The Deep

Part 1

Mac is sitting in the front room of his shop. He is leaning back in a chair, a book in hand.

Hanukah is working on cleaning. In her spare time, she has found over the last few weeks that she likes city life. She also has no problem with cleaning, and is starting to learn how to cook.

Tail comes in from upstairs. She tips her head sideways, looking down at Mac. She leans, ever closer, as she examines the book he is reading. Tail grunts, "Paradise Lost." She slides a hand under Mac's chin and makes him look up at her. "Haven't you read this... about 12 times?"

Mac smiles up at Tail, "I have... in six different languages!" Tail sits on Mac's lap and leans over him, offering a hug.

"Why are you reading 'Paradise Lost' again?" Tail touches her nose to Mac's, then offers to lick his face; playing with him.

Mac slips a hand under one of her tails and squeezes her. "Because it amuses me how it changes from decade to decade."

Tail asks, "The book changes?"

Mac nods, "Every time it is reprinted." Mac points over to his collection of books for rent. "I have five copies on that shelf. Each has its own cover, and each was re-edited before print. Every time something gets lost, changed, or adapted; so much so, that if you skip forward a few editions, it is almost like seeing an all-new book."

Tail comments, "Like 'The Bestiary of Paul'?"

Mac thinks "I think you are thinking of 'The Bestiary of St. George'."

Tail snaps and points, "Yeah, that is it; and how between translations an alligator transformed into a sea serpent."

Mac comments, as he picks Tail up and walks over to his collection of paintings to look for something. "Well, it wasn't as simple as that. One problem George had, as far as I understand it, was that he was fluent in Greek but not Aramaic, so he had to hire a translator to help him. The guide he had that helped him track down the monsters he wanted to see was Zulu- and he couldn't speak Greek. So, he needed a translator, also. Then, when the book was being finalized, it was being made for an Italian audience. They needed to run it through a Latin Rosetta to read the original documentation. By the time everything was done, you had four versions of the book, and not one of them in a language spoken by the original penner."

Tail comments, "This was all sort of bungled up right from the start."

Mac pulls out a painting of a unicorn. Mac turns the painting to face Tail. "Does this look like a water buffalo to you?"

Tail shakes her head, "Clearly not!"

Mac places the painting back down, and adds, "That is where the biggest problem was that George faced. He hated words such as 'like,' because it is too easy for the word 'like' to be mistaken for 'is.' If he told his scribe that the beast looked like a horse, it might get recorded as the beast is a horse."

Tail asks, "Did you ever meet George?"

Mac shakes his head "No; throughout St. George's life, I was either a sailor living off the cost of Finland, or a wine bottler living in Zan." Mac thinks for a moment, then elaborates. "Today it is called Beijing"

As Tail leans forward flagging her tails, she questions, "Mac, how come I never see you doing any sort of art or writing anymore?"

Mac shrugs, "I don't know."

Tail jumps down off the desk. "Well, we have a typewriter and a tripod downstairs. You are going to write or draw something."

As Tail walks off, Mac throws his arms out in a shrug. There is no arguing with Tail.

***

He is called Suicide Jack. He works for Bronzclaw; an origination of men that do odd jobs. Jack is a pricey man to contact. He charges his weight in silver any time he has to go somewhere. But Jack has never failed to finish a job.

Somewhere on the road he lost an eye, and he has strange scars on his hand. Glass shards are imbedded in his skin in a way that makes it impossible to pull them back out. His hair is long and white; his beard, thick and curly. He wears a cape and cowl made out of lizard skin.

Jack has been called on by a school called White Corsage. He is to travel to Solitude where there is a cave that has been unearthed. Strange insignias are drawn on the walls: a warning- 'This place is hexed. These walls must not be touched until 10,993.' White Corsage has sent 30 men into that cave to map it. They have all failed to find the bottom of the cave.

Bronzclaw has called on Suicide. Jack stands at the crevice of the cave. A word is carved into the mouth of the cave; the meaning has been forgotten for eons, no doubt. "Yucatán," an emblem, is cut into the ground: three triangles.

