Microstory 665: Acceptance of the Enemies

< > Table of Contents

A few things came to light following the realization of the Hailstorm of Love. Some people were so desperate to make it happen that they went against the rules of the taikon, and tried to orchestrate it. They used weather control technology to create and intensity a hailstorm on a planet out of its season. The thinking was that, if it could never hail on its own, it would be sufficiently rare enough to qualify. Normally, the Light would ignore this infraction, for it did not have any bearing on the actual taikon, but something else happened as a result. The planet they chose as their site for the storm happened to be inhabited by a small but powerful group enemies. Their beliefs are not relevant to the situation, but they were a not insignificant threat to the Light of Truth. Many of their kind died in the storm. Their loss, and the destruction of their homes, led the survivors to flee their world, seeking refuge wherever they could find it. By this point, the Light had overtaken the greatest number of believers ever. The newly converted were especially hostile toward any threat against the Light...placing the refugees firmly in danger. These refugees thought for sure that they would suffer a similar fate to their brethren, but then something happened. A group of mercenaries arrived and provided safe passage through the galaxy, ultimately transplanting them on Kesliperia, where they were duly accepted by the grateful converts from Lapsar...and our numbers grew further.

Microstory 664: Hailstorm of Love

< > Table of Contents

This is one of those taikon that make you scratch your head. Hailstorms, though not the most common weather phenomenon on planets, are too frequent to ever be considered as having any level of rarity. Hail is formed when updrafts are strong enough to lift rain back into the air long enough for it to freeze, possibly several times over. Even the stranger variants of hail have their place in the galaxy, with many planets known by their extremely intense storms, or particularly large hailstones. The passage in the Book of Light that addresses this taikon speaks mainly about love and friendship, and does not much mention hail. A number of special events came together last minute in the hopes of triggering the taikon, nowhere more than in locations experiencing hail season. An untold number of people died, actually, in the belief that being struck by the hail was a requirement, despite the passage not mentioning this at all. There was one gathering, however, that stood out above the others. While the taikon must be realized in their foretold order, the Sacred Savior’s predictions say nothing about when in time any one of them will occur. There is nothing in the text, for instance, preventing the next taikon from being fulfilled in twenty years. The understood belief is that they will happen in quick succession, but a lot of that has to do with home, and now with trends. It is this uncertainty that led a friend matching company to schedule their large mixer on what would come to be not long after the slaughter of the unfaithful. They did not know this at the time, and in fact, began accepting applications before the taikon had even begun. It just so happened to fall on the right day, to no forethought of the organizers. This is as it should be, because most taikon cannot be generated artificially.

A stipulation for the get-together was that no one was allowed to attend who had so much as made the acquaintance of someone else who was going. Applications started coming in long ago. As soon as someone was accepted—first come, first serve—anyone that person had ever met was summarily disqualified. This ensured that the party would be completely fresh. Any attendee who encountered another would inherently know nothing about them. Celebrities, and other prominent figures, were automatically disqualified as well. As the Sacred Light would have it, this would become the sixty-fourth taikon, and it would have absolutely nothing to do with weather. Sotiren Zahir was very clever, and knew how to arrange his words to make you think what he wanted you to. The term hailstorm did not refer to ice pellets, but to salutations. The entire purpose of the gathering was for the attendees to introduce themselves to each other. They spent the first half standard hour of it doing nothing but greeting everyone they could find. Of course, even if the event organizers had figured out what the Sacred Savior had truly meant, there was no way they could have known the first sixty-three taikon would be achieved just before theirs. Even if they had, it would be a miracle unto itself. It’s too bad for those people who committed suicide by hail. They could have instead attended the most important party in galaxy history.

