Chapter 6
Lester came out of his trance cursing. Fersia was there. She looked up from her day bed, where she had been napping, curled into a body pillow. She watched him as he packed a few belongings and put them into a bag that mysteriously seemed to lose the evidence of having just been packed.
“Pack up, we’re leaving,” Lester said.
“Why?”
“Because Jon’s and idiot,” Lester said.
“No he’s not,” Fersia said.
“You’re biased,” Lester said.
“And you’re not?”
“Pack, now,” Lester said.
Fersia got up. Packing for her was putting everything onto her daybed. She encapsulated in a bubble, the equivalent of a giant soap bubble then, shrank it to the size of a marble, and put it into her purse. Satisfied, she looked to Lester to lead. He exited the home of his host, leaving her sufficient coin to cover six months of rent. They proceeded to their kiosk. Lester began packing away his equipment.
“It amazes me nothing is never stolen,” Fersia commented.
“People don’t know the value of things,” Lester said.
“Oh!” Fersia said.
Lester came forwards. “What?!”
“That coin thing. I am sure it was just here, now it’s not,” Fersia said.
“Don’t chase it. Are you going to help pack or do I have to do it myself?” Lester asked.
Fersia shrugged. One of the displays had a table cloth. She put more items on the table and started to fold the table cloth over items. Lester emerged, stopped her, and took an item off the table.
“You can’t contain these in the same spell,” Lester said. “What’s wrong with you? Go outside, let me do this.”
Lester folded the item in a handkerchief. He then wrapped it with a gold ribbon, tied it off, dropped it into his bag. Fersia met the morning sun with a stretch, said something pleasant to passing elders on their way to their kiosks. The smell of grilled plantain was prominent. There was a loud retort from inside the tent. Light flared and oozed out like water from a surface pool that had lost containment. If it not for her cat balance, she might have stumbled over with vertigo. The light wave receded quickly and Lester emerged, apparently unscathed.
“What happened?” Fersia asked.
“Just house cleaning,” Lester said.
Lester orientated and started walking.
“The road is just over there,” Fersia said.
“We’re not going to want to use the roads,” Lester said.
“Oh,” Fersia thought about it. “Okay.” She caught up. “I like walking in nature.”
“No chasing squirrels,” Lester said.
“I like squirrels,” Fersia said.
निनमित
The floating field habitat was saucer-flower- shape, when seen from above. Parked above the forest’s canopy, from a distance it seemed remarkably natural, with growing evidence it was a constructed artifact as you grew closer to it. The closer one became the more attributes of a snowflake stood out, crystalline structures that in the right light might be invisible or laminated. The structure could have been grown, not built. The inner saucer had three levels. The center level had a platform that went around it. Four platforms extended out from the saucer, ramps that extended out and curved down, culminating in four round work areas. The saucer was above the canopy of the forest, and each of the circular platforms were in contact with the trees. They were deep enough that the branches rose above the platform. While Alish communed with the trees, Keera studied the biology of the system.
The trees were giants. Comparatively, the Redwood Sequoias of California were dwarfs. They defied any sense of Earth-based biological mechanics. The entirety of one tree transcended multiple, vertical temperature zones just due to size. Tree tops could be dusted with snow. It occupied the earth in a more substantial way, in synergist relationships with multiple species. It penetrated the earth, sometimes emerging out and into deep caverns where a duplicate form extended downwards, a mirror image in surface plant structure, but not always in precise dimensions.
The earth was honeycombed. Each chamber held a vast reservoir of life that were contained, never seeing the light of day. There was light. The upside down forest provided lights in the form of bioluminescent, and also through filaments that were the equivalent of fiber optics, transferring sunlight from the upper most canopy to the lowest. Underground, diurnal cycles matched the surface cycles. There were some species in the earth that had evolved in their own biospheres; neither the atmospheres nor the life forms were compatible with surface life. They represented conditions and times prior to the oxygen transformation, even shared common ancestors, but were as alien as from another planet. There were sentient species in the earth. There were technologically advanced species in the earth.
