REA MARTIN
CHAPTER ONE
A trumpet blares in the sleepy mind of Mirah. “Bwaaawaaaawaaaaa!” Like an earth rocket the noise blasts him from the cotton-tufted place of his dream into an abrasive zone of emergence. “Bwa, bwa,” the horn continues. “You contemptible amateur,” Mirah groans. “Go practice on someone else!” He kicks the noise away like a stone.
In the ensuing fragile silence, Mirah attempts to rock himself back to sleep. Oh, how he loves to sleep! He nuzzles deep and low, deeper and lower, foraging for comfort. He finds it then, a warm and sensitive nucleus of neutral vibration, and with utmost delight, tucks himself neatly into his own womb. “Ahhh,” he hums as he drifts off. “Sleep is fine. Sleep is so, so fine.”
“Bwa! Bwa!” bleats the horn even louder this time, and Mirah shoots into the air like a Roman candle twenty feet high and back again. His shimmering body of cerulean energy sizzles with shock. "Beraaaaaa Raaaaaaaa!" he screeches like a threatened cat, wrestling back and forth with his considerable discomfort. Finally, he draws his scattered edges to the center and holds onto them tightly. This is better, he thinks. Ever so slightly better. He releases himself indulgently. “Ahhhhhhhh.”
It is a moment or two before Mirah remembers exactly who he is or what this clarion call might mean. He digs deep into eternal thought and then recalls that he is firstly a body of light. And with this, his memory returns like a gusher, flooding his mind with detail:
He is an esteemed Patron of Alledon. Yes! And like many of his rank, he has served frequently and satisfactorily as an ambassador to the troublesome Planet Earth. It is the Infinites who summon him now, just as they had promised before the onset of his century-long rest, and for them he gathers his freeform energy and illuminates himself in his finest indigo light. "I am awake," he chants over and over. "I am alert and awake." And the instant he believes what he is saying, he materializes on the sacred grounds of the Palace of the Eternal Seven.
Perhaps because he has been asleep so long, Mirah finds it difficult to absorb the shift. He glides back fifty feet from the nearly blinding light of the imposing entrance and stares in astonishment. No matter how many times he has been here before, it is always made new for him. The original template of all things, there is literally nothing else like it in creation. Every blade of grass is expressed so brilliantly, every ray of light, every sparkling block of silver granite, every graceful stem and radiant bloom rendered whole and incorruptible as the truth. Overcome with reverence, Mirah drops to the ground and in that moment of awareness he is propelled past the arched entry into the lavish interior hall.
The grandeur arrests him: the high, vaulted ceilings; the scarab-jeweled guards; the etheric birds-of-paradise perched on sterling beams; and at the end of the hall, The Alledonian Book of Creation, a lofty tome the size of a city library, its luminous pages etched in onyx light.
On his way to the sacred vestibule, Mirah passes the Museum of Universal Events, whose walls are lined with living frescos of actual events as they occur in the Eternal Now. On the south wall, there is a dizzying scene of the Earth's cataclysmic creation, followed in sequence by the eruptions of its neighbors, Theona and Noeta. He moves closer to inspect the detail of the planets--too close--and is scorched by the flame. He soothes his vibration with a crystalline balm drawn from his own healing center. And moves on.
A recess in the north wall displays the momentous birth of humanity. He lingers fondly here, his favorite memory in the universal bank. Stunning creatures, these humans, spirits of light headed like comets into the bodies of men and women. It is scenes like these that renew Mirah's fascination with them--their utterly complex and dichotomous nature. He marvels at their eagerness to explore the harsh material world, and knows that even the worst of them possesses startling courage. Their curious, 3-dimensional bodies, endearing faces and articulated fingers and toes make them a highly-original creation, set upon difficult tasks, and nearly always in need of help. Mirah’s attachment to this race runs deep, he knows, too deep perhaps for his own good.
He glides on, passing compelling historical events, including the erection of empires, the coronations of kings and queens, and the ravages of countless wars. His light alternately quickens and lengthens with the emotions these events ignite. He has trouble staying centered, but is too involved to care. Each living display is lavished with the musical narration created by its specific vibration at the moment of origin. He stops to listen, precisely tuning his own vibration to the delicate harps, tantalizing flutes, weeping violins, and strident horns that accompany the ebb and swell of the storytelling piano. The music enters him, and he swirls upward and around, bending in and out of his own light in an arabesque of awe.
