Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy, Volume One) (27 page)

The brief procee
ded with a few of the more epic battles that took place over that time period between Muzar's united minority and the Ecifrican majority. Shots from various surveillance cameras revealed brilliant, orchestrated tactics that leveraged the confined setting of the caverns and narrow passageways to gain the advantage and ensure victory time and time again.

"A special task force, led by yours truly, was formed in response to the strange influence Mr. Tarcones appeared to be having on his fellow inmates. Our char
ge: to manipulate the situation with the objective of learning the full extent of what the man was capable of accomplishing." Thortizan recalled the unfettered pleasure he and his colleagues experienced while playing God the following four years, as they introduced one difficult scenario after the other into the quasi-controlled environment.

"At first, we exploited the already prevalent law of supply and demand by cutting off all supply drops into the caverns he controlled, forcing Muzar to take the offensi
ve. Again and again, he raided the Ecifrican camps and stole what they needed to survive. Next, we began to supply the Ecifricans with raw materials to increase their limited arsenal of crude weapons. Not only did this one-sided arms race tactic fail to tip the scales in favor of the Ecifricans, but we soon discovered that Tarcones's numbers and control over the caverns continued to grow in strength."

"Trained in superior hand to hand combat, survival skills and military tactics, united by a faith based, di
sciplined leadership, Muzar Tarcones had spawned a fighting force the likes of which the world has never seen." Indeed, after years of in-depth study by Thortizan's secret panel, the C.O.S. adopted Muzar's unprecedented strategies to create many of the contemporary military treatises held sacred by the theocratic regime.

Thortizan, as he watched hordes of condemned inmates swear their undying allegiance to Muzar grow year after year, had developed a respectful, almost paranoid, caution as he studied the man
. Despite being thousands of miles away, seeing all that transpired via sanitized security videos, and having the perceived control over the man's fate, Thortizan secretly feared succumbing to Muzar's boundless charisma.

Not since Apostle Drestan led our p
eople to freedom, inspiring generations to this day to convert the rest of the world in the beliefs of our beloved Savior, had man been subjected to the persuasive force of one individual.
The memory helped Thortizan come to grips with his own apprehension about the pending mission.

Thortizan expanded on his exposition. "Energized by a courageous leader, prepared to die for the betterment of the whole, the once deviant and broken men and women that chose to align themselves with Muzar Tarcones began to call
themselves the Stewards of the Law."

Once believed to be condemned to finish their remaining years in wretched purgatory, Stewards of the Law claimed to discover a higher purpose once they joined the cult. Discontent with one
’s lot was no longer justified, as Muzar taught his followers to perceive all of life experiences as an adventure; as an opportunity to grow. "The soul is no longer forced to fend for itself" he would preach to his devout followers; an existence all too familiar for any person sentenced to Blacadoma and, in most cases, their lives prior to incarceration.
"
Strength is abundant for the soul truly aligned with its brethren
,"
one of the man's more famous statements to emerge. 

At no point did Blacadoma ever become a
desired destination for any sane person. The average lifespan of the condemned still hovered around eighteen months. If one somehow managed to avoid the typical death delivered in some form of gruesome butchery, rampant malnutrition, infection or other natural causes would end their miserable lives. No, despite the growing fascination around Muzar Tarcones, for the vast majority, Blacadoma remained one of the most horrid places known to the collective imagination.

But the popularity of the already highly w
atched, around the clock, public broadcast of the events taking place in Blacadoma Prison continued to grow to new heights during Muzar's four year reign. Anyone who owned, or knew someone who did, a telipad or wallscreen during that time stayed glued to the happenings at Blacadoma, waiting to see what Muzar did next.

The Stewards of the Law, a cult like the world had never seen since the Church of Salvation, had begun to spread. Anyone who ever studied the social phenomenon would agree, the movement spawne
d from the depths of Blacadoma's subterranean caves was infecting the free world at a frighteningly fast past. Muzar had gone from public icon as an elite athlete, to living deity as the savior of society's discriminated rejects.

"Some of you may remember
from your elementary social studies, Muzar Tarcones actions in Blacadoma inspired a few of the Drakarlean liberals to write essays and hold large public speeches, comparing Muzar to every saint or apostle ever known. Some went so far as to claim he was nothing short of the second coming of our Savior."

Even the Church of Salvation's top leaders, behind closed doors at least, had started to view the man with strange reverence, citing examples of his actions became common place in many heated and earnest deba
tes on the origins of race, culture or religion.

