Vrin: Ten Mortal Gods (21 page)

“But I have more questions.”

“I know you do, but the angels of God are holding off the forces of evil. We must go now.”

I felt dizzy, then in an instant, found myself peering through his eyes. We had fused together, and I was now complete. Looking down down at the broken body on the floor, I and was disgusted at the wretch I had become.

My essence began to rise up, through the dungeons, through the castle, out into the air above. Below, I could see the battle still raging. They
had
lied to me, which meant there was a chance that Armadon had made it to Gaza. I wanted to go there and see, but was unable to fight against the force acting upon me. There was a superior purpose in its design, and there was no arguing with it.

I continued to rise higher and higher, until the people below were nothing more than specks on the open battlefield. As I moved closer to the clouds, I realized, for the first time, they were not clouds at all, but a projection moving across a large sphere. I flinched as I passed through.

Outside the sphere, love and light surrounded me like water. Its current flowed through me, filling me with peace. It was a familiar feeling; I had been here before.

I travelled up a blue strand at a blistering pace, and Vrin grew smaller and smaller in the vast cavern of shifting light. Upon its surface, currents of electricity arced, like blue liquid fire boiling.

To my left, a movement caught my eye. It was at first beautiful, then horrific. Brilliant bursts of light, which should have blinded me, exploded not far from where I ascended. Colors beyond description shot forth in all directions. The beings of light were at war, but why? They collided with awesome force, creating an unimaginable shock wave. Were these the angels of God?

I looked up. High above was a gray, bumpy, stone ceiling. As I got closer, tiny pinholes became visible. The pinholes became pores, then the pores became tunnels. Billions of them, stretching off to either side as far as the eye could see.

I rushed into one of them at a dizzying pace, straight into the heart of the porous rock. Everything became a blur, and the walls slowly melted away into space and thought, until there was nothing left of form.

It was here-- that my memories returned.

EARTH

001001011001110

Memories, like a mottled collage of faint footage filled my mind. I knew at once, all that I was, and the universe made sense. It was the perfect plan of a perfect Creator. I was amazed at its simplicity.

I saw the study at the mansion, but it was not the same place. It was clear to me now. The mansion had belonged to my grandparents, Jason and Rebecca Tardin. We stayed with them on weekends when I was young. My brother and I would play for hours in the warm study. It was my safe place. As long as I was there, I would not be harassed by the bullies in the neighborhood. They liked to pick on me because I was different-- because I was smart.

Another memory came to me, sharp and painful. “
Becca! Stay away from the street!”
My daughter looked back at me in her sweet innocence. Lost in her own world, it took her a second to respond. Hers was the curious age of five, and she was excited to be in the crowded city. I watched until she lost interest in the street and began exploring the various novelties of a nearby vendor.

Her mother joined her to look at some jewelry. She’d been sitting on a bench nearby, tired from carrying the extra weight of our unborn son. “Stay close to me, sweetheart,” said Annie, reaching out with a gentle hand to pull her in.

The man grudgingly accepted, and I smiled to myself. I knew he would take it. Everything was a game on the city streets. Nothing went for face value.

“Rebecca
come here!”
Annie's voice was urgent.

Behind me, Becca scurried along the edge of the street in pursuit of a small puppy. I twisted quickly, and, at an awkward angle, barely got hold of the back of her shirt as she jumped off the curb. The puppy darted out into traffic.

Off balance. Tires screeching. A mail truck veered out of control. Everything began to move slowly. If I could not regain my footing, the truck would plow into us! With all my strength, I pushed my daughter from me.

The memory faded, and although I continued upward, there was no sense of movement. Above was a curtain of energy. The Separation. I knew it, and I knew its purpose. I would not be allowed to bring the memory of this place to Earth. It was here, Sam’ Dejal had to stay.

And he did not like it. Not one bit.

A mild current of energy washed over me as I entered. A splitting of identity, and an
explosion
of anger. I was helpless to stop the forces of eternity as the experiences of Sam’ Dejal were ripped from me, fading and screaming into the darkness, leaving only the memories of my earthly self.

And I was, once again, Thomas Tardin.

I found myself sitting in a boat with a beautiful young oriental girl. The water was as smooth as a mirror. The sun was warm in a peaceful sky. She was smiling. Why was she smiling? There was something familiar about her, but there was no name.

I stepped down from the carriage and turned to help the young woman to the ground. The old western town was deserted, but I paid no mind. I left the carriage and the girl, and entered the tavern in front of me. People moved about inside, sharing in whiskey and music. Several games of cards were going on, but my interest was at the bar. I moved up alongside an old man. He was drunk, and babbling about gods or something.

“You have my keys,” I said to him.

He turned to me and laughed. “You'll have to find them yourself, my boy.” His eyes were red from the liquor, and there was a film of moisture on his lips.

“My wife is waiting for me at home, but I can’t get there without my keys.”

“Why don’t you ask your lady friend for them,” he said, stubbornly.

I felt a pair of hands move in around my waist; they belonged to the young Asian girl. I turned, still in her grasp, and we began moving back and forth to the music. The bar was empty now, and a tranquil melody drifted from the jukebox. I put my arms around her and pulled her in close. She smelled of sweet flowers in the morning dew. The song ended, but we continued to dance. I wanted the night to last forever.

