Tilted_Axis
patreon
Chapter 65: Prophecy #1
🕑 Added 2021-03-10 07:32:48 +0000 UTCAn hour or so later, a group consisting of Terra, Owl, Shriek, and I are approaching my humble hermitage. Owl is carrying an enormous bag on his back that he claims is full of something called “camera gear.”
Meanwhile, Shriek is towing a small wooden wagon full of miscellaneous things. There is a metal table, some chairs, some type of lanterns, among other such things within it, but most of it consists of what Terra referred to as “cleaning supplies.” I do not understand why she needs all these cleaning supplies, removing the rubbish and a bucket of water should be sufficient.
‘Why did she insist on all this anyway… Aye, I know why she must wish for me to clean my… Gen’s mess. It must smell. This is rather embarrassing, I shan’t lie.’
As we walk, my sword bounces against my side where it’s attached to the same belt that holds my pouches. Terra would not let me wear it at first; she made me wait until we had entered the quarantine zone. Despite all the horrifying pistols I have seen, carrying a sword around is deemed threatening by the general populace for some odd reason. Shriek stated it was because carrying a sword is unusual and someone carrying one might be exhibiting “malicious intent.” I asked if they were using pistols to chop down trees and if I could carry an ax instead, he said that’s not a good idea either—I do not understand.
“Owl, you understand the goal of your contract, correct?” Terra asks.
“Yes, Miss Galtry.” Using his fingers, he repeats what he and Terra talked about in private. “Our goal is to convince some auspicious and venturesome people from the general public to come to Central Park. We must do this within the next several days using videos and other such methods. We shall then use these people to drive the Consortium away before they are free to make use of their abundant manpower and resources.”
She narrows her eyes and glares at Owl. “And how confident are you in your abilities and the operation?”
Owl rubs his chin and then glances between Terra and me before chuckling. “It’s an intriguing and tricky assignment, but it’s not unreasonable or impossible given the current climate. There are already multiple large groups that have grown used to protesting and roaming from place to place.”
With a nod, Terra turns her attention to me. Her gentle voice in my head asks, “You okay?”
“Aye…” My metal boot thunks upon the stone path. “I am just not used to walking; it’s a bit unnatural and a conscious effort for me now. I shall have to readjust.”
“Huh? But you were usually always walking?”
“Nay, I was often floating while slackly tossing my legs around out of habit. Doth thou not notice my legs would sometimes not match my pace?”
Her brows furrow. “…No, not really; I mean, maybe a little but not enough to think about it, I guess.”
Passing by a patch of rocky ground, I realize something, “Terra, how am I going to remove the bricks from my doorway with this on? The hole is only big enough for Gen and I need my cattail to make it wider.”
“Ah, yeah, I had them hide a spot for your cattail around your right shoulder blade plus one on the back of your neck above the zipper. It should let it slip out and then when you pull it back in, it’ll reseal. I know I gave you a sword, but from what you’ve told me, it seems like your cattail might always be one of your stronger weapons.”
Raising my arm, I feel around my right shoulder blade, discovering an odd indention. When I press the indentation, the fabric folds inward. Pulling away, it closes once again, reverting to its original shape. “Thou art quite the planner; I do not know how thou considered so many things at once.”
“Removing your most powerful weapon seemed like a bad idea; I can’t have you be defenseless.”
A few minutes later, Terra, Shriek, and I stand in front of the cave’s entrance. Owl is at the top of the stone stairs organizing some items in his bag.
Terra turns around and gestures at Shriek. “Turn around, don’t look,” she says in an aggressive tone.
Shriek nods. “It’s a secret hideout; it must have a mysterious lock,” he whispers.
I rub the back of my neck. ‘My hearing is somewhat impeded by the suit, but even so, I can still hear Shriek. He is going to be disappointed.’
Pushing the cattail through the hole in the suit, I flatten the tendrils and begin tossing bricks from the entrance. I notice Shriek tilting his head as he watches the bricks hit the ground near him in my peripheral. I stop once it’s wide enough for a person to crawl through. Sinking to my knees, I shuffle into the cave, attempting to not dirty my new attire.
