Nemecene: The Epoch of Redress (23 page)

Many people have been entering the gateway, but none have emerged, and the hushed apprentices, assembling in the vestibule, suggest that their mentor is preparing to resume his teachings by the Fountain of Bardo. The squirmy-haired Gadlin descendant, however, has had his lifelong mentoring unexpectedly terminated, yet deception has him believing otherwise.

The swirling fog captures an auspicious scene in the sulfur dusted escarpment flanking an overgrown roadway.

The entrance is barely discernible, and if it were not for the lingering memory of this place, Nathruyu's nimble limbs would have missed a chance to challenge the integrity of the steep incline. The onshore breeze keeps her scent obscured, while she traverses the narrow lip, above the jagged slabs in the putrid sludge below. As she hesitates, with her palms gingerly spread along the false bluff, Odwin slides open the sandstone decoy and thwarts the ambush. Her rendezvous is stripped of the element of surprise. She must therefore shrewdly negotiate the altered terrain using her signature smile and deceive her host with pleasant posturing. Defeated by her unspoken words, Odwin stumbles backwards inside his uncharted shelter off the remote passage to the strongholds and regretfully submits to his destiny.

Nathruyu steps into the rustic den and surveys the walls for disguised chambers, then turns to her old acquaintance. He sits, despondent, on a wooden chair beside a colorful map etched in the rock, representing the continents as they were ages ago, prior to the Great Ocean Swell. He knows why she has traveled the broken road to seek him, and, more importantly, he also knows the sole recourse available to him if he treasures a hope of delaying the demise of his dead friend's nephew, Zaf. He is ready.

Zafarian must remain ignorant of Odwin's disappearance, and Odwin's contacts must become accomplices to her devices. Solemnly, she crosses the dusty floor, extends her reach to the ceiling and back down again to her heart, and when he stands to welcome her, she graciously bows, as she lets a solitary tear shatter on the naked earth, grieving his farewell sigh and his languid drop. He has honored his explicit promise, in matter, and is destined to do the same, in spirit. She can now assume his identity.

Shortly, twilight will bring the tide and centuries of decay will flood the exposed cave. She lunges for the slippads, sketches and boards on his desk and rips the emitter from her innermost pocket as she stows them securely between the fabrics. Shrouding his empty stillness with a silky white cloth, she springs to the outer ledge and seals the doorway to his eternal grave, while the virulent surf crashes into her spine. As the sea retreats to regroup for a mightier surge, she fills her lungs, stretches her arms as high as her toes can raise her, and rifts a grip in the cliff. The cyclical waves repeatedly come smashing down on her, thrusting themselves upwards with each strike, as she races against its thunderous sweep, rifting and climbing until she attains the plateau. Regal before the burnt orange sun, she sheds the noxious assault from the watery depths and anchors her resolve for the demanding return.

The distant frames of her past, it seems, have faded, layer upon layer beyond recollection, along with those who have deeply touched her, now mere fossils in her mind, forever trapped in the calcified sediments of her emotional debris. Her most recent experiences still churn in the fluid fibers of her consciousness, advancing and receding behind her eyes as a muddled pool of images, and arbitrarily bursting through the illusionary tranquillity of the aqueous veneer—transient apparitions dissolving in the mist. In time, they, too, shall harden and descend, and the present shall scatter its droplets to the atmosphere and drift to the future, only to merge and plummet anew, fused as one in the brittle shale of her soul. On occasion, a slender shard will splinter free of the cluster and stubbornly implant itself in her tender flesh, creating a wound that does not mend and oozing a thick, toxic, syrup prone to envelop and infect all who dare to come close. Such is the darkness consuming her, as she yearns for healing, the cravings growing stronger and stronger every time they cross paths. But soon…

The enchanting floral perfume that bewitches the patrons is evident in the delicate carefree tap of the heels waltzing to stringed instruments and seeds joy under the concave canopy of the Great Hall. A few pardons and forgive-me's thrown into the brume, as they test the trial proximity detector program, adds a little humor to the mayhem as well.

The morning socials at the Museum of Antiquities are the brainchild of the current administration, who always strives to increase the ranking of this renowned facility, in order to attract more exclusive and expensive artifacts, and consequently even more supporting members. The concept of converting the gardens and vaulted spaces into a playground of sound, smell, taste, and touch during the blind hours of the day has been universally praised, and so well-received, in fact, that many betrothed couples elect to consummate their love, via the Unification ritual, with a blanketed banquet of culinary and musical delights. Sadly, for her this shall never be. He had been seized from her, and she from him, by the winds and the torrent of a freak summer storm.

