Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy, Volume One) (22 page)

Extending his arms before his chest with palms inward, Tillamund opened the channel connected to the Provider's Citizens and directed it to the seven chosen. Steffor staggered from the tidal wave of Source, expan
ding the images of his recent meditative state to reveal each Citizen as its own tributary: the four races the streams and rivers, the turbulent cove, the collection of the whole and the Provider's limitless love.

Vejax's force fed stream of the Source had become a trickle and dissipated all together as he no longer required his friend's assistance. The conduit placed on his soul by Tillamund now stoked, not hindered, Steffor's ability to consume the Source
, growing exponentially and already having surpassed that which he had ever known. As a leaf feeds on the sun's rays, Steffor opened himself to the whole and siphoned his fill of energy from the Provider's bountiful sea of life.

Steffor drank more and more, and as
he did so, the line between physical and ethereal dimensions began to warp. His power expanded, drawing in more Source despite teetering precariously between worlds. His inner eye, its acuity enhanced by the ample supply of Source, had broadened its perspective, driven by the question deepest in his heart.

What of those waters beyond the Provider's sheltered cove, the ocean that nourished the Provider and countless other coves.

Tillamund continued with the ceremony. "We honor your love and give back your gift to us, Eldrak: Teuton Guardian, husband, father, friend and Citizen. May the body he inhabited serve us one last time and guide us in choosing his successor." The Forging Mystic looked to his left and nodded to the Guardian apprentice at the edge of the semi-circle, standing a few feet from the opening in the tree. Upon receiving the signal, the young women promptly walked around the side of the tree and disappeared from view. Moments later she returned leading Eldrak's corpse before her, hovering a few feet off the ground, arms crossed over his staff laid across the length of his body, and entered the Forging Tree.

Steffor intently watched the apprentice complete her duty. His intrigue had little to do with the ritual at hand but had everything to do wit
h witnessing her shift the Source to suspend and transport Eldrak's body. His senses heightened to new levels, he could now see the apprentice draw the Provider's energy from all around her, watched it flow throughout her body, how the brain orchestrated its movements and bent it to her will. The mechanics of it all were both beautiful and spellbinding.

Steffor became aware of the vortex surrounding him, visible only by his unique paradigm, and watched helplessly as it continued to expand. His unabated pull
on the Source caused the space around him to bend inward, creating a concaved maelstrom of energy that stretched from his being in every direction.
Control yourself!
the voice Steffor knew to be his soul commanded.

"Who among the chosen will fill the void
of Eldrak and live the Certain Way without falter," Tillamund said with strained voice.

"Your body. Your people. Your will be done," Citizens around the world intoned.

With his arms raised toward the sky, the Mystic looked to the heavens and continued the ancient litany. "Almighty Provider, open your heart and shower the bodily remains of your devoted champion with your love, so that another may manifest your power and defend and protect the living from all that is wicked."

Tillamund lowered his arms and t
urned back around to address the chosen seven. "The time has come for one of the chosen to create their staff and take your rightful place as the Provider's next Teuton. The body once owned by Eldrak is your fuel, the tree is your forge, I am your tool; you are the creator. May your actions enrich us all. Come forth and claim your place."

The Provider's knights, standing with rigid posture only moments ago, bent and slouched with effort.
I must contain the power welling inside me. I deplete them of Source faster than it can be replenished. If I do not find a way to stop, I will kill them all. And it will not stop here...

To control the experience, Steffor knew he must change how he perceived it. He looked inward, exhausting the remaining reserves of his fort
itude, and shut out the drama unfolding before him. Deep within the vacuum of his mind, he poured his Self into the inner eye, trusting it for guidance, escaping to a newfound state of consciousness.

Steffor hovered above his body and studied the scene bel
ow, a strange portrait capturing the essence of naturalism while evidenced through the lens of the supernatural.
The temporal dimension holds no influence here, no past or future, the present is infinite. I observe but no longer dictated by emotion or the needs of the body.

With the removal of both psychological and physical governors came the immediate discovery of his omnipotence. A power he had always believed possible, only now fully comprehended. The need to realize his full potential was all consuming
and immediate. He reached to the heavens, to the ocean of energy beyond the breakers, knowing the Provider's corporeal world would no longer sustain him.

