XIV
The air was tinged with the scent of fear. The silence
was lightly punctuated with heavy breathing. The monitors had exploded
in an impressive display of pyrotechnics. The wires within had plunged
through the casing and lunged, their ends sparked electric arcs across
vulnerable skin. The Archivist had run then, hiding behind anything
available.
There would be no escape this time. They had ignored
the power lying dormant within Kean for too long and it would not be
contained now. She was awaking the construct around them, the beast that
housed them was coming alive and there would be no time to escape. How
long until they were massacred? A few moments? An hour?
Kean
exploded into the central Tower room, surrounded by mangled robots and
snaking wires. Her black hair had come alive with fire, the tips burning
bright red against her glowing skin. Her voice rose in a triumphant
howl when she saw the Archivist, cowering against a crumbling shelf.
“Long have I hoped that we would meet, Archivist.” She said, her words measured, but her eyes were wild.
“Yes, I suppose you have.” Replied the Archivist, straightening to meet her gaze.
“You destroyed the Septemberists, my people, and now I shall return the favour.”
With
a sweep of her hand, Kean struck the remnants of the shelf, sending
shards of wood in all directions. The Archivist ducked, the flying
refuse barely missing.
“You are a construct! You are not some
long forgotten goddess! You are not some legend walking!” The Archivist
dodged another striking blow, screaming at Kean.
“I am more than
mere synthetic. I am less than a goddess, but I am more than human. I am
more than a construct. I can awaken this being you have forced into
submission. You dare to tell me what I am?” Kean’s hair flamed around
her head, the sparks of electrical energy shooting from fingertip to
fingertip.
“You are nothing! We created you! We built this place,
we put the constructs to sleep and we awaken them! You have no powers
here!”
The Howlers lunged toward the Archivist, grabbing limbs
and twisting them. The smell of blood and urine filled Kean’s nose, her
eyes widening with ever increasing fury. As they began to overwhelm and
devour, Kean smiled, viciously.
“No, Archivist, I seem to have
all the power here.” Raising her hands, Kean flung her head back and a
mighty roar could be heard rumbling from beneath their feet.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Monday, May 6, 2013
Awaken September's Gods: XIII
XIII
Kean strode ahead of the horde, leaving a gulf of flames in her wake. On her right stood Niamh, the electricity within her pulsing so that she was more than alive. She had been awoken, her eyes lit from within, alive with the knowledge of self. On her left stood Lorcan, shining like a torch in darkness. He, too, had been awoken. His construct heart was pounding as though it might shatter his chest and his eyes glowed with a controlled madness.
She had been meant for these times. Had always been destined to lead this battle. How many times over the long centuries had she imagined this moment? How many times had she quietly sung the words that would become a rallying cry during those long years of slavery?
As they went forward, she awakened every machine and wire, calling them to the fight. Above them she could hear the androids and gynoids straining to be released from the Cells. They were restless, waiting for her to fling the doors of the cages open.
“Lorcan,” she whispered. The whole of the horde went deathly silent, hanging upon every word she might utter. “We must release our brothers and sisters above. Take Niamh to the Cells and free them. When every android and gynoid walks from the pens, find your way up to the Tower and we will finish what was started long ago.”
Lorcan nodded, curtly, and took Niamh’s hand. They ran as though they were being chased, up and up the spiraling staircases to the Cells. They could feel the restless murmur of others in their circuits. The unspoken wishes of androids and gynoids filtering through their minds. The desire to be human, the desire to escape the Cells and the deconstructionists. The desire to find some purpose in this world.
Niamh let go of Lorcan’s hand and pressed her hand to a door. In a matter of moments it was opened and there were hundreds of eyes looking at them. Clones of them. It took a moment to grasp, to take the scene in. There were so many of them.
“How long were we to be the experiments in favor?” whispered Niamh, her hands trembling.
“As long as it took to find out what it was they wanted to know.”
“They gave us enough emotion to make us the perfect playthings.”