Microstory 663: Slaughter of the Unfaithful

< > Table of Contents

Many people have had crises of faith, and many have ultimately succumbed to the darkness, losing their commitment to Lightseed altogether. We mourn the loss of these, our once-friends. We pity them, we try to bring them back into the Light, and we continue to love them regardless. Though they have lost their faith, they are not who we mean when we talk about the “unfaithful”. When you bring hundreds of billions of people together under one religion, you’re bound to end up with a few who are not of the best moral character. These do not truly belong to the Sacred Light, and though we know this to be true, we have no process to remove them from our organization. Again, they are not the ones we’re talking about. A truly unfaithful Lightseer is one who’s been entrusted with the leadership of the faithful. They may be Highlightseers, or of mid-level ranks, but what they all have in common is that people rely on them for guidance. They have betrayed this sacred trust, and become a secret force for evil, darkening the skies of the divine. These insidious beings often go for years, perhaps decades, wielding their power, and using it towards terrible ends. They are hard to spot, and their evil deeds even harder to stop. Proving what they truly are can be extremely difficult, especially since many of them can’t even admit to themselves what they are. Murder isn’t illegal in this galaxy, nor is war, but there are still limits. If ever a single entity gathers enough power to massacre a significant portion of the population, though no central government exists to do anything about it, they will usually be stopped by someone equally as powerful. Rarely has it come to this in our history, but it has happened before. In this case, it was over almost before it started. In order to fulfill the sixty-third taikon, a group of true Lightseers took it upon themselves to weed out the unfaithful, and destroy them in one fell swoop. They were all placed in confinement for this, and will never be released, but their duty had been done, and that was good enough for them. It may be one of the more unsavory aspects of the Book of Light, but necessary for our righteous needs.

Microstory 662: Replace Eido Tamsin

< > Table of Contents

Tamsin, a.k.a. Tamsin the Judge, a.k.a. the most famous doubter in history was the least popular of th eidos. She was also the only eido to die before the Sacred Savior. Sotiren Zahir spoke of her at her memorial service, and his eulogy was posthumously added to the one of the final chapters of the Book of Light. The following is what he said that shed some light on why he chose her to be an eido, and what made her so important.

Tamsin never wanted to be one of my eidos. She started out less of a follower, and more of a rival. Not everyone was okay with my thoughts on how Fostea should be organized, and Tamsin was part of a group who strongly opposed me. She was not sent in, strictly speaking, as a spy. She made no attempt to hide her true motivations. She was there to make sure I didn’t do anything crazy, like decide half the people who wanted to go to the new home galaxy weren’t worthy to live amongst us. I slowly convinced her that my intentions were pure, and that I only ever wanted the best for our people. I did this through reason and perseverance, not coercion or violence.  Fortunately, she never lost her instinct to be skeptical. She continued to question my choices, and instead of harming the process, she only strengthened it. Every time she found a mistake or issue with one of my suggestions, we were able to work on it together, and make it decent. You literally have no idea how terrible this place would be without her. Honestly, and you know that I don’t like to be so harsh, but you all owe her your lives. And so do I. She was the best of us, because she never let it be easy. Her job was to make us great...and damn did she deliver.

In the spirit of Tamsin’s original contribution to the cause, the replacement for her in modern times was chosen out of a group of people who rejected the Light. They did not simply reject the teachings of the Book of Light. They were born to it, but eventually grew up to make their own decisions, specifically the decision to go against the faith. Furthermore, this shortlist of people spoke out against the Light, but in a far more constructive way than any standard rival. Though we disagree with their sentiments, their objective is to make things better, rather than simply detract and spread hate. They are true Tamsins, and one of them would have to be chosen to fulfill this role more manifestly. His name is Sanctius Viktorov.

