Defenestrate The Masses
Heal Thyself
Edward looked around the vast hall, and to where he was chained to a running rail that confined him to a tight area. The windows were nearly as tall as the room, allowing tantalising glimpses of the City now abandoned for self preservation and knowledge.
He hadn’t gone quietly into the dark though. His thinking was sound, based on the assumption that he would ever be hunted by Devereaux and his minions - the second sound reason being it was better to be compliant and working toward a solution than being forced and limited in resource. He intended to discover the truth while attempting to hide it from his degraders and captors. It would become increasingly difficult, assuming the reason he was in such a large, observable room was that he had little to hide.
The rail he was chained to led round the almost circle where the Volumes were displayed on lecterns upon plinths. Edward could view the books, but he could not remove them. From the gap in the circle, a straight line led to a desk, now covered in papers of sketches, lists and crossed out summations by Edward’s conception of what the Volumes meant. On the run up to the desk, on parallel sides, were mountains of source materials and references, intended for the aid of interpretation, sitting numerously in a long bookcase-like set of storage shelves, akin to the ones Axon Dendrite had in his store room. The books contained detailed blueprints of important areas of the Pyramid - not as it was, but as it was intended to be. The words, the ideas, the hand of the Builders, all written and phrased in their own inimitable way, using their own cryptic language to demonstrate their concepts.
Edward would occasionally take to staring out of the windows, mostly to help in imagination for the interpretation of the words of the Builders, but sometimes simply to view the natural beauty the City contained under the skin of corruption and rot; the fantastical geometry contained in the minds of the Builders, and how they imagined and created those lines, the buildings and the world. Because he could see the Pyramid from his vantage point, Edward knew he was ensconced in the Black Dog Collectors building, mid-storey. The room was slightly higher than the Skyport, but it was possible to make out all the comings and goings, the vehicles that took to the sky, in defiance of gravity, joining the slipstream of the ascending Gasten. To the left, and some distance away, Edward could make out the Observatory, white domed and ever searching the sky, the Wilderness between the Wandering and the old City, and a considerable distance away sat in soft focus the grand folly - the Lighthouse.
Edward was headlong into the first Volume, “The Spirit and the Self”. He had already pushed hard into the text, the pictures and the words. So far, his interpretation was that this was all theory, akin to the ideals the Builders searched to obtain. They knew the participation of the people was essential to their plans, but their intentions were just. They had high ideals, surely, but nothing unobtainable - if the people complied, that is. More investigation into some similarities in the books meant it wasn’t a simple matter of one book and done, then on to the next. There were common themes and concepts that spanned a number of Volumes, which mean a back and forth dalliance with the words. Each book contained a hidden verse, seemingly only readable by Edward. He wasn’t sure how much he should share with his captors, so he would commit them to memory in the short term until he could ascertain if he would be compromised if and when he revealed them. He knew he was only viable as long as the Great Item’s location was a mystery. He gave as much as he felt comfortable with - no more no less - to keep the rod from his back.
The verse in the first book read, “Never letting go or doomed to repeat That which once came, Where we learned from defeat; Having passion for that to be, But what was, we thankfully greet.” The wisdom escaped Edward for the time being, but he was short on his journey into the investigation and discovery. The road ahead would be long and tedious, but the outcome, hopefully, would be worth the trip.
Edward was interrupted then by a familiar voice and a familiar sound, “Edward! So glad you agreed to this! It’s so much easier this way, isn’t it? I mean, you both want the same thing, you and Daedalus? Oh, and I brought you a couple of friends from home.” Huginn cawed, while Muninn clanked.
“You went to my home for those?” Edward wasn’t sure if he was happy or scared for the people of the Wedge when Helena Romaine had gone to his home and extracted the birds.
“I thought you could do with the company, Edward.” Helena placed the two mechanical birds on the desk. She looked curiously through the extensive notes Edward had been keeping, “I see you’ve been busy.” She looked up, smiling and advanced on Edward, cupping his left cheek in her hand. Edward flinched a little, “Don’t look so scared? We are to work together. Won’t that be pleasurable?” Helena ambled to one of the books on its lectern, leafing through the stiffened pages randomly.
“Please, I had those at the correct pages I need to – “
“Oh, calm down, Edward dear. It’s not like it’s a matter of life and death, is it? Oh.” Helena smiled again, this time cutting deeply into Edward’s soul, “I shall return shortly. Then we start on this mystery, with avid yet reckless abandon - shall we not, Edward?”
“There is nothing to be gained in that enterprise.” squawked Huginn, its Brother merely rattling in agreement.
“Never a truer word spoken.” muttered Edward in reply to the retreating figure of Helena Romaine.