The forest, indigenously referred to as the Sleeping Forests, were sacred. They touched every continent. The filled deep ravines and canyons so much so that a person could transverse the distance without descending. There were places where the oceans were shallow enough that they rose from the sea. There were places where they were submerged, the leaves gone. In the place of leaves were forest of seaweed that rose to the surface. Where the tangles met, a mat was formed and flowers colored the ocean’s surface; amphibious creatures abounded.
There were species of reptiles and birds that lived their entire lives in the canopy of the trees, never touching the ground. There were insects that lived in their own specialized niche in the trees, and still were synergistically, symbiotically enmeshed. There was no shortage of life for Keera to study. The complexity of the individual specimens coupled with the complexity of the cooperative systems exceeded her capacity to grasp. Without the sentient AI helping her to map out the complexity, she would likely have defaulted to a spiritual paradigm to box it. As it was, both the AI and Alish were pushing a spiritual paradigm. Keera was open to that, and indeed the primary focus of her magical studies at Safe Haven University was about the connection between consciousness and matter- but her tendency was to map out all biological, materialistic vectors before applying the ‘overlay.’
Sparkles helped in the study. Sparkles were drones. They flew about, autonomously studying life and transmitted data to her screens. They could be manually controlled as individuals or in groups. Individuals had personalities. Specified group configurations had personalities. The totality of them had a personality.
The trees helped in the study. Technically, the tree- but most folks reverted to the plural. Every tree in the Sleeping Forest was genetically the same, regardless of world region, and they shared a root system. It was sentient. It manifested avatars. Specifically, the tree made tulpas to better interact with the world. Each tulpa had its own identity and attributes. Tree tulpas ranged from solid creatures to intangibles, like ghosts. They ranged from simple forms to highly advanced forms. Alish herself was a tree spirit, a tulpa of a tree- manifested physically for the direct purpose of attending Safe Haven University of Magic. Her relation with Jon and Loxy had taken her way beyond the landscapes of the University. They had provided her a Second Home.
An Elder Avatar had been manifesting on the platform since it’s arrival. She and Alish were frequently in communion, and were telepathically communing prior to meeting in person. There was a joy in the Elder at having realized there were others of her kind. She identified herself as Trew.
“The first people were trees from grass,” the Elder said. “The gardens were empty and so, we desired company. Over a millennia we learned to focus, and the forms we concentrated on could be manifested physically. Sometimes they were short lived. As our focused increased in duration, they lived longer. Eventually, every tree took on a spirit form of manifestation to improve its garden spot. In time, it was discovered compatible forms could be bred. They continued to exist without our focus. As time went on, we slept, allowing the offspring to carry on the work. Over time, they forget how to hear us. Periodically we would have to wake up and remind them. Periodically, there were would have to be a calibration.”
“This is the way it was in my world,” Alish said. “Only, there was a greater diversity of sentient trees. The great grass race resulted in extreme diversity. There was a great deal of competition in the beginning, before we committed to the shared path.”
“We get the sense that your friends believe they evolved without consciousness directing the path,” Trew said. Specifically, she was referring to Keera, Jon, and Lester. They recognized Loxy and Alish as one of them, because they were first generation tree tulpas made manifest. Fersia defied their understanding. She resembled a tulpa, as she exemplified a blending of forms that some trees enjoyed creating- mixing attributes of species; these kind typically could not be bred. It was explained that Fersia was human that identified as non-human, and used tulpamancy like skills to alter her form. Alish tried to explain she was human, with a cat spirit.
“Do they not have Spirit Trees to guide them?”
“They are far removed from their gardens,” Alish said. “They rarely hear the voice of the supreme sovereign. That does not mean they lacks spiritual guides.”
Trew nodded. “In the absence of that connection, balance is brought by disease. We have created viruses as a regulating agency.”