Microstory 661: Return the Belt of Andrea

< > Table of Contents

Long before the galaxy of Fostea was settled, our ancestors lived on a single planet in Lactea. Due to some unsanctioned scientific experiments, there lived for a time a group of people with extraordinary abilities. It was often these who inspired many of the technologies we now take for granted today, including our ability to reach faster-than-light speeds through simplex dimensions. During this time, a contemporary of these anomalous peoples carried with her a special belt that allowed her to simplex dimensional space pass unharmed through solid walls. It was an even more ancient invention that had been passed down her family line since its creation. After her death, the belt lied dormant in a warehouse, along with a number of other ancient technologies. It was eventually rediscovered, and claimed by someone who would later come to be known as Eido Andrea. Though powerful when used by the vigilante, technological progress had moved on by the time the belt fell into the hands of Andrea. She kept it mostly for the way it looked, but did also use it innocuously in order to avoid having to open doors. Andrea was a companion of Peter Fireblood’s, and had no intentions of having much to do with Fostea. But she was moved by the Sacred Savior’s words, and little by little, she began to believe. In time, she left Peter Fireblood’s side, and joined the Light of Truth. As punishment for this, Peter Fireblood stole the special belt from her, and sent it back to Lactea, where it has remained ever since. When the small group of Irritants arrived in our galaxy just before the taikon began, they brought with them a few relics from the past, including the Belt of Andrea. They likely did not know what it was at the time, but eventually learned what they had. After witnessing the realization of so many foretold taikon, the Irritants started figuring out that maybe their evil works against the Light were not such a good idea. Maybe they would lose this war, maybe they were on the wrong side, and maybe they didn’t want to die in the process. In order to garner some goodwill from the Lightseers, they offered to return the Belt of Andrea to Ileana Ulaire, who had long been appointed as the replacement for the original Eido Andrea. She accepted this gift, and a level of cautious peace was finally reached.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 28, 2143

« < » > Table of Contents

While most people left on the island had had an entire year to recover from the craziness that was their pre-wedding celebration, Mateo, Leona, and Serif had none. They were still feeling a little hungover, and Serif’s body had not yet completely healed. The three of them were slow in the morning, stumbling over the uneven surface of the beach, and struggling to perform simple tasks, like drinking water. Mateo was no lightweight, but he also hadn’t had much alcohol since this all started. He was holding a beer with lime at the very moment of his first time jump. Evidently citrus explodes when exposed to the timestream, or something, so that was a traumatic experience that might have contributed to his later abstention. It was probably a good rule to live by, and he would likely be practicing it from now on.

After breakfast, Arcadia teleported herself in. She was wearing a pantsuit, and a microphone headset, and she was holding a binder, which was very obviously empty.

“Are you our wedding planner?” Leona asked.

“I’m playing your wedding planner, but you’ll be planning the wedding. I’ve just always wanted to wear these things.” She tapped her headset with a pen. “I did, however, take the liberty of jotting down a short list of things you’ll need, and where you’ll be able to find them.”

Mateo took the list she pulled out of her binder. “Let’s see, we need a photographer. Wait, it says Paige here. Are you letting her come?”

“Her and Horace, of course. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you. A band and a DJ? Who are the Codas?”

“Don’t worry about it. They’ll show up and do whatever.”

“Are these the Horticulturalists? The ones you spoke of who keep plants from other realities?”

“Indeed.”

He went back to the list. “Why do we need a hotel?”

“For the guests, obviously.”

He scanned the beach. “Everybody already has somewhere to sleep. I mean, we would love better accommodations, but we would rather they be more permanent. A one-night hotel room just seems cruel.”

She scoffed. “Mateo, this is just the wedding party. The hotel is for your guests, of which there are thousands. Tens of thousands.”

“Why is it going to be that big?” Leona questioned.

“Because I want it to be.”

“This is our wedding,” Leona argued.

“You don’t even wanna get married.”

“Well, if I have to, then at least let it be on our terms.”

“No,” Arcadia said plainly. “This is still an expiation, and these are my terms. You get married in the Colosseum replica, and you do it in front of e’erbody.”

“Son of a bitch!” Leona yelled out of character, then stormed off.

“You seem rather cool about all this,” Arcadia pointed out.

“Ya know what they say.”

“What?”

“Screw it,” Mateo finished. He scanned the list again. They needed a caterer and a videographer, a tailor and hair & makeup, and transportation. The latter would apparently be handled by none other than The Chauffeur, Dave. But he was still hung up on the hotel thing. “What hotel is big enough to hold everyone that can fit in the Colosseum?”

Arcadia reached into her bag of holding and retrieved a bell. Upon ringing it, a door magically appeared on the beach.

“Is that The Crossover?”

“Part of it,” she answered.

A man wearing a bellhop uniform slipped out of the door and rush towards them. “Yes, hello, can I help you?” he asked in an overly-polite tone.

