Noology (19 page)

“Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind.”

“I understand. How are you coping with
Rian’s situation?”

“Well, it’s been hard. The first few days
at the farm he resented the manual labor and wanted to give up. My parents were
able to talk him down, but he is having difficulty adjusting to the new
circumstances. He is still the same bubbly Rian we both knew and loved, but
there is a depression looming over him that refuses to lift. I visited him a
few days ago – we met on the periphery of the university. It’s only a
matter of time before he settles in and embraces the new situation. It’s just,
learning was his favorite occupation and now he will never be able to absorb
new knowledge for more than a moment. This punishment is weighing heavily on
his soul, and it has crushed the hope that used to light up his face. Hope for
a new day; one where he could solve and understand the problems plaguing
mankind.”

“I see,” Cerebrus tersely replies. What
does that mean, I wonder. Trying to gauge his internal state from the scattered
mixture of conflicting expressions playing out on his face, I have no choice
but to wait for elaboration. None comes. Instead he abruptly changes the
subject with a clumsy transitional query.

“Have you ever been in a mansion?”

“Nope. But I hear they are all the rage.”

“Oh really? Well, hopefully you don’t
have too high expectations because ours is decrepit. Infested with rats the
size of wolves. And the smells, urgh. Enough to make you sick! It’s got a
certain…je ne sais quoi.”

I freeze, struggling to keep my face a
blank slate of indifference in light of this troubling news. I fail.

“You should see your face!” Cerebrus
cries. “I’m just kidding. It’s nothing to write home about, but it’s relatively
clean and well kept. For an ancient ruin, that is.”

I punch his arm in anger, embarrassed
that I could be so gullible.

“Ow. That was uncalled for.”

“You’re lucky it was your arm,” I murmur.
We both snigger, trekking slowly along the compacted dirt road leading out of
the city center.

I am unable to determine the time of day since
the ground-hugging clouds have obscured the sun from view. It feels as if we
left my modest dormitory hours ago, but without a radiant orb to guide our
journey, I cannot definitively predict how long we have persisted in our
mission.

Reading my mind for the third time,
Cerebrus guarantees we are only about a mile from his home. Onwards we trudge
until my legs ache with the repetitive movement. I beg for a break when the
wailing cries of my strained muscles become too much to bear, and Cerebrus concedes
to my demands.
 
 

Perched on the jagged edge of a fallen
tree colored by spotty cultures of microscopic organisms flourishing along the
bark, I slow my breathing and massage my tortured limbs. The cold penetrates my
core with invasive probes that rattle my body with their fierce spikes.
Steeling myself mentally for the final leg of our journey, we carry on down the
earthen walkway littered with detritus shaken from the towering pines above.

Finally, after an excruciating eternity
of dutiful traipsing, the massive building begins to emerge along the endless
horizon. As we creep closer to the colossal structure, the ornate detail carved
into wooden trellises and marble columns becomes increasingly apparent. I have
never seen anything quite like this in my life. I am reminded of fairytales
from my childhood, full of castles and wondrous magical creations. But is
Cerebrus my knight in shining armor: my prince charming?
 
 

“Cerebrus, darling,” a woman effuses as
she opens the ostentatious oak door with measured deliberateness and purposeful
authority. She is slender but tall, with a body unaffected by the ravages of
starvation. I immediately clamp my arms across my stomach, attempting to conceal
the gaunt form that lies beneath. The genetic cocktail may have successfully
distributed uniform physical features and definition throughout the population,
but the differential access to resources has ensured that disparities in health
and stature still arise. Her elegant and elongated legs are a marker of
consumption of prime produce and foods that have eluded me my entire life
– until now.

“Mother, this is Avelyn. Avelyn, this is
my mother.” Cerebrus introduces us with a fluid wave of his hand across the
space separating us.