When Helena Romaine returned, Edward had turned to the second book, “Attrition of the Soul”. It displayed at its core the blueprints for the Power Room, deep in the bowels of the Pyramid. If Conrad Miller could see where Edward was now, would he be proud or deeply saddened? It came to something when he blamed the creator for his predicament. Perhaps Conrad would be a little disappointed, but Edward blaming him for his situation was as ridiculous as the situation itself. How could Conrad have foreseen this? This was circumstance, not destiny. There must have been an unmistakable look in Edward’s gaze at Helena that compelled her to speak.
“I told you, don’t look so scared. We both want the same thing, although for different reasons. You want to know the truth, fulfil a destiny laid out for you. I serve Daedalus. He wants the Great Item.”
“How could you look into my eyes and deal such underhand tactics?”
“You confuse me with him, Edward. I am on your side, but yet I am compelled to serve him. Don’t worry so! I have revealed nothing of our adventure. Believe it or not, I care deeply for you, Edward.”
“You have an odd way of showing it.”
“I have my secrets, my methods - you have yours. Such as your passenger up there in your head. The Rook has done much to pain people, yet it is also a force for good. Am I not also to be afforded such respect? Am I also not to be viewed as a force for good, but constrained by my loyalty to Devereaux? Edward, you need to learn to love the simple things. Sure, we all have flaws to overcome, and there are consequences to actions, but universal truths will out. We all desire things for our own personal reasons, and more often than not we are better than we think we are. But this I know; it is better to be nice when it matters most and that if we are unlucky but hopeful, loyal to the end, then we have all that we need. I didn’t bring you the birds so as to torture you. I brought them as a sign of good will. I assumed you would be grateful for the company? My intentions were good, even if it seems within my nature to appear contrite and complicit in someone else’s game. Broadly and honestly speaking, Edward, I do this to soothe my own soul. There was much promised when I was brought here. I gave myself to the Black Dog. Now I reap the discomfort. That said, I intend no harm to you, and would not entertain such actions as long as I am here. I told him I would not allow him to flog you, harass you or force you, simply that if you complied with the request to join you would be afforded the time and resources you would need to complete this story.”
“There is much truth in the words of the meddler.” whirred Huginn.
“What does the bird mean?” asked Helena.
“Sometimes the bird just speaks. It is mechanical. Gears and wires. I don’t think it has intentions.” shrugged Edward.
“Never ending search to attain Such noble pursuits as loss of pain, Or tendering a notion to Happiness in all its forms, From love of one or family both To universal feeling of absolute accepting.”
“What?” Edward turned sharply.
“It’s what you wrote on this paper.” Helena held up the paper as evidence, “Something from the book? I couldn’t see a verse inside?”
Edward had to think hard on his feet. Foolishly and without due care, he had written down that which he intended to keep inviolate. Truth would out, so he decided to fulfil it, “Yes. It was hidden in some text in this second Volume.”
“Are there more?”
“In this one, no.” She seemed satisfied with the answer, rereading the verse to herself.
“High ideals, to be sure. The one who wrote that verse certainly believed in the plans for advancement. What they mean, if a hidden symbolism lies within, I cannot ascertain. Keep looking, Edward. Perhaps there are more, or the interpretation to this one will reveal itself.”
Edward didn’t reply, but kept from Helena’s viewing, lest his thumping chest showed his deception, his face filling red from blood pressure.
The long silence was broken by a confusing question laid out by Helena, “Tell me, Edward, have you ever felt the comfort of a woman? Intimately, I mean?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity. Well, have you?”
“As if it matters - no.”
“Perhaps we could change that.” Edward couldn’t help a glance at Helena, who smiled wickedly back.
“I don’t think it would be appropriate – “
“Appropriate be damned. Let’s have a little fun.” Helena advanced coquettishly. Edward was powerless to resist.
Despite himself, his own reservations, the need for another was too strong. Their relationship took on a physical aspect beyond Edward’s experience, tagged with a closeness that was hard to escape, when her soft warm body, gently curved, sank against his, the feeling of another person, let alone a sexual woman like Helena, was too much to push away. He desired it, no less, for the sharing of the intimacy. There had so far been no sexual element to it, but much touching and caressing had bought Edward’s soul. Edward desired acceptance, and Helena provided it. She took him over, completely. If only he wasn’t so smitten perhaps he would have noticed earlier how it was a little too perfect, the way Helena fit into the role of companion so fully.
The third Volume, “Begin the Revolution”, held advanced plans and concepts for the Viewing Room of the Pyramid’s three quarter level platform showing the City in doused light - a soft focus somehow applied to the room’s high windows that made the it look like a glass house, with artist’s renderings in three dimensions of specific areas of the City beneath glass lids of white sided boxes in uniform stances dotted around the floor, showing the intention of the Builders, so the viewer could admire the finished product. Perhaps once they coincided, but now the miniature buildings shone the ideal, while in the outside, the building had corrupted like the plans the Builders once had.