“What are some good restaurants around here.”

He was shocked and uncomfortable, and he looked around for answers. “There’s, uhh...Beachfire Grill.” He was just looking at the firepit they had built. “Umm...Alien Coconut Grove. Algae Caves.”

“I’m messing with you, Bell.” She looked back to Mateo. “This is Bell. I mean, I think he has a real name, but I don’t care what it is. He can help you with anything that pertains to the rooms.”

Bell tipped his head down. “Welcome...to Kingdom Hotel. You may call me Bell, or whatever you would like.”

“The Kingdom Hotel is part of the Crossover? How big is that thing?”

Bell smiled. “Every big. All the bigs.”

“Thank you,” Arcadia said somewhat dismissively. “Please prepare the rooms. We’ll need them all in a year.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, please. Ma’am is my mother. Call me Mistress Queen.”

“Very well, Mistress Queen,” Bell said, either not recognizing it as a joke, or believing his role as merely the help meant it didn’t matter.”

“Are you okay with this?” Mateo asked of Bell.

Bell started to leave for his door. “It’s a living.”

“Accommodations rely heavily on invitations,” Arcadia explained. “Otherwise, people won’t know where to go. That’s what you’ll be working on today.”

She escorted him down the beach where an office support station had been installed that he hadn’t noticed before. There were computers, printers, and machines that he didn’t recognize. “Do you have a fitness band? You’re going to be getting a lot of steps in today. You won’t really have any time to sit, so just ignore the chairs.”

“Can’t we just send an email?”

“Not everyone has access to email, Mateo,” she said. “Let me show you how this works.” She leaned over and opened a program on the computer. Up popped an invitation template. “You can write whatever you would like, but I recommend you personalize them to the individual.”

“How would I do that if there are tens of thousands of them? I don’t even know most of them.”

She opened another program, and snapped each window to opposite edges of the screen so they could see them both at once. “Here’s a list of variables. Anything that begins with a dollar sign is going to be referring specifically the person, or their location, or whatnot. It’s going to be drawing from a database of the guests.” She opened a third program with a table of names. “Don’t alter the guestlist itself, though. This is very important, because not everyone can fit at the reception tables. Only the elite three-thousand will be staying for that. I’ve already decided who those are, so I’m just gonna close this back up. Once you’re happy with the finished product, print it off.” She acted like she was going to print it, so he could see what the screen would look like. “In this box here, you’re going to type in the number four-eight-three-nine-two.”

“Is that how many people are coming?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

“You may want to print a sample copy first, though, because you probably screwed it up.”

She walked over to the printers. “They’ll spit the invitations out here. It doesn’t matter the order, so it’s programmed to use all three printers at once. She pointed to some shelving behind the printers. “I got a hundred reams for you, and that should be enough, assuming you don’t ruin the entire job.” She reached over and took one ream, tearing it open on top of the printer. “The delivery machine can only take about a ream at once. Well...three, because there are three slots. When they come out of the printer, they’re not going to be even, so put the stack in the jogger.” She set the stack of example sheets in another machine, and flipped it on. The machine jiggled, which helped the stack straighten out. Then up in the delivery slot. Pull this level down gently. And press the green Start button on the side of that slot. You can monitor its progress on this screen. Just keep doing that ad nauseam. Think you can handle that?”

“Where do the invitations go?”

“All these machine were invented by humans, except that the delivery machine has been adapted to send it across time. Again, it’s already been programmed. The guestlist contains codes for each individual, so it knows where to send them.”

“Is all this really necessary?” Mateo asked, already exhausted only from hearing the instructions.

“People like to be entertained, Mateo. You gave them that with your Uluru battle, but this is better, because no one dies...theoretically. They have really hard lives, and sometimes they just wanna sit down and watch people promise to love each other for the rest of their lives.”

“Very well, Mistress Queen,” he echoed Bell.

She smirked. “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to not ask them. I ain’t here to hold your hand. It’s still possible to fail this, just like the other expiations.”

Once she turned around, Mateo said genuinely, “thank you, Arcadia.” He imagined her smiling sadly, secretly yearning for a reality where she didn’t feel she needed to do this. But she never turned back, instead opting for merely teleporting away.

