Sondranos: The Narrative of Leon Bishop (24 page)

This wasn’t my Daniel. It was
the crux of what I’d left. I had to remind myself of that. I even
have to write it here to make sure I believe it. My impressions of
the kind of world I’d fled were made even scarier because I hadn’t
been able to face them head on. And then the place I’d run to was
destroyed. False Daniel had a point – I suppose you could call it
being haunted by a Present Moment.

‘
If you were
important enough, then your long-dark-night would have meaning.
Instead, look at what it is. You’re sitting in the desert, talking
to people who’ve done more to help themselves in just a few hours
than you have your entire life. How pathetic do you want to be?
Congratulations, Leon Bishop – you win your life! Is it everything
you ever hoped it would be? Hope so, because you aren’t strong
enough to earn anything better!’

Burning leaves carried on the
wind, cut faintly by the scent of ashes of thousands. Daniel pulled
away in it. His arms flowed out like wisps, and his body followed.
Even though I couldn’t see him then, I could still hear him.

‘
These are
people, Leon. And you’ve judged them already.

‘
What are
you?

‘
Davion. The
hero, old fashioned and seeking only to save us all. When one
falls, it only makes the rest more important. He wishes to take you
somewhere far, far away – a place you’ve never considered going.
Melanie was supposed to be his opposite. She was the realist to his
visionary. She was willing to work for what she wanted in life,
regardless of the constraints of this fallen Empire. Now, she’s
nothing more than Davion’s tool – reborn to his own idealism.
Annalise looks at them without considering how her life has broken
down. Her confidence comes from that same alienation. Kayt and
Lancaster couldn’t be more dramatic. Now he is dead, and she
survives - how long until you think she begins to wax poetic on the
life he was supposed to lead? Better yet – how long until you begin
to deny what happened?

I started to see what False
Daniel was doing. The pure, unmitigated hatred oozing from his
words wasn’t what I’d assumed. ‘What are you but nothing to
history?’ he questioned. ‘You give all your attention to one,
sacrificing the rest out of fear for what you might find. If you
gave them the attention you show to the convict, you might have a
chance. Do something with yourself. Stop making this journey
theirs, and do something worth returning for.’

I mumbled softly: “Otherwise, I
don’t have any reason to go back.”

I composed myself, swearing at
the imaginary Daniel I’d conjured, hoping he would leave me alone.
He was a creation of my mind. I knew that if I was ever going to go
back and fix what I’d left, then I would have to earn that.

“
Melanie,” I
reached through the driver’s window and placed my hand on her
shoulder. She’d climbed in while I was off in my mind. She looked
at me cockeyed. “Everything fine?” Melanie asked. Davion leaned
forward from his seat in the back. He’d already started giving her
directions. They sounded much like ‘go straight until you hit the
commune.’

“
Do you mind
if I drive?” I asked.

She took a second, nodded, and
opened the door. She hopped in the backseat as Kayt stepped out and
let her and Davion sit together. Annalise was able to watch the
shuffle, unmoving and glad she was out of their way. I was prepared
to face what needed to be faced; I could rebuild what had been
destroyed. Now, I know how unprepared I was. I know that False
Daniel was trying to prepare me for what tragedies would come
before they shattered everything I had left.

Chapter
Ten:

The MacKinnon
Commune

of the
Primary Divinity

We drove most
of the
way through the night. Sunrise was
probably in the distance, but I had no idea how faraway.
Daniel’s words rang in my ears
. After a couple hours, I’d come up with a list of all the
things False Daniel was trying to prove: my insecurities, fears,
lies, petulance, even delusions. The last one wasn’t too much of a
stretch. Each one was a little harsher than the next,So I focused
on driving. Thankfully, the car had no troubles starting out, nor
as we progressed to the commune.

