Author: Cyrus Borzak
940 AD, Japan
Zunako Murakami held her brother tightly as they huddled in the horse-drawn cart. Their father manned the reins upfront while their mother’s sobs could be heard between the clop clop clop of the horse’s hooves. Behind them, a fire raged through their village while the screams of those unable to escape echoed through the valley.
The soldiers descended quickly upon their peaceful dwelling and immediately went from home to home, removing families and putting them to the sword. While they kept their heads down during the war, alleged spies were tracked to the area, and the village sat in the path of vengeance. True or not, it was an excuse for troops and their leaders to excise their bloodthirsty demons.
Zunako’s family lived off a winding path on the village’s far side. The buffer from where the soldiers arrived allowed enough time to gather a few belongings and escape. Now, they sought to put as much distance between them and the marauding forces as possible. Unfortunately, a storm descended upon them and made finding shelter a more immediate priority. Zunako alternated her focus between the mammoth flames burning the only life she knew and her father’s solemn and focused face. The steadily thickening rain pelted his strong features, but he wore a pride and tough skin that kept his head high and eyes alert.
“Zunako, what does your sense tell you about that cave?” She looked where her father pointed and spied the cave opening during a lightning flash. He always told Zunako she had a gift to read the true sense of a person and place. Numerous occasions proved this true in keeping her brother out of trouble or correctly identifying when her father should plant to yield the most bountiful harvest. It may have been luck, but Zunako felt pulls on her conscience when she focused on things. She followed those pulls to positive outcomes. Now, the cave repelled her, communicating it was not somewhere she should go, yet Zunako felt an opposing push that going into the cave would be a life-changing event.
“I don’t know, father. I feel the cave wants us to stay away, but the world is pushing us there.”
Zunako’s father gave a weary smile. “Such is all of life. Thank you, daughter. We cannot stay in this storm. It will end us faster than those soldiers. The cave is exactly the shelter our ancestors know we need, and it is provided.”
The cave was quiet and spacious enough for even the cart and horse. Zunako’s mother and brother quickly fell asleep to the soothing sounds of the storm that no longer posed a threat. With the cave’s high ceiling allowing smoke to gather and trail toward the entrance, Zunako’s father started a fire to help dry them out and provide warmth in a world that suddenly felt so cold. He and Zunako sat, staring into the mesmerizing flicker and snap of the flames. They exchanged happy memories from the village that now existed as ash. It brought about pangs of sadness but bolstered their thankfulness to be alive and free.
Some time after sleep finally embraced the both, a sound jolted Zunako awake. She woke surprisingly alert, unaware how long she slept or what exactly she heard. The rest of her family remained asleep while the fire still produced a few small flames. Not seeing anything unexpected, Zunako began to lay her head back down when a low growl rumbled up from deeper within the cave. She sat straight up, her senses now fully awake.
“Father! Father! Wake up!” He raised up to an elbow and looked at her with groggy eyes. “There’s something in the cave. I, I think it’s an animal. Sounds big.”
As if in response, another growl resonated through the cave. Zunako’s mother and brother stirred from the noise while her father got to his feet and grabbed the nearby staff he relied upon to help him traverse their field.
“Stay here with your mother and brother. I will check it out. If you hear me call out, get them out of the cave and then the horse, if you can. You are not to wait for me, understood?”
Zunako nodded and watched as her father jammed a piece of wood with a swath of fabric wrapped around the end into the fire. Satisfied with his makeshift torch, he gave Zunako another loving, reassuring smile, and walked into the cave’s inky depths.
An uncomfortably long moment passed, but he never called out. Just as Zunako was going to disobey her father and venture after him, she saw his torch reappear in the distance, bobbing wildly. She soon realized her father was running. His echoing footfalls came close together and conveyed a sense of desperation.
“Father, are you alright?” Zunako called out as she tried to suppress her growing nervousness. She could now see part of her father’s face illuminated by the torchlight. Even in the little bit, Zunako saw he was scared.
“Zunako, get out! Get…” His voice was cut off by a thunderous growl that shook the entire cave. The torch disappeared and Zunako’s calls went unanswered. A forceful pressure flowed forth from within the cave, as if something massive pushed forward. Then, she saw it, the source of her fear. A beast, a creature filling the whole of the cave rushed at Zunako and her family. She screamed until it devoured all: Zunako, mother, brother, horse, and cart. Then, the creature vanished into the cave as though it never existed, and the raging storm outside gave way to a clear sky bright with the moon and stars.
Zunako Murakami disappeared on a stormy night in 940 AD. Freya Bergansdottir was born on a similarly stormy night in 1984 AD. She came into the world kicking and screaming as a baby does. Throughout childhood and her teens, her parents always called her an “old soul”; she had perspective on the world that was mature beyond her years. Freya’s dad also felt his daughter was peculiar, but in a spectacular way. Her instincts, her gut, were seldom wrong. Listening to her kept him away from several poor business partnerships and helped the family avoid multiple tragedies, including a horrific air disaster. Freya could never explain the trick to her good fortune; she said she just waited to feel which way the world pulled or pushed.
