Chapter 127: Here and Now

Chapter 127: Here and Now

The mockingbird and the raven met one day and talked of wisdom.

Wisdom is broad, stated the raven. To be wise is to survey the vast landscape, and see all possible answers from on high.

The mockingbird disagreed. Wisdom is narrow, he argued. For there is only one answer needed to any question. To be wise is to know how to find it.

The two argued in this manner for some time, until the sun rose and fell once. Finally, as it rose again, they saw the boar walking nearby. Eager for a fresh opinion that might lend weight to their own, they approached him.

What is wisdom? the raven asked. We have been discussing all day and all night, and cannot settle upon an answer.

The boar considered the question for a moment before replying. I ate from the forests bounty all day, the boar said. I slept all night, and thought nothing of wisdom. Now that I have, and have heard of your day, it seems wise to think no more of it.

Pre-Gharic Ardan manuscript, vellum, c. 500 PE

The world slammed into Michael with pitless force. There was no sight, nor sound; everything simply was

in every instant of every moment in every facet of his being, with no space for thought or breath. A deluge washed him apart and away. Where there had been a self, a being, there was no more than fragmentary color shining from the current. He was nothing but lost, and even that faded against the horrid impermanence of each transient, mercurial eon hammering away in simultaneous fury.

When the first spike of pain lanced into him, Michael almost wept with relief. He clung to it, dug every part of his will into that solid and personal sensation. It was his; it was him. And it was not part of the vast and churning other that still ground away at the foundations of his being, which made it all the more welcome.

No less problematic, though, because it remained an excruciating pain. It burned nearly as bright as the chaos without, and before he had truly regained his equilibrium Michael was forced to turn to it, to confront it for what it was.

Isolde.

The remnants of her flared incandescent, horrified, betrayed, bleeding pustulent anger against the walls of her confinement; Michael could scarcely turn his attention to her, so brightly did she rage against him. So he did not. Concepts were still filtering back into his head, modes of behavior more suited to a being of time and space, and he took stock of his tools. His souls.

A myriad of low and bright lights swarmed around him, buttressing him, immersing him in solidity. He breathed - breathed! - in ecstatic relief, taking his bearings against the storm.

The rest of his souls came next, a roiling sun of power that shrank Isoldes fury to no more than the sputtering of a candle beside its light. It still burned, though, still disrupted the firmament of Michaels being, so he gathered that power together in his grasp and held it against the recalcitrant soul - then paused.

Words were needed.

It was another effort to reorder that part of himself, to stretch his tortured mind around abstract and twisting thoughts, but this was important, this was killing a friend-

That notion detoured his pursuit of words for a moment as he stumbled upon it, spiraling into branches of conflicting emotion. Isolde was an enemy, she was making herself understood quite well on that front. But - she had been a friend. A champion. A lifesaver, in fact, without whom hed have joined his mother in death at his fathers hands. And for all her misguided rage, her pain, her loss, and her insidious corruption of those around her-

It cost Michael nothing to stop now, in the instant before the end, and regard her with kindness.

He spoke, or did something very much like speaking.

Im sorry this is how it turned out, Isolde. Im sorry this is how you end.

And then, in a twist of light and power, she did. Immediately, Michaels mind cleared up, the pressure of her dissonant pain lifting away. It was far from normalcy, but he drank it in, regaining more of himself from the maelstrom. When the tide of changes calmed, he took stock of his position.

He was still Michael, which was an encouraging sign. The endless assault of the world upon his mind had not lessened in the slightest, but his thoughts were clear and his awareness unbroken; he was able to think, to plan - and to remember that there was one more hurdle to overcome.

A calmer light shone beyond where Isolde had been, deep and multifaceted, splitting light into whorls and rainbows that refracted into untold infinity within its depths. He drew it closer to him, looking at Sibyls soul - at Sofias soul.

More than Isolde, the notion of destroying her filled him with dread. He had tried to avoid this end, tried every way he knew. Yet - here he was, tentatively reaching for the coruscance before him, looking within.

