Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy, Volume One) (29 page)

With one stride, long trailers of the toxic smok
e clinging to its form, the creature cleared the fissure opening to stand within the center of the bog. The monster was impossibly huge, too much for the mind to process at once. Out of necessity, Sevorist focused on the gruesome head soaring several hundred feet above his perch. Outside two eye slits sunk deep into the skull, the head was otherwise a fluid bundle of ligneous fibers, partially enclosed by a carapace edged with spiked bony plates. The spikes grew in size and frequency down an oblong shell that ran the full length of the creature's bent back.

As it turned in his direction, dozens of knotted dreadlocks matting the top of its head flailed out and threw a putrid breeze across the cliff. The recessed eyes pulsed bright violet as it peered down at
the disturbed cache of seeds, radiating brighter as its gaze traveled back up the root cliff and locked onto Sevorist.

Upon discovery of the thief, the hunched beast released a jarring bellow that sent a wave of frenetic motion across its thick hide of lea
ther and pith. Throbbing tumors bubbled along the body beset by hundreds of fleshy tendrils twitching with spastic convulsions. The anger exuded from the creature in and of itself was enough to seize a man in mortal fear.

The Deagron lurched toward Sevoris
t with paralyzing speed and agility, forcing Guardian instincts to the surface and focus on the lethal appendages with what little time remained. A fusion of corded vine and sinew, each of the arms—or legs or tails, it was impossible to discern—protruded from bony bridges securing the back shell to the imbricated plates covering the sides of its torso. "Nine!" he shouted to himself, affirming his quick count of the arms that appeared to work independently of each other yet propelled the creature forward in one, fluid motion.

With a trained eye and mind, conditioned over a lifetime to control his fear, he watched patiently as the creature bore down on his position. As it pulled itself forward, tearing at the soggy ground with rangy claws and flinging huge chu
nks of muck in its wake, Sevorist ignored the violent commotion and in doing so, he locked onto a strange occurrence that intuition told him could not be a coincidence: the creature took great measures to avoid the strange mounds as it advanced.

He looked
up to see Triffor and Fregak nearing the top, assessing soon after that out running it was not an option. He also knew, despite the lead they had, the young Guardians could not either. Knowing he must buy them time, Sevorist turned back to face the future he had already manifested. With a deep, purposeful breath, the legendary Teuton recited the Guardian's prayer: "I love you. Thank you. Please forgive me."

With the last word still passing his lips, he leaped forward moments before the cliff side behind him
exploded from the impact of the giant fist, spraying huge chunks and splinters. His body encased by a form fitted shield of the Source, Sevorist mistled his way through the tangle of limbs and tendrils, barely evading the alarmingly dexterous swats. The powerful leap landed him in near the bog's center, clear of the creature’s immediate reach.

There was no effort made to counter attack the beast as it pivoted in pursuit. Instead, using every cell in his being, Sevorist squared his shoulders to the west, br
aced his legs, extended his arms and called forth the Source. His body recoiled from the devastating bolt of energy unleashed by his outstretched hands. The bolt ripped through the bog, burning a trench five yards wide in its wake. Sevorist grunted with effort as he swept the stream of energy across the bog, annihilating everything in its path.

The creature howled with agony, not from where five of it
s talons and several tendrils were severed from the Guardian Bolt, but as Sevorist took careful aim at the strange mounds that exploded into a fleshy goo.

Sevorist completed a full turn before the Source came to fizzling halt. He collapsed to his knees in exhaustion but had enough strength to lift his head and survey the havoc he had wreaked in just a few second
s. Satisfied no mound remained, his eyes came to rest on the cache of seeds several hundred yards away. He pulled in what reserves he had left, aimed his open palms toward the pile and fired a missile of Source. A satisfied smile crossed his face a second before an immense shadow from above came crashing down.

"Nooooooo!"
screamed Triffor and Fregak as the view switched to the young Guardians watching the scene from high above. The Deagron turned toward the sound and let loose a roar in response that moments later slammed into them with gale force and lethal fetor. Stunned by the loss of their beloved surrogate father, the Guardians clung helplessly to the ivy roots and waited to see what the creature would do next.

Satisfied the two Guardians posed no immed
iate threat, the Deagron turned back to the crater created by the fist that had obliterated Sevorist. The Deagron Maker drew back his tawny limb and drove it back down with the same anger and violence. An uncontrollable whimper escaped from Triffor as the two peered into the pit, the muck from the surrounding bog already oozing back into the cavity, finding no evidence of Sevorist's bodily remains. With the same deceptive speed, the Deagron Maker moved back to the fissure opening and disappeared back into the hollow.

"They are all gone," Triffor said, unconsciously shrugging his pack higher onto his back.

