Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy, Volume One) (16 page)

W
orse, and the source of the knot gripping his stomach, unlike Stalling, he had little doubt that Thortizan would deliver the deathblow to his adversary once he had him down. Antone found a level of respect for Thortizan in that moment. When it came to matters of survival, they were kindred spirits.

Following his instincts, Antone glared at Thortizan and considered the subtle implications behind his words. History, written by the victors, described every ancient civilization, outside Ecifrica, 'freely' choos
ing assimilation into Drakarle's blue print for society. And why not? Drakarle offered to share their superior technology in agriculture, engineering and science along with the promise of an open, free trade, world market. The complete and devout worship of Drakarle's one and only, all knowing God and open acceptance of Drakarleans preordained station as his chosen people, was a small price to pay for the descendants of those budding societies to enjoy a peaceful, middle class existence both on Antium today and in the afterlife yet to come.

Of course, that same history omits the occupation of the Church of Salvation's advanced military might in each province prior to any choice being "given". The thought sparked his own jaded prejudices, awakening his natura
l impulse to fight, to survive. It was time to turn this conversation around and buy them a few precious hours.

"I have often wondered how well the warriors of those other ancient societies fought against your Vorenian Knights," Antone finally replied. Tho
rtizan looked that of a cat, tired of playing with its food, ready to get down to the business of eating. However, as Antone predicted, the slight raise of his brow in response to the odd statement had peaked his curiosity.

"Of the skirmishes that never go
t recorded by Drakarle's historian monks, but I am sure your order has detailed records of. The battles that invariably occurred before and after the leaders of each society accepted Drakarle's tainted partnership, the minority of each once proud society, who chose to die free over a life of bondage and servitude. Did they fight as hard as the Ecifricans?"

"After all, history does record some semblance of military advancement by other races before aligning with Drakarle; technology for the time that was as
advanced in its own right as that of Drakarle's. For example, the Maltenoise swords sitting in museums for the past two thousand years are said to be sharp enough to cut a two-inch thick titanium rod. Surely the Maltenoise had warriors to match such exquisite craftsmanship."

Thortizan, still lounged in couch, moved his hand across his mouth and chin as he pondered Antone's words. Antone probed the cardinal for any signs of weakness. While Thortizan remained cool and confident, Antone detected genuine intrig
ue in the subject. But this was no revelation. There was very little about the man sitting across from him that Antone did not know about.

He was well aware of the Vorenian Order's not so clandestine meetings. He had viewed, with great attention to detail,
the graphic online Ecifrican Crusade reenactments, though admittedly, he was unaware of and shocked by Thortizan's real life indulgences. Most importantly, he was very aware of Thortizan's pride in his violent heritage and consequential passion for ancient weaponry, being aware of the Cardinal possessing at least two Maltenoise swords for his personal collection.

With a barely perceptible nod, Thortizan permitted Antone to continue his thoughts. "But alas, I always come to the same realization whenever I p
onder the subject, which is that no matter how skilled other races may have been in battle back in that volatile period in our history, the other vanquished all possessed the fabric of something we Ecifricans did not: fear."

"Not just the fear of facing a
skilled opponent in battle but the fear of life without social structure. You see, Ecifricans did not fear the heart of their neighbors. Quite the contrary, they trusted the individual man to do what is instilled in all of us, to treat others as you would yourself."

"Unfortunately, my forefathers could not hold out against Drakarle's military machine long enough for that belief in man to materialize in their lifetime. But the spirit of it perseveres today in people like me. We still believe in an Antium whe
re all men are treated equally. Alterian Enterprises embodies that vision. We both know there are many among you who share this view and desire true change. Stalling's endeavors have created more than a spark; there is no turning back the flames of reform. We welcome and desire a future that includes Drakarle's leadership but in order to do so, a paradigm shift from the top must occur."

"I implore you Cardinal Thortizan," Antone said with as much respect for the man as he could muster, "let us spend our rem
aining time mapping out a win-win partnership that we can both take action on in the near future."

