Sunday 20 May 2012

Chapter Two: Sacrifice

The descent seemed to take forever and Amanda held on to the rusty iron ladder as tight as she could, gingerly taking a step at a time, forcing herself not to look down. The others must be a long way below her. Stagnant water dripped on her face smearing her body with brownish stains and lianas like solidified muscle blocked her way. With a horrible lurch in her stomach, taking her completely by surprise because she was fixedly staring at the moist stone between the bars of the ladder, these blockages of her downward path made her lose her footing. She grasped unsteadily with her two hands, almost slipping away into the void. But then something unexpected happened.
At some imperceptible point she felt she was moving upwards rather then downwards. She stood still, disorientated and faint, her heart beating. Gradually she craned her neck to look up and with a shock she spotted far above the blue suited figure of Camilla and the walking corpse with Moonbeam draped over his shoulders.
They neared the rounded end of the well, blue sky peering through disintegrating masonry above the lip. Amanda had indeed switched from climbing down to climbing up.
Sweat from her forehead flowing into her eyes, her arms and legs aching, Amanda continued her ascent. With a deep sense of relief she clambered over the broken lip of the well and defiantly rested herself against its uneven surface, not caring if the others went on without her.
Exhaustion clouded her mind but it was not long before regrets once again entered her head. She was really envying her other self now, safe with her father in the real world, while she explored unknown regions. Amanda had no idea where she was going or for what purpose. Maybe she was being lead to her doom. She had seen marvels filling her with loathing but also with fascination and excitement. Her hatred towards Moonbeam and her dislike of Lucius was rewarded by seeing them reduced to puppets under the control of Camilla. But what was her role she kept thinking, over and over; was she a pawn in a game (whatever the game was), a mannequin like Lucius and Moonbeam or a major player, a leader? What it all boiled down to was that she just didn’t know.
Amanda was alone and in the dark.
Taking in her surroundings as she leant against the well she suddenly had a sense of Déjà vu. And then it came to her. Amanda was in the same fortress that she had seen reflected in the looking glass, the mirror transfixing Sarah Boswell in her room back at Ashbury Manor.
The derelict fortress she realised was not a fortress at all but an annex or extension to a larger building, Ashbury Manor. The entrance to the main building, blocked by a substantial oaken door inscribed with hieroglyphs, was behind her. The wall of the well was higher then she thought and she was in fact sitting on a raised circular platform made of crafted rock, with uneven steps leading to the floor. Painted frescos adorned the shattered walls of the annex, the usual depictions of horrifically deformed and malignant creatures, with the staring eye symbol that was so prevalent, scattered seemingly at random among the monsters.
The well, the centre of attraction, was like an altar in a primitive temple. The place was in a state of disrepair; a large rent in the vaulted ceiling showed a hazy blue sky with a sinuous tropical frond snaking its way through the hole, almost touching the flag stoned ground with its leaves. Saplings, grass and other hardy plants grow from the gaps between the cracked flagstones and in corners and in other forgotten areas, fan like ferns sprung, even a small palm tree. But this tropical flora was not like the supernaturally diseased vegetation Amanda had seen before. In comparison it seemed quite ordinary.
Unsteadily she stood up, walked to the steps and stared down. Staring up at her was Camilla, with the inert form of Lucius still carrying Moonbeam in his arms standing next to her, but Amanda’s eyes immediately went to the figures surrounding them, seven in all she counted. Six were dressed in khaki uniforms with guns slung on their shoulders and formed a protective semi-circle around the others. The seventh was standing beside Camilla; a tall, tanned and lean man, wearing shorts, sandals and a tee-shirt. He stood very close to Camilla, almost touching.
At once she became conscious that she was naked. It was as if she was on stage and the people below were the audience. She was mortified and desperately tried to cover herself with her hands. When she had moved through the nightmarish chambers and corridors of Ashbury Manor she had no consciousness of her nakedness but now it was as if she had awoken from a dream. Camilla was smirking at her obvious discomfiture and the soldiers or guards gazed at her intently but their faces were expressionless. The man though had a serious look on his face and he turned around, shouting an order.