The commune was close – at
least, that’s what Davion told us – and I was going to be the one
to take us there. Even Annalise took pride in that. She smiled at
me every so often from the passenger seat, and once, when I asked
her what she was looking at, she shook her head and looked back out
the window. I recalled her thanking me in front of the engine, and
realized that’s what she’d been smiling at. Not my taking over, but
my shouldering some of the burden from the guilt she took on for
leading us this far – going to Covenant Street, the plan to get the
car unnoticed, even Lancaster’s death. I could see in her eyes that
she’d relaxed. ‘I’ve gotten us this far,’ her look said. ‘You take
the lead.’ And even though it was selfish, it was true.

As a professor, I knew exactly
where she stood. I led my students down a road through education. I
helped them in the journey to understanding the topic of the
semester and, in the end, it was my own ability to lead them that
showed. Even though the students were ultimately responsible for
their work, I still felt responsible. I could brush aside those
that failed and say they did it to themselves, but only if I knew
for a fact that they hadn’t tried, thereby absolving myself of
guilt. When those who put forth everything they had didn’t do well
– or not well enough . We must have been the first group of people
Annalise had felt part of since Beaumaris. She’d made a few choices
regarding our paths. Only, these choices reflected our safety, not
an education. In a comical way, we were her students.

When she looked at me again,
just after we passed a strange bunching of Crested Saguaro
illuminated by the headlights, I saw something else in her eyes.
‘If we hadn’t gone home, Lancaster would still be alive,’ it said.
I set my hand on hers across the console between the seats. She
took it and set her head back on the seat rest. She held on to
guilt, but I’d hoped – even by such a small task as driving us to
our final destination – that I could carry some of it for her.

In retrospect, I might have to
admit that I’ve exaggerated my importance. It might have been just
a look; it might have been confidence, and Annalise might have just
been relieved that another person was helping. But, like all the
stories I’ve taught – this is my story. I would be remiss if I
avoided my thoughts, no matter how self-entitled they seem. I want
to think that Annalise was relieved, and that the look meant that
she had some of the burden lifted from her shoulders simply because
I’d taken control of our path.

Meanwhile, Melanie and Davion
conversed about religion while Kayt held her silence. Every now and
then, Davion would speak up to tell me which road to take, but
overall the route was pretty straightforward. I wanted to add
something to the conversation when Davion mentioned that all would
be right with ‘Our Lords’ on arrival. Namely, I wanted to ask him
what would happen if we got there and the place had been destroyed.
I stopped myself, though, cautious to keep negativity away from the
atmosphere. We’d all been riding on the hope that the commune was
still there, or at least not overrun by Belovores. It was best to
let optimism keep carrying us there and deal with change if it
happened. But even half an hour can seem like a lifetime when
you’re riding with despair on your heels.

The rescue
signal from the
IA Cooper
played every half hour. Davion silenced himself
the second time, counted on his fingers, and said we were halfway
there. I turned the sound system off after the third
time.

I leaned forward and peered
up.

No stars hung overhead. This
time, the clouds above were so dark and sooty that I could hardly
tell they draped across the sky. We’d pulled onto a large desert
expanse. The road nearly vanished in the soil. The landscaped
flattened out before us. Before long, flickering flames danced in
the moonless night, barely visible.

The foundation of the commune
was spot-lit by torches that licked the stone foundations. The
light climbed the walls and glistened off the shards of glass
embedded on the top. Behind it, gothic arches taller than the ones
from the Abbey climbed into the night. Without torches to light
their height, I lost sight of where they ended – but I had a
picture in my mind that they grabbed at the sky like steel
fortifications. The crags of the crater were fully shrouded in
darkness.

Have you ever had a feeling
like you knew what was being covered by shadows? I had the same
feeling. There was a castle behind that wall, and we were about to
step into it. Davion leaned forward and pointed to the commune,
then clapped Annalise on the shoulder while laughing nervously,
like he’d avoided something terrible.

“
It was built
into the crater?” I asked.