Antone patted himself on the back, proud of how well he had tucked his emotions away under such strenuous circumstances. His elation did not last long as he
searched Thortizan's aura to read his emotional response. Any shred of respect for Antone keeping his true feelings in check had completely dissipated. In its place was a storm of rage and hate that startled Antone with both its abruptness and strength.

So
mehow, Thortizan's outward response remained calm and level. "Amazing," he whispered, probing Antone as if looking at an alien creature. "The scripture warns us of the Evil One's ability to deceive but you, I will confess, are something beyond my imagination. To think it would live and breathe amongst us in such open blasphemy yet hide its deceit to so many devout using butchered scripture of our one and only Savior. Truly amazing."

Antone detected enough awe in the words to know Thortizan believed what he said.

"Despite all I have to be grateful for in life, I have so often struggled to find my true purpose, God's ultimate intention for my soul. Meeting with you today, I now have clarity on that purpose, why I felt driven by a larger power to harden my heart in preparation for the final battle with the evil yet to come. Evil Incarnate has truly evolved into something only a select few of us in today's soft world are equipped to deal with. Thank you Antone, this exercise today has been most beneficial toward our final preparations." The genuine gratitude detected in his words sickened Antone.

"Trust me when I tell you this: You will know the fear of God the next time we meet." Antone sw
ore he saw the devil wink at him from the depths of Thortizan's eye in that moment, right before the man vanished from the room.

Chapter 11

A cool breeze traveled down the valley and with it came a welcome reprieve from the muggy day. Steffor stood at the edge of an elevated fern grove, confident its bountiful fronds concealed his presence, and observed the conclave of Guardians swaying like saplings in the wind. He absently hummed along with their solemn mantra echoing off the steep valley walls and searched his heart for the courage to join his brethren.

The sun was setting. The ritual's climax was fast approaching. Courage remained aloof.

Throughout the day, Guardians arrived one by one and gathered around the west side of the Forging Tree. None spoke as they moved to their designated spot and joined the others in singing the ancient hymn. Over an hour had passed since the last Guardian arrived and the wide semi-circle of bodies was now three rows thick.

Centered between the semi-circle and
Forging Tree were six Guardians, each seated around a uniformed pile of sela gourds. These six had arrived long before anyone else and it was these Guardians, the luminescent gourds clearly illuminating a deep trance on each face, that the rest focused their purpose. One would become the Provider's next Teuton Guardian before night's end. Assuming, Steffor thought with heavy heart, he chose to stay where he stood and not take his rightful place with the other chosen.

A thick paste of guilt clung to his insi
des, feeling like an apostate hiding in the shadows. Steffor had set many lofty goals to achieve in this lifetime and, prior to the recent turn of events, becoming the youngest Teuton in history was high on the list. Desperation mounted, gripping his mind with self-reproach. Disjunction with the whole, an apathetic attitude toward the four races, it all prevented him from joining in a ceremony he no longer believed in. Never had he imagined a life filled with so much doubt and confusion.

Steffor escaped dee
per into the confines of his mind and reflected on Kilton's recent divination. Since parting, Steffor's lack of doubt in the Teuton's prophecy had grown. The concept of being destined to be the first Citizen to ascend was intoxicating, especially when applied to all the unanswered questions accumulated from both the past and present.

It does help explain why I am the way I am.

But as the day wore on, the implications behind the new reality sobered his excitement. The noetic walls of reason, maintained and fortified over countless lifetimes, protecting his ego were forever gone, never to be rebuilt. Intuitively, Steffor knew he must fall back on and rely on the same simple set of instincts that had led him to this very moment. Grappling to identify those instincts, it was the memory of a time spent long ago with his father, reminding him of what mattered most, that helped forge his new foundation.

It was the last day he would identify himself as a harvest Shifter. It was the first day of many the Deeds would r
ecord his name.

*****

A strapping ten year old, already bigger and stronger than many young adults, Steffor's station in life remained undetermined.

The kuwani season was at its peak and yet another long day of harvesting the exotic fruit had ended. Th
e fruit's sweet aroma mixed with pungent sweat, each steeped into weathered smocks and worn breeches, hung thick in the air, trapped by the canopy of colossal leaves overhead.