“How do you do?” his mother replies,
extending a cautious arm draped in shimmering oceans of luxurious silk. The
liquid material moves in concert with her body’s orchestrations, and I drink in
the delicious aroma of her freshly laundered clothing. She may have no
electricity, but that minor roadblock has obviously done little to discourage
her from pursuing the opulent lifestyle of past eras.

I return her self-assured handshake with
my best attempt at confidence. It is difficult to behave in an unperturbed
manner in such an alien environment tinged with traces of excessive attention
to superficial details.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Cerebrus’
mother continues. “I have heard so much about you from Cerebrus. Would you care
to freshen up in the bathroom down the hall?”

“I would appreciate that very much,” I
respond with a grateful smile. I glide toward the aforementioned room, struggling
against the slight discomfort and panic that threaten to surface in light of
such foreign surroundings. Stumbling into the small room, I close the solid
door firmly behind me – it slides into the frame perfectly and for once I
don’t have to jam a warped slab of wood into an ill-fitting jam. Before I start
to erase the damage of a day spent trudging through whipping gales and caustic
winds, I survey the bathroom with unconcealed wonderment.

Sleek ivory pillars rest in the corner beside
the gleaming black granite countertop with flecks of mild gray and stark white.
Blooms of fake foliage with waxy smoothness erupt from towering crystal vases,
flowing over the edge of the surface and trailing onto the polished ceramic
tile. Vacant glass boxes ring the massive mirror, ghosts of dead light bulbs
still hanging in their sockets with electric anticipation that shall never be
fulfilled.

Glancing at my reflection, I gingerly
wipe the grime from my face and frown at the sunken hollows resting below my
piercing blue eyes. There is nothing to be done about them; when you are wholly
and completely exhausted, there is no way to obscure the evidence and pretend
otherwise. I shake out of my warm outerwear and slip into the snug pink frock
from my bag. I am a tomboy at heart, and the overtly feminine garment looks
comical to my critical eye, but I must act the part of the typical loving
girlfriend in order to make a positive first impression.

Stepping back into the spacious corridor,
I follow the subtle sounds of strange voices as they drift along the creamy
white walls. I emerge in the kitchen to find Cerebrus seated regally at the
solid mahogany table against the wall, his mother deftly arranging a rainbow of
delicacies across an elaborate platter perched on the marble island that
floats, suspended in the center of the room. Awkwardly, I shimmy up to
Cerebrus’ side and he gestures for me to settle into the empty chair beside
him. Upon rearranging myself in the space he indicated, I inquire if there is
anything I can do to assist in the preparations for dinner.

“No, dear,” Cerebrus’ mother answers. “We
wouldn’t want you to sully that beautiful dress of yours. You are our company.”
She delivers this line with practiced expertise and a beaming smile, but
insincerity drips from each word. It is hard to ignore the flicker of sarcasm
that flits across her face as she complements my dress, no doubt reflecting her
distain for my lack of finery. This humble ensemble is the best that I have,
and the scrutiny cuts like a knife into what little pride I have retained
despite living in relative poverty. Cerebrus is ignorant to the subtle jabs his
mother takes as she fulfills her domestic role of host.
  

“You look beautiful,” Cerebrus decrees as
he leans forward to swiftly steal a kiss while his mother’s back is turned. I
mumble a quick “thank you” for the complement and focus on my hands as they
fidget incessantly upon my lap.

An echoing chortle bounces off the
hallway walls, finally filling the unnatural silence within the luminous
kitchen. A tall young man swoops through the doorway, halting abruptly in his
tracks upon seeing a stranger seated before him. His rich brown eyes are
highlighted by spokes of creamy caramel much like the warm tones of Cerebrus’
irises. Judging by his physical features, he appears to be slightly older than
Cerebrus – perhaps within the age window of twenty-five to thirty.

“You must be Avelyn,” he cries, crossing
the room in seconds to greet me with sheer enthusiasm. Instead of seizing me in
a firm, methodical handshake, he raps me squarely on the shoulder in cheerful camaraderie.
“I’m Pineaus, Cerebrus’ brother.”

