TO SPREAD THE WINGS V: The palace above the lake

Ho-Jun Jang paused again for dramatic effect and took another sip of water; and again, the young blond resting on his lap cocked his head to cast a glance at him. He loved pauses for effect, although he didn't feel particularly inspired that day. His head was in his narration, true, because he wanted to please his audience; but his heart was somewhere else... Not very far: right there, between his knees.

The Korean resumed the story, holding a sigh.

'The inside of the palace has never been truly revealed to us. We are aware, however, that it's beyond anything we can find here, since such a long time passed until the brothers even considered the possibility of paying attention to anything else, but satisfying their curiosity with the infinite levels that seemed to be displayed ahead of them. And we do know the pyramidion is a giant observatory, a window to earth; looking through it, the stranger was able to anticipate their arrival. As for the hemisphere... the brothers learnt its function was the same. But it pointed to space.

On a day when the brothers' attention wasn't too unfocussed the stranger showed them the mechanism. An enormous cylinder divided into sections went all the way up into the high ceiling of the chamber located inside the structure, under the tower with the hemisphere. The sections narrowed until they became a viewfinder, and a cockpit placed under it allowed a person to lie down and contemplate the great sight of space, dark, cold... and at the same time, so full of life.

We must understand that, back then, men didn't even know a fraction of what we do nowadays... and what we know nowadays doesn't actually deserve to be called a fraction. However, that man explained them in outline how the instrument worked and what they could expect to see. Planets, stars, systems, galaxies... Illusions in many cases: visions of a light that had ceased shining countless years ago, but whose ghosts still sparkled in that image at the other side of the glass.

The observatory used to point obstinately at certain coordinates, a spot so far that the star they were spying on appeared small and barely attractive. The man declared it was a comet what he was going after.

'A comet?' questioned the brothers.

'Every one hundred and eleven years a comet crosses in front of that star. It's so faraway you can't see it, even with the help of this device; but I know it's there, due to the subtle differences in the bright and intensity of the light. In the precise moment it goes through its centre, a portal between both systems opens; and once all the heavenly bodies in the way attain harmony... that day I'll be able to satisfy my desire of travelling to that place.'

'And why would you want to abandon the palace? Don't you have here anything you can wish, by any chance? What can a little and distant star in the middle of the dark void have, that could start to compare with everything that surrounds us?'

The stranger serenely looked at them. He perfectly knew what there was to be found inside of men.

'You wanted to reach the palace, yet once you achieved the means you required to do it, you decided to remain on the ground for a long time, as your desire had been satisfied with the favour you had received. Once more you think there's nothing beyond what you enjoy today; but a day will come in which you will turn your eyes in the same direction as mine. Although there's something you must know: the portal opens for one person only.'

The man was right: the brothers didn't pay him further attention. The inverted pyramid and its wonders had captured their hearts. That's why they didn't even remember the exact moment in which the comet should be passing in front of the star; and that's why they didn't attend to the opening of the portal, nor to the instant of incredible fortune in which their host could fulfil his desire of crossing to the other side. I can't tell you how long it was until they realised he was gone.

More years went by... don't ask me how many, I ignore it; many, so many. And again they proved the stranger was right: the brothers started to cast looks of curiosity to the observatory chamber. They tried lying inside the cockpit, fiddled with the coordinates, watched bands of stars, binary systems and beautiful but deadly supernovas. But in the end the coordinates would always go back to the spot in which the discreet star awaited the comet, punctual every one hundred and eleven years. They looked at it; they stayed there, pensive; you could almost hear the teeth of the little gears in their brains, slotting into each other as they mused...

'Brothers,' started one of the three, one day, with his most affected and unctuous tone, 'I doubt anything will be happening, but still I feel a slight curiosity, and since the day is near and I am sure you won't mind, I have decided I will wait inside the cockpit the moment when the portal will open.'

'What do you mean, I won't mind?' retorted at once another one of them. 'Of course I mind! In fact, I was considering myself the idea of waiting for the portal inside the observatory chamber..'

'And why should it be you? Or you?' asked the third. 'I've been awaiting this moment for long, longer than you two... Using the cockpit should be my prerogative!'

As you may suppose, they didn't reach an agreement. Nobody could impose their authority; nobody could find the means to bribe or blackmail the other two... how? They were all on equal footing. When words lead to shouts, and those to blows, the sharpest silence fell upon them; silence and distrust.

On a certain day, one of them stealthily slipped along the shadows of one of the countless corridors that connected the rooms of the palace. His mind was clouded with visions of fury and violence; if he couldn't obtain what he wanted the easy way, so be it, it would be the hard one. He positioned himself behind a dark corner and waited, a dagger in his hand, because he knew another one would come soon; after all, he had made the appointment himself... The slow minutes crawled by, and he had to gather all his patience and try to quieten his thunderous heartbeat, that threatened with betraying him. A slight noise suddenly got his attention; it should be that wretched fool, finally deigning to appear... He held his breath, he raised his hand...