Armond von Ghoul, a teacher from the school, stands at the mouth of the cave with Jack. He is no younger then Jack, but looks small, weak, and sick; standing next to the greatness that is Suicide Jack.

In a low voice, a bark almost, Jack asks "What is this thing on the ground?"

Armond expresses, "A holy symbol of some kind. It doesn't relate to any gods or goddesses that I know."

"What about the word over the mouth of the cave?"

Armond looks at it. "The name of the god of these people, I would assume."

Jack questions, "Which people?"

Armond never replies- Instead, the two walk in. the ground is bathed in rust. The smell of salt is burning in the air. The first room of the cave is wide and has squared corners. Jack points, "This cave isn't natural, these walls have been worked. Nature doesn't make right-angles."

The ground is split; the two old men climb into the Deep. The walls twist and turn; they pull, they stretch. The cave has a smell that is hard to describe: a smell like death, like old death... a lingering aroma trapped by the stillness of the earth.

Jack lights a torch.

Few men have seen true darkness. Living under the light of the cosmos, one can't see darkness. Even when we shut our eyes, we see a fading pink light cast on us by the warmth of the surface world. Only when a hundred or more feet under ground, does one become aware of the idea that we can feel light. Once you are away from that light, the weight of it is quickly and painfully missed.

The emptiness of the underground plays tricks on people; it plays with our expectations. The sounds of your own breath can echo back at you. Any words you say bounce off the walls for sometimes minutes on end.

The way light bends looks strange. Flames dance and flutter, the spilt seconds between embers seems to force the stone to eat the flames. All things become invisible for those moments. An unaware traveler will become lost in that heartbeat. The hungry stones seem to shift the walls. The mind doesn't work right under these conditions- one loses the ability to remember landmarks.

Whatever you do, don't walk backwards, and don't look over your shoulder. Without a compass you will become disoriented. Make sure to keep a hand on one wall at all times; otherwise, the dancing flint of a torch will have you walking into walls.

Hard as one may try, all the best advice a cave diver can give, sometimes falls apart.

Abysses; sudden deep dives in the cave, are sometimes 20', other times 1000'. Regardless, the result of seeing one is the same. Smooth walls are like glass, reflecting light like gemstones. Once you choose to step into one, the way back becomes much harder... if at all possible.

Armond asks, "How far down are we Jack?"

Jack replies, "1880'."

Armond nods, "Deeper than anyone has been yet." Armond laughs. "I would have thought we would fall though the earth."

Jack speaks back, "You can turn back if you want."

"What of you?" Armond insists.

"I have to keep going." Jack stakes his rappelling line into the ground; he jumps into the Deep.

Before Jack is a wall of glass, 400 feet tall. Blue light reflects off his torch. A shadow within the volcanic chamber shows a face fifty feet tall: not a human face, but something lizard like; made of stone attached to a monster that is almost human... but more simplistic, hunched over, with thick hair.

At the landing, spikes, twenty feet long and 8 inches thick, made of iron ooze from the earth. A door sits at the end of a squared walkway. The ground is cracked, the sound of water drips underfoot. The door, ten feet tall and thirty feet wide, is cast in steel. The three-triangle is cut into it.

Jack places his hands on the door; warmth spills through. Jack fails to see the writing on the walls. He needs to keep pushing forward. Suicide Jack never looks back.

The door cracks under Jack's weight. Warm green light peeks out from under the door. The sound of fire burns in the distance.

Part 2

Tail leans over Mac, looking at his painting: an aging man pushing open a door, muted colors, washed out, cold feeling, earth toned.

Tail shakes her head. "Mac, I must say, this is not my favorite. It has such a dark feeling to it. What is it?"

Mac sets down his paint brushes, "I don't know."

"Why are you doing it?" Tail asks.

Mac explains, "You told me to."

"Want to try something else?" Tail hugs Mac.

Mac shakes his head, "I want to start again. I sort of like this painting thing." For hours, Mac works on his painting. His brush work is fine, his form is realistic, but never is he happy with what he is looking at.

After Mynxs comes home from school, Mac puts away his tools and goes to make food for the lot of them: steamed carrots with a honey glaze, garlic pan-fried potatoes, and chicken with a lemon dry rub.

