Illusion

It’s nighttime across a city of dreams.

A single row of terraced houses lies sprawled across the uneven panorama, crossing at odd angles with other streets and alleyways, forming a disjointed mosaic of suburban fervor; as if the gods of order and architectural clarity forgot to cast favour upon the rebellious and run down estate known as Claydon Hill.

Usually nothing much exciting happens here, on the outskirts of the city proper. The usual mix of obscene graffiti and trashed telephone booths litter the streets, promoting the language of degeneracy. But this in itself doesn’t merit anything more than a disapproving frown or a shake of the head. The inhabitants have accepted their situation and have merely ignored it, preferring to dwell on the past; upon better times.

No, nothing much exciting happens in Claydon Hill. Until tonight.

In one particular street, with parkland running parallel to the road, opposite a row of houses, a glimmer of light appears. The phenomenon lasts for such a brief period of time that any observer would have felt their eyes were playing tricks. But there are none to witness the event. Nothing stirs at this hour.

A child stands upon the point at which the light disappeared. The sickly yellow glow from the streetlights casts myriad shadows upon her smooth features, as she scans the street without a sound. But she’s observing much more than just the veil of reality that coats the small community in a haze of corporeal zeal. She’s searching the substructure beneath the physical, watching infinite patterns of colour and meaning flail in the air, dance upon the skin and whirl through the mind. She watches these patterns live and die, giving birth to new ones in a cataclysm of endless succession. This is the world called Illusion, into which the child delves, looking for clues that will lead her to what she seeks.

It begins to rain. A heavy thrumming noise resonates along the street, and the child smiles. Just one droplet of water carries with it a thousand memories consistent to that one moment. A child splashing gleefully in a swimming pool, a man running for his life down an alleyway through puddles and the falling rain. Different people in different times, but everything has a commonality that can be traced from one point or another. This time, however, something is not right.

The child frowns ever so slightly; a rare occurrence. She starts again and follows the pattern to where it just…stops. She’s looking directly at a gaping hole where there should be an answer. There’s always an answer. So where is it? Clothed in a shimmering translucent white robe, she shakes her head thoughtfully. A sentence that carries with it the memories of Creation echoes from her lips.
“Where are you hiding, Reclaimer?”

***

Mari walks down a path of gravel and weathered stones, battered by the elements and by the feet of endless travelers. It’s a simple track that meanders beside the edge of the forest, cloaked in blackness. The sounds of animals, and whatever other strange and wonderful creatures live within, emanates from its borders; a cacophony of noise that’s a little unsettling. But she’s got more important things to worry about than childish fantasies of the night. She begins to quicken her pace, although it’s a few miles yet before she reaches her destination.

The trail also runs alongside a lake. Mari can see it glow with a turquoise radiance, emphasising the abundance of life that thrives under the surface. It’s a mesmerizing sight, and she wishes there were more people around who could witness it. Fireflies skitter to and fro across her vision, lighting the way for her. They’re so beautiful that she takes a moment to slow her pace and take it all in. Lately she hasn’t had much time to appreciate the exquisiteness of nature the way she used to, what with the war going on and time running out. She sighs and thinks about the innocence of the little glowing insects flying all around her, solitary guardians of a natural purity mankind left behind long ago.

Leaves dance and weave in the air, forming intricate patterns as they fall lightly to the earth, to be consumed by nature and join their brethren of seasons past. This is the way ordinary people see the world, she thinks; as nothing more than a slideshow of monotonous continuity. A blind belief in the illusion that life is not permanent and everything is transitory, that immortality is a fanfare of delusional ponderings, confined to fantasy stories and omnipresent beings of various religions.

But for Mari, reality is just a brief season of experiences before the next stage of life. She doesn’t know what that next stage is, but she has glimpses of it now and again. Like now, gazing upon the complex simplicity of Illusion, she wonders about the future. If only they knew how fine the thread is that holds them to the simple workings of reality, and how thin the line is between ruin and rapture. But they will understand, in the end, when it all spills out into the open. She quickens her pace.

The little clearing stands just a few metres off to the left of the path. It’s a tourist distraction, and consists of a small paved circle with an information board telling people about the sights. It’s completely devoid of life now except for two people. Mari walks slowly up to the man who observes her entrance with deep regard, arms folded and black wings arched in a threatening pose. The light from the fireflies is just enough for her to see his face. She lets out a noiseless sigh of relief.
“Harlem”, she says, “What news from the ether?”
“Not good, I’m afraid”, says the man called Harlem. “What drips and drabs we can glean from our informers paints a discouraging scene for us.”
“So the Monarchs are winning?”
“Not quite, although I doubt we can know for sure. Not until the small scale skirmishing escalates into full blown open warfare.”
Mari looks at him thoughtfully.
“This was only ever about conscription, was it not? A race to gather as many followers as possible. What the hell are we doing fighting each other? When you remove all the propagandist shit these people are feeding us, we’re all after the same thing”.
“Eden” says Harlem, quietly.
‘Exactly”
“But we both want it in two very different ways. The Monarchs do not want to unlock Eden for humanity. They want it for themselves. They believe mankind is not worthy of witnessing its secrets. Us Prefects –“
“Want it for the good of everyone,” interrupts Mari. “I already know. Why are you telling me this?”
“I just want you to be aware of why we’re at war. Death is an unnecessary bi-product of conflict, I admit that, but it’s for the greater good.”
“Do you have any idea how many figures throughout history have used that phrase to justify mass murder?”
“I do. And I can assure you that I’m not one of them. I can’t speak for those above me, but I’m sure they’d say the same.”
Mari shakes her heads in exasperation, but says no more.
“So what news of Noah?”
At the name Mari jumps out of her reverie. Harlem looks at her inquiringly.
“That’s why I brought you up here.”
“I know. And I’m sorry to say I have nothing for you. He cannot be traced. I’ve tried, believe me.”
Harlem closes his eyes briefly to take a measure of this news. “If the enemy finds him first—“
“Then we’re all screwed. I’m well aware of the consequences. But I can’t find him if he doesn’t exist.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He doesn’t exist. If he did he would be traceable. My only guess is that he’s hidden himself within Illusion. Permanently”
“That is impossible”. Says Harlem loudly.
“Is it? If what you say about him is true, and he is the key that will unlock Eden, then surely he would have the power to survive there indefinitely”.
“Then he has an ability the rest of us can only dream about. Keep searching. We need him alive and soon.” Harlem pauses briefly, and when he speaks again his voice is an icy calm. “Can you not feel it, Mari? The last shuddering breath before the plunge?”
“I can”, says Mari, looking at the fiery intensity of the dark angel that towers above her. He’s insane, she thinks. But then, aren’t we all?

When they said their goodbyes, Harlem launches himself into the air, and Mari takes a long moment to watch him glide into the darkness. She sometimes wishes she had wings. It would make traveling a lot easier for a start. She sighs and turns around to walk back down the path, a single question etched upon her thoughts. Where are you, Noah?