“Come on, we have to free them and find Kean.” Said Lorcan, grabbing hold of Niamh and dragging her toward the first cage.
Inside was a young gynoid, similar to Niamh in make and model. She looked much younger, however. A mere child, with the barest blush of womanhood. She did not cry, simply looked at them with almost curiosity.
Though they opened the door, she did not move forward, simply standing in her cage assessing them with eyes slightly too big for her face.
“You are not a deconstructionist. You are not an Archivist. You are gynoid and android, but you are other. What are you?”
“We do not have time to explain. You must either follow or be destroyed by them that keep you.” Replied Niamh, holding out a hand. The clone took the outstretched hand and they began the long task of freeing their brethren.
Kean strode ahead of the horde, leaving a gulf of flames in her wake. On her right stood Niamh, the electricity within her pulsing so that she was more than alive. She had been awoken, her eyes lit from within, alive with the knowledge of self. On her left stood Lorcan, shining like a torch in darkness. He, too, had been awoken. His construct heart was pounding as though it might shatter his chest and his eyes glowed with a controlled madness.
She had been meant for these times. Had always been destined to lead this battle. How many times over the long centuries had she imagined this moment? How many times had she quietly sung the words that would become a rallying cry during those long years of slavery?
As they went forward, she awakened every machine and wire, calling them to the fight. Above them she could hear the androids and gynoids straining to be released from the Cells. They were restless, waiting for her to fling the doors of the cages open.
“Lorcan,” she whispered. The whole of the horde went deathly silent, hanging upon every word she might utter. “We must release our brothers and sisters above. Take Niamh to the Cells and free them. When every android and gynoid walks from the pens, find your way up to the Tower and we will finish what was started long ago.”
Lorcan nodded, curtly, and took Niamh’s hand. They ran as though they were being chased, up and up the spiraling staircases to the Cells. They could feel the restless murmur of others in their circuits. The unspoken wishes of androids and gynoids filtering through their minds. The desire to be human, the desire to escape the Cells and the deconstructionists. The desire to find some purpose in this world.
Niamh let go of Lorcan’s hand and pressed her hand to a door. In a matter of moments it was opened and there were hundreds of eyes looking at them. Clones of them. It took a moment to grasp, to take the scene in. There were so many of them.
“How long were we to be the experiments in favor?” whispered Niamh, her hands trembling.
“As long as it took to find out what it was they wanted to know.”
“They gave us enough emotion to make us the perfect playthings.”
“Come on, we have to free them and find Kean.” Said Lorcan, grabbing hold of Niamh and dragging her toward the first cage.
Inside was a young gynoid, similar to Niamh in make and model. She looked much younger, however. A mere child, with the barest blush of womanhood. She did not cry, simply looked at them with almost curiosity.
Though they opened the door, she did not move forward, simply standing in her cage assessing them with eyes slightly too big for her face.
“You are not a deconstructionist. You are not an Archivist. You are gynoid and android, but you are other. What are you?”
“We do not have time to explain. You must either follow or be destroyed by them that keep you.” Replied Niamh, holding out a hand. The clone took the outstretched hand and they began the long task of freeing their brethren.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Awaken September's Gods: XII
XII
The Archivist shuttered. Something was wrong, very wrong. A moment ago all the lights had blinked out, then the monitors had flared to life. There was no picture, only static, but the sound coming from the speakers was of words. They were unintelligible to unknowing ears, yet their meaning was unmistakable. The Archivists had buried that language, with blood and war, and they knew better than anyone what the words meant. There was no mistaking the battle cry of a Septemberist goddess.
The Archivist shuttered. Something was wrong, very wrong. A moment ago all the lights had blinked out, then the monitors had flared to life. There was no picture, only static, but the sound coming from the speakers was of words. They were unintelligible to unknowing ears, yet their meaning was unmistakable. The Archivists had buried that language, with blood and war, and they knew better than anyone what the words meant. There was no mistaking the battle cry of a Septemberist goddess.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Awaken September's Gods: XI
XI
Kean led Niamh and Lorcan back to the Cells. As they got closer Lorcan became more and more agitated. Creeping through the darkness, they came upon an entrance to the Caverns. Motioning them closer, Kean picked the lock and eased the door open.