After dinner, it is time to work out, then some reading before bed time. Mac is a man that loves routine, rituals, and traditions. Mac goes to check in on the girls before returning to his room for the night.

Mynxs, Hanukah, Minora- Mac looks around the room. "I remember adopting one centaur. Where did the second one come from?" he comments jokingly.

Hanukah jumps to her feet. She is dressed in a striped flannel nightgown. She bows. "I am sorry Mr. Vixon. Did I forget to introduce my baby sister?" She waves out a hand. "Her name is Minora. She has been placed in the care of the Cherrywood staff. I asked her to come and spend the weekend with us!"

Mac holds up a hand. "Take it easy. I have space enough for all of us here."

Mynxs rolls over onto her stomach. She is dressed in a red mostly transparent robe with a bikini underneath. "Dad, do you know any stories from when you were a kid?"

Mac laughs, "I was never a kid." He rolls his eyes up as he thinks. "I do remember a few fairytales; one or two that are more or less forgotten."

Minora comments, "We were talking about the old world at school today... the fables and mythology that made up early history."

Mac sists on the bed, the three younger girls around him. " 'Hilda the Turkey Eater' is the first to come to mind, if you want me to share."

Minora waves him on. Mynxs jumps up onto his lap. She hugs her father. "This should be fun. Go ahead."

Mac looks up as he is trying to remember the smaller parts of the story. "Denmark was one of the first places to allow women to serve alongside men on naval ships. Hilda was a respected woman. She served in the service for 15 years, until she was killed in action. Hilda was brought home, set out on display for her countrymen to celebrate her life."

"As is tradition, Hilda's younger brother was asked to lead the celebration. He starts by setting out a bird. He explains... Hilda loved turkey more than any other bird, so, we must eat a turkey in her name."

"Hilda's brother, did not know how Hilda cooked turkey. He went into his kitchen and gathered up all he could carry. He brought fish oil and mushrooms and crushed peppers. He sets out the fish oil to boil. Hilda rolls on the slab; wind blows across her lips and she mumbles. 'Wash the bird in salt and eggs.'"

"Hilda's brother takes a block of cow fat and paints the bird with it, then he crushes flowers and sprinkles them over the bird's breast."

"The wind blows and Hilda moans, "Where is the lemon salt? Where are the garlic cloves?"

"The boy then throws the bird into the fish oil. Hilda moans, 'no, no, no. The bird must not be submerged; the skin will not crisp.'."

"The boy takes up his knife and goes to cut open the bird. Hilda jumps out of her coffin. She takes the knife and throws it at the ground; then takes the bird and throws it to the river. 'I will not let you eat this filthy bird!' she yells. 'I will show you how to cook a bird right.'."

"Hilda takes peanuts and oil, and burns the feathers from the bird. She then cuts off its head and cuts around its stomach to drain the bird. She cleans the bird with beer. She rubs it down with lemon seeds, garlic cloves, salt and pepper. She cracks an egg and pours the whites over the meat. 'This is how you cook a bird.' She takes the bird and rests it on a spit; then cooks it over a flame. 'Meat must be cooked slow. It must be loved and admired.'."

"She cut the meat and shows off the soft white skin of the bird. She shows how the bones come clean when she strips the meat; how the muscle flakes. 'This is meat the way it should look. If you wish to eat my favorite turkey, this is how it must look; this is how it must taste.'."

"The boy tastes the meat, and it is good. With that, Hilda is happy, and she returns to her coffin. She lays down and returns to sleep."

Minora is leaning, deeply captivated. "That is it? She just fell asleep forever?"

Mac nods. "As far as I am aware, yes."

Hanukah shakes her head and giggles. "That isn't true."

Mac leans back, lying on Mynxs' bed. "No, it isn't. It is a fairytale."

Mynxs asks, "Where do stories like that come from?"

Mac thinks. "Mostly- people trying to understand things. Where does lightning come from? A magical giant named Thor creates it with his mystical hammer. How does the sun move across the sky? It is pulled by the six-legged horse, Sleipnir. Where did the moon come from? It was thrown into the sky by an immortal queen named Kaguya."

