that filled the small room. Inside the cinderblock rectangle stood a combination aluminum sink and toilet fixture in one corner and a three-foot wide bench built into the opposite wall. One of the two florescent bulbs flickered, adding another layer of gloom to the somber state of affairs. The tan coloured steel door carried the scars of inmates before him, some left in code the shorthand of the street. A window, so small it almost seemed like an afterthought, did little in the way of detailing what lay beyond. Graham sat up and rubbed his face. His first concern was for whatever happened to Allison. The procession of the accident simply exploded around them. He did everything he could to avoid the obstacles but it got the best of him. He kept trying to piece things together. After leaving the orchard, he wondered how they had trapped him. He knew all too well what this cell represented. He just could not believe that it happened as fast as it did. He only received the directive less than a week before that regarding this very situation. He searched for the appropriate response to his circumstance. He knew the door posed an impossible challenge. What lay on the other side is where the complications mounted. Adding to that, he had no idea where this room existed. The more he thought about escape, the faster it became a bad idea. He had tried several times to communicate with Molly in every possible manner, but nothing went through. If the accident were an example of their organizational skills, it would be safe to assume that they had some way of disrupting telepathic messages. In the middle of that thought, a slot opened in the center of the door and plastic tray appeared. Graham got up and took it before the slot slammed shut. Looking at the lone toaster waffle on a well-used paper plate beside a paper cup full of some liquid posing as coffee, made him shake his head. In no mood to eat, Graham slid the waffle into the toilet followed by the coffee, and then pressed the button. Setting the tray on the concrete seat, he concentrated his energies on figuring a way out. As the bowl gurgled and refilled, a fresh wave of ammonia filled the room. His shoes and belt were missing which presented a constant annoyance considering the state of the floor. Sitting with his feet up for hours, listening closely to the sounds of the hallway. He was sure that his cell ended the jailers rotation by the sound of the keys as they approached then retreated. He heard two other prisoners from their loud complaining and profession of innocence. Graham briefly contemplated this option but let it go because he had another more serious concern. It occurred to him that the time between spinning out of control and waking up here was unobtainable. A quick physical check showed minor injuries from the accident but no sign of trauma or unauthorized procedures. He felt mentally sharp aside from the loss of communication and the unaccounted for time. However, how much time he did not know. Graham gathered from the earlier waffle that, all things being equal, the next meal should be lunch. Pacing in a small area that looked cleaner than the rest, he waited for the slot to open. An agonizing period elapsed until he heard the faint sound of keys. Kneeling down at the level of the slot, he prepared his address. When the opening presented itself, he spoke clearly,
“Can you tell me what the date is?”
The person holding the tray answered the question by forcing it through the slot. It caught Graham’s arm and overturned, painting the floor with elbow macaroni and peas. The obscene display, made worse as the grey milk leaked from the cup, trickling between the yellow and green objects. The slot slammed shut again. Adding insult to injury, the anemic lighting went out, leaving him in the dark and on the wrong side of the murky lake of pasta and garden peas. Delivery of meals or attention of any kind halted until the light came on. The slot opened a few minutes later with a replay from the previous morning. This time he ate the dry waffle and drank half of the lukewarm instant coffee. He used the trays to divert yesterday’s lunch toward the well-used floor drain. The slot opened suddenly followed by aggressive banging on the door, which Graham took for a call to return the trays. Collecting all of the trash, he placed everything in the slot. This routine played out the same way for every meal. Sleeping on the cold concrete bothered him only because he could only get an hour or two at a time. It challenged his ability to concentrate. His thoughts shifted between Allison and Molly, to wondering when someone would explain what crime he had committed that justified this archaic treatment. On the morning of the fifth day of record, Graham woke to find a pair of guards, dressed in ordinary dark blue uniforms, in his cell. They gestured for him to get up. When he got to his feet, one guard removed his handcuffs from his belt and affixed them around Graham’s wrists. Shuffling in front of the two men, he made his way down a long hallway to a room with Plexiglas windows on three sides, a table and two chairs the only occupants. The largest of the pair pushed him down into the chair with its back to the wall. Looking at the floor, the first thing Graham noticed was that both chairs and the table legs had bolts fastening them to the floor. Voices attracted his attention where several casually dressed individuals spoke with the guards. The scent in this room smelled different from his cell but just as harsh; a powerful antiseptic with a hint of synthetic pine. The eight florescent bulbs that illuminated the small space supplied more than enough light to perform minor surgery. After five days in the grim confines of his cell, Graham felt strange in this stark interrogation room. The cuffs restricted most conventional movement, so he put his hands on the table and waited.
When the female inspector entered the room, she introduced herself as Detective Conway. She produced a small recording device but no identification. Sitting on the other side of the table, Graham noted that her complexion looked waxy. Almost as if she wore too much makeup. Upon review, he thought perhaps she wore a poorly made latex mask, only adding intrigue to the eccentricity of the place. He then considered what part this prison played in the larger plan to hold the Orabona elders from the pending ascensions. It seemed far too elaborate, going to these lengths but he could not be certain. By all accounts, it could just be the three of them, but Graham had a sinking feeling there were many more elders here that he could not see. Det. Conway did not advise him of his rights, nor inform him that she was recording the conversation, as the green light indicated. Holding a grey folder in her hands, the detective laid it on the table revealing a short stack of official looking papers. They contained his photograph and several typewritten pages of witness statements including the on-scene officers. What he read from across the table and upside down almost caused Graham to laugh at the bogus investigation. He controlled his urge to lash out at the detective. Without any kind of plan, his best option encompassed tempering his rage with patience and not accepting their nonsense. He constantly looked for opportunities to find a way out. If this production were just for show, the likelihood of them making a mistake would soon present itself and he would pounce. The side arms worn by all the members of the security staff was his only question. If they were loaded, he would have no play. Turning his attention to the woman across the table, she was not long on words, speaking in a monotone voice that did not suit her physical form. Not robotic or masculine, more like detached and outlying. Her first statement came abruptly, forceful and intended to frighten. Knowing this whole exercise designed to confuse, disorient and terrorize the average Orabona, Graham would not play a part in this farce. Whatever veil they pulled across his current reality he would tear down, Allison depended on him.