It slipped into him as easily as a sigh, quiet and resigned.

He did not have time for bewilderment. The world broadened, stretched, deepened. What had been infinite became more so, what had been uncountable multiplied again and again. Once more the world poured into him, seeking to dash him apart against its panoply, but he had the benefit of awareness this time; Michael pulled upon his souls, high and low.

He did not fly apart against the spray of light and motion, but neither did it relent. Instead it fractured into a shattered mess of impressions that crowded for space in his mind, branching and forking away into infinity-

Michaels mind jarred as he found a familiar shape in those branches. It was Stanzas golden lattice, but broader and deeper than he had ever seen. Layers upon layers crowded together in their infinite complexity until he could not tell one from the next, and he teetered on the edge of senseless confusion once more. Panicked, he called upon Stanza, feeling the light flood into him - and out, out into the web.

Mirror shards spun and locked together until all was flat, whole, reflecting infinity. Blue and silver stretched away. Clouds spun in mighty vortices, mountainous flows of air shifting aside; Luc stood upon the mirror, whole and smiling sadly, his hand outstretched-

Michael shook himself and reeled back from the images. He could see sense in them, but they were disjointed, insane. Michael. They were in the lattice, but not together, not part of the same whole. He tried to orient himself, to-

Michael.

He paused in his frantic struggles. It had been his name, spoken in Vernons voice. He strained, listening-

Michael.

This time he was ready. A section of the lattice rang with Vernons voice - and something more, something intoxicating and unique and present in a way that he had not seen elsewhere. Focusing on it felt like slipping on an old shoe, a comfortable glove. Michael. The voice came again, calm and measured, and with a dizzying shift in perspective Michaels mind caught the shift and flow of time properly. Here was now, here was here-

Michael was suddenly, uncomfortably aware of his body, the thundering of his heart, the coursing of blood through vessels large and small. He felt where each of his organs lay, saw the curve of each hair on his skin. He took a gasping breath and nearly retched from the sensation of his lungs filling, fractal tubules pulling apart in the black abyss of his form.Read latest chapters at novelhall.com Only

But he did breathe, then forced himself to do it again - and again. Like untying a vast knot, his mind began to pick away at the minute details thrust gracelessly into his awareness, categorizing them and stuffing them away into preconceptions that were now far too small to contain the cascade of reckless existence shattering through them.

Exhaustion wore at him, and frustration; existing for fractions of a second felt like ceaseless torment. It was endurable, but he had to do more than endure. He had to stand, to fight, to fix everything with this new and horrible way of being. He had to be better than he had ever been, stronger, more capable.

This thought was horribly ineffective at combating his exhaustion, but it did spur him to grab once more at his low souls, at the sheer human mass of them swirling around his being. They buoyed him, cemented him in the present moment that he had rediscovered-

Michael.

Vernons voice was a lifeline; he hauled at it with desperate force. A coherent impression swam into being of his own body, being carried through the woods around Raven House. Zabala was lifting him as though he weighed nothing, moving with grim determination out of that unhappy property. Vernon walked beside him with his face turned down in concern, while Sobriquet dogged his other flank. Her face was white, expressionless-

Michael focused too long on her face and the image fell apart, devolving into a nonsensical arrangement of meat and blood and hair sliding against itself. He struggled to regain the proper perspective, pushing hard, and found himself standing astride Calmharbor, the vastness of the city spread below him like a carpet. Even from this height he could see the damage to the streets, the pall of black smoke rising up from fires near the Assembly - and he did recognize the Assembly, and the government district, and the south district with his fathers house, his old house.

His sight fell and twisted as his attention dwelled on that house, and he was looking at the chaotic pile of bricks from every angle at once. The familiar lines and corners of it were tantalizingly close, yet always out of reach. He paused deliberately, grasping at calm, and called on his low souls once more. His presence swelled with them, and his perspective solidified at a more human scale.

