12: Salvation in the Nether

Everything I had read, watched, heard, documented, notated, and seen swam in my head as my body gave up my mind to the mental darkness of sleep. In my minds eye, there was light again, glorious light, and within the light was something I did not understand. It had been in the vault, contained in every object inside of it, hidden within codes, ciphers, and patterns. I had been so focused on recording that I had made no attempt to decode, but my mind had not been so idle, nor was it idle now.

As I drifted inside the light, my subconscious mind navigated through everything it had analyzed while my waking mind had been busy, at work with my pencil and my paper. I looked out upon a vast landscape of chaos; nothing made sense, nothing was in its proper place, but in the centre of it all was the answer. The answer to what, I had no idea, but it was important, possibly more important than anything I had ever done. Why had he brought me here?

Floating on the winds of my mind's eye, I flew through news reels parading as DaVinci master pieces parading as country music parading as Greek tragedies parading as...??? Everything was jumbled, disorganized, and flying all around me in the light. As my mind began to disconnect from my body, I saw myself from outside, reaching for something reaching for me – the answer lay beyond, out of reach – but I was chained to a memory that held me back. I realized that I would never be whole again, unless I broke those chains and embraced the thing I was headed towards. Clawing my way through the tumult around me, I grasped myself in my hands and pulled myself inside my head. It was time to break the chains.

* * *

Feverish dreams came, borne of hunger and despair: a grassy grove, hidden amongst tall, leafy trees on a sunny afternoon. A breeze blew in from the sparkling blue sea just over the next low ridge, bringing a hint of refreshing air with it. Noal half-lay on a thick blanket, soaking up the warmth of the day, as though there were nothing at all wrong with the world, and all was at peace. In front of him sat a wicker picnic basket, whose contents he knew were special – something worth waiting for, to be savoured and enjoyed. To side lay one of the most beautiful sights he could imagine; Naomy’s olive smile beamed up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. He loved her – he knew that now – and she loved him. It had been this way for a long time now, so why had he never acted upon his feelings for her? She was waiting for him, he knew that too.

Something stirred on his other side, and he turned to see something equally beautiful, but different; Lara looked at him, a question in her eyes. Suddenly he couldn’t bear those eyes – eyes that he had loved and cherished, it seemed in a previous life. And yet he had never been able to escape his guilt that she had died, and he had done nothing to stop it. How could he ever love another woman – it would be a betrayal to Lara’s memory, surely.

Lara smiled at him, her mouth phasing the question he had been watching in her eyes. “Why, my love?”

“Why what?” Noal answered.

“Why are you still hanging on to me?” his dead wife replied, “I have gone to a better place, and yet you use my memory as a prison. Let go, my husband; your misery does pays no honour to my memory. Go, and be happy again.” With that, Lara stood and walked over the ridge.

Tear poured down Noal’s face as he turned back towards Naomy, still smiling at him from her place on the blanket. “I love you Naomy, and I’m sorry it took me so long to say that,” he said, struggling to find his voice. All his guilt and reticence had disappeared in that moment, and he suddenly found himself smiling about his future. Wait a minute… what about the future? Trees and grass? Nobody has seen those in a hundred and fifty years… The thought evacuated his mind as Naomy was suddenly draped over him, kissing him with a passion that belied her normally reserved nature.

“It’s time to wake up, my love,” she whispered, her eyes becoming two glowing points of yellow light as the idyllic scenery faded into blackness. “Wake up… Wake up…”

* * *

The world was blackness again, the trees and grass having disappeared, replaced with the hard, oily dirty beneath him, refreshing breeze replaced by the sharp tang of an empty oil reservoir. Twin points of yellow light signaled to him out of the darkness; their origin was unknown, but welcome. They were moving away from him.

He tried to shout out, but his voice, at first escaped him, and all he managed was a low grunt. He tried again and eventually managed a hoarse croak of “Help!” The lights stopped moving away and seemed to backtrack, stopping a few feet from his prone form, where they proceeded to gently swing, as if alive. A grubby man’s face was suddenly looking down upon him, hazily illuminated by the swaying lights beside him.

“Can you talk, stranger?” the dirty face asked.

Noal nodded, managing to gasp something vaguely affirmative.

“Here, drink this,” said the man, pushing a flask against Noal’s lips. Whatever it was that came from inside, it burned like swallowing fire, but Noal felt better after drinking it. “If those administrators are bringing people out here now, we’re gon’ have to send out more search n’ rescuers,” Noal’s rescuer continued, “Listen, you probably have a lot of questions you’d like to ask, but you’re in no condition to ask ‘em, and I’m in no position to answer any ‘til the head sees to you.”

“Wait…” Noal gurgled.

