Dusk (61 page)

“What the hell was that all about?” Jang
snapped, the crater growing in the windshield in front of him.

“It was for Marcus,” Cyrus said dazedly, and
then, as he buckled the harness over both himself and the book, he
closed his eyes, and judging from the instantaneous fluttering of
his eyes, must have passed out.

• • • • •

—
What’s wrong Dari? Why the stink-face?

—
I’m mad at Sergio.

—
I thought you and Sergio were best
friends.

—
We are, and that’s what’s so frustrating. Best
friends are supposed to be like brothers, right? But Sergio’s being
a total trash monkey right now.

—
Well, I know you’re upset, but you need to dock
your epithets.

—
I’m sorry Dada, but I’m heated up. He and Terry
have been palin’ around a lot lately. And Terry just got a
HoloStation Prime. He invites Sergio over. Sergio has gone like a
couple times now, and he always talks to the others about how much
fun he has, but I never get invited. He doesn’t even talk to me
about it. He acts like it’s never even happened. But today, I find
out from Scott Seal that he goes sometimes too, and that the reason
why Sergio’s acting so hinkey is Terry says he doesn’t want me to
come over. But then today, Sergio comes to me and asks why I went
behind his back to talk to Terry because Terry told him he can’t
come over any more because of something I said, which is complete
bunkus.

—
So you’re mad because the whole thing’s turned
into a preteen holodrama?

—
I’m mad because Sergio’s first thought is that
I’m flying sideways. He should know better.

—
Hmm. You know, this reminds me of a story. Did I
ever tell you the story of the Whowie?

—
Whowie? What kind of name is that?

—
Well, it’s an Australian Aboriginal myth, so I
would assume it would be something that meant something to them.
Either way, the Whowie was one of the most fearsome beasts among
the animals. It was six meters long and looked like a komodo dragon
with six legs.

—
That’s big, but why was it so scary?

—
Because the only things alive then were animals.
Only in this story, I think the animals represent people. Anyways,
the Whowie ate anything that crossed his path, and the animals were
forced to band together because they were afraid. One day, the
animals devised a plan to destroy the Whowie, and they all got
together when he was sleeping and set a big fire in front of his
cave.

—
Wouldn’t the smoke fill up the cave,
Dada?

—
Well that was exactly why they did it. The
Whowie was a burly creature, but after he breathed enough smoke, he
would die like anything else. So the Whowie thrashed about in the
cave for days, choking on smoke and roasting in the heat, but he
wouldn’t die. The animals kept feeding the fire until the Whowie
could not bear it anymore and rushed through the flames. When he
emerged charred, blind, and weak on the other side, the animals
pounced on him and tore him apart. Afterward, they tried to decide
what to do to set up a sort of government, but no one could agree
because everyone was selfish. And some came up with dumb ideas just
so they could be heard and then were stubborn and indignant when no
one would hear them out. Eventually, because of sneakiness on the
parts of the some of the animals, an all-out war broke out. The
lyrebird suggested that there had been enough violence already, and
that they should try to figure out what problems they were having
so that an entire group of animals did not wind up like the
unreasonable Whowie. Eventually the birds and the land animals
separated into two groups, but as they fought, the sun tried to
hide from all the bloodshed and horror. It became darker and darker
until the bat showed up. He was the strongest fighter, and the only
animal that could fight effectively in the dark. But the bat was
sneaky, and because he liked the attention, he would go help the
birds, then, just before they won, help the land animals.
Eventually it came to the point where none of the animals could
speak the same language anymore, and the bloodshed and death became
too much for even them to bear. They finally held a counsel to find
a solution, and the bat used his boomerang to separate the night
from the day, and he chased the sun out of his hiding place with
it. In the end, there was peace again, and the night animals and
day animals had their own place, so it did not seem so crowded, but
they had been too separated by the language barrier and could no
longer be the same unified group they had been against the
Whowie.

—
So the sneaky bat, who had been a big problem in
the war, saved everyone in the end?

—
Precisely, but he played the ends against the
middle before that, and for what?

—
Because he wanted the attention?