He was in his fathers study, all dust and books and leather. Light filtered in from one of its windows to shine across the floor, illuminating Karl Baumgarts outstretched hand. His body was splayed across the carpet, face-down, surrounded by dark stains frozen into the cloth. Michael had seen enough death to recognize what a body looked like when it lay undisturbed for days.

His chair lay empty near his feet, soiled and crusted in unmentionable ways. Gashes marred the floor, the ceiling; the glass in the windows had shattered. The marks wrote a story upon the study, one of a man lashing out with his soul in a blind rage. A servants bell lay mangled against the side of the room, cast aside when it had failed to summon any aid.

And then, some time later, when his rage had guttered out, when he understood that anyone who might have helped him had long since gone away, Karl Baumgart had fallen from his chair onto the floor, crawled a few paces - and died. Michael stared at the tableau, at the edges of his fathers face, feeling the entire thing blur into surreal and formless impressions. He had feared this ever since he knew the truth of his soul, that his father would inevitably find his way to Michael in death, but there had been nothing. It might have been that his death was in some way tied to Luc, his sickness arising from a cruel twist of Stellars power, but that was not the explanation foremost in Michaels mind, then, at that moment.

Staring at Karl Baumgarts quiet form, he could not dismiss the idea that his father had never held one mote of honest regard for him. Affinity was made where one being defined the shape of its life against another, and it was just like Karl to resolutely deny any other that would make such an impression. Spite forbade it. And perhaps it was unrealistic to think that his father could have escaped all influences that Michael unwittingly exerted against him, but it was the explanation that rang the most true.

Vernons voice intruded into his silent contemplation once more, calling his name. Michael pulled his sight back, or tried to, the familiar exercise made impossibly complex by the sheer quantity of information Sibyl thrust upon him. Frustrated, he used his low souls to still the lattice once more, infusing it with Stanzas light, and searched for the ineffable familiarity that had marked the present place and time.

Michael!

Vernons voice came tinged with urgency; Michael was drawn to it as lightning, crashing into the space around his body with a terrible weight of presence. Their small group had drawn back towards the boundaries of Calmharbor and found the men from their last trip waiting - roused, if somewhat bleary-looking, and with a mob of reinforcements. Some of them bristled with the telltale energy of a soul. Michael found that he no longer had to look carefully to see it, nor to guess at its function - this one was a durens, a bonifex - and there was a fortimens in the center of the crowd, along with a scattering of potentes.

There was, Michael said. Sofia didnt force a confrontation. Was expecting one, but she came in quietly. I know it would have gone differently if you hadnt changed her view.

Ahhh - couldnt ever change her view, Vera mumbled; her head lolled to the side, but there was a delighted smile on her face. You know that. Views everything. She always looks. Just had to help her - see. See what I saw.

Veras eyes slid open halfway, the milky white glinting in the dark of the cabin. Her smile grew; her mouth opened partway as if to speak again. Only a rattling breath came out.

Her hand dropped away from Michaels, but his sight stayed on her - on a brightness gathering within her, coalescing into a lambent star that shone within her chest - then, an instant later, within Michaels own. It was painless, immediate.

Michael dropped to his knees next to her cot, feeling the fresh warmth in his chest. He felt like screaming, crying, punching the wall, but forcing his body into action was an insurmountable effort. He stayed still, and after a moment he turned away. Sobriquet guided him back towards where Vernon sat against the wall.

Can you try with- she began, but Vernon raised his hand.

Ill keep, Vernon said. No sense in rushing things.

Sobriquet gave him a furious look. Dont lie to me.

I think its only prudent to wait a bit, considering the risks. Vernon gave a wan smile. Dont worry about me. Well talk through it, and try when the time is right.

She stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head and helping Michael to sit back down next to Vernon. The auditors hand grasped his, as before, and Sobriquet kissed Michael on his brow, then Vernon.

Ill be back once were past the mouth of the bay, she warned. For both of you.

