Chapter 12
Darc woke up, very tired - but satisfied.
(Until he saw the sleeping Dachshund next to him, and realized the true meaning of that dream where he made love to a supermodel with bad breath.)
He found himself lying on the same couch, covered up by his cloak and clothes... and Inu was gone. Most of the candles in the chamber had burned out, so he guessed it was already late in the morning.
(This is the guy they promised would shake up the world in the Prologue.)
He went up, dressed, cleaned himself up, ate some breakfast left behind by Inu, left the chamber and found a bathroom. The ancient art of plumbing had been preserved, and he was grateful for that.
("No paper, dammit! And what do I do with the three seashells?")
When he exited, Darc could pick up distant voices somewhere off in the main cathedral - the chanting of many voices.
(But he didn't pick them up, so the voices were left on the floor.)
He found the back door and walked around the cathedral, to the main entrance. The tall portal stood open for the morning mass.
(Morning was approaching critical mass!)
Darc sneaked inside to have his first look, while covering his head with the cloak.
([Idiot chuckle] "Nobody will recognize me in this cloak with the words 'Property Of the Castle' stamped all over it!")
The inside of the cathedral was richly decorated. Above the altar hung a huge icon of the Goddess in full figure - the picture was virtually made of gold, silver, and jewels.
(Virtually made? So this takes place in Second Life?)
Her half-shut eyes were sparkling diamonds; the lips were scores of rubies, like glowing red wine petrified.
("What does petrified wine taste like?" - "Old.")
Darc took a seat in the backbenches. At the altar far off, he could see Inu performing a solemn mass, singing hymns with a choir of young men and women.
([Sings] "Burn in hell, Brendan Comiskey, fa-la-la-la, la-la-la-la...")
And over there, in the front benches, he could just make out the Damon family and some of the visiting families... thanking the Goddess for Dohan's victory yesterday, he guessed.
("We thank thee, Goddess, for our overprivileged lives...")
The church music sounded somewhat like the gospel music of Darc's own time, only slower, less exhilarated. The text was unfamiliar to him.
("'The Girl From Ipanema'? Never heard of it.")
The churchgoers, sitting next to Darc, made a stark contrast to the wealth of the church and the nobility. Several thousand impoverished men, women, and children of the citizen class surrounded Darc - perhaps not starved for food as much as for experience.
(They hungered for Extreme Sports, piercing and YouTube!)
They were simply dressed: no watches or electronics; rough patches draped their knees and elbows. They sang with all their hearts though, fully believing in the powers of the All-Mother's redeeming love.
(MESSAGE!!)
Darc didn't feel like laughing - he might have experienced a little of that love last night. And yet he felt sorry for them, praying to the distorted memory of a long-lost woman.
Were they to be forever locked up in this small city, with the entire universe lying outside to be explored? What kept them here?
(Rent control.)
What kind of backward future was this? The song ended, each churchgoer doing the heart-to-mouth-to-eye sign.
Inu spoke, her echoing voice full of solemn joy: "Last night, I felt the presence of the Singing King."
("But it was so small, and lasted only a few minutes!")
A gasp of astonishment rose from the commoners around Darc. "Yes, he came to me, in flesh and blood. This is the truth: The King walks among us again! Praise the Goddess!"
"Praise the Goddess", the congregation murmured in awe.
("Praise the Holy Mammaries...")
Darc didn't like this course of events - not one damn bit of it. What the hell was Inu up to?
(What do you think, you moron?)
If someone recognized his face... images of religious fanatics, tearing apart the corpse of a dead Oriental mullah, flickered through his memory.
(Hey, that was the best part of Khomeini's funeral!)
Inu continued, reading from a thick volume: "'And the King shall sing his love songs to the Goddess again. They shall join in heavenly communion, and He shall bring new life to the Earth. All sins of the past shall be forgiven, and the Eternal Ice shall melt away. For it is written -'"
("- that nothing succeeds like excess!")
The crowd responded in chorus, knowing the words from previous sermons: "Praise the Goddess who spared her faithful ones, and pray for the return of the King!"
(But their prayers for the third movie came too late.)
Darc's gut went cold with fear. An invisible weight on his chest choked him slowly. Intuitively, he understood his life was in great danger. Dizzied by the unreal situation, he half expected his mother to appear again - smiling at the sight of her son dressing up as a little monarch.