“No time to wait, now, stranger; you’ll be out cold in a minute, thanks to the sleeping juice you just drank, and we’ll need to get some grub into you ‘fore anything else.” The man started to drag Noal towards the two lights, which he saw to come from some kind of torch attached to… a pack-animal? He must have been hungrier than he’d realized. “You just go to sleep now.”

Noal felt unconsciousness seeping over him for the third time in short span, and realized he had no strength to fight against it. Oh no, not again… he thought, slipping into a warm, dreamless sleep.

Another man was looking over him when he woke this time, broad-shouldered and dark-skinned, with a black goatee and a bald head. “Welcome back,” he said, warmly.

“Welcome back to what?” asked Noal, finding his voice much recovered.

The black man shrugged, “Consciousness, I guess. How are you feeling?”

Noal’s stomach rumbled in answer. “Hungry,” Noal replied.

“That’s a good sign. Some food is being brought right now.” The man leaned back to sit in a rickety chair beside the pallet Noal was lying on. “My name is Nigel; they call me the ‘Head’ around here, I guess because they think I’m their leader. I go along with it for the most part.” He grinned. “I know you probably have a lot of questions for me, which I would be happy to answer, if you wouldn’t mind answering a few of mine first.”

“Go ahead,” said Noal.

”Good. First I’d like to know your name.”

“Noal. Noal Silver,” Noal answered.

“And which level are you from, Noal is it?”

Noal nodded, “None, actually. I’m from the Codex with two friends; we were here on… business, you might say.”

Nigel looked confused by this, “Puzzling,” he said, “They don’t usually cast-out non-citizens.”

“They? Who’s they? Nobody cast me out of anything!” Noal exclaimed.

“They are the administrators – the ones who put you here,” Nigel tried to explain.

Noal shook his head adamantly, “I wasn’t brought here by any administrators,” he insisted, “It is a bit of a mystery to me how I ended up all the way out here, but it had nothing to do any city officials that I know of.”

“If not the administrators, then who?”

Noal took an angry breath, “The goddamned Hunterwraith, that’s who.”

Nigel leapt to his feet in alarm, his dark face suddenly pale, “Hunterwraith? The white demon? The one who stalks in the dark as though it were the light?” The man looked like he was about to break out in a cold sweat. “How do you know him, Noal Silver from the Codex? Are you his messenger?”

Noal sat up, his eyes burning holes in the back of Nigel’s head, “I came here to kill that rat-bastard,” he stated, coldly, “And he brought me out here, instead. I don’t know exactly why.” Noal considered telling Nigel about the vault, but thought better of the length explanation that would surely follow.

“But he didn’t kill you,” said the Head, slowly taking back his seat, “That means he needs you for something. Do you know what it is?”

“No,” said Noal, emphatically, “Probably just to continue tormenting me. Six years ago he killed my wife and my two best friends, and left me frozen up to my thighs in the shell,” Nigel eyed Noal’s mechanical legs, “And it has been my greatest ambition to hunt him down and put him out of the world’s misery. He won this round, obviously, but there will be others.”

Nigel sighed. “You’ve given me much to think on, but that is enough questions for now.”

“Mind if I ask a few now?”

“Of course, of course,” said Nigel, “What would you like to know?”

“For starters, who the hell are you people?”

“We are – for lack of a better word – outcasts,” Nigel answered. “When the administrators of New Babylon wish to… eliminate somebody, but cannot afford to make a martyr out of them, they are sent here, to the nether. If they are lucky, we find them; if they are not lucky, then they usually die.”

“Outcasts?” Noal shook his head, “How long have you been here?”

“A long time,” said Nigel, “I, myself, am third generation, but there are other families who can trace their lineage farther back than I.”

“Three generations? You mean there have been people living out here for fifty or sixty years?” asked Noal, incredulously.

“Much longer than that, actually, but I couldn’t tell you for sure how long,” Nigel smiled, “We have no reason to account for time as stringently as some people.” He got up to briefly peek out of what Noal realized to be a tent-flap. “Ah, the meal is ready! Can you walk a short distance to a bench outside?”

“I think I’ll make it,” said Noal, “It’s either that or I hike all the way back to New Babylon; either way, I’m getting some food!” Noal picked himself up off the pallet and ducked under the tent-flap into the darkness outside. “It’s always night here,” he commented, gingerly taking a seat next to a small fire a few feet from the tent.

“That may be, stranger,” said a familiar grubby face from over the cook-pot, “but at least it’s warm and aberrant-free!” It was the man who had rescued him.

“Hey, I wanted to thank you for saving my life,” said Noal.