At the end of the hall, the music stops. Mirah is caught in the sacred void, the place of preparation required of all entities prior to entering the outer sanctum. Slowly, reverently, he draws his breath inward, gathering his light, smoothing the excited vibration of his scattered energy. He performs a mental recheck accounting for every infinitesimal lumen of his light, then enters the barren, barred vestibule that protects Estellar's sacred throne. Contained in the highly secured inner sanctum, this is a throne that Mirah, himself, has never seen. Such elevated privilege is confined to the Infinites, and according to prophecy, to a certain extraordinary human who will have succeeded in confining the Dark Lord Fadrez. As a Patron, Mirah has not been gifted with sufficient density of light to survive such an unveiling, but this is fine with him. Like others of his ilk, he believes that certain mysteries of Alledon are simply not worth the price of admission.
Awaiting his orders now, he becomes anxious again. His indigo mass hiccups in all directions from his nucleus of light. He meditates hard to keep fear from seeding his thoughts. He knows about fear, and where it comes from. It comes from Fadrez. Always Fadrez. He knows also that if he allows fear to seize him, he will be considered a weak link and instantly be relegated to lesser, more routine assignments. In Alledon, fear renders an energy naked. It is Fadrez' most powerful weapon. The moment it registers in the mind of its victim, it turns a cloud-white body into the color of the blood of man so fast it cannot be concealed.
Mirah gasps as his thoughts are interrupted by a massive reflection of resplendent emerald. What is this? he panics. Who is it? After a moment, he recognizes the light as the entity, Dora, a much-regarded Infinite, and he relaxes. In the past, he has fulfilled many strategic missions under Dora's command, most of them successful. She is firm, but familiar. With imperceptible movement, she plants her thoughts and images firmly in the fertile bed of Mirah's etheric brain. Mirah knows by the strength of her impression that there is little room here for negotiation.
"It is time to awaken Anyah," she transmits.
Mirah bristles slightly, then attempts to conceal his surprise. He knows Anyah well. One of the original thousand on Earth, the spirit of Anyah has grown faster and more powerfully than the others. Mirah was present at the emergence of Anyah's transcended nature in the body of Constantine, the great Emperor, and then later in more humble, but equally strategic incarnations--a laboring serf, a powerful politician, and a sensitive teacher of art. But like Mirah, Anyah, too, has been at rest for over a century. Awakening him early is a risk. Even to Dora, this truth bears repeating.
"The Spirit of Anyah enlivens the body of an ordinary American boy," Mirah returns boldly. "It is twenty years thus that this prophecy is intended to be fulfilled. Can he possibly be ready?"
Mirah contracts his light, expecting anger at his insubordination, but instead receives an uncalculated chord of emotion from his Superior in the dolorous key of E minor.
"It is true," Dora concedes. "A spirit so youthfully bound will require extraordinary considerations, but circumstances leave us with no choice. We cannot wait. While you have been sleeping, the vibrations from the realm of Theona have become rigid and discordant, overwhelmed by the extent of the eclipse."
Mirah sighs deeply. "But how will the boy fare against Fadrez? He has never encountered evil so unadulterated and direct!"
"It will not be easy," admits Dora. "Each new incarnation brings with it new issues and choices. But remember, in his spirit form, Anyah is mature. The trick is to keep the spirit and the boy separate for a long enough period of time. This will be your job."
Mirah's light flickers.
"Do not be discouraged, Mirah. I will commission all possible assistance from Alledon, and will assist you myself when necessary. But Theona, as you know, is only reachable from Earth, and Anyah is our only hope for victory.”
The emerald light glitters, then dims, and Mirah notes Dora's ambivalence.
"We've tried this kind of thing before," he sends.
"Yes," she affirms. "Twice."
"And we failed."
"I am aware of the difficulties," she admits, "but we have learned from previous mistakes."
There is a long pause. Finally, Mirah flashes a beam of sapphire light indicating acceptance, and Dora concludes with a series of clear chords in the optimistic key of F major. They are all aware of the danger here. At least Mirah does not feel alone.
Directly before his descent, Dora implants Mirah with three gifts: an unalterable memory of explicit instructions; the voluminous good will of the Infinites; and the white garland of protection from Estellar, himself. She beams him farewell, then coils her emerald energy into a cyclonic cone and whirls away.
Thus equipped, Mirah registers the dimensional specifications of his mission in the Alledonian Book of Creation, fixing it eternally in Place and Time:
Origin of Journey:
The first hour of the first day
of the tenth month of the year 2000;
Recorded Destination:
Milky Way Galaxy, Planet Earth,
United States of America, State of New Jersey,
Town of Ridgeway, Arbor Street, Lot #7,
Home of Dane Andrew Willins.
