Chapter 45
"In local news, Military Command is finally removing the last of the biohazard quarantines in what has become known as 'The Midtown Circle.' The area strongly affected by the attempted detonation of a multistage PER bioweapon, had been evacuated and cordoned off, following the generation of several massive plumes of aerosolized Potion."
The channel displayed some gratuitous footage. Amateur video of the night in question, taken from a shaking DaTab.
"The attack, designed to affect nearly the entire greater New York area, was thwarted by the new 'Joint Reconnaissance and Strike Force,' a multispecies military initiative that seeks to put an end to threats like this once and for all. The plumes of purple gas affected nearly fifteen thousand people, but that number is relatively small when compared to the nineteen and a half *million* whose lives were so bravely defended."
The imagery changed again, showing white-suited Hazmat and Crystallization teams, playing out what looked for all the world like a grim parody of a firefight; Spraying fluid at the billowing, twisting, writhing purple clouds.
"Quick thinking, and action, on the part of emergency response teams prevented the gas clouds from spreading too far beyond their origin points, but it has taken nearly two weeks to fully sweep the area and eliminate all active potion from the surfaces to which it became attached. But now, at last, families are being allowed to return home, and workers are resuming their regular hours, in The Midtown Circle."
The screen changed a third time, returning to a head-on shot of the Anchor, "In the wake of what witnesses described as an Armageddon like event, hard questions are being asked pertaining to the way in which the PER acquired the level of technology, and the amount of Potion necessary to carry out an attack on this scale. We'll have more on this at six, when Generals Lantry and Sorven address the Council live, to deliver a report on the Military's findings.
We will be bringing you that footage *exclusively* on channel 17, NYC News."
In the wake of the attack, the city did what it had always done. The city moved on.
As first one week passed from the fateful night, and then another. Rumors began to circulate.
Speculation began to swirl about the Gryphon who had supposedly been on top of the tower when it exploded so violently, and spectacularly.
For several days the rumors grew, until they had morphed and twisted into outright legends.
People began to cast wary, almost reverent glances at the burned out husk of the tower, which was visible from much of the city.
As news channels and radio stations proudly proclaimed the success of the JRSF, a phenomenon began to sweep the streets. At first it was merely a single instance of graffiti; A bold defiance of the military cordon. The image of a Gryphon's silhouette, flanked by a Pony and a Human, appeared on the main doors of the forbidden, half destroyed tower.
The incident became the spark for a firestorm. Before two weeks were out, similar imagery was everywhere, legitimately and otherwise. What had once been a mere interest in, and perhaps support for, the leo-avian species swiftly turned into lines at Conversion Bureaus so long that the Bureau Network had to beg the media to air specials on Gryphonization, urging people to first take a provided self-psychological test to be sure of their initial eligibility.
The sequence of events hearkened back to the initial days of Conversion itself. While the crowds were somewhat smaller, the effect of the circulating stories and speculation was still impressive. Conventional Ponification rates even saw a thirty five percent spike, despite the leftover hard feelings from the PER's attack.
A veritable library of online footage captured during the attack was ultimately considered to be the JRSF's best ally in public circles. The compelling imagery of three species working in perfect tandem struck a chord in many. Unity had saved Manhattan on that hellish night. None of the groups in play could have ever conceived of defending the city on their own.
There were even confirmed stories of pro-HLF sympathizers at low levels of the organization abandoning their cause, and defecting to Military custody, after seeing the footage.
There was no arguing with the truth. Humanity had friends.
Humanity had Hope.
Gryphons had become a somewhat more frequent sight in Manhattan since the attack.
The ice between Humans and Gryphons seemed to have broken. Permanently.
Even the Ponies on the streets had begun, nearly overnight, to treat the feathered creatures as friends, and a normal average part of the daily routine.
Three Gryphons in particular, however, were seeking solace from other companionship, media harassment, and the general atmosphere of appreciation that, to them, felt more like a crushing sense of depression. Constant reminders of their loss.
They had taken up residence on top of a stanchion of elevated track used for storing maglevs during the system's downtimes. The duracrete became reasonably warm during the day, and made for a good place to rest, and think. And remember.
