CHAPTER 6

NONE TOO EXCITED over another tedious workday, Zan walked slowly down Arch Street towards her office. She had gone out of her way, preferring this block where the light came through the feathery leaves of the locust trees and there were fewer people.

Zan didn’t want to go to work, but she didn’t want to stay home, either. She didn’t know what she wanted, other than to sleep for a very long time. At least she had band practice that weekend, when she could blast her mind clear with noise. She was thinking about the new crop of angry songs she had written when their subject turned the corner. She stopped dead because he was between her and her office. When Rainer reached her she tried her best to maintain an impassive expression.

“I told you to leave me alone,” she said. Rainer’s eyes slid away from her face.

“I know, and I will. I just wanted to give you this.” He held out a thick envelope. “I have translated some portions of a history of the Covalent. I thought it might make you feel better if you understood us a little more.”

“Right,” she said. “I’m sure the story of a superhuman race waging war against Satan and his demons in another dimension will make me feel totally normal. Maybe I’ll even get to thinking you’re a regular guy.”

Zan thought her sarcasm would back him off, but he leaned in, his eyes like hard blue stones.

“Do you want a ‘regular guy?’” he asked. He seemed about to grab her. “I don’t think you do.”

“Yeah, well, isn’t that a damn shame for me,” she said, her voice full of acid. She snatched the envelope out of his hand and walked passed him. She did not allow herself to look back.

The fiscal-year-end report wasn’t going to write itself, but Zan couldn’t concentrate. She kept opening her desk drawer to stare at the envelope inside. She knew she would read it. She knew she shouldn’t read it there.

Mel walked in, said hello, put down her bag and turned on her computer. Ever since Zan came back all wild-eyed from her visit with Rainer her friend had spared her questions, but that didn’t stop Mel from fidgeting and glancing over.

An hour later, Zan was still opening her drawer every few minutes. Mel had put her earbuds in. Zan knew she was driving her partner nuts. She was driving herself nuts. She snatched the envelope, ripped it open, unfolded the pages and smoothed them flat on the desk. She began to read.

Long ago, we had no name. We were all that was. Our lives were as simple as flowing water and we marveled at the unreasoning forces of Creation and Destruction. Creation called to us, hummed in our minds with the tones of our birth. Destruction was the other, the agent of change that pushed our world along the arc of time.

We were all that was sentient. We felt the play of these great forces in our marrow. The boundless power of Balance grew within us.

Language and civilization rose from this power, a shining city. We cultivated beauty and love and violence and death. We mapped our Realm and wondered at the forces of Creation and Destruction at our borders, yearning to explore. We bonded in love and grew our numbers.

“The look on your face. What are you reading?” She craned her neck, peering over at the pages.

“Um, some information Rainer gave me. It’s a little upsetting. Don’t worry. The report is in good shape.”

“Why did I even ask? And I’m not worried about the report. I’m worried about you.”

“Thanks, Mel. I’m sorry. I saw that bastard on my way here. He gave me this. I have to read it. It’s a fucking compulsion.” Mel waved her hand like she was pushing away a bad smell. She turned back to her papers. So did Zan.

In the midst of a great cultural expansion, the Calamities came. The Realm trembled and moaned. The ramparts of our city crumbled. Many died.

In times of respite, we grieved and rebuilt. The quakes grew more frequent and flashing storms tore across the firmament. We were as nothing before the terrible migration of the elemental forces. Our civilization decayed in the fatalistic acceptance that Creation and Destruction would grind us to dust, caught as we were between them.

Among this despair, there were those who kept their minds as sharp as blades. Those in whom the forces balanced so perfectly that chaos fell tame within them. They did not believe in the inevitable. They shouted, we are here, and we will not lay down to be erased. They studied the forces, measured the Calamities.

These ancient ones learned that the forces of Creation and Destruction, attracted by the opposition of their natures, sought to join and transform, one into the other. The cosmos would be made new but our civilization would be lost. The ancient ones trumpeted a challenge from the rubble of our great city. We built something, they sang. We will not let it disappear. We are here, and we love. We will save the loved.

They unleashed the power of Balance within them and bonded with the Realm in a blinding fusion – their memories released, their minds united, their bodies absorbed. Their power swirled to create the Turning, ever renewing, holding the Realm in its embrace. We call this the Rising and they are the Guardians, the ancient ones who united their energy so that we, the loved, could go on.

Guardian angels. I guess that’s where it comes from. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

When the Guardians bound the calamitous forces there came a terrible roar. The Realm shuddered as Creation and Destruction swelled and met the Turning. Violent quakes destroyed all that was left of our city. Fiery bolts of energy rent the land, carving shimmering seas, raising mountains, infusing the soil. Those who remained lay huddled together certain the forces would swallow them, but the Turning held. With a mighty convulsion, the violence ceased. The Turning protected our Realm and bonded the Creative and Destructive Realms, holding them in Balance. Myriad dimensions burst in folds from the bonded realms.