“Mr. Hannaburg, you are being held on several, very serious charges resulting from a motor vehicle accident that occurred while travelling west on Hudsonarch Road. Do you understand the seriousness of these indictments?”
Doing his best to keep any emotion from his face, Graham replied,
“I guess.”
“It is a yes or no answer Mr. Hannaburg.”
“Like I said before, I guess.”
The colour in the woman face began to change. She looked quick to anger, evident from her mannerisms. Shifting gears, she moved on with her questions.
“How do you plead?”
Moving to speak, and then reconsidering, he thought seriously about his first choice of words. Quick to regain his composure, he asked the only possible question.
“I believe I am entitled to have a lawyer present, am I not?”
Without missing a beat, she said,
“We will come back to that later.” The detective then launched into an hour-long interrogation. Well trained at twisting questions and answers around, she tried to trip him up several times by reframing what he had said into something else. She used rhetorical logic to hammer him when no answer fit into her manic puzzle. In the end, Det. Conway lost her temper, utterly frustrated by Graham’s constant questioning of her authority. In a state, polar opposite from where she began, the detective picked up her recorder, jammed the bundle of papers into the folder, and exited the room. She spoke briefly with the guards and he noticed a change in demeanour. Returned roughly to his cell, this time he went without food, water or light for another seventy-two hours.
In the background of her being, in a supplementary portion of her mind, the perpetual circulation of the Nido performed flawlessly. Reliably updating its transmutation, it now existed within the girl but as part of her as well. The process generated a unique and indefinite bond, even though they still worked somewhat independently of one another. When fully integrated, it would change their connection from a tether to a symbiotic relationship. Primary functions of this internal relationship included the combination of all the Orabona cellular structure with that of the Nido; a melding of consciousness, process and evolution. Each of these delicate phases took enormous effort and substantial amounts of time. With each completed procedure, the finalized modifications led to an expanding list of benefits bestowed upon the girl. It provided an exceptional first line of defense; greater even to that of her own Orabona critical infrastructure - all of which, in large part, were completely unknown to Allison, having never required their advantage. The comprehensive systems working behind the scenes constantly consumed every available second, no matter where Allison found herself. While the pickup spun out of control, everything inside Allison remained calm as she tried her best to alter the reality of the situation. Knocked unconscious by the violent deceleration, she became an unfortunate victim. Everything changed the instant the needle broke her skin. Multiple alarms sounded as the Nido raced to contain the foreign matter forcibly introduced to the bloodstream. In an immediate move of self-preservation, every resource converged to quarantine the liquid. It required the full extent of the Nido to contain it, but the problems only started there. As it began to disperse, moving with the natural pressure changes in Allison`s body, the liquid taxed the Nido`s harmonic cells. In spite of having the ability to flex and morph shapes, there were certain limits to their elasticity. At first, the liquid had a photoelectric property, which could suddenly turn corrosive. Not only did this reduce the harmonic cells' ability to stretch, it weakened the cell structure entirely. In the fight of its existence, the Nido faced certain death if it persisted with its certain course of action. At this point in the girl's development, there was no way it would let the liquid have free reign of her body. With the unknown variable being what the liquid contained, the internal trauma system worked to split the larger globules of the foreign matter into smaller, more manageable, drops. This helped with the harmonic cell exposure but only by degrees. Understanding that the corrosive properties would be leaching into Allison`s blood cells, the Nido made a calculated guess. In full triage mode, they activated all of the newly transmutated cells and brought them to the aid of the original defender cells. This desperate measure was their only move left. Spending its energy reserves on containment, some residual liquid, not originally contained, found its way into the girls’ bloodstream. The only redeeming feature was that the timing of the needle stick came while Allison was unconscious. Her brain had switched off, thereby blocking any direct access to her mind. The instant reaction to the needle puncture spared her further harm in the long term. The Nido intended to protect the girl using every ounce its strength to assist in her recovery. Haulting all previous activity, all unwarranted functions were put into hibernation. The sudden onset of the emergency put everything on hold indefinitely. The objectives were simple, fully contain the liquid, weaken its rigor and potency, and finally return the girl to the same state prior to the accident.
When Allison first woke up, Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. Initially, his expression of anger sustained him, but now worry set in. He knew Petunia orchestrated the entire scheme, including the accident, her father’s disappearance and now her mystery illness. He could feel it in his bones. After his meltdown, everyone just let him be. The worry he felt related directly to the certainty he had about being the next victim. The insidious nature manifested out of thin air. The grip of an unknown entity slowly followed him around the house. Charlie could tell that no one noticed the event unfolding. He started to move around awkwardly, afraid to stop on the hardwood floors or any blue areas on the carpet. Hennessy regarded the boy acting strangely, and took to watching him. The women, sitting around the sickbed, doted on Allison unaware that in the next room her cousin expanded his bizarre behaviour. Having taken off his shoes and rolled his pants to the knee, Charlie proceeded to walk on all fours; the shoes provided protection for his hands. He circled the living room in decreasing concentric circles. His pace increased as his display closed in on itself. Bearing in mind all of the peculiar activity over the past few days, Hennessy did not hesitate. He called out for assistance, and then stopped the boy in his tracks. Charlie lay on his side, trying to catch his breath. Meanwhile the feline, already purring, rushed to lay with him. By the time Nana Rose and Brielle got to the living room, Hennessy`s localized energy had done its job, calming the boy down. Nana Rose knelt down on the floor beside him, putting her hand on his face.
“Is everything all right son? You gave our orange friend here a little scare.”
Looking blankly, Charlie replied,
“I fear I am going to be next. I thought something had come looking for me. Allison and I were there together and if Petunia found her, she will have no problem finding me.”
“What do you mean you were together?”
Charlie explained how the two of them went to Amkata and what they found when they tumbled into the valley. He told her how they concluded with absolute certainty that Petunia masterminded an evil enterprise that involved a direct connection to the Darkness. There could be no other explanation. Without proof, they did not feel they could go to Edgar.
“How could we?” Charlie stated sorrowfully.
Always first to offer unsolicited commentary, Brielle found herself so far out of her element that she said nothing. She wanted to ask her brother something specific, but it could wait. Nana Rose had formulated a reply when Hennessy cut her off.
