It sure is peaceful out here in the void. Too peaceful. Unbearably so. I hear the faint tinnitus I wouldn't have been able to detect in a place with normal background noise. But here at times it's a constant whine, loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I can hear my heart beat, my breath sliding in and out of my lungs. Every rustling and thump seems amplified.
In response, I have been doing my damnedest to create a racket that can drown out all that crap.
I play my latest project guitar, this one a spruce-top acoustic. I have given up trying to electrify and amplify my bass. This is my second attempt at a six string. The first one I made sounded so bad I turned it into a corned beef sandwich with coleslaw and ate it for lunch. This one is a little bit better. Its way prettier on the outside, though I suspect something is wrong with the internal bracing. It sounds little better than a cigar box with strings.
Nevertheless, I can sort of get it in tune and it drowns out the sussuruss. It even sounds good enough to help me write some songs and practice my singing, which frankly, is not my strong point musically. I can stay in tune pretty much but my voice isn't the kind that would keep someone hanging around a coffee shop or prevent them from picking up their pace in a subway station.
But Zeke doesn't seem to mind. There are times I swear he's trying to sing along with a subaural whale-like resonance. When I hit a bad note out of my natural range, he lets me know with a little shiver and a whimper. He's like a personal vocal coach that way.
It sure would be nice to figure out how to amplify stuff, eventually, or acquire something real. That's why I wish I could go back to the Lim. There are real luthiers there, some weavers and some whose claim to fame is building instruments the old school way—from actual wood.
"Shing!"
A couple of open strings on my guitar just start vibrating spontaneously, without me doing anything.
"Zeke? Did you do that?"
A finger a chord. It rings and sustains even with my right hand limp at my side. I'm thinking this is a feature not a flaw. I have inadvertently designed some kind of self-playing acoustic instrument. But then the buzzing starts. This is noise now, not music. I put the instrument down and look around for my pillow, intending to muffle the damned thing until I can figure out what is going on with it.
I glance down at it and recoil, aghast. The thing is reconfiguring itself. The sound hole is flattening and pursing out at the edges to form lips. And there's a tongue forming deep inside the cavity. Disgusted, I kick the damned thing across the chamber, cowering up against the far wall. The neck cracks as it ricochets off the wall, strings go flying, but the thing is still making noise. It lands on its back and tilts itself off the floor with the crab-like legs it has just sprouted.
"What the fuck? Zeke! Kill it!"
"Do not be alarmed," says the mouth.
"Who the fuck are you? How are you doing this?"
"Ms. Pounce sends me. She has recommended you."
"Recommended me for what?"
"A consultation."
"Gaia sent you?"
"You are experienced among the Lesser Realms. She believes your input would be valuable."
"Valuable for what?"
"Realm craft. Setting rules. Designing landscapes. It is time."
"Who are you?"
"I speak for Cardullo. A Maker. One of the two dissenters. The new realm. It is ready. For shaping."
"Okay."
"Do I have your consent?"
"Sure. Whatever Gaia thinks is best. What do you want me to do?"
"Come to us."
"How?"
"Your chariot will bear you. But you must express your consent."
"I already did."
"Your chariot is not responsive."
"Gaia Vibeke Pounce!" I should. "Go wherever this thing wants, Zeke. Got it?"
Zeke's walls were firming up, but I didn't get the sense that we were moving anywhere.
"You will need a trace."
"Trace?"
"Does the word 'strand' mean anything to you?"
"Sure thing. Those noodly things from the looms."
"Stand by for Maker Cardullo's trace."
All six strings pop and curl up into knots. The broken headstock slips free and drops onto the floor, reshaping itself into a slender tube that glows along its entire length, mixing colors in a way that Gaia's strands never did.
The guitar continues to disintegrate, its body melting into Zeke's floor until it is entirely re-absorbed into Zeke's mass. I am not pleased with this development. This had been my best guitar yet.
Everything goes silent again and I'm alone with my murmurs and whines. I sit there looking at the strand, wondering if I am ready for what comes next. I've been idling here for so long I am not sure I know what it feels like to be busy. I suppose it is time to find out. I retrieve the strand from the floor and slip it into the slot on Zeke's pedestal.