“Oooo!” I hear Gen cry. Rubbish begins to fly toward me.
‘Gen! It is me!’ Ducking to the left, a half-eaten pudding cup smacks the wall, leaving a splatter of brown pudding. I shake my arms and then make the thumbs-up gesture. ‘See, it is me; calm down!’
Gen stops just before casting a rotten apple at me. Dropping the rotten apple, he falls to his rear and returns a thumbs-up gesture, including a small, “Ooo.”
I drop my arm, shake my head, and move out of Terra’s path as she crawls through. ‘Gen is fortunate I am not capable of conversing with him.’
Once through Terra, stands, asking, “Alright, you ready to begin filming? We’re working with a short time span.”
“Aye, let us get on with it. I am ready to be painted for my moving picture. I have never been the subject of a painting before.”
“I’ll just go ahead and say, it's not like you’re imagining.” Removing a torch from her satchel and lighting it, Terra leans down and says in a stern tone, “Shriek. Crawl through.”
“Yes, Miss Galtry,” he replies.
Hearing his feet spin in the dirt, he drops to his hands and knees. When he crawls through and gazes upon the glory of my abode, a single tear drips from his eye. The tear is likely because a bag of onions I plucked from some rubbish several days ago is a mere palm away from his face.
“It… it’s…” He glances up at me and forces out some words. “It’s great…”
I point at Terra’s satchel and then make a writing motion. With a nod, she removes my whiteboard, marker, and eraser and gives them to me.
My marker squeaks against the board as I write, “Do not lie to me. It does not make me feel better.”
“S-sorry,” he says, forcing himself into a standing position. “It’s just not where I expected a Fairy to live.”
“It is a cave; thou shouldst not expect much.” Erasing, I continue, “Also, where do the Fairies thou knoweth live?”
“G-got me there, I guess.”
Lowering my whiteboard, Owl’s head pokes into the cave. He crawls a bit further and stands. Wiping the dust from his trousers, he runs his gaze across the cave. “It’s a bit messier than anticipated, but a cave is a cave and thinking about it, who knows where a fairy might live. Oh, and I like what you’ve done with the coffin over there in the corner.”
I cross my arms and nod at Shriek. ‘See. Owl understands how to lie properly.’
Shriek’s eyes dart to the iron coffin. “Coffin!”
At the same moment, Gen casts his rotten apple at Owl, only for him to step out of the way. “Oh, and there is even a little cave keeper,” Owl states, nudging the rotten apple out of the cave. “This place is quite charming.”
My arms drop. ‘Charming is a tad much; now I feel as if I am being mocked. Though Owl may actually believe that given his personality.’
I motion for them to follow me into the gate room. Passing through the doorway, the pair turn utterly speechless. Seeing this, I return to crossing my arms, except this time, I straighten my back to display as much smugness as I can manage.
“Woooah, I knew it. This is the type of place a Fairy lives!” Shriek says his mouth open wide.
Owl steps toward the stained glass walls, his reaching outward. “Is this the creation of fairies...” Just before his hand touches the glass, he flinches and pulls it back. “The glass is utterly faultless, I cannot besmirch it with human hands.” He releases a heavy sigh. “How is art such as this even attainable? It’s as if it were cast all at the same time.”
Flexing my shoulders, I write, “The compliment is appreciated; coming from thou makes it mean more.”
‘Not that I really did anything to make the glass, but it is still mine.’
“Glass isn’t my area of expertise, but I know master quality craftsmanship when I see it.” Setting his bag on the stony ground, he asks, “Can I take a panoramic of this room?”
Tilting my head, I respond by writing, “I do not understand what that means. Ask Galtry.”
With a nod, Owl approaches Terra, “Miss Galtry, I have a suggestion.”
“Speak, Owl, what is it?” she responds curtly.
“I believe a panoramic of this room is an excellent way to gather people’s initial attention.”
Raising an eyebrow she says, “I do intend to convey an invite to a secret chat room to help lead the conversation and keep up with what’s happening. It wouldn’t hurt if we attached a picture to the message to persuade them to accept the invitation.”
“I’d imagine you wouldn’t be inviting just anyone to that?”
