Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy, Volume One) (12 page)

"Yes, that would be the same Healer," Steffor said, pondering Kilton's comments. "While not to your frequency, I too have been u
nder the post treatment spell of a Healer, but I can honestly say the feelings I have for Calivera are different...they go beyond."

"Considering she rescued your soul from a foreign abyss, I'd say so."

"How did you know of our…experience? I mean, I know very little outside of what she told me and, of course, the lingering feeling of being connected to her."

"Steffor, there is very little The Four do not know."

What didn't The Four know?
Steffor let Kilton’s comment drift in the open and considered his own question about The Four in a new light. Comprised of four Citizens, each representing one of the four races, the current Four had a combined life experience of over eight hundred years.

Wisdom aside, The Four was privy to information not revealed to the who
le. Until recently, Steffor had never concerned himself with what the ancient covey discussed or knew, comforted like all citizens that The Four were there to shoulder life's bigger burdens for all them. Now, the concept of The Four soured his thoughts; the symbolic tip of an overarching issue that had broken the surface of consciousness well before his recent experience with the dive.

"The experience
—the accident during the dive, connecting with Calivera—it has altered my perception of the Provider...of my beliefs," Steffor confided.

"It would be hard to imagine it not. There is no record in the Deeds, public or hidden, that I have ever seen of one coming back to life in the same body."

"The world I knew before no longer exists and I now question all that has taken its place. Why did the Provider decide I must die in the dive championship only to come back to life with such confusion? What purpose does it serve? How do I know it will not occur again? I cannot shake the feeling that I should not have returned, that all of this is...a mistake."

"Why does fear always find a way to manifest in our lives?" Kilton's rhetorical question irked Steffor. He needed concrete answers.

"If my current existence is the manifestation of my deepest fears," addressing Kilton's sapient question directly, "then I have yet to be completely honest with myself. Unfortunately, I am far from connecting all the pieces and time is running short."

"There is only one Time. One Space. One Source. The
Provider is in no hurry, its only mission is to grow. And it grows with patience."

"In concept, I still believe in that, but the Forging Ceremony is close at hand and if I am to take my rightful place, I must join the other chosen by the end of our short
journey. In that, there is no question."

"But you must join our ancient ritual for reasons outside a sense of duty. In order for a new Teuton to be chosen, the mind and soul must be clear of doubt. For that to occur, you must remain patient and leave the r
esults to the Provider."

Steffor nodded in frustrated agreement, feeling anything but patient.

"Tell me Steffor, what do you believe?"

"My belief in reincarnation has not wavered" Steffor replied, his recent connection with Calivera validating the statemen
t.

"Good. A Citizen can take on any challenge knowing and trusting that each human incarnation, no matter how difficult or seemingly insignificant, moves us closer to our ultimate purpose: to rejoin The Provider in the conscious participation of divinity."

Steffor struggled to link his recent experiences to that belief but his bond to Calivera was undeniable, something that could only be explained by a preexistence spanning countless prior lives. He was as sure of this as he was the bark beneath his feet.

"
I find great purpose in being a Citizen, in being a Guardian in this life." As he heard himself speak, the foundation of his refined beliefs in the Provider settled heavier onto his heart. But it was now a narrowcast belief, filtrated into laws of the purest blacks and brightest whites. He found strength of spirit in the emerging, unalterable truth:
The Provider exists and to it alone, I owe all allegiance.

"Good. Embracing the race bestowed in this lifetime allows a Citizen to-"

"But I do not feel beholden to either," Steffor interjected, stirred by the dissonance in his heart related to the evolution of all Citizens, of the need to be further separated from other life. A sense of urgency, a tugging undercurrent mounting since his recent rebirth, awoke with Kilton's presence.

Steffor looked to his mentor and found solace in the contentment reflected upon the pleasant face. With an esoteric glint in his eye, Kilton waited for what Steffor had to say next.

"The Deeds tell us: Transcendence to a higher existence is not the destination, only a new branch in the eternal tree of the Provider. These objectives are fulfilled by the law of reincarnation, are they not?" Kilton nodded in agreement.

"Why then stratify the Provider's people into four distinct races? Why l
imit a Citizen's ability to wield the Source? In doing so, do we not limit the scope of experience and growth in each lifetime?"

"The emergence of the races saved Citizens from certain extinction. The races saved our people from a time of chaos, transition
ed us to the era of peace and harmony we experience today. The rise of the races spawned the Deeds, providing us the means to reach transcendence. How can you question the races?" Kilton asked with pure intrigue.

"I have not forgotten our origins Master Ki
lton. Nor do I mean any disrespect with my line of questions. I simply no longer comprehend the need for the races." Steffor's new spiritual filter had not just altered his view of the Forging Ceremony, it made him question the very need for the four races: the human avatars a soul inhabits, be it Shifter, Healer, Mystic or Guardian.

"Why indeed," Kilton said. He said no more, absently nibbling on his lower lip, the rhythmic clack of his staff on bark with every other stride the only sound to follow. Having
witnessed the countenance on Kilton's face many times before, Steffor knew the wiser man wrestled with a new, or most likely revised, revelation.

Kilton sees what is hidden to the rest of us.

Content to let Kilton ruminate on the topic, another hour passed in silence as they continued down the bough. In that time, the landscape of the bough had changed. The sun had risen above the Toliver region, the strategic openings shifted along vibrant canopy of pine needles and cones beaming life-giving rays along the lake, town and river. The parcels of sunlight shined brightly on the river that was now only slightly below the bark peninsula as cliffs tapered off, replaced by a shoreline of sloped ledges and steps.