Steffor pulled the Source from every Citizen, amplifying his pipeline to swell his soul, augmenting t
he power of his inner eye to visualize an existence beyond his world. His astral body broke past the puffy white clouds encapsulating his arboreal home, into outer space. He jettisoned far into the cosmos and lay witness to millions of stars and majestic planets, diverse worlds of earth, mountains and large bodies of water, each home to a huge array of life, vessels for the soul, some like man, and others strange and alien. His heart buckled with empathy for the countless isolated souls, living on worlds devoid of love and compassion, where the collective was unaware of itself. Possessed by the desire for mass transcendence, driven by kindred shared beyond the physical, Steffor wept for those tragic subsistences.

I understand now, we all come from the same d
ivine source.

Committed to martyrdom in attempt to end all suffering, Steffor prepared to send his astral projection into every corner of the Universe. It was then the tether of life, the last thread connecting him to a material existence, jerked him back
with commanding force.

Not yet Steffor!
The familiar voice was distant but strong. Charged by this voice, he reluctantly returned to the body he last inhabited. Time slowly churned its way back into consciousness as gravity brought physical senses back online.

"You must return to us Steffor." The sound of Calivera's imploring voice completing his transportation from the supernal plane back to the material.

What have I done?
Semi-conscious Guardians flagged on bent knees, moaning from the effort to stay alive. Panic seeped in as his pull on the Source grew stronger and unabated, wrestling with vivid images of Citizens around the world sapped of their life force in a similar manner.

"All will be well Steffor," Calivera said soothingly in response to his frant
ic thoughts. Steffor turned at the sound of her voice. Shrouded by a halo of soft light, she stood at his side, appearing unaffected by his deviant power.

"How are you...you are unlike the rest." The statement developed new meaning as he sensed Calivera's
power, one of equal force and potential to his own. Yet where he desired to expand his essence outward, hers was consecrated within the Provider. Calivera conflated the souls of every Citizen and used her unique power to shield the whole from his destructive draw.

She is my counter weight.

The sight of her radiant smile banished all lingering doubt. "I feared...our time in this life...I so need you to..." Steffor sobbed, uncertain what to make by her presence, fearful she was an illusion certain to evaporate at any moment.

Without hesitation, her mutual need for Steffor set in her eyes, Calivera stepped forward and draped her arms around his neck. Impulsively, Steffor placed his hands on the small of her back. Calivera welcom
ed the embrace, pressing her body tight to form the two into one. The musky scent of her hair flooded his senses, sending waves of pleasure through his body. His hands, as if possessed by another, moved along her sleek back and shoulders and curved buttocks. Calivera pressed her body closer in response to his probing hands, releasing a small moan of pleasure as her lips, wet with desire, found his gapping mouth and kissed him.

The world melted away, their eternal bond all that existed, the simple and comple
te feeling of joy they shared sufficient to fill all that is emptiness.

"Send me the Staff!" Tillamund screamed.

Steffor hesitated, spellbound by the caprice to stay in paradise. Calivera, remaining locked in his embrace, placed a soft hand on Steffor's face, her fingers absently wiping his tears. "I will never deny your love again," she whispered, "know this Steffor." She looked deep into his eyes, nodding as she did so. "Do what your heart knows must be done. Do not doubt another moment. I will be here no matter what occurs. Do you trust what I tell you?"

"With all that I know to be true, I trust you Calivera."

"Send it now! There is no other, you are the one. Do as I command Guardian!" Tillamund's plea was desperate, his robes and long hair rippling toward Steffor as if pressed against a strong wind.

Steffor turned to face the Forging Mystic as he gently moved Calivera to his side. Fists clenched, placed on his hips, Steffor breathed deep and pieced gratitude from the past with the present and locked them
into the future.

For equality.

For the unification of your spirit.

For the never-ending growth of your love.

Time paused and the Provider bellowed from the void, nature's bass a wave of vibration leaving utter silence in its healing wake. Color ceased, detail no longer a necessity, the Source and the faint outline of its privileged vessels was all that existed within the paradox of nonexistence.