"This pestilence known as Muzar Tarcones has outlived its usefulness," Cardinal Fertinand, Thortizan's predecessor, finally said to Thortizan and his crew at the apex of it all. Each panel member had been h
andpicked for the position due to their pure bloodline and staunch allegiance to the Order of St. Vorenius. They all understood the implications conveyed in their leaders statements and in response, set out in earnest to exterminate the problem.

No one had
commiserated on how to destroy Muzar Tarcones more than Thortizan and his team and yet every approach they attempted over the years had come up short. Desperate, they systematically and arbitrarily aspersed the criminal acts of hundreds of thousands of innocent Ecifrican men and women, fleecing every Ecifrican compound and territory in the process, to produce a fresh body of Blacadoma inmates. "We will overwhelm him with sheer numbers while reducing the already paltry supply of food and water," Thortizan remembers conspiring with his smug partners.

The move proved itself one of the biggest blunders in his career, a mistake he remains grateful was never exposed. For what Thortizan and his team had failed to see prior to initiating their bold move, empowered
by their omnipresent position and hindered by blind prejudice as they were, were the precursors leading to a truce between the Stewards of the Law and Destiny's Charge. The influx of new Ecifricans, the majority of which had become enchanted by Muzar's growing legend in addition to knowing the details that led to his arrest—a perspective their inmate countrymen were not privy but soon became educated to—were the catalyst that ensured the tentative truce became a lasting reality.

The situation had completely
spiraled out of control. Thortizan remembered how all evidence of the covert panel, having never been formally approved therefore having never existed, were whisked away as elected government officials and appointed panels scurried to find a solution to the public relations nightmare that was but a breath away from escalating into a bona fide threat to their theocratic control.

Every department offered suggestions but none appeared to offer a solution. The only idea that offered at minimum a short-term so
lution came from Cardinal Fertinand's defense department, which was to send in armed troops, annihilate the whole lot and start over. Relief swept over the empire when, without any warning, the situation took care of itself with the sudden disappearance of Muzar Tarcones.

"Just over ten years ago today, Mr. Tarcones vanished. Of the intact and operational security equipment providing coverage to roughly eighty percent of the subterranean penal facility at the time, none recorded any sign of his whereabouts
for three straight months. This led us to presume him deceased; the cause of death and evidence of bodily remains taking place and residing in one of the few areas no longer available to our surveillance."

"Recent intel informs us that not only is Muzar Ta
rcones alive but he somehow managed to escape from Blacadoma." Despite their conditioned discipline, murmurs of shock and disbelief erupted. "Enough! Do not forget, we are dealing with an adversary that was once one of us. One of the few people in the world with both the capital means to facilitate an escape from Blacadoma and the motivation to do so."

"Drop zone in ninety seconds!" The pilot
’s voice interjected.

The men stood in unison at the prompt and began to double check their gear. Thortizan walked to
ward the rear of the jet, making eye contact and smacking men on the back and shoulders as he went. Once there, he punched a large red button on the sidewall that turned green and hydraulics lowered the back bay door, revealing a moonlit sky.

Thortizan tur
ned and addressed his men. "Our purpose has arrived; the time has come to reclaim the world here after and for all eternity in the name of our Almighty Savior!"

A chorus of "Praise be to him!" met the close of his words as the green button began to blink.
Single file, the ordained Vorenian Knights spilled into the night sky unified by a divine mission all believed was destined to occur.

Chapter 17

"Stay here. Do not move until I return. Do you understand me? I promise to come back," Steffor said passionately.

"Of course you will," Calivera replied without hesitation, "but I will not wait for your return. I will follow and, the Provider willing, unite with you soon." Her confidence instilled a welcome dose of courage despite her stubbornness.

He looked over her shoulder at Leanor standing a few feet behind her, imploring the mysterious Mystic to help convince Calivera to obey his command to stay behind. The impulsive decision quickly proved itself a foolish one, harshly reminding Steffor how little he understood of the woman or her role, as she said: "You must take both of us with you."

"Steffor!" Kilton boomed, his stentorian voice heard from over a half a mile away. "We cannot delay another second!"

Steffor turned in his friend's direction. Just beyond Kilton, Grimlock, Martna and Vejax were moments away from reaching the valley's west wall. Kilton stood atop a barren knoll stationed between them and Steffor who still stood before the newly formed Mystic Tower. He was poised to run but clearly reluctant to take another step until he saw Steffor move in his direction.

"It will take us too long to reach the Guardian Trail as it is, with the two of you in tow it will take at least half a day. This does not address the real issue of how either
of you navigate the trail once there. Your coming is simply not an option."

"You possess the power to bring us Steffor," Leanor boldly confronted him. "The Transcendent Age is close upon us. Calivera and I must be with you when it arrives."