“She has gone Charlie. Most certainly back to Amkata. Edgar took Mr. Finch and I to the barn that the two of you found. He uncovered evidence from within the bureaus that corroborates your version of the story.”
The boy brightened almost immediately. He went to say something, then reviewing his words, stopped. He then asked,
“So she is not coming for me then?”
“No, Charlie, I don’t think so.”
“Good, because it is about time we turn the tables on her.”
Before anyone could ask what the reference meant, Charlie got up and went to the living room. He sat with Allison and Molly for a few minutes. When the clock in his head struck the top of the hour, he hugged his cousin and gave her a kiss on the forehead. He then whispered something in her ear. She squeezed his hand in understanding. He called out to his middle sister that they needed to head home. Nana Rose saw them out and closed the door.
“You are fortunate to have a cousin like that Allison; he is a wonderful young man.”
Turning to her grandmother with a blank look in her eyes, the girl asked,
“Who are you talking about?”
Reacting poorly to the odd question, Nana Rose replied,
“You know, Charlie. He just said good bye to you thirty seconds ago.”
The first subtle change in Allison’s memory suggested the toxin had found its way to her mind. She felt no pain nor were there any changes in her cognition, or at least not so far as anyone noticed. As the progression advanced, the fear was that Allison would simply be a passenger in an ever-darkening tunnel of lost memories. The unfortunate existence that faced her had begun. Nana Rose looked at Molly with genuine concern. Allison appeared to be slowly slipping, making the elders uneasy. Sitting around doing nothing did not help. They were under attack and the time for action had arrived. The one person they looked to in these desperate moments had quietly slipped out the back. Clearly moved by the revelations of the day, Edgar needed time to prepare. Only that Allison did not have that luxury. Nana Rose could not bear to think of the pain that her long-time friend and mentor must be dealing with. Confident that his return would dispense critical answers, she turned her attention back to her granddaughter. She sat beside her mother, pale hands wrapped around a fresh cup of tea. Molly spoke to her mother in law telepathically.
“Rose, something is very wrong with Ally.”
“I know Molly; we have done all we can for now. Edgar will…”
“No, you are not listening to me. This is something new. I have been trying to communicate with her on the channel we share. When she first arrived home, it came in a little scrambled but after the trauma, it was understandable. A little later it degraded again; I swear it was virtually blocked.”
Nana Rose wanted to ask but thought it better to let Molly finish.
“Now, it is like there is not even a channel to connect to. I do not mean severed. I mean it is not there at all.”
Hearing that, Nana Rose decided she must take action. Not knowing how long she might have, she turned to Allison. Taking her hand, she pleaded,
“I need you to tell me everything you can about when you saw my brother Ghrakib. Even the smallest detail might give me clues.”
Allison tried to pull her hand away as she waded through the eroding sands of her memory. The fragmented beginning of how she found herself in the field lacked the depth and detail that both women recalled from the first telling. Allison churned through the maddening confusion the closer she got to his camp. She tried to hold on to a fading dream. She recalled thoughts clearly, but as she put them into words, watched as they turned into vapour. Lacking any sort of secondary recall, the original thought contained all of the information, leaving a void once called upon. In the end, all of her memories turned to sand. With tears forming in her eyes, Allison yanked her hand free.
“I can’t give you the answers you are looking for Nana.”
She quickly excused herself and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
“This is all out of order. She never forgets anything, ever!” Molly said incredulously.
“I know. I could feel her fighting to recall the little that she did. If I ever get my hands on that old hag, I swear…”
“Let’s save our energy for the problem at hand. I need to figure out where they have taken Graham. I am worried, but if it is the same kind of temporary detention we have heard of, he will not be harmed, he’ll just be a prisoner.”
“It’s been a little over two days. Isn’t he allowed a phone call straight away?”
“This is not your typical sort of detention. I have tried to contact him but it keeps bouncing back. I need to find where he is before I worry about anything else.”
A considerable silence filled the kitchen until Molly found the right words.
“Rose, am I missing something here? Three days ago, everything in this house was in order, but now, it is in shambles. My little girl is losing her mind and my husband has vanished.
As the knot in her stomach grew tighter, so did it diminish the tone of her voice. Molly did not feel sad. Her maternal inclination compelled her to assist Allison regardless the cost. She knew her husband to be capable and cunning. He most likely needed no help whatsoever. The sensation in her belly kept drawing her attention. The knot contained powerful emotions, more violent and burning than Molly had ever experienced. All Orabona knew hatred, stemming solely from the Darkness and its devastation. Not something that they had ever acted upon, it served to create the foundation for their return to fight against it one day. The Orabona were a just and tolerant people. That is why the intensity of the hatred somewhat frightened Molly. The image of the old hag who had sat at the very same table several days ago, remained clear in her mind. It is the place she focused all of her wrath. The knot did not increase in size, only intertwined itself, growing ever tighter. Molly had no idea what to do with the new imagery. She took little comfort in it which only complicated her resolve. Looking at Nana Rose, Molly did not see the customary peaceful appearance. Nana Rose looked just as Molly felt, tired and obstructed, facing an unpredictable future. She tried to smile but had to turn away before the tears came.
On the hurried walk home, Charlie thought what he would tell Brielle about Amkata. His list of concerns grew out of the short time they had to get there. He could not take her through the portal because of the potential interface with the Kenaima. No matter how desperate, Charlie could not lead his sister to a slaughter. This complicated everything. They could follow the steps down to the shore, trying their luck that way, but the same problem existed. Her elder status would sound an alarm after that; he did not want to have to elude the living evil. One unfortunate choice could be the end of them. Charlie knew enough about the planet; he just needed to think. He needed to think like Allison. After five minutes, it did not help and the problem remained. The longer it took to get there, the further away the potential solution to this whole issue got. He had not yet decided what to tell his parents. Knowing they would want full disclosure regarding this round of adventuring, they might have to go without saying goodbye. Allison’s current condition made what he planned to do a priority over everything else. Charlie told his sister to change into something she did not mind getting filthy. He wanted to leave before anyone started asking questions in hopes of avoiding a long drawn-out conversation, which would only waste more time. When Brielle knocked on his bedroom door without comment or hassle, dressed appropriately, he took it as a good sign that she understood the gravity of what they intended to do. He did a quick check of all the things they might need, and then held his sister by the hands.