“No, just the ones that seem the most promising or I wish to build connections with.” Terra reflects for a moment and then gazes at me. “Do you have an opinion on this? This chamber belongs to you after all.”
Writing on my whiteboard, I approach the two, “What is a chat room? It is not this room they shall chat in, correct?”
“Oh, I guess a Fairy wouldn’t know about these kinds of things,” Shriek murmurs from the corner of the room.
“Don’t just murmur to yourself in the corner.” Terra scowls, pointing at Shriek. “If you’re going to be working for her, answer her questions instead of talking to yourself.”
His eyes go wide. “I-I’m sorry, Miss Galtry, I’ll help Fairy now!”
Hearing his words, I notice a sparkle in her silver eye. “Nightingale. Her name is Nightingale, so both of you should refer to her as Miss Nightingale from now on.”
In my head, I question, “Terra, I do not mind if Owl does his ‘pan·o·rama’ thing, but why would they call me that?”
Without changing her expression, she forces a laugh in my mind. “Now you must also know what it is like having everyone call you ‘Miss’ and treat you like an old lady despite being far younger than them.”
“I do not mind what people call me, to be honest, but I suppose I shall suffer it as well,” I respond with a shrug.
“Nightingale, like the nurse? That’s such a cool name!” Shriek replies.
‘Cool? Is that the same as saying it is crisp?’
He resumes speaking, “But, Miss Nightingale, a chat room is a place for people to talk without them actually being with each other in person.”
“Oh, that is interesting. These rooms can have how many people in them exactly?” I write.
“Well, it depends, but most of the time, you can have as many people as you want.”
“Fascinating! And these people might be convinced to come hereabouts after viewing my glass walls? Is it really so convincing?”
“I believe it would absolutely convince at least some people,” Owl replies, forcing his gaze away from the glass. “I know anyone with a discerning eye would be able to confirm the art here is original, unseen, and near unattainable quality. I must know, does this piece have a name?”
I stare at the walls, but my gaze drifts to Terra and then myself. Nodding, I write, “Gate of the Rich and Destitute, is that a good name? It’s a tad simplistic, yet I like it.”
“It’s wonderful, Miss Nightingale; the name is more about how the artist perceives it than how simplistic it is,” Owl responds.
‘Artist? I am not an artist.’
Before I may speak of it more, Terra speaks first, “Very well put, Owl. If you think it will help convince more people, then feel free. We’re already going to be filming her, so it shouldn’t make that big of a difference.” Pausing for a moment, she adds, “But we’ll add something that will draw people, maybe the phrase, ‘Essence. Glory. Treasures. The Tower Provides For Those That Persevere’ something to pique people’s curiosity.”
“Ah, a great idea Miss Galtry. It would be best that we reference the Cosmic System’s words; that will go far in convincing people.”
‘They are making my Tower and I sound rather… celestial but, to be frank, I am more akin to a parasite that is trying not to be one.’
“It seems you’re understanding. I need to get some work done. Give me the photo as soon as you have one you think is particularly convincing. I’d like to send the invitations to the candidates as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Miss Galtry.” Turning to me, he points. “I’ll begin immediately if Miss Nightingale is ready.”
Erasing my whiteboard, I write, “Aye, I am excited; let us make the moving picture!”
With a smile, Owl starts to remove items from his bag.
Shrieks eyes light up. “Oh, and I’ll he—”
Terra interrupts him. “Shirek, please bring all the things from the cart down and begin cleaning the cave.”
“...Yes, Miss Galtry.” His shoulders drop as he exits the gate room. “I’ll get the cleaning supplies.”
While he gathers the supplies, I set some of my more dangerous possessions to the side and then begin my work with Owl.
…
…
…
Two hours pass. Terra has erected a table in the corner of the gate room where she is continually tapping on her lap-top and talking to her black rectangle. I can tell she is working hard to make certain our plans go well.
As for me, I am standing in front of the gate posing with Gen and my sword held high. With a click, Owl’s camera, fixed to a tripod, paints my picture and I lower my sword.
