Remembering demons, p.1
Remembering Demons, page 1
THE GOD CYCLE: BOOK ONE
Copyright © 2024 J. Cornelius
All rights reserved.
Cover art designed by Diletta de Santis
Final cover formatting by Jeppe Snel Hartmann
Published by Fourier Publishing
ISBN: 978-87-974946-1-5
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, a resounding thanks to you, dear reader. The fact that you have this book in front of you and are willing to trust me with your time is an honor and a dream come true.
As for the book itself, I want to thank my wife, Anja, my father, Poul, my father-in-law’s wife, Judy, as well as my friends, André, Jens, and Aadal for feedback on early or late drafts and, in several cases, for late-night discussions of the ideas behind this and future books in The God Cycle. I would also like to thank Andrew for his thoughts on my early draft, as well as my editors, Jon and Benji, for their comments and corrections. Missing the input from just one of these individuals would have resulted in an inferior final version, and I am forever thankful for their time and effort. Also, a special thank you to my dad for introducing me to the fascinating world of fantasy and science fiction as well as to Judy for her kind reassurances that kept me hammering away at the enormous task that is writing a book.
Finally, I am extremely grateful to my wife and my two daughters for letting me set aside time to write in the hectic hodgepodge of activities and routines that make up family life.
prologue
It drifted with the breeze, twirling with its sisters in the gathering dusk. One with the swarm, it spun joyfully, an incorporeal Spark within an everchanging spiral of lights, but whenever a male drew close, he became quickly frustrated by the lack of physical form and withdrew to seek a mate elsewhere.
Something yanked at its awareness. A nuisance, distracting it from the simple joy of being. Like a memory. Of what? It stopped, hovering within the swirl of luminescent bugs. Purpose? There was something important it was meant to be doing, but the distraction dissipated, and the Spark slowly resumed its twisting path through the air.
Another pulse danced dimly across its senses. For a moment it defiantly kept circling with its sisters. Then reluctantly it yielded, slowly circling south. Something important called.
The swarm responded to the change in direction, moving haltingly from the shore of the lake. Then, as one, they realized their mistake and swerved away from this new aberrant course, returning to their carefree dance overlooking the shoreline. Their departure instilled a brief sense of sadness in the Spark, but this, like everything else, did not last long.
All went dark as it passed beneath the crust of the planet. This was not alarming, as such things meant little to it. It found itself in a vast circular tube humming with energy. This was the source of the call, quiescent though it was right now. Intrigued, it edged closer, coming to rest near the middle.
A dozen explosions went off virtually simultaneously, and the Spark was buffeted by the violent energies released. It would have screamed, had it a mouth. It would have fallen, had it legs. As it was, it merely floated in the center of the tube, like a punch-drunk boxer who does not remember how to fall. Another dozen explosions, then another, then another. They kept coming, sending jolt upon jolt through the interconnected gossamer strands that made up the tattered remains of what had once, very nearly, been a god.
It thrashed weakly to get away, managing nothing of the sort. As it was torn apart, a flicker of awareness returned in a brief flash. It knew its purpose—it knew what it had done and what it might still accomplish. Then its parts collided with the detectors, sending a jumble of anomalous signatures coursing through the array of processing stations.
Had it a mouth, it would have screamed.
chapter 1
“What’s your earliest memory?”
“We’ve been over this, Doc.”
“Please, Daryl. Humor me.”
“Waking up in the ambulance. Coming here and meeting you.”
“Do you remember anything before arriving here?”
“Sort of.”
“What? Please elaborate.”
“Dying, Doc. I remember pain and dying.”
“Physical or mental pain?”
“Both, I think.”
“And when was your first vision?”
“You mean when I started to see things that aren’t real?”
“Well. Look, if magic really existed it would either have to be fully hidden from science or . . . be contained within it.”
“Your point being?”
“Neither option sounds particularly magical to me. Why hide it? And if it was already present in all we can touch and see, how is it magic?”
“Valid point.”
“So, which do you think is more likely? That you’re crazy . . . or that everyone else is?”
“You probably shouldn’t use the ‘c’ word.”
“Don’t worry about it, Daryl. It’s how I’m relating to you on a personal level. You know, gaining your trust and all that.”
“Clever, Doc.”
“I’m a professional. And please, call me Susan.”
***
“You look better, Daryl. Did you have the dream again?”
“Yes, I saw Ginny.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“I wish I could, but it’s the same as always.”
“Just her face?”
“Yeah.”
***
“I made a new friend yesterday.”
“Real or not?”
“Well, he’s an invisible gnome named Hubble. You tell me.”
“Hubble. Like the space telescope?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that he’s likely not real.”
“Because of his invisibility or the fact that he’s a gnome?”
“The name. No one would name their kid that.”
***
“I have to tell you that, given your effect on the other patients, it has been suggested more than once that you be moved upstairs. Werner especially seems to have taken to it. I don’t have to tell you the influence he seems to have over many of the other patients.”