Steffor fast-forwarded through the uneventful bulk of Fregak's and Triffor's trek back up the Trunk, resuming at the point where the two were but half a mile below the Razum buttress. With the squat bough dominating the sky above, the two Guardians had delineated a clear trail through the ivy patch and mushroom plateaus that would have them home within a day.

"We made it," Triffor said with solemn pride.

"Not yet," Fregak replied, "we must be close enough to sync with Mystic, let us try again before continuing."

"Agreed."

Seated securely on the cap flat of a broad mushroom with backs leaning against a goliath bark plate, the two Guardians closed their eyes, released their minds and searched for a Mystic. A minute later, the two opened their eyes and in several rapid sequences—eyes moving in combinations of left to right, right to left, up and down, down and up—uploaded their experiences to Draiken, the Mystic who would soon become the first steward of the Forging Tree.

"Welcome home Citizens," Draiken said telepathically. "Concern over your return has intensified over the past few months. There will be much rejoicing over the boon you bring back to your people.
" A long pause occurred after that to the point both Guardians got back to their feet to resume the last leg in their journey, before Draiken spoke again. "But your mission is not complete."

"Sevorist fell to his death as they neared the end of their journ
ey," Grimlock said in disbelief. Granted, the mystery shrouding Sevorist's death left many to wonder how the seasoned Guardian could have disappeared without Fregak or Triffor being aware. Still, sneak attack from zapture or giaker catching a weary Guardian unprepared was not an unprecedented event and a very plausible explanation.

Silence met the big man's obdurate resistance to this new reality as each experienced a similar transition in light of what they had just seen. The truth, no mat
ter how harsh it may be was a requisite they all believed to be essential for the soul to grow. If given the opportunity, would they go back in time and make different choices, decide to remain ignorant over discovering their belief system is not perfect?

"Those images, of
Fregak placing the seed in Triffor's pack, are not new, they were used in the original version," Martna said with a dejected tone. "It explains the origins of the Forging Tree. But we were led to believe the seed was found in the Deagron Fields, near the meteor crash."

"As you just witnessed that was just one of the scenes to be edited." Steffor remained confident in the decision to share these secret events, trusting the revelation would lead to a higher, more poignant truth, providing them the edge they
will need to defeat the Deagron Maker. Necessity dictated his actions and he knew he would make the same choice again given the same circumstances.

Why then, can I not shake this perverse feeling that everything I do now and the future will all be for n
aught?

Steffor ended the feed. There was more to show, details that would help explain the motives behind the cover-up, but the need to do so was no longer relevant to Steffor in light of what he learned the moment Draiken entered the story. The introduction
of Draiken triggered an omnipotent ability, one that enabled him to connect the present incarnation of a soul, with those of past lives.

I was Draiken!

The sudden enlightenment sent a frantic wave of insecurity through his being.
I convinced the young Guardians to corroborate the edited version of their epic adventure.
They wanted to believe Sevorist's sacrifice prevented the Deagrons from ever coming back and agreed the images of the Deagron Maker would create a disruptive panic within the vulnerable society.

'We will grow the scion of our God,' I told them as Draiken, holding the seed before me, 'within the same soil and in doing so, eternally imprison the Deagron Maker and prevent it from ever spawning those abominations again.
’ They did not understand how I held this to be true, any more than I do now, but as it has been the case with every Citizen since, they wanted to believe. The alternative was too much to bear.

If I knew the birth of the Forging Tree would halt the Deagrons, did I also, deep inside, know that I would one day in the far future transform it and in doing so, once again release the Deagron Maker into the world?

Confounded by the provoking question, the answer that soon formulated was even more troubling.
None of this should have happened, yet somehow I knew it would.

Chapter 18

Stalling was not prepared for the oppressive presence filling the room. The moment he cleared the sanitization room and stepped into the mainframe chamber, the mysterious energy assaulted and registered on every sense. By the time he reached the center of the room to stand next to Jennifer, tears were inexplicably running down his face. He turned to face his friend, hoping she would subserve the unexpected veneration with some type of scientific explanation, and was startled to see the stolid scientist suffering from the same affliction.

"It's him," she sniveled, rubbing the back of her hand across puffy eyes and s
nuffling nose as she nodded toward Muzar. Stalling turned to face Muzar, naked but for snug white boxer-briefs, raised face level from the submerged bay centered between the three computer towers. He was lying upward at an eighty-degree angle, securely placed in a wide, foam fitted bed framed by the same black, biometric material used to create the mainframe's conical walls.

Who is this stranger?
Stalling thought as he struggled to look directly at his unconscious childhood friend. "We have surpassed our wildest expectations! Who could resist the benevolent force emanating from this creature?" Stalling said to no one, to everything.

Jennifer rubbed his back and shared in his joyful tears for several moments before the pragmatic side gained control. "The math
remains consistent, the program will kill him if we allow it to finish. We must awaken him,
now
."