The few who remained wept for the sacrifice of the Guardians, and for our lost civilization. Soon, the Stream gushed forth from Creation, pure energy so fearsome we could never hope to tame it. Many tried and were lost in its torrent. We bowed before its power.

The demons came as well, surging out of the Destructive Realm through the Turning, into our ruined city. They tore our flesh in their unreasoning lust for violence. We were no longer all that was.

Zan dropped the papers on the desk. She wondered if this meant the Covalent had created their own enemies, or if they just never knew the demons were there. She wondered if it mattered.

Those who felt the furious energy of the Stream within them became warriors among us. They drove the demons from our Realm. When the first had been vanquished, more came in endless waves. They were repelled by the warriors, whom we honored as our protectors.

A class of powerful beings emerged, the Warriors of the Rising. Descendants of the Guardians, they became our leaders. They called our home the Covalent Realm, the bond between all realms, and we became the Covalent. We stand between Creation and Destruction. To bond them, to bind them. Our blood we pledge to this. To Balance, preserver of life.

A Warrior of the Rising. That’s what he must be. He’s got leader written all over him.

Among all Covalent, none could touch the might of the Warriors of the Rising. Within the Covalent Realm, their flawless bodies gathered the energy that shielded and powered our city. When they grew weary of creating memories, they would join the Guardians to hold the realms in eternal Balance. They became our kings and queens and ruled our simple society with benevolence.

But as our numbers grew, so did our complexity and conflict. Young Warriors of the Rising grew drunk with power. The king and queen had never given a thought to defense and were easily murdered by these treacherous warriors, who were perverted by their lust for dominion.

The foul deed set off an era of civil war. Warlord after warlord took possession of the Keep that rose high above the city in graceful lines, the finest edifice ever built by the artisans. We wept to see our beloved Keep thus abused. Warriors of vicious power governed according to their whims. Purge after purge of imagined threats and illusory traitors took its toll on our numbers and darkened our Realm. The Covalent lost Balance. The Guardians were forsaken. Even the quickeners meditated on nothing but violence.

Zan choked back the bitter laugh that fought to burst from her lungs. She didn’t want Mel to question her sanity even more.

Within this darkness, there were Warriors of the Rising who cultivated compassion as well as violence. As the warlords weakened themselves with constant fighting, these Balanced Covalent came together to depose the tyrannical warrior who held the Keep. They convened the citizens on the Great Plaza and announced that a Covalent Council would be formed. No warrior would be free to rule alone. We rejoiced and embraced the Council.

Our society returned to Balance, and the warriors returned to their purpose. They ceased their infighting to focus on the slaughter of demons. The Covalent Realm entered an era of cultural expansion.

Zan glanced over at Mel, relieved to find her engrossed in whatever it was she was doing. A new section began in the absurd thing she was reading. About travelers. Beings like Pellus.

As our culture thrived, the travelers rose in stature. They developed skills other Covalent could never hope to understand, venturing fearlessly into the myriad dimensions that had erupted in folds from the bonded realms. They returned with tales of fantastic phenomena, endless beauty, and terrifying emptiness. They grew in their understanding of the composition of existence, invisible to all but them. Those who achieved mastery became traveler adepts, the highest rank of traveler, able to impose their will on the structure of matter and energy.

Many were lost on their travels. Some returned insane, their minds shredded by complexity. Others returned with knowledge that led to more health, power, and artistry within the Realm. This encouraged yet more exploration until the intrepid travelers came back with news of a realm populated by sentient beings.

The travelers had discovered the Earthly Realm, one of the countless dimensions generated when the Guardians bonded the elemental forces with the Turning.

Crushing the papers in her fist, Zan slammed it down on the desk. She started to gulp for air. Even with her earbuds in, Mel heard it.

“What the hell, Zan? God, are you all right? What is it?” Mel got up and went to her friend, who now had the papers smashed against her face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Uh, shocking things. About Rainer’s life. I don’t even know if they’re true. Please don’t ask me. Please don’t ask.”

Mel glanced at the open door. “Why don’t you take a walk. Will that help?”

Zan ran out, the papers still clutched in her hand. Blindly, with a pounding heart, she made her way outside.

Holy mother of Christ, they created us. Rainer said the Covalent aren’t divine, but their actions led to our existence. They never die. Isn’t that the definition of divine? I was having sex with a god. No wonder he’s so good.

These thoughts made her laugh, loud and ragged. Harry, the security guard, gave her a concerned look as she walked by.

When she got outside she ran to the benches in the park over by the Liberty Bell Pavilion. The benches were hidden from wandering tourists by thick bushes. She was grateful to find no one there. She returned to her pages.

The travelers had found the humans in their lovely sphere. In this realm, the great forces of Creation and Destruction were free to merge and turn, one into the other, in an infinite cycle of birth and death, growth and decay.

At first, the humans were hardly more than beasts. We thought they were in kinship with the demons, but they evolved. They began to resemble the Covalent in intelligence and demeanor.

