TRANSCENDENCE, page 12
As soon as I release my grip, the weight of the canteen on the threads causes it to rotate slightly and dislodge. Seeing that the canteen is about to fall into the water far below, both Brian and I throw our hands out to grab it. They collide into each other, and then into the canteen, throwing it into the side of the cistern with a loud, resonating CLANG. Brian and I duck down, and listen to the container ricochet around the walls on its freefall down. It lands in the water below with a splash, and then everything is quiet again. I nearly laugh from the ridiculousness of it, but the potential consequences are too real.
Brian and I crouch next to the well, barely daring to breathe, and wait for the world to crash down around us. Time dilates, and in my panic I latch onto each night noise as the coming of the guards. But as the stillness of the night descends again, and the time stretches longer, our tensions ease. Brian reaches out to me and grabs my shoulder, and gives me another solemn nod in the darkness. He carefully moves away from the well, and I watch as he travels quietly back up the grass slope to his cave. It’s started, we’ll see what happens next.
I go to find Charon afterwards. I’m quieter than I’ve ever been sneaking to the edge of the mine, tray of leftover food in hand. I can feel the fatigue from the day, from all my days here, resting on my shoulders. But an excited nervousness drives me forward. I pay attention to every noise and rustle on the way.
“Charon, are you there?”
I’m about to call out again when I hear a weak response from above me. “Yes, hungry.”
I’m immediately stabbed by guilt at the thought of my friend starving. I’ve been bringing him food daily, but only what I can stow away without drawing attention. Like on previous nights, I carefully throw what I’ve brought to the top of the cliff wall. I hear him immediately tear into it, and then the night grows quiet again.
“This is the last night Charon, we make our move tomorrow. I’ve poisoned the well, it should knock the guards out. Can you come down here in the morning? Then you can feast.”
“Okay.”
There’s so much more I want to say. To tell him that I miss him, that I’m excited to leave this place, that I’m sorry for how hard this has been. But the distance and darkness between us makes it all sound strange in my head. I find myself yearning for our days of exploring the Cosmos together, just the two of us.
“I’m sorry friend, we’ll be out of here soon,” I say into the dark. Charon gives me a slight growl in acknowledgement, and it makes my spirit soar.
I shield my eyes against the morning sun as I watch the flyer come in. Every moment feels laced with potential. The flat bottom of the craft catches the sunlight as it starts its descent, and forces me to look away. I look around the camp, and see every other miner outside of their caves watching the craft. We look too interested.
I start the walk to the center of the camp, just as I have on other mornings. If this is successful, maybe I can take the flyer back to the palace after we leave all the miners at the city. Maybe I can use it to rescue Dotty. I’m still so far from my goal, but for the first time since I came to the mine, there’s a glimmer of hope.
As the ship descends and I get a glimpse of the top of the craft, that hope immediately sours. Every food delivery there have been two guards. One stays on the ship while the other stays near the well. This morning, there are four of them, one steering the ship downwards and the other three poised at the railing. Do they know? My heart sinks further when I notice they don’t carry their usual Sonic Cannons, the long gleaming silver guns have been replaced by something much shorter and blacker. Something whose devastation I know too well. Melters. Fuck.
They spot me in the same instant, all three visors snap downwards and stare at me. In unison, the guards step down from the flyer and plummet the final distance to the ground. Before they land, small jets on their boots kick on and slow their fall. The whole scene is clouded in dust and dirt, and I hear some of the other miners scream as they seek cover back in their homes. There’s no sense in running, there’s nowhere to run to.
I think through my options, but I can’t see a single way that I take on three guards armed with melters and survive. My armor wouldn’t survive it, and my wrist knife feels incredibly inadequate here. Through the dust, the three come for me, melters raised. I feel a defeat so crushing that I can only stand there, shoulders slumped, and wait for what comes next.
At least they only seem interested in me. Maybe they’ll leave the others alone. I had to try something. I hope Charon will be okay.
