Manifest (The Darkening Trilogy) (17 page)

His presence in a cold breeze.  I can feel it.  He’s in danger.

DELANO!

Before I can think, I leap through the window and sprint for the fence. 

But I’m too late. 

Suddenly, there is a terrible explosion in the distance and I stumble to the ground as my knees become too weak to hold me up.  I’m so scared I feel like I might die here on the spot.  Suddenly, to my sides, all around me, auxilias emerge from safe houses.  They stare at the smoke and the comets of flaming debris still flying through the air.  I look up and see hundreds of lifeless blue specters raining down from the sky.  The earliest bits of sunshine pass through them and create a kharmatic rainbow.  I no longer care about myself, about the rising sun, or the perimeter guns trained on me.  From the ground, I dig my heels into the cement and begin to run.  And I won’t stop till I get to my brother.  The feeling must sweep through us all, for the auxilias storms the fences of Neo Square as Pantheon theatre burns in the distance.

I feel the explosions of land mines, but they are silent to me, just as I feel the impact of the bullets ripping through my flesh but ignore the havoc they wreak.  I am being dismembered by fire and shrapnel, yet somehow, I fly across the emerald rim. 

Deep inside their defense, I come upon the ruins.

The theatre has collapsed in on itself and the fire is smothered, leaving only hunks of stone and smoke in the wake of the explosion.  I can hear the massacre going on behind me but try to shut it out of my mind.  I’m so dizzy.   

I leap into the smoldering ashes of the wreckage and dig furiously, ripping at the dirt and pulling large chucks of debris out of the way.  A single millitus, the only other auxilia to make it through so far, pulls at the rubble with strength greater than even her kind should be able to summon.  She cries out, tears the only thing to quench the last few fires still
burning.  Finally, she finds her sentiner, and pulls his corpse out of the rubble.  Holding him close to her chest and rocking back and forth, she howls the loss of three centuries of love before giving in herself and succumbing to her wounds.

An elite unit of Cyncurity, Hoplite, marches into the area in heavy suits of armor and carrying large, futuristic weapons.  They stop and take firing positions, but the leader puts his hand up to stop them.  The men of Hoplite lower their weapons obediently and stand at attention.  There is no threat left.

As my skin smolders in the rising sun, Roger, the last one to make it across, comes to my side and begins to chant, rubbing his hands delicately along my charring flesh.  Slowly, I am relieved from the sun on my back but care little as I dig further.  Roger walks on, several large wounds keeping him from running to search for Corbin in the ash.

My stomach knots as I find the book of matches in the rubble and nearby, a hand.  I dig around and pull, hoping beyond hope that I am not left with only a limb to clutch as I die.  Finally I bring Delano out of the dust, incinerated wood surrounding him like a charcoal grave.  My sobs become uncontrollable as I pull him next to me, his form almost unrecognizable.  Around me, sirens wail like far off banshees coming to claim the dead.  Surrounding buildings have been destroyed and what remains has caught fire and burns.  Soon, I hope, the sun will claim me, and I will be with my brother.

{212 years earlier…}

Date: March, 17
th
6886 ASH

Sentiner: Miquel, praetor occidenae Gothicae

Exposition: In search of the urn

NOTE: Oh, how habit haunts me.  Too accustomed have I become to this system that not a day goes by without my needing to record its events… even when those events are deliberately meant to be kept secret from the Hyperion.  Delano would be furious if he knew I was writing this, but beyond my compulsion to scribble, I feel a certain nagging suspicion that a gap in the historical records at this particular point in this story of Gothica would be an egregious error.

ABSTRACT: If this is to be a document separated from the larger body of the Hyperion’s archives, then I feel the need to explain several prior events that are important to this report.  Recent investigations into the ilk world have revealed that a quasi-darkened breed has emerged, not fully corrupted or awakened to the city, but in a strange grey area outside the ignorance of the system.  They have manifested in a collection of cults, led overwhelmingly by chyldrin, with some fringe elements led by gazers and ilk.  The membership in these cults is overwhelmingly ilk.  (The bulk of this information pioneered by the sentiner Delano, an expert in darkenings.)

The result of these gatherings of “greyends,” as I have come to call them, has been far reaching indeed.  It appears that due to an unseen force, a large portion of the ilk population, once complacent, has now become disillusioned with Cy
nthecorp and the oppressive cynsurance system which denies a vast majority of the poorer citizens access to medical care, police protection, and education.  Coinciding with innumerable other factors which we are desperately trying to understand, masses of ilk have moved into these religious sects, bolstering their numbers significantly enough to reinvigorate the once dead organizations.  With growing memberships came the rise of great megalomaniacs, narcissists, and sociopaths from the supernatural population to lead the disillusioned ilk. 

Much of Gothica has been thrown into chaos.  As a result of this mass alteration of kharma, the backlash that normally accompanies individual darkenings has been lessened by the large number of simultaneous “grayenings.”  It seems that Gothica is not powerful enough to stomp out all of these ilk at once, and as a result, the repercussions are being displaced onto other aspects of the city.  For several years we watched these events unfold, gripping the edges of our seats, searching for the clues which might enlighten us about the future. 

The council expressly forbade all interference by sentiners in any cult matters, but it soon became apparent to us that the change these groups would effect on the city was not the kind the city could survive.

After a secret meeting of the four captains and our auxilias, we mutually agreed that we must interfere in the events, forsaking our limited immunity from the system as sentiners.  It was a difficult decision, debated and contemplated for days, but we finally concluded that there still might be hope for a positive change somewhere in the future, so long as Gothica survived.  The value of our efforts will be revealed soon enough…

BODY:

March 19
th

I am definitely close to finding the location of a cult leader hidden within my very borough.  Somewhere in the infinite catacombs beneath my churches lies the grand master of the Quiyas cult, a chyld of unknown age.  The only way to find the grand master’s tomb, it is rumored, is to collect several artifacts which tell the story of the tomb’s creation and more importantly, the location of its secret entrance.  I imagine these items will not only be difficult to find, but difficult to decipher.  I must begin.