“My friends originate from a world known as Earth. I have spent some time there and have not directly heard the sovereign voice, but I have experienced subtle glimpses in the stirring of leaves and the play of light on water. There are viruses world. There has been ecological crisis, which is typical of worlds that switch from a bottoms up paradigm to a top down paradigm. I believe communication isn’t lost, it’s just changing memes,” Alish said.
Trew was silent for a good moment. She inhaled deeply, and let it out so slowly that it was imperceptible. “We have been reviewing the Gift for a millennia. We see the same evidence.
We are distressed by the outcomes on that planet,” Trew said.
“Not all planets are like Earth,” Alish said. “Most planets are in balance. Earth’s Sovereign is experimenting. It wanted to explore diversity with the least amount of intervention.
It wanted to see if the created forms would align with core values with minimum coercion.”
“How many falls has Earth experienced?” Trew asked.
“How many falls has Tamor experienced?” Alish asked.
“We love our forms. They are our children,” Trew said.
“Of course,” Alish said.
Trew stood at the edge of the bridge that led from platform to saucer. She leaned on the rails and looked over the forest’s canopy. “I love this perspective.”
“Me, too,” Alish said. “It reminds me that there wasn’t a Fall.”
“You doubt the Fall?” Trew asked. The inflection in her voice sounded irritable.
“When we were moss, the granules on the rocks seemed like stars beneath our reach. When we were grasses, the sands were boulders and the waves were walls. When we were trees, the world fell away and we hugged the clouds. Next shift in maturity, we will cut our teeth on stars,” Alish said.
Trew seemed tearful. “May we live to see the day we are so accepted.”
“You are accepted. You wouldn’t be at this juncture if you weren’t,” Alish said.
“Integration is taking longer than expected,” Trew said.
“It takes what it takes,” Alish said.
Trew pursed her lips, almost pouty, then the corners of her mouth hinted at joy. “To be schooled by someone so young, ha!” Her eyes shifted as she dropped her thought in favor of another. “Do you miss your home?”
“How can I miss that which I am never separated from?” Alish said.
Trew nodded. “You are so young. I wonder if you would answer that a millennia from now.”
Alish didn’t have a response.
“We want to know more about Jon,” Trew said. “He manifests tulpas, like a tree.”
“Like a man,” Alish laughed. “His intention to create Loxy was fortuitous. There is evidence for a subtle connection with other having influenced outcomes.”
“There is multiplicity of Jon. He exist in his origin world-line, uninterrupted from the continuity of sovereign time line. He has made tulpas of himself in the continuum?”
“The landscape of the imagined realms is as diverse as the collective unconscious, and the points where the sphere of influence of entities overlap, there can be emergence of form. Contrary to popular belief, there are places that are solidly real. He experiences this as having been created from higher intelligence, and I am not saying higher authority has influenced this, but it has been his activities as a multiplicity of individuals that has influenced the landscape. We are all multi-dimensional creatures, extending ourselves into other domains.”
Trew waved her hand dismissively. She wanted to pursue something else. “His presence here is not the derivative of unconscious manifestation,” Trew said.
“No, he didn’t bilocate here. He is an energy clone. They have a device known as a transporter, or a teleporter, that can move matter through energetic states of superposition and transfer artifacts and persons from one place to another. This device can also be made to duplicate forms. All of us agreed to this cloning process so that we can participate in your world’s acclimation, while also remaining on point with our other life vectors,” Alish said. “Our continued presence in this world was implicit in the treaty that established continuity of communication between our two universes.”
“I am aware of the commission,” Trew said. “The Underground Nations are strange to us.”
“The hybrids. Two universes joining together to create a new form, improving on communications between two distinctly alien species that might not have learned to communicate without the bridge builders,” Alish said. “The liminal people are always, by definition fringe and strange.”
“Aloof,” Trew said.
“Convergence in its time,” Alish said.
“Jon’s people use tech to do what we do with our consciousness,” Trew said. It sounded like a blending of lament and complaint.