“Get on your knees, fucker!” the one to my right screams, and I comply with my hands raised.
The miners are staring at me from around the encampment now. They’re in the mouths of caves, or paused on the hill down to the craft. Their eyes catch mine, and then shoot down in shame. They’ve got the right of it. This was my plan, no one else needs to bear the consequences.
The pilot’s cockpit slides open as the guards shuffle closer and hem me in, guns still raised. Their bodies obscure my view, but I hear footsteps crunching on the dirt as they approach us. The guards part, and a man with golden hair and a proudly jutting chin stares disdainfully down at me. His armor is golden, but he’s foregone the helmet the guards keep on. A chain hangs around his neck, a single pendant of white marble.
He meets my eyes and he sighs dramatically. “You must be Nicholas Fiveboroughs. The one from this world was a pain also, had you heard that?”
I stare up at him, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “How do you know my name?”
He laughs deeply, but there’s no mirth in it. “We heard your story from the Narrator.” I flinch at the name. “And you can call me Prince Allen Cloudspire, I believe you’re familiar with the name?”
I stare at him, mind swirling, and he laughs again.
“The Narrator told us he likes to keep our names the same from city to city—he likes the storytelling opportunity. We’re not actually related of course, and you were never really Allen Cloudspire anyway. How fitting it is that you’ve come to a new city and wound up right back in the dirt, where you belong.” His laugh rings out again, then he kneels down in front of me. As he does, the guards tighten their perimeter until they’re all just a few paces away.
I glower into his blue eyes. “How did you know I was here?”
“The guards told me they picked someone up outside the city recently, so we reviewed the camera footage.” He points up to the cliff wall above me, and my stomach sinks. Do they know everything? “It was fairly easy to piece together when Dorothy started asking if we’d seen her friends.”
“Dorothy, she’s at the palace? Is she safe?”
“Oh yes, quite safe. I need her to be, she’s the only woman with a working womb here, everyone else had too much Indigo. Besides those cretins in the city, but they’re not of good stock anyways. I’d be likely to catch a disease dipping into that well. The Narrator was quite clear, too. ‘For your legacy to be immortalized, seek the one from beyond these skies, Dorothy Sungate is your eternal prize.’ Old man loves speaking in damn riddles, but he’s been right about everything else.
“Now, she’s not my first pick, if we’re being honest chap. That one’s got quite a fiery temper, and she’s a bit broad, a bit too muscular. I prefer my women more docile, more respectful. Then again, maybe she will be after bearing a few children. It’s not like I can’t have others on the side anyways.” He stands and shrugs, indifferent to the anger that’s flushed my face.
I understand the monstrosity finally. The Narrator told them we were coming, and lured Dotty to the palace. Their family lineage can’t continue without heirs. That’s the final power here, the final thing they can claim. They want to be the only family to make children in this hell. It’s so petty, so stupid, that I’m momentarily stunned by the banality of it. Dotty and I are the breakers of shackles, the walkers of the Cosmos, we have seen things that this prince can’t imagine and it’s all brought us to here, to this moment. To this current nightmare. We went through all of this just for her to be held as an unwilling bride, and me to be killed. Rage soars inside me, that great blossoming tyrant of passion, and as the prince turns to walk away, I lunge for his back.
He’s outside the ring of guards now, but I almost have him. Then a steely grip grabs me on either arm and stops my progress. I struggle against it, trying to free myself, but the guards hold me firm. The third steps up behind me, and the cool metal of a melter rests against the back of my head.
The prince turns back around at the noise, and gives me an exhausted expression. “Don’t kill him just yet, my father wants to interrogate him. He might have information that will help us. Bind him for now, we still need to let the cattle eat.” Turning back to the miners he screams, “What are you looking at, slaves! There’s your fucking breakfast, start eating and get to work.” Then, turning back to the guards he adds, “I’m thirsty, is this water here safe to drink?”
