Related by Lora, Twilit Majz of Many Generations
 

Three days had passed since Pon and the Harmonizers had died. 

Xexra and the Organics organized an immense funeral celebration for Pon. He was the greatest hero of his people, the 10,000 year Messiah, the Great Deliverer. No effort was spared to honor his choices, his many sufferings, his final terrible sacrifice. They wanted to laud Zygon and I as well. They wanted to bear us aloft on a great palanquin on their shoulders from the deepest recesses of the Caves of Waiting – that was their name for this place in which they had sheltered from the predations of the Purics for 10,000 long years of suffering – to the hidden entrance to the surface, then out, out into the open air – a symbol of their final freedom, so dearly bought.

I sat on the edges of their preparations, watching, sunk in a deep state of emotional turmoil. I needed to mourn, to scream, to flagellate myself, to hate the Universe, Time, Pon and his selfless heroism, all the implacable unchangeables that had mass driven events to this bizarre, bitter end. I needed to forgive and forget, but that would happen much, much later – definitely not today. While I was wallowing, Zygon watched in quiet bemusement. He had ferried the surviving members of the team who had destroyed the Puric genetic banks home. Twenty-five went in, three came out alive. The rest had been captured or killed by the Purics. He didn’t ask me how I thought he must feel, given all that had happened. Maybe he felt exactly as I did. I was too self-involved to ask how he felt right then and there. Time was on my side, or so I thought.

I wandered down toward the Place of Fire. My feet just took me there, like I knew where I was going. Some part of my brain did – the part that was still lucid – the part that had the surest access to memory of any parts of my brain. I needed the quiet there, to lay on a barque and just float on the cool waters staring up at nothing in particular. I never got the chance. I made it to water’s edge just in time to be accosted by a crowd of Organics informing me ‘it was time!’ 

They put me on a barque alright, ferried me to the island in the center of the underground lake, ritually bathed me, placed beautiful scents in my hair, on all parts of my body, dressed me in silver and gold flowing silk, told me how beautiful I was for an alien. In fact, they kissed every square inch of my body. The worship in their eyes was seductive. For sick moments I felt filled with an obscene power. I fought against the strength of their worship. I knew from my father’s many lectures such emotions were dangerous for everyone concerned. I kept his stern face and implacable dictates in my thoughts – my lodestone to true north reality – the only place I really wanted to be.

They led me forth. I saw Zygon there. They had clearly kissed every square inch of him as well, had hung decorations from his many morae. He looked like a silver Christmas tree. As I came up beside him, I placed my hand on his smooth, cool flesh. He reached out and smacked me right in the middle of the forehead with one of his morae. I fell into the liquid interface. His mind and mine became one. I felt so at home there in him. The sense of comfort overwhelmed me and I began to weep. 

“Silly creature,” he laughed. “We have prevailed, yet you suffer so! Humans are contrary in the extreme!”

“You look like a Christmas tree,” I diverted, because I needed to be contrary without self-examination, at least for awhile.

“A what,” he laughed.

“Never mind,” I said, suddenly too weary to explain. “Search my mind for what I mean if you wish,” I said, slumping down on the ground beside him. 

The Organics were having none of that. 

“Arise, Lady,” one of them said gently. He helped me up and then guided me ever so respectfully to the palanquin that would bear me to the surface. We broke interface as Zygon was placed on his own palanquin. I was alone again. 

A third palanquin was placed in between Zygon’s and mine. Upon it a likeness of Pon was placed, robed in silk, draped in shimmering silver jewelry, surrounded by the symbols most sacred to his people. When his likeness was secured, the Procession began. 

We processed slowly up through the long corridors. All along the way incense was burning, as well as thousands of tiny torches. The Organics were gathered on either side of our path, swaying, chanting, cheering wildly as we passed. As we passed they fell in line behind us and began to follow. Looking back as we neared the surface I guessed there were almost 50,000 Iglendas. This was all that was left of their sect. Somewhere in the back of my brain I wondered how many Purics were left. As we emerged into the blinding light of a late afternoon all my thoughts evaporated. I felt dizzy.

We were carried out into a large clearing in the midst of a dense forest. I looked up at the sky. It was an intense blue, streaked with high-flying sirrus clouds. There was a light breeze. The air was fragrant with the breath of trees. Continuing my scan of the surroundings, I noted we were in a high mountain valley. White peaks shone all around us. 

“What a beautiful place,” I thought. 

The Igendas began to chant in unison, a melody of surpassing power, both sorrowful and heroic. I let their voices surge through me. They filled me with a sense of grandeur and hope. Some of my confusion and sorrow was dislodged, fell away from me like dirt falls away from skin washed by clean water. I felt a smile beginning to well up. It would break the surface of my mouth at any moment. I let the hope of the Iglendas in. The smile broke. My chest opened wide. My heart flew up. In that moment I forgave Pon. I forgave myself. I let love, the surety of salvation, and hope for the future be my reality.

Somewhere off to my right I heard a loud crack, then a roar of confusion spreading through the masses of Iglendas. Then, off to my left came the sound of an explosion. There were screams. I looked wildly around to see the Iglendas running in panic. From the woods Purics were springing. They were lobbing grenade-like weapons. Many explosions followed. In the confusion, the bearers of our palanquins put us down. I could no longer see above the crowd. I looked around wildly for Zygon. He was beset by six Purics who were methodically hacking him to bits. 

“So, this is how it ends,” some part of my brain sighed, just as an Organic grabbed me and began dragging me back toward the entrance to the Caves of Waiting. 

The cacophonic crashing of shock, agony, and hope in my chest overwhelmed me. I jerked free, ran at the Purics hacking Zygon. I crashed into them, wrenched a weapon free, began hacking away at them. I was screeching like my Celtic women ancestors of old, the ancient fire of vengeance filling me with unnatural strength. My would-be Organic rescuers, spurred on by my reckless abandon followed suit. In short order we had reduced Zygon’s murderers to quivering masses of red goo. The world spun around us, out of control.

Whoever I had been lay on the ground bleeding with Zygon. Whoever it was I would become lay in a future three seconds hence, yet too far away to imagine.
 
 

to be continued...
 
 

We always appreciate your feedback!