“I understand.”
“Yes, but that is not the point.”
“What is the point, Susan?”
“The point is that you need to decide what you want. Whether to keep hanging on to your illusory acquaintances or to get better with me.”
“What, leave them? I couldn’t do that, even if I wanted to. They keep me sane.”
“Maybe they do and maybe they don’t. At one point you will need to choose.”
“Why?”
“Because moving forward means leaving something behind. They’ll understand.”
chapter 2
“What is gravity?”
A collective sigh went through the room as Werner’s familiar question hung in the air like your least favorite piece of laundry. Daryl did not sigh—things were about to get interesting.
“Not this again,” Raphael groaned. Raphael was an Italian string theorist and typically the one most willing to go along with Werner’s ideas, but even he had his limits.
Daryl was sure the annoyance of the other physicists, turned patients, was genuine. For his part, he had to look down and cough to keep the others from seeing the smile on his face. These disagreements on which subject was scientific enough to merit discussion were always the most entertaining—not the science itself, which was often too complex for him to follow the debate, but the passionate disagreements.
Robert and Swati shifted in their seats. Swati was a constantly frowning older woman of Indian descent who used to work on something to do with black holes, and Robert was a cosmologist. Being more reticent, they typically required a bit more prodding to enter the fray. As always, Werner was quick to oblige.
“Could it be the result of forces that only operate between energy in our space-time brane and that of energy on other foreign branes in the bulk?” Werner suggested as he adjusted his glasses, even though they had more than enough real-estate to remain atop his hook of a nose.
“If it only exists between our brane and other branes, then why do we see its effect here?” Robert scoffed, pushed past the breaking point.
The other physicists tensed, sensing that Robert had supplied Werner with the exact question he wanted. Daryl leaned back in his lounge chair, wishing he had popcorn.
“Because of the indirect effects it has here,” Werner said with a wide, friendly smile. “The gravitational pull between branes causes the branes to warp as described by general relativity. We are not observing the force itself, but the warping of space it causes here directly affects the trajectories of energy on our brane.”
“Fine,” Swati remarked, “but what does this interbrane force represent?”
“A wonderful question!” Werner exclaimed. A certain fervor lit up behind his eyes when discussing these favorite ideas of his. He leaned forward to share his insights. “I don’t know.”
Raphael, Swati, and Robert stared at him with incredulity.
Finally, Raphael leaned forward, looking like a stern schoolmaster, and opened his mouth to speak. Not missing a beat, Werner leaned forward even further, visually transforming the situation from a scolding into an intimate moment. Raphael frowned, realizing the joke, but having t rouble processing some part of it.
Probably the butt, Daryl thought, and coughed again.
“And I suppose you think this has some relationship with black holes?” he said, clearly off-kilter.
“Well, yes.” Werner replied. “Why you consider these ideas so outlandish is beyond me. To your question, it implies that black holes could be areas of brane-contact. Consequently, anything that crosses the event horizon enters another brane.” He gave a short laugh. “Which conveniently provides a partial answer to the black hole information paradox.”
Swati, always the calmest of the bunch, emitted a mirthless chuckle. “It’s outlandish because you don’t have any evidence. No rigorous mathematical framework, no falsifiable model. Nothing!” The last word came out as a hiss as she glared at Werner, who happily smiled back.
“Don’t I?”
“No, and don’t think I didn’t notice your deliberate choice of the word ‘outlandish’ either. We all subscribe to the idea of extra dimensions, and we’ll freely admit that they are more than implied by modern physics, but you’re just guessing.”
Daryl’s attention drifted as the discussion turned to more technical aspects. The room was small, but nicely furnished. This was not out of character with the rest of the asylum, but extra care had been taken to make this room, often used for smaller study groups, as inviting as possible. They had been meeting like this for several months now. It had taken a while to get permission, and given the heavy focus on physics, Daryl had been unsure whether it made sense for him to attend. Now it was one of his favorite parts of the week.
As was often the case, his attention turned to thoughts of Ginny. He had dreamt of her last night, and on days like that, her features were etched into his memory. He loved those days.
Lost in thought, he did not at first notice that the conversation had shifted to a more ominous topic.
“Daryl?” Werner said, shaking him out of his reverie.
“Hmm?”
“Did you hear about Rick?”
Daryl shook his head.
“He took a wrong turn in the basement and has ended up on the second floor.”
Werner was not referring to teleportation, but to what could happen if you wandered around by yourself in the asylum. Especially around reflective surfaces. If you did not follow the rules, you were very likely to have an incident. Sometimes you just disappeared. This was even more true in the basement.
Raphael, Robert, and Swati looked queasy. Many of the patients did not believe the stories of Daryl’s experiences, but they all instinctively knew to avoid the basement whenever possible.
“Is he okay?” Daryl asked.