“Yes sir, although the cistern is low so it may taste like dirt,” One of them responds.
I smile, despite it all. Knowing that I’ll still just as likely die later, but now there’s a small glimmer of hope in my chest. They have no clue about the well. Maybe, just maybe.
The guard behind me removes the melter, and wrenches my arms behind my back. Cool metal straps circle my wrist, and cinch shut.
“Prisoner secured,” he says, and the other two let go of my arms and step back. “I’m thirsty too, watch him.” He steps around them and I watch him follow the prince onto the flyer to grab a canteen.
“What are you smiling at, rat?” the guard to my right says, and then punches me squarely in the face.
I fall onto the ground, my bound hands pinned underneath me. But the pain of the punch barely registers. I shift my body to watch as the prince and one of the guards step over to the cistern and fill their canteens. They take long, greedy gulps, completely unaware of the chance they’ve given me. A grin spreads across my face, and I taste the blood that’s streaming from my nose.
A vibration grows in the earth, and then comes the familiar sound it always carries as it draws near. As the noise rises and drowns out the morning, everyone’s attention shifts. I can’t see the pit from behind the guard’s bodies, but I know it so well there’s no need. The lift is returning from the mine. It’s returning from a mine that should be empty. From the pitch. It will crest the top of the mine shaft at any moment.
It gives me the opportunity I need. When the guards turn around to see who or what rides the lift, I carefully position my bound wrists, and angle my hand backward to extend my hidden plasma knife. I feel it rip into my other arm, and as the smell of roasting flesh drifts upwards from behind me, the grip of the bonds loosens.
I tear my arms apart, and rise up behind the guards. There is a fury inside of me. A rage at this world, at all the worlds that live on the backs of their own people. A hatred for those that would keep slaves. That use and use and use so that a few can live more comfortably than the rest. I rise up in time to see the occupants of the lift come into view. And with a face covered in blood, I smile.
Thirteen
Dorothy
Ijolt awake in a darkened room, confused where I am. My head aches, and there’s the lingering taste of vomit in my mouth. I see the outlines of the White Palace around me, and my thoughts start to find form and coalesce again. Finding out this world is built on slaves, being put down by Allen’s guards for objecting, hearing his true need for me as I was dragged back to my room. A hatred, dulled by sleep, burns in my chest again.
Another world, propped up by pillars of injustice. Just another iteration of people using people. How many are built this way? Is this all we’re capable of? I’m filled with a rage so visceral that I want to tear myself apart, just to see something broken. I stare at the blank expanse of white ceiling, and seethe. I will break this fucking world, and every other world like this.
Sophia appears at the bedside and sets a glass on the small table next to me, breaking me from my budding wrath. “Good morning. Here is some water, take it slowly so it stays down. They used something on you that disrupted your equilibrium.”
I nod, and sit up to take the glass. I sip the water slowly. It washes the foul taste from my mouth and eases my headache. It cools my resentment, if only momentarily. Sophia sits on the edge of the bed, and the frame sags under her great weight.
“Dorothy, the one from this world, told me only that you angered the prince when she brought you back here. What happened?” she asks after letting me finish my water.
Slowly, I explain the previous night to Sophia. I tell her about the king, and the prince, and how they knew to expect me from the Narrator. I tell her about Indigo, and how it shaped this world. About the processing facility underneath the palace, and the mines that feed it. And the slaves that sustain it all, that are bound to work those mines forever. It’s an incredible sounding story, but Sophia nods along.
“But why bring you here? Why are they so interested in you?”
I pause, thinking through what I heard last night.
“I think, I think Indigo must do something to disrupt fertility. The prince hasn’t taken it yet, he’s younger than the rest of them. I think they want me because I can give the prince an heir, and cement their family’s rule. His father wants to show that they can have what the other immortals can’t. As they dragged me through the ballroom last night, I heard as much.”
