Manifest (The Darkening Trilogy) (16 page)

“This meeting was ahead of time.  Perhaps your birds did not reach them,” a somewhat resentful voice says from the darkness.

“Perhaps,” I reply.  “I’ll get right to the point
, then.  Who among us as been attacked under unusually strange circumstances… perhaps involving a corrupted and disappearing creature?” About half the members in the audience raise their tokens.  “As have I; on three occasions.  Of those attacked, how many found that the moments preceding the creatures’ presence caused an inexplicable fear perhaps accompanied by a surge of powerful kharma?”

All of the veteran sentiner’s tokens stay raised while some of the newer members waver, unsure if the fear they felt was more than the normal terror of their nightly existence.  Nevertheless, a murmur begins.

“Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly,” I say to quiet everyone for my next question.  “Did any creature communicate a message – of any kind?”

All tokens fall, and I am left ambivalent, both relieved and terrified.  The theatre is silent for three seconds.  I break the tension by recounting my three exploits, sharing my suspicions of a pattern and ending with the message from the spider.  “…You are all shadows.”  Another three seconds of silence.  Not a breath is taken or released.  “I would like to move the discussion to the causes of these attacks and…” 

“Let us not be hasty in our assessments, Captain,” says one of the council members.  I turn over my shoulder to look at the tinted glass booth as he continues.  “We must make the most informed judgment possible, and that requires a thorough examination of the testimonies.  Since nothing has yet been entered into an official report, the council must be informed of these events here and now.”

“With all due respect to the council, I believe we must move quickly in our assessment of this threat.”

“Your position is noted, Captain.  We will now hear from the other sentiners on the matter and then return to the message you received.”

I take my seat and listen to two dozen accounts of these odd attacks.  They appear, they’re scary, they die, they disappear.  Finally, I call a halt to the proceedings asking if anyone still waiting to tell their story has anything that doesn’t fit our established profile.

“Be seated Captain,” the council orders me, and I step off the stage.  “We will hear all accounts.”

We go alphabetically and by rank, each sentiner describing similar situations.  I try not to be impatient but the trend is established well before we come close to hearing the last story.

It’s just a few hours till morning by the time everyone has recounted an even remotely related incident, and I’ve reached no new conclusions.  The council calls a short recess so they can discuss things in the privacy of their booth.  The lights rise and everyone takes a break to stretch.  I turn to the seats next to me, the other captains leaning in, and we all take out our handheld notepads and ultra-fine tip pens.  In a room full of sentiners, there’s no way to even whisper something you don’t want everyone to hear.  Same with lip reading so we write in a script so tiny it can only be seen by experienced sentiner eyes, right up close.

Well that was a waste of time
, I write.

A true sentiner at heart, Miquel offers some value to the proceedings. 
Perhaps their overly methodic approach will yield new answers.

Corbin though, has never found this argument very comforting. 
The youngest one on the council hasn’t been outside her bubble since Delano joined.  The only things they know come from us.

If they are misinterpreting the world outside, we have no one to blame but ourselves,
he replies.

Cassandra weighs in with her perfect loopy penmanship. 
We’ll do what we have to, when we have to.  Till then, let’s at least appear to get along, for the sake of the others.
  We follow her advice and put our notepads away; the lights are dimming again anyway.

The council addresses us after another musical cue.  “Upon further reflection, we have decided that this is indeed a significant threat.  Furthermore, a coordinated approach is needed to understand it.  We relinquish the discussion’s mediation to Captain Delano.  You have the floor, Captain.”

I rise and take my place on the stage as Mediator of the House, conducting the conversation with my hands, and calling on raised tokens.  “The cause,” I prompt.

“It can’t be
unconnected.”

“Agreed.”  I take it to a vote.  Unanimous.

“A crafter, then.  Someone very powerful in the arts.”

“But what motive?”

“To steal our position.”

“No.”

“To blind us.”

“Blind us from what?”

“Yes, a distraction.”

“Nonsense!”

“No, it’s not a crafter.  This is kharma.” My stomach tightens at this suggestion even as the rest of the theatre begins to murmur their disbelief.

“Kharma?  Certainly not.”

“It can’t be.”

“How absurd.”

I silence them and ask the young sentiner to continue.  “What are you suggesting?”

“We have finally come to know too much.”  His reasoning is hardly what I had anticipated – or feared.

“We are an integral part of the cycle.  Without us, everything else would collapse.  What motive would the system have for eradicating us?” another interjects.

“Maybe the times are changing.  Maybe the manifestations of the collective consciousness are getting stronger,” the bold, younger sentiner suggests.

“You’re too young to know such things.”

It starts to get heated so I interrupt.  “Stop, stop, stop.  There may be some merit in this.  Who among us can honestly say that they have never interfered with the system in some way, even since the last reckoning?”  There is a tense silence among the audience.  We all profess the code here, but the streets require a certain amount of discretion.  “I fear that this might indeed be related to our actions, or perhaps worse… our inactions.” 

“Watch yourself Captain,” one of the council members warns.  “The Hyperion represents the most informed, balanced, and faithful group of people in the city.  The sentiners are the last people the consciousness would want destroy.  These are factors, perhaps, but we cannot believe they are the true cause.” 

Timidly, Nigel goes next.  “I have been noticing a small resurgence of cult activity in Central Gothica.  Perhaps there’s more to it than we are aware.  After all, no one’s paid much attention to the cults since well, since the genocide.”

