Crossing the rolling prairie, they travel for hours as the sun arcs across the sky- there is
nothing but hills, grass, wind, sky, distortions that hover like bloated men o' war or bolt and
weave in patterns of impossible logic. Then there are the visions that the distortions give
them- liquid, glassy shimmers of a mirage- they are the souls of others who exist there,
some for a very long time. Jal and Kat watch as the distortion's tendrils twist into their
ethereal forms to taste their perceptions.
Both of them receive sensations in return, transporting them into new vistas of reality-
another soul's debauchery, enlightenment, perfect worlds of pain- sometimes one at a
time, sometimes two or three at once- with these changes the landscape would change to
reflect the world of their creator.
A valley opens before them, miles wide, with a thin ribbon of water that winds through it.
Shadows lengthen, the sun sinks rapidly below the horizon, the wind rippling through the
grass in the growing darkness, touching each blade with a dull orange before dimming to
twilight, stars forming strange constellations overhead.
Following the valley, they see a speck of light next to the water, which has turned to a
silver thread in the rising moon.
They descend, the narrow band of water becoming a raging river as they draw closer, the
speck of light a bonfire that sends sparks shooting into the air. The fire burns in a
sheltered cove of the river, where the water is still and sand white in the moon. Three
people sit around it, talking to each other. Two of them were in a constant state of change
as they spoke, turning from male to female, skin dark to pale- their eyes change, the
shapes of their faces, the length and color of their hair, their age.
The one that doesn't change is a young man, with long hair and frayed, coarse clothing
that is loosely wrapped around him. On his forehead is a scar in the shape of a crudely
drawn symbol, drawn there as if with a jagged stone.
This one looks up through the flames and sees them, staring with unblinking eyes. "What
does it want?" he asks. Their conversation was inaudible before, but now Kat and Jal can
hear it clear, but distant- radio noise from a distant pulsar.
Turning to the person to the left, the man with the scar asks, "Do you recognize it? There,
over the fire. Is it a nightmare- some animal that comes from the despair of dementia or
sickness? What do you think, Wakim?"
"I see it," says Wakim. "I like the way it burns with its secret, pretty little fire. Let's talk to it-
at least find out what it is. Bring it down here, Cain."
Cain stands up and says, "You- come here."
Jal and Katya drift down through the flames to stand in front of the three, the fire to their
backs.
Cain looks at his companions, smiling, before turning back to them. "I know what you are-
and I know where you're going, and what you're going to do once you arrive. You're
looking for the Tep- the God of Man- don't think I don't know what you want to do with it.
I'm in awe of your madness- I wish I could paint it, or make it into a sculpture- but no, I
couldn't do it justice. I could put your soul in amber, so I could contemplate your beauty at
my leisure- but . . .no," Cain takes a step back.
"Cain! Destroy it!" says Wakim, "Talking to it is useless- it can't help what it does, and it
may succeed! All of us here would be killed!"
"We can't stop it, even if we should want to," says Cain. "Look at it. Look at the language
that makes up its soul and you'll see a symbol like this," he says, pointing to the jagged
mark on his forehead. "We can't touch it- it's the tool of The Creator- the one that created
me and my family. The creator of the Tep, which is to the Creator as a synapse is to the
brain. Still, I can't help but think speaking to it may help. After all," he says turning to face
Jaldeja and Kat again, "These were once people, who had lived several lives and I'm
sure were quite normal, even as the Creator molded them over their lifetimes to suit his
purposes- only now are they this weapon- but perhaps, just perhaps something remains
to be reasoned with. To you," he says looking at them, "Don't. I think you know
something of the attitude the Creator has towards his servants." As he says this, Cain
compulsively runs his fingers over his rough scar. For a moment, he looks at them
longingly. "Now go."
Slowly, Kat and Jal drift away, moving steadily faster until Cain's fire is again a small
circle of light. They float aimlessly for a moment, then drift until the moon sinks swollen
and red beneath the horizon, moving more rapidly as the land beneath them becomes a
blur, the air thick and heavy, dragging against them like oil, but still they move faster. For
a moment they become one as Kat's soul merges with Jal's, changing it's shape and
language to suit it's purpose before sending him to his final destination. When the
changes are complete, she pulls away, watching as the terrible shape plunges ahead-
only for an instant; then he's gone. The air is still heavy and thick- Kat tries not to think of
the Jal she just saw- a horror- a thinking machine ravenous, wild, but focused with a
wide, unblinking eye toward it's target. She forces herself to push the thought aside-
soon, none of it would matter anyway- seeing him, in that moment, she had no doubt that
he would succeed.
*
The Tep's shape is plain to see- Jal feels himself being drawn into the matrix of its logic,
feeding it the bits of poison information from his soul that will cause it's shape to whither
and decay. He is here for only an iota of time- but an iota of time is a fragment of the
hologram of the Tep- it's image contains the whole of creation. The infinity of dreams of
humanity, all played and comprehended at once, the true selves of everyone who would
ever live, and how their souls fit into the vast equation of existence.
The vortices that flow from the living dream of the Tep writhe in agony, and the dreams,
which had been varied, become one in nightmare and horror and each dreamer sees
that which they hold most dear not only destroyed, but rendered meaningless. The
effects reverberate across time and space, effecting each age of humanity, striking down
many with madness, or killing through despair. At this moment, each person is ripped
from the collective reality we have created for ourselves and faces the terrible cold light
of the universe naked and alone.
But only for a moment- the minds, once separated, do not stay apart but rush to each
other once again to try to regain their equilibrium, reweaving the connections between
them even as millions that are lost spiral away to universes of their own creation,
incomprehensible and lost to their fellow men. Too late, Jal realizes that the Tep is not a
coercive construct, but one of souls who willingly accept the prison of a shared reality. A
few exceptional individuals are cut away and remain free, some to be destroyed, their
single voice lost in the static of creation, others to become centers of universes of their
own.
Jal is at the center of the God matrix as it reweaves itself with frightening complexity and
speed.
Even as Kat protects his soul with her own, pulling Jal from reorganizing vortex,
humanity extracts its revenge- and in doing so, fulfills the desire of the Creator.