Dark Company (6 page)

“It’s too much. I can’t hear myself think.”

“Tune it out,” the being said. “Adjust the dials in your mind.”

Meg winced. “It’s like standing under a waterfall.”

“Concentrate. Diminish the sound.”

Meg focused on the noise. It was a fluid rainbow of colour. She imagined two strong hands pushing the rainbow of sound into a narrow band of white light. The voices crackled and receded like a distant radio transmission.

“Good,” the being encouraged her. “Now, see if you can control the input.”

The voices flared and withdrew. Meg found herself looking at a tapestry of light, a multidimensional fabric of colourful threads,
all woven and intermingling. She reached to touch a single sparkling strand and discovered that she could hear the owner speaking quite distinctly. What’s more, if she concentrated harder, the face of the being talking emerged from the ether of her mind as though it were standing right in front of her. “This is incredible,” she said, and despite how low she felt, she began plucking strings, as lively as a harp player, skipping from one conversation to another. Until the silver being intercepted.

“It is forbidden to eavesdrop. There are strict communication protocols.”

Meg dropped the string she was holding and the conversation slipped away.

“Shall we continue?” the being said.

They glided through the city, the being playing tour guide. Meg wanted to pay attention, but she just felt more and more sorry for herself the farther they went. She couldn’t appreciate the gilded domes of the Hall of Records where
The Book of Events
was kept, or feel excited by the soaring pillars of the Tower of Knowledge where the Pools of Knowing held the vast expanse of intelligence in the universe. She smiled politely at the river that bubbled and snaked through the streets, and the green pastures that strolled for miles beyond the city to rest comfortably at the feet of snow-capped mountains. And she only pretended to care when the silver being stopped in front of the crystal-walled conservatory of the Auditorium to listen to “the most exquisite music” rising above the murmurings of the crowd.

“It’s nice,” Meg said, feigning interest. The closer they got to the Great Hall where the initiation ceremony was to take place, the worse she felt. What was waiting for her there?

On the stairs of the Hall, she paused and stood beneath its marble archway. It was carved with an elaborate series of mysterious symbols. Was she supposed to know what they meant?
She panicked, thinking she’d missed something important she was supposed to have learned during her transformation. She was tempted to turn around and leave, go anywhere but here. And then she was struck by the most unsettling feeling. She was being watched.

Lowering her gaze, Meg met the questioning eyes of hundreds of recruits and their silver beings. They were staring at her bound arm and the impossibility of her shape. The heat rose in her face for the second time that day. She pressed her arm against her body to conceal it. Now she really wanted to run and hide.

The silver being placed a hand on her shoulder. “You must learn to rise above such things,” it said. But then it gave the spectators a look so scathing they quickly retreated into the Hall.

Meg shadowed her silver being up the stairs, practically gliding over its robe in the process.

“There’s no need to travel so closely,” it admonished her.

She apologized, and kept tailing it all the same, she felt so exposed.

Inside the building, a fountain flowed. Meg hardly glanced at it, or the armoured sentries that stood on either side of the Hall. She was so nervous about the initiation ceremony she didn’t acknowledge the ethereal singing floating through the corridor, ushering the seemingly endless number of recruits inside. The silver being led her into a cavernous room, blithering on about the wonders of the city. It pointed out the massive marble pillars and alabaster walls, and the ceiling, all gilded and glistening. It noted the brilliant warm light illuminating the space, “like the composite flame of a million candles,” even though there were no candles to be seen—as if the room were generating light on its own. “And look how the walls seem to breathe and expand to accommodate the multitudes,” the silver being went on.

“Yeah,” Meg said, distracted by a large stage behind a heavy marble table at the back of the hall. There were sixteen golden beings sitting there. They looked very important—even more important than the silver ones. “Who are they?” she asked.

“The Council,” the being said. “Two for each Frequency represented.”