She pulled free from my grasp. “I will be back soon,” she said, throwing her bags onto the black leather seat of the red convertible. I recognized the man in the driver's seat, a strikingly handsome man, with curly blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a faint scar on his right cheek. Where did I know him from? The girl hopped over the door and blew me a kiss. Tires screeched, and the car spun out of sight.

“Honey? What’s wrong?” came Annie's voice from behind me.

“Nothing, just thinking.” I turned to see my wife making breakfast in the kitchen of our old apartment. She broke another egg onto the sizzling surface, and a strange clicking noise began emanating from the pan. Annie’s eyes looked at me expectantly. Her lips were moving, but the voice that came out of her was not her voice. It was the voice of a man.

“Next level, split, jump three, stop, negotiate 250 degrees...” My mind struggled to make sense of the words. But instead, the absurdity of them pushed me from the dream.

I became aware of a noise next to my right ear and attempted to open my eyes. But the room was too bright. What was I just dreaming? I tried to remember, but the images were fading fast. There was a weight on my chest and a tightness at my temple. I tried to move, but something was holding my head in place.

A voice spoke. “We’ve been trying for four days, and my people need some rest. I understand the importance of finding the key, but without proper sleep there are going to be more mistakes.”

“Just get it done!” said another voice. “Work in shifts if you have to!”

“Understood.”

I heard footsteps walking away, then a series of clicking noises intertwined with what sounded like voice commands. “Next level, split, jump three, stop, negotiate 250 degrees.”
clickety click
. “Next level, skip five, negotiate fifteen degrees.”
clickety click
. “Stop. Identify.”

“Pattern--
not present-?”
He sounded surprised.

“What?”
clickety click
. “Search, stop, split.”

“I was finishing up my search criteria, and check this out.”
clickety click
. “Search, stop, split.”

“Pattern not present.”

There was a brief silence. “Are you saying-- they’re not in the system anymore?”

“I’m
saying,
one of the patients is
awake!”

A doctor? Was I in a hospital? My eyes opened to a squint, allowing the piercing light in at my retina. Blurry forms began to take shape in the sea of white.

More footsteps approached. There was a faint smell of cologne mixed with fresh air. “Good morning, Mr. Tardin. How did you sleep?” The voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

There were hands all over me, a pinch here, a squeeze there, the pressure was released from my temples and chest. I tried to focus on the doctor, but he was nothing more than a hazy shape. The colors were slowly returning, but the definition was yet to come.

“Thank you. That will be all,” he said to the others. “You will be briefed at the next meeting.”

Doctors? Meetings?
A memory flickered; terror in my daughter's eyes, pedestrians moving in slow motion, everyone looking at me...

It was then that it came to me, just beyond my perception and pushing in. I wouldn’t have noticed it at all, but his words brought it to my attention. On the hard olive green surface of a metal arm near my head, was an imprint. I squinted. It read,
V
irtual
R
eality
I
nterface
N
etwork.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about. What is this place?” I tried to lift my head.

He put his hand on my chest. “You’re in no condition to get up, Mr. Tardin. Try to relax.” His voice was soothing. “How do you feel?”

“Like a piece of lead.” I squinted at him, still trying to bring him into focus.

“Are you in any pain or discomfort?” he said, gently pressing a stethoscope on my chest.

“No, not really. Why are you asking me all these questions?” I made another attempt to move, but he reaffirmed the pressure on my chest.

“Please, Thomas. try to be still.” There was compassion in the timbers of his hauntingly familiar voice. “I need to check you over.”

Another memory flashed. My little girl sprawled on the sidewalk. A woman screaming. A truck plowing into me...
My heart jumped. “I was, in an accident.” I desperately searched my memory. “Is this a hospital?”

He leaned in close. His friendly face came into focus. It was not a handsome face, but it was kind. And seeing it helped ease my panic. The wrinkles around his eyes were deep from many smiles, but the bags underneath showed that he hadn’t slept well for many days.

I attempted to lift my arm, but it wouldn’t move. I tried again.
“Why can’t I move my arm?”
Panic gripped me. “Doctor?” I tried to control my voice, and frantically searched his face. “Am I
paralyzed?”

He smiled kindly. “No, Thomas. You’re not paralyzed.”

“Then why can’t I move!” Again I tried, and my fingers moved a little.

“I’m sorry, Thomas. It will take some time before you are back to normal, but please try to be patient. You’ve, ah... You’ve been...” He furrowed his brow and a look of compassion crossed his features. “You’ve been
sleeping
, for a long time.”

“What? A week? A
month?
How
long
have I been sleeping?
”

He sighed, and his eyes took on a look of clinical detachment. “Twenty-one years, Thomas, twenty-one years.”

I searched his face. “You're joking. joking.”
Right?
Please tell me you’re

“I wish I were.” He looked me in the eye. “You were in a bad accident, Thomas. And you’ve been in a coma, for twenty-one years.” There was no sign of humor in the creases of his old face. Only deep concern.

“That-- that’s not “I-I can’t...” My voice broke off.
possible!”
I stammered.

“Under normal circumstances, you would be correct, but these are far from normal circumstances.”

I felt his warm hand grip my wrist. He brought my arm up slowly. My hand came into view. The sight of it made my blood run cold. It was the hand of a stranger-- too thick and worn out to be my own. But it had my wedding ring on it. The skin looked rough and aged, the veins disturbingly pronounced. I moved my fingers.