If there was one thing that troubled Freya, it was a certain recurring nightmare. In this dream, she and her family ran from fire, and while they escaped the fire, they plunged into darkness. In that darkness, something relentlessly chased them, picking off her family members until only Freya remained. She could not escape, however, and screamed as her pursuer came at her. Just as Freya was to be consumed, she woke with her mind awash with the most vivid memories of something she had never experienced, but it all remained just a dream.
As Freya closed the secret panel door in her office, she reminisced about her time with Wilbur, or as she got away with calling him, “Wilby”. Their relationship was slow to form. Despite crossing paths throughout school and their doctoral pursuits. Wilby always focused so intently on his work that it took nearly being hit on a crosswalk for him to finally notice Freya. In a moment of following her gut, she pushed a stranger back onto the curb just as a bus roared by. From then on, Wilby never left the side of his guardian angel.
Freya hoped to free her Wilby one day, but she had work to do first, a purpose to fulfill. It was her promise and continued success that allowed Wilby to stay with her. Doing this work was the only way to keep him here and placate the incessant voice in her head driving Freya’s every action. Sometimes, she felt her life was no longer her own, but those moments with Wilbur, those kept her connected to the part of her that was still an old soul.
Overseer Vitravian and their partner stumbled into the control room, unable to stay off one another. They roamed and fumbled through the passion that united them, unaware of where they were and unbothered by the outcomes of their actions.
Vitravian held a prestigious position, and used it for his benefit. They desired Zanthamos for a time and finally had them ripe for coupling. Completing the action in the control room was not ideal, but Vitravian was not about to waste the opportunity to experience what Zanthamos promised.
Zanthamos rippled with arousal and shook with delight as Vitravian trapped them against a wall that was aglow and blinking with various colors. Vitravian flung themself against Zanthamos and warmed as they sunk into them. Their motions fell into rhythmic synchronicity that pulsed waves of pleasure through both of them.
Beneath the rolling ecstasy, the lights on the wall shifted from the undulating pressures. When the right combination was depressed, a sequence commenced. In the vast space beyond the control room, swirling pink mists began disappearing, releasing the contents from their hidden cells to float in the ether of the room. Some of the suspended detritus was human, some was man-made structures. They remained in stasis while awaiting direction to their designated destination.
Normally, there was an arduous process involved to end stasis and reestablish the contents. It was never done without purpose and analysis of long-term impact. Vitravian and Zanthamos’ activity, however, inadvertently accelerated everything. The released contents disappeared from the large space one by one, sent away without direction or repurposing. The resulting alarm roused Vitravian from their euphoric daze and started a scramble to rectify an unprecedented mistake.
A meeting of superiors devised a plan after some debate. It was not as clean as they normally liked, but there was an identifiable path to success. By accelerating the timeline of different plans already in motion, they could create a new entity to address the misplaced returns and explain it off as another of the strange phenomena humanity accepted and quickly forgot.
They removed a young subject, acquired in humanity’s year nine-hundred forty, and repurposed her into a new being. The superiors determined the young subject’s original purpose could still be fulfilled by the new being, and the construction of her essence matched the necessary template for successful error rectification. The new being’s makeup was approved, and she was returned to an appropriate delivery vessel that allowed the plan to continue moving forward.
Nine months later, Freya Bergansdottir came into the world and spent every day after traveling along a pre-established path to meet and ingratiate herself with Doctor Wilbur Harrington. They built a life and organization together. When Freya reached the zenith of her path with Wilbur, they were beset upon by terrible weather while on a pleasure cruise in the Atlantic. Wilbur was swept away, and Freya was on the verge of leaping after him when a voice entered her head and froze her in place. She had no choice but to listen.
Freya’s purpose in the world was made clear, with the path to fulfilling it crystallizing in flashes of key future events and decisions. There was no need to compel her complicity; she sensed the strings guiding her life and knew they had always been present. Whatever she did from this point forward, none of it could be considered of her own volition. In that moment, Freya lamented if anything from her life was truly hers.
Despite this sudden depression, she continued holding onto thoughts of her love for Wilbur. While their meeting may have been predetermined, the feelings binding them together felt organic and true. Freya fought the voice in her head, pleading to keep Wilbur in her life else she would do everything in her power to upend whatever plans directed her future. Her passion, innate resolve, and a mysterious centuries-old anger could make her uncontrollable. The voice relented but continued holding her leap into the ocean at bay. Finally, Freya felt the voice’s return, and it told her exactly what needed to happen for Wilbur to remain at her side. A year later, the Black Mystic was christened, and Freya was the only person who knew of the secret room off her office and its purpose. With Wilbur ever-present, Freya upheld her part and tracked down those mistakenly returned by an ill-advised one-night stand.