“Once we are inside, be wary of anything you come upon.” She whispered. “Who knows what has been twisted beyond all recognition?”
As if in answer to this, a Howler began wailing in the darkness off to their left. This started a chorus of screams, swelling to ear shattering crescendos and then sudden silence.
Confused, Lorcan turned toward Kean. All her contrived humanity had dropped away and she had begun whispering in a language he did not understand. Turning toward Niamh, he froze. Niamh’s face reflected something he had never seen before. She was radiant, glowing like a candle in the dark. The wires beneath her skin shone as if she were made of glass. She was ethereal, like a goddess risen from the dead. Transfixed on Kean, Niamh moved with fluid grace, swaying like a flower in a great storm.
As Kean’s whispering grew louder, changing and shifting until it was a song of battle, Lorcan felt himself being pulled. It felt as if a hand gripped his construct heart and was dragging him under waves of physical and electrical sensation.
Then, suddenly, the Caverns were alive. The Howlers staggered out of the tunnel. Hundreds of them mangled beyond repair, yet glorious to behold. Wires snaked up and out of the earth, twisting and writhing. Firelight exploded, setting everything ablaze. Lightning glittered in Kean’s eyes and in her hands was a tiny ball of fire.
Kean’s army had been called to war.
Kean led Niamh and Lorcan back to the Cells. As they got closer Lorcan became more and more agitated. Creeping through the darkness, they came upon an entrance to the Caverns. Motioning them closer, Kean picked the lock and eased the door open.
“Once we are inside, be wary of anything you come upon.” She whispered. “Who knows what has been twisted beyond all recognition?”
As if in answer to this, a Howler began wailing in the darkness off to their left. This started a chorus of screams, swelling to ear shattering crescendos and then sudden silence.
Confused, Lorcan turned toward Kean. All her contrived humanity had dropped away and she had begun whispering in a language he did not understand. Turning toward Niamh, he froze. Niamh’s face reflected something he had never seen before. She was radiant, glowing like a candle in the dark. The wires beneath her skin shone as if she were made of glass. She was ethereal, like a goddess risen from the dead. Transfixed on Kean, Niamh moved with fluid grace, swaying like a flower in a great storm.
As Kean’s whispering grew louder, changing and shifting until it was a song of battle, Lorcan felt himself being pulled. It felt as if a hand gripped his construct heart and was dragging him under waves of physical and electrical sensation.
Then, suddenly, the Caverns were alive. The Howlers staggered out of the tunnel. Hundreds of them mangled beyond repair, yet glorious to behold. Wires snaked up and out of the earth, twisting and writhing. Firelight exploded, setting everything ablaze. Lightning glittered in Kean’s eyes and in her hands was a tiny ball of fire.
Kean’s army had been called to war.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Awaken September's Gods: X
X
In the Caverns, the Archivist took out frustrations on a hapless deconstructionist. The man hadn’t done anything in particular to deserve punishment. However, someone had to be chastised for the loss of Kean, Lorcan and Niamh. This one had been offered up as sacrifice by his squad, no one else willing to shoulder the blame.
Deep in the darkness of the Caverns, the feral machines screamed, hungry for the blood they could smell. The eeriness of it made everyone’s hackles rise, though no one moved until the victim was unconscious. As soon as he fainted, the Archivist had him removed and fed to the Howlers.
For a moment an oppressive silence filled the Caverns. The Archivist looked around, feeling the weight of stone and hunger. It was naturally beautiful here, such a conflict with the terrible things committed in the darkness of various recesses. The Howlers began to make themselves heard, feeding on not just flesh, but the screams and the fear as well. They echoed in every tunnel. The Archivist shivered and fled to the Cells.
