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CHAPTER 38

You can never prove T'Chen exists.  I can never prove She does not.  Thus, the argument is moot.  Neither of us can call our side fact.  The truth stands forever fixed in the realm of opinion.  Let us then each believe as we will and not press the other to live in our view.  If T'Chen truly adores peace, She will approve of this.

 

- Sarwin Kliat Aria, 5453,
Letter to the Council of Elders

 

            Like a machine, the guard opened the door for Ampharix with a rigid precision that seemed unnatural.  The old senator did not give the soldier the slightest regard as she glided past, into the senator's chapel.  The guard obediently shut the door behind her, without a sound.

            Today was Evitus, a minor holiday on the T'Chen calendar, which occurred on the fifth day of the month of Cartoth.  One was supposed to pay homage to the ghosts of the past on this day and, ostensibly, that was what Ampharix was here to do.  But this day, her mind was completely occupied by what was happening in space above her.  At this very moment, she knew that Sarwin and his band were on their final countdown for their foray into the past.

            Ampharix stopped before the austere altar and bowed perfunctorily.  But instead of praying for long dead ancestors, she went over the details of the plan she had in place, should Sarwin return home with evidence contradictory to the Scrolls and Etyiam should fail to stop him.  The old senator's faith in the ability of the girl to carry out her mission was tenuous at best.  Ampharix knew that no matter how long they remained in the past, it would appear to those in the present that they would arrive back immediately after they departed, so Ampharix had her pawns in place already.

            She had a small fleet of temple guard ships hidden, waiting for the time travelers to reappear.  As soon as they returned, Ampharix's soldiers would board Sarwin's ships, purportedly as a quarantine measure, to be sure they did not return with any of the great plagues from the ancient times that the Scrolls speak of.  Once on board, her soldiers would determine what Sarwin had brought back with him.  If it was deemed innocuous, they would be permitted to land.  If not, any offensive evidence would be vaporized.

            If for nothing else, Ampharix felt she could count on Etyiam to at least collaborate the official line that there had never been any evidence against scripture.  If not, Ampharix would have little choice but to vaporize the crew also.  Except for Siverelle, of course.  Ampharix would find some other way to deal with her renegade daughter.  None of the options would be pleasant.

            Of course, many people would not believe the government's story and the rioting on the streets would surpass any seen thus far.  But it would be less disruptive than proof contradictory to scripture.  Ampharix had placed the riot brigades on full alert throughout the world, just in case.

            The old senator reached up and tilted the appropriate globe that adorned the simple altar, and the secret panel through which she had taken the young Etyiam four days prior popped open with a click.  Ampharix ducked down and entered.  She walked the short, dark passage to the tiny, secret room that laid at the end.  As soon as she entered, the lights came up automatically, bathing the room's only resident with a foreboding cobalt glow.  It floated in a large glass tube, which was vacated of both air and gravity, to simulate the environment in which it had been found, thus preserving the artifact.  It had been found, almost forty years ago, drifting in space, midway between the orbit of the World and the orbit of Brekkan; the small, red planet next farthest from the sun.

            Ampharix regarded the thing dispassionately.  The revulsion she had felt upon first seeing it, decades ago, had long since dissipated.  Indeed, the thing had an almost comforting familiarity now, so regularly did she come to look upon it.  Seeing the thing gave the old senator renewed resolution as to the accuracy of the Scrolls and reinvigorated her faith in the scripture.

            The dried and frozen eyes of the Vartyiar mummy stared, unblinkingly, down at the old senator, as they always did.  The parchment skin of its hirsute face, hideous enough to begin with, was twisted in a mask of agony that spoke volumes of the horrors of Scoggast, of which surely this thing was born.  As if that was not unsightly enough, three prominent scars marred the horrid visage.  Even its strange clothing was indigo, the clichéd color of frozen hell.

            But the thing most prominent in Ampharix's mind was its right arm, which ended abruptly in a stump.  Only the left arm bore the five-fingered paw of a Vartyiar.  The coming of the Q'Talon shall be foretold by a demon that can only point one way.  The words of the Scrolls drifted through Ampharix's mind, as they always did when she stood in this room.  She never knew what the words meant until she had seen this odious devil.