April 1
st

The most amazing events have occurred and I feel ever more confident in our decision to interfere in these matters.  I have found, I believe, the new Anatheas.  Let me start a little earlier…

I had collected three of the artifacts needed to find the tomb of the cult leader, and narrowed the possible area of the final item, as well as the location of the tomb itself, to a manageable section of Guttertown.  Despite the pain it caused my heart, I used the most common methods of finding items in Lower City – the errand boys, (a profession with a life expectancy of thirteen.)  Skipping a series of events which I will fill in later, I came to find a particular errand boy named Ezra who was, beyond all reason, able to read the glyphs on my three collected artifacts.  It seemed he knew of a location where these writings were etched into the rock.  After some investigation, I came to find out that Ezra, an orphan, cared for by a woman named Bell, was no less than a prodigy.  Despite his complete lack of education, Ezra was proficient in levels of math nearly forgotten by the consciousness, as well as various ancient languages.  In an effort to keep himself occupied, Ezra (who was no more than nine!) would translate the languages in the tombs for fun.

I couldn’t have been more elated to find such a gem on my search for the fourth artifact.  With his help, (though the boy nearly died from an asthma attack in the tombs) I was able to gain entrance to the catacomb and organize an assault against the leader.  Our first victory against the cults came not two days ago and all with the help of a sickly little boy from Guttertown.     

May 3
rd

I have compiled my accounts of the battle beneath the churches of West Gothica to be attached to the other four captains’ reports.  (Delano admitted to keeping records during this time of espionage, after which the rest of us Captains confessed as well.  The council is going to find out, he said, so we might as well have one redeeming quality throughout this fiasco.)

I must admit though, that a delightful excitement has overtaken me since we began this endeavor.  I feel alive for perhaps the first time in my life.  I am the master of my own destiny now, and feel a tingling fear and uncertainty as I surge forward.  In lieu of this rebelliousness, I have decided to do something rather brash.

Nineteen years ahead of schedule, I have brought Ezra before the Hyperion as a candidate for the position of Anatheas.  While this alone is a severe breach of protocol, I have also challenged the precedent of the council by bringing forth a
boy
for the first time in the history of the position.  And if my culpability weren’t saturated enough, I have kidnapped Ezra against his, and his would-be mother’s will, in order to do this.

This risk is beyond any other I have taken, but I would never have even considered it if not for the steely conviction that holds steady my soul.  I believe that Ezra has a part to play in the fate of Gothica more than I have ever believed in anything before.  I only hope that others can see it as well.

May 4
th

My heart aches for this poor child.  His charm is beyond measure and to see his sad eyes wrought with confusion and fear rips at my very being.  I have shattered the already fractured foundations of his ability to trust and I only hope he will live long enough to mend himself, even if he never forgives me.  Beyond the anger I feel for the Hyperion and their humiliation of Ezra, I feel angry at myself for being the one responsible for his suffering.  I put him on that stage to be sacrificed to an enraged council and an embittered Delano.  Delano… how petty; this is all because of how he feels about Lori.  But in truth, some of his concerns are valid.  We have never had a male Anatheas before, and never one who was so young – a danger in itself.  I tried to mitigate these factors by pointing out Ezra’s prodigal abilities as well the exposing the seed of his transgender, but I only served to confuse and hurt the boy.

As a male with the soul of a female, Ezra’ journey to understanding his own identity will be difficult enough, let alone the added pressures of the gender association of his occupation and the scrutiny of the sentiners.  My only conciliation is that Lori will be the best mentor Ezra could ever have.  Yet I can’t help fearing for his future.  I just hope this amazing little boy I met in Guttertown will survive this process to become the great Anatheas I know he can be.

With the council’s reluctant consent, Ezra has been accepted for the position, and will now journey deep into North Gothica.  It is now up to Lori, the current Anatheas, to undo the damage we have all inflicted.        

†
Lor
i
†

B
less my soul.  If he wasn’t the most precious little muffin I had ever seen.  “My me, let me get the lights.  No sense in you being spooked because of my miserly ways with the electricity,” I said with a big lippy smile.  People always tell me how big my smile is.  That is, my sons and daughters when they come to visit me.

“Miss Lori,” said one of my sons, Miquel, ever the gentleman.  “May I introduce to you, Ezra.”

“Well hello there, Ezra,” I said kneeling down to the little thing’s height.  Now, I had always been tall and slender, but this tiny little child made me feel like a beanpole giant.  “Welcome to your new home.”  How shy he was, hiding behind Miquel’s tree trunk of a leg.  “This is Alexandria, and wouldn’t you think it was after the fire?  I can be a bit messy.”

“Fire?” Miquel asked worriedly.

“Oh, never you mind that – a joke in poor taste.  Come, let’s show lil Ezra around.  This here is the bookstore.  Quaint little place.”  It was then that I noticed Ezra looking around like a hound in a bone shop.  “You like to read, Ezra?”

He nodded.

“Let me tell you what.  You can read every book in here if you want.  That sound okay to you?”

He nodded again.  I took in a deep sniff.  “You smell that?  That’s the smell of knowledge on paper.  I just love the smell of old books.  This here is the upstairs.  More books.  And these here are the guest rooms.  We have quite a few visitors from time to time, but we’ll talk about that later.  And back down this way is the kitchen.  You and I will be spending a lot of time in here.”