Raphael by Night
The circumstances I am about to relate to you have a truth recommended on them. They have happened to I, myself, and my recollection of them is as vivid as if they had taken place only a few short hours ago. One hundred and fifty three years, however, have gone by since that day. During those hundred and fifty three years I have told the story to but one other person. I tell it now with a reluctance which I find it difficult to overcome. All I entreat upon you meanwhile is two abstentions. One is that you tell no other…till after I am gone. The second is that you will abstain from forcing your own conclusion upon my story. I want nothing explained away. I desire you do not argue. For my mind is set on the subject, it is quite made-up, and, having the sense of my own testimony to rely upon. I prefer sir that you abide by it as I do.
Well! It was almost to this day a hundred and fifty three years ago now, and within a day or two of the great conflict. My mother and father were sent as part of an ambassadorial team to the war thorn Island realm. They had become part of the problem of the looming war and there we went in search for solutions. We were un-root to our home world when the crisis broke and were subsequently diverted.
All flash news reports however, highlighted that the situation was critical. The political balance in the solar system was becoming unstable or worst still replaced by rhetoric and fear.
My Parents had worked all day and the talks, so to speak had stalled. I began to regret my hotel room. Unknown to my parents, I walked farther into the camps, sprawled outside; just thin heat-gauzed tents keeping the citizens mainly children from freezing to death, large black bugs swarming across their faces. As a child myself; no more that 16 standards years I suppose back then. What I remember most are the children, who weren’t trying to surround you. They just sat in clusters, slathered in dirt and fear. Each half buried under un-answered questions. Their stomach distended from hunger, their limbs pieces of thin scraps, not even useful as sticks. One boy about the same age as me just stared at me the whole time as I walked. I buried my face down into my coat and decided to walk in the other direction along one of the Islands larger rivers.
The wind was due east and cold; the season was deep winter; the streets were bleak; some time back they were emptied of all their peoples. Darkly setting shadows cast their ghostly glow upon the momentary melting ice and snow soaked cobbles. And I had lost my way. It was not a pleasant place in which to lose one’s way, with the feathery drops of yet more snow and of a coming storm just fluttering down upon wet laden paths that stank of oil. This realm had partly modified to steam. The air stank of burned oil under the leaden clouds which anxiously gathered above my head. I shaded my hair as best I could. For back then I had desert bleached silk black hair and was vain enough not to get it too un-kept. Let me say Sir that you trusted and hoped that you get away from such a place before all luck ran-out. I stared into the collecting blackness of the night, where the purple streets dissolved into the murky and threatening river. Not the faintest sight of a living soul occupied my horizon. So I shouldered my bag, and wearily pushed forward; for I had been on foot since an hour after evenings turn, and had eaten nothing since lunch.
Meanwhile, the snow began to fall with ominous steadiness, and the wind of the un-rushing storm augmented the gloom. The cold became more intense as night came rabidly down. As for me, my prospects were darkening with every step I took. I thought of my family, and thought of the suffering in store for them, if I should stumble on any of the warring factions still inhabiting this almost dead city. I might still get back.
And all this time, the snow fell as the night thickened. I stopped now and then and considered shouting. But each time I stopped the silence grew a little deeper. Then a strange sense of uneasiness came upon me, and began to remember stories which the locals had told me of. That in recent month, all those who’d walked out on their own, along the river; if found at-all returned as stuttering fools, with little sense in either their words or deeds. The only words that could be deciphered from these poor retched souls have; been “do not to stop, do not drift to sleep, keep walking…keep up the pace. Or you would be lost forever in the either of time; as good as dead.”
Would it be possible, I asked myself; could I keep on and on thus through all the long dark night? Would there not come a time when my limbs would fail, and my resolution give-way? When I too, might just fall or stumble into that sleep. To rest forever in the sleep of death; if the stories are to be believed; how easy is it to die.
