01-24-2017, 03:17 PM
Armande stood in the center of the larger chamber. There were four crates, including the one he and Valeriya opened. None of them were alike. He began with the first one, gently and reverently removed the reindeer skin before taking out and examining items one at a time. As he did so, his mind continued to ponder. It all made sense. Rasputin's flight and subsequent death, had happened quickly. His relationship with the Czarina had gone on for a long time and his influence over some of the Czar's advisers had become more and more tenuous. Resentment had built. If Lenin and his comrades had not staged the revolution at that moment, the Czar and his family would still have died in fire and blood along with the aristocracy.
Historical inertia was a real thing. Most of the historical "greats" merely riding that historical wave, surfers on the tsunamis and winds of resentment and hope. In riding those waves, they acquired some small power to control those forces- but only within a certain range of tolerance, as many learned to their horror. Pushing too far in the wrong direction always led to chaos. Those philosopher-architects of the French Revolution- Rousseau, Paine, Jefferson and Voltaire- could not have anticipated Robespierre's Reign of Terror that would follow the tearing away of the protective layer of control that had tamped down and repressed a 1000 years of social resentment and competition. Reformers Luther and Hus and Calvin could not have foreseen the 100 Years War that decimated Europe under the guise of religious wars.
So what was he? A chip? He looked back at Matvei and then through the opening into the larger room. He couldn't see it with his eyes but he knew it was there. His image carved into the wall. No, not a chip. He couldn't help but smile at the realization. He'd always seen historical inertia as the only real manifestation of fate or divine providence. 'Psychohistory' one writer had termed it. Prediction based on trends. The existence of prophecies though- whether collected by the Atharim or buried in ancient religious texts- indicated that once there had been other sources of knowledge, a way to touch the divine, to see that future and control it.
How much power did that give a person? How much control? He could feel the hunger coming off Matvei, the stink of it. What would he use it for? To rule a small group of people? Stuck down here below the earth was real power- the power to know hiding behind green eyes. Cut off from the world. He was the conduit. He would bring her- bring all of them to the surface. Armed with knowledge, with her at his side, the war for humanity would be won.
Even as his mind wandered feverishly, imagining what was coming ahead, he cataloged. Not surprisingly, the boxes contained a mixture of useful and useless things. With Rasputin on the run, he'd not had time to organize what was important. So ancient books, skins, and heavy medieval tomes sat wrapped amid toiletries and blankets and trinkets. Heavy coats- furred or woven- along with black robes were bundled among gold candlesticks, sacks of jewels and gold and silver coin. Not a large treasure, but definitely not something to dismiss.
As he worked the number of people in the room grew. Valeriya's companion with the cross-shaped scar was among them. Their eyes gazed at the items on the ground in fascination. Their robes were all the same- skins made from Oni and other denizens of this caves. Everything came from what they hunted or could collect in this dark place. Valeriya's clothes had been the only exception.
An idea occurred to him, something he'd need to think on. If these were his people then he needed to start binding them to him. His eye ran over the reindeer skin. And to hold them. Because the skin was a map. To what, he did not know. But it was no accident it was here. He did not open it here. The hunger from Matvei was still strong. No sense in giving him more power at this moment. Not until he knew what the map was.
It was time for answers. He stood, picking up the folded skin. He directed his words to Valeriya's brother. "Please take me to the Eye." He used that term on purpose. He needed to see, to understand. The future was before him.
He felt his heart beat in anticipation.
Historical inertia was a real thing. Most of the historical "greats" merely riding that historical wave, surfers on the tsunamis and winds of resentment and hope. In riding those waves, they acquired some small power to control those forces- but only within a certain range of tolerance, as many learned to their horror. Pushing too far in the wrong direction always led to chaos. Those philosopher-architects of the French Revolution- Rousseau, Paine, Jefferson and Voltaire- could not have anticipated Robespierre's Reign of Terror that would follow the tearing away of the protective layer of control that had tamped down and repressed a 1000 years of social resentment and competition. Reformers Luther and Hus and Calvin could not have foreseen the 100 Years War that decimated Europe under the guise of religious wars.
So what was he? A chip? He looked back at Matvei and then through the opening into the larger room. He couldn't see it with his eyes but he knew it was there. His image carved into the wall. No, not a chip. He couldn't help but smile at the realization. He'd always seen historical inertia as the only real manifestation of fate or divine providence. 'Psychohistory' one writer had termed it. Prediction based on trends. The existence of prophecies though- whether collected by the Atharim or buried in ancient religious texts- indicated that once there had been other sources of knowledge, a way to touch the divine, to see that future and control it.
How much power did that give a person? How much control? He could feel the hunger coming off Matvei, the stink of it. What would he use it for? To rule a small group of people? Stuck down here below the earth was real power- the power to know hiding behind green eyes. Cut off from the world. He was the conduit. He would bring her- bring all of them to the surface. Armed with knowledge, with her at his side, the war for humanity would be won.
Even as his mind wandered feverishly, imagining what was coming ahead, he cataloged. Not surprisingly, the boxes contained a mixture of useful and useless things. With Rasputin on the run, he'd not had time to organize what was important. So ancient books, skins, and heavy medieval tomes sat wrapped amid toiletries and blankets and trinkets. Heavy coats- furred or woven- along with black robes were bundled among gold candlesticks, sacks of jewels and gold and silver coin. Not a large treasure, but definitely not something to dismiss.
As he worked the number of people in the room grew. Valeriya's companion with the cross-shaped scar was among them. Their eyes gazed at the items on the ground in fascination. Their robes were all the same- skins made from Oni and other denizens of this caves. Everything came from what they hunted or could collect in this dark place. Valeriya's clothes had been the only exception.
An idea occurred to him, something he'd need to think on. If these were his people then he needed to start binding them to him. His eye ran over the reindeer skin. And to hold them. Because the skin was a map. To what, he did not know. But it was no accident it was here. He did not open it here. The hunger from Matvei was still strong. No sense in giving him more power at this moment. Not until he knew what the map was.
It was time for answers. He stood, picking up the folded skin. He directed his words to Valeriya's brother. "Please take me to the Eye." He used that term on purpose. He needed to see, to understand. The future was before him.
He felt his heart beat in anticipation.