“Of course! I’ve heard so much about
you,” I reply.

“All bad, I’m sure,” he teases. “So, how
are your studies coming? How are preparations for the SMART’s?”

The dreaded question finally emerges like
a captive dragon longing to scorch me with its impending breath of fiery and
hostile examination.

“It’s fine. I’m reviewing a little each
day in preparation,” I fib.

“You’re lying. I can read it in your
face. You have some pretty big tells. Don’t worry; everyone exaggerates about their
SMART’s. We feel a need to pretend like we are in control of the stress and
emotional baggage that comes with constant critical examination, but none of us
really are. It will be over before you know it,” he grins. The distress at
being accused of deception begins to dissipate, and I paste on a thin smile to
disguise the unnerving sensation rippling through my body.

“Sorry,” Cerebrus mutters, embarrassed by
his brother’s flamboyance. “Pineaus has a tendency to be a little…intense.”
Pineaus clutches his heart in melodramatic agony, claiming to be broken by his
little brother’s harsh judgment.

“Oh, I am sure I can handle it,” I
respond. “They say that people who are fixated with analyzing the minds of
others are compensating for a lack of security in their own intellectual
abilities.”

“What is this? Pick on Pineaus day? I’ve
just met you and I can already tell we are going to get along just fine,”
Pineaus guarantees. Our trio bursts into a fit of laughter, exchanging amicable
taunts and benign insults.

A rumbling guttural sound ruptures the
jovial aura as a middle-aged man steps forth in a spotless and crisp black
suit, clearing his throat to announce his presence.

“Hello, father,” Pineaus and Cerebrus
whisper in unison. He nods in recognition of their collective welcome. Cerebrus
introduces me to his noble father, the highly esteemed statesman, and I fight
my visceral instinct to flee from his scrutiny.

In a pack, we follow Mrs. Lofton into the
magical dining area littered with flickering candles and an astonishing variety
of plump fruits awaiting crushing jaws that shall drain the produce of its
vital juices and serrate its vulnerable flesh.

A fierce pounding announces the arrival
of the first flight of guests to the mansion, and she scurries to answer the door
without a moment’s hesitation. Strange faces flood into the once enormous
atrium and it quickly becomes crowded with magnificent bodies shrouded in sumptuous
fabrics and fantastic outfits unlike any I have ever seen.

“Dinner is served,” Mrs Lofton announces,
and Pineaus lunges for the scrumptious bounty of coarse rolled-oat cakes beside
his bare plate. “Manners!” his mother pointedly chastises with shrewd sourness.

As the mouth-watering selection is
distributed across the table until each person has constructed a meal to his or
her liking, we are momentarily engrossed by the tantalizing profusion of
flavors tangoing inside our mouths. I am seated beside Cerebrus near the head
of the table, along with the rest of his family.

Eventually, Pineaus and Cerebrus begin
discussing the trivial concerns of young boys attempting to conceal their
immaturity behind adult facades.

“Avelyn, how did you come to meet Cerebrus?”
Mr. Lofton inquires over the babble of voices engulfing us as strangers become
engaged in conversation with their neighbors around the massive wooden table.

“Well, actually my brother Rian was an
ascender and he became good friends with Cerebrus through school. Rian
introduced us a few months ago, and we seemed to hit it off.”

“Oh yes! Rian is a lovely fellow –
quite a character. Why didn’t you bring him, Cerebrus?” he pries.

Cerebrus squirms and casts an apologetic
glance in my direction.

“Rian was recently relocated to a new
area, so we haven’t seen as much of him as we would like to,” I state.

“A new area? Where do you mean?” Mrs.
Lofton prods.

I inhale deeply, steadying my frayed
nerves. No matter what, I am proud of my brother and I refuse to be ashamed of
his situation.

“He is at a farm near my parent’s house.”
I pause deliberately before continuing. “He had an unfortunate accident and has
been reassigned to food production.”