“Oh? Nah, never you mind, I’m just glad I passed by you when I did!” said the grubby man, pass Noal a makeshift bowl full of something of the stew variety. “When I heard a croaking voice out in the stretch I thought I’d lost my mind! Thought I’d do what I could to disprove that theory – lucky for you eh?”

“Lucky, yeah,” Noal agreed. He took a bite of his stew, not expecting much, and found it surprisingly savoury and wholesome-tasting. It made the food in New Babylon seem like processed garbage by comparison. The other faces around the fire bowed their heads and gave thanks, then joined in. “You have to tell where you get food like this!” Noal exclaimed, “I can’t imagine anything grows down here.”

“No, you certainly wouldn’t think so, would you?” said Nigel, “But it does, somehow, out in the stretch. Fields and fields of crops, and even herds of livestock. And the funny thing about it is that no one ever knew where it came from. When the first outcasts ended up out here they were sure they would die, so they started wandering aimlessly, praying to God for some kind of deliverance. After a few days of this, they felt themselves walking through leafy vegetation and discovered the garden, already full of food to be harvested.”

“Seriously?” Noal couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “What about the livestock?”

“Same thing,” Nigel answered, “A few days after they had started their harvesting, an animal just walks right through the garden with no warning and no apparent place of origin. It refused to be caught, however, and they ended up chasing it a short distance to where an entire herd of its kind were just standing, waiting for someone to claim them.”

“That’s an incredible story,” said Noal, “I’m surprised the administrators haven’t taken it all away from you by now.”

“The administrators don’t know about it,” said a middle-aged woman on the other side of the fire-pit, “Everyone knows we’re out here, but they all believe we’re a pack of barely-human creatures subsisting on mud and babies. Parents in Babylon tell ghost stories about us to their children – ‘you’d better behave, or the outcasts will get you!’”

“How do you know all this?” asked Noal?

“Not all of us were born in the nether,” the lady replied, “I was going to be an administrator myself, until I came into information that I wasn’t supposed to see, and they disposed of me to protect themselves. I’ve been here eight years, now.”

Nigel stood, getting the attention of those around the fire with an upraised hand. “Everyone, I think some introductions are in order. You all heard that Mik had brought in a strange from the stretch, and now you have had a chance to meet him briefly,” he gestured to Noal, “His name is Noal Silver, and he is our guest here.” He turned to gesture toward the circle, huddled around the small fire, speaking to Noal. “Around the fire are Mik, Jens, Mirella, Jakob, Ryron, Layla, Rouel, Lata, Zail, and Marke.”

“Only ten of you,” said Noal, “Is this everybody?”

Nigel had a good laugh at that, “You mean all of the outcasts? Hardly! These are just my close advisors.” The square-shouldered man led Noal away from the fire to look over a ridge surrounding his camp. In the blackness Noal could see the light of more fires than he could count.

“There must be thousands of people down there! How is this possible?”

“The lord has blessed us, Noal,” Nigel explained, “There is very little sickness or death here, and many children.”

They returned to the fire, and Nigel continued his explanation of the days events. “Despite what you are all probably thinking, he was not brought here by the administrators, but by the dark-stalker.”

The circle erupted with voices all talking and asking questions on top of one another. Nigel quieted them again, “It is my belief that the stalker left him here purposely, knowing that we would find him. I do not know, nor does mister Silver, the reasons for this, but it is clear to me that our guest is someone special. I have felt a strong call to return him to New Babylon so that he may continue his important work at his home in the Codex.”

“How are we supposed to get him back inside?” said a diminutive man beside the cook.

“There are ways that have been discussed before,” said a dark-skinned woman across from him.

“Indeed, there are possibilities,” said Nigel, “And we must find the best one, and quickly. We have all felt, in our meditations, that a shift was coming upon us, and upon the world. And we have also discerned that the dark-stalker has a part to play. I believe that these things are now coming to pass, and we must aid in any way we can.”

“Wait a minute – meditations?” asked Noal, incredulously, “You believe that God is telling you something about my situation?”

“Not telling,” said Nigel, “Has told. We've known something was coming for a long time, we just didn't know what it was. Now we do.”

Noal shrugged, “Well... alright. I'll have to trust you on that.”

“I have no problem with that,” said Nigel, “Does anybody else?” The others shook their heads. “We need not try to talk you into believing in something that you do not already – that is not our job – if you are to believe it, it will be because God has revealed secrets to you, personally, and not from anything we could say.”

“I see,” said Noal, “You're not like any religious people I've ever met before. Those Christianist priests are always wanting me to 'turn or burn'. And usually they plan on doing the burning themselves.”

“Well we are not going to burn you,” Nigel assured him. “And now one question remains, now that you have escaped from the lion's den: how do we get you back in?”