Mynxs adds on, "These are all fake people, of course. Lightning doesn't require a giant to make it, the sun isn't moving, the earth is, and the moon ..." Mynxs freezes, "Where did the moon come from?"

Mac reaches over and pets Mynxs. "Look it up and tell me about it tomorrow." Mac gets up. He walks to the door, taking one more look back at the girls. He offers a loving smile before heading back to his room.

***

Tail is lying on her back, partly set up by a stack of pillows. Her laptop is set in her lap, as she is typing. She talks to herself. "The two astral kings have been toppling across space time, struggling to gain control of each other and the cosmos. At last, they fall to the ground, coming to a stop at the end of reality... the moment in time wherein the expanses of reality have been stretched to their fullest."

"The dark matter of the universe has grown so thin, as to make the laws of matter flux. Water takes the shape of globules, marking the very limits of space. Sand, rock, electricity, all have been slackened as to become as one."

"One last step to reach the edge of never. The end of all things is a breath away. What happens once that wall is breached... past the edge of light, past the edge of time? A world that cannot be. Dax and Yangus jump to their feet standing atop the undesirable mass of matter that make up the inches leading into eternity. Yangus holds his hammer high. Dax grips her spear in both hands, still wearing the skin of Valor Hoots. It seems he likes her shape."

"The giants square off!"

Mac slides into bed alongside Tail. Tail sets down her computer and rolls onto her side to face Mac. Tail lowers her ears. She grins as she reaches over, offering her lover a hug. Mac hooks a hand around her back and pulls her in tightly.

Tail speaks up, "Mac, can we wax philosophic for a moment?"

Mac looks to his love, "What is on your mind, Tail?"

"Do you ever think about individuality?"

Mac shakes his head. "Not so much."

Tail rambles, "I saw this example once. I am sure you and I have had this talk once before, but I want to go over it one more time to make sure I understand." Tail is talking fast; she is starting to stutter.

Mac requests, "Slow down, Tail."

"If you had a car, that car is yours. But, if you take out the engine, then what part of the car is your car, the frame or the motor?" Mac shrugs as Tail is talking. "For sake of simplicity, I am going to say the frame is the part that is your car. But then you take off the doors and get new doors. Then you get new windows, and you keep taking off stuff, until you have two full cars worth of stuff you can assemble into two new cars. What car is now your car... the old one, the new one, both?"

Mac replies "Whatever part has your memories, is you." He cuts to the heart of the question.

Tail interjects. "As my father demonstrated, more than dramatically, you can make counterfeit memories."

Mac has no response to that. Tail is right. There is a problem of identity here that cannot be solved. In a world where a computer can make a more or less perfect copy of a person, it is hard to know for sure who one is. Mac comforts her. "You are you; you will always be you."

"But what if I am not me? What if I am what my father is? Am I still me then?"

Mac rolls Tail onto her back. He kisses her. She shuts her eyes and takes a deep, wanting, breath.

Part 3

The world freezes. Mac finds himself kissing a puppet dressed in Tail's clothes. There is visible screen tearing in the world itself. Mac looks around as all of reality is showing signs of instability.

Mac is surprised for a few moments, as he tries to piece together where he is and what is going on. Once he has worked out what is going on, Mac shouts into the darkness of the room. "Cilverant!"

Standing before the window in the bedroom, looking out into the sky, the giant many-faced metal man stands. "Hello Sal-la-daynamO." Mac stands up. He reaches onto the wall and picks up his sword from its cradle. Cilverant responds. "Strike me if you like. You can kill as many of my avatars as you like. It means nothing to me."

Mac asks, "Why are you here?"

"Sal-la-daynamO, I need your help." Cilverant turns to face Mac. "The mania is spreading. 100,000,000,042 files have needed to be isolated so far."

Mac responds. "You don't need me, you need Marks, or Tail. They are the ones that can help you with that."

The giant folds his arms behind his back and stands rigid. "If I believed that they could, I would have contacted them instead of you." Cilverant walks around the room looking over the oddities Mac keeps around. "How interesting is this world you have made for yourself."