Mateo got to work, running into problem after problem. He had trouble finding the right words for the invitations. The variables would never seem to line up correctly. The printers always seemed to require paper refill at the same time the delivery machine was finished with a stack, and needed to be filled up too. Every time something went wrong; like a paper jam, or processor overheating, a red light would come on, paired with an incessant alarm. Arcadia had been right about how many steps he would get in. He was constantly hopping between the machines, fixing problems, and adding paper. In all his life, he never dreamed of being responsible for the death of so many trees. It was rather sickening to him, actually, and he doubted whether this was truly the best way to contact all the guests, even assuming it was the best course of action to invite so many people in the first place.

He knew that his friends were all working on their own things, but didn’t have the energy to worry about it. He could see Darko and Marcy designing table centerpieces, for a reception he hadn’t even begun to think about. Little Dar’cy was running in her bear costume, as apparently a pun on her role as ring bearer. She was also the flower girl. Leona was in a little hut with someone who once worked with Téa at her clothing shop, before Arcadia tore both it, and her, out of time. He was fitting her for a dress. Lincoln and Mario were building a table out of wood from scratch. Horace came over to visit, but per Arcadia’s orders, couldn’t help. He said that they were only building one table, then it was going to be replicated three hundred times; stolen from three hundred temporary microrealities. The same would be done for all the chairs, and what little food someone named The Culinarian would be cooking a year from now. Mateo literally thanked God for that, because it was technically possible to do all that manually over the course of this next year, and he was grateful it wouldn’t be necessary.

“Where’s Paige?” Mateo asked as he was tearing open several reams of paper in preparation for later. He was really getting a good rhythm going, and was better at predicting each machine’s needs.

“She’s taking photos of the venue.”

Mateo just nodded and kept working.

“Listen, I wanted to talk with you about something.”

“What is it?”

“Well, Leona isn’t particularly close to the other Tribulation Island residents.”

“Uhuh,” Mateo agreed. She didn’t dislike them, but she only existed one day out of the year, so socializing wasn’t top priority.

“I know her best. Afterall, I was married to her.”

“And you killed her. A few times, if I’m to understand your history correctly.”

“Yes.” He paused awkwardly, stopping himself at the last second from instinctually helping Mateo open a new case of paper. “Still...she’s offered me a role in the wedding party.”

“As what?”

“Her Chief Attendant.”

Mateo stopped working, letting the delivery machine run out of invitations to send out. “I suppose it’s only natural. I don’t have much room to complain since she doesn’t know Serif, who is likely going to be my Chief Attendant. Besides...you and I are cool in this reality.”

Horace stopped Mateo as he was trying to get back to the task at hand. “Are we?”

Mateo knew that no words would sufficiently convey his message, so he dropped what he was doing, and pulled Horace into an embrace. Seeing this, Dar’cy ran over and joined in, hugging them both at their legs. Now it truly was a bear hug.

Once he was finally finished with the time invitations, Mateo helped carry the table, chairs, and centerpieces, to the Colosseum grounds. He was then fitted for a tuxedo, which he kept on for family photos. That night, they had an engagement party, just for the islanders, plus Horace and Paige. Arcadia showed up for dessert. Tomorrow was the big day. He was nervous, but secretly happy that it was being forced upon them. He was dreading having to find the right way to convince Leona to set the date. A July wedding, just as he always wanted it.

« < » > Table of Contents

The Disappearance of Rothko Ladhiffe: Chapter Three

« < » > Entire Story

I knock on the door, expecting to hear a gravelly voice on the other side asking me who I am, who sent me, and whether I’m one of them. Then should come the familiar sound of him pumping his shotgun, along with a warning about his connections to the press. If he does end up agreeing to let me in, he should spend no less than fifteen full seconds unlocking all the deadbolts, possibly even removing a bar. Instead, I hear a regular, cordial voice that tells me it’s open, and to come on inside. I flip open the button of my sidearm holster, but don’t take it out. So far, I have no reason to believe there’s danger on the other side of this door, but it is a door, and I can’t know for sure. I walk in, expecting to see stacks of newspapers, creepy taxidermy animals staring at me with looks of horror, and maybe a package of niche food the government tried to design for soldiers in the 1970s that they don’t make anymore. Instead, it’s a clean apartment with pictures of family members on the ledge, and throw pillows on the sectional couch.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” he calls from the back. “I’m just finishing up here. Would you like something to drink?”

