Halcyon's Wake: Faith

The Return

I was drowning in a skyscraper sized pile of “holy-shit-this-is-really-real”; totally lost in mind-blowing conversation with Viceroy Tarak, Jacob and several of the other Tunaki and Cytheran leaders over a meal fit for ten kings. They talked, I mainly stared dumbly like a kitchen sponge tasked with soaking up Lake Michigan. We dined on some things familiar and other things I didn’t ask too many questions about, beyond politeness. This wasn’t a foodie weekend jaunt to Savannah for seafood with my wife, there were headier matters at stake - but I do recall enjoying it.

I learned Jacob led the Cytheran’s, the ‘look-like-humans-but-aren’t’ that had lived with the Tunaki for eons. The Cytheran’s were the architect dreamers of the structures of antiquity prior to the great flood - and the Tunaki had been the builders with the know-how to put all the dreams into production. They could somehow weave stone like a master Navajo rug maker. I took a sip of Grank from a red-stone goblet, a powerful alcoholic concoction the Tunaki and Cytheran’s both favored. Reminiscent of the finest, well-aged scotch, with subtle hints of cinnamon and sassafras - and kicked like a mule wearing cashmere slippers. I may not be a foodie, but I do know a good drink when I meet one.

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” I said, chasing a belt of Grank with a long swallow of cool water. “Prior to a global flood, roughly 26,000 years ago, the Tunaki, Cytherans and humans - Toppers as you call us - lived together on the planet surface and built these grand structures, the primary purpose of which has been lost to both you and I…”

“Not entirely,” Tarak interrupted, “We haven’t lost everything to time. We still know how to communicate with the planet, and many of the structures we built were designed strictly for that purpose - we think - it’s the exact operations of the specific structures within the Seven Clans that have fallen prey to time.” He grabbed a handful of what I guessed to be a Tunaki Chex-mix - looked more like a rough garden mulch, Jacob assured me it was - then ground the pulpy concoction with jaws resembling a pit bull on steroids, washing it down with a full red-stone mug of Grank, as big as a pony keg, yet somehow still managing to look small in his hands.

“Much like Topper understanding of your so called seven wonders, your scholars have theories of their creation- some quite bizarre - yet their original purpose and intent has been truly lost through the ages, not unlike our loss of contact with the Eighth Clan - five within earth still communicate regularly...two are isolationist sects, one exclusively Tunaki, the other Cytheran - but the Eighth Clan is more the stuff of legend to us, as well...” He brushed a sliver of a wood chip away from his lower lip that could have easily pierced my hand, then continued. “You’re wondering how I know of your ways, yet you know nothing of me and my world?” He looked to Jacob with a smile. “It’s nice to have old friends in the Cytherans who blend in a little better with the Topper’s - its given us a conduit into the workings of man to satiate the curious amongst us, and keep tabs on our neighbors. Tunaki have wandered to the surface from time to time over the years - somewhat of a rite of passage amongst a few of our more hot-headed Tunaki youth - they ‘streak the top-side’, to use a phrase from your own tongue - mainly to taunt any Drakos out of hiding, but never have. Vain bravado and machismo is not the exclusive domain of man, Zack Dalton. Just because we are a separate society doesn’t mean we are an idyllic one. We have our malcontents, criminals, lunatics and radicals - not on the scale of Toppers, mind you, but nevertheless still a part of modern clan society.”

“That answers many questions, Viceroy, and thank you - but I’ve still got a few thousand more, if you’ll allow it. Especially about these Drakos, what you may know of the sky-skin, why Jacob hears the same Aramaic speaker I do, about the Eight Clans of the Tunaki, who are the Tunaki, what do you know about Lothar and the Orions, why Cytherans look just like humans… we could be here for days, and just where exactly is here, anyways?”

Tarak laughed politely at my deluge of questions, and Jacob nodded in patient understanding, droplets of Grank dripping from his mustache. “I’ve lived among your people off and on over the past five centuries, Zack - primarily in the British Isles, North and South America- but not exclusively. We age in similar strides with the Tunaki, like our ancestors named in the Old Testament accounts of your Bible. Methuselah was most likely Cytheran, along with many of the so-called sons of Gods. If a Cytheran or Tunaki doesn’t reach his 1000th birthday - it’s considered a life taken ‘too soon’ amongst us. And as far as where here is...that requires quite a bit of explanation...and you really don’t want to get me started on Lothar and the Orions...”

‘...bbbbbbbBBBBWWWWAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!’

The entire cavern reverberated with a vibrating wave and sound of the world’s largest fog horn clearing its throat for some final, triumphant peal. Everyone looked as alarmed as I felt - the Grank in my stomach burbling anxiously like a cauldron of worry. Tankards were slammed or dropped on stone table tops, red-stone platters and bowls bouncing across the surface amidst brief shrieks of alarm, the buzz of conversation ceasing instantly, mouths agape and outright fear dancing in fire-lit eyes.

“The Trumpet of the Eighth Clan sounds…” Tarak whispered in a wolfish rumble, “Summon the Clans!!” he shouted, rising to his feet, “To the Channel!”

Two Tunaki ran off at the Viceroys command, thumping massive chests and grunting acknowledgement to the order. Tarak eyed me, nodded abruptly then took off with a stride Àlo would have trouble matching at full gallop. Jacob motioned for me to follow along at a more human-capable pace, his face a thinly veiled mask of concern. I matched his stride - rather spry for a 700-year-old dude. The Cytheran and Tunaki gathered around the fire pit descended deeper into the immense cavern along a wide, seamless path of smooth red-stone flowing between fluid, sculpted buildings in a thousand hues of red; devoid of rough edges and what I guessed to be living and work spaces. The Tunaki quickly outpaced the Cytheran’s as the so-called trumpet sounded again with a chest-numbing tone that overwhelmed the senses.

“What’s going on?” I shouted to Jacob, fighting back the nausea the sound wave induced and a bit too loudly as the peal cut off abruptly, my left hand unconsciously wrapping around the hilt of Hiro’s — no - my sword — I did give him a spaceship for it after all. And I killed a real badass with it, dumb luck or not.

Hundreds of Cytheran’s and Tunaki emerged from open doorways and smaller paths abutting the main thoroughfare, merging with the throng moving along at a purposeful but cautious pace - curious but wary. In spite of my own presumed novelty no one gave me even a second glance. Jacob remained pensive. Whatever this horn was, it had to be some kind of really big deal.

“It is the Channel, Zack, a transportation hub of sorts - kind of like a Grand Central Station with links to the seven other clans.”

“Is the trumpet some kind of early warning then? Have the Drakos somehow gotten through?”

Jacob looked ashen and his thoughts were elsewhere. “Not exactly, Zack - at least I sincerely hope not. The trumpet marks the gateway for the eighth clan - and it has never sounded before. Not once in more than 26,000 years. Legend tells us that Amalek, the Father of all Cytherans, and a thousand Tunaki warriors walked through the portal after the great flood, to return only at a time of great peril. Basically, Zack - that horn sounding means to us what the second coming of Christ would mean to you.” I nodded understanding, recognizing the looks on the faces around me for what they were: a fear of the unknown. Welcome to my world, y’all.

The crowd began to narrow and slow as we approached stairs descending into a vast bowl the size of three Texas stadiums scooped from the cavern floor. I gasped in awe and paused at the top of the stairs with Jacob, others streaming by us politely but hurriedly. Seamless stone benches concentrically ringed a vast plaza rapidly filling up with tens of thousands of Tunaki and Cytheran’s approaching from multiple avenues. Seven massive obelisks, measuring at least a hundred feet at the base, of different types of brightly colored, highly polished stone rose in a crescent moon pattern from the plaza floor, their pointed peaks hundreds of feet above the bowl’s lip, clambering almost beyond sight.

Jacob tugged at my sleeve, and I ambled down the broad stairs, my eyes soaking up the immense red-stone city sprawling off to all points of the compass, the obelisks a neon contrast to an otherwise crimson landscape. Rounded domes, fluid minarets, willowy spires and geometric curiosities in all shades of red reached for the far distant cavern ceiling. How could such a vast place exist and man never know anything about it? My roller coaster ride of revelation didn’t look to be stopping anytime soon.