“Give the girl some of your spare clothes!”
At the sound of the man’s commanding voice Amanda’s pride reasserted itself and she straightened up and glowered at Camilla. She was not going to let any of them belittle or debase her. Slowly and deliberately she moved down the stairs, her back straight, attempting to settle her features into blank neutrality. She took hold of a pair of camouflaged combat trousers and a white vest from the man. Feeling everyone was staring at her she put them on as fast as she could.
When she had clothed herself in her new garments she found they were too big for her, so she tightened the leather belt to keep the trousers from falling around her ankles. She turned to confront Camilla, who still chuckled mockingly, but almost tripped over the lower leg of the trousers.
“Where are we,” she said. “And who are these people?”
A long silence ensued and Camilla stared intently at Amanda, deflating her rage and making her feel uncomfortably and awkward again.
“We’re back home, back to the suburbs of south-west London but two hundred years in the future,” Camilla said. “And this is my close friend Richard Solomon, who I have not seen for ten years, and these are the hired soldiers of the Order of the Arboreal Orb. The Order is the true and only sovereign of Great Britain now.”
“Two hundred years in the future?!”
“That’s right”, said Richard Solomon. He put his arm around Camilla and she snuggled up to him. “A lot has happened in those two hundred years, Amanda. Global warming has turned England into a ‘tropical paradise.’ Governments and states throughout the world have fallen, chaos has reigned, the perfect situation for us, the Order of the Arboreal Orb.”
“Richard is a member of the Order,” said Camilla, extracting herself from his arms and walking closer to the high wall of the well-like structure, suddenly deep in thought.
“As the membership is extremely exclusive we have no hierarchy as such, no one has power over another within our elite circle, but Richard is important,” she said after a while. “He is our chief theoretician, a one time professor of philosophy at Kings College, London, someone who understands the complexities of the Arboreal Orb and its ten projections or universes better then anyone else alive. He is the one to answer your questions.”
Amanda glanced at Richard Solomon, a man who she estimated to be in his thirties, intellectual looking but tall and handsome with blonde hair cut short. He was well tanned by years of living in a hot climate, not muscular but strong and wiry. She felt intimidated at first by his intense stare but the youthful and mischievous smile he eventually gave her put her at her ease. He did not seem to have the cruelty of Camilla, instead he looked at the unfortunate condition of Lucius Peake with pity and distaste rather then a vindictiveness.
“Well, my first question is about the Arboreal Orb,” she said. “What actually is it?”
“The Arboreal Orb is the Creator or Godhead.” said Richard. “It’s been given many names throughout history, the Christians called it Lucifer or the Devil, and the Gnostics the Demiurge. Interestingly the Gnostics were correct in thinking the Demiurge created the universe but they were wrong in believing in a duality of good and evil. To the Gnostics the evil Demiurge was opposed by a divinity of light, purity beyond our corrupted reality. But there is no God only Satan. It was he or as I prefer ‘they’ who made our world. There is nothing ‘good’ outside it.” 
“But the Arboreal Orb’s true nature is a mystery. Only George Browne the Order’s founder knew its secrets and wrote them down in his grimoire, lost since the sixteenth century. But there are many theories; some within the Order, the traditionalists, the occultists, look upon it as a supernatural entity separate from ordinary space and time, a mystical force. The Ten Universes are the emanations of the Arboreal Orb, or in other words its thoughts, its dreams brought to life, corresponding to the Tree of Life of the Kabbalah.
“I myself think the Orb is not an individual but a collection of alien intelligences, an advanced material civilization that has managed to devise the technology to manufacture universes. This I think will be revealed when at last all the universes are absorbed into one. We then become the Arboreal Orb…or its food.”
Interested by Richard’s erudite monologue, Amanda was unaware that Camilla, who had returned to Richard’s side, had an air of impatience.
“Yes and the biggest mystery is you, Amanda,” she said at last. “You’re a doppelganger, a physical split from your other self. What happened back in the library of Ashbury Manor was totally unforeseen, even Richard can’t figure it out.”
“And there is another question,” Amanda said, realising this was the question she most wanted answered. “What is my place in all of this?”