“There is no time to explain what you will experience on Amkata, suffice to say the weather is awful, it is muddy and gross plus it stinks. We have a long way to travel and the protectors of the Darkness will try to hunt you. This, unfortunately, is our only option. Once we get safely underground, we will have more choices of how to proceed.”
She listened to every word, then clapped her hands together, gesturing that she was ready.
“Don’t be scared Brielle, there will be some very cool things that will happen the minute we cross over.”
She put her hand on his shoulder and looked at him very purposefully.
“I won’t be scared little brother. I will follow and protect you no matter where we go. I fear for those who get in our way.”
With that, Charlie knew they were ready. Reaching for the front door handle, it opened from the other side. In an awkward moment, Charlie and Brielle exchanged places with their parents. Unable to disguise their plans toward the next objective, Charlie started to explain. His mother stopped him and said,
“We understand the importance of what you are going to do. We also know what is at stake. Work with each other; turn any animosity towards the evil that has created this chaos. Be brave because you are warriors.” Her voice broke for a second, and then recovered strongly, “I intend to see you both return.” She kissed them both while their father put his hands on each of his children and uttered an ancient prayer.
“What was that dad?” asked Brielle.
“That is our family's warrior prayer, it will fortify you. Go now,” he said closing the door behind them. Neither sibling spoke as they walked down the driveway and turned toward Edgar’s house. Charlie could not talk to the old man of their plan. With more than enough going on, he figured Edgar needed to centre his attention on the things he could control. This journey lacked that element. He knew the “where” and “why” of it, just not so much the “how.” Again, another terrific reason not to discuss it. Brielle knew the way as well as he did to the Negati’s house, so he found it strange when she wandered off. Walking on the other side of the road, she turned onto a trail. It would eventually lead them to Edgar’s house but added unnecessary time and effort. They had a great deal of walking ahead of them as it is. Charlie called out twice but she ignored him. He regarded this type of behaviour problematic and could get them into serious trouble. He ran ahead and caught up to her.
“Hey, what gives Brielle, where do you think you are going?”
She shook her head, like coming out of a daze.
“I don’t know the wind just pushed me this way.”
Feeling the air and finding nothing but stillness, he said in his least condescending voice,
“You know there is not any wind?”
She looked at him square in the eye and replied,
“Well, I’m here aren’t I?”
Conceding to her logic, they followed her choice of route. The left hand side of the trail backed up against a long row of houses. The fence line created a random patchwork of colours and patterns, stylized gates and compost heaps. Blackberry bushes encroached on all open spaces. The select group of trees lining the neighbourhood back yards provided adequate shade from the midday sun. The opposite side opened up onto lush green parkland. A large playground buzzed with numerous children running around the equipment, while weary parents watched from picnic tables. Halfway down the trail, Brielle saw them for the first time. Alerting Charlie to the large pair of ravens coming out of the pale blue sky. They looked to be advancing. He blinked and they disappeared. He searched the skies in a vain attempt to locate them again. His sister asked if they were their parents’ birds. Not sure what he saw, he nodded his head yes, and then kept walking. At the next break in the trail, Charlie stopped dead. A familiar sound from a million miles away came to him. Only for an instant but long enough. For the first time in days, he felt a surge of optimism. He could tell that his sister felt something as well.
“What just happened, Charlie?”
Offering no answer in case he misheard the message, he put his index finger to his lips and carried on. Walking now with intention, he began a self-imposed meditation meant to conjure the righteous portions of his being. Just before the trail ended, the siblings stopped. Brielle did not understand why, seeing how close they were. Looking skyward, he shuffled a few steps left until he found his objective. His sister walked over beside him. Both staring in the same direction, she could not see what he had located. Without warning, the largest raven she had ever seen swept overhead, landing gracefully in the large fir tree behind them. She turned and stared at the bird. Something about it held her attention; she could not turn away. Charlie walked forward, knowing that this first Corvus had come as a pair. Stepping on to the soft grass, he saw the distinctive flicker of colour as the second giant bird turned towards him. Touching down within a foot, Charlie still could not get over the birds elegance. Despite its massive dimensions, it appeared to fly without effort. Its movements were virtually silent except for the soft rustle of its wings. Having completed his contemplations, Charlie looked upon the Corvus and recognized it instantly. Overjoyed, Charlie allowed himself to believe that he knew why the birds had come. Patient and purpose driven, the first bird would not let him adjust to the surprise visit. Checking on the girl revealed that she had a problem sorting out what kind of birds they were. Her own raven was barely an eighth of the size. Raising its beak caused everything to stop mid thought.
“We have been summoned to assist you both. The information came through channels not used in thousands of years. It spoke of an event taking place that required every available being.”
Charlie nodded his head to substantiate the information. Adding to its first statement, the Corvus asked,
“Are we at war now?”
Thinking carefully before he answered, Charlie replied,
“I believe we have been at war for a very long time. What happened recently is the first shot in the last battle that will determine the outcome.”
“So this return to Amkata is important?”
“Right now, this return is everything.”