It took us several minutes to descend to the lowest level where the obelisks were arrayed on the elevated grand plaza of the Channel. Viceroy Tarak stood ten paces from the face of the grey-stoned, center obelisk, appearing vibrant in spite of the breakneck pace he’d no doubt managed to get here. A horseshoe-shaped gateway like a train tunnel in the obelisk base opened up to nothingness, a dark void that seemed to sparkle with wisps of ebony blue - similar to the energy I saw in the storm clouds, but Beth couldn’t. Above the horseshoe arch was an elaborate curved trumpet in a metallic, matte grey the size of a tour bus, grey dust shimmering in settling clouds around it.

At the corners of the obelisk stood a Cytheran and Tunaki pair, their hands placed in palm-sized niches on the adjoining faces. Their eyes were closed, heads leaned back, the Tunaki towering over the Cytheran standing at his feet. They began chanting a throaty overtone that brought to mind Tibetan throat singing- if King Kong were singing bass. As the harmonic overtones merged the hair on my arms and neck began to rise, a tickle spiraling up my spine. The deep blue shimmers within the gateway took on more light and action, an etch-a-sketch portrait of blue and black done all at once. Outlines of hundreds of figures - presumably Tunaki - began to take shape, quickly washed out in an immense flood of white light that momentarily blinded me - super purple vision or not.

As I blinked my eyes back into focus, the biggest Tunaki I’d ever seen - as if I’d seen many - stood before a menacing half-ring of battle-clad warriors. And when I say menacing I mean these guys made Klingons look like Girl Scouts. Wimpy, geeked out Girl Scouts. With asthma. The big one in front strode forward purposefully toward Viceroy Tarak, some kind of dog at his heels… wait, that’s not a dog - that’s freakin’ Mouse! Mouse!! Holy shit! What the hell is he doing here?!

Mouse’s face lit up with equal astonishment when he saw me, and he ran forward and hugged me tighter than I thought his nerdy little arms were capable of. I embraced him with equal vigor, surprised at how grateful I was for this tiny bit of familiar reality. “You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive…” he repeated over and over, “I knew it!” He leaned back, laughing tears with a grin a mile wide, his arms shaking in his delight as he held me at arm’s length. Damn good to see a normal, friendly face in this FUBAR’ed world I supposedly thought I knew.

“Who’s your friends?” I nodded my head warily toward the Tunaki arrivals, who began to emerge from the gateway in a steady stream behind the crescent moon of what must be a senior cadre of warriors. Brightly clad females interspersed with other soldiers, elder Tunaki in shades of brilliant white fur wrapped in a kaleidoscope of colored silks and gems, all merging out on to the grand plaza; from the rear a number of regally clad -and for lack of a better term - Giants - emerged. No-shit Giants.

They were larger than the Tunaki on this side of the Channel, resplendent in cloaks and gowns as decadent as any Tudor noble, but their features were very human, just on a grandiose scale. The faces of Roman Gods depicted by the greatest Dutch Masters - Michelangelo’s David sprung to brilliant life in vibrant, living flesh.

Mouse’s reaction of wide-eyed wonder mirrored my own, he must have not have been traveling with this Twilight Zone caravan very long, perhaps. Mouse looked about ready to reply when we noticed every eye present focused intently on us. Not with any menace or contempt; more like spectators apprising the opening act before the headliner takes the stage. We might not have a star on the dressing room door, but we did manage to somehow make the playbill. God, please don’t let us crash and burn on opening night!

The tallest and most regal of the giants in the forefront of the group leaned toward Mouse and I, a ginger smile splayed out on a face sculpted from creamed alabaster. Glacial blue eyes radiated a palpable and breathtaking kindness that sucked me into an overwhelming sense of calm and peace — What I’d always hoped in my secret heart-of-heart’s what it would be like to meet Jesus — albeit this version of my secret, spiritual yearning happened to be before a clean-shaven, blond, Adonis-like figure of majesty. No simple shepherd’s robes or lengthy beard, but nevertheless what simply had to be defined as “God-like”.

In a flash I knew without any doubt the beautiful being smiling warmly at me was the voice I’d been hearing the past few days. “Amalek,” I gasped, in unison with Jacob, who had silently walked up beside me, a placid adoration alight on his Cytheran face. Amalek smiled like Santa at a bright-eyed toddler who made it to the top of the good list, then placed a skateboard-sized palm atop Jacob’s skull, and then on my own as gently as stroking a newborn kitten.

