Dead & Godless (5 page)

“As
you said, man hopes for knowledge. Much knowledge that primitive religions laid
claim to was rightly the domain of science. Much, but not all. I needed to show
you that the scope of human understanding is not limited to the empirical. You
already believed that, of course, but your intellect had yet to catch up with
your heart.”

Corwin
was about to argue that his heart knew little more than how to pump blood when
a sudden dizziness came over him. Stumbling, he tipped forward, his arms braced
against either side of the cramped passageway. A dark haze clouded his vision
and his mind swam with vague sounds and silhouettes. Corwin’s consciousness
started to slip away, and then he heard a voice. From across an infinite void,
a woman was calling his name.

“Corwin!”
Mary’s voice was distant but unmistakable. “Corwin, wake up!”

An Absurd Hope

“Corwin!”

The
touch of Ransom’s steady hand on his shoulder jolted the world back into focus.
 Like a boxer recovering from a knockout blow, Corwin slowly straightened up,
shaking off the daze. The angel eyed him with a penetrating stare.

“Are
you alright?”

“Just
a little dizzy. I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Corwin, though neither he nor
Ransom seemed entirely convinced of the latter.

“There’s
a chance that your soul isn’t fully attuned to your new vessel yet. Maybe you
should rest.”

“I’ll
be fine,” Corwin promised.

The
suspicion was still evident on Ransom’s face as he led on, but he made no
attempt to press the subject further. Returning to the hatch door, he again
turned the iron wheel, the portal groaning on its hinges.

“Watch
your step,” he warned. “The ground here is uneven.”

Enveloped
by darkness, Corwin could barely discern his own feet, much less the precarious
terrain beneath them. The hatch had deposited the two travelers in the dank
depths of a cave. It was cool and quiet, save for the soft murmur of a stream
that cut its way along the middle of the path, always to their right.

“I
don’t see how you could argue with my second hope,” remarked Corwin, his voice
reverberating off the shadowy walls. “Everyone longs for a purpose, a deeper
meaning behind this life. Religion is born from such hopes.”

“But
you claim that religion is a false hope?”

“God
is an invention of man, wishful thinking, nothing more.”

“And
why is it that man should be so obsessed with finding a purpose?”

“That’s
just how we evolved,” Corwin explained. “An accident of higher brain functions.”

“You
sound rather distrustful of your own nature,” observed Ransom. “Might not this
most innate of human desires—the desire for meaning—be a clue to be grasped,
rather than an illusion to be dispelled?”

“That’s
all very poetic, but desiring a thing does not make it so. I desired a million
dollars. All I got for my Christmas bonus was a gift certificate to Cracker
Barrel.”

“But
wealth does exist,” reasoned the angel. “If you had a fundamental desire for
something that didn’t, then that would make you most unusual.”

“I
always dreamed of being captain of the starship
Enterprise
.”

“Fundamental
desire,” Ransom
emphasized. “I speak not of elaborate fantasies.”

“And
here I thought you were trying to defend religion!”

With
a hopeless smirk, Ransom forged on, his sure gait carrying him easily over the
rocks. Corwin’s vision had adjusted, but it was all he could do to keep an eye
on the back of his carefree attorney. Warily he negotiated the trail, listening
for where the stream burbled at the bottom of tiny waterfalls, giving clue of a
descent.

Before
long the path leveled out. Sunlight broke though the mouth of the cave ahead,
sparkling on the water and glimmering off the staggered, sharp-edged facets of
the crystalline floor. It rendered a view strikingly different from what Corwin
had expected. The cave’s every surface was of rose-tinted quartz, as was the
outside world.

They
strode forth and were greeted by an alien sky. Beyond the scudding clouds, the
rings of a gas giant sliced towards the horizon and a swollen sun burned
balefully. The land fell away towards a jade sea, its endless waves broken only
by leaning crystal spires in the far-off distance. Hexagonal pillars jutted
here and there from the earth, sometimes in stepped bunches, and upon these
reposed humanlike beings whose skin was translucent, their bodies pulsing with
an inner light. The men and women alike were bald, naked and faceless, mannequins
of living glass.