Grasping the extent of what this meant, the Corvus wasted no time in activating the process. A unique call caused the first Corvus to leave the tree and take flight. At the same time, Charlie instantly received a copy of their flight plan. The bird that she would fly with looked to be climbing quickly. Catching up to his sister, he led her by the hand to a clearing large enough for the magic to happen. Charlie told her not to move and that he would see her in a place where they would be safe. He promised to explain everything later. She gave him thumbs up and stood her ground. Searching the skies again for the bird, his eyes did not register how fast it dove out of the sky. The energy displacement created by the impact shook a small area where the girl once was. Instantaneously, reverberations fired off in every direction, accompanied by an intense flash of light. When he looked up again, the Corvus flapped its wings with his sister abroad. He closed his eyes just as the bird impacted her chest. Even after his own experience, he found it hard to believe. Stepping out into the same area, Charlie waited his turn. He looked at the Corvus, motioning for him to get on with the procedure. The bird recognized that it would have to explain a crucial feature the boy obviously overlooked the last time he had traveled with them. Taking almost five minutes to describe the process and another five for the technique. In a normal setting, the discussion should have lasted a minute but Charlie could not help himself. He kept interrupting with statements like; “are you sure?”, “for real, no, I mean really?” He found what the Corvus told him simply too fantastic to be true. Finally, the large bird grew tired of his unwillingness to accept the message. After telling the boy what he needed to do, the bird hopped twice and started to fly. Looking at his hand, Charlie turned them over to inspect the underside. He shook out his limbs, exercising any residual demons or doubt. In the moment where he needed all the faith and courage possible, about to embark on the biggest challenge of his life, Charlie decided it was time to run solely on trust. Following the birds’ direction to the letter, he flapped his wings with confidence. Before he knew it, he had gained significant altitude and headed north with the other two birds.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Allison sat on the bed while her eyes tracked around the room. Everything looked familiar enough, but she could not be sure. Something occurred to her so she got up and headed for the stairs. Stopping in hallway, unable to recall why she got out of bed, Allison leaned against the wall. At the same time, deep within the innermost reaches of her mind raged a small but violent power struggle. The structured and brilliant portions of her mind fought to protect itself from the foreign toxin that served to erase it. Allison was now the unfortunate bystander, randomly subjected to all of the side effects from both sides of the conflict. Since regaining consciousness, she felt the impact of the toxin almost immediately, with understanding what had happened to her. Although no one knew what the poison was yet, Hennessy’s current theory narrowed it down to an organic poison. He understood that did not mean much, as the list of organic poisons ranged in the thousands. He could not get close enough to her as the potency still posed serious health risks. Orabona physiology evolved to be well suited in dealing with foreign contaminants and highly poisonous environments. Their cellular structure provided an exceptional filtration system. So much so that extended lengths of exposure had no more serious effect than a tertiary introduction. The concern of the elders centered around two interlocked complications. First, having not yet ascended, Allison should remain under the protection of her parents’ sanctuary and safeguards. That fact is immutable. The second dealt with her long list of abilities. No one believed that Graham could have been so unaware of his surroundings to be blindsided, but if so, why did Allison not react? This suggested serious and powerful magic, the likes of which were very rare. In conjunction with the first two points revolved the problem of how Allison body was not fighting back. The lead to the burning question, what would happen to the girl now? The changes witnessed in Allison thus far raised serious concerns about the far-reaching consequence. In terms of temporary and long-term effects, it became increasingly more difficult to push the pessimistic thoughts aside as the onslaught of negative changes continued to manifest with regularity.
Allison looked away from the wall and closed her eyes. They were tired and dry. She got back to her bed, laid down and tried to get comfortable. Something about her movements seemed awkward, almost out of order. Fighting to keep her eyes open, Allison fought her way to the floor. The sudden jolt caused a small flash of her true self to illuminate. All it said was to resist sleep at all costs. Nothing more, only that she must stay awake. The allure of her bed challenged that command, and became nearly impossible to resist. A random thought found its way in; a comment that she should eat. That somehow broke the spell, as she pulled herself up and slowly walked across the room. In the threshold of her bedroom, it happened again. Allison wondered how she arrived in this place. She did not know why she was even up. It did not last very long, but it motivated her to find her way back down stairs and to her mother’s side.
Upon his return home, Edgar activated multiple procedures simultaneously. With time now an adversary, he consolidated movements whenever possible. The first measure concerned communication. An open channel shared amongst the five council members allowed them to discuss the details of the coordinated attack on the Hannaburg family. When Edgar described the girls’ state and changing effects of the suspected poison, his four counterparts fell silent. Not one of them had a reasonable idea of what could cause such effects in an Orabona youth. They were clear that without a sample of the girl's blood to analyze, she would be at its mercy. Edgar explained the hemorrhagic properties as witnessed by the feline caregiver. A pall settled over the Five as they sought answers to unimaginable questions. He sent them all examples to examine, hopeful they would find something. All the while knowing that the longer it took to find a solution, the less chance of an antidote. They continued to discuss the limited details that remained from his original statement. In his haste, Edgar nearly forgot about the finch. He opened his robe and in a flash of feathers out flew the small bird. Ignoring the old man, Mr. Finch landed on his perch in the newly decorated study. He had some considerations of his own, and required a quiet place to think. Having grown tired of the now circular conversation brought about by no one listening to one another, Edgar haulted the discussion entirely, asking them to contact him if they had any new thoughts on the matter, then disconnected. Once free of the irritation, he walked through the house to the empty kitchen. Rankled by the telltale reminders that filled the room, he did not hesitate long. One-step down off the back to the pantry stood a door. In full stride, he kicked it clear off its hinges. Flicking on the light, Edgar descended into the cellar.
The finch turned away from his work when he heard the loud noise at the other end of the house. He did not have the leisure to pay any attention to the old man’s aggressions. Holding in its wings were precious elements from Amkata’s airspace, collected during his quick flight through the portal. Knowing that the particles clinging to his feathers had specific lifespans; decaying at constant rates. The finch needed to commence with the preparation. Having already sorted the main particles by feel, the bird stretched and flapped its wings to set everything in place. Then, tucking his wings tightly against its body, the little bird concentrated all of its energy on breathing. As the respirations slowed, the finch’s body changed functions. Its internal systems went into a state of hibernation. Breathing slowed to a minimum, as did its heart rate, dropping from over two hundred and seventy-five beats a minute down to only four. The systems taking place beneath its wings forced open the expanses of the bird's resourcefulness. He endeavoured to decode the elements that stuck to his feathers. What the bird found turned out to be a great deal more illuminating that he first imagined.