“
Where else?”
Davion answered, grabbing my seat by the headrest and pulling
himself forward, almost into the front seat, between Annalise and
I. “Just follow the path provided and it will lead you to the
entrance. Stop before you get within shouting distance.”

“
Not exactly
strategically sound,” I said. “With all the lights on, the
Belovores would see it as easily as a spotlight.”

“
You run your
commune the way you want, and I will have mine,” Davion said.
“Besides, if the torches were a problem, wouldn’t the Belovores
have already dealt with them?”

The MacKinnon
Commune of the Primary
Divinity reminded
me of home.

I’d grown up in Scotland,
spending half my life wandering from historic castle to abbey, and
the other half living in a city where Edinburgh Castle dominated
the skyline. When we pulled closer, the first part I noticed was
that the MacKinnon Commune held the visage of a castle.

Upon entering, I wouldn’t get
the chance to look around like a tourist; instead, we’d be ushered
off without the chance to register our surroundings. So, instead of
filling out the edges as I go, I will do my best to describe the
place as my memory serves.

In the light, the curtain wall
fortified the front of the commune. As if the curtain wall wasn’t
enough, the crater acted as a battlement from behind. It hulked so
high that I knew their daylight was cut in half just by proxy of
the crater. The gardens and greenery – which flourished much in the
same way the transplanted Montana grass did near the city – took a
hold on the soil and stole every last drop of moisture from the
night.

Outside was a desert; inside
was the oasis.

The entrance – a stony barbican
much like any ancient city’s entryway- was marked by trees. A pair
of guards in black robes strolled across, keeping watch. The trees
stood in set intervals, and started a ten minutes’ walk from the
entrance, leading down the pathway to the main doors. They must
have been tough to keep standing. They resembled palm trees, yet
had the appearance of dead or dying elms. Their fallen leaves
dressed the plains that groped outwards towards the crag-line. I’m
sure, when they were in their autumn, they looked miraculous. Once
past the wall and through the barbican, the entry road split in
two. The first wound around the length of the commune alongside the
wall while the second struck through the centre, and branched out
towards buildings accordingly.

The grounds were split in the
centre by a large stone Keep. They called the Keep the Citadel, as
it was a recreation of the first human-Belovore building to exist
in Sondranos. However, what would immediately draw my attention was
the larger version of the Abbey, which hugged the left side of the
wall. To the right rested the village where huts, survivable
greenery, and agricultural needs packed together closely.

The village part of the commune
was an inner bailey. It was large enough to house four gardens of
varying foods. Seven hundred people lived within the castle,
barracks, and in various other locations. The rest – those that
worked in the yards, or wished to live outside the castle’s safety
- came in the number of two hundred. I doubt anyone commuted from
the city. It was hard to tell if anyone dared live on the outer
bailey, as the ground was as rough and patchy as it had been along
the road.

The rest of the buildings stood
behind the Abbey – an almost exact replica of Davion’s without the
gift shop – and were situated around the Keep. A barracks, stable,
large pens, and one large building that reminded me of a gymnasium
at St. Michel’s. Grey was the colour by day; at night,
strategically placed torches lent more vibrant colours just as
easily as the sunrise. I’d supposed, at the time and even now, that
they knew close quarters was a given when joining. Or perhaps some
of them chose posts across the crater just to avoid sleeping in the
same room as five or six others. Maybe that was why Davion lived
out in the suburbs of Sondranos.

It struck me that all
throughout the commune, people shuffled about, carrying baskets,
digging into the ground, tending to bushes and livestock,
continuing about their lives as if night had never fallen, and
Sondranos had never been destroyed.

When I pulled
the car
off to the side of the road, just
past the first row of trees, I got out feeling rejuvenated. We all
walked to the barbican with Davion leading the way. His steps were
light, and we all felt like we could breathe again. The sun had
long gone, but Davion led us with a brightness in his eyes that
could have lit the crater. Kayt slunk close to me and held my hand.
Annalise took the other, and Melanie took Kayt’s.