Rude Awakening

“Not quite what you were expecting.”

The man shrouded in black clothes and boots shifted slightly in response. The squeaky voice piped once more over the counter of parchment and musty tomes. Tomes was the appropriate word for such exotic and scholarly books covered inside and out with strange script.

“Have you forgotten we were a step lower than our masters?”

An oily whisper slipped through the shadow’s pale lips. “Of course not. Neither you or your masters ever rose above our boots, vermin.”

“I prefer Quill, but that was always lost on your lot,” a clawed hand patted down stray quills on either side of the speaker’s pointed face. “Besides, if I remember correctly, you are called the Fallen, which makes boot-height now head and shoulders above the best of you.”

The fallen hissed. Darkness seeped like tar to choke the candlelight on the desk. Quill’s hackles rose in response, the spikes on its head and back shooting upright. Its brown eyes gleamed with a feral light before it blinked and took on a serene air. It reached behind it and pulled out a single spar, wincing at the pain.

“Your kind brings out the worst in others. A pity, shadow-once-made-of-light. It is proper that the chosen people called you Bohu.”

“It has been a long time since someone called me by that crude name,” Bohu retorted. “But that brings fond memories of snuffing out their lands. Delicious memories.”

Quill dipped the severed shaft into a ink pot and began to scrawl on a loose piece of paper. “Strange that. You forfeited your light but you hunger for the light others possess.”

“How did you know to call me that, much less learn to write?” The fallen’s condescending tone wasn’t lost on the massive porcupine dressed in medieval attire. Its nose perked up as it watched embers illuminate in the darkness. The fallen had lit something and puffed at it. Quill’s snout drew at the scent for a moment before answering.

“Shouldn’t you be more surprised I was prepared for you?” The critter retorted.

A gloved hand dismissed the question. “Your kind seemed to have our scent. I’m not surprised you were waiting in your hole for me.”

“I said prepared, not waiting. I read up on you long before this day.” Quill adjusted his glasses on his snout. “Your presence in this land disturbed my sleep, and so I had to find out what sort of plague had infiltrated my home.”

“I’ve only been in this spit of land for a few hours, you senile fossil,” the fallen spat.

“Oh Bohu...your kind forget what effect your efforts to manifest create,” Quill chided.

The elder porcupine set down quill and shook the stale parchment to dry the ink. It squinted to inspect its work and then lowered the page to stare at the darkness thicker than night that blocked all exits. He sighed in his high pitch way.

“Memories are important, as your ravenous stomach knows. By your presence I can tell you were particularly attracted to mine and know that while ancient, they are far from the dementia you claimed.”

Quill continued, his voice growing resonate despite its native timbre. “You are yet young in this manifestation and growing back into your strength. You should have waited to claim this feast. Because, while many memories grow dim in this darkening age, my kind never forgot the day our master’s failed the Test.”

A cruel laugh answered. Bohu relished that memory. It had been the sweetest taste of life stripped away from his kind’s victims since they were Exiled. “I remember it well.”

“So do I,” Quill lamented. His tone turned stern once more. “I remember what the Lord of our masters said to your kind for your contribution to their failure.”

The shadows flickered for a moment. An acquired fear whispered from the recesses of its midnight heart.

“You are right to fear. Because I remember every single word,” the scribe intoned.

“But you’re just claws, fangs, and sharp fur! There is none of the power in the First Beasts to fly, crawl, and swim!” Darkness pressed out again, though the figure seemed to be tugging hard on its burning stick.

“We were made by the same Word of Power,” Quill bared its large front teeth in its best impression of a smile.

“And by that power I consign you to the fate of the fallen of our kind...Return once more Bohu to your partner Tohu to await Judgment!”

The shadow leapt over the desk, a smoking dagger in its grip. “No!”

Fiery chains gripped its wrists and dragged it back to a circle of ghostly flames. It gasped as the golden light that collared and burned its oily skin. “What have you done?!”

“I told you, but you didn’t listen. I prepared.” Quill then barked, its eyes a mix of feral and otherworldly light.

“As our highest and wisest became our basest and lowest, so you will slither into the Deep. As the noblest became the slave of all, you will be humbled into the Pit. As the Light cast all Shadow from His Garden, you are cast from this tainted World. Bohu-ashne-vo’Tohu, Vrad-zhi-ulmi-nohu!”

The shadow shrieked. Its arms and legs shriveled and sunk into its sides. Its head snapped back, the bones crushing inward. Shoulders and hips shattered and fused into the vertebrae. Spasms wracked the slender, supple band of darkness amid the transparent gold flames. The fallen thrashed inside its fiery cage, stricken by its serpentine form. It hissed a curse, “A thousand deathssss haunt you, Ichnuemon! A thousand deaths of a thousand lovesssss….!”

Quill turned the paper over to let the now burning sigil face the withered fallen. Light flashed from it and kindled the circle into a column of holy fire. Then gloom settled, but of the grey predawn sort. Bohu was no more. Quill slumped his shoulders and shambled around the desk. Nothing remained of the shadowy fallen except a glossy, soft box and thick folded paper. Quill pawed them open to find round sticks like the one Bohu had puffed on. The aged creature surmised the other were tools to light the rolls that smelled of tobacco and fillers. He pocketed them and made for the roof.

Sitting on his favorite spire, Quill hung his feet over the side and pulled out the box. He struck a stick and a small flame lit its tip. He put it to one end of a roll and puffed as one would a pipe. Flavored smoke slipped over his tongue and tingled his senses. He puffed a ring toward the rising sun and looked over his woodland. A pale star hung above the thick firs.