After a complete and thorough search of the clandestine reaches of his house, Edgar returned to the main floor. He considered the past hour wasted time as he quickly discovered that Petunia systematically scrubbed every square inch of the space. Her apparent efforts to eradicate any trace evidence with the limited magic she could conjure had been successful. Finding nothing came as no great surprise, but the effort allowed him to move on. Standing alone in the kitchen, Edgar leaned his hands on to the counter. His mind boiled with endless thoughts and considerations. Between the choices and decisions that required his personal attention, things began to pile up. The longer he stood still, the faster the torrent in his mind flowed. As the questions he could not answer blocked the pure thoughts from coming through, a distinct pressure built in the back of his skull. It did not take long for the flow to clog with impossible queries requiring complex responses. The pain in his head paralleled the congestion of his thoughts. Wallowing there, nearly blind from the inability to break through the pounding in his head, Edgar found solace in the oblivion. His vigilance had failed Allison and the Orabona people in general. His single-minded focus allowed his wife to commit repugnant crimes under his nose. She quite possibly may have undone two thousand years of labour in combatting the entity that controls Amkata. Unwilling to accept this as his fate, Edgar reached inside himself and smashed the barricade of doubt. No longer would he allow irrational debate to stand in his way. Duty to the Orabona was the only thing that truly mattered. Pushing himself up, Edgar came to the realization that the time for civility had long past. A forgotten connection to Amkata sat in a room upstairs. With nothing left to lose, he ran up the two flights of stairs to a non-descript hallway. He walked along until he found the right spot. Placing his hand on the wall, he pressed lightly. When he pulled it away, a door swung open. The dark room held many treasures but the specific object he had in mind stayed hidden for ages. Moving boxes out of his way, Edgar required unfettered access to bring the object around.
The finch stirred, slowly getting to its feet, hopping in place to get the blood circulating in the right direction again. Shaking out his delicate wings, the residual dust from the extraction process settled to the floor. At first glance, the finch initially uncovered something that did not seem possible. Testing the samples again returned the same results as his initial findings. The finch found it difficult to accept, but was confident in the accuracy of his discovery. The analysis uncovered more about the planet and its environment than expected, results that required immediate attention. With so much going on, the finch found himself overcome by the data. He could state without reservation that Petunia now inhabited the planet, evidenced by human by-products in the air, supported the youth's claim; and, above all, Amkata itself had not died. It appeared to have given up several feet of soil on its outer most layer but distinct markers in this data suggested its death might have been a premature assumption. The finch found something else that he would have ignored had it not been in every sample. Each contained a unique disturbance, a low frequency signal. Initially dismissing it as background radiation, or a phenomenon caused by coming through the portal, the finch chose to look more clearly at it. The conclusions he developed were incomplete and needed a great deal more study. What he found suggested that each sample held a fragment of a message created in the lowest end of the frequency range. The finch believed the fractured messages encircled the planet. Having no idea why or what the message contained, the bird knew his examinations left no room for error. The certainty in this case came from a structured coding system embedded in each fragment. Written in an ancient tongue, his findings were undeniable. Feeling himself again, the finch flew off in search of the old man. His hope remained that this new information might set Edgar in the right direction to unravelling this distressing mystery.
Focused on the desperate undertaking, he ignored the first message. Realizing that he could no longer simply choose his engagements; he paused. Before he could address the first one, an onslaught of similar messages followed. Edgar knew he was required elsewhere. Leaving the room as is he restored the charm and nearly headlong into the finch coming up the stairs. Avoiding a collision, the bird followed him down to the study. Every time the finch tried to get his attention, the old man brushed him off. Finally, at odds with one another, the finch spoke in an unfamiliar tone. His usual jovial English accent was gone, replaced by something other. It got Edgar’s attention.
“You cannot leave. I have information from Amkata regarding a new presence coded in ancient Orabona.”
Spinning on his heel, he turned to face the finch, who had not stopped talking.
“It is bona fide. Coded long before my time, but I recognize it. Plus there is so much more that I found …”
“Something in Allison has changed Finch. I cannot say anymore as I must be off.”
The old man pulled his robe around him and vanished. The finch did not know what he meant by “changed”. He could only tell by his demeanour that he feared for the young girl. Returning to his perch, the little bird, started work on his dissertation for the next time he had Edgar's ear.
Molly looked at the telephone; imploring it to ring with news of her husband. The last four days had been brutal with the upheaval, the concern and the persistent, unanswerable questions. She kept thinking the situation with Allison would have been more bearable if Graham were there to lean on. Knowing she had to be strong for her daughter now, Molly depended upon the experience of Nana Rose plus Hennessy’s wisdom. The critical test came as Allison stood in front of the toaster. Her mother smiled for the first time in days seeing her child perform an intimate ritual that would return a small sense of normalcy. With the toaster loaded and cooking, she moved to the refrigerator. Standing with the door open, she appeared to be having a difficult time making a decision. Just as it popped, that action seemed to launch the next phase of her illness. Without closing the door, she collapsed to the floor. Only four steps away, Molly scooped her up and carried her back to the sickbed. Nana Rose dropped everything and assisted her daughter in law. Their first observation noted that it looked like she had a fever. This sort of physical malady did not occur in the Orabona. For almost thirty minutes, the two elders tried everything they could to cool the young girl down. When the chills took over, Allison shivered so violently that her teeth rattled. Following several failures to stop the cycle, the Hannaburg women scrabbled together a binary charm. Placing their hands on Allison, the combined magic flowed through her, with the results both rapid and effective. Hennessy appeared at the foot of the bed in hopes of providing some sort of assistance. Before Molly could get up, the fever returned. This time, it were as if Allison's condition consumed the power of the charm to increase the intensity of the fever. The feline tried to get close to the girl again but the backscatter and residual discharge from the poison made his joints ache. He knew he could help but it would most likely cost him his fifth life. A consideration that he seriously began to think about. Helpless to stand by and watch, the next hour brought out the worst symptoms yet. Allison began to hallucinate due in part to the critically high fever. She spoke in bizarre and unknown languages to beings that did not exist in this reality. She tried several times to get out of bed, fighting with both elders, as if she needed to be somewhere other than home. The heart breaking progression weighted heavily on everyone. When the fever finally subsided, she became increasingly withdrawn. Terrified of her family, of