To banish this thought I decided to shout, no matter the consequences. I shouted again a little louder and longer, and then listened eagerly. Was my shout answered so quickly? Or did I only imagine that I heard a far-off cry? I hollered again and again, it followed and fell off the high walls and the cracked buildings; around me. Then a wavering speck of light came suddenly out of the dark, shifting and disappearing. Growing momentarily and then in an instance fading. Yet nearer it remained brighter for longer. Running at full speed, I found myself, to my great joy, face to face with an old man and a lantern.
I wanted to hug him…but contact with stranger was not our custom back then; either. A stream of tears burst involuntarily from my eyes and a hush escaped from my lips. Blinking and frowning, he lifted his lantern and peered at my face. “What of you, dear lady” he said sulkily. I began to fear that he was a combatant, yet still I answered “I fear that I should be lost in this dead city.” Eh-then folks do get lost and get cast into the shadows hereabouts from time to time. And what’s hindering you from the same faith dear lady? If faith has the mind.” If faith has the mind then you and I shall be lost together.” I replied. He smiled and spoke more softly this time “I don’t mean to be lost without you my friend.” I was surprised by his remark, but kept my surprise to myself.
“Where do you come from?” he said louder over the gusting wind. “The Embassy, I am part of the commission of peace; just a lonely child of a Governance advisor I’m afraid” I quickly lied my reply. He looked strangely at me and almost laughing said “No…no…no, where do you come from; you are not from these worlds. What others then do you belong?” Feeling the anger begin to rise in me; for I was not so accustomed to been laughed at or addressed so impolitely; for you see sir I come from a Noble House; such laughter from a stranger, if it were not for my predicament then I would have left his company there and then. “How far am I from the Secure Green -Zone?” I snapped. The green-zone is a misnomer; historians have applied it to every secure-zone since before humans scattered-out into the solar-systems. For this secure-zone had not one lick of green paint; theoretically it was a series of buildings protected by Constables from assault and suicide-attacks.
“A good-eh-old six clicks, more or less. Too-far now…too late I think for the night that’s in it.” He replied through a whispered smile. “Where do you live, then?” beginning to feel the cold soak through, into my bones. “Out yonder, not too far,” said he, with a vague jerk of the lantern. Getting tired I almost pleaded “You’re going home, I presume?”
“Maybe I am.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
The old man shook his head, and rubbed his forehead beneath his cap reflectively with his free gloved hand. “It ain’t o’ no use” he growled. “I can’t ever find the damn place.” Misunderstanding him, I briskly said. “We’ll see about that, firstly you know of its direction. Then lets us walk together.”
“Eh we can try!” he muttered reluctantly and still shaking his head. He began to walk ahead of me as if to guide, still muttering and hobbling, gnome like away through the falling snow. And thus I followed. Soon we were walking side-by-side. This strange old man and a young novice girl seemingly lost in a war-torn desolate city, clutching my bag against my chest. We turned many corners and the night fell past mid-night. The city crumbled; vomits of brick and stone lay strewn across both its wide and narrow arteries. Some were totally blocked by debris.
The snow seemed to ease, so did the smell of the raw sewage combined with the decay of human flesh. We talked as we walked. He told me of many strange things, which at the time made little sense. I assumed that this poor old man had lost his rationality or had it stolen from him during the recent conflict. He talked till I believed he had almost forgotten my presence. Yet as we walked my tiredness and loneliness began to lift. And I began to enjoy the way he talked, and of all the stories. I even laughed at some of them. This seemed to encourage him, and he talked of brighter and brighter things. Soon I too was lost in our conversation. I had nearly told him of all my own; short-life story. I even spoke of wishes, and confessions. And on we walked and talked. The dark hours of night was beginning to lighten. The ease of dawn alleviated the shadows and their terror. The river rushed-by on our left, as we found ourselves walking along its banks, under a canopy of bare tree. Yet farther on, I could just make-out that some trees retained the autumn plumage of golden leafs, despite winter’s harshness.