“I’m going to be blunt with you,” said Camilla. Richard stared at her intently, a dark frown on his face.
“In the beginning you were a mere means to an end. When your father turned us down we approached you. We needed you to gain access to the Manor when our bid for the building failed. You see, Richard had gone through via a different route, a very dangerous one, over ten years ago our time, a route that was not open to us. Once you had gone through Amanda you would have suffered the same fate as Lucius.”
“To us you were a spoilt child, your head full of half-digested ideas. But then that miraculous divide occurred and I was taken completely by surprise. I had to act quickly and I decided to spare you. I also on the spur of the moment captured Moonbeam. My hunch is you are important, very important to the task ahead, the merging of the Ten Universes into one, and thus I have allowed you to join the Order. But you still have one more thing to do to prove yourself.”
She looked meaningfully at the immobile and expressionless figure of Moonbeam and then turned to the soldiers.
“Take her to the altar and secure her,” she ordered.
Rushing to obey, two armed men roughly manhandled the limp body and secured her wrists to iron manacles attached to the wall of the well. Moonbeam’s eyes suddenly lost their dead vacancy and she stared around her confusedly as if she had awoken from deep sleep. Then when her situation finally dawned on her she began to struggle, arching her body, kicking violently but in vain at the guards, who leered at her, mocking her helplessness. She began to scream in a high pitched fashion that after a while slowly ebbed away into a desolate sobbing. Without uttering a word she looked imploringly at Amanda.
“Now gut her like a fish,” Camilla said. “Show me your mettle!”
Amanda felt the tip of the knife digging into her sides and without thinking took hold of it from Camilla. She held the clasp tightly and directed her gaze back to the terrified Moonbeam.
She hated the woman who had taken her dad from her and warped his mind with sappy morality. She loathed Moonbeam’s cloying new age philosophies and her attempts to preach, treating her like a kid. Rather then play acting at debauchery like a moody adolescent, here at last was her chance to demonstrate to the Order her embracing of evil.
But to actually thrust a murderously sharp blade into Moonbeam’s yielding belly… Such a scene playing itself out in her mind rooted her to the spot.
“What are you waiting for-do it!”
Camilla scowled, pushing her forward. Tentatively she walked, feeling an appalling nervousness surge up inside, clutching her innards, making her head spin. She carried on regardless, holding the knife directly in front of her, watching the sweat trickle from the twisted face of her victim. Amanda had to do this, she had no choice. If she refused she would become a victim herself, dead or worse. Either that or do the deed, become active in the limitless project of excitement the Order represented.
Now she was face to face with Moonbeam, a new emotion began to take hold, the emotion the powerful feel when confronted with the supine bodies of the powerless. Staring directly into her eyes, lifting the knife above her head, Amanda felt power, the complete control over another person’s life. An incredible rush like adrenaline pumped through her veins, blocking out compassion and pity. The woman in chains wriggled and writhed in a hopeless attempt to escape the blade, desperately pleading for her life. But Amanda was not listening, something more primeval, visceral had taken command.
Here in front of Amanda was a pathetic creature, who not so long ago ruled her. The position was now reversed but Amanda’s power was expanded a hundredfold in comparison and simplified; the power of life and death.
Moonbeam shrieked as the knife fell, aimed at her belly. But the blade never reached its target. Amanda was thrown violently to the ground, the dagger falling from her hand as she hit the floor, wincing with the pain of the impact. Looking up she saw Richard Solomon coolly standing above her. But it was Camilla who spoke first.
“Why,” she shouted. “She was doing everything she was supposed to!”
“Not yet, the time is not right. We may have use for this woman later on,” Richard said pointing at Moonbeam.
“Your getting soft Richard, you really are.” Camilla grimaced, frustration contorting her features.
But it was Amanda who felt frustrated, furious too. Thwarted in her attempt to murder her rival she turned her excess anger on the one who dominated her in the present: Camilla. Picking up the knife she hurled herself without thought at the woman, spitting out obscenities, her face lost in a deformed smile of rage. Then, suddenly she was turned off like a tap. Unconsciousness descended without warning.
 
 

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