Time resumed while
the deafening silence remained. His body flexed with slightly bent arms out and shoulder width apart with fists turned inward, using the foundation of Calivera's counter measure, Steffor gathered the maelstrom of energy before him, containing it within a dense, blue orb. The last storm tendril collected, his pull on the world finally restrained, Steffor looked up and waited for Tillamund.

The storm having knocked him to his knees moments prior, Tillamund got to his feet, stood strai
ght and faced Steffor. Steffor waited. "Why do you delay Steffor?" Tillamund pleaded, his face vexed with urgency.

Steffor, his ability to contain the Source waning, continued to wait, allowing the silence to settle the man's thoughts. He waited for a sign, the signal that Tillam
und understood his fate. That his existence as Forging Mystic, Citizen, even a normal soul, was about to end. Steffor would not, could not take the next step without Tillamund's informed acceptance of his future role.

Poised to command Steffor again, the r
ecognition hit before the words escaped his lips. His jaw went slack, unconsciously opening and closing a few times, and shoulders drooped as Tillamund processed what his heart already knew. A moment later, he stood tall and composed, strength found by vatic purpose now replaced by that of personal resolve. "So be it."

The millisecond after Tillamund echoed his last words, Steffor unleashed the Source back into the world. The electric band of energy shot from the dense orb into Tillamund, launching him into
the nether regions of the Forging Tree.

Steffor felt more than saw the intense beam of energy fill the vast chamber within then flow up the tree's hollow center. Tillamund, Eldrak's body and staff and portions of the Forging Tree itself melded to become r
aw material as Steffor brought forth the image of his staff and sculpted with one defining purpose: defend against that which seeks to destroy all that is love.

Chapter 14

"I'll be at the lab in five minutes," Stalling reported. "Has Janison arrived?"

"Yes. He's at the chapel. I
’m outside it now ready to gather him." Stalling looked into the visor at that moment and made direct eye contact. Antone was confident his practiced poker face conveyed nothing but was prepared to defend the emotions he held about the upcoming confrontation with Janison if Stalling felt compelled to probe.

"Good," he said, appearing satisfied, looking ahead again as he walked.

He knows not to get my hackles up. More so, he is confident neither of us will do anything to endanger the success of our mutual mission.

"Did you take the time to be with Marlene?" Stalling asked a few seconds later.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for the insistence, I needed to be with her more than I realized." Driven as he was, Antone all too often dismissed the value of being intimate with his wife. While she could stimulate his intellectual needs, raw passion filled his bucket and no one has ever fulfilled that need better than Marlene. He had not been home for more than two minutes, barely a word spoken, before they were half-undressed, making love in the hallway.

Antone tasted the remnants of her lip-gloss and inhaled a whiff of her lingering perfume, reflecting on their parting embrace. "I wouldn't be
anywhere if it weren't for you in my life," he confided, choked by an unexpected rush of emotion.

"Now don't you go getting soft on me Antone," she said, giving him a stiff punch to the chest with her petite fist as both chuckled at the notion. "We are to
gether for a reason but we both know our journey neither begins or ends with the other," she said, tucking her curly red bangs behind her ears before gently resting her hands onto his chest, doing her best to transition her bubbly disposition to one of concern.

Yes, being with Marlene was exactly what he needed. He was back in control. The edge was gone and his mind was clear. His purpose and role once again defined. He was as prepared as he was ever going to be for his pending confrontation with the friend
that betrayed his trust, but more importantly for the grander events about to unfold.

"Good," Stalling said. "Jennifer informs me everything is prepared on her end. How about you, any loose ends?"

"The last wave of personnel left the campus a few minutes ago. Outside us, my security team and Tallison, who is already in the lab assisting Jennifer, the place is deserted."

"Understood. I will see you in a few minutes."

"Understood," Antone said, ending their connection.

Without pause, he opened a connection w
ith Eitemor, the captain of his security team, and the other nine guards.

"Yes sir," Eitemor said upon answering the call.

"Is everyone in place?"

"That
’s affirmative." Antone jumped from one guard point of view to the next, double checking the parameter around the sunken lab and server farm. In the end, there was little stopping the C.O.S. from taking things by force, but at least they would have plenty of warning to escape if need be. Of course, Eitemor and his crew did not see it that way.