As the early light of dawn broke across our horizon; I noticed to my astonishment that my companion for this night was not as old as I thought. He was a man of middle years. Along with his lantern he carried a sheathed sword around his waste a large shield about his back, slung there by a belt, which also clasped his dirty bronzed stained helmet. Underneath his charcoal cloak I could just make out armour the shade of tin and an thick undergarment the colour of purple.
We walked on; he kept up his story telling, some full of sadness others full of strange and wonderful things. He seemed to be re-living each one of these fictions, although I recognised some of the names he’d mentioned and some of the places. History however, did not council that such events ever took-place.
By the time the sun had climbed high enough above the snow-soak hills which overlooked the city. The river bank was almost clear of its blanket of night’s snow; what remained was just the stain of dampness upon the nearing scene around. The trees that lined the road ahead had almost all kept their leaf; a spectrum of browns and gold filtered the lighted sun lit rays and greeted my sight ahead. And when I raised my head to look at the stranger to declare this strangeness of the trees; I had to stifle my amazement. For the man I had thought once to be old aged and gnomic, and then thought latter, he was to be of middle years. What faced me was the face of the young. No more that a few years older than I. His stride was strong and powerful. His eyes scanned all before him. Only at this point did he pull back the hood of his cloak and turned towards me. We both stopped for the first time since we’d embarked on our journey. Smiling and with a wink of his eyes, he whispered “you are doing well my dearest friend.” His words were so familiar, yet with the strangest tone of voice. I fought for my own self clarity. I stared about me in increased amazement. His face was singularly fine; but it was more the face of a poet than a philosopher, yet more of a philosopher than a warrior. Broad in the temples, prominent over the deep pool of his eyes, which were shaded by a rough profusion of auburn hair and he was clothed with armour of a knight of the finest realm.
He bowed, “My Lady I have lived here in strict hermitage, till the time of your coming. During this time I have seen many strange faces. Some have crossed my threshold others have failed and have lost themselves in the either of time. Will you favour me with a few words of information respecting that outer world from which I parted company for so long?
“Pray interrogate me,” I replied half dazed by these occurrences. “If you suggest that I am your dearest friend then I am at your service sir, I continued. He bent his head in acknowledgement. He turned and strode on down the tree lined road. He began pouring forth his questions, on the imbalances that had gathered about our solar-system, the conflicts the economics the governance and the human capital that were now part of it all. I answered as best I could, he listened spellbound. No one-else ever listened to me is such a way before; I a lonely novice. Giving philosophies, subtle analysis, bold generalisations as if I was familiar with all systems. It poured from me in almost uninterrupted stream. When I had finished and still walking his suddenly fixed upon me.
“The worlds of men,” he said “grow hourly more and more emotionless; immovable and at a complete loss inside their own narrow radius. Humans must go beyond boundaries. It is our destiny. I condemn as fable that, which will prevent this movement outwards. Let us not commit suicide to avoid being without difficulties and without answers. It is said that people who take their own lives must be brave in the end. I say it is braver still to accept the harshness of life and move farther and further. Do not let superstitions have the wedge, to arrest human life. The evidence of such witnesses, however convincing counts for nothing. He who pauses to set the noose about his neck before he pronounces that life is nothing with the living is condemned as a trifler. He who believes such is no dreamer but is a fool.”
I murmured, scarcely knowing what to say, droplets of tears falling from my eyes. “Who are you,” I asked. He smiled again, this time it seemed so familiar and spoke more softly. I have many past and many futures and I have seen your history my dearest friend. You will suffer for the truth, as many better and wiser souls will suffer in the coming war. For like me you are part of the assembled of humanities best composite and like me you have been cast for the coming occasion. “Of my life Sir, you know of my past life or of my future? Then I should know your name sir.” my heart almost broke as the words fell form my lips. I was suspended in the fear, like that of a new-born first gaze upon its world. For all the words that I had just heard, I knew them to be a truth in them.