Vernon maintained his smile as she walked out, then turned it on Michael. Youre having trouble, he said.

The observation wrung a laugh from Michael, a strangled noise devoid of merriment. Id say so. I feel like a child, an invalid.

We all have that feeling, Vernon said. For most of my adult life Ive been ensouled, but where most ensouled gain great power, I gained a great intolerance for loud noises. Following in your footsteps has been a humbling experience; now that its your turn to follow in mine, my ego may recover somewhat. He chuckled. Have you managed to find what I was talking about? The intent?

I think, Michael muttered. Theres a different feel to some moments - to here, and now. Im not sure if its the same thing. Even now, its hard to keep myself focused on this conversation.

Youre doing remarkably better than you were just a bit ago, Vernon pointed out. Evidenced by the fact that it is a conversation, and not me babbling to you while you lie senseless. A marked improvement.

Im not sure how Im going to face Luc like this. Michael shook his head, stopping at once as the effort threatened to overwhelm the fragile balance he had made. Maybe in a week or two, but - Vernon, we dont have the time. I have days.

Vernon patted his hand. Youve come this far in hours, he said. His next words were lost to a fit of coughing; Vernon grimaced and clutched at his side again.

Michael frowned and tried to shape his sight around Vernon; it came easier this time, a human perspective constraining the torrent of impressions to something more useful. What he saw was a bloody hole in the mans gut, straight through his right side.

Ghars bones, Vernon, Michael said, half rising from the floor only to stagger sideways. Youre hurt, you should have said something-

Was waiting for the right time. Vernon shrugged weakly. I dont think thats now. You need help first, or youre of no help to me. He tugged on Michaels hand, guiding him back to a seated position. Tell me what youre hearing, what youre seeing.

Michael sighed, trying to quell his sudden anxiety about his friend; the wound occupied his mind, drawing his focus towards blood and less-healthful things seeping into Vernons gut-

Michael, Vernon said gently, squeezing his hand. Talk to me.

I see everything, Michael retorted. Everything. And I dont just see it, I know it, but my mind is too small to hold all the - the pieces and when I focus on one it expands to fill all of my attention. Theres more detail in a damn pebble than I can wrap my mind around. Jeorg told me it was near-impossible to know everything about an apple; I know what he meant now. Its too much.

His words ran dry, and he gave a frustrated shake of his head. I cant do this, Vernon.

Do you know, Vernon mused, leaning back against the wall. His voice was very quiet. When my ears were damaged, and my soul became - unmoored, lets say - I had trouble following conversations. People. They dont make much of an impression next to the vastness of the world. He laughed, barely a gasp of air, then closed his eyes. But thats a - a simplistic view. People are - are. He coughed, weaker this time. Are everything. Remember that.

His eyes closed, and he let his breath out slowly; Michael clutched at his hand. Vernon? he asked. We need to finish talking. Stay with me, at least until Sera gets back.

For a horrible moment Michael felt a twinge in his chest; his focus on Vernons body became absolute-

And then Vernons eyes were open, his smile bright once more, golden in the dark cabin. Im here, he said. I havent given up on you just yet.

Ghars blood, dont scare me like that, Michael grumbled.

Vernon waved his hand airily. Youre stuck with me, he promised. Until you get yourself back in order, and that means learning to filter out whats important, and whats not.

I get what youre saying, Michael groaned. But Sibyls soul may not be something I can master so quickly. Theres too much, and too many ways to get lost.

Not if you listen for the marks other people make upon the world, Vernon countered. There is a difference when a person acts, rather than some natural process. A different quality to the sound. Likely not the same for you as for me, but Im willing to wager that its there if you went looking. A brightness, a depth.

Ive felt some glimmers of it, Michael muttered, gingerly extending his soul outward. The world was infinite around him, and he teetered on the edge of losing himself. There was a dark sea below, and bright sky above; in the middle lay a ship.