“On my world, consciousness emerged in the form of tree. Our spirit shaped the world and we called forth forms to help improve the viability of the world. Those forms diverged and became unique, but in time they built structures that emulated the connectivity of that which brought them into being. The term used by Jon’s world for this is artificial intelligence. That terminology represents their deviation bias- because they have forgotten they, too, were once artificial. Intelligence is intelligence, there is no distinction between natural and artificial. The coming materialistic tech allows for increased consciousness, for a return to communion. We are always one, whether we know it or not.”
“Why would Jon agree to being cloned? Why did all of you agree to being cloned?” Trew asked.
Alish gave a hand gesture to the forest’s canopy, to the sun set. “Because the view from this perspective is beautiful.”
“Why Jon?”
“We don’t know,” Alish sighed. “That’s above our authority level. We know that a zero point time reference was necessary to stabilize the frequency. Per agreement, he was born into this world and died. That is a fixed event.”
“It locked us into this trajectory,” Trew said.
“It was consensus,” Alish said.
“Some of us are afraid,” Trew said.
Alish nodded, looking off, contemplating. “That seems normal. We’re orientating to a new map. Perspective. There is some darkness here that needs to be unmapped.”
“The Emissary is aloof.”
“He is aloft. He’ll be grounded in his time,” Alish said.
Trew frowned. “I want to talk about something else.”
निनमित
“K’Ma!” Tay said, running into the house. Mother was holding her brother. One month old. Bob was washing dishes. “A man just emerged from a tree.”
“Don’t be silly, dear,” Tay said.
Bob stopped washing dishes and went straight way out into the yard. Tay followed. Kea followed reluctantly. There was indeed a man in the yard, near a Sleeping Tree. Tay was interested in the floating chest. Neither Kea or Bob seemed to see the chest.
“Stay here, please,” Bob said, and marched towards the man.
“Stay put,” Kea said, and followed Bob.
Tay pouted. She watched as Bob and mother approached the stranger. The stranger bowed politely. She couldn’t make out their conversation.
“Tree-hopper?” Bob said. “Your kind still exist?”
“Anyone knowledgeable enough can navigate the tree path,” the man said. “My name is Bluester Airebrook. Would you permit me to camp in the field here?”
“What is your birth name?” Bob asked.
Bluester’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t thought about it in so long it had almost escaped him. There was sadness and joy all at once as it came to him. He bowed to Bob. “Soan Ikwogo.
Please, refrain from asking me intimate questions.”
“You maintain oath bound to respond to all questions,” Bob stated,
“I am so charged,” Bluester said. “There are some situational caveats where discernment is allowed.”
“You’re a Knight?” Bob asked.
“I was so trained,” he said.
“You seem too young to be trained by anyone from the Old Republic,” Bob said. “Even I am not that old.”
Bluester bowed, not correcting him.
“Who trained you?”
“I am older than I appear,” Bluester said. “Does it bother you? I will move on.”
“I have children in this place, and this village is peaceful,” Bob said.
“I no longer war or get involved with feuds,” Bluester said. “I merely seek a place to rest until I am reclaimed by the earth.”
“You say that, but you carry the Torch,” Bob said. “People who carry always end up using.”
“Some things can’t be relinquished once they are picked up,” Bluester said.
“May I ask you a question?” Kea asked.
Bob was startled, as if he hadn’t realized she had followed him out to the tree. Bluester bowed to her, showing acceptance to being questioned.
“What little I have read of Knights, they are always lawful. Are you lawful good, or lawful evil?” Kea asked.
“In my experience, the two are indistinguishable from the other,” Bluester said.
“Fuck me, you’re a gray?!” Bob said.
“I walk in perpetual twilight, minimizing the amplitude…” Bluester said.
“I think you should continue wawlking on…”
“Hold on,” Kea interrupted. “If you were to stay, would you give an oath of protection to us and this village?”
“Kea,” Bob said. “An oath obligates both parties and you can’t just negotiate…”
“Then get the Council out here to decide,” Kea said.
Bob seemed reluctant.
“He’s in our sphere of influence. He gets a month, doesn’t he?” Kea asked.