For Kephic, Varan, and Neyla, it was difficult to forget Fyrenn's absence.
Military Command had insisted on keeping most details of the fateful night sealed for at least two weeks, in order to allow them to keep the PER guessing and on the run.
Initial perhaps over-optimistic expectations indicated that the organization might even fracture and fall completely apart. Kephic and Varan both had their private strong doubts on the matter.
Nonetheless, the Mayor of New York knew that lives had been sacrificed to defend his city. As such, he had declared that the city would keep its sun lights on. Every day for a month.
The PER tower, visible from so much of New York, was permanently framed during the day by a reasonable, if somewhat artificial and 'plastic' facsimile of a clear blue sky.
Upon first examination, Neyla seemed to be the most greatly affected by what had transpired.
But anyone who knew the Gryphons better understood that she merely had a more visible way of expressing her sadness than the other two.
It was Kephic who was most deeply saddened.
He had barely spoken in two weeks, most of the times he had opened his beak it was to express his anger, sadness, and regret to his companions.
He had, Varan determined, not yet forgiven himself for being taken by surprise.
For outliving his brother.
Carradan had called it 'Survivor's Guilt.'
He and Skye had coped in their own, distinctly more Equine way; Doing their best to drown their sorrows in victory parties, fraught with raucous celebration and many, many pints of liquid courage.
The Salmon Pegasus had twice gotten himself drunken under the table by the smaller, lighter, and apparently much more iron-willed Unicorn, much to his chagrin and humorous good natured shame.
The aforementioned Ponies, Kephic could see, were approaching the Gryphons' secret perch from across the road. He stretched, yawned, and wiped the bleariness from his eyes.
Kephic had been suffering nightmares, every single sleep cycle, since the events at the tower, and was consequently staying awake on half-naps, Coffee, and food alone.
Skye shouted to make herself heard from ground level, "Ahoy the Eyrie! Anyone up there?"
Varan poked his head over the edge of the track, and nodded, "What is the word?"
Carradan sighed, "I think you guys had better come down here. They're saying it's time."
It was disconcerting for the Being. Not knowing his name.
He had awoken under something he somehow knew was called a 'Spreading Oak Tree,' with no memory whatsoever.
And yet, he knew that description was not entirely correct either. He understood language, written and spoken. He knew of the sun, moon, and stars... Although he seemed to have a strange dichotomy of beliefs when it came to those celestial bodies.
He understood North, South, East, and West. He knew the names of all the parts of his body; Beak, feathers, fur, wings, tail, legs, claws, paws...
He knew colors. The green of tree leaves and grass, the grays, blues, and browns of stone, gravel, and dirt... The red, burgundy, and russet tones of his own body.
Somewhere, deep down, he knew he was experiencing a form of amnesia wherein a person's life's memories; Events, people, places, experiences... Were locked behind some kind of wall. A defense erected against trauma.
Memories of skills, basic knowledge, instinct, language... These remained intact.
So the 'Gryphon,' for he knew that was *what* he was, and therefore at least a part of who he was, took to wandering his world.
After the first few hours, he began to 'find' snippets of memory.
Thoughts, sounds, smells... The familiar way light glinted off a lake... Would trigger an image, or the way the wind rustled through pine forests below his wings would remind him of a voice.
Life continued that way for two weeks. He knew, because he could count the cycles of the sun and moon in his memory, which seemed perfectly functional, and perfectly detailed, in terms of recording current events.
He was alone in the world. There were no animals, no others of his kind, or any other kind that he could see. He knew he needed meat to live, but he also realized after the second day that he was neither becoming hungry, nor tired.
The world was, to all appearances, a desolate, beautiful, lonely expanse of forests, mountains, rivers, highlands, and plains.
So the red Gryphon adopted a 24/7 flight schedule, following the first river he came to, back up its length, hoping to find its source. Why, he wasn't sure, but it provided an objective.
The strategy seemed sound. As he continued up the course of the flowing blue ribbon, memories began to return at an exponential rate.
For the first week, very little made sense. He thought his name might be Isaac.
Isaac Wrenn.
In a way, he knew it was... But it wasn't. He had no explanation for the sensation.