Unlike
the hard edges of the crystal landscape, most of its inhabitants were smoothly
sculpted. Only those perched atop the highest pillars bore skin that mimicked
the sharp angles of the quartz. These sat motionless, the light within them
having died. Corwin presumed them to be corpses, though the younger creatures
scarcely moved either, their silent gaze transfixed upon the sea.

As
Ransom approached, a female calmly turned her head to regard him. She sat upon
the taller of a twin-pillar cluster.

“Otherworlder,
you cast a deep shadow,” she spoke telepathically, the glow of her mind waxing
with each word. “Does no light pass through you?”

“I am
but a mirror,” replied Ransom. “I reflect a light that is not my own.”

His
eyes blazed white-hot for an instant, the flash so intense that his figure
darkened like a star in eclipse.

“A
light so brilliant cannot harbor wickedness,” judged the woman. “What brings
you to our island? Have you come on account of the trial?”

“That
depends which trial you’re talking about. Is something amiss in your fading
land?”

“It
is as you say. This land fades. None still live who remember the days when our
sun was young, and we that remain but await the coming of the New Sun. We do
not fear the night, for our souls shine all the brighter, but though we want
for nothing, the resplendent light of day is our greatest joy. So it was for
all, until the fog bewitched the one who stands accused.”

“The
fog?” questioned Ransom.

“I
dare not speak of it. I can tell you only that the accused suffers from
nightmares that plague him even by day. He looks to things that are not, and
knows no peace.”

“And
where is this trial being held?”

Lifting
a slender arm, the woman pointed down the shoreline to her right.

“Follow
the red moon. Where the earth spurns the ocean and rises to claim the sky,
there you will find the Elder Council.”

The
dying sun hung high in the heavens as Corwin and Ransom struck off along the
coast, keeping the ruddy face of the planet’s smallest moon ever before them.
They journeyed past stands of jagged trees, white-stemmed and amber-leafed,
their branches laden with gemstone fruits. Corwin nearly jumped from shock when
a nearby boulder stirred without warning, revealing crab-like legs tucked
underneath.

“This
world is stranger by far than the last,” he said, a spirit of adventure quelling
his fears. “Would you have me believe that this is a real place or just a
product of your imagination?”

“What
makes you think that it can’t be both?” replied Ransom. “My imagination is
quite a bit more powerful than yours.”

“So
you can shape reality? Create worlds by imagining them?”

Ransom
chuckled. “It doesn’t work precisely like that. We’re more like assistants,
sketching a rough image. The Father alone knows the position of every whirling
electron. What needs to be understood is that there are degrees to reality.”

“How
can reality have degrees?” complained Corwin. “Things are either real or
they’re not.”

“Even
in your own world, that’s not the case. Some entities posses a higher order of
reality than others, just as a mouse is more real than a stone, and you more
real than a mouse.”

Corwin
wrinkled his brow. “That might make sense to you, but I’m not seeing it.”

“What
would you rather be,” posed Ransom, “a mouse or a stone?”

“A
mouse, I guess. I’d prefer having a tiny brain to having none at all, and at
least I could scurry about. Existence as a stone would feel rather like . . .”

“Like
not existing at all,” concluded the angel. “The more something resembles the
Father, the more real it is, for the closer it is to the source of all
reality.”

“But
if god isn’t real, then your whole metaphysical order falls apart.”

“An
understatement, to be sure. Without God, reality is but another idea in the
mind of man.” He looked to Corwin with a wry smile. “That is to say, not
something I’d put much stock in.”

They
crested a hill of jutting quartz steps and gazed up at what could only be their
destination. Past the shallow dip of a valley, the elevation climbed steadily,
soaring and tapering to a point that leaned out over the sea like the head of
an overturned steam iron. A half-circle of crystal columns crowned the outer
rim of its peak—the venerable seats of the Elder Council.

Seeking
the most direct route, Ransom chose a ledge that snaked along the perilous face
of the escarpment.

“Now
would not be a good time to have another one of your dizzy spells,” he yelled
over the gusty wind.

