Canticles of the Prophet Zachariah:
Through Many Eyes
Notes by Anthony
“While I slumbered away the day, safely cocooned in the Cobweb, Rose commandeered Irad’s power to uncover the secrets that lay within the werewolf pelt. It had been the skin of a woman, once. The realization shouldn’t have surprised me, and yet it did. The werewolf pelt isn’t a fur coat, and Gwen’s skeletons aren’t a set of animated Halloween decorations. They’re the desecrated and disassembled corpses of people. Somehow, I had forgotten.
“Rose told us later that the woman lived during the last of the ancient cities. Enoch, I believe. Her tribe was nomadic. Their life was hard, but good. They lived in harmony with the natural world and cared for it as it did them. But there were things hunted them in the night. Creatures whose pale skin had never felt the sun’s warmth. Creatures that smelled like death or perfume or nothing at all. The tribe tried to keep a wide berth, but they shared the same hunting grounds, and the woman had to feed her family.
“She was captured and taken to a grand city where the sun never rose. She was taught enough of their language to follow orders and forced into an arena to compete for the amusement of the pale creatures. Sometimes she fought their servitors, other times she fought people like herself. On occasion, she’d even fight of one of the pale creatures. Some of them volunteered for the challenge, eager to test their mettle against a hot-blooded, animalistic foe. Other times, it had been a punishment or a death sentence. She enjoyed killing the pale ones most of all.
“A sword found its way between her ribs. She collapsed to uproarious applause. Her corpse was skinned. Her flesh and fur was cleaned, soaked in oils, and stretched over a fire to dry. The smoke was heavy with incense. The pelt was brought before one of the rulers of the pale men as a gift. It was boxed up and carried to Vait’hara Tuii’s chambers, where none touched it until Rose.
“Later, Rose told us she was sure that the woman’s spirit had passed on, and only the impressions of memories were left behind. Still, she was unsure if it was right to keep the pelt. Even though she is a descendent of the people who had enslaved and killed the werewolf, they shared the same purpose of protecting the natural world. I think there’s some part of Rose that is more aligned with the werewolves than kindred.
“Meanwhile, your faithful radio DJ was spinning up some truly terrible nightmares. George stared into my eyes. He looked so lost and heartbroken. I knew it was all my fault. It was my blood that had poisoned him and compelled him to consume souls. Red tears slipped from George’s eyes and splashed onto the ground. The blood pooled around us and filled the corn field. I tried to stand but it was too heavy and sticky. Then the world inverted, and I scrabbled at the ground for purchase. It exploded above me and I fell downward into the sky.
“I screamed. Blood rained down. The sky was falling. A flaming rock streaked past me towards the Earth below. I could see Jonathan from 6th grade. Peggy McGillicuddy from sophomore Sociology. They stood beside a man with a badge reading “U.S. Department of the Interior.” According to Cedric, that is a real department. The rock landed and exploded in a pyre of molten lava and boiling blood. It washed across the earth and drained away, leaving a grey, empty husk. Caine stood alone on the edge of the impact crater, staring across the endless void.
“I was still falling. I looked down. An open mouth yawned beneath me, as vast as a city block. I screamed and watched the jaw widen and tongue writhe. I was falling into my own mouth. I was going to swallow myself. I tried to close my mouth, but I couldn’t stop screaming. I dug my fingers into my cheeks and jaw and tried to push it closed. My skin ripped and blood poured into my mouth. I watched it cascade into the open maw below, forming a pool in the gaping cavity of my throat. I dove in like I was in a competition for the world’s worst cannonball. I instinctively closed my mouth so I wouldn’t swallow the ocean of blood. High above, my own teeth snapped shut, plunging me into darkness.
“I sat up in bed, gasping for breath as I sobbed. I was in my childhood bedroom. Logan’s Run was on TV. Watching movies helps with the nightmares. I can get lost in other people’s stories. I reached for the bowl of dry cornflakes beside my bed. Eating helps, too. I opened my mouth to take a bite. I heard a tiny scream. I closed my mouth around the spoon, and something squirmed against my tongue. I spat out the cornflakes and hurled the bowl against the wall.
“I stood in the cafeteria of the Institute. I had just screamed and thrown my tray against the floor. The room was silent but for a few whispers and muffled laughter. My cheeks got hot as tears started to fall. I knew getting upset would just make it worse, but I couldn’t help it. Everyone saw me act like a freak. Again. One of the nurses grabbed my arm and pulled me back to my rooms. I tried to say I was sorry, I didn’t mean it, I was okay now, really. I looked around for someone, anyone to help. Even just a sympathetic face.