In fact he had no way to reliably or properly describe it to himself whatsoever.
After he reached the foot of a large mountain range, the strange sounds began.
They were easy to separate from the normal ambient noises of his lonely, expansive world...
...And yet they were indistinct. Far off. Alien, yet familiar, like an image badly out of focus.
One thing he did know for sure. The sounds were voices.
Each time they manifested, he would try to listen.
Somehow he knew they couldn't hear him calling back.
His only companionship was the sky above.
Kephic hated doctors.
He hated infirmaries too.
But most of all, like Varan, Neyla, Skye, and even Carradan; He hated seeing Fyrenn laid low.
The speckled Gryphon wanted to take his fisted claw and wreak frustrated, bloody, damaging vengeance for the situation on everything within reach. His own brother was lying there, on two hospital beds pushed together, with a tube in his neck, and an artificial lung forcing him to breathe. Technology keeping him alive.
Barely Alive.
Over the last two weeks, the five friends had agreed on a rotating schedule. At least one of them would be present by the fallen Gryphon's side at all times.
They had been startled, and in some cases furiously upset, to learn that Fyrenn had a living will.
He was to be allowed exactly fifteen days, to the minute, on life support from time of admittance. No more no less. In the event he did not wake, he was to receive a quick, painless injection containing fatal levels of sedative.
It had been fourteen days, twenty three hours, and fifty minutes.
If Fyrenn didn't wake shortly... The terms of his will were imminently, depressingly, agonizingly clear.
Kephic stared down at his brother, absently fingering in his talons the device that was responsible, in a strangely ironic way, for his pain.
Gilchrist's shield generator was burnt out. In saving Fyrenn from the brunt of the explosion, it had overloaded, toasting it to a crispy thin black wafer. Thinking back, they all realized he must have pulled the device from his ex-friend's belt when he bent to pay his final respects.
Kephic himself had awoken in the half-shattered remains of the building's elevator, to find Skye tugging on his foreleg, frantically begging for help. The shield had deflected the fire, heat, and debris of the explosion, but it was Skye who had been responsible for catching Fyrenn's body in a cushioning magical field as it fell hundreds of stories without his input or conscious realization, flung free by the kinetic force of the detonation.
Fyrenn had been comatose since the instant of the blast. As near as the doctors, both Pony and Human could tell, the shield had not been designed to fit something the size of a Gryphon, and thus had not entirely absorbed the kinetic fallout of the blast over his entire body, leaving Fyrenn's head exposed to the equivalent impact force of a speeding subway train.
Skye shook her head, as the five friends gathered around their dying comrade, "Was this what it was like? After I..."
Varan nodded, "Yes."
Skye sniffed back a small stream of tears, and attempted a half hearted chuckle, "You know, I wouldn't blame you guys if you made me pay for everyone's dinner for the next millennium. No one should have to go through this."
Neyla bowed her head to hide her own tears.
Varan nodded his agreement.
Kephic clenched the damaged shield generator in a claw until he heard it begin to crackle under the strain.
As the five silently said farewell in their own ways, the doctors entered.
Both were Human; Ponies had no stomach for what Kephic had at one point equated to euthanasia, during a particularly violent verbal spat with a military appointed attorney who was present to execute Fyrenn's will.
As he watched, debating violently throwing both men from the room, the two medical professionals filled a large IV bag with triply concentrate sedative, and attached the hose to an injector. Being a Gryphon, a 'fatal dose' of sedative was, for Fyrenn, about seven hundred times what it would have been for a physically fit Human of similar age.
One of the doctors checked his watch, as the attorney also entered the room.
Kephic had to stifle a strong urge to throttle the small, wiry, suited man.
He didn't know it, but Varan and Neyla were also holding back similar desires.
Finally, the hour rolled over.
It was time.
Fyrenn knew he had reached the end of his journey.
In all the world he had seen the last two weeks, he had never spied so much as a single shaped stone. Not a trace of evidence that civilization ever had, or did exist in all the desolate, eerie reaches of the place he was stranded in.
So it came as quite a shock, when he began to recognize familiar terrain.