"I have reviewed Janison's patch and believe it will enable us to save him with all his knowledge intact," Stalling replied. "We will start the procedure the
second he and Antone arrive. They are only minutes behind."

"Then what? Will it all be over? Did he grow enough, despite not finishing? How crucial are those final moments?" Jennifer asked, echoing the questions all of them have asked since discovering th
e problem.

"It will have had to be enough," Stalling said, surprised by the resolve of his words. Addressing Muzar, Stalling said
, "You have done more than any of us could have hoped old friend," impulsively grabbing the others hand.

"Yes, yes he has," Jen
nifer added, placing her face directly in front of Muzar's, gently brushing her lips across his.

The show of affection surprised but did not shock Stalling.
Lorissa was right. All this time, Jennifer has been near the one person she cared for most.
How that came to be, he could only guess, for the two had never met until Muzar arrived in this place ten years ago and that time was brief.

Granted, Jennifer was responsible for preparing Muzar both mentally and physically for his journey but he found it hard to
imagine the two of them forging any kind of meaningful relationship over those few days. No, Stalling concluded, the bond between them must have materialized while Muzar was gone over the years as Jennifer studied his life from afar.
Or
, Stalling thought with a fond smile,
their bond spans over many lifetimes prior to this one.
Either way, the love he saw on Jennifer's face was real, not a simple infatuation. This much he was certain. What was not clear, a thought he was sure must be running through her mind, was if Muzar felt the same.

Confident the answers to which, and so much more, would soon to be revealed with Muzar
’s return, all the sacrifices his friend had made rushed to the surface of Stalling’s stirred consciousness.
Before I ever approached Muzar with my outlandish proposal, he had already sacrificed more than any of us could imagine.
With vivid detail, Stalling recalled the crucial juncture in their relationship that took place over a decade ago.

The dank place chosen for their reunion was one o
f the many, naturally formed pockets found within the ancient limestone caverns of Blacadoma. Free of security cameras, the small space remained hidden from the world at large and, more importantly for Muzar and his allies, from his relentless antagonists. If not for the painstaking hours invested by the team Stalling had assembled to dissect every recorded movement Muzar made, he too would have never found the hidden cavern.

It was complete conjecture on their part that the cave even existed. The only form
of hard evidence they had to go by was the recorded time lapse that occurred on more than one occasion when either Muzar and or some of his minions traveled the otherwise nondescript stretch of hallway. "From what we can tell by the blueprints and intel we acquired, the entire network of light fixtures down that hall has not worked for years. There must be a hidden room or passage," the elated team finally reported one day after months of fruitless search.

Time was pressing on many fronts and Stalling knew
it was time to take a calculated risk. He went with his gut and started drilling. Ten months and the death of one crewman later, they completed the long shaft and, after several course adjustments that added another six weeks to the project, finally gained entry into the tiny cavern. It took another five weeks of patiently waiting for one of Muzar's people to enter the room—using the secret hideaway to escape the hot pursuit of several Ecifrican inmates—and consequently coordinate with Stalling's agent a meeting with Muzar.

Stalling shuddered, remembering how they lowered him into the narrow shaft, lying flat on his back with arms pi
nned to his sides as ropes slowly pulled him down feet first. His heart began to race as he recalled the hours it took to complete the descent, alone with his fears and the morbid sound of his breath on the rocks inches from his face. Fear of getting stuck in a three foot wide, over four mile long shaft and dying from his heart exploding with panic; fear of being discovered and forced to live his remaining years in that hell hole; fear of returning empty handed and forced to face the prospect of never realizing his dreams, all of which were so close to materializing.

The descent and ascent of the shaft had been the most harrowing experiences in his life to date or since. But Stalling believed deep inside that if he could convince Muzar to accept the pivotal
role in his vision, it would all be worth it.
Muzar is the answer
, he would tell himself over and over again, certain the statement would manifest itself as true if he said it enough, if he said it with conviction, if he said it with unbridled gratitude. The thought had become his mantra, the weapon he used to keep his mounting fears at bay, providing clarity when he needed it most.

And so it was, with that mantra fresh on his heart, Stalling squatted at the edge of the small, mirrored pool that consumed th
e majority of the cramped space and waited for Muzar to arrive. He waited for several hours, calming his nerves by meditating on the abundant stalactites hanging from the slit ceiling, reflected on the pool by his tiny lamp. Finally, Muzar entered from the small crack leading into the room, an action that required him to turn sideways, crouch down and step like a crab.

Stalling had stepped forward to greet his old friend and was rebuffed when Muzar turned his back to him, squatted low and said in a harsh wh
isper: "Quite!" Muzar maintained the position for over five minutes, the silence of the man more smothering to Stalling then the recent hours of isolation, before standing back up and turning around.

"It is good to see you Muzar," Stalling said softly.