We were fascinated. Here we saw ourselves as we would be without the immortal strength of Creation. Here we studied mind and culture at a rate of change so accelerated it confused us. Covalent of all kinds journeyed with the travelers to the Earthly Realm to see the sentient beings, so like us, yet so different.

When we revealed ourselves, they feared us and they loved us in our power and beauty. They named us their gods. Seduced by their worship, we saw them as a reflection of ourselves. At times we made them more than they thought they could be, but more often we raped and used them.

The papers fell to the leaf-strewn ground. Zan wrapped her face in her arms, her hands fisted at the back of her head. She whimpered, though she wanted to scream. She wanted to scream until her throat was raw. She picked up the papers. She had to read the rest, like the compulsion to pick at a scab.

Our craven actions spread the poison of imbalance among us. The Council decried our lack of honor and forbid our indulgence. We were to play god no more. Open interaction with humans was forbidden.

With secrecy imposed, we continued to observe them. We watched as their numbers grew and they built elaborate cities. As they developed systems as complex as our own. We marveled at their societies, the way they preserved their knowledge despite their brief lives.

Here were no mere reflections. Secrecy was no longer enough. All but a few Covalent were banned from traveling to the Earthly Realm.

We watched the advent of the modern world. We watched the humans devise their great belching machines and their weapons of indiscriminate death. We admired human accomplishment even as we grieved for their crimes against the land, air, and water in which we had found such immaculate Balance. No, they were not reflections, but they were so much like us in their foolishness and greed. The humans would be left to their fate.

Zan rooted around in her bag for a tissue. She was a mess. A glance at the next section heading made her stomach churn. She told herself it couldn’t get any worse.

Well, here we go. Reading the history of Satan on a park bench. That his son gave to me. His son.

Through three million turns the Covalent Council ruled in serenity, but the second golden age of our culture was not to last. Our forces kept the demons from the city gates, but this was not enough for Warriors of the Rising, who found the slaughter of demons to be child’s play.

The most powerful joined the Guardians to fuse their energy with the Turning. Others met the Stream, losing themselves in its unbridled force, unable to bear their own restlessness. Or they would stand motionless in the midst of battle and let the demons take them, desperate to feel something at that last moment of consciousness. Many destroyed themselves with haze or dire essence, addictive drugs that let them dream of an escape from the endless wheel of fighting demons, an enemy who was not worthy, yet who was never defeated.

The malaise of the Warriors of the Rising spread to the citizens. Boredom and hedonism engulfed the city. We lost the sight and feel of our purpose. Artisans did not devise, quickeners did not create, and scholars did not study. The discoveries of the travelers were greeted with indifference.

The Covalent Council, surrounded by the beauty and comfort of its Keep, viewed the weakness of the citizens with alarm and cursed us for our fickle ways. Peace was not good enough for us.

At this time, a Covalent of frightening power emerged among Warriors of the Rising. Lucifer of the High Command condemned the Council for becoming soft and dim, for abandoning the citizens.

Lucifer spoke of repurposing. He rejected the laws concerning the Earthly Realm. He argued that the subjugation of other realms would return fire to the hearts of the Covalent, whose numbers were depleted by the malaise. Many rallied to his cause, their devotion inspired by his peerless skill in battle, his fine mind, and his beauty. But some Warriors of the Rising saw his lust for subjugation as a perversion of their purpose, and his grand plan as nothing but a disguise for his own ambition. They believed Lucifer was no different from the many warlords who had seized the Keep in an earlier age.

Hurt and angered by their reaction, Lucifer ceased listening to the Council, which had demanded he stand down. Instead, he sought to win the travelers to his cause. The Council panicked, certain that if he succeeded it would be overthrown. It tried to imprison Lucifer, who laughed to shake the firmament when warriors appeared to take away his freedom. He slaughtered them with a few strokes of his black sword, its jeweled hilt flashing in the starlight as he took their heads.

So affronted, Lucifer stormed the Keep. The siege lasted much longer than had any civil war before it. Lucifer had taken nearly half the Council Forces within him. Constant skirmishes depleted the ranks of warriors on both sides. Demons burst through the city gates and chaos reigned in the streets. The Council Forces finally realized that Lucifer would not break. They surged en masse from the Keep to engage his army and drive out the demons. They sought his death but Lucifer was too clever, his forces too determined. He and his Corrupted warriors rode a wave of demons and fled the Covalent Realm. They escaped to the Destructive Realm, where the weakened Council Forces feared to follow.

That was it. Zan put down the pages, her face turned to the ground, her eyes unfocused. She struggled to grasp the implications of what she had read. If this were true, the Guardians had created human beings, however indirectly. In a way, they were gods. Flawed gods. She felt cold fear. Lucifer had meant to subjugate the Earth.

Somehow, long ago, we heard this story, and your father became a symbol to humans of all that is ugly in our own hearts.

She was crying hard now, her face in her hands as she gulped air, only to spit it back out in her pain.

I don’t know what it means. I guess it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t change anything.