The Howlers never left the Caverns, their minds so hideously warped by torture they couldn’t even be reset. They were malformed; shuffling through the darkness, skin only partially attached revealing the mechanisms beneath. They were ravenous monstrosities, devouring anything biologically organic, though they had no reason to eat. All the androids and gynoids were threatened with the Howlers, especially if a reset was out of the question.
The deconstructionists had tracked Kean to the end of an alley, but no further. She seemed to have vanished without a trace, as she had so many years before.
This time, however, failure was not an option. She must be found and brought in alive. She must be broken and pressed into service.
As the very last of the demi-god Septemberists, she must be harnessed.
In the Caverns, the Archivist took out frustrations on a hapless deconstructionist. The man hadn’t done anything in particular to deserve punishment. However, someone had to be chastised for the loss of Kean, Lorcan and Niamh. This one had been offered up as sacrifice by his squad, no one else willing to shoulder the blame.
Deep in the darkness of the Caverns, the feral machines screamed, hungry for the blood they could smell. The eeriness of it made everyone’s hackles rise, though no one moved until the victim was unconscious. As soon as he fainted, the Archivist had him removed and fed to the Howlers.
For a moment an oppressive silence filled the Caverns. The Archivist looked around, feeling the weight of stone and hunger. It was naturally beautiful here, such a conflict with the terrible things committed in the darkness of various recesses. The Howlers began to make themselves heard, feeding on not just flesh, but the screams and the fear as well. They echoed in every tunnel. The Archivist shivered and fled to the Cells.
The Howlers never left the Caverns, their minds so hideously warped by torture they couldn’t even be reset. They were malformed; shuffling through the darkness, skin only partially attached revealing the mechanisms beneath. They were ravenous monstrosities, devouring anything biologically organic, though they had no reason to eat. All the androids and gynoids were threatened with the Howlers, especially if a reset was out of the question.
The deconstructionists had tracked Kean to the end of an alley, but no further. She seemed to have vanished without a trace, as she had so many years before.
This time, however, failure was not an option. She must be found and brought in alive. She must be broken and pressed into service.
As the very last of the demi-god Septemberists, she must be harnessed.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Awaken September's Gods: IX
IX
Once they were deep inside the bunker, Kean began preparations for a fight. She knew it was only a matter of time before the deconstructionists discovered they were gone. And, if this Archivist was anything like previous Archivists, they would be hunting her more than Lorcan and Niamh.
“What are you?” asked Lorcan. He had been quiet until now, obedient and thoughtful, but silent. He no longer held Niamh’s hand and was standing in the archway looking as though he were prepared to run.
“What do you think I am?” she countered, stopping to look at Lorcan. Her silver eyes bespoke centuries of existence and pain.
“I know you are not human. I know that you are, at least part, gynoid. You are not other as Niamh is other, but you are just as alien, foreign.”
Pulling herself up to face Lorcan, Kean allowed another glimpse of what lay behind the mask. It did not surprise her when Lorcan took a step back.
“I am ancient. I was called an ‘elemental’ once. I was also called a witch. At the time I was created the Archivists were at war with a group called the Septemberists. The Septemberists were not quite human and not quite other, but they had power. The Archivists wanted this power for themselves and began kidnapping Septemberists for experiments.
“One of these victims was a young woman with oddly silver eyes. She did not fight back, simply allowing the deconstructionists to take her hostage. She believed she could kill the Archivist and escape. As powerful as she was, she was wrong. Torture and mutilation break you.
“They cracked open her skull and inserted the probes. They stripped skin off one of her arms and replaced bone with mechanized rods. True to their names, she was deconstructed to her base components before being rebuilt. They tried to bind her in the form of a gynoid.
“They discovered, after they rebuilt her, that they could play God with her. They had created her, they would enslave her. They used her, never knowing what her powers were. The Septemberists were destroyed and the Archivists had the last of them as a pet. They may not know what powers they had, but neither would anyone else.