—
Yes, and because he didn’t think he could get it
by being nice. In the end he was wrong, but it took a Fringe-riot
for him to get it.

—
So you think Terry is like the bat, or like the
Whowie?

—
I think Terry is like Terry. But I think the
Aborigines had that myth so we could see several things.
Selfishness ultimately drives us apart, and sometimes, having a
common foe is what makes it easier for us to stay together. I think
people get bored easily, and when real problems don’t exist,
sometimes we make them up, and those are by far the hardest to
overcome.

—
So what you’re saying is this entire argument
could be bunkus.

—
Yes, exactly. And you need to examine what’s
more important, your friendship or your feelings, because
sometimes, bunkus conflicts are easier to fight over than the real
problems.

—
So, I should try to be more like the lyrebird
and not fall for the bat’s tricks.

—
Yes, because if they had listened to the
lyrebird, the sun would never have left them.

—
But the animals were hardheaded like you say I
am sometimes.

—
Well, you and I aren’t the only hardheaded
people on the planet, and sometimes, the hardheaded have to lose
their sun to appreciate its warmth.

—
So I should squash my bug with Sergio and just
move on before I futz around and lose the warmth of his
friendship.

—
That sounds like a plan to me.

• • • • •

Villichez’s rites had been brief but poignant. All
the scientists had been present, along with Paeryl and Cyndyl, but
the other Apostates had requested, having not known the soul while
it was living, to be absolved from communing with the dead. Paeryl
had explained on the way to the crematorium that the Apostates
believed the soul and the body were independent of each other, and
that the body provided an anchor in this world. When the body no
longer possessed the energy to maintain the link, they believed the
soul was released, free to roam the ether until another body
required its enervation to spring to life and beguiled it into its
grasp. When consciousness faltered, and the body did not require
constant attention, the soul was sometimes free to wander, but in
the waking hours, to the uninitiated, it was trapped. Only strong
souls could rise from their material masters at will, and when they
were finally freed, only strong souls remained constitute, while
other, less tempered souls became dissociated wisps in the
spiritual morass. They believed that the thoughts of those who were
close to the soul while it had inhabited the body could help it
stay constitute while it awaited a new host.

Cyrus thought it an odd, and yet resounding, ideal,
and he had held vigil next to Villichez in the crematorium until
his knees ached. He did not utter any words, but the weight of his
thoughts resonated through the cave lit only by the ignition
torches and the pyre itself. Before they had laid Villichez on the
funeral bier, Cyrus’s mind had been flooded with questions, but as
he sat before the stone chamber carved from the ground itself, his
mind was clear. Though many questions still remained to be
answered, when he finally stood and he and Paeryl had lit the pyre,
he felt by the last hour of the day cycle, whether they be to his
liking or not, that the answers, indeed, would come.

Cyrus sat next to Toutopolus while he waited
for Paeryl to finish his business with the other elders.

“How do you feel?” Cyrus said, resting his
hand on Toutopolus’s shoulder.

“Like I got my ass kicked,” Toutopolus said
without enough sarcasm to elicit comfort.

“I heard the other guy won’t be in the
counterattack,” Cyrus smiled, but Toutopolus just cradled his
shattered arm and grunted.

“This sort of injury never heals right, even
with bone fusion, but Taeryn says the Eos will help it heal if I
stay here in the sun.”

Cyrus looked around. There were two others in
the most intense key of light in the crater. Aerik’s leg was set in
a metal brace, and he lay out in the tangerine rays of Set. He
looked as if he were relaxing by a pool at some posh resort rather
than convalescing from a battle wound. They had removed the shell
from his leg, and after only one day, it had already shown signs of
clearing up. The other was Fenrir. He had been knocked unconscious
in the battle and had been given some Eurydician medication
subcutaneously. Afterward, they had laid him here in the sun. His
breathing seemed regular, but he had not yet awakened, but no one,
not even his betrothed and his children, seemed distraught. It was
as if they had seen others with similar injuries recover without
complication. Cyrus marveled at the comfort the Eos and the sun
afforded these people. It made life simpler and less distorted.
Cyrus considered what Tanner had mentioned earlier about being east
of Eden and he too could feel the fissure. It was though humans had
grown so attached to the wiles of technology that they had divorced
themselves from the natural ebb and flow of the universe for fear
of adversity, and yet in all their dodging of the inevitable, all
they ever seemed to create was more adversity. So if these people,
who knew their small corner of the universe in a way Cyrus had
never known anything, could have indelible faith that their methods
would bring one of their own out of a coma, then it would take
little effort to expect, even in the face of his own apprehensions,
that Toutopolus should recover the use of his arm.