Most of the structures that made up Tih’ré Seli’hn were missing, but he found himself standing on what he was positive was the very spot where he had endured the trial of the lake.
From there, he felt as though his objective was clear.
The closer he had come to his destination, the more of his memories had returned.
He could now remember everything; Right up until the moment of the explosion itself.
He even had a basic theory as to where he was.
He arrived, just as the sun was preparing to rise, at the hearth on top of the mountain.
The place where the Gryphon Kingdoms had once been created, so many ages ago.
As expected, the hearth, complete will still-smoldering coals and carvings were there; Albeit they looked far newer, as if they had been created in recent decades, rather than many many centuries ago.
What Fyrenn had not expected was to see another Gryphon waiting for him.
He was tall, muscular, and a similar shade of gold to Varan, though he looked like he could have been a distant ancestor of Sildinar, or Fyrenn himself.
His face bore a distinctive iridescent blue patch that started on both cheeks as a wave-like formation, and arched over the bridge of his beak in an uninterrupted band of cerulean.
The other Gryphon bore armor too; A strange and beautiful looking suit that seemed, to Fyrenn's surprise, vaguely technological in origin.
At his back sat a sword, the hilt inlaid with a blue chunk of agate that was likely a piece of his egg.
The Gryphon smiled, "Welcome! It is good that you've arrived so early. It will give us more of a chance to talk."
Fyrenn stepped to the hearth, and cocked his head in confusion, "Who are you? How can you be here? In fact, where *is* here?"
The golden Gryphon chuckled, "As to the latter, I think you already have a theory. But I'll confirm it. We're in Mengelisk's Maze."
His words supported Fyrenn's theory.
Heinz Mengelisk had been an influential Military psychologist several decades prior.
He had devised a technique for those suffering amnesia, partial memory loss, aphasias, and even comas, to navigate their minds and set right whatever had been jolted out of place, mentally.
The technique had become known as the Mengelisk Maze. And it was required learning for everyone in Earthgov Marine Special Forces, despite the low rate of success it usually suffered.
It had been proven to work on occasion, but it required a mental and emotional conviction. A powerful courage, an almost fearless way of thinking about death that went beyond even the usual bravado most soldiers could muster.
To create, and subsequently successfully navigate the Maze, which was merely a visual representation of one's own mind, required an individual to be utterly, truly, at peace with death prior to their trauma.
Some had theorized that the Maze shared certain commonalities with the Conversion Dream, in that both represented a mind's way of re-attaching itself properly to the body after a massive physical trauma, albeit in a different fashion in each instance. Repairing 'device drivers' in the case of the Maze, versus reinstalling them in the case of the Dreams, as someone had once put it.
Fyrenn gestured to the hearth, "The Maze is usually comprised of what I've been seeing for the past two weeks; Empty environments. I seriously doubt being... What, am I in a coma? I seriously doubt being comatose has suddenly enabled me to look into the past of this city."
The second Gryphon shook his head, "Just like other beings don't appear in the Maze. No this is a result of me... Hmm...
Let us just say 'hijacking' your Maze, to use parlance that is familiar to your timeframe and cultural history."
Fyrenn narrowed his eyes, "Why?"
"My name is Seldar. I lived far too long ago for you to be able to find much mention of me in historical documents, but if you could, you would know me as one of the far flung forbearers of your friend Sildinar, genetically, and both of you, emotionally and spiritually."
Fyrenn cocked his head, but remained silent, allowing Seldar to continue, "By your current Human calendar? I've been dead for... Oh... Approaching several millennia. This place? It is a manifestation of the Hearth during my time. Before almost nay of the City was present."
Fyrenn shook his head, "That's still no real explanation for how this is possible, or why."
Seldar chuckled, "You of *all* people should not be questioning the boundaries of possibility. You have changed species, the first to join our kind from elsewhere in over a million years. Was that not enough of a clue that there are forces, magical, spiritual, and scientific, that you have not even begun to plumb the depths of? Very little is truly 'impossible.' Open your mind to the extraordinary. You are, after all, speaking with a Gryphon long, long since passed."