Still with his smile, his skin white, his hair short, straight; strong and fast he held out his gloved hand, yet the cold seemed to have left. The sun gleamed. And before I could ask more questions he placed in my hand a small box of embroidered cloth. I looked quizzically, and opened it. Inside was emptiness.
“I am Raphael and we shall meet again my dearest friend, when all worlds will war with all other worlds, yet do not fear; watch for my lantern in those shadows and listen carefully, for you shall hear my whisper return your doubtful questions; they shall say simply that I will always be your friend my Desert Lady of the East.
He held his elegance for a few more moments, turned and walked-on. I did not follow directly, as I was still captured by the strangest of the gift. When I moved to walk by his side once more, he was gone. In that single instant, brief and vivid, the landscape beheld again the flash of winter lightning. I saw the leaden clouds shape; rifts of snow began to fall. The canopy of leafs spun in ghostly warnings. Broken parapets and blacken buildings jutted back into view. Then came a crash, a sense of crushing pain…and then darkness.
It seemed as if years had gone by; when I awoke. I was the only survivor of that day’s terrible work. A suicide boomer broke through to the Green-Zone. I was found outside the western entrance, cruelly wounded but alive. Surgeons worked on me through bouts of delirium, thanks to my youth and my constitution to live. I came out of danger at last. By the time I recovered all worlds were indeed at war with all other worlds in our solar-system. Just as Raphael had said it would be. It took them some days to find out who I was, for all I had in my pockets was a cloth covered empty box.
I have only recalled those events to one other person which I have now related to you. That other was that of Lord Raphael Idaho himself; the warrior poet, some ten years after the event. When he was sent by the kind Duke for my protection. His only answer to my questions was that he had none. So with this equanimity between us, we became the dearest of friends. As all should know from the chronological that have been written of those troubled times. Now sir it is getting cold out here in the gardens by the river. And I am old and most walk before super…
The Editation Recording Stick clicked once and no more. No sound could be heard through the high halls and wooded corridors. The Court was hushed, both audience and participants waited. The Central Adjudicator; his grey face blending with his grey hair, giving him a vaporous presence broke the silence. “What happened then?”
A lonely voice nervously replied from the elevated pulpit “to the best of my recollection, your Worship; Governor Lady Aiyan rose to her feet without assistance. She proceeded to walk under the autumnal canopy of golden leafed trees which lined the bank the great Island’s river. With the Ceremony for the Great War Dead over; soon she would return to her desert world. She look around just the once and smiled.
As I rose, feeling the chill in the air, I notice a small box resting on its edge. Without delay I knew, instantly that it was the cloth box that Lady Aiyan had just spoken of. But when I turned to follow after; my heart leapt. She had gone.
For a time I searched the convent gardens of the park but found no trace of her. I then reluctantly your Honours looked inside the box. I found it empty.”
Although nervously; Jacob had spoke with as much clarity as he could muster in front of the Court of Justices with their black gowns and grey wigs, the Lady Governances all wearing dark purple hooded gowns giving them an air of majesty and beauty, the Regime of Spies their faces distorted by their hoods, the Constable Guard in all their finery; medals polished, dark black uniforms arrowed to perfection and to the Augmented Souls their boiler hearts venting little jets of steam on occasions and to the Deliberative Houses and Representative Forums all representing Humanity’s Accord.
He was just a lonely academic researcher, who had thought he had found good fortune. He met Lady Aiyan along the embankment of a river on a late autumnal evening when the Ceremony for the Death had ended. “Did you see Governor Lady Aiyan again” one of the senior Lady Governances asked. “Well…eh, no…well; I cannot be certain; for I did see two old… or a couple of middle years… or a young couple walk along the river bank. It was hard to see, leafs were falling briskly in the evening breeze and the late sun shone into my eye my Lady.” Jacob replied.