He focused on Sobriquet, when he found her. Her eyes were red, distracted; she had been crying. It was easier for him to keep a human perspective with her, since her face was one that filled his days. He drank in the moment of normalcy in his sight, relishing even her disheveled, exhausted appearance, even the resonant grief that poured out from her-

Michael stiffened, and drew more deeply upon Spark. The grief gained color, texture; it was joined in harmony by other notes from Zabala, even from Amira. Anger, mostly, but not even anger was the same between people. Each was a unique feeling, a reverberation of the world passing through a person and back out again to Michaels senses. As he marveled at the realization, that resonance became stronger, more coherent, as if he was hearing clearly for the first time.

Thats it, Michael breathed. What I felt from the present. I can see forward, outward, but theres not - people. Its only my sight and not theirs, and they - focus, and change, and the world changes in response to them. He shook his head, feeling his words running away from him. Or something like that. Thats what it is, Vernon, its their presence in the world, their definition of it. Its part of what Spark feels from them.

Vernon gave him a happy smile. That sounds revelatory and entirely comprehensible, and I agree completely with whatever you just said, the auditor laughed. Honestly, I never thought about it to that degree. The world does change around people, and it doesnt take souls to see it. We all know that a little bit, instinctively.

From thought experiments and dusty philosophers, Michael replied, still engrossed in his newfound understanding. The world slid easily into perspective, now that he was able to use the impressions of the others as a sort of lighthouse amid the chaos. They gave scale and focus to everything around them, solidifying it, rendering it coherent-

Michael drew in a slow breath, and let it out. I might actually be able to do this, he laughed. Thank you. I was despairing for a bit there.

Happens to the best of us, Vernon said, stretching his arms above his head. He held it for a long moment, then closed his eyes happily. I have every confidence in you, Michael. Always have. You get used to ignoring the little flaws you learn about people, when you can hear everything - and thats advice, by the way, ignore the little flaws. Nobody likes being spied on. He smirked. Never had to ignore much with you.

Much? Michael asked. He was smiling, but it was becoming hard to focus again; even with his new trick of using Spark to orient himself, he felt his awareness sliding sideways, away from his conversation with Vernon. Sobriquets grief stood out with an odd prominence, swelling in his perception.

You snored a bit, but then you solved that by never sleeping. Vernon chuckled, cracking an eye to look at Michael. You seem calmer. Feeling more centered?

Michael nodded. I am, he said. For the moment. I should get to fixing you up before it passes.

No need, Im not going anywhere, Vernon said, waving his hand dismissively. The grief pulsed stronger, pulling at Michaels focus. Its like I said. Youre stuck with me.

He smiled broadly, crinkling his eyes at the corners; Michael felt another dizzying wave of grief rush over him - then his own horror as it pulled him into the here and now, returning his focus to the cold confines of the ships cabin. Sobriquet was there, crumpled over Vernons body; the auditor stared glassily upward at the ceiling with a faint smile.

Michaels focus slipped again, this time threatening to send him wider, farther, out into the black depths of the ocean below - but he held on to the warmth in his chest, brighter than before, and followed Sobriquets pain home, to its source.

He slid his hand from Vernons and put his arms around her. She sobbed and returned the embrace, burying her face in his shoulder. They stayed that way for a long while, crouched together in the darkness, until she eventually pulled away to wipe furiously at her eyes.

You bastard, she murmured, glaring at Vernon through her tears. I knew you were lying. I knew. Her scowl crumpled back into anguish, and she pressed her face into Michaels chest. He was the only one left. Clair, Gerard, Charles, Vernon, I dont have - I was trying to make Daressa for them! For them! And its all falling apart now.

Her fingers curled into the cloth of his shirt. Tell me youre not going too.

Michael kissed the crown of her head, feeling the touch of her hair against his lips, the damp of her tears on his shirt. Her grief and pain, pulsing bright against the vast sweep of reality. He breathed in the air of the room, slowly.

No, Michael said. Im here.