He switched ba
ck to address Eitemor and inspected the man who had saved his life on more than one occasion. The Ecifrican was an imposing figure, standing six foot six inches with burly physique. Black fatigues equipped with light body armor, utility belts and pockets housing an array of weapons, explosives and supplies accentuated his prowess. With his right arm draped across the automatic rifle slung loosely over shoulder, Eitemor looked a man at ease with the destructive power at his disposal. To complete the menacing image was a mane of rowdy, shoulder length, blonde hair with cropped bangs that reached below eyebrows framing a young face with a thick, perpetual five-day-old beard.

Hit by an unexpected wave of nostalgia, Antone took a moment to reflect on the remnants
of his loyal cell. A decade ago, each one was a lethal terrorist prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice, all for the sake of freedom. It took all his persuasive powers to convince them to stop the conventional fight, to end the bombings and the raids and throw their lot in with a rogue Drakarlean. In the end, they trusted Antone as their leader and if he said joining forces with Stalling would help them achieve their life long objective, then that was enough. Antone liked to believe, as he was about to ask them to put their lives on the line once again, that each had come to conclude the same thing he had about Stalling and chose to serve his cause accordingly.

"Be prepared, I will update you when I can."

"What exactly are we preparing for?"

"The final sta
ge of our mission will occur tonight. As you are aware, our security has recently been breached and as result, our adversary now has detailed data on most of our primary operations but it is not clear if they are aware of the ultimate mission. If they are, my gut tells me they will resort to stopping us at all costs. You my friends are the only line between us and them."

Eitemor considered his words for a few seconds, struggling with his desire to know more while respecting his superior, before asking what had been on all their minds since the first day they arrived. "What is it exactly we are protec
ting? You have told us over the years that once the project was completed, the rest of the world will be changed forever. Is it a weapon of mass destruction?"

Eitemor had come a long way in a short time. He was no longer the bitter nineteen-year-old recrui
t with nothing to lose. Antone had molded that youthful anger into a fine tuned weapon and provided the young man a vengeful outlet. The rest of them, including him, came from a similar background. All understood the principles of freedom and knew the biting whip of oppression first hand. They were the remaining few descendants of an honorable race of humans whom, after generations of enslavement, still clung onto the belief that all people are equal; that a person received in life the equivalent of what they put into it.

The rest of his people submitted to their plight long ago, sadly having become the Church's most devout followers, a God fearing nation that accepted metaphorical fantasy as factual events, believing they must suffer for the alleged sins of
their forefathers. Antone and his type learned early on that, despite his well-written and passionate manifesto, a mass revolt of his people would never happen under the current conditions. Too many generations had become willfully ignorant. The only way was to remove the power that suppressed them.

As he had so often over the years, he reflected on the pitiful attempts made by his cell and others like them to thwart the Church's agendas. He shuddered to think about what would have been if his chance encou
nter with Stalling went the direction he had originally intended if he had not listened to his instinct and continued to let anger dictate his actions.

He shrugged off the dark thought with the gratitude he had for the life he and his friends now shared, t
he life they desired so greatly for their kindred. Not a day goes by that any of them did not appreciate the human existence they now experienced while working for Alterian Enterprises and living in Gestrafa, a place they all proudly called home. But it was the entrainment technology that really produced dramatic change. Each had discovered drives and passions deep within that none believed possible to discover in this lifetime. Still, despite all Eitemor had grown his ability to imagine a different world entailed violence and death. Antone became giddy in anticipation, reminded that if they succeed in the coming hours, ignorance will never hinder the soul again.

"No, it is not a weapon, at least not in the sense you are thinking. It is an unprecedented inno
vation in our technology that will defeat our enemy by destroying it at the very root: the cultivation of human ignorance and its resulting paralysis on human growth." Eitemor nodded with enthusiasm, excited to be part of such a grand idea, but the perplexed expression told Antone he still had no clue as to 'what' he was to protect.

Antone contemplated leaving him in the dark, paranoid he had already said too much, but the pragmatic side of him thought twice. "When we are done, there will be man with us, so
meone whose signature does not currently register. He is the lynchpin to our success. He must be protected and kept alive at all cost. Do you understand?"

"Aye!" they replied as one.