"What do you speak of?" Steffor stammered, his patience wearing thin. It took all his power of concentration to block out the wave of screams heard moments before that creature erupted from the Provider's insides. The call of duty sounded, they must act now. Every second that transpired since losing their Mysticnet feed of Razum City was another moment of anguish as his soul sensed innocent life ripped from the world.

Calivera grabbed his hands, pleading his attention. "Listen to her Steffor. She....we....h
ave seen...the Provider has revealed an existence that goes beyond our world, the transcendence that all aspire to and must reach. You are the key to realizing our destiny but it cannot be done alone."

"I do not desire to do this alone!"
he said, finally losing his temper. "I have four, very dependable Guardians at my side and hundreds more on the way. I do not see how a Healer and a...
Mystic
can offer any assistance in battling the creature destroying our beloved city as we speak." Calivera's crestfallen face calmed him, a glorious reminder of why he had not left yet.

He gently cupped her face in his hands and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Living within our boundless love is the only existence I care about. Please do not ask me to put you in harm
’s way. I cannot bear the thought of losing you....not again."

With fresh tears in her eyes, she acknowledged her own fears of losing their time together in this lifetime, a fear that stemmed from prior lives together never completely fulfilled. Reunited as the
y were, the seed of their potential life together having just broken to the surface, neither could deny the desire to become one with the other.

"You must face this fear, see it for the challenge it truly is," Leanor said, addressing both of them now. "If
you do not face the fear of losing each other, then how do you expect to meet the challenge of facing the Deagron Maker or the events yet to materialize but most certain to demand even more courage?"

Who was this woman?
At first perceived as some kind of dysfunctional Mystic he would figure out later, Steffor recalled now that he did not find her among the Mystics probed when searching for a way to correct the defunked Mysticnet. If she were a Mystic, she would have registered as such. Stranger yet, taking a moment to apply his ability to identify with any of the races, he discovered she did not conform to any.

She bares the mark of a race unique unto herself
.

"I am but a faint reflection of what you have become, of what we all must become," she said, readin
g his thoughts. "Without Calivera and I you would have never returned," she said, steering things back to the issue at hand. "Do you deny this?"

"No," Steffor replied without hesitation, acknowledging how Leanor's transformation related to Calivera's abili
ty to connect with the soul of every living Citizen. How the relationship worked remained a mystery.

"Then use your staff Steffor," she commanded with a nod toward the weapon held firmly in his right hand. In tandem with his garments shifting into sleek bo
dy armor, the staff had transformed into the shape of a formidable mace. He held aloft the material extension of himself and admired its unique qualities: a tailored grip that conformed to every minute change in pressure or position, connected to a metallic shaft that gradually flared into a symmetrical diamond shaped head.

The Guardian in him rallied, ignited by the sudden rush of power fighting to be unleashed.
My ability to yield the Source is limited only by my imagination.
Inspired by the realization, Steffor siphoned off a portion of the raw Source pulsing within and, with his staff guiding him, enveloped Calivera and Leanor.

He turned to Calivera who was bewildered by the sudden influx of foreign energy. "I will never lose you again," he stated. The r
elieved smile on her face saying all he needed, the three of them turned in unison and sped toward Kilton.

*****

Kilton witnessed Steffor cover the distance between them in three massive lunges, bursts of blue Source exploding beneath his feet with each landing and subsequent launch, then turned to watch him pass and catch the others in the same, swift fashion. Compelled as he was to join them, he remained frozen in place.

It was not the power being displayed by Steffor
—never before seen or recorded—or the baffling sight of Calivera and Leanor as they trailed slightly behind him with mimicked motions that caused his dazed stasis. No, it was an epiphany received before his inner eye, revealing with irrefutable clarity, a future he refused to accept.

The v
ision did not foreshadow any outcome related to the impending battle with their ancient enemy. Even now, helplessly locked atop the barren knoll, his body hummed with an intoxicating energy in anticipation of battle. Like all Guardians, Kilton did not fear such moments in life, he
lived
for them.

Never was a Guardian more at peace and one with the Provider when forced to push his abilities to the limit. For his greatest fear up to that moment, if it should happen in this lifetime, was not the Deagron M
aker. The most dreadful reality imaginable, up to that moment, was not fully realizing his potential as a Guardian, failing to sacrifice himself for that which he loved unconditionally.

But the gnosis he had possessed since early childhood had never been w
rong and following its sapient message, until now, was always certain to manifest love and growth. It was the compass used his entire life and lives prior, to move closer to the Provider; the tool he never doubted was leading him toward transcendence.