Bob was suddenly at a loss. “Yes,” Bob said. He turned to Bluester. “Do you want a room?”
“No, just permission to sleep here in the field,” Bluester said.
“There is a pond in back of the Inn. You may set up camp there,” Bob said.
“Thank you,” Bluester said. He headed in the direction indicated, his luggage following him.
“Do you require food or drink?”
“I require nothing. I will of course accept any charity,” Bluester said.
“You sound more like a monk than a knight,” Kea said.
“In my experience, the two are indistinguishable from the other,” Bluester said.
Bluester walked away, disappearing behind the Inn. Bob turned on Kea.
“What the hell?” Bob asked.
Kea retreated a little. Bob was visibly pained by that motion. “What do you mean?”
“He’s a stranger,” Bob said; his tone was much softer. “Who can tree hop.”
“I was a stranger,” Kea said.
“Their kind bring trouble,” Bob said.
“And I did, too,” Kea said.
“Kea, you extended charity that wasn’t yours to give. You are still a guest till the Council deems otherwise,” Bob said.
“You claimed my son as yours before the council, that doesn’t change my status?” Kea said.
Bob sighed. “It does with me,” he said. He maintained eye contact and came forward. “I experienced emotions and raised my voice at you. I will endeavor to be more sensitive.”
Kea didn’t respond. Her eyes went to the tree, to the sky, and then she turned and took the baby back inside. Tay approached Bob. He acknowledged her, but his eyes followed Kea.
“Are you mad?” Tay asked.
“It is difficult to be angry with something you don’t understand,” Bob said.
“Why didn’t you apologize?” Tay asked.
Bob seemed confused. “I did.”
“You didn’t say sorry,” Tay said.
“Saying ‘I am sorry’ for stepping on a partner’s toes while learning to dance is a meaningless phrase. It is better to specifically state the perceived failure, look for congruence and acceptance, and state a plan for remedying the failure,” Bob said.
“So, you never say sorry?” Tay asked.
“A real apology should be less ambiguous,” Bob said.
“Or, just say sorry,” Tay argued.
“Sorry, you’re right,” Bob said.
Tay smiled. “It’s okay.”
“What’s okay?”
“Ambiguity,” Tay said. She ran off to play.
“Don’t bother the stranger,” Bob called after her.
“He’s not a stranger anymore,” Tay yelled back.
निनमित
Professor Amil Sleiman stared at the equation on his blackboard, erased a portion, and inserted his perceived correction. He stepped back, staring at it, brows focused. He was so focused he didn’t hear the person come in through the open side door, or the quiet footsteps that led the intruder down to a front row seat. Amil drew furiously in the air with the chalk, like a conductor trying to beat an orchestra into compliance with his rhythm.
The intruder stood for a moment, poised with cane, and as sure of himself as Willy Wonka after the feigning of being a crippled. He was ‘tuxed’ out in a very ‘Gary-Cooperish’ sort of way. He had a pencil thin mustache. He adjusted his cape and sat down. He leaned into his cane with both hands, watching the professor, and then set his cane against the table to the right of his chair. The chain of chairs were each separated by a table, chair adjoined to table through an unseen catch. He leaned back, crossed his legs, and put his hands on a knee.
“You still got it wrong,” the intruder said.
Startled, the professor turned to face the artifact of distraction with profanity and fright, followed by anger, accusations, and then finally questions, one of which was “How the hell did you get in here!”
“Is that a question or a statement?” the intruder asked.
“Answer me!” Amil demanded.
“Yeah, okay. Um, why are you still using chalk?” the intruder asked.
“The Emissary is opposed to erasable ink…”
“Fuck the Emissary,” the intruder said.
Amil’s mouth went to an ‘oh.’ “But he’s right. A box of non-allergenic, dust free chalk, which costs 50 cents, will last two years, whereas a marker pack of five doesn’t last two weeks…”
“Sir! You don’t even live in that world,” the intruder said.
“Does that invalidate the truth of the matter?” Amil asked.
The intruder clenched his teeth. “If you want my advice, you need to get off the damn chalkboard and use a computer,” the intruder said.