The Council members sat side by side, their golden energy radiating around them. Meg counted eight additional silver beings at the foot of the stage, each carrying a tall pole bearing a coloured flag. There were eight flags in all: violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, red and white. Meg didn’t like the look of this. What were they expecting her to do?

The silver being happily explained. “When you feel the call, you must go to the flag-bearer who carries the colour of your vibration. Then you will know for certain what Frequency you belong to.” It held its hand up, anticipating her next question. “Each colour has a unique vibratory Frequency. The colours you see here belong to the order of Spectrals—or single wavelength beings. They are the core Frequencies that make up the spectrum of Light.”

“Are you a Spectral?” Meg asked.

“Of course not,” the being said. “I am a Metallic—something entirely different.”

“But how can all these recruits fit into so few categories? And how will I know when I’m called?”

“They fit,” the being assured her. “And you will know. You will feel the call inside you and join your rightful Frequency among the Spectrals.”

A trumpet sounded, and a profound hush fell over the crowd. From the wings of the great room, a magnificent being appeared. It looked similar to the silver and gold beings in features, but was taller and possessed an iridescence unlike any other. It was every colour, and none, like mother-of-pearl, or some kind of lustrous fabric.

“The Prism,” the silver being said. “This being has the ability to vibrate at every frequency. It is unique in its purpose. There is only one.”

“Is he the guy in charge?” Meg asked.

The being gave her a look. “In charge? No one being is in charge here. We are a collective.”

“Oh,” Meg said. She didn’t really care anyway. She was just being polite.

The Prism glided to the stage. Drafting behind it were two silver beings carrying an instrument that looked like a series of tuning forks stuck together, eight in all. They positioned the instrument on the podium. Without further ado, the Prism raised a delicate silver mallet and tapped the smallest fork. A clear, high note, like the song of a bird, filled the room. Meg felt nothing. The Prism’s colour changed to a deep shade of violet. The corresponding flag began to flap and within the crowd, thousands of recruits responded to the sound. They glided toward the stage and changed colour, glowing with a violet light. Meg watched with nervous fascination as a shower of glittering stars appeared from nowhere and twinkled over the recruits. “What’s that?” she asked.

“The Light of Corometh,” the silver being said. It joins the members of a Frequency together. This group of recruits is now bound to one another, as the members of other frequencies are bound to their own kind. It helps them in their work.”

“What do the purple ones do?”

“They are Chroniclers, Keepers of the Charts.”

“What charts?”

“Blueprints—maps of every individual life that ever lived and ever will live.”

This caught Meg’s attention. Could she search the charts for memories of her life before this time? Would she be able to find the boy? She promised herself, the first chance she got, she would
search the charts for him. If only she could do it right now and forget this initiation stuff altogether. The silver being sensed her agitation, though it mistook the source.

“Rest your mind,” it said. “In time you will not have to think. You will simply know.”

The tuning fork finished sounding and the Prism returned to its original colour. The room fell silent and the next fork was struck. A ringing filled the air, lower than the first, yet no less pure. The Prism turned indigo and the corresponding flag waved. Thousands more recruits vibrated to this sound and moved toward the stage. Their robes turned indigo and the Light of Corometh sparkled over them.

“Messengers,” the silver being said. “They help shape collective consciousness by delivering ideas and inspiration through the universal energy field.”

“Ah,” Meg said. Whatever that meant. “Whose consciousness?” she asked.

“The consciousness of those on earth.”

“So, the Messengers are controlling what people think.”

“Not controlling,” the silver being answered. “Assisting people toward a common goal.”

“Is that what people want—a common goal?”

“We hope so.”

“And the Messengers achieve this by delivering ideas and inspiration through the universal energy field?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Meg said. “And what’s the universal energy field?”

The being grew impatient. “It’s the field of energy that connects everything together—like a giant net. It’s in and around us. It’s everywhere. You should know this already.”

Meg shrugged. She knew now.

The next note the Prism struck was even lower than the first two. It caused the Prism to turn a brilliant colour of blue.