(Vladimir Putin: The Early Years.)
Inu's voice rose, and declared: "The song of the King shall revive the Earth-Mother, and he shall give his life again to the world!"
Darc fled the church and hurried to the castle library. There, he waited for Librian to return from church.
(While he was waiting, he searched the library to find out who really killed JFK.)
"Librian, I'm in trouble. I need information."
("But I did find out about JFK, in If I Did It, Part II. Who'da thought the young O.J. was in Dallas that day?")
"Knowledge is my creed, Sir Darc. What do you need to know?"
"Who do you think I really am?"
("Is it a trick question?")
The old librarian glared at his visitor, then looked down and shook his head.
"I... you ask strange questions, sirrah."
("And you use strange words!")
"No. My life depends on the answer. Who do you think I really am?"
Librian leaned back, resting his dry, thin hands on the table. His watery eyes scanned the library, as if to find an answer there. Finally, he understood.
("I really need a humidifier in here!")
"You are not the Singing King," Librian said shortly.
([Chorus] DOH!!)
"Right. I am just a man, a visitor from the past. The church... even Bor, in his way... they are trying to fool the people, use me as an idol. Why?"
("It was Simon Cowell's evil plan!")
Librian answered: "Because they need the faith." With sudden intensity, he looked into Darc's eyes and said eagerly: "I believe in the Goddess too! I believe in the life-giving love of the All-Mother, and the healing force of the sacred songs. With my mind I see the contradictions inside the church, its corruption and abuse of power, its 'blessings' to the rich and powerful among men. Yet I believe, because I need to!
("I've got the shakes, man! Need it bad!")
"Have you not read Al-Masur as I told you? Have you not seen the horrors of our past? Do you think all the fear, the memories of a lost Golden Age would just... vanish? All this time, we have lived on hope.
(Just like Hillary.)
It is everywhere in these books of mine... All learned men knew that eventually, the Eternal Ice would retreat. Eventually, the Plague would be overcome. Some day, we would be able to leave the closed cities and take back the world.
("One day, we'd be free from Paris Hilton!")
"But centuries came and went; nothing changed. And the knowledge turned into hope. Hope turned into a myth... and the myth turned into a faith.
(Faith turned into hearsay, hearsay turned into urban legend, and back into myth.)
The pieces of a glorious past were everywhere: the ruins, the artifacts... and all those pictures.
(Of Pamela Anderson.)
Al-Masur pieced those fragments together. He helped us remember the faith, the common tongue that once had united the world, remnants of which supports our society.
("The common tongue that spanned the world, covered in the saliva of brotherhood.")
And that tradition is now stronger than anything else. A great and wonderful lie - forgive me, Goddess."
Darc saw what inner turmoil the learned man was suffering, and reassured him:
("There is a cure for ulcers.")
"I understand, believe me. In my time, you would have been a great man - not locked up in this little town." He stood up, and restlessly paced the tessellated floor.
("What's 'tesselated'?" - "Something expensive, I think.")
"I see your point, Librian. I can't destroy the faith of all these poor people. No, they wouldn't listen anyway.
(Make up your mind already!)
But if I play along, someone is going to pay and it's going to be me. I never was a good liar. What should I do? Escape?"
(Yes! Just leave! PLEASE!)
He stopped, and watched Awonso enter the library through the big door.
"Master Darc!" the boy gasped; then he saw Librian and lowered his voice. "Um, Sir Darc, Lord Damon demands to see you in the conference chamber right away."
("Someone ate the last of the canned strawberries and he's hopping mad!")
Darc wished he could sleep on it for another 900 years. But he raised a weary hand to calm the messenger, and answered: "I'm on my way."
("After my weary hand gets a quick nap.")
Darc left, heading for the elevator. Lachtfot and Vhustank joined him, staving off wide-eyed servants and guards on the way.
(Their terrible secret: they had all been cloned from Marty Feldman!)
As in the old days, before telling the stockholders some bad piece of news, he felt a great fatigue.
("Gentlemen, I spent our entire pension fund on Segways.")
Or was it just a lack of sleep that made the air feel so chilly on his skin?
(Or had he forgotten to zip his trousers again?)
______________
A.R.Yngve
The MSTing Of
DARC AGES
Book One
______________
(The familiar faces at the Renaissance Fair were getting a bit long in the tooth.)
bravenet.com