He looked down. A red spot started to spread out on the white fabric of his clothes. Weird, he ought to think, although it surely had something to do with that metal tip sticking out of his chest...

His battered brain couldn't cope with anything else, since no more oxygen was arriving because his heart had stopped. That's the thing with iron daggers... He fell down on the floor of the corridor without a word. At his back, the third brother was absently wiping his bloodstained hands with the edge of his shirt.

Must I explain what happened next? The killer hunted the other one down, or the other one hunted the killer, so what? The only truth is that the day of the comet one of them lay inside the cockpit and awaited the precise moment when the portal opened. Yet... nothing happened. What had the stranger said? Harmony: something about harmony attained by the heavenly bodies, whatever that meant. With a curse, he left the chamber.

The curious thing is that they other two reappeared right then, and as you may understand, they weren't quite satisfied. They were expecting a convincing explanation, and convincing indeed it should be to soothe their annoyance. There was nothing to explain, though, cause the three had had the same idea. They looked at each other with renewed suspicion and took good care of keeping their distance.

Still you'll guess what happened one hundred and eleven years later: exactly the same. They stalked each other until there was only one left, who witnessed the arrival of the comet and the portal, with identical results. Only that this time, when the rest reappeared, nobody bothered to ask for explanations; they jumped on each other, and only one survivor remained.

Can you imagine, one hundred and eleven years of loneliness? No, of course you can't, lucky you. For good or for bad, his brothers' company was all he had, so time went by very slowly for him... When the hundredth and eleventh year came he didn't know any more if his greatest wish was crossing the portal or exchanging words with another human being... And since nothing happened once more, he had to deal with the problem of avoiding that the three tried to kill each other upon meeting...

He had had... many years to think, and he could come up with a simple system of barricades, messages and other minor details that spared his life enough time to allow him to explain how inconvenient his experience had been. It took him some time but he calmed them down, and soon they agreed to devise a more civilised method to establish who'd have the right to use the chamber each time. Nobody was in favour of taking turns, nor drawing lots, nor settling it by force... It should be something else, something different... something that'd make it worthy, that'd give meaning to each long wait for the comet.

Jang stopped. When Munro looked up at him he found his charming and enigmatic smile caressing his features, his hand slightly gliding along his back; as he wouldn't continue with his story, he had to ask:

'And what did they decide, Ho-Jun?'

'Yes, Mìcheal, what did they decide?'

'The one telling the story is you...'

'I already spoke enough; it's my turn to enjoy your voice.' The young man was about to complain, but Jang took a finger to his mouth. 'Indulge me, please.'

Mìcheal bit his lips; yet he straightened and raised his face, although not his eyes, towards his companion. His expression became concentrated as he picked up the thread, choosing his words with extreme care.

'The brothers again looked down to the earth, after so many years,' the Korean nodded, pleased with that start, 'and decided they'd... partake in their secret. They had learnt many things during their stay in the palace, so they chose... avatars among them, souls that would reincarnate every hundred and eleven years and compete until a single faction remained... and that faction would grant victory to its lord. And the number of souls, that never changes, was easy to pick: one hundred and eleven.'

'From the first year of each cycle, the souls start to reincarnate, one after another, year after year; fate, coincidence, also play their role in the game we're all part of. The first ones to become aware are always the Alpheh, though not necessarily the first ones to be born, and they keep their eyes open to locate and wake up the rest during the Marked Days; and thanks to them we join in, the Nurandeah, the Gelakeah and the Belandeah. The Blacks, the Greys, the Whites...'

'Aye, same as our lords in the palace, we also have our Marked Days on earth. They make us feel powerful, because we become invisible at will in front of the other humans; but also vulnerable, because only two things can do away with us: the end of the cycle... and a blade brandished by one of our kind during a Marked Day.'

Jang listened to him attentively. More than to the story itself, which of course he knew much better, to the way he was telling it, the words he used... the fluency and self-confidence he acquired little by little, as he went forward. Mìcheal's voice was soft and sensual and perfectly matched the rest of him. Hearing him was a pleasure; the Korean wondered how many people in the world were aware of it.

'Not always the hundred and eleven of us wake up in each cycle; sometimes the Alpheh won't find us, sometimes the game is settled before they do. It's a great gift that we are able to spread the wings... and since we possess it, we must give our best to achieve victory for our faction. If we do so, our lord will have the chance to discover what lies beyond the stars... and when that moment arrives, the ones who fought for him through that cycle, even those who fell along the way, will be able to reach the palace above the lake. And nothing down here can start to compare with the things we will find up there.'