Hidden in the plans was another verse, “Still was broken from passionate voices, Ever and always catching the ear, Telling tales of those above Who, exalted, build their promise towers.” This made sense - that the Builders had their concepts, or their Promise Towers. Maybe they just lost touch with the common man, exalted as they were, bound to listen to each other, assuming they knew better than the common man. It was often so that the government corrupted when those in power saw themselves as something above that common man. Perhaps this was reaching for Edward, knowing the first hand accounts by Conrad elsewhere in these Volumes, that the Builders were benevolent, not power hungry. It was the Black Dog - the corruption of Daedalus Devereaux and his ilk that settled their feet in the over worthy offices of the Builders of the world. It seemed once the rot started, nothing could stop it growing. Did the Builders even try? Or was it beyond their capacity to believe that self destruction was an option? The City would eat itself alive because of Devereaux. Was power that much of a desire, enough to allow the City to fall in on itself? Perhaps it was a sense of act now, repent at leisure. The only problem with that concept was that once the rot set in, cleaning it away was virtually impossible.
If this all went right and how Edward hoped it would, the world would rise again to high ideals, built on the bones of that decay. There seemed no other way. The once firm stanchions were now warped and rusted. Hope tethered to the desire that they remained strong enough to hold the world anew once the solution was reached. That goal was becoming increasingly haggard, due to the emotional draw Helena had on Edward. She yet pulled him into distraction.
#
Edward rattled around his rail, trying to prevent stiffness in his joints. The Rook was uneasy and the birds Huginn and Muninn were unusually quiet. Even Edward’s own mind had a few issues, causing him to take a break while staring randomly at the City through the windows.
The Skyport opposite was less busy than it would often be. The Lighthouse was crowned with birds and a deep dark sky held firmly onto the horizon. Edward was about to start disseminating the clues and syntax of the fourth Volume, “Mechanic Mouthpiece”, when the queasiness tugged at his concentration, pulling him from the intricacies of the hunt. There were portions of the other Volumes that still eluded him, still a point of contention, still requiring the further drawing through the complicated codes and numbers to find the meaning intended to advance to the end - a never ending collection of plans and lines, full of artificial meaning, hidden text and red herrings meant to obviously deceive the casual observer. But Helena was ever there, at his shoulder, looking through his eyes at what he investigated. It started to come to a head when she arrived one morning with a message.
“Please, it doesn’t come from me, but I have been instructed to inform you that restrictions will start to be placed on you if you don’t work harder. Oh, I am so sorry Edward. What if he is jealous of us? What if he wants to break us up? I don’t think I could stand that.”
“It won’t come to that.” Edward surprised himself with his words. She was truly under his skin.
Helena grasped him by the arm, “I have to say, I have a deep fondness for you, Edward.”
“And I for you, Helena.”
“Then work harder, or we will be separated.”
“I work all the time I have, Helena.”
“Then perhaps you should share the workload. Give me more of what you have found and I can work through it to see the meaning, relay it back to you?” she smiled, pulling Edwards face so he could see the sincerity in her face, “I don’t know, perhaps you need to let others know your progress? Those behind this have lived on faith these past weeks, you know?”
“Which is it, Helena? Do you seek it so we are together, or so the captors have a closeness to the answer? I complied with the best of intentions, for the good of the City. Let me work so I can find that solution we both need?”
“I seek only what’s best for you, of course, Edward.” With that, Helena withdrew. Suspicion crept into Edwards mind; really, why was she doing this?
The Volume pulled now at his attention. The plans were that of what they called a Creation Room. It seemed to be meant as a place of creativity, with things to inspire, instruments to create and resources for the bright minded. The Builders were all inclusive, taking ideas from everywhere, keeping the community spirit alive, understanding humans as social creatures. It required of the village to raise the child, due to a bodily necessity of the species. Edward however had to remind himself he was not born, but created, even if his motivations lay akin to those from the womb.
“At once, Both old and new And to a point, Geometrically it stretches. Bottomed out, It is larger than The summation of its parts, Centred at And surrounded by A concept built on making.” He was closer. Edward was gaining on the hunt, coming closer to the solution. It wasn’t something he could put into words yet, but that part in the back of his mind reminded him this was good, this was becoming clear, and soon the answer would become clearer, enough to read or interpret. There was a feeling it was right, and it behooved Edward to listen to his inner voices. They rarely steered him wrong.
Then a picture of Helena crept into his head. In the end, as it had often been said - if only in his own mind - was Helena too good to be true? So what were her motivations? And how would they affect the outcome? Had he become too naïve, or really was she simply stuck in the same grooves of a record she couldn’t skip, with good intentions but a cracked vocabulary?
At the moment, Edward didn't have the answers. So he continued his work in earnest.
No comments:
Post a Comment