her surroundings, lost and confused, she tried to hide from the place she had known all her life. Toward the end, the present Allison Hannaburg shared only the physical form of the girl from a week before. When the worst of the worst finally ended, she fell asleep. Nana Rose got up to put on a pot of coffee, leaving Molly to stroke her daughter's damp mass of hair. Neither woman knew what to say, let alone had the capacity to sort out any of the details surrounding the baffling display of symptoms. Molly checked on Allison one final time before laying on the sofa in hopes of getting some rest. Nana Rose slept on the loveseat while Hennessy kept watch over the ailing youth. He watched her movements, as something about the way she slept struck him as peculiar. Her physical body had not changed. What he saw went deeper than that. He lay still, concentrating his hypersensitive eyes on her form. Fifteen minutes past in which he saw indistinct and random movements in her musculature, centralized mostly in her hands. Without further examination, he could not make a determination that these movements existed previously or were another symptom attributable to the poison. He remained a witness to the faint and involuntary motor responses over the course of the next few hours. With no deviation in his observations, Hennessy allowed himself to believe that these tiny gestures were normal and a baseline to start with, as he intended to collect consistent data throughout his observations. His incapacity to comfort Allison troubled the feline deeply, as he knew there was something more he could do. The last three days of inactivity challenged all that he stood for. Everyone involved in Allison’s care was in uncharted territory. Hennessy resolved to be the one to find the answer. Standing, the feline stretched both front and back legs. Hopping down to the hardwood, he wandered through the kitchen to his food dish. Unlike the Orabona, the domesticated housecat required food and water in a regular basis, no matter its magical abilities. It happened just as he finished lapping up a mouthful of water. Hennessy heard the bang, then instantly turned and ran back to Allison. The subtle movements he witnessed were not a baseline to anything; they only hid the tremors. The bang came when her arm moved suddenly because of a massive seizure. It racked her body into an unnatural position. The violent shaking caused Hennessy to reel in disbelief. His self-admonishment would have to wait. He raced from the bed to the sofa and loveseat then back again, startling the occupants awake. Returning to Allison, she looking to be twisting four different directions while her taught muscles quivered. The weary eyed elders attended to the grotesque display, enduring a long six minutes until the girl finally relaxed, leaving her body at odd angles. Both women carefully repositioned Allison to a somewhat more comfortable looking position. Molly placed another pillow under her head. The movement had caused her eyes to open. Bending down to comfort her daughter, she noticed that the girl was trying to speak. Opening her mouth, a gush of blood and saliva poured out. Allison spat out a chunk of flesh and more blood, much to her mother’s alarm. Nana Rose stepped in and cleaned her face. She found two new pillows and a towel to swap out for the soiled ones. Putting her hand on Molly’s shoulder, she said,
“It is quite common for someone to bite the inside of their mouths during a seizure, especially as severe and violent as what Allison experienced. It is agonizing for us to watch but all we can do is try to make her comfortable.”
Molly could only nod her head. Two additional seizures followed in the span of the next four hours. Each proved more forceful and intense than the previous. Her body reacted differently each time. The second caused her entire body to flail wildly, so much so that neither elder could get close to her. Molly had great trouble watching her daughter’s body smashing into her bed, into herself, into anything in her way. Hennessy felt helpless as she repeatedly pounded her head against the end of the bed. The intermission between the second and third episode provided a false sense of security. Molly wanted to believe that the worst had past, but the feline did not believe that, marking that the bad feeling in his throat remained. Whatever this latest exhibition signified, it had not yet run its course. When the third seizure gripped Allison, it would not let go. The symptoms from the first two did not materialize. Nana Rose noticed it before anyone else, but by the time they all realized what her body was doing, hysteria and panic had all but taken over. This situation, turned dire emergency, necessitated a call out to Edgar because no one could remedy this astonishing spectacle. When the old man appeared in the living room, all Molly and Nana Rose could do was comfort each other at the end of Allison’s bed. Hennessy, on the other hand, fully aware of the potential dangers, sprawled himself across the girls chest; a last ditch effort to pull her out of this spiral. Reaching over, he grasped the feline by the scruff of the neck and set him aside. Wasting no time, Edgar moved with precision. He rubbed his hands with epic ferocity. He then clapped them together, creating a sonic boom that expanded to the confines of the room. Edgar held an invisible actuality between his outstretched hands. Both elders and the feline watched as the Ancient raised them up, calling out words given to the Five for occasions such as this. Energy of every description surged from the four corners of existence. With a magnitude verging on the spectacular, everything began to sparkle, as if even inanimate objects had something to offer. With a rush, the room went black. Standing at the girls’ side, Edgar held a self-perpetuating mass of chaotic free energy. Light, the key element that separated them from the Darkness enthusiastically sacrificed its essence and flowed to the Master. Forgoing any concern for his own well-being, Edgar plunged the spherical cluster into Allison’s body. She reacted adversely at first, pulling and jerking away from him. Standing his ground, she twisted with opposing forces capable of breaking both arms. A lifetime of preparation erected a condition whereby, even when facing the most grave or hopeless of circumstances, Edgar’s mind remained clear and centered. He would endure for as long as need be. He knew that in spite of her renegade development, this girl had a connection to the Orabona that went deeper than even his own. Unwilling to see that bond severed, he maintained his pursuit of evil. At the first sign of Allison’s body starting to relax, the old man knew he had found of piece he could latch onto. The silence that followed did not last long. The enormous explosion that replaced the quiet happened in the space between his hands. Containing it and diverting the flow of charged particles into the core of Allison’s being. Every cell, now recharged by the abundant energy source, was set free to seek out any foreign bodies and destroy them. The transference of the energy tore through the girl at incredible speed. Her body levitated off the bed much to the dismay of the witnesses present. Something was causing her body to swell, up to the point where her features began to disappear, leaving only a mass of glowing energy. Edgar held her in that position until he felt he had done everything possible. Removing his hands, he let the procession transpire. Allison’s form oscillated thought the standard colours of the visible spectrum, each causing a different set of turbulence, as the energy contained within each tone did a specific search for unnatural occurrences. The entire form radiated the colour that applies its cluster to the girl’s body. The living room transformed through thousands and thousands of shades. Edgar stood at the edge of the sofa, guarding Molly and Nana Rose. There was nothing more to do now, but to wait for the light show to end. He knew that Allison’s condition would remain a challenging question, but at least the worst was over, or so he hoped.