"May your destiny always be your choice!"

"So say we all!"

Antone removed his visor and tucked it inside his coat pocket. He took a deep breath, cracked his neck with a couple of quick jerks to each side, turned around and entered the large, mahogany double doors that led into the simple chapel.

*****

The mural always had a way of calming Janison's mind and opening his heart. When Stalling approved the construction of the campus chapel a few years ago, Janison had the budget to create a house of worship as resplendent as St. Pontivail's or even Flaterious Cathedra. Of course, it would have not been of the same scale or magnitude, but no less breath taking. He admits, at least today, that the young acolyte in him, enchanted by the pageantry surrounding the services and ornate treasures held within those prestigious cathedrals, was more than tempted.

In the end, he listened to his liberal sensibilities and created an atmosphere that would foster his interpersonal relationship with God. He wanted to create a place that would enable people to connect with God
in ways they had never been able to before; a place that would stand the test of time and always challenge man to alter their relationship with God according to their growth and culture.

The chapel Janison chose to build for the thousands of employees wor
king at Alterian Enterprises headquarters was a contemporary version of those built in the beginning, when the Church of Salvation was less than a century old and Leviatus was merely a man. A self-actualized, enlightened man, capable of feats no person before him or since has ever accomplished, but a man all the same. The house of worship Janison built resembled those first established by each of the Six Apostles and their devout followers, maverick communities served by monks and priests dedicated to spreading Leviatus's timeless teachings of love and compassion.

Therefore, it was to be a modest, limestone chapel, with an octagon shaped nave, a small, eight-sided alter in the middle and a simple pulpit centered on the north wall opposite the short narthex.
The imported block-glass creating the ribbon window along the top of each wall and the mahogany doors, pews and rails the only opulence separating it from the humble, original blueprints. That and, of course, the mural depicting the "Homily in the Valley" painted on the wall behind the pulpit.

In Janison's opinion, the artist did nothing short of capturing the divinity surrounding the historic event. It was a beautiful portrayal of Leviatus in his greatest moment: hunted like a criminal for the past year, a
ll of his disciples imprisoned or killed, seeking sanctuary from whomever would provide it, yet inspired by the call of God to teach once he arrived in the small hamlet of Drakarle. With painful detail, the artist captured the Retriach Mountains in the background, the Savior sitting in the shade of the Tree of Enlightenment—the Apostle Drestan, an infant at the time, resting on his belly across Leviatus's knee—as he preached the Way of Life to the soon to be anointed Six Apostles and their families.

If not
for the perseverance of those six souls, Leviatus and his message would have been lost in obscurity, a footnote in history.
Would I have been as faithful under the same circumstances? Would I have risked the painful, elongated death of me and my family?
In a very similar way, the hollowed shell of what those original founders fought so hard to establish challenged his contemporary faith today.
But my faith has yet to be fully tested.

The sound of Antone entering the narthex halted his ruminations. He did no
t need to turn around to know who it was; Antone's presence filled every room he entered. The tranquility of the moment gone, re-gripped by the suppressed fear he had in seeing his friend again, Janison tried to calm his nerves as he listened to Antone cross the room and stop directly behind him.

"You've come to pray with me?" Janison asked after a long minute of silence.

"It’s time to go," Antone replied, flat and level.

Yes, it is time. Janison stood up
from his pew and turned to face his friend. He never saw which fist smashed into his nose; it could have been a right or left for all he knew. Nor did he recall flipping over the pew behind him. All that registered was the very sudden pain throbbing in his nose and the back of his head. Through the tears that had instantly appeared after impact, Janison looked up to see Antone standing above him. He threw Janison a white handkerchief and pulled his white cuffs free from the sleeves of his sport jacket. "Get up, it’s time to go," he said in the same monotone.

"I see you are still being punished by your anger," Janison said to his friend's back, awkwardly getting to his feet as he pressed the handkerchief to his nose.

Antone stopped in his tracks and turned back around. His lip curled up into a nasty sneer as he placed thumbs on hips and flared out his elbows. Janison's regret in antagonizing the man further was immediate and he recoiled from the taut body prepared to strike. Antone relaxed in response to Janison’s pathetic attempt of defense and simply asked: "Why Janison?"