“Well, he’s on the second floor, so not great. I heard they had to carry him there in restraints and that he was muttering some pretty vile things the whole way there.”
Daryl suppressed a shiver. He knew better than most what waited in the mirrors if you were not careful.
The first floor was being refurbished and, because of this, the asylum staff had temporarily made use of the basement. Rick was unlikely to be the last victim of that interim plan.
“Shit,” he muttered, his usual good mood temporarily muted.
Robert cleared his throat. “Could we discuss the recent LHC malfunction?” he asked. “Some have claimed there might have been new physics involved.”
Whenever anything new happened in the world of physics, particularly at the Large Hadron Collider, it was sure to turn up as a topic here. Raphael and Swati leaned in, clearly ready with their own take on what might have happened.
Werner winked at Daryl and sighed. “Boring.”
chapter 3
It was early afternoon, and Daryl had settled into his favorite seat by the window, admiring the early summer blossoms in the large stone flower beds on the enormous terrace outside. Groups of patients were scattered across the spacious parlor, playing games or chatting, either with each other or themselves. It would not be long now before he had to go for his scheduled session with Susan. He scratched absently at his back in that familiar, hard-to-reach spot between the shoulder blades.
“Hi Daryl.”
He started, nearly upending the small rectangular table which sat between his chair and its neighbor, which was now occupied by an exceptionally heavy-set man. The man’s eyes held a fierce intensity and were so dark they appeared black. He leaned in, and the rustling of his heavy gray robes competed with the groans and creaks of the suffering chair. “We have to speak,” the man whispered.
Daryl spared a quick glance around, confirming with relief that they were far from alone. He swallowed and was about to respond when the man swiped a sizable booger from his left nostril and wiped it on his lapel.
“Er, eww,” Daryl said and looked away. A series of groans alerted him that his visitor had shifted in his chair, and he was not surprised when a hand settled on his shoulder.
He looked up into eyes that appeared to be almost all pupil. It took all his self-control not to pitch backward, upending the chair.
“Understand that I can’t tell you much.” Pupils paused, as if uncertain how to proceed. “But you’re in considerably more danger here than first anticipated.”
“That’s really helpful,” Daryl offered, still struggling with the urge to pull away.
Pupils must have finally noticed, as he slid backward, settling into the spacious chair once more. Following a moment of silence, he said, “I have sensed something ancient stirring. It almost makes me think . . .” The man trailed off, apparently lost in thought, while absently trying to flick the remainder of the booger from his fingernail. Pupils shook his head, whispering to himself, “But of course no, that can’t be.” He returned his attention to Daryl, who wiped the look of disgust from his face just in time.
“Something powerful seeks you. I don’t think you can stay here,” Pupils said and fixed him with that intense stare for several heartbeats. “You really still don’t remember anything?”
Daryl took a long, shaky breath. Finally, a question he knew the answer to. “Nope.”
The man sighed. “If you do remember, you’ll know where to find me.”
With that he made as if to get up but stopped short at a sudden thought. “You are more than your anger. Remember that.”
“I’m not angry,” Daryl replied.
“I know,” Pupils said as a brief twitch of unrecognizable emotion crossed his features. “I think your ride is here,” he said pointing behind Daryl.
Daryl turned around to see the two orderlies making their way toward him. When he turned back, the man was gone, leaving behind a distinctly foul odor.
“We’re here to take you to see Doctor Walker,” the smaller orderly said as he wrinkled his nose in response to the olfactory stimulus that was unflatteringly centered on Daryl. Daryl was pretty sure his name was Kenny.
“An escort,” he said. “Well, lah-di-dah.”
“Her office has been relocated. We’re here to make sure you find it.”
Daryl’s heart plummeted. “Where?” he croaked.
“The basement.”
Daryl’s heart hit the floor, but he stood in defiance of a sudden onset of vertigo. “Did you happen to see the guy that just left?” he asked in a shaky voice.
“Not really,” the smaller man responded warily.
“Never mind,” Daryl replied with a feigned air of indifference.
Using his sleeve to wipe away a sudden sheen of sweat, he was led through the parlor. Ten minutes earlier he would have been apprehensive about going to the basement, with or without an escort. Now the prospect left him horrified. Unfortunately, he could not come up with a safe way to avoid his session. He very much doubted he would be able to fool the two orderlies into thinking he had suddenly fallen ill.
“I could really use the restroom,” he said.
This would buy him some time and, given the stress he was under, it was becoming more and more true by the minute. Kenny accepted with a nod and led the way down the corridor toward the elevator.
The ancient asylum was constructed from roughly hewn stones that had been meticulously chipped to fit, which gave corridors a cozy, organic feel. Someone had told him they had been quarried when the basement was dug out. Currently, they were bustling with the activity of orderlies and nurses helping patients with various aspects of their day. He noticed Werner’s tall, lanky frame being taken to his session with Doctor Santéz, and they briefly exchanged greetings.