“You did well back there. From what I hear,
no one would have made it if it weren’t for you and Milliken.”

Paeryl concluded his business and began
walking toward the vein of light where Cyrus stood. Cyrus looked
back at Toutopolus and met his eyes as he spoke to him, “I trust
these people and their methods. You will be fine. Just bear with it
and do as they say.”

Toutopolus nodded as Paeryl approached, but
he still seemed melancholy. Once he began to feel himself healing,
he would be fine.

“It appears we are winning,” Paeryl said, the
usual levity in his voice. “There were a few foibles, but things
seem to be in order, yes? You retrieved your information unit?”

Cyrus nodded, “Dr. Jang is installing it now
per Aerik’s instructions.”

“Aerik wanted to help directly, but I fear he
must stay in the light. Wounds like theses only heal properly under
the supervision of Set,” Paeryl paused to turn his own face to the
rays of the sun and he continued before turning his head back
completely, “We placed your other relic, this Ark, in the storage
chamber next to the forge. My van says it has an odd background
count, and it oscillates at a frequency lower than any of our
equipment can effectively monitor. It also has some sort of
electromagnetic assist when it is moved.”

“We will have to study it in more detail once
we are done with our reconnaissance. I actually came to invite you
and you council to our dialectic.”

Paeryl smiled and patted Cyrus on his back.
“Inside that vault lies your history, your past,” he made a broad
gesture with his hands indicating the sky, “out here lies my
people’s future.” He turned back to Cyrus, and for the first time
ever, Cyrus saw a furrow in his brow that could only imply concern.
“Perhaps, in that vault, you will find exactly how those two are
betrothed, and how we can stave off the impending scourge.”

Cyrus had never communicated his concern that
his actions would elicit unwanted attention from the Echelon, but
Paeryl was a wise man. Cyrus had always assumed that in his wisdom,
Paeryl supported the efforts of Cyrus and his men because he knew
the Echelon was coming for them anyway, and either the Echelon, or
the sun, would set on them eventually. But until now, Paeryl’s
faith and his reliance on Cyrus’s cunning and ingenuity had not
seemed like a cry for help. Paeryl was a good man and an even
better leader, but Cyrus could see, as the creases in the corners
of his eyes spread their asters along the side of his face, that
Paeryl was out of answers, and it pained him to the core.

Cyrus extended his right arm, took Paeryl’s
hand into his own, and held it firmly. He needed words to say, but
none that came were worthy. Paeryl met his eyes, and without words,
he accepted Cyrus’s unspoken promise.

Cyrus turned, and it felt as if Paeryl’s
fingers had left impressions in his hand. Cyrus relished the
lingering connection even as he walked away. Before he left the
Forum, one way or another, he would have an answer to the question
neither he nor Paeryl had been strong enough to ask.

• • • • •

“So what is it we are missing here? Any ideas
on the connections between the city, the Hunab Ku, the microwave
pyramid, and this place?” Cyrus asked pacing the floor, eager to
see if his doubts about the validity of this approach could be
allayed. It wasn’t because he believed it would not work. He would
not have expended the time and energy to retrieve the Agamemnon
unit if he had not had faith in its usefulness. At this point, it
was clear that Mundi, or whoever was behind this plot, had most
likely disconnected Asha from the collected history of Earth
purposefully. It seemed like Cyrus’s plan
had
to work, but
if it didn’t, he would have trouble accepting the fact that he had
risked the lives, the health, and most certainly the solace the
Apostates enjoyed in this crater for a snipe hunt.