'And what if our lord doesn't manage to cross the portal, Mìcheal?'

'Then... the palace will move to a new location, above a new lake, and the cycle will start over until he does.'

'But remembering our past lives is never given to us... Isn't it strange? Possibly you and me already had this conversation hundreds of years ago; you, leaning on my lap, your blond hair spread over my knees; me, listening with pleasure and stroking your back, and maybe something more because, in that life, we were lovers...'

Munro frowned a bit, in a grimace of sorrow. Jang regretted his words instantly.

'I'm sorry; that wasn't very fortunate. Forget what I said...'

'No, it's okay; you're right, it's possible... Anything is possible, if we think about it. One hundred and eleven souls, always the same ones, meeting again and again...'

The Asian had on the tip of his tongue to add 'not always the same ones'. There was a possibility, a tiny possibility that some of the souls would get lost in the trip and be replaced with new chosen ones until the number was completed. But if Faulkner hadn't tell him, he didn't believe he should be the one doing so.

'Shit! Look at the time!' exclaimed the youngest, staring at the designer clock on the wall. 'And I kept you the whole freaking day away from work and listening to my nonsenses...'

'Calm down, Mìcheal,' said his companion. 'This day is all yours. After three years, do you think I'd deprive myself of your company so easily?' The boy smiled. 'Right, it's almost dinner time; what if I pick this time?' He grimaced as he asked this, his mocking mouth showing all the teeth. 'And then we can walk to the lake. The crescent moon will be enough to make it look good. What do you say?'

Munro jumped up, pulled so much from his right sleeve that it hung down his hand and offered it to his host. The latter stared at it for some seconds and then held it with care, using it to stand up as well; but he didn't forget to peek at the nicely-shaped bare shoulder that the stretched collar of the t-shirt had uncovered.

'... And there were too many things in my head to concentrate on the foundations of composition and the Universal History of Music, so I decided to focus on practical stuff. But I told you, I haven't abandoned music, now I practise at home. Ah! And I dance at the Under 111, in case you ever want to...'

The young man shut up at once. He still hadn't decided if he really wanted Ho-Jun to watch him just in his trousers, shaking the hips on top of a platform in a techno venue.

'Yes, the Under 111. A curious coincidence, isn't it?'

'Well... it is a coincidence. I know the owner and he has nothing to do with us.'

'And you say you dance... like a performer?

'Eh...' Mìcheal tried to hide his discomfort behind a cigarette. His companion observed him as he lit it.

'I didn't know you smoked...'

'Sorry... I didn't dare to lit one in your house, and I could only have a quick one outside the restaurant, and honestly, my endurance has a limit...'

'I see. So you left the Conservatory, you smoke and you dance in a club.'

'... You are disappointed.'

'No; it's your life, and your decision; smoking doesn't make a difference and... I confess I am very curious about your dancing.' Munro looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and saw that his expression was relaxed and sincere. 'Ah, the lake by night... I missed it...'

Veldt Park was the biggest in the city, and its main green lung. Being in the centre, and therefore through and through surrounded by traffic, contrasted with its gravel paths, its wide green areas, its monuments and squares where all kind of events were held and, above all, the huge lake with an artificial island in its centre. It was late and the gates were closed, although any of the Alpheh knew how to manage to gain access to the place whenever they wanted.

Jang and Munro were leaning on the metal rail that surrounded the East side of the lake. The night was quiet, as quiet as it could be. The surface of the water reflected the sky like a mirror, now and then disturbed by some splashing. The crescent moon shone under the black shadow of the island, like a half-opened eye...

A silvery figure in the middle of a pyramid.

They both raised their eyes to the sky, where the dark shape of the palace was silhouetted against a background illuminated by the city lights. It was just an image, a mirage of something that was there, somewhere, and they still couldn't reach. Maybe some day...

There was someone else in the park at that late hour. He didn't look at the lake, which he had already seen dozens of times, nor at the moon reflected on it, nor at the sky: his eyes were fixed on the figures that seemed to chat with all the calm of the world. Specifically he couldn't stop studying the shortest of both men, the young one with the cap that was making an orangey ember dance from his waist to his lips...

The spy didn't move an inch while they remained there; and when they decided to walk away, he prepared to follow them. However, before leaving the park, his gaze went up at the space above the island, at the spot where the mirage of the pyramid floated. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, to shout himself hoarse... Instead he had to control himself and make do with hissing:

'Pero... ¿a qué cojones estáis jugando ahora, hijos de puta...?'*

**********

*'But... what's your fucking game this time, you sons of bitches...?'

 

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