“Wonderful!” Owl moves to some torches, or the “key, back, and fill lights,” as he refers to them. He erected them all around me and will frequently make adjustments to them. When he gets the light the way he likes them he moves back to his camera. “Now! Place the sword in front of you and place your hand on it, like this,” Owl says, making the pose for me to mimic. “After that one, we’ll try for an action pose.” He makes a pose with his hand gripping a pen and swinging it as if fighting a beast. “How does that sound?” he asks with a high laugh.
‘Clearly, he is enjoying this, though, I admit, so am I.’ I nod, making the thumbs-up gesture.
While I “strike the poses,” Shriek has been cleaning the rubbish in the next room, much to Gen’s dismay. Watching as Shriek shoves some of his favorite knick-knacks into rubbish bags, Gen releases a small angry whine.
At first, I simply watch his antics, but then I remember something. I reach out my hand toward Gen and pat him atop the head. This is something I can do now with my armour; it is so liberating and delightful to touch things so loosely. Lowering myself, I hold my sword to the side and scratch beneath Gen’s chin with my free hand. He stands on the tips of his toes to lean in closer to my scratching.
I shake my head and curl two tufts of his hair, making it look as if he has a humorous beard. ‘Little hairy man, we shall find new knick-knacks. Thou must learn that things are just that, and all of them temporary. Oh, perhaps, thou wish to help me with my lines?’ I raise my hand, make a fist, and tuck my thumb beneath my index finger. ‘I am afraid this sign for “T” is all of the speech that I have committed to memory. Though I do know some other signs that I shall try to slip in.’
A click and a bright flash of light make me look back and forth, searching for the source. What I find is Owl staring at his ‘camera.’ “Now, Miss Nightingale, that was a magical photo. The definition of a picture worth a million words.” He sighs. “Sometimes the perfect photo happens when we least expect it.”
Owl takes his camera off the tripod, picks up my whiteboard, and walks it over to me. “I believe we’re done with the pictures and can begin the video.”
Standing and returning my sword back to its sheath with a gratifying click, I take the whiteboard and write, “Is it completed; may I examine my portrait?”
With a nod, he presses something on his camera and then turns it toward me. There a picture of Gen and I is illuminated upon the camera, the elegant stained glass walls behind it. I point. ‘Look, Gen! It is us; we are small!’
Reaching out, Gen attempts to seize the camera and yank it out of Owl’s hands, but Owl is a step faster and pulls it away. “Apologies, but the equipment is delicate,” Owl states with a chuckle. “Ah, that’s right, I just remembered that I was going to warn you.”
I tilt my head.
“I have a pretty good intuition and…” He leans in close and whispers, “I think Miss Galtry might be underestimating both her own and, more importantly, your appeal. You should prepare yourself; you might be surprised by the attention you draw.”
“Me? What art thou implying?” I write on my whiteboard.
“I think you’ll come to understand that on your own,” Owl says, smiling and placing his camera onto the table near Terra.
Taking it in hand, Terra replies, “Thank you, Owl.”
“Of course, Miss Galtry.” Walking to his bag, he removes a different device. “Now, Miss Nightingale, are you ready to film?”
I pat Gen on the back. Realizing he is done, he rushes toward Shriek and grabs the other side of the rubbish bag. “Hey, let go!’
While they relish each other's company, I write, “Aye, I am ready,” and then set my whiteboard off to the side.
Owl laughs, placing his second, more prominent camera on a black tripod. “Please, make only a single letter at a time. I know you don’t know sign language well, so the plan is to splice everything together into a coherent video. Oh, and please try not to move around too much.”
I take my position in front of the gate and make hand signs in the sign language alphabet. Close hand, thumb in. Point two fingers to the left. Close hand, thumb out.
“Stop and prepare the next word, which is… Tower again,” Owl says from behind his camera. He makes a fist with a thumb beneath the index finger, the first letter of the word.
‘Ah, I know that one.’
This routine goes on for quite some time. I sign some letters, Owl shows me a new word, and then I do it again.