Mac asks, "How far are we from..."

Cilverant cuts him off. "twenty rotations minimum." The echoing body becomes deeper and more contemplative. "At the speed of the spread as it is, there would be no healthy minds left."

After setting down his blade, Mac crosses his hands into a diamond over his stomach, as he shuts his eyes considering what Cilverant is describing. "What options are at our ..."

Cilverant cuts Mac off again. "None whatsoever. If we can't cure the mania, then our life works will be for nothing." Cilverant calms himself for a moment. "I can give you the Steel Rose, everything within it. I trust that you will find something I missed."

Mac shakes his head. "If it was that easy, you would have done it already. You think that what I need isn't on the Steel Rose. It is somewhere in Realities."

Cilverant looks out the window. "What sort of miscalculation I must have made. What this will cost... it is unfathomable."

Mac looks at Tail. He breathes, slow and hard, lost in his mind. "Cilverant, even if we save this..." Mac looks to the floor, "What are the chances we will be able to rebuild?"

Cilverant takes a long moment to reply. "Do you want to know?" Mac nods. "Low," Is the only word to escape Cilverant's empty body. "The damage done by the ion storm; it was cataclysmic, even cosmic would not be an unfair word to use."

Mac lays down on his bed. "I would never have thought..."

Cilverant questions, "The monster was eating planets; you did not think that such a thing would have consequences that ranged across the galaxy?" Cilverant is aggravated. "You Tamriel..."

Mac jumps to his feet. This time it is Mac's turn to speak out of line. The waroir takes back up his armaments. "I was not a part of this!" Mac approaches, a hand on his blade, ready to draw. "I am not an agent of death; I am not an entity of chaos! I have never enacted genocide."

Cilverant holds a hand out to call Mac to halt. "Hold your blade, Avatar." Cilverant stands toe-to-toe with Mac. "I mean no offence."

Mac looks away. He drops his head, and returns to the side of his table. He returns his sword to its cradle, and removes the silver coin he had dropped in its place. "Cilverant, how bad can this get?"

"If we assume complete system failure?" The giant asks.

"Is that a possibility?" Mac questions.

Cilverant confirms. "It is not outside the realm of possibilities that this infection can spread to everyone plugged into the network. In that event, when it comes time to unplug..."

Mac walks over to Tail. He sits on the bed alongside her, and reaches out to pet her. His hand passes through the fox, as he and Cilverant are outside of time.

Cilverant asks, "What do you feel when you touch Tail?"

Mac shakes his head. "I trust that you are going to restore time; put me back where I was."

Cilverant asks again. "Are you going to help or not?" Mac is lost in thought. He fails to reply. "If you are the loving creature that I assume you to be, you must do your part to protect this place: these people. If we fail in our mission Sal-la-daynamO, you understand what that means."

Mac requests, "Let me think."

Cilverant steps away. He slips from this reality back to the one from whence he came. Time returns to its normal flow. Tail looks around in confusion as she falls onto the bed; Mac having vanished from under her.

Tail calls out, "Mac!"

Mac looks over his shoulder to her. "Tail?" he asks.

The fox rolls onto her side to look over at him. "Mac, are you OK?" She takes notice of the stressed look on his face. Tail hugs Mac from behind, and rests her head to his neck, offering a kiss.

Mac reaches back to tickle Tail. There is a long moment of silence as he runs his hand through her hair. Tail can smell that Mac is in pain: such a strange smell to be coming from someone with his supernatural healing powers. She knows he isn't in the mood to talk; she instead crawls around in front of him and rest her head across his legs to let herself get stroked like an animal.

***

Mac is a man that loves routine, rituals, and traditions. As the sun rises, he is the first out of bed. He goes through the ritual of removing his sword from its cradle, then it is off to work out, wake his kids and Tail, and cook breakfast.

When Tail comes to sit at the table, she has a tablet computer in hand, and is reading. She is captivated. Tail questions, "Mac, when did you start keeping an on-line diary?"

Mac looks at Tail as he is cutting up some apples. "Decades ago." Mac explains, "I didn't know anyone was reading it, though."