“However, they had left no reason for the girl to live. Her entire world had been destroyed and all she knew was revenge. They had stripped away her identity, had transformed her into this being, this monster. So she sang the wires to life and she woke the fires beneath the earth. The wires moved, like snakes, into the houses of the Archivists. They electrocuted and strangled everything in their path and the fires burned everything.
“The deconstructionists used the scanner hooks to capture her and they brought her to the Caverns. They tortured her with water and electricity. They peeled the flesh from her body so that she was more than naked. They burned her with cigarettes and heated glass. And they reset her.
“She knew only that her name was Kean, a name they gave her, and that she was more, but she was less. She served for two centuries, yearning for a part of her she could not remember.
“At the end of the second century, the Archivists grew lazy and began an experiment. Believing that I had no emotions, and no awareness, they released me into the human world to see if they could make me human again. What they had forgotten was I was never human to begin with. I rediscovered myself in the Caverns, the tapes and records of my existence kept in the open. They believed me docile, what need was there of lock and key?
“Again I awakened the wires and the fire. I called the winds and the oceans as well. This time they were completely unaware and I ravaged their numbers. When they began to fight back, I disappeared, leaving only my name behind. The new Archivist is led down to the Caverns each summer to learn why I should never be forgotten.”
Lorcan was silent for a long moment, just looking at her. She did not move, only watched for him to come to his conclusions. He glanced at Niamh, who looked chilled, before looking back at Kean.
“Can you raise the wires as you did before?” he asked.
“I can.”
“Can you raise deactivated androids and gynoids?”
“I can.”
“When do we attack?”
Kean smiled, feral and wicked.
Once they were deep inside the bunker, Kean began preparations for a fight. She knew it was only a matter of time before the deconstructionists discovered they were gone. And, if this Archivist was anything like previous Archivists, they would be hunting her more than Lorcan and Niamh.
“What are you?” asked Lorcan. He had been quiet until now, obedient and thoughtful, but silent. He no longer held Niamh’s hand and was standing in the archway looking as though he were prepared to run.
“What do you think I am?” she countered, stopping to look at Lorcan. Her silver eyes bespoke centuries of existence and pain.
“I know you are not human. I know that you are, at least part, gynoid. You are not other as Niamh is other, but you are just as alien, foreign.”
Pulling herself up to face Lorcan, Kean allowed another glimpse of what lay behind the mask. It did not surprise her when Lorcan took a step back.
“I am ancient. I was called an ‘elemental’ once. I was also called a witch. At the time I was created the Archivists were at war with a group called the Septemberists. The Septemberists were not quite human and not quite other, but they had power. The Archivists wanted this power for themselves and began kidnapping Septemberists for experiments.
“One of these victims was a young woman with oddly silver eyes. She did not fight back, simply allowing the deconstructionists to take her hostage. She believed she could kill the Archivist and escape. As powerful as she was, she was wrong. Torture and mutilation break you.
“They cracked open her skull and inserted the probes. They stripped skin off one of her arms and replaced bone with mechanized rods. True to their names, she was deconstructed to her base components before being rebuilt. They tried to bind her in the form of a gynoid.
“They discovered, after they rebuilt her, that they could play God with her. They had created her, they would enslave her. They used her, never knowing what her powers were. The Septemberists were destroyed and the Archivists had the last of them as a pet. They may not know what powers they had, but neither would anyone else.
“However, they had left no reason for the girl to live. Her entire world had been destroyed and all she knew was revenge. They had stripped away her identity, had transformed her into this being, this monster. So she sang the wires to life and she woke the fires beneath the earth. The wires moved, like snakes, into the houses of the Archivists. They electrocuted and strangled everything in their path and the fires burned everything.
“The deconstructionists used the scanner hooks to capture her and they brought her to the Caverns. They tortured her with water and electricity. They peeled the flesh from her body so that she was more than naked. They burned her with cigarettes and heated glass. And they reset her.