As I perform, I repeat the words in my head. ‘The Cosmic System returns, humanity approaches ruin. I am the Fairy of the Tower, a granter of charity upon all worthy men and women. The Tower awakens those who receive it. The Tower awaits those who will accept its trials. Just know, the Tower delivers nothing for free; come and persevere. Within the next two days, the first prophecy shall be fulfilled. Those who can find it can witness it.’
After the foremost message has been delivered, I move into the “clues.” Those are basically how we shall vaguely reveal the Tower’s location, but more importantly, the place that shall be the gate’s location. We hope the “clues” can help avert the less ambitious people, even if only just a few of them.
Owl lifts a paper with the first sign on it and we began again. ‘In a patch of green within the city of sleepless stone, the Tower is girdled by man’s greed. [1] The Tower is a charity, a gift for the common people, but it is immured, dressed as if a plague. [2] To the South-East, the Gate shall sprout in a great hall, owned by the one who speaks to the speaker. Locate it. Behold it. Witness the beginning of the new age. The next prophecy shall come soon, come now, or find catastrophe preventing thy approach.’
Two hours later, Owl claps. “Ah, just brilliant, Miss Nightingale. I swear I can feel your genuineness coming through the lens.”
Two additional sets of applause come from the other side of the gate room.
“It really was great, Miss Nightingale,” Shriek says, joining in the Owl’s clapping.
‘Ah, they are just flattering me, yet I do not care; praise me!’
“Good job, Constance. I’d like to see you perform again in the future,” Terra’s voice says in my head.
“Aye, I am a natural-born performer,” I respond, raising my arms high and tilting my head back.
A smile spreads across her face. “Don’t push it…” Her smirk disappears, she sits up straight. “Oh, when we talked the other day you said you weren’t that opposed to new people coming here, so I wanted to discuss something with you.”
My arms drop to my side. “...New people?”
…
…
…
Early the next morning, a middle-aged man and woman enter the cave. They stop. Their eyes dart around; obviously, they are not certain if they are where they should be.
Terra walks out of the gate room and ushers me over. They both take a deep breath upon seeing Terra, the first time I have seen someone relieved by her presence.
“Good morning, Miss Galtry,” the man states with an accent.
The woman nods at Terra, saying, “Guten Morgen, Frau Galtry.”
‘Not English?’
Terra nods and then gestures between the pair and me. “Nightingale, this is Doctor Jäger and his wife Mrs. Jäger. As I told you yesterday afternoon, Doctor Jäger is an epidemiologist from Germany. He’s the one that did the lethality experiments with the mice,” she announces out loud.
‘A modern doctor; that is interesting, but...’
I examine the two new visitors for any suggestions of a threat or trickery. Doctor Jäger has short white hair, blue eyes, and a thick white beard. He wears a brown suit, more formal than I have witnessed most people of this age dress.
His wife, Mrs. Jäger, has blonde hair and hazel eyes. Like Doctor Jäger, she is also dressed more formally than I am used to seeing. She has a yellow dress, worn over a long-sleeved blue shirt. Then over the dress, she wears a long brown jacket.
‘They must have been nervous about this meeting…’
“Nightingale?” Doctor Jäger questions. Unlike most people, he seems to be treating me with a more cautious demeanor.
Nodding, I write, “Aye, it is a pleasure.”
“No, no, no!” Doctor Jäger says, shaking his head profusely. “The pleasure is ours it really is, just…” I tilt my head as Doctor Jäger seemingly chokes back tears. “...just thank you so much.”
Mrs. Jäger tilts her head and pokes his shoulder before pointing at me. He nods. Mrs. Jäger abruptly steps forward and embraces me.
Recoiling, I throw my arms up and move away. ‘I am being assaulted; do not touch me!’
Doctor Jäger pulls his wife away with a stiff smile and a chuckle. “Sorry, I’m really sorry. My wife and I are just really happy that you chose to give us this opportunity. I did the testing on the “black haze,” and when I learned the effects, I asked Miss Galtry if my wife could be exposed to it. When she told me she didn’t have any, I chose to fly my wife here and stay in hopes that something would happen.”
‘Do people just embrace one another as greetings nowadays? Even if I now can, I do not like being embraced! Not by someone who is barely an acquaintance anyway! Though, it is nice to be treated with gratitude for once.’