Mentioning this makes things even tenser.  The genocide was the most recent time that any of the captains, let alone all four, blatantly broke with the code and got deeply involved in the city’s affairs, fighting against a dangerous plot that might have destroyed Gothica.  It was the most recent time the cycle of the city was interrupted, two hundred and twelve years ago.  The council formally condemned our actions but allowed us to stay within the Hyperion because of how widespread the sentiners’ disobedience was.

“In retribution for our acts!” Someone shouts.  I’d love to cut this thread of the conversation here and go over and smack Nigel on the back of the head, but I can’t.  I must let the council rule over me.

“What has been done has been done and it cannot be changed,” one of the Council members states.  “Unless there is anything more to add, we will pursue these ideas – the possibility of a powerful crafter and of resurged cult activity – from within the clouds.  Perhaps we may then better understand why it is that we are shadows.  When we return, debate will resume.”

They’re right.  Maybe some time in the collective consciousness will help give us perspective.  No one objects, so we all settle into our seats and begin to meditate.

The lights go out and only stormy flashes from the oculus illuminate the red seats, brown coats, and pale faces.  A gravity of kharma is created in the center of our space.  As the rain entering in from the oculus reaches the center of the sphere, it begins sparkle and glow like brilliant fire flies, darting about in all directions.

Our energies are pooled together and soon the more experienced among us drift out of body.  That mysterious orchestral chord which once cued us to seat the council members now returns. This time the entire symphony tunes its instruments, bits of scales and various chord progressions melding into a pleasingly chaotic jumble of notes.  The instruments neither compete nor cooperate.  It’s like musical laughter.  Everything inches together into algorithmic alignment and the building of one perfect harmony parallels our journey into states of energy. 

Wispy ethereal representations of our selves float above our comatose bodies.  These tattered, gaseous images undulate like a buoy in the waves while simultaneously flickering in and out of existence.  When the youngest of us finally achieves
séance
, I lead the entire Hyperion, skyward, through the oculus and into the storm above.

The thunder and lightning is at its most intense now as we climb higher and higher, surreal, amorphous ghosts leaving the city below until all that remains are dots of light through the ever thickening clouds.  To our side, the majestic Cynthecorp Tower seems to race us to the sky.  A crack of lightning reflects our forms on the glass surface; strands of tattered thought swirling in complete absence of substance, our heads back and faces to the rain. 

We are now entering the collective consciousness. 

While kharma exists everywhere and all of our actions reverberate through this mystical medium, it’s hard to distance ourselves from the ancient custom of seeing god in the sky.  Due to that perception, the purest and most potent forms of kharma exist here above the city.  To travel through the consciousness in this way is very dangerous and so the younger ones among us, the cyperas, keep in close groups.  They have to project a protective field around themselves so as not to get forever lost and to avoid being sucked into a nightmare or pocket of malice. 

When I reach the thickest part of the smog, I break off and level my course to the horizon.  Behind me, the others do the same, some alone, and some in groups, but each in a perfect pattern.  We create a giant blue firework blossom in the sky as we head outwards, searching with as much speed as safety will allow.

I traverse the area with the ease of experience – not at the height of my abilities but with impressive celerity.  My journey continues endlessly for what seems like hours, though time is less relevant here.  I pass random thoughts, suppressed dreams, and bright embers of hope, the representations of actions and the vacuums of regret for deeds not done.  But there is no denying the
overabundance of sadness and evil here.  I begin to grow disheartened and give new weight to my fear that the city is truly on the verge of a horrible change.

Dawn approaches and I watch the sun as it weaves through the clouds.  Before turning back to find my body though, I catch a glimpse of a light break off from the cluster of morning rays.  It’s as if my presence has accidentally freed it from the sunlight.  I keep watching the strange phenomenon as it darts around, acting like an insect trying to play a game of tag with me.  Upon chasing it for some time I catch the glow, it having led me far from where I first saw it.  With a sense of satisfaction I finally contain the light and look into its source to determine what exactly it is.  It suddenly glows brighter until I am enveloped in its incandescence and all I can see is an image within the center of the fire.  I am struck with dazzling force by the scene before me and before I can even begin to grasp the precognition which, for some twist of fate has come to me, my mind reacts. 

With a sickening speed, my mind drops from the sky and races desperately for the theatre.  A burning need to return to my body fuels my mental form to race across the city, having wandered far from the Neo Square in my journey.  As I pass through solid matter, the wake of my presence ripples energy, leaving a cold breeze sweeping through the streets.  I use all of my energy to create a psychic barrier against all the kharma I am passing through, a mine field of dangers tugging at me, pulling me in.  I fight them off.

Soon the theatre is in sight and only a second later I am in it, returning through the rooftop and down into my body, dawn at my heels.  Reunited with my physical form I snap to attention and gasp for air, my head convulsing and threatening to jar me into unconsciousness once again.  With everyone else still in the clouds, I am the only one awake and the theatre is silent and still.  I leap into action, grabbing the other captains next to me and throwing them down the walkway leading out of the theatre.  If their bodies die, their kharmatic essences won’t survive.  Turning around to grab more lifeless bodies, I see that the light coming in from the oculus is disturbed, casting a shadow over the whole room.

I look up to see a pale-skinned man with a vacant, lifeless stare on his face falling through the oculus.  He’s wearing a vest rigged with explosives.  He holds a remote control in his hand and just as his fall takes him to the center of the sphere, he presses a red button on it.  The vision I witnessed above in the glow of light reaches fruition and he erupts into a fireball that consumes the entire theatre.

†
Sabeth
a
†

I
’ve been standing in the doorway for an hour now, looking across my room and through the window at Neo Square.  I just hate it when the Reckonings go on for days.  This one will be no different I suppose, if anything, it will go on for weeks.  Well… I can’t stay up any longer to wait.  I’ll just have to…