            When asteroid minors originally discovered it, scientists got hold of it first.  After some molecular analysis, they concluded that the thing was distantly related to the small mammal vermin that infested the World today.  They also said it was millions of years old and that only the frozen vacuum of space had preserved the mummy so well.  Some went on to theorize that this creature was not a child of Scoggast, but of an advanced mammal species that had ruled the World before saurians evolved.

            Of course, the church could not tolerate such nonsense.  The mummy was seized and eventually smuggled here, where it remained secretly sequestered ever since.  The scientists were either discredited or liquidated, depending on how resistant they were to the authorities.  The temple's grip on the media made sure nothing more was ever said of it and today few saurians even remembered the few rumors that had leaked out about the find.

            It was better this way.  No matter how truthful the words of the scripture was, science had an uncanny way of poking holes in it.  Best to keep this Vartyiar out of the laboratory and in the watchful care of the temple, where no dangerous conclusions would ever be drawn from it.

            Ampharix checked her timepiece and realized Sarwin's chronoleap would be occurring in just a few minutes.  She turned and departed the mummy chamber, then exited the chapel and took a private elevator to an observation deck on the roof of the huge senate building, where she could witness the departure.

            The great metropolis of Uron spread out around her in all directions.  Through it snaked the River Keltay, which glittered in the gathering dusk.  In the west, a spectacular sunset was occurring, the colors somehow more ominous than usual.  But Ampharix turned her back on astral display to look for the flash of the chronoleap, which she had been told she would be able to witness in the emergent darkness of the eastern sky.

            She made a quick and silent plea to T'Chen for the safety of her daughter, but withheld any prayer for the others.  As always, she completed the silent entreaty with the customary conclusion, which she spoke softly aloud.

            "T'Chen tala forshick pruthon."

            As soon as she finished, a great white flash winked in the twilight sky, right on schedule.  Ampharix raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare, for it was far brighter than she had been told to expect, but it did her little good.  The brilliant light glared right through her hand, as if her flesh had suddenly become translucent.  She could see the bones of her fingers like she was looking at an x-ray, then she realized to her horror that the bones were now fading, too.  Their opaqueness turned lucent as she watched, then began to effuse into vapor.

            But what was happening to her body paled compared to what was happing in her brain.  She could feel her mind fading also, slipping away, neuron by neuron, synapse by synapse.  She stood in stupefied horror as she felt her memories wink out, one by one, like bulbs in a great machine that was shutting down forever.  Frantically, she tried to pray to her god for salvation.  She called upon T'Che...  What was the name?  It was gone from her consciousness.  She shivered at the notion of forgetting the name of her god, but before the thought completed itself, she had no memory that she had even once known a god.  Only an icy, vacuous hole remained where faith had once been.

            The vestiges of reason and logic evacuated her brain like wasps fleeing their ruptured nest.  Now there was nothing to shield herself from the terror.  No mental handle to grab, no emotional toehold to find...  Every good and pleasant memory she had, few as they were, evaporated from her mind.  With nothing left to hold it at bay, caustic regret ballooned outward, filling the emptiness.

            All that remained of Ampharix's mind now was a bitter stew of her malevolent stubbornness mixed with this overwhelming lamentation.  All she could remember now was the faces of the many people she had watched put to death at her command, mixed in with the faces of those loved ones she had rejected in life; her brother, her daughter and her grandchildren among them.

            Though all of this happened in an instant too short to be measured, it seemed to Ampharix that this terrible transmutation went on forever.  She felt her mind fade toward nothingness until all that was left was this final reflection of utter horror and infinite grief.  Then these pitiful remnants of her consciousness froze entirely, fixed permanently in time.  No hell her sadist priests had ever dreamed up could rival this woeful, empty and eternal horror.

            Even before the flash subsided, what was the physical body of Ampharix was no more.  She did not actually die, because she had never been born.  The senate building on which she stood faded and vanished.  It was not destroyed, because it had never been built.  The vast, surrounding metropolis dissolved and disbursed.  It was not conquered, for it had never been founded.

            Only the winding river remained, though in this reshuffled reality, it bore a different name.  It had no memory of Uron's glittering domes and graceful spires, for its shores had never caressed them.

            Its course directed by erratic events it could neither foresee nor avoid, the great river, like time itself, flowed indifferently onward, eventually rejoining all the other itinerant waters of the Earth, swallowed in the end by the reunifying sea.

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