The river continued down the bough in this fashion,
slicing through a vast fungi forest that sprawled below. Draped in perpetual shadow, the forest spanned bark on both sides of the river as far as the eye could see. Walking along the wide shoreline with the river to their left and giant mushrooms on the right, an ever-present cool breeze wafted a mixed odor of fertile soil, ripe fruit and fish. The distinct smell reminded Steffor of a time in the not so distant past, when life was much simpler.

What I would give right now to relive just one night, lost with
my fellow apprentice in those vast mushroom colonies.

Full of some of the Provider's nastiest predators and inherent death traps, the forest was more than a survival training proving ground, it was where Steffor truly learned how to rely on others. Now, s
eeing life on the Provider in a new light, he discovered a new appreciation for the rich history associated with the ancient pass.

Over a century post the Razum Massacre, always on the run, trying to stay ahead of their relentless foe, this oasis
—known much later in time as the Forging Bough—provided the Provider's forlorn people their first real opportunity to settle down and rebuild. The first harvest Shifters emerged from the mushroom forest during that brief reprieve, learning to shift the once pathogenic organisms into vital sources of food, medicine, shelter and of all things, biological weapons.

Their trip through the dense, fungi infested, bark peninsulas came to an abrupt end as the canopy above ended, exposing the narrowing bough to the unhindered
mid-morning. A half-mile past this stark demarcation, they reached the apex of the river and the bough's only significant bend.

The extreme drop in elevation amplified the river's acceleration, rushing its waters toward the bough's forked end and the lush,
open grassland of the U-shaped Forging Valley below. Nestled between the two branches that spliced east and west from the bough’s end, the earth of Teuton Valley rested on a massive system of capillary stems that fused the two together. From their elevated vantage, the unique expanse of land floated in the open sky as if held aloft by two cupped hands.

By noon, they reached the valley's steep north wall, where the river crested the forked crook and shot outward in a powerful chute. Steffor followed the wat
erfall's wild descent, smashing into the inclined wooden wall, fanning into glassy sheets along its smooth surface before it collected into a tall plunge pool formed at the base of the valley floor.

He allowed his mind to drift, swimming to the bottom of t
he dark plunge pool before pouring over the curved lip to form anew. As it went down the valley, small estuaries and streams—fed by waterfalls cascading down the branches that formed the valley's east and west walls—bled into the river, causing it to grow in size and speed the farther it traveled.

Steffor followed the river as it steadily flowed away from the sheer branch-walls near the falls, through hills and dells populated with fern and lichen groves, past the ever-present Forging Tree centered midway d
own the valley. Once past the colossal tree, the valley flattened into a vast field of wild flowers and grass that spanned for miles on both sides of the narrow river. Cliff walls widened and gradually diminished into small ridges, no taller than a man by the valley’s end: a thin precipice of interwoven stem edging the valley from which the river crested one final time, showering its life giving fluid onto the plethora of limbs below.

Their brief respite next to the falls concluded, Kilton led them down the
southern branch-ridge. A quarter mile later, they turned down a roadway that weaved down the branch-side to form dozens of narrow streets lined with homes shifted deep into the branch; the plentiful stems, twigs and hearty evergreen leaves aesthetically pleached to create decorative facades, archways, lattices and windows. Children of varying ages littered the streets, the younger playing while the older supervised as the adults were off harvesting the tarroc vines indigenous to the region.

Once on the val
ley floor, Kilton walked parallel to the wall for a few yards, parting thickets of bushes and grass with his staff, to a secluded hollow that appeared to form naturally between soil and the convex wall. Steffor followed Kilton down the semi-open hole, sat down next to him with back leaning against the cool earthen rampart. They sat quietly in the empty, shaded space and collected themselves within the peaceful setting.

"The night after your rebirth," Kilton said few moments later, "the Provider came to me i
n my dreams, as it so often does. The vision disclosed secrets of a Universe beyond my comprehension, exposing fears deeply buried in my heart. That fear has infected my thoughts since, hindering my ability to focus on anything else. Now, as I bask in your presence, my faith is restored."

"I am honored but I am not sure if..."

"There is a log in the Mysticnet," Kilton interrupted, "accessible only to The Four, pertinent to your concerns about the races. Given the circumstances of recent events, I wish to share it with you if willing."

"My trust in your wisdom has never wavered but I cannot, for I have lost the ability to sync with the whole."

"Your current dysfunction is not an issue; through the use of my staff I can show you. Do you wish to see?"

"Yes."

"Know this Steffor; the decision to share this piece of history is made on instinct alone. Too much has happened for me to dismiss your experiences and concerns of late as coincidence. That be as it may, it is far from clear to me as what may come of it. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I understand."

"Good. Stand with me." Steffor stood up, the curve ceiling less than an inch from his head, and faced the earthen wall they were just leaning on. Kilton firmly drove the end of his staff into the ground then closed his eyes and connected to Tillamund: Kilton's Mystic equivalent, one of The Four, keeper of the Mysticnet and Master of the Forging Tree. A second later, a silver beam shot from the knotted end of Kilton's staff, toward the wall a few feet away.

Animated images with grainy edges appeared on the wall, showing an aerial view of the Razum Buttress. The two dimensional projection was a far cry from syncing directly to the Mysticnet where all the senses are sated with vivid detail
, reliving the past experiences of any Citizen as if it were their own.

"If you were to sync directly to a Mystic, the experience would not be much different then what you see now," Kilton explained as if reading his thoughts.