Tail sits down. "No one can. You have it labeled as type 5 restricted. In order to read it, you need to be logged in under your account or your NPC code."

Mac asks, "Are you reading my journal right now?"

Tail responds by starting to read aloud.

Mac cartoonishly goes to chase Tail around the kitchen. The chase is cut short by Tail hiding behind Hanukah. Hanukah turns her body side-to-side, trying to understand what is going on. She squeaks childishly.

***

It was November; best as I can remember. It was 1944. I had fled my home in Germany and arranged for my treasures to be mailed to my estate in Minnesota, U.S.A. But I would not be there to pick up my package when it arrived. Instead, I had contacted my friend Leona Bell to collect it on my behalf.

I had received a letter in which there were instructions for me to go to Tibet. I was to visit a place called Ryu Fa-Lang, a church town in the wilds: found in a place, that, if I understand the words used correctly, is described as - "the end of the serpent's tail."

The paper used was old. The writing was in Fay; a wax seal was on the parchment... the seal one from a kingdom long since forgotten-- "Selenite," the royal family of the moon folk. It was a cold day when I found the church. I needed a guide to lead me much of the way. I paid for the service with Spanish gold. My guide seemed more than happy.

As the door to the church slid open, A young dark-skinned man named Walker waited behind the door. He is the youngest brother of Rose the Selenite, one of the Queens of the moon people. I remember him well. Only a few short millennia ago we had a strong relationship.

Dressed in the orange and red robes of the middle eastern faiths, he stands with his hands folded. He offers me a grin. "My mother was right... you are back from the dead." He explains, "I can't say I care for your outfit." He waves to the dark green coat I have on. "You have the flag of the enemy of humanity on your arm."

"People like you and I don't die;" I express, "We just sometimes fall asleep for a few decades." I look down at my arm, the bent cross, red in a white circle.

Walker explains, "Here the flag is the symbol of fortune and luck, but to the rest of the world..."

I stop him. "I know what it is. Let me point out; I never fought for the flag. I was relegated to book-keeping. People like us, we have no place on a battlefield."

Walker waves me to follow him into the bowels of the church. "Do you fear we would somehow lose?"

I shake my head. "I fear we would win; and from then onto forever every argument would come down to who knows a celestial."

I would spend several years hidden in the depths of the church. I had guilt that I needed to sweat away. I would sweep floors, clean statues; I would learn to speak a half dozen tongues I had never spoken before. I would learn a new art. I would learn how to fight with a staff, with the newest techniques of the old world.

Walker would help me become a new man. James Heart, the banker of the SS, went into the church. The man that would come out has no name. When I was approached by Marks Karingson, I was called gold-eyes, nothing more.

Dance, art, song. I would spend the next decade studying magic, alongside my old friend.

If I am not mistaking, Marks arrived in spring of 1945. He was a broken man when Walker and I found him. He had fought in the battle of Saipan as an American army general. The battlefield had hurt him. He had fought hard, killed many... the things he must have seen- one does not see without needing to pay a price.

I thought Marks was an unextraordinary man. Fighting made him age fast. Walker felt something else altogether. Marks was more than man. He had just a drop of holy blood somewhere deep in his veins, but it needed to be teased awake.

Marks joined us in our studies for the next few years, until one day Walker took Marks to meet Solis-Chaos. I wish I could have gone myself, but the magic that binds me to this world is strong.

Now, one cannot approach Chaos with a clean soul. One must taste of death, must have their essence scarred. Walker needed to arrange for Marks to die, and then come back. Walker told me of the plan. I wanted nothing to do with it.

All I can say for sure... one day, the two went for a walk down the river, and when they returned, Marks was changed. He had evolved into something more than a man. The word used today is Worldwalker, or Demi. He had tasted the blood of dragons. His mind opened and Marks awoke, now as far from man as angels are from God....

***

Tail lowers the computer to her side. "You knew my father when he was a kid?"

Mac shakes his head. "I don't think I would call 40 a kid."

There is a knock on the door; a meow echoes through. Hanukah goes to get the door. Tan is standing there. "Mynxs, Hanukah!" the cat calls out. "We need to get to the school. Gary is awake."