"Yes, Stalling, it is good to see you as well. You have brought the supplies we requested, yes?"

"Yes, all that we could muster under the circumstances,  Stalling said, gesturing with a hand toward the six, large duffle bags piled on the low ledge near the sm
all hole his men had bore into the room.

"You have truly done us a great service," Muzar said as he crossed the room and inspected the bags.

Stalling studied Muzar in that moment. It had been twelve years since he had last seen his friend in person but Muzar looked like he had aged forty. The grainy security camera footage had somewhat prepared Stalling for the shocking changes in the man but now, enclosed in the room together with the dreary iridescence of his pocket lamp shedding light on the finer details, he was forced to stretch his memory in order to recognize anything familiar.

In order to identify the person in the room as his old friend, Steffor had to recall the subtle traits, relegated in the past as secondary behind his robust personalit
y. Despite the loss of fifty pounds of muscle and the baggy jumpsuit he wore, Muzar still moved with feline grace and purpose, as if every step and gesture were an orchestrated dance.

But it was the spark in his emerald eyes, shrouded by a wild mane of dar
k brown locks matted to his forehead and a shaggy beard extending past his neckline that assured Stalling's doubting mind that the man in the room was truly Muzar. It was this enchanting spark, a providential sensuousness, that Stalling recognized in that moment as the source of his conviction, his belief that Muzar was indeed the missing piece.

Content with his mental inventory of the contents of the bags, Muzar stood up, turned around and acknowledged Stalling
’s presence with a nod. "Thank you. The timing of these supplies could not have come at a better time. You have saved thousands."

"I only wish I could have brought more," Stalling said meekly, wondering how the meager amount of fortified food, water and essential medical supplies could have any kind o
f significant impact on the situation in Blacadoma.

"It
’s more than anyone else would do, that is all that matters. It was your generous heart that always made me proud to call you my friend," Muzar said as he stepped down and stood before Stalling.

"You h
ave no idea the peace it brings me to hear you still consider me a friend," Stalling said.

Muzar's face flashed with a mix of undetectable emotions in response to Stalling's words, before he forced a smile and clasped Stalling's shoulder affectionately. "C
ome, let us sit by the pool with the remaining time we have and you can tell me the ulterior reason you chose to risk your life to see me."

They both squatted at the edge of the pool as Muzar ripped open one of the vitamin packed protein bars he had procur
ed from a duffle bag. He took a big bite and Stalling was content to watch Muzar chew in silence for a few moments before speaking again.

"I came for you."

"To what end? So that I can spend my remaining days on some deserted, tropical island?" Muzar replied.

Despite his intentions for Muzar being far from a reclusive hideaway, the detestable tone in his friend's voice startled Stalling. "No, that is not what I came here to propose. But what if it was? Would you accept the offer?"

Muzar looked at Stalling and allowed a genuine smile to cross his face, releasing a small flash of his remote beauty. He smiled at Stalling for several long seconds, moisture amplifying the loving warmth in the depths of his eyes, before turning his attention back to the placid water.

"I lived in this hole for months when I first arrived. For the first week or so, I had managed to stay ahead of the mobs bent on my capture but the more I came to terms with my predicament, the more I knew it was only a matter of time before they would
catch me. I was approaching that reality, having just mugged a man laden with food and water, tasked with transporting it to one of the many caches controlled by the Ecifricans, and I had been running for hours since without success in losing my pursuers."

"It was then that I stumbled into the pitch black hallway outside," Muzar paused with a jerk of his head toward the small opening he had used to enter the room. He gulped down the rest of his bar and washed it down with a fresh bottle of water, taking his
time to savor both.

Stalling waited patiently as Muzar absently flicked a few pebbles into the pool, sending small ripples across the tranquil surface. "The darkness forced me to slow down and grope along the wall to my left in order to go forward. In wha
t I now know to be about the mid-point of the dark tunnel, where one loses site of the light coming from either end, my hands came across a crack in the wall just below my waist. At that same moment, I knew I was trapped when I heard the voices of my pursuers coming from both ends of the tunnel. On instinct, driven by a will to live I did not know I possessed until that instant, I lay flat on the ground and pulled myself in."

Stalling peered over Muzar to study the slit leading into the cave and tried to im
agine the then two hundred and fifty pound Muzar squeezing into the tight space. It did not seem possible.

"If you were here, magically waiting for me in this place at that time so many years ago, I would have left with you in an instant. For at that time,
I was a man who still refused to grow; to sacrifice what I was for what I could become, a man who would have gladly lived out his days wallowing in remorse. No remorse over the death of the three men I killed, I knew the moment after the impulsive action took place that I would do it all over again. No, the self-reproach haunting me the remaining days of my life would have stemmed from my willingness to remain ignorant. How my insatiable drive to compete, to reach the highest pinnacle of a simple barbaric game, prevented me from ever seeing the world around me."