“Like I can afford…”
“I will provide you with one,” the intruder said.
Amil came closer. “Who are you again?”
“Again? I haven’t told you the first time,” the intruder said.
“Who are you, Sir?!” Amil said.
“You should have led with that. We’re beyond names now that we’re mid-stream a conversation,” the intruder said. “I really hate going backwards.”
“I demand that you identify yourself,” Amil said with some authority.
The intruder seemed amused. “I am offering you tech, and you quibble about names?”
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to identify yourself than to continue this fruitless bantering?” Amil asked.
The intruder dressed a snarky smile. Eyes moved to different corners as he feigned thinking about it. “Rarely,” he said, in theatrical conclusion. He stood up, adjusted his cape, removed his hat, took off his gloves and placed them in the hat, set the hat down, adjusted his blood red hanky, dusted a shoulder, and then bowed.
“Did it ever occur to you how surreal this last fall was?” Friborg asked, as if lamenting a lost world. “I mean, there was the pandemic that decimated the world economic structure, but sufficient manufacturing capabilities that the world went on, in the midst of riots, and death, and a turnover in technology that buffered the worst of it…. Most people didn’t even notice the world had changed due to staying at home. What a sad, pathetic revolution. Statues fell, but governments didn’t. Language changed…”
“Your name?”
“Ah, yes. Good for you. Persistent.”
“Your name!”
“My name, Sir, is Professor Morlon Fribourg,”
Amil gasped. He was too ‘conditionally’ stupid or stunned to run. It wouldn’t have mattered. There were shadowy silhouettes of people blocking each egress. All the doors to the auditorium closed, without apparently being touched by human hands. A breeze stirred Fribourg’s cape and the curtains on the stage.
“Y y y you’re the adversary,” Amil stammered.
The intruder sighed. “Oh! I am insulted. That is such an unfair label. Seriously, Jon and I are like the best of friends,” Fribourg said.
“Is that true?” Amil said.
“Sir, I am magically bound to only speak truth,” Fribourg said. “Jon and I go way back.
Hypothetically, though, even if we were family and diametrically, philosophically, and politically opposed, would that marginalize my existence? Is it right to disenfranchise a person from personhood because they’re not in accord with an esteemed archetype? Did you read that other book? The one where God and the devil communed on a regular basis?”
“That has always disturbed me,” Amil said. “That poor fellow Job…”
“You are misreading that story, too. If Job was never tested, how would he know where he stands with God? It was all restored to him in the end,” Fribourg said.
“No, actually, it wasn’t. His dead wife and children were still dead. From their perspective, was it right that they suffered so the one they love could be tested? And though he got remarried and had more children, not only did he not get his loved ones back, but it didn’t really end all suffering. He would either live long enough to watch his new wife age and die, or see whatever potential misfortunes befell his new children, or would ultimately experience his decline causing his family to suffer,” Amil said. “He and his loved ones were not given a moratorium on suffering for all eternity. His compensation for suffering was a reset to experience more suffering.”
“Good points. But it is in your suffering that you find out who you are,” Fribourg said.
“I don’t have an argument for this…” Amil said.
“Yeah, Autism sucks. Good at rocket science, bad at social science. And judging by your numbers, bad at rocket science. Look, good cop-bad bop, moms and dads, light and dark, black and white, male and female-both sides of continuum are necessary for maturation to occur,”
Fribourg said. “But again, that’s only if we’re having an academic, philosophical conversation.
You and me in a room talking. That’s just talk.”
Amil bit his lip, forcing himself not to affirm the apparent validity of that. In argument occurred to him.
“The duality paradigm suggested we are only two dimensional beings. We are multidimensional beings. We have breadth and width and height and a temporal sense and likely eject and collect rays into and from unseen dimensions,” Amil said.
“Astute. So, you accept this innocuous, academic encounter?” Fribourg asked.
“What do you want with me?” Amil asked.
“Your soul,” Fribourg said, frighteningly.
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