I barely manage to eke out a, “no, I’m fine, thank you.” I do sit down, but keep my hand at my hip. Sometimes just finishing up means they’re making sure their taser stick works, or simply that they’re giving me enough time to feel comfortable before jumping out with a loaded crossbow.

After a couple minutes of me worried for the worst, a man walks in rubbing his hands with a wet wipe. “Sorry about that, I was just finishing up the map of the dwarven continent. I can’t get the coastline right.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, that’s one of things that I do. I draw maps for fantasy writers who want to add a little more immersion to their canon.” He presents his hand. “Hi, I’m Ciro Alinari.”

“Detective Kallias Bran. I rudely don’t shake his hand, instead opting to show him my badge. I’m not here on official business, though. Did Shaw give you a heads up?”

“No, but I’ve been expecting you,” he replies.

“How’s that? Can you see the future?”

He laughs. “No. I also made the school district maps. I received a call from a very confused administrative assistant asking me whether the city used to be larger. I told her no, but you and I both know that’s not true, is it?”

“So, you remember it?”

“Not exactly. Remembering is gonna be tough, if at all possible. But I do have this.” He walks over to the wall and pulls down a giant map roll hanging from the wall. “No, not that one.” He puts it back, then pulls it again. Not a different map, but the same one. Except it is different. It somehow changed while it was rolled up. “Not that one either. One more try.” He puts it back up, and pulls it down for the third time, revealing this time a full map of Springfield, including the missing schools.

“Where did you get this?”

“I made it,” Ciro says. “I did it with this.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pen. It’s shaped a little strange, but it’s not otherwise special. “I don’t know why, but every map I make with this thing is wrong. This whole section here doesn’t exist, but somehow...the pen thinks it does. I remember drawing this, but I don’t know why I would, or did, rather. Best I gather is that the city is getting smaller.”

There are so many questions, and so much I don’t understand. I know the city is receding, but I don't know how it’s happening, why I didn’t notice before...or how I see it now. But the most pressing question now has to do with RL, and his merry band of friends. “What does that have to do with missing children?”

“What missing children?”

“They were at a school lock-in...at a school that apparently no longer exists.”

He thought about this for a moment, obviously having never heard of anything like this before. “They must not be missing. They must have been erased from the timeline.”

“Why does one of the mothers remember her son then?”

He thought some more, but this time searching for the right words. “Maybe it’s like a disease. Pathogens attack individuals differently. We all react in our own personal way. Some of us don’t get as sick as others, and some of us don’t get sick at all. Sometimes a fluke in genetics just makes certain people immune to certain diseases. This mother may remember her son when no one else does just because of the law of probability. A hundred percent coverage is difficult to achieve in nature. There’s just always something. Something getting in the way.”

“It’s happened to me before. I could see things, and know things, that no one else could.”

“Really? Tell me.”

I tell him about Escher Bradley, and all I’ve been dealing with for the last ten years. I talk about the house, the elevator closet, and the other dimension. I list the children I met there, how my memories would regularly be erased afterwards, and how I’ve received treatments to retrieve them, but never did get their names back. That must be it. That’s why I can sort of remember the old Springfield. My brain has been taught to, but it isn’t perfect; it can’t give me everything.

“I need to find this child,” I plead, fairly certain he’ll never be able to help me. “Please. I can’t get back to that house, but I need a way in. They’re not gone, they’re not dead, they’re just somewhere else. There must be some other house with some other elevator.”

“I’m sorry, man,” he says. “I would have no idea. Have you tried the internet?”

“No, I don’t really like that thing.”

“Well, you can find just about anything there. It may take you awhile before you land on something real, but there should be tons of information about other dimensions, and invisibility, and whatnot.”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to give it a shot,” I say, up for pretty much anything at this point. “You got a computer?”