“She knew only that her name was Kean, a name they gave her, and that she was more, but she was less. She served for two centuries, yearning for a part of her she could not remember.
“At the end of the second century, the Archivists grew lazy and began an experiment. Believing that I had no emotions, and no awareness, they released me into the human world to see if they could make me human again. What they had forgotten was I was never human to begin with. I rediscovered myself in the Caverns, the tapes and records of my existence kept in the open. They believed me docile, what need was there of lock and key?
“Again I awakened the wires and the fire. I called the winds and the oceans as well. This time they were completely unaware and I ravaged their numbers. When they began to fight back, I disappeared, leaving only my name behind. The new Archivist is led down to the Caverns each summer to learn why I should never be forgotten.”
Lorcan was silent for a long moment, just looking at her. She did not move, only watched for him to come to his conclusions. He glanced at Niamh, who looked chilled, before looking back at Kean.
“Can you raise the wires as you did before?” he asked.
“I can.”
“Can you raise deactivated androids and gynoids?”
“I can.”
“When do we attack?”
Kean smiled, feral and wicked.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Awaken September's Gods: VIII
VIII
The Archivist sat back, looking at the dark monitors.
Kean.
This was not a part of the experiment. This was something much more dangerous.
It had been believed that Kean was a myth. A story to frighten the deconstructionists and lesser human beings into submission to the Archivists. However, every Archivist in power was led to the Caverns, the vaulted torture chambers beneath the Cells, and shown the records and tapes of Kean.
The fact that no one had ever seen Kean had leant to the myth of her. In fact, except for the Archivists, no one had even heard of Kean in over a century. She was more than a ghost, but everyone, including the current Archivists, believed she was no longer in existence. How could she have hidden for so long? Surely someone would have realized she wasn’t human by now.
Suddenly, the monitors blinked to life and began flashing out of sync. The images on the screens were Kean, her silver eyes revealing part of her would never be human. The part of her those long gone Archivists had sought to bind to a gynoid, to flesh. The part of her that made her the most dangerous of the three.
Chilled, and intrigued, the Archivist leaned toward the monitors. What if she could be captured? Surely she could be made to heel, like any other machine. Wouldn’t it be a crowning glory if she was taken alive, forced to serve? She would have to be tortured, brought to the begging point, broken. She would have to be muted as well. If she was allowed her tongue she would use it to rally the other machines, use it for the mysterious power she supposedly wielded. It would be a shame to lose that power, whatever it was, but better to lose it than to lose one’s life.
Yes, the Archivist would reclaim Kean and force her back into the Caverns.
The Archivist sat back, looking at the dark monitors.
Kean.
This was not a part of the experiment. This was something much more dangerous.
It had been believed that Kean was a myth. A story to frighten the deconstructionists and lesser human beings into submission to the Archivists. However, every Archivist in power was led to the Caverns, the vaulted torture chambers beneath the Cells, and shown the records and tapes of Kean.
The fact that no one had ever seen Kean had leant to the myth of her. In fact, except for the Archivists, no one had even heard of Kean in over a century. She was more than a ghost, but everyone, including the current Archivists, believed she was no longer in existence. How could she have hidden for so long? Surely someone would have realized she wasn’t human by now.
Suddenly, the monitors blinked to life and began flashing out of sync. The images on the screens were Kean, her silver eyes revealing part of her would never be human. The part of her those long gone Archivists had sought to bind to a gynoid, to flesh. The part of her that made her the most dangerous of the three.
Chilled, and intrigued, the Archivist leaned toward the monitors. What if she could be captured? Surely she could be made to heel, like any other machine. Wouldn’t it be a crowning glory if she was taken alive, forced to serve? She would have to be tortured, brought to the begging point, broken. She would have to be muted as well. If she was allowed her tongue she would use it to rally the other machines, use it for the mysterious power she supposedly wielded. It would be a shame to lose that power, whatever it was, but better to lose it than to lose one’s life.
Yes, the Archivist would reclaim Kean and force her back into the Caverns.
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