Their children are playing, the boys scrapping and their sisters granting favor to the darker one, whilst the other denies having bent the rules of the sport. From their private chamber, they hear the teasing, as their glistening contours writhe in the midday heat. The clever one twists the pointed comments of the other and stings with his own, methodically degrading the discussion to an argument and ultimately a whipping contest. Immersed in the sensual rhythms of their unrestrained passion, they abandon their ears to their ecstasy. As they crest the peak of their mountainous drive, they aimlessly drift between the stars and the dust and release their cares to the void.

The shrill scream of their youngest announces the squall on the horizon. Scrambling for cover, the brood runs to the sanctuary the family has dug in the mound, while the darkest beseeches his parents to join them. The sun deserts its post, tugging daylight behind it as a colossal funnel sucks the air from the heavens and consumes everything within its grasp. The deluge gushes first and floods the escape route they have designed, burying their progeny beneath a murky river, and assuring their death if the enclosure were to be compromised. Next coils the infinite spiral, which expands its girth across the land and cleaves the sky from the earth. As bonded as their minds, bodies and spirits are, the forces conspiring to split them cannot be diverted. Their gaze locks in wanton embrace, one last time, as they brim with gratitude for their bliss and tears for their loss, in what seems an eternity of lament, for they feel the chasm forming. She is plucked from his hold and lost to the currents of obscurity.

Nathruyu has been standing too long at the edge of society, her frivolous fantasies gambling with her sanity. Perhaps her reality is not reality, and the realm she abides does not presently exist. It is odd that the mornings stay hidden from sight, and later they rouse to welcome the light. Are there reasons besides reason that fuel their decisions? Or is the Ministry earnestly heeding the cautions of the Gadlins, the outlanders, the ones the Pramam banished and persecuted? If the blowers were started at the break of dawn, would the Unification be caught unawares? The GHU, the URA, the GMU, the Ministry, and even the illustrious Pramam? Would they slink under the pathways and crawl the poisonous ducts to hide, justifiably condemning their own depravity? Only the ears and the nose of those who make the effort to hone their senses are able to see with the invisible eye, but their dependency on technology to guide them in their activities hampers their sensory evolution. The biochip, in essence, separates them further from their humanity and veils the corruption in full view of the enlightened.

The laughter mounts as the proximity readers confuse the pillars for dancers, although the participants forcefully kissing the marble have a different perspective. Witnessing the confusion from the fringes has provided an appropriate amount of security and has also promoted a semblance of belonging, which has been sorely lacking from her alienating lifestyle. She had forgotten the spontaneous release that emanates from basic pleasures, especially considering the strain her conscience has withstood as of late. Nonetheless, the simplistic distractions of this gullible nation fill her with disdain for their stupidity. Her deeds have pushed her outside the accepted norms of behavior; hence, she must journey alone, albeit devout in her belief that they shall unite before the voyage.

The music stops, and the troupe falls silent. The shoes are vacating the Great Hall and herding toward the white gate, making it difficult for her to recognize the precise click she has been searching for. She slides her head sideways and listens for a unique cadence competing with the random clomps. Nathruyu is starting to wonder whether Elize has already left, or maybe she has echoed the movements of someone in the crowd and walked square past her. Amidst the clanging dishes, the rolling trolleys, and the curt directives of the senior service staff, she gleans a faint hint of motion emanating from the far corner of the main hallway, a quick, solid tempo beating against the granite tile. Her moment is finally here.

No one can prevent her from collecting that which has been marked, and certainly not a self-assured half-breed from the lowlands. She now exercises dominion over the Gadlins' diminished influence on civilization, as aliases inside the maze, and plans to take thorough advantage of her new high-ranking outlander status. She will leverage Zafarian's relationship with Odwin, until his usefulness expires or the network exposes her treachery, and, in the process, crush the arrogant taunt of the Pramam's advisor once and for all. Zafarian is merely a pawn to her, whose agenda happens to mesh with hers in regards to keeping Elize away from authorities and her father, and, in this particular game, pawns are expendable.

Watching him yesterday afternoon, as the trio enjoyed a playful reprieve, resurfaced intense feelings of longing and reignited the desires constantly haunting her loins. She closes her eyes, and casts the sentiments from the latter four days into their dark pools, replacing them with fervent anticipation. The scarcely palpable vibrations from the masonry signal the blowers stirring below and warn her that the opaque curtain will soon lift. Her hands curled tensely around the edges of the cold stone, elbows and knees slightly flexed and feet firmly planted on the ground, she waits, poised to spring from her fanciful musings, while the scurrying becomes louder and louder. Nathruyu rewarded at last, Elize emerges from the foyer.