“Good morning, dawnstar! Too bad I won’t be seeing you for awhile. Pesky fallen take too much work...Perhaps you will be kind to watch my tiny spot of dirt?” He dragged on the tobacco and listened.

“I gathered not. Very well. I will make a tea and go about the Gardener’s business.” With that, Quill flicked the burnt stump of tobacco away and clambered down. He squeaked softly to himself, “I wonder what century I’ve woken up in this time.”

Art Source: "Elder Porcupine" (c)/by ursulav
Story and Characters: (c)/by Corey Blankenship

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #CoreyBlankenship, #Quill, #Bohu, #TenetsTales

“Security. Sanctity. Sagacity.”

“Security. Sanctity. Sagacity.”

“These are the tenets we live at Ascension. They represent all we seek to return to the global community, which our predecessors have attempted in various times and places. What you will find in this facility is our latest efforts to mitigate those factors that hinder the spread of knowledge and goodwill around the world.”

A voice among the small crowd interjected into the woman’s perfectly articulated speech, “What factors would those be?”

Her hazel eyes flashed intensely as she smiled and responded, “Drought, famine, transportation, communication, and cultural projects.”

The voice piped up again, “By cultural projects, do you mean human factors?”

She nodded. “Of course. Those are the hardest issues we face and where the majority of our focus lies.”

The guide pressed a few ghostly keys on the transparent data pad hovering over one of her hands. 

This activated the doors on their elevator, ushering them from the long descent into a vibrant and sterile hallway of white panels and clear glass. She sidestepped and allowed the guests to take in the view as they walked along the corridor.

“Welcome to Ascension.”

Large groves of flowering trees clothed a mound that led to a gigantic canopy. Gleams of light flickered among the branches of the lesser trees and along the bough of the Great Tree. Each member gawked as they shared a collective thought.

How could a Tree be THAT tall?! Much less undersea?!

The representative seemed to read their minds, “What you see is our greatest project, codenamed Yggdrasil. It holds the seeds to curing the contagion at the heart of the world’s problems.”

A long pause gripped the crowd as they tried to take the tree-tower in. They slowly noted the flickers among the forest to be a mixture of birds and electronic nodes.

The persistent questioner rubbed his bald head and asked, “And what would you call that contagion?”

“Rebellion.”

The man muttered into his beard, “On that we can agree…”

The guide pivoted on her stilettos and motioned for the audience to follow.

“As you can see, we have made an oasis in one of the most unforgiving environments. Who else can claim they have made a garden at the farthest point from land? We carved the root bed's foundation into the geothermal bedrock. With a few modifications, the natural volcanic soil allowed for rich biodiversity.

“The solution to the light issue came from the contributions of the natural dwellers in the abyssal region of the sea, as well as some insects. We infused their phosphorescent qualities into the plant tissue. We are proud to say that 80% of the illumination in our garden is natural light.”

A red-haired woman in the group piped up, “So those are not electric lights?”

“No,” the representative answered patiently, “Those nodes are bulbs growing from the trees. In a few months, the blooming season will peak and those will become luminous flowers. It is truly breathtaking.”

“Oooh lovely!” The attendee gasped. “I do hope we will be invited back to see it!”

“You may stay as long as you like” the guide answered.

The group came to a hub where passages branched off in cardinal directions. Another elevator stood centrally, which the guests guessed dropped occupants down to the forest below. The guide took them instead to the southern wing where labs occupied the adjacent rooms.

She announced with her pristine diction, “Here we work hard to eradicate the most persistent blights.”

The crowd peered through the azure glass at consoles attached to boxes that appeared to be metal coffins. Smoky glass allowed someone to look at each container’s inhabitant if he or she stood closely. The woman leading the tour pressed her palm to a pad next to one of the doors. It slid open and she gestured for the group to enter.

Once everyone entered, she gestured to the entire room as the door closed. “Please, look around and I will answer any questions you may have.”

The group scattered and looked at screens which glistened with incomprehensible information on genetic or biological details. Some of the guests marveled at the exotic plants under various hued lamps. The bald man took these in with a glance and stepped purposefully toward the large metal containers. All of them seemed empty except for one, which had vitals updating in real time on a holographic display on the glass.

Stroking his greying beard, he asked over his shoulder, “Who is in here?”

“That is a very special project, close to our Director’s heart,” She replied.

He noted the passion in her voice. “What would that be?”

“Very few things threaten our mission as the virus contained in there.”

“What sort of virus?” He queried.

“An ancient one. Thankfully, we may now be close to coming up with a cure. It has cost millions of lives, devastated civilizations, and destroyed prior efforts to bring peace to the world. We plan to turn this carrier into a vector to purge the world of its existence.”

“Hmmm, does this virus have a name?”

A manicured hand reached past the inquisitive guest and turned on the lamp inside the canister. A nearly man-sized porcupine reclined in the tube, pulsing roots attached along its throat and inner arms. Its skin looked sunken and quills drooped as if the life within barely burned.

“Some have called it Ichneumon. We call it--”

“Quill!” The guest rasped.

“Not the name we call this pestilence, Mr. Tenet, but thank you for confirming one thing.” The bald man’s irises shot wide at her icy tone.

His eyes met hers in the reflective glass. Her hazel eyes glowed with menace and violet luster as she finished.

“You are the Fallen we have been hunting a long, long time.”

Art Source: "Scifi Lab" (c)/by jimmyjimjim
Story and Characters: (c)/by Corey Blankenship, Tenet (c) by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #CoreyBlankenship, #notwhatyoudexpect, #twist, #surpriseending, #Tenet, #scifi, #secretlab, #undersea, #quill, #ichneumon, #yggdrasil