***
Warp speed! That's the only way I can describe this ride. None of this slow drift, hot air balloon nonsense I'm used to traveling with Zeke. We're zipping along, in and out of more interfaces and voids that have a right to exist. They really don't want this new realm to be found too easily.
I'm on the floor trying to hold onto my cookies from all of the sudden changes in direction like a kid on a roller coaster begging for the ride to end.
There's not much to see outside Zeke's diaphanous walls, just a whole bunch of shimmery membranes, one after another, like a Youtube compilation of aurorae borealis. I lose count after ten, but a few more after that a glow kicks up all around us and we are descending slowly to the surface of a large planetoid, seemingly larger than the moon but quite a bit small than the earth. I can tell from the haze around it that it has an atmosphere, but no oceans, just grey, flat plains.
So this is the New Realm. I'm not thrilled with the landscaping or the lack of life. It's more boring than a moonscape. At least craters add some character. Who wants to live in a place that looks like the flattest part of Kansas without the corn fields.
Zeke sets down beside a huge pale dome ringed with one continuous window from ground to head height. Hangar sized openings along its base offer more expansive views into the structure, which seems to contain clusters of low buildings. The thing has to be a mile in diameter. I'm impressed.
The landscape surrounding it is mostly flat and shiny, although there are heaps here and there of looks like gravel from afar. In the distance a few smokeless cinder cones are spewing out something coarse and gritty that falls back to the ground immediately. These cold volcanoes or whatever they are seem to be the source of the slag heaps.
Zeke is acting totally at peace with this world. He is all floppy and transparent with no sign of his armor or weaponry. His petals unfurled the instant we touched down.
The air wafting in is fresh and highly breathable. Low humidity, but by no means dry. It's as warm as a picnic in June. A perfect spring day. I step outside.
There are two people walking towards us from the dome—a preternaturally tall but wispy man with a deeply creased face that contrasted with his full head of jet black hair and a broad-shouldered woman with honey-blonde hair that seems to flow everywhere.
They stand before me, smiling politely. Their hands are at their sides. I wonder if I should stick out my hand or offer a hug. But I just stand their awkwardly. When in Rome, do as the Romans, I figure.
"Welcome," says the woman.
"You are James?" asks the man.
"Um. Yeah. Is one of you Cardullo?"
"No. We are from the Council. I am Franck and this is my colleague, Rebecca. Come join us. The full council has not yet arrived, but we're having a preliminary chat regardless."
"Council?"
"Yes. The Council for which you are now a member."
"Where's this Cardullo person? He's the one who sent for me."
"The Makers will join the full Council when it convenes. They are otherwise occupied."
The man seems to be doing most of the talking. The woman just sort of stands there and grins.
"You guys know Gaia, I take it?"
"We have not," says Franck.
"Are you sure you guys want me in on this? This feels like a mistake."
"Nonsense," says Franck.
"They all say that," says Rebecca finally, smirking."
"Humility is good. We all could use a little more humility."
"We should put it in our charter."
We walk towards the dome, and just outside of it there is a circle of what look like stones with several seated figures.
"What's the dome for?"
"Protection," says the man. "It is our refuge in case of attack. And until recently, it was the only area of the realm that had an atmosphere."
The woman smiles. "Now we can breathe across the entire realm."
"Do you even need an atmosphere?"
"We don't need one. We want one," she says. "It was one of the first things we agreed upon."
"Can't have a decent sunset without an atmosphere," says Franck.
It is then I notice, that there doesn't seem to be a sun. There's just this ever-present glow about the place. I'm sure there's a reason. The place is under construction, for God's sake.
They lead me to the circle. What looked like stones from a distance are actually contoured as seats. Franck motions for me to sit down. The material looks like stone, but it's spongy and comfortable.
Of the dozen or so seats in the circle only a few are occupied. There is a black man with a robe and staff who looks like he has been plucked off the Kenyan savannah, and two Asian women who are chattering animatedly with each other and not even bothering to look our way.
I can't help myself.
"So, what time does the sun set around here."
"We have no sun as yet," says the Franck man. "That will be a matter for deliberation."