Seldar sighed and looked to the rising sun for a brief moment before continuing, "Fyrenn... There is no delicate way to say this, but you are medically dead. Your brain hasn't had a single cognizant thought, not physically, since the explosion. All of this? It is taking place more in your... Well what Humans call a soul, though the word hardly does it justice. But I am here to tell you something important. To deliver a message as it were. Think of me as a stand-in for an Angel; I was more qualified and pertinent to this particular task, and I was happy to oblige when asked."
Fyrenn shook his head emphatically, "If I'm dead... Then why the Maze? That's supposed to be---"
"Yes. A Self-rescue technique. Fyrenn, you are close. Very close, to making it back. You are also very close to passing on. Part of the reason I was sent here is to help reassure you that your mortal journey is not yet complete. I know you believe there is a Divine plan behind everything. You are most certainly right, moments of faith crisis aside. You have accomplished some of your purposes out there already. But you have much more still to come."
Fyrenn shook his head slowly, this time in wonderment, "And the other reason you're here?"
Seldar cocked his head to the side, as if listening to a voice only he could hear, "Time is running shorter now. So yes, we should get to the point. I am here to deliver into your care something once entrusted to me. Something lost a long time ago, and which it is *imperative* you have. You will not remember much, if any, of what has transpired here, including this conversation. Your mind's way of compartmentalizing, and protecting. But *this* you *must* remember, so timing is critical. When I give the word, you must do exactly as I say."
Fyrenn nodded his assent. What choice did he have.
"Answer me two things first."
It was Seldar's turn to cock his head, "Name them."
"First; What is it like? Life... After. And second... Do you have any other advice?"
The golden Gryphon chuckled, "You will not remember, and yet you are still so curious. Such an urge to explore. Very well; What is it like? Like living out joy, constantly, on a moment to moment basis. As to advice? Do not live your life in isolation. A family is a beautiful thing."
Fyrenn smiled, "I know. I already have one."
Seldar chuckled, "Yes. But there are opportunities for you to go beyond mere platonics. You recently gave a lovely female some advice... All I will say is, again in the vernacular of your period; Practice what you preach. That is the contemporary Human expression isn't it?"
Before Fyrenn could object, Seldar stiffened, "It is time. Prepare yourself, and do *exactly* as I do. Much history, and many lives, depend on this moment..."
Skye and Carradan and Neyla had turned away. Kephic and Varan, as Fyrenn's brothers, felt it was their solemn duty to watch.
Despite a glare from the attorney, the two male Gryphons had insisted on being allowed to deliver a short prayer before the deed was done.
But once that task was complete, there was no further delaying it.
It was time for Fyrenn to die.
As the first doctor prepared the syringe, the second carefully disconnected Fyrenn's feeding tube, and artificial breathing system. The red Gryphon's vital functions began their steady decline almost instantly.
Kephic sighed deeply. It was all he could do to contain sobs of rage, and sadness.
Varan had always been the better of the pair at emotional control, but deep down he was no less conflicted and sad.
Both Gryphons knew this moment was going to haunt them for the rest of their days.
Perfect memory was, at times, the worst curse imaginable.
Yet they forced themselves to watch as the needled descended.
Both separately indulged in a longer moment of accelerated time. They each wanted to think of their brother as a living being for one more moment.
Then, all at once, the room erupted into chaos.
The needle was on the very point of penetrating Fyrenn's neck, when his foreleg snapped up and snagged the Doctor's right wrist with crushing force.
Simultaneously, the medical instrumentation let out a bevy of cacophonous alarms and tones as the display graphs on the screens above the bed went wild.
Fyrenn, still somehow not breathing, rose until he was sitting on his haunches.
He stared ahead, glassy eyed, and spoke, words pouring from his beak as though they were not his own.
"In bonds of family six set out; To seek The Dispossessed,
In joy and sorrow, grief and strife, bearing morbid stress.
Where Sun and Moon the expanse share, the six will find the power,
To put an end to Darkness... Strife... The war of Night's own hour."
Kephic and Varan were staring, eyes wide, as they beheld what may as well have been a ghost.
Neyla let out a yelp of surprise, Skye's mane stood on end as if electrically charged, and Carradan swooned, nearly collapsing onto the floor.