Sophia pauses and stares across the room, her shoulders slumped. “This place is beautiful, but rotten. We need to find a way to escape.”
“I know, but I won’t leave until we find Nick and Charon, and we don’t know where they are. I won’t abandon them.”
“Feed this hungry world / A freedom so long foreign / To find them again,” Sophia responds quietly with the Narrator’s words.
Of course, he told us everything. “He must have been referencing the slaves, there are a few in the palace, but most of them mine Indigo. So does that mean we can find Nick with the miners? The prince told me there’s only one operational mine left.”
Sophia gestures towards the door. “We are locked in this room. We have to solve that problem first. While you were gone, I confirmed that the door has a sturdy metal core, I cannot break it down without drawing attention.”
As if in response, a knock comes from the door. We both fixate on it, and I get out of bed on legs that are still shaky, and walk to it.
“Who is it?”
“Food delivery. Step back from the door.”
We both remain seated. The door swings open to reveal a guard, the long, slender tube of a sonic cannon held against his chest. He marches into the room and steps to the side, allowing a diminutive man in a white chef’s jacket behind him to push a cart into the room. The waiter meets my eyes for a moment, frowns, and then busies himself removing covers from the cart.
The smell of eggs and hollandaise sauce, carried on an undercurrent of freshly baked bread, fills the small space. As angry as I am, my stomach growls in response.
“Food service occurs twice a day. Do not attempt to leave this room.” The guard says when the other man has finished preparing the cart of food.
At a motion from the guard’s hand, the waiter exits the room first. He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. The guard files out behind him, the door clicking softly shut behind them both. In the silence after they leave, Sophia and I stare at the door.
Once I regain my feet, I pass that first day of confinement vibrating with anger. I pace the room, the walls feeling smaller with each passing hour. I tear the room apart, looking for hidden cameras and listening devices, and find nothing. I spend long stretches of time listening for movement at our door, or staring out the glass window into the surrounding forest, wondering what’s happening outside. In contrast, Sophia sinks more into her quiet contemplation. She reads and pauses to think, absorbed entirely in her book.
When the knock comes for my second meal of the day, it catches me pacing.
“Food delivery. Step back from the door.”
I move to the other side of the room and join Sophia near the bay windows. When the guard enters he catches my wild eyes, and his grip tightens on his weapon. The same scene from the morning plays out, but this time the smells of meat and vegetables pervades our small space. I’m surprised to find my stomach growling.
When the guard and waiter exit the room again, Sophia places a cool metal hand on my shoulder.
“Calm yourself, we may be here for some time.”
I bristle. I’ve never been confined before, never been locked in a cell. “We could overpower that guard easily.”
“Yes, true. And then what will we do? We need a plan, and to do so we need to be mentally focused. Please, get some food and come sit with me.”
I exhale deeply, and follow her advice. The food here is marvelous, something I hate to admit. Cutlets of chicken are arranged on one plate with perfectly browned skin. Next to it, a fresh salad, full of nuts and various lettuces. A smaller plate holds roasted potatoes. I’m reminded for a moment that the chefs who made this are kept as indentured servants, and have the momentary urge to throw the whole thing to the ground. I breathe through my fury, and after assembling a plate, pull a chair over to sit with Sophia.
While I eat, and stare across the darkening tree tops, Sophia pulls a new book from her chest cavity. Slaughterhouse Five is embossed on the cover in gold leaf. The sun sets, ripping the sky apart in oranges and purples, and in that fading light, a wind blows over the treetops. I watch the twin moons rise over this strange world, and she reads to me.
It’s an unusual, fragmented story of a man lost in time. The specifics are hard to grasp. The book references a world I don’t know, historical events that I’ve never heard of, an alien species that seems fabricated. I’m set adrift, searching for landmarks through a sea of trauma, until Sophia reads the phrase; ‘Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt’, and I see it for what it is. It’s a pretty lie, just like the palace around me.