Warmth and light blocked out all vision and perception. I felt purposely drawn through a sea of serenity, acceptance and absolute bliss. It’s so hard to describe this place or plane or whatever it was without feeling completely inadequate to the task — Willingly drowning in a milk chocolate soup of unconditional love is about as close as my feeble mind can seem to muster. No fears, no concerns - no questions, really… just a certainty of… everything, to be honest. In a loving flood of instant revelation I knew the answers to every puzzle I’d ever pondered; about creation, the cosmos, consciousness, women, God, physics - everything filled me to bursting and just kept coming and coming, like trying to drink water from a hundred gushing fire hoses - all at once.

Amalek lifted his hands and the deluge of omniscient knowledge ceased flowing. Whispery tendrils of data floated into the recesses of my mind, beyond the veil of conscious thought - the clarity I’d just sank my teeth into dissipating along with it. Where obvious answers had been, only whispers of possibility lingered. An echo of solutions heard miles away, uncertainty and hesitation replacing what momentarily had been absolute truth. I longed to tap back into this wellspring of knowledge, like a child given the greatest lollipop ever but only allowed a single lick before having it taken away.

“You do remember love, Man,” Amalek said, “And you, too, Cytheran. You know what must be done. I must leave this place now, for when I am here, so is Abaddon, but he can only remain as long as I do. Those that are with him are greater than those with us, for the moment - but you will do what must be done.” Amalek looked to the massive Tunaki who’d accompanied Mouse and placed a hand upon his shoulder. “Watch over them, Strategos Andrex - the final battle comes, and they are stone-worthy.” The Tunaki bowed reverently and Amalek and the other giants with him turned back towards the Channel gateway. He paused, turning to the gathered masses and spoke in a clear voice that rang to every ear in the room. “Learn once more who you are. Remember love, and the Burdens you swore to bear.” En masse the giants disappeared in a shimmer of blue energy before even gracing the portal. I looked at Jacob and Mouse, internally grasping for the next steps Amalek said I supposedly knew.

“We need to go and get Beth and the others and bring them back here - right now.” I wasn’t too sure what drove this compulsion, but Jacob nodded in instant agreement and Mouse simply stared at me in awe. “What?” I asked.

“Sorry, Zack - you’re just… glowing like the biggest lightning bug I’ve ever seen.” I looked at my hands and arms, and they were glowing with a soft, violet light that slowly slipped back into my normal skin tones. “Cool” I whispered with no hint of fear, and eyed Viceroy Tarak. “Can you take me to my people, Viceroy?”

“That is my task, Topper - or did you not hear the guidance of Amalek?” The massive Tunaki Amalek called Strategos Andrex spoke with a voice that could collapse caverns, and bore a steely conviction in his eyes. Viceroy Tarak nodded a meek acquiescence and I attempted a smile at the imposing Tunaki warlord.

“Then lets roll, Strategos Andrex. Seems we have a lot to do - not real certain about all the ‘whats’, but I know there’s a whole lot of them.” The confidence in my voice rang a lot louder than I truly felt, and I hoped my uncertainty wouldn’t somehow once again rise to the surface.

“You may roll if you please, Topper, but Tunaki warriors do not roll - we march boldly and run faster than the wind. Come - let us find your friends and hope cursed Abaddon has not yet set his soulless gaze upon them.” He spat and looked at several of the Red-Stone Tunaki leaders with disdain plain upon his face. “As Strategos I answer only to the High Councilor - and before me stands a Viceroy? I will know of why you failed to maintain the Eight Burdens, Viceroy - but for now I will serve this stone-worthy Topper, as Amalek decrees. And you will accompany me.”

Tarak nodded to the massive warrior, recoiling at the power and depth of his voice, and I actually felt sorry for him, then took a deep breath myself. I can do this. Whatever this is, I can do it. I had a little more knowledge than I did this morning, answers to some questions lingering in shadows in the hidden paths of my mind; but once again I was heading boldly down a path of uncertainty, only knowing I had to — no, I wanted to — follow it through its course. Not like I had any other plans or anything - I’m guessing the whole naval aviator and astronaut job market was about as dead as the dinosaurs. Time to dance with Bigfoot and the immortals. I just really hope the universe knew what the hell it was doing when it tapped me on the shoulder. God please help us all.