At that, Mirah thrusts himself into the prismatic tunnel and descends at the speed of light on a Super Indigo Highway into the Earth's atmosphere. As he passes through a jarring electromagnetic field, he is rapidly curled into himself, forming a dense and perfect indigo sphere, seven inches by seven inches around. This deeper core of density permits him to render himself visible, or not, at his own discretion. And though he is also able to take on other shapes and sizes, he will be careful not to transform himself into anything horned or hideous unless absolutely necessary. Frightening others tends to frighten him.
Before manifesting himself on Earth, Mirah is placed in an atmospheric bubble, where bullets of radiant energy purify him of negative force fields and contaminates acquired during the journey. He is then shielded with a powerful reflective ward. After a brief but intensive period of recuperation, his instructions are activated and arranged for availability in the required sequence.
As ordered by Dora, Mirah projects himself into the moonlit bedroom of his adopted charge, a four-year-old, tow-headed human of the most precious sort. The boy sleeps in a pinewood bunk, thumb in mouth, his body draped to the chin in flannel sheets dyed sky blue and decorated with puffy white clouds. At the side of the bed, his tiny pale foot peeks through.
In the form of a sparkling indigo ball, Mirah hangs in the center of the room for some time, inhaling its powdery essence. A baby's room really, he thinks--scattered stuffed elephants, bears and giraffes; the gigantic, fully-shod, stuffed green caterpillar; the carnival horse; the chest full of toys; the tiny desk covered with broken crayons and balled up paper; the green plastic overturned chair.
Stop it, Mirah tells himself. Stop it now. If he ignores the exalted nature of Anyah, and thinks of him only as a boy, Mirah knows he will form too great an attachment. In so doing, Mirah, himself, could devastate the mission. And in so doing, devastate his beloved humans and their Earth home. He sobers himself temporarily by transforming into a cube, a block with hard and impenetrable edges. Minutes later, he is returned by his own emotion to the original sphere, round and soft. Damnation! he thinks. There is no disputing it, his heart aches for this child. He is stunned by the innocence.
Sensing Mirah's sympathetic vibration, Dane stirs, breathes a deep sigh, and awakens. Slowly, he sits upright, adjusts his legs Indian style, and grasps the frayed corner of his flannel blanket. Even by the dim light of the room, his eyes gleam. They are a bewitching, reflective, cornflower blue, open now to the size of quarters, and fixed on a spot somewhere between Mirah and the edge of the bed. Mirah recognizes the stare and knows that at this fragile moment the boy is straddling both worlds, greedily safeguarding his human innocence at the same time his spirit is struck with the paralyzing blow of Recognition. Though he is not able to understand the other world, he knows it is there.
The boy stares, but cannot yet fully see Mirah's indigo glow. That will come later. It is Mirah's job to render him Supervisual by activating the first octahedron crystal at the seat of his Spirit Soul. For it is recorded that Dane Andrew Willins, as the human embodiment of Anyah, is one of forty-nine beings in the universe, only seven of them fully human, who have been rewarded with the complete system of Sacred Crystals which allows the bearer not simply to See, but also to Travel bodiless and with full consciousness within their own dimension and beyond.
Tonight, Mirah must get close enough to the boy to transmit the initial wave of vibration that will activate the first crystal. It is an essentially simple procedure, but precarious. Activating the whole system at once would terrify the boy, overwhelming his physical and mental capacities. Even in the most Enlightened Ones, Awakening is an excruciating process, often creating crushing mental fatigue and acute physical discomfort, including crippling migraines and debilitating immune disorders.
Awakening--that first encounter with universal power--must always abide by the strict code of the Eternal Seven and no other, lest schizophrenia result. For the average human this process can take years, decades, or even lifetimes. For Dane Andrew Willins, Mirah has been relegated no more than three consecutive nights, of which tonight is the most critical.
"Dane," calls Mirah gently, "Dane, Boy, come forth now and respond."
The boy sits trancelike, and Mirah feels his power. There is no question about it, he is an exalted spirit, and in his presence, Mirah amplifies, sparkles and glows. Mirah is too eager, he knows this, and not wishing to jeopardize the mission, he throttles back. Again and again, he struggles to resist, what is for him, an unprecedented desire to illuminate the room. He calls again, "Dane. Come forth to Mirah. It is I, your Patron. Citizen of Alledon."
The boy does not respond verbally, but Mirah is certain from the boy's even stare that he is processing information on some level. Mirah glides a few centimeters closer, and Dane jerks his head and rubs his eyes. "Ma," he groans under his breath.
Before his groan turns to screams, Mirah slows his own vibration just enough, slightly reducing his color and frequency. He does this to steady himself as well as to calm the child. He must be alone with the boy. The appearance of the parents at this point would prioritize the boy's humanity and retard the spiritual process.