Steffor and his father wended a narrow branch as thoughts of a warm meal and pea
ceful sleep crept in, motivating weary bodies to forge toward home. Dozens of harvest Shifters—their family, neighbors and closest friends—each worn to the bone and exhausted from the day's labor, joined their commute along adjacent leafstalks; gratification with the day's work was displayed on every face and bent back.

By nightfall, the multitude of stalks had merged into one branch, herding them together to form a loose line, two to six abreast. The deep canopy thinned to reveal the sky full of early even
ing stars and the rise of Ginllats. The day's harvest hovered a few hundred feet above, packed into a large freight car suspended by thick haulage vines. The cylindrical satellite, its silhouette accentuated by the moon's bright green illumination, trudged along in silence, casting a long shadow over their trail.

Having left for home prior to the car, it had finally caught up with them and was slowly pulling ahead. The young Steffor watched the car pass by, making its way toward Razum City. He visualized th
e burly vine Shifters, their naked trunks glistening from the coordinated and strenuous movements, tirelessly shifting the elongated vines over miles of prairie bough. Hours of labor later, they would deliver the car filled with thousands of kuwani to market that would in turn disperse it around the world.

They watched the car whisper by overhead, shameless pride displayed across his father's weathered face, Steffor, grimed head to toe and reeking, content with the day but restless in the spirit.

"Why did you and mother choose to settle Maseriah?" Steffor asked as he turned his attention back toward the trail.

"Maseriah chose us, not the other way around." The ardent glint in his father's eyes, so familiar whenever he spoke of higher powers, stifled Steffor's chortle at the thought of a place having the ability to choose anything, much less a Citizen. Instead,
he nodded as if understanding and arched his brow with respect, imploring his father to elaborate.

Taking a long moment to ensure his son devoted all his attention to what he said next, his father continued his story. "Your mother and I had been partnered f
or less than a year. We were contributing as novice Shifters, our raw skills relegated to the mundane but important: I, maintenance of Razum's plethora of decks, stairways and ramps; your mother, her budding gift for food put to use as preservative Shifter at the Market. We were active, honing our craft and staying patient. When the call of the Provider came, we were prepared to follow without hesitation."

"The sign came from the Mysticnet when our minds were flooded with the images of a young Guardian name
d Maseriah, safely returning home after being lost and presumed dead for over six months. His disappearance was big news and his return even bigger. Your mother and I were instantly mesmerized by his tale."

"Maseriah had discovered an uncharted branch whil
e surveying the Constunkeen prairie bough, the very branch we travel today." His father spread his arms wide, turning side to side, to emphasize the novelty. "The branch had avoided detection over the years due to how it jutted strait down before spreading outward to mingle just below the bifurcated branches located at the bough's end. His keen Guardian eye followed the camouflaged branch for miles and was elated to discover a thriving complex of unique flora. Being the young and confident Guardian he was, and a fine Dive competitor to boot, Maseriah chose his path and leaped toward history."

"Looking back at it, he admits to not giving much thought to how he would return. The impulse to explore had overwhelmed him and he was now acting on instinct. Nor did
he give much thought to the perilous act of getting down to the secluded branch." By the tone of his voice and spark in his eye, Steffor sensed his father admired the young Guardian's temerity. "Maseriah's point of entry was a low cliff found midway in the expansive fork and the path he chose was no less intricate or harrowing than a championship dive chute."

"Starting with a thousand foot free fall into a copse of stalks and leaves, Maseriah punched his way through leaf and stem, forming a Source sphere at
the last second on a stalk not a half mile from where we stand, no wider then you are long." Steffor had seen the images and from his young point of view, the success of Maseriah's dive was nothing short of a miracle.

"Safely on the branch, Maseriah set t
o exploring. True, our branch displayed many unique and unseen growth patterns and foliage but after several days, fear began to grip the young Guardian as his search for food, water and a means to return to the prairie bough came up short. By the twenty-eighth day, exhausted, his provisions gone for over a week, Maseriah lay sprawled on his stomach, lost in the catacomb of stalks and began to prepare himself to join the Provider."