“I’ll
try to keep that in mind.”

Corwin
glanced down to his left and immediately regretted it. Three hundred feet below,
foaming waves crashed against the foot of the lofty cliff. He shrank back, his
side glued to the rock face.

“You
just
had
to take this shortcut,” grumbled Corwin.

“Everything
worth doing in life is a little scary,” Ransom replied.

“But
not everything that’s scary is worth doing!”

The
ledge grew dreadfully narrow in places, now and again forcing them to clamber
on their hands and knees up steep inclines. The edges of the rose-colored
quartz dug into Corwin’s palms, but he wasn’t about to let go. At last he
pulled himself over the lip of the cliff’s summit, his tension easing at the
wonderful sight of level ground.

Nine
elders stared down solemnly from atop the curved colonnade that bordered the
area, weighing the crimes of the solitary figure who stood below.

“We
have heard the evidence. Do you deny the charges against you?” asked the
Speaker of the Council.

“I do
not,” the accused blinked in answer.

“Then
you know what has to be done. The fog must be dispelled. We cannot allow it to
corrupt the minds of our young. Cast yourself into the sea and pass unto the
great darkness with honor.”

Bowing
his head, the accused accepted his sentence with a sullen step towards the
precipice.

“Just
a moment!” interrupted Ransom. “Before he leaps to his doom, might I ask that
one a few questions?”

The
Speaker’s gaze fell upon the two outsiders suspiciously.

“What
is your business here, otherworlders?”

“Dealing
with foggy minds is a talent of mine,” answered Ransom. “Perhaps I could offer
a better solution.”

A
flicker of voiceless words flashed between the elders as they debated the brash
angel’s proposal.

“Very
well,” decided the Speaker. “Ask what you will, but know that his fate rests
with the Council.”

Ransom
strode up to the condemned man and looked deep into his glassy, guilt-ridden
visage, his body language telling all without the need of a face.

“You
don’t look so dangerous, merely confused,” said Ransom. “I may be able to remedy
that, but you must tell me of this fog. What phantoms haunt your dreams?”

The
telepathic being shifted his weight uneasily.

“I
know not the words for these visions that torture me so,” he lamented, lifting
his listless head skyward. “I see dark flesh seared by flames. It cracks and spits,
its juices dribbling. Beside it rest mounds of carved cloud, steaming and golden-crusted.
There are gemfruits, but unlike any I’ve ever seen, for these are round and
soft, ripe as the sun. Ruby nectars glisten like great dew drops in the shardleaves.
And as I gaze upon these things, a hollowness groans within me, gnawing at my
insides.”

Ransom
tilted his head. “What a curious affliction.”

“He’s
hungry!” Corwin declared.

“Ah,
but why should he be? He is a star child, and like the stars themselves, his
kind needs no sustenance. No living thing in this universe does, you see. They live
until the fires within them grow cold, never knowing food or drink.”

Corwin
balked at the notion. If the organisms of this plane had no biological use for
food, then they would never have evolved a hunger for it. That there lived one among
them who did was absurd.

“Then
one who dreams such dreams should not exist,” he stated flatly.

“Then
man should not exist!” Ransom shot back, “If there is no true meaning behind
your lives, then you are no different from this haunted star child. The longing
for a higher purpose is deeply rooted. To not seek it is the most unnatural
thing in the world. If it is an illusion, a fabrication, then your existence is
absurd, just as a hungry man is absurd in a reality without food.”

He
turned again to the accused.

“Have
you never seen these things before, never heard or felt them?”

“Not
in all my life,” responded the man. “They are but visions, a cruel curse of the
fog. Surely, such things cannot be.”

“They
are more than visions,” Ransom proclaimed. “What neither you nor my client has
bothered to consider is this: that an innate desire evidences the object of
that desire.”

It
was a principle that Corwin was familiar with, one that had confounded several
of the most famous atheist thinkers, leading men such as Sartre and Camus to
declare that life was ultimately absurd. In the angel’s worldview, man’s desires
corresponded to reality, but Corwin’s man was a creature conflicted, his spirit
forever at odds with the cold, hard facts of the world.