Kephic was about to open his beak, when they were all jolted again, by the sound of a deep breath.
Fyrenn gasped for breath frantically, like a drowning man. In a sense, he was suffering asphyxiation, but he was unaware of exactly why. For a moment, he could only see a great white expanse, and hear an unintelligible stream of noise, as if his ears were immersed in a waterfall.
Then, slowly, his breathing came under control. His vision faded from pure white, to shapes, then to colors, then all at once the world came into its familiar hyper-clear focus.
The first thing Fyrenn saw was Kephic, practically in his face. His brother was yelling something, but Fyrenn's ears still hadn't quite kicked in. Slowly, he began to make out words, then all at once his aural sense came back full force as well.
"...FYRENN! ANSWER ME! BREATHE! COME ON!"
Fyrenn shook his head to clear it, "I'm Here I'm HERE! stop SHOUTING DAMMIT!"
For a moment, the room was utterly still and silent, punctuated only by the now steady beep of the heart monitor above the bed. Then, all at once, his friends and family were all over Fyrenn, nearly collapsing the bed as they rushed to verify that the miracle was real.
Fyrenn found himself swept up in the emotion, shedding nearly as many tears as Kephic, Neyla, and Skye. All at once they were laughing, and embracing, and smiling.
He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but there would be more than enough time to learn.
All Fyrenn wanted, right then and there, was to enjoy a moment.
A moment with family.
A moment of pure joy.
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I will get flak for this, potentially, but I'm doing it.
End of story. Literally. (Well, sorta. An Epilogue will follow tonight).
Spoilers for this chapter follow, as I'm gonna say my piece, then you can have at it.
I hate killing characters. Not only that, but I'm not doing this on a wing and a prayer, I have had a full plot framework of basic major events planned for this saga since day one, hour one, minute one, second one. Fyrenn is part of that plan for the whole of Option Gamma and Genesis.
While killing him for good would have had a sort of epic tragic quality, I am not in the business of tragedies.
So....
Death? F**k off. Today, Good wins the whole pot, and you go home bust.
As for the worldview stuff present in the chapter; if you don't agree with it, please try to appreciate the story anyways.
I have thoroughly enjoyed many MANY works that contradict my views and beliefs.
Disagreement over these tenets should never hamper enjoyment of literature.
As for the Prophecy, and the magical stuff; one of the big joys of TCB is that magic and sci-fi live together.
So this is magic, having a big field day moment.
Now; enjoy!
Epilogue to follow soon-ish.
1124193
Nope. Most definitely all real.
Hopefully what you're sensing is the fact that the true villain(s) of the story, and the way their overall plot impacts everything, has not manifested yet.
As for nagging things; *everything* has an explanation, which will be revealed, whether in this book, or the next.
That includes but is not limited to (tho I suppose these are the major points);
Veritas
Gray Goop
The Bubble/Barrier
Wisps
The HLF's Benefactor
1124190
No kidding. No less than four characters managed to survive their encounter with the grim reaper.
I'd almost expect every newborn in your world to get an 1-up mushroom at birth.
This is something I wish more people, particularly of my own faith, would realize. Sometimes a good story is worth some stuff you don't like, because it makes characters.
And you're really going to have to kill off some main characters. At least one significant character, not necessarily the main one, otherwise, well, it's really predictable. If no characters you care about can die, well, there's no tension.
Wow...just...holy buck what are you doing to my brain?! Stop fiddling with the dials for my emotions, dammit! Still glad everybody (well, almost everybody) gets to go home, but seriously, please go easier on the mindbuck.
1125753
I said I hate doing it.... I never said it couldn't happen.
That's not a promise that it will... or won't.
No reason to spoil the surprises.
And yeah; if my Film Studies Classes taught me anything (and gave me lots of practice); it was to appreciate a work despite parts I may take exception to.
There's art in almost any form and instance of storytelling thats had decent thought put into it, if only one is willing to look.
1125794
Working as intended.
1124190
I DON'T NEED TO SLEEP
“There is only one god and his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to Death: “Not today.”
― George R.R. Martin
Considering the nature of things, its probably that happy merry band of 6.