"Oh? You might not have one."
"The implementation is the issue. Is it something we orbit or something we orbit around. Does it dilate or expand?"
"There is no wind. This will not do," says the black man.
"It will come, when we add spin," says Rebecca.
"Another matter for deliberation," says Franck.
"No worries, Adamu," says Rebecca. "The wind will come in time, one way or another."
"We prefer the lighting as it is," says one of the Asian ladies.
"No. It is bad," says Adamu. "There are no shadows."
"That's what we like about it."
"The current lighting is only temporary," says Franck. "The full committee will decide its final state."
"We can have both," says Rebecca. "We can certainly have this sort of lighting in interior spaces but most souls would seem to prefer an environment closer to what they experienced in life. By that I mean, planetary."
"And with rotation, thermal convection, the wind will come," says Franck. I'm beginning to wonder what I'm doing here. How could a world designed by a committee be any less than a nightmare? How could it be any better than what we already had?
"Everybody, this is James. He comes to us from the lesser realms. He is rather broadly experienced throughout the Liminality. He has even been to Avernus."
"And returned to tell about it," says Rebecca. "James, the two ladies over there are Mina and Mei. We have more members in the realm and more on the way, but we won't be formally convening for another day or so."
"Do you guys have days yet? Or is it always this bright?"
"We dim the lighting on 12:12 cycle, so yes. We have days," says Rebecca.
"The primary agenda item when we do convene will not be with regard to the physical environment," says Franck. "All that is secondary. Window dressing. The critical issue before us is who gets to come here, how and when. Without the Liminality there will be a tremendous void in the Afterlands. Without us, an extraordinary proportion of souls will be condemned to Avernus."
"So I take it they're not getting rid of Avernus?" I ask.
"Most definitely not. I believe they intend to expand it, increase its reach and power."
"Who are 'they'?"
The Powers-That-Be, whomever that currently entails. We are not privy to that information."
"You? But you guys are Makers. You guys are like gods."
"Hardly," says Franck.
"What?"
"We are not the Makers, thought they will join us when the time comes."
"Think of us as the architects," says Rebecca. "The Makers are the engineers."
"World-building? Guys, this is out of my league."
"You would not be here if someone did not think you had a similar skill potential."
"Gaia?"
"Not just her."
"I do hope there will be an ocean," says Mina.
"Well, that is yet to be decided."
"An ocean reduces the land surface area, reduces habitable space. Things might get crowded. This realm is not quite Earth-sized."
"But there must be an ocean. An ocean is essential."
"Then certainly we will take it under consideration once the full board convenes. But, whatever the Council decides will be."
There is a flash in the sky and an Ophanim descends. I stand up. I see those things and I think of Gaia. Its rings stop spinning and fall and out steps not a tall, lithe blonde woman but a heavyset red-haired man with long hair and a longer beard. He looks a little dazed, but he seems to know why he's here and he joins us at the circle.
"Viktor? How goes the war?" asks Rebecca.
"Difficult," he mumbles. "As usual."
All goes dark in one instant. One of the women, startled, cries out.
"No worries. It's just our defense system kicking in."
"I was followed?" says Viktor.
"Either you or James," says Franck. "No matter. Whoever is knocking at the interface will detect nothing, just another void."
"Is this place going to blink out every time someone takes a peek?" I say, sitting in a dark as absolute as a subterranean cavern.
"Just for now. Until we develop more robust defenses. We represent an existential threat to the Powers-That-Be. In all of Creation, this have never happened to them."
"Once," Rebecca corrects. "Lucifer."
"Yes, well, that was different."
"Hell? Exists?"
Rebecca and Franck share a conspiratorial glance.
"There may be a lower realm beyond the control of the Powers-That-Be."
"You don't know for sure?"
"We are not supposed to know these things."
"But do you?"
"Let's not talk about this here."
The ubiquitous, shadowless light blinks back on, but with about half the brightness it had glowed with before.
"Excellent," says Franck. "Crisis averted, it would seem."
Two more Ophanim come hurtling about the sky like meteors without tails, landing softly just outside the dome.
"More have come," saysRebecca. "Soon we can deliberate."