Attempting to subdue the flesh and draw the spirit closer, Mirah beckons in the Ancient Language. "Anyah, Anyah," he chants, "Spirit of Anyah, come forth."
The boy cocks his head slightly, draws his breath deeply, and slowly exhales. "An-yah," he says. His forehead wrinkles and his eyes squint. He shuffles to the side of his bed. "Ahhhn-yah?" he repeats more as a question.
Mirah knows Dane's human ears hear the call as a rich and unearthly vibration. Like sound traveling through water instead of air, each syllable is weighted and dragged, puncturing dimensional boundaries and lingering heavily in the air. "Ahhhhhhhhhhn-Yahhhhhhhh."
It is a difficult sound to distinguish, and Mirah must be patient for the response. If he can coax the boy to repeat the sound five more times, completing the Sequence of Seven, the vibration of the name "Anyah" itself will trip the memory that will activate the first crystal. "Anyah," he beckons, gliding forward. "Anyah, awaken."
More alert now, the boy turns his head and with fixed eyes, slowly scans the room. "An-yah," he repeats, then stands, pulling his blanket behind him, and walks three tiny steps forward.
A faint light blinks down the hall and Mirah flinches. "Anyah," he prompts. His sphere drops slightly with the weight of anxiety until he is at eye-level with Dane. "Say it," he pleads. "Say Anyah. Hurry."
"An-yah," says the boy, inching closer. He raises his right arm in front of him. "Anyah."
With this gesture, Mirah knows the ancient memory is returning. I can't lose him now, he thinks. Only two more times. "Anyah," he says. The sound of soft but rapid footsteps against the wooden floor resounds in the hall, and Mirah is desperate. "Anyah," he says again, too harshly. This sharp and rapid recitation startles the boy, and he calls out "Ahhhn-yaaaah!" so loud that he begins to cry.
"No," whispers Mirah, "nononononono."
"Dane?" calls his mother as she pushes open his door. "Honey, what's the matter?" Her eyes dart wildly around the room.
Sensing her vague awareness of him, Mirah recedes to colorlessness, angry at his own lack of restraint, but determined to get the boy to say the name the seventh time. The mother leans over and envelopes the boy, her auburn hair trailing down the back of her green silk gown. The boy grabs at her arms, wailing uncontrollably.
"It's all right," she croons, stroking his head. "Don't cry, Baby. Mama's here. Mama's here."
Though the child is inconsolable, Mirah projects his thought relentlessly from the back of the room. "Anyah," he prompts in a very low tone, desperate to reach him, yet aware of the mother's marginal sensitivity to his presence. "Anyah," he says firmly. "One more time. Say it. Say Anyah."
In one smooth motion, as if in rescue, the mother scoops the boy into her arms and out of the room. Mirah follows them at some distance down the dimly lit hall and into the master bedroom. "What's the matter?" grunts the man, shifting in the king-sized, canopied bed. He raises himself on one elbow.
"They call it a night terror," says the mother. "I want him to stay in here for a while. The book says not to wake him too harshly when he's in the middle of one, or even wake him at all if you can help it."
"Those damn books," says the man. He sits up and runs his fingers through his own curly black hair, and then reaches for the boy. "Let me hold him," he says. "That's all he needs. Come here, Dane, that's a boy. Come to Daddy."
The boy screeches and writhes in his father's arms, and Mirah, perched at the threshold, persists. "Anyah," he says. "An-yah."
The boy says nothing, and nearly panic-stricken, Mirah realizes he may have to give up for tonight. Once the Sequence of Seven is interrupted, it cannot recur until the boy is again in the center of his deepest sleep. And there is not enough time left in the night to return him to that place. Oh, thinks Mirah, sometimes this is a tiresome process, this mingling with humans.
He glides anxiously around the room. "Anyah," he repeats. Catch the word, pickup the vibration. He does not want the boy to fail.
The mother turns her head sharply. "Did you hear something?" she asks the man.
He regards her incredulously. "Who could hear anything over this noise?" Then he strokes the boy's back firmly, steadily, and eventually the boy relaxes, melting his body against the warmth of the man's chest. "Oh, yes," says the man, grinning. "That's Daddy's boy." He is gone, thinks Mirah. I have lost him. And to the boy, he says, "You have made yourself unreachable tonight, and what of tomorrow? Woe to the Earth if you are unreachable then or the dawn of the following day."
Still clutching the boy with one arm, the man maneuvers himself from the bed, stands, and tugs on the waistband of his red silk pajama bottoms. "Come on," he says, "I'll put you back to bed."
The boy buries his head into his father's neck. "Daddy," he whispers as his father carries him into his room and lays him under the covers. “Daddy.”
"I love you," says the man.
"Anyah," says the boy.
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