“My eyes locked onto a boy in the crowd. He was my age. He had curly brown hair and looked a bit like me, though a lot skinnier. I knew those eyes. He groaned: “You? Ugh.” I tried to reach for him, but the nurse dragged me away and locked me in my room. I curled up on the bed. I didn’t remember taking my meds, but I must have. My feet and hands tingled, and the room swam. The walls crumbled and then my body did, too. A gust of wind picked up the pieces of my flesh and we drifted far, far from the hospital until it was just a speck of brick on a grey plane.
“My memory returned as the floating specks of blood and bone and skin reforged into my adult body. I wasn’t a kid anymore. I wasn’t institutionalized. Still, the emotions hadn’t faded. I was scared and upset and angry. I yelled to the sky: “Why do you want this? Why are you doing this?” I didn’t know if I was talking to God or Caine or Malkav or my future self. I was surprised when a familiar voice responded: “What are you talking about?” Damien sounded annoyed, though maybe there was a bit of relief in there, too. I was relieved, too. We weren’t alone, anymore.
“I told Damien I was glad he was alive. He said he was glad I made it out of the farmhouse. I was confused at the time, but later I remembered we had burned it during the day on January 1st. This meant he’d been near the Temple sometime in the past two nights. While we spoke, I saw glimpses of another set of features beneath that runway model face. Someone who looked a lot like the kid I saw in the asylum. I didn’t mention it, though. If Damien hid his face, he must’ve had a reason. I was similarly embarrassed that he’d seen me in the asylum. I couldn’t tell why he’d be ashamed of his own face, though. He looked perfectly ordinary. Maybe even a little like me.
“I asked Damien to tell me what he wanted. Why did he want to use the Temple to end the world? I thought that maybe, if I listened, I could find some flaw in his logic or reasoning. Or, just maybe, Damien needed a friend to talk to. Growing up, my nightmares had nearly driven me mad. Who would I have become, if my parents hadn’t supported me? If I hadn’t had my friends and music and radio show and Ben? Would I have become like Damien, so bitter and angry at the unfairness of it all that I’d rather erase it all than reach out just one more time for happiness?
“Damien’s face lit up. We sat down on a set of crumbling concrete slabs, dislodging little puffs of ash and dust. They might have been the foundations of someone’s house, once. He took a deep breath and began: “You have, at your disposal, as have I, two Elder Leeches. Their purpose is to destroy the world. And why shouldn’t they? The world deserves to be destroyed for all the evil and injustice in it. For all that has happened to you and I. But what if we could free ourselves? What if we didn’t have to be judged and punished? All of the pain, forgiven and forgotten. Nothing would have happened. It would all be reversed and erased. We could start again in the Garden, but no one would eat the Apple. The grass and rocks would lie undisturbed. Life is evil. Consequences are evil. Answers are evil. The only good thing to do is to end it all before it begins. It would be a mercy.” Damien sat back on the rock, looking satisfied.
“I tried to refute his logic. I tried to tell him that the bad doesn’t cancel out the good, that suffering doesn’t cancel out joy. It’s not arithmetic. It’s not a zero sum game. I can’t say I was particularly eloquent or persuasive. I was exhausted. All in one night, I’d gone shopping with Joan, spied on Ben’s first feeding, interrogated and tortured George, and was literally chewed up and swallowed by a remix of all my worst fears and memories. Cut me a little slack, listeners?
“I could feel Damien stiffening. I was going about this all wrong. I had forgotten what I learned in the Cobweb Kennedy Center. I couldn’t reason our way out of this. Damien’s philosophy came from pain and loneliness. He had been betrayed and hurt and abandoned and forgotten. If I want to change his mind, I need to prove to him that he isn’t alone. He has to believe his own life is worth living before I can convince him that the world is worth it, too.
“That conversation, however, would have to be for another time. I squeezed his shoulder and gave him a smile. “Hey. Sorry. Thanks for telling me how you feel. I don’t agree, but that’s okay. As long as the world is still around, you can always change your mind. And if you ever need anything or want to talk, I’ll be here. I know being here sucks, but it was nice to not be alone.”
“The ground rumbled beneath us. Damien was light on his feet and leapt back. I wasn’t so quick. The rocks turned to quicksand and dragged me into the earth. Bits of metal and stone sliced deep into my body. One hard piece bashed my chin and shattered my jaw. I tried to scream and spat broken teeth into the churning mud. I was trapped. I had been buried alive.
“I have no idea how long I was down there. It could have been minutes or hours or years. Any tiny gap I made just let more mud slide in and harden around me. Then I felt something gently brush my fingers, almost like walking through a cobweb. I was scared of breaking the delicate threads, but more terrified of losing them. I grabbed hold and they pulled me upwards through the mud with surprising strength. I was getting out of here.”