It was him. Parker and Hudson stood to either side of Stone and looked at the face of a man they all mourned but still thought about every day. Edward, or Eddie, as it was the only name he responded to, disappeared in an Atlantic storm two years prior to when they themselves disappeared. When he first went out on the water for a short tour to check a few traps, the weather and water were pristine. At his furthest distance from shore, Eddie radioed that the weather was turning and he was headed back. Minutes later, his frantic messages indicated the storm caught up to him and the boat was taking on water. The vessel’s distress beacon was activated but contact with Eddie was lost. A mere thirty minutes after the first radio message, the coast guard arrived at Eddie’s last known location, but there was no evidence of him or his boat. An extensive search utilizing all manner of underwater scanning technology, divers, and aircraft yielded nothing. A week later, authorities reclassified Eddie from “missing” to “deceased”. Such a fate now seemed to be a family trait.
Yet, there Eddie was, frozen behind the pink mist like so many others in the vast stone room at the end of the black tunnel. Given Parker, Hudson, and Stone’s experience, they had no reason to disbelieve the face before them belonged to Eddie, but their knowledge reignited pain and worry that had only recently been suppressed enough to carry forward with life. They shared an unspoken anger for the stolen time with Eddie. Stone, however, carried deeper grievances than his uncles. The relationship with his father was maturing into a truly special bond when Eddie disappeared. Not only did Stone lose his closest friend and confidant, but Eddie’s “death” took a piece of happiness from Stone’s mother’s soul. Nobody wanted to acknowledge it, but she was not the same once Eddie was declared dead.
Stone unconsciously stepped closer to the pink mist, his hand reaching out toward Eddie’s face. As his fingertips pierced the mist’s oscillating fringes, Stone felt an unsettling coldness grip his hand. He pulled it back and stared at the pink material that remained attached. The airy, foamy substance began spreading up Stone’s fingers, to his palm, and then across the back of his hand. Amidst this terrifying development, Stone realized he no longer had feeling in his hand and frantically began trying to wipe it off on his pant leg. Parker and Hudson were already moving to assist, Hudson pulling off his sweater to use as a rag. Neither cloth nor vigorous rubbing, however, did anything to remove the substance or inhibit its advance. Stone felt the numbness move up his arm and begin spreading to his torso. His breathing became short and labored. Panic consumed the three men as they fought against an unstoppable opponent.
Just as Stone felt his heart thump especially hard against a halting force, the substance ceased its progress and fell to the ground where it quickly evaporated. The three stared at the now empty spot on the stone floor before Hudson and Parker returned their attention to Stone with incessant questions about his welfare. Stone felt fine and nervously laughed off their concern. He examined his hand, no worse for wear, and moved his gaze from his intact appendage back to the face of his father, trapped behind that sinister material. Stone’s mind bandied about possible ways to free Eddie from this place, but his thoughts were interrupted by a voice that filled the room.
“Our sincerest apologies. You were never meant to leave here.”
Stone jumped at the voice and looked to his uncles who both stared at him with surprised expressions. They talked to Stone, but he could no longer hear them.
“Your uncles were never meant to be here. This error is not up to our standards. We will correct the situation. We will make it up to you and your uncles. Unfortunately, we cannot undo the impact of your absence.”
Stone looked around for the voice’s source and then realized it was only in his head. Parker and Hudson looked more concerned and held onto Stone, trying to snap him out of whatever stupor he must be outwardly showing. The voice’s source must have noticed the distraction as Hudson and Parker suddenly froze.
“Apologies for the distraction. They are fine. We need your full attention. They will be returned to their vessel and home. You are needed for a greater purpose.”
“Who are you?! What is going on?!”
“All you need know is we are facilitators seeing that humanity fulfills its purpose.”
Purpose? Stone knew his purpose was survival and there need not be any grander plan. He also knew there was no way he would get stuck here by himself.
“You can’t just send my uncles back. We’ve been gone for fourteen years! They can’t just show up. You-, you’ll be exposed.”
“We can ensure that will not happen. It has been done before. Fourteen of your years is not so long.”
It felt then like Stone’s own voice was muted. Images flooded his mind, and though they flashed through at a dizzying pace, he could understand what each meant. Stone was able to construct a story from the images, and as he did so, Stone realized this story was his future, the purpose he needed to fulfill. When the images stopped, he did not want to think about the implications of what he was intended to do. There was no way…
“You need only follow the path as it is opened to you. There is no obstacle you cannot overcome. It must be done. We will see it through.”
“No. I won’t do it simply because you say so. This is not something I can do alone, but I can resist you.”
There was no immediate response. Stone stood frozen, shocked by his future and seething over the machinations for his life that were not his own.
“We can be reasonable. What do you require?”
The question surprised Stone, but he did not need to give it much thought.
“My uncles, they’re not being returned to the lives they had, correct?”
“That is correct. It is not possible.”
Stone thought of Parker and Hudson, and then he thought of his father. His request coalesced into a clear idea and then became a demand.
There was a moment of silence in his head.
“That is acceptable. We commence now.”
The mist blocking Eddie’s cell dissipated and he floated out into the room, still unconscious. Stone could move once again and ran to his father, snatching him out of the air into a strong embrace. As he basked in his father’s presence for the first time in what was actually sixteen years, the light from the pink mists faded and the room descended into total darkness.
After only a brief moment, the mists illuminated once again, filling the massive space with light. The area where Stone, Eddie, Parker, and Hudson existed a moment earlier, however, was now vacant.
THE END…FOR NOW
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