Now,
as he processed the vivid images of his horrid future, he could not help but connect it to the recent covenant made with Steffor, hearing his friend's words in a new light: "...your faith in the Provider will be challenged in ways beyond your conception. There will not be time to meditate for answers, nor will your devout belief be enough. You must learn to trust your heart....."

Kilton's identification outside any worldly existence, the true Self, residing deep in his heart, would rather cease to exist ov
er fulfilling the future life the Provider had chosen for him. His stupor only intensified as both heart and mind concluded the same:
I have no choice
.

*****

Vejax, Grimlock and Martna received the extension of Steffor's power and instantly synced their motions with his. Within two lunges, the Guardians harmonized their own command of the Source to Steffor's, enhancing both overall power and speed. They formed into a single unit, a human vessel: Steffor at the point, Vejax and Martna slightly behind to the right and left respectively, Leanor and Calivera directly behind and in-between the two with Grimlock centered in the rear. Fueled by the Source guided by the shared coordinates and objectives of all, their bodies now acted independent of the mind as an entity in and of itself.

We manifest our future together.

Within a few moments, they cleared the valley wall, passed the Forging Falls and, with the river to their right, began to trek up the Forging Bough. No longer burdened by the need to concentrate on the next powerful leap, Steffor explored the implications of all the phenomena that had occurred since connecting to his staff. An endless stream of possibilities flooded the mind, realizing he had but scratched the surface of his potential.

There is so
much more I can do as both as Mystic and Guardian. And what of Shifter and Healer? I have yet to explore the full extent of my power.

Excitement stirred within and fed his confidence, soon after tampered by a sobering thought, a tugging intuition present s
ince waking in Calivera's table.
None of this should be happening.
The thought was completely incongruent with how he felt. Nothing had ever been more natural, more right. The ease in which his companions absorbed and grew from the extension of his power only corroborated the feeling. But the thought would not leave and so he continued to wrestle with what it all meant.
This is the next step it just should not happen yet, happen here and now.

"Why does Kilton not join us?" Vejax inquired, bringing forth his
image before Steffor's inner eye.

"He chose not to follow," Steffor replied, forced to shelve disturbing thoughts, only to tackle another. "There was no time to inquire why. No one understands our situation better than Kilton, we must trust his reasons,"
Steffor added. What he chose not to add was of the disturbance he detected in his friend's soul when they passed, the real reason why he did not engulf him as he had the rest. Kilton's role in the upcoming events, Steffor realized with apprehension, was no longer clear to his vision of the future.

The explanation did not appear to satisfy Vejax but the Guardian in him recognized their limited time and prioritized accordingly, moving on to ask what he really needed to know. "What did Kilton mean by the true
origins of the Deagrons? What are we about to face?"

"Until my recent...transformation, my understanding of how the Deagrons arrived was the same as yours, they arrived by satellite from outer space, how many survived the crash to propagate over the ensuin
g years the only mystery shrouding the legend. Tillamund and Kilton and the other Four, as were their predecessors, have been charged with concealing a key piece of history surrounding the Deagron's origins from the rest of us."

They reached the summit of
the bend and, still on autopilot, turned northeast away from the Forging River and lunged toward an adjacent bark peninsula.

"The Provider would never choose to keep anything from us," Martna said, incredulous.

"The decision to omit these events from ever being recorded in the Deeds was not made by the Provider. It was made by a select few of its Citizens. Three to be exact. But I believe it was aligned with the Provider's wishes."

"How do you know this Steffor? Did Kilton confide in you?" Grimlock asked.

"No, Kilton and I have never discussed the untold legend." It was not until Kilton spoke of it recently that Steffor realized he possessed the knowledge. Steffor let the magnitude of what he had said settle within each, as well as him, their bodies unconsciously leaping over several bark peninsulas in silence.

"Show us Steffor," Leanor said, sensing the group was primed to accept a new reality. "Show us what our forefathers believed we were better off not knowing."

Steffor acquiesced, accessing the concealed file and projecting the images before the minds' of his companions.

Thirty-seven years had passed since man had last encountered a Deagron and, while the few thousand humans alive did not know it at the time, it was the end of the Guardian Age and the ush
ering in of the Actualization Age. For the first time in over two millennia, an entire generation of humans had emerged without ever knowing firsthand the primal fear their parents and countless ancestors experienced with the Deagrons.

Life on the Provider
without the Deagrons had a profound and lasting effect on the evolution of shifting the Source. Shifting was no longer just a means to survive, a skill to quickly carve crude paths up a steep branch, graft vines down the side of branch or Trunk in order to escape the onslaught of an approaching Deagron hoard, basic triage to live and fight another day, connecting telepathically to forewarn of attack or to quickly teach from the tragic mistakes made by others.