“Musicians,” the being explained as the recruits approached the stage. “Their song helps build and maintain the universal energy field.”

“Got it,” Meg said. “So, they work with the Messengers?”

The being sighed. “No. Pay attention.”

“But they both work with the universal energy field, right?”

“Yes. But not together.”

She looked blankly back at the being.

“They both work with the universal energy field in different capacities. The Musicians help create the field through sound, while the Messengers use it to transfer information to beings on earth. Every one of us uses the field to transfer information—images, thoughts, feelings … it’s the matrix that connects all things.”

That makes sense, Meg thought. Kind of. Which was good enough. She would leave it at that. She didn’t want to risk sounding stupid again. Besides, did she really need to completely understand everything right away?

The next fork sounded and the Prism turned a deep shade of green.

“Healers,” the silver being said.

Oh, good, Meg thought. Those ones didn’t need explaining. “These guys heal people,” she said, just to prove she knew something.

“Not people,” the silver being said dismissively. “Other beings in the Light.”

“Ah, yeah, right,” Meg said. “That’s what I meant.”

The Light of Corometh twinkled over the green recruits, binding them for eternity. The Prism tapped the next fork and the yellow flag began to wave.

The silver being spoke in a reverent tone. “These are Carriers. They assist in crossing over—both in life and in death.”

“Hey,” Meg said, suddenly interested. “I know these guys. I think one of them brought me here.”

“Of course,” the silver being agreed. “They bring everyone here, for the most part.”

Meg was thrilled to finally have the opportunity to prove she wasn’t completely out of it.

The next note caused the Prism to change to orange and thousands of recruits moved toward the flag of the same colour.

“Advisors,” the silver being said. “They document the evolution of each soul and make decisions to help the individual achieve its goal. They work exclusively with the Keepers of the Charts and the Messengers.”

Meg nodded. “That’s great.” She’d stopped listening again. There were only two orders left. When would she feel the call? The silver being didn’t appear concerned, though she was sure she could sense its anticipation.

The Prism raised the silver mallet. It paused, as though wondering which fork to sound next. With a sharp blow, it struck the last and largest fork. A deep moan vibrated through the room. The Prism shuddered and the light bled from its form. It stood before the assembly, black as death. A telepathic gasp rose from the crowd. Meg was terrified.

“What is it?”

“Nightshades,” the silver being whispered. “Never in my existence have I heard this note struck. They are the transporters of dark entities—ones that cannot be transformed. They work alone, and do not fraternize with other Frequencies.”

The crowd fell back to either side of the hall. A small group of beings, only three hundred or so, stood in the middle of the floor. They shook and convulsed, the moaning growing louder and louder. Meg covered her ears, afraid she was going to fly apart.

With great effort, the Nightshades lurched toward the stage. The white flag hung limply from its pole. There was a sound, like water sucking through a gigantic drain, and the flag turned black.
The Nightshades writhed, falling to their knees, their screams mingling with the moans of the vibrating fork. Meg cried out as several recruits burst and vaporized, a horrible sulphurous smell filling the room. The other Nightshades struggled through the transformation until they were completely and utterly black. They no longer radiated light like the other beings, but absorbed it. When the last recruit was transformed, the moaning stopped and the Prism grew bright again.

Meg lowered her hands from her ears and waited for the Light of Corometh to bind the dark ones. It didn’t appear.

“Are they bad?” she asked.

“No,” the silver being said. “There are no bad beings in the Light. Nightshades work with profound evil and must move undetected through it. Should they be captured, the Light of Corometh would only reveal the location of their brethren and endanger them all.”

“Why were some destroyed during the transformation?”

“They resisted the frequency.”

“But, what if they didn’t want to be Nightshades?”

“They are what they are,” the silver being said. “Their role is essential.”

“Why does evil exist at all?” Meg persisted. “Why don’t you just prevent it—or destroy it altogether?”