“Unfortunately, mine is being worked on. They have them at the library, though.”

“All right, fine. Let’s just hope it still exists by the time I get there. It’s on the edge of the border.”

“I would go with you, but I really gotta finish this coastline.”

“It’s fine. Thanks for your help.” He turns to head back to the other room, and I turn to leave. “Hey, wait. How would you recommend I start my search? Ya know, to avoid all the garbage?”

“Start local. If the mother remembers, and you remember, and I remember...then somebody else probably does too. They might even remember more than we do.”

I make it to the library and get to work. I pass by the computers, and end up just walking to the catalog cards. I’m more familiar with how they work, and it’ll be faster if I just do it how I’m used to. I’m not opposed to technology, I’m sure computers will do wonders for our future, but I don’t have anyone in my life who can get me into them. People my age really need a son, or a niece, or someone young to roll their eyes and teach me how to doubleclick.

I spend an hour there before the librarian finds me and asks if I need any help. Well, yes, I do; there’s nothing here, but I’m also embarrassed to ask. I got lucky when Melantha suggested I speak with Alinari, but no one else is going to have so much understanding. No one else sees what I see.

I decide to swallow my pride and take what help is available. “I’m looking for anything weird about the city. Any freak accidents, or unexplained missing persons, or hell, even ghosts.”

She nods. “We have a special room for local information. Here, I’ll take you to it.”

“Thank you so much.”

She leads me through the stacks and to the back where they haven’t even bothered turning on the lights. She takes me down a creepy hallway, under a few cobwebs, and around piles of cardboard they haven’t thrown out yet. She then opens a set of double doors to the outside and ushers me through.

“I don’t understand.”

“You came in the West entrance, but that half of the library is already partially gone. If you can see us disappearing, then you need to get out of here before it’s gone for good. Go to the original branch. You’ll be able to find what you’re looking for. Remember these numbers. Nine-nine-nine. Nine-nine-nine.”

“What? I didn’t know the library was disappearing. If you do, why don’t you leave too?”

She shakes her head. “I’m the only one who can protect the books.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Just go. The farther you are from this place, the sa—”

Then she was gone, along with the rest of the library. They just suddenly blink away; like somebody flipped off the switch that made them appear to the world. In their place is another open field, which I’ll have to start getting used to seeing.

The original branch of the library; the one that was built when this was a wee little town. Easy enough, except that I parked my car on the other side of the building, and now it doesn’t exist anymore.

« < » > Entire Story

Microstory 660: Gathering of the Highlightseers

< > Table of Contents

At the moment Enaji Habicht placed the First Ring on his finger, a summoning spread out across Fostea. Every Highlightseer in the galaxy suddenly teleported to Enaji’s planet, in and around the cemetery. The first Highlightseers rose to power around the time that the last of the original eidos were disappearing. As much as Sotiren Zahir wrote in the Book of Light, he never really touched on the subject of community leadership. He presumably felt that the structure had to develop naturally on its own. The Sacred Savior did not want to interfere with whatever his followers wanted out of their faith after he died. Highlighteers are never appointed, nor elected. They come to be by proving themselves to have the utmost faith and dedication to the cause. They must spend the majority of their time studying, and promoting the religion’s teachings, especially towards those who do not yet believe. Never in the entire history of our civilization have they all been together in the same place. Everyone always knew that one day, there would have to be a gathering of the Highlightseers, but no one knew how that could happen. The logistics of such a thing would be damn near impossible to accommodate. Choosing the location alone could take weeks. Even amidst the achievement of the taikon, a Highlightseer’s job is never done. We must all continue to live our lives, and only contribute to the prophecies when called upon by the Light. As said before, no one really knows what the First Ring is. We know only that Sotiren never removed it from his finger until it was lost to him shortly before his death. Someone completely unknown to the records ended up hiding it somewhere, but no one had any idea where. In the end, it was exactly where it needed to be in order to gather all the Highlightseers together through powerful technology. It was time to get down to business, and make some decisions vital to the future.