Somaht, their village Mystic, had shown this story to Steffor dozens of time
s, both with and separate of Maseriah's in-person narration. His father knew this, sitting in on most of the communal recitations, and yet told the story as if for the first time. Out of respect and partially because he had learned to be patient whenever he asked his father a question, he chose not to point out this obvious fact.

He genuinely wanted to know why his parents chose to live at the end of the Provider's longest and most dangerous prairie bough, so far from the modern conveniences of Razum City.
As his father went on with his version of history, Steffor found himself entranced by his diction and the palpable emotion surrounding the story; aspects of the story neither Mystic, nor the man who experienced the events first hand, could evoke.

Mopping h
is brow with the back of his hand and taking a long drought from the water gourd before passing it over to Steffor, his father continued his story with a renewed gusto. "It was at this moment, his soul closer to the afterlife then the physical, that a rogue kuwani fruit, hidden by its protective leaves, fell from above and landed directly on the back of Maseriah's head."

Recorded in the Deeds and believed by all as a true miracle, no one more than the Shifters who harvested the fruit appreciated this unders
tatement. No person has ever witnessed the kuwani fruit separate from its stalk without outside intervention since that miraculous day. The fruit is so stubborn and determined to stay connected to the Provider that it will not only die on the vine but also refuse to fall until the next season's fruit appears, at which point it dissipates into an almost invisible sheen and floats away.

"Maseriah tore into the meaty flesh and gorged on its sweet nectar. As we know today, the kuwani's abundant nutrients quickl
y brought him back to life." The climax of the story over, his father's spell began to fade. Steffor only half listened to rest of the story of how Maseriah discovered the small stalk growing just high enough to risk leaping out and up to a small twig growing from Constunkeen's end. The broadcast of his story hit Mysticnet the moment he had safely crossed the prairie and came into range of a Mystic. Sharing the remaining portion of his discovery with The Four, the Provider's newest boomtown was born soon after.

All history he had learned since joining the whole as a small child. Why his parents chose to be the first settlers of Maseriah was what his young mind wanted to know. A question the Deeds could not answer yet an answer certain to shed more insight th
an the most important legend recorded.

Sensing his son losing interest, or simply feeling he could now answer the original question, the change of his father's tone brought his attention back around. "Maseriah's experience, as is the case with every heroic
act by a Guardian recorded in the Deeds, was inspirational to both me and your mother but it was not the reason we felt compelled to join the expedition and establish the settlement of Maseriah."

"Similar to how most other estuary villages were founded, t
he village of Maseriah was built at the very edge of a prairie bough." Steffor sighed with impatience as his father rambled on with his didactic lecture. "Your mother and I, both being born and raised in Razum City, had never traveled any bough outside of Razum's protected confines. We knew about prairie boughs from the Mysticnet but gave the wilderness little thought until that moment we witnessed Maseriah's journey. After that, all idle and active time was filled with images of the expansive bough, varying according to its altitude and distance from Trunk, exploring all its rich biomes of mosses, giant lichens, fern stands, wild berry bushes and exotic creatures, both beautiful and terrifying to behold."

"It is written the ends of the prairie bough beckon
the harvest Shifter: the Citizen who risks his life to reap the Provider's abundant bounty for others; one with an appetite for adventure and connection with nature the city can never fulfill. Up to that point, I never imagined in this life I was a man cut from such a hearty swath. Maseriah's return changed that view forever."

"How did you know without doubt?" Steffor inquired, barely containing his skepticism. "The prairie bough is full of dangers challenging the strongest Guardian. You or mother could hav
e been killed a thousand different ways!" The thought of losing either of them, regardless of the fact they had safely completed the trek over a century ago, stirred emotions he had made a practice of burying deep.

"Indeed, the journey calling us was very
perilous. I had little idea of what to expect and there were many times both during the journey and in the early years of settling the village that I questioned my decision. Almost every day, I fought the impulse to run back to the perceived safety of the city." His father affirming his fears only added to his confusion. "One hundred and fifty two set out to retrace Maseriah's path and establish a new home. Outside of Somaht and Maseriah, the rest of us were young Shifters all drawn by the same, undeniable force to make the trek. It would be several years before a traveling Healer would follow."