Dropping my arms, I am about to write something confrontational, but I stop myself. Instead, I write, “It is nary an issue. However, I believe we need to get started soon.”
Owl walks out from the gate room, displaying two eye masks and caps. “Yes. Miss Nightingale is correct. This is a public live stream for people to witness the effects of the haze. Please, put the masks on and stuff your hair into the hats.”
“Of course, of course!” Taking the masks, he gives one to his wife and places the other on his face. “Oh, I am sure you have already realized it, but my wife doesn’t speak English, but I’ve already explained everything to her.”
With a serious expression, Terra asks, “Does she understand the risks and the stipulations in their entirety?”
He takes his wife’s hand. “We are aware that there is a chance one or even both of us may not survive. We’re willing to take the risk.”
Looking between the two of them, she narrows her eyes. “And the stipulations?”
“I have explained to her. Neither of us is allowed to leave the camera’s field of view until we have been accepted into the Beta.”
“Then follow me this way; we’ll begin within the next fifteen or so minutes.”
Entering the gate room, the couple has the same astonished reaction that many have. However, we are in a bit of a rush, so we urge them toward a pair of chairs in front of Owl’s camera thing and the lights he has assembled. I presume the lights shan’t be active for much of it.
“Miss Nightingale, on the front of your right leather glove, there should be a flap you can pull back,” Owl says to me, pointing at his own palm.
I turn my hand and inspect my palm. As he said, there is a flap I had not really noticed.
Seeing me having found it, he makes a vague gesture. “Pull it back, and there should be a zipper there.”
Doing as he says, there is indeed one of the so-called zippers there. ‘That could be useful in the future as well, but… Oh, I know what they want me to do with it.’
“Constance, are you ready? You know what to do, right?” Terra asks in my head.
I look toward Terra who is sitting behind Owl. “Aye. I hope this goes well.”
“I’m sure it’ll go great. Don’t be nervous.”
Forming two sable copepods inside my armour, I nod. “I shall try.”
“Okay, we’ll begin streaming in, five, four, three, two…” Owl points at me.
This time I am only making a few signs, so it is not as difficult. I am more concerned with what I am about to do to these people. If one of them reacts poorly or worse, then things could grow grave. I have been thinking about the different hazes and how they all act—particularly which one was causing death in the mice that Doctor Jäger experimented upon. My thought is that it may be because of the hoary haze. When I tested it on the goose meat, it appeared to be the most harmful. Though I still know naught of heliotrope and its uses, so it could be that one as well.
Raising my hand, I point at my eye and drop my hand into my palm, “Witness.” I put my thumbs together and push, “persevere.” Wrapping my hand around the other, I imitate a flower rising from the soil, “Blossom.” I make an ‘O’ with my hand and then wrap my first two fingers around one another, “Or.” Finally, I raise both my hands, palms facing one another, arch my fingers, and then twist them, “Wilt.”
‘Witness. Persevere. Blossom or wilt.’
I lower the zipper on my right hand; a small amount of black haze escapes through the opening. Closing my hand, I block it from leaking; I do not want people to see what is beneath my armour. If I do it like this, they will believe I am simply spreading something.
Commanding a sable copepod to my palm, I move behind Doctor Jäger. He pulls up his sleeve and straightens his arm. I place my palm over his arm, exposing the skin to a sable copepod. He grits his teeth; countless oozing black blisters appear along his arm, leaking fluid that drips upon the floor.
Mrs.Jäger takes her husband’s hand as I move to her side. Mimicking her husband, I command the second sable copepod to my palm and then place my hand on her arm. Her flesh turns red and tiny red blisters appear along the exposed areas. It is not nearly as bad of a reaction as Doctor Jäger.
I leave the camera’s eye as the couple inspects their arms and then glance at one another.
‘Now we must wait. I do not believe they received any hoary, but it still takes a couple of days for the disease to fade.’
With my hibernation approaching, the hours and days begin to blur together as things become tumultuous.
_____________________________________________
[1]. Girdled: encircle (the body) with or as a girdle or belt.
[2]. Immured: enclose or confine (someone) against their will.
