Chapter 7

Chapter 7 of Moebius

Chapter 7

 

After a day in the Lizardhawk flying through hyperspace, Taea lay in the darkness of her room, pulsing frozen vines asphyxiating her heart. She was on her way back home, not to return to her normal, boring at times yet fulfilling life, but to fight Spellcaster, the one she wanted to worship.

The dissonance choked her like a hand on her throat. She had to stop the mission and turn around. And she had to go forward to Tantalus because she had to serve Spellcaster. She had to work together with her friends because they were her friends. And she had to turn on them because they were her enemies. She had to fight for the Resistance, because they were the ones who fought for Freedom. And she had to fight for the Empire because they were the ones who fought for Truth. The universe demanded that she do all of this, and would not be satisfied with any amount of compromise.

“Drucan, what should I do?” she prayed. “What can I do?”

She waited, but Drucan did not answer.

This universe was wrong. Something about it was not as it was supposed to be. Someone had come back in time and changed something---a demon, maybe---and now reality was perverted with contradictions. Somewhere out there, in another realm of existence, a more real existence, someone was dreaming a dream of Taea, and it was a nightmare that made no sense. A world where everything was right, and Drucan was there, and the very air was brimming with Truth. A world full of meaning, where everything made sense.

She longed to wake up into that world. But she couldn’t. Reason dictated that the best possible choice for her, despite all its absurdity, was to follow through with this mission and give her people back their true selves---or at least their normal selves, with all their flaws and suppressed hidden sides.

Right now, all she could do was try to take her mind off her condition. Hit by a burst of longing and inspiration, she took an electronic pad from a drawer and began to write.

 

A cool breeze plays with my hair in the warmth of the spring afternoon. With all my possessions in the two bags under my arms, I stand before the villa, a picturesque vision of a place to spend one’s days in tranquility.

The door opens, and he looks out. When he sees me, he smiles, steps onto the porch, and spreads his arms wide. “Taea, my good and faithful servant. Welcome to my home.”

With my heart lifting on dove’s wings, I go to him and sink into his embrace, letting my bags fall to the varnished wood. He smells earthy and holds me with strong arms. “Spellcaster,” I say, “you have no idea how I have longed for this moment.”

“It’s all right now,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “You are where you belong. Everything is as it should be.”

“The war?” I say, pulling back and looking into his mesmerizing hazel eyes surrounded by smooth rich brown skin.

“I’ve realized the error of my ways and stopped the conquest. Tarran and the Resistance are talking of peace. After setting things in motion, I stepped down to let the rightful leaders work them out. Now all that is left is for me to live out my remaining days here, with you at my side.”

“Oh Spellcaster,” I say, “I will do everything you ask of me, tend to your every need.”

“As I know you will,” he says. He turns. “Come into your new home.”

I pick up my bags and follow him into a foyer with curved staircases leading up to a balcony. From the ceiling hangs a golden chandelier with a hundred bulbs sending a dreamy dance of light over every inch of the velvet chairs, full bookshelves, mahogany walls, and hardwood floor.

“Your room is on the second floor, down the hall,” he says. “Make yourself at home. I will have kalesh for dinner at five thirty.”

“Yes sir!” I say, my heart beating loudly at being given a task by him. I hurry up the stairs and down the hall to a door marked “Servant’s quarters.” My hands are full, so I put down one of my bags to open it, and then pick it up again and enter.

This is my room. Its walls are lavender blue, as is the bedspread on the twin-size bed in the back, contrasting with the thick navy carpet. The ceiling on the left side slopes down where the roof of the house is. Against the wall to my right is a white vanity table, and to my left beside the door is a black wooden wardrobe.

My room. I have a place in his house. I put my bags down and open the top drawer of the vanity to find every type and shade of make-up I could want organized in a pleasant black tray. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I decide I am going to make myself as beautiful as I can for him. And I am going to start right now.

I’ve unpacked. I’ve showered. I’ve put on makeup, every dot and touch perfect. I’ve come down to the kitchen, and his meal of kalesh is almost ready.

I go through the dining room to the house’s back door to the veranda and find Spellcaster sitting on a swinging wooden bench, reading a book and enjoying the beautiful sunshine. The view off the railing is gorgeous, hill sloping down from the house, the tops of the nearest trees adorning it level with the deck.

He looks up when I arrive, his gorgeous eyes and smile melting my heart. “Your supper is ready,” I say.

His smile widens, and he places a bookmark in the book and puts it on a small table beside the bench. “I’ll have it out here,” he says. He points. “We can use that table over there.” The table he is referring to is round and made of glass with a white rim.

I carefully lift it and carry it to him. When I set it down, I smile. “Did you just say ‘we’?”

“I would be honored if you would join me,” he said. “I hope you made enough for two.”

I return into the house, giddy with joy. Spellcaster invited me to dine with him! The two of us, sitting together on that swinging bench, enjoying the taste of kalesh and the feel of the sun and the breeze. We might watch the sun go down together. And then he would turn to me and

 

Taea stopped. This was wrong. That that this fantasy was the only thing she had found that could give her relief was blasphemy, a profanity beyond measure. She deleted the file, threw the pad back into the drawer, and fell to her knees weeping. “Drucan, forgive me,” she pleaded. “I am a worthless wretch. Forgive me.” Tears dripped from her eyes onto the floor as she repeated over and over again, “Forgive me. Forgive me.”