Molly woke up panic stricken, uncertain as to how she made it to her own bed. Having spent the better part of the last week in the living room, she felt a new stillness in the house, with only soft sounds coming from the main floor. Feeling a fragile sense of comfort wash over her, she opted for a quick shower and changing into some fresh clothes. At the bottom of the stairs, Molly heard familiar voices. Swinging in to the living room to check on her daughter, she found the bed empty. Not sure what to make of it, she followed the sounds into the kitchen. Much to her shock sat Allison with Edgar and Nana Rose. They looked to be discussing something important because no one noticed her arrival. Hennessy rubbed up against her shins. Reaching down to pick him up, the cat stated clearly,
“Do not be alarmed but Allison woke up this morning. Although she seems to be completely altered from the girl we knew.”
The words caused her to tense up. The feline waited until she started breathing again before he continued,
“It is not critical, but she does not remember some things. I just wanted to prepare you.”
His words tasted like vinegar as she carried Hennessy to the table. Molly watched her daughter carefully as she sat down.
“Good morning everyone,” she said. Turning to Allison, she said,
“You certainly had us worried young lady. It is wonderful to see you up and about. How are you feeling?”
“Well, like I have been telling grandma and Edgar here, I feel just fine. A little confused about the bump on my head, but other than that I am all right. I do have one thing I would like to know.”
“What is that honey?”
All three of them knew what she wanted to know before she asked. This single revelation alone convinced Molly that something fundamental in her daughter had shifted. For over six years, Allison’s mind had remained a mystery. Her ability to protect her thoughts consistently served to annoy and fascinate. The radical change left Molly feeling tentative. It came as a powerful shock. She found herself drifting alone with the last thought, and then suddenly realized she had not answered her daughter’s question.
“I am not sure where your dad is Ally. We have been waiting for him to contact us. I am sure his is just fine.”
The next measure of change came immediately following her reply. The Allison of old, upon hearing that would have never accepted such a tepid response. After rallying whatever troops she could, she would have been well on her way to some authority demanding answers, apologies and reparations. This current version said nothing more than,
“Okay mom.”
She was floored by the response that did not encompass the gravity of the situation. Allison did not know that a situation existed. Molly looked across the table at her daughter. Her unique features remained as lovely as always, the softness of her smile, the curly mass of hair and her eyes. Her eyes, Molly repeated to herself. It could not be any more obvious. Forcing down the rawest emotions, she stood up and went to Allison’s side.
“I think you have something in your eye honey, just lean back and let mommy have a look.”
Abiding by her mother’s wishes, she leaned back in her chair. Both elders watched Molly examine both eyes, then release the girl.
“Is everything all right with my eyes, everybody but the cat has had a look in them?”
Stifling a whimper, her mother recovered by twisting it into a small laugh.
“Nothing to worry about I just wanted to make sure they did not miss anything.” She sensed that the story involved a great deal more than they could discuss at the table. She wanted to ask Allison more questions but suspected that her daughter only held limited responses. Nana Rose interrupted the pause in the conversation.
“Allison, you do not have to hang out here with the old people. I bet there are plenty of things in your room you would rather be doing, am I right?”
“May I be excused?” she asked graciously. With a quick wave to everyone, she headed upstairs. Molly turned and asked defiantly,
“Will someone tell me what is going on here? Where is my daughter?”
Edgar and Nana Rose proceeded to bring Molly up to speed on the events of the morning. Once the energy ran its course, the girl slept for an hour. What followed were a series of nightmares, mostly benign, which included her falling endlessly, the sensation of being underwater and being in a room with an open door that closed on approach. The same sentiment came from all of the dreams she had; she could never get out and always felt trapped. She seemed genuinely frightened, but frustrated as well. The last nightmare she woke from, she did not recall any portion of it, only the bad feelings associated with it. They questioned her thoroughly about what she remembered and who she feels she is. This was the most difficult subject matter to discuss. Edgar stood and paced around for a moment until he found the right words.
“A quantum event has just taken place and we now have a huge problem. It has the potential to change our future both here and on Amkata. We are no closer to identifying the compound that did this subsequently we have no idea what we are fighting. The truth of the matter is this Molly; whatever poisoned Allison has taken her abilities, her memories of Amkata, of being Orabona, all of it. You saw it for yourself, the fire in her eyes is gone. She is, for lack of a better term, average.”
“What do you mean by average?” Molly asked. Hennessy spoke up, noting his old friends’ emotional pronouncement.
“I think what Edgar meant to say is that Allison, for all intents and purposes, identifies now as more human than Orabona.”
The telephone rang at that critical moment. Molly jumped up to answer it. Edgar gently touched the felines head and whispered,
“I must leave now as there is much to do. It is a new world now my friend. I will be in touch.”
Before Hennessy could reply, the old man disappeared into the ether.
Walking the perimeter, the dusty gravel crunched beneath his feet. His thoughts and vision were in perfect synchronicity. With his intention about to become reality, the only required assurance was to confirm no living creature was part of the process. Walking in and out, Edgar felt confident the buildings were uninhabited. Having wasted so much precious time, he commenced immediately. From the parking lot, and facing the barn, Edgar made a fist with his right hand. With a sudden snap of his wrist, he threw an incendiary compound that ignited on contact. The resulting fire engulfed the barn in seconds. Raising his hands, the old man controlled the fire by closing the flames in upon themselves. Drawing the outer walls closer, the inferno consumed the wooden structure at a savage rate. He kept compressing the blaze so that its dynamic ferocity burned everything to oblivion. When the last of the fuel burned off, Edgar held a small lump of carbon. This vital piece contained elements of all of the poor souls condemned to the horror his wife subjected them too. They would in turn assist him to move on with his true objective. By folding and working the black mass with only the strength in his hands, Edgar compressed the carbon atoms. Continuously taking great care in his artisanship, he did not waver. Edgar organized the cellular structure of the carbon into long parallel lines. Each row, woven into each subsequent row. The final product resembled a disc; unbreakable yet so impossibly dense that not even light could escape. For many hours Edgar called upon the wisdom of the Creation Beings. He used the evil within the carbon to create an interminable purgatory, whose sole purpose was to collect anyone looking to leave Amkata. Edgar walked to the shimmering void in what once was a barn. He fitted the disc to the entrance of the portal. The final step required him to place charm on the portal, making it invisible from Earth. The sun had begun to set as the old man completed his labours. Having used all of his reserves, Edgar found a large fir tree to sit down under. Tomorrow would bring greater challenges and he must be ready to lead the way.