CH 1

The Year 20XX

“Boy, it is time,” the old man said. White skin, white hair and blue eyes, he looked far too healthy to be nearly a hundred years old.

The 'boy', blonde hair and green eyes, was almost thirty. His posture was stiff, and he nodded his head sharply. They were inside the old man’s home, a tidy space with neatly stacked containers going all the way to the ceiling. The containers were labeled; Bulbs contained light bulbs; Knives - small contained small knives; Blood contained blood samples of various animals; an endless number of clear containers of uniform size, containing a lifetimes worth of accumulated memories.

“Bring me bags, boots, sundries and treasures,” the old man said, gesturing in the direction of each box as he requested them. “The auctioneer will be here next week. I will allow you to keep seven items of your choosing, and the rest is to be sold. You know what to do with the money.”

The boy nodded, carefully removing layers of the stacks to get what he was asked to get.

“You are to keep my sketches and blueprints inside their containers at all times when not in use. Not a living soul is to see them until what they describe has been built. You may make copies, and the copies can be violated, but the originals must remain pristine. This work is too fragile, too sacred to even be known by someone not fully prepared. Guard them, and remember the Science.”

“I will do as you ask, master.”

The old man coughed, a scowl on his face “Do not do this because I ask it of you. Do it because you understand why you must!” he shouted, face red and eyes practically glowing with anger. “This is not the work of a student carrying out his masters will, but of a Master imposing his own will! You wicked boy, how dare you display such carelessness on this day of all days!”

The boy smiled. “I will do as you ask, master.”

The old man’s face turned red, the muscles spasming, then relaxing suddenly. He laughed, “You’ve always been a smart-ass. Hurry up with those boxes, we need to arrive at sunset.”

--

The boy sat in the driver's seat, his eyes unnaturally focused. The roads were unfamiliar and their destination was unknown, but the act of driving was the same as it always was. The car was an ancient brown 1950 ford F1, very clean inside and out. In the bed was a shovel, two backpacks, and two five gallon containers of gasoline. The old man sat in the front seat, eyes closed but awake.

It was the second day of driving, they were headed south to the Rocky Mountains. The old man had simply said ‘South’ each morning, and then closed his eyes. The boy knew not to speak. So he drove, knowing that it was a mountain he sought, knowing that it was to the south. There was little left to say, the old man had already taught him. . . everything.

--

“Stop.” The old man’s eyes opened, and the boy pulled over. They were in Nevada, in the distance there were mountains, the boy did not know which mountains; he had been forbidden to bring a map or even look at road signs. The old man had not eaten in two days, his eyes had a strange look to them as he gazed over the desert landscape, then pointed his arm, a vicious snap of movement as though possessed, at a solitary peak in the distance.

The boy knew what to do. He helped the old man back into the car and drove the vehicle off road, towards the mountain. The land was barren, hard packed clay and sagebrush was a blur as he drove them slowly over the rough terrain, the sun creeping down closer and closer to the horizon. They drove in silence, as they had for three days. The quiet was a familiar friend to men like them.

It was dusk when they could drive no further, having arrived at the base of the mountain. It was not the tallest peak, or the most famous. Indeed, to the boy, it seemed as though they may be the first humans in thousands of years to bother heading to this place. The ring of land around it was so barren, it seemed to be an ocean of silence for miles and miles. It had an ancient, wild feel, hostile to their presence.

The old man exited the vehicle, walked some distance away from the boy towards the mountain, and fell to his knees. The boy did not understand the language of the song the old man sang, indeed, it may not have been a language at all. It was a primitive cry, syllables and grammar known only to madmen and those in the grip of religious fervor. The sky, pink and orange, darkened by the moment.

When the boy brought him his backpack, he saw the old man freely shedding tears. He took the pack without word, and put it on. Without looking back, he began the ascent up the mountain, and the sun disappeared from sight.

--

The sun had been risen for some time when the boy caught up with the old man at a plateau near the peak of the mountain. The area was flat, ringed by trees and seemed like it had been created to be a campsite. The old man had set out his equipment on a blanket, and constructed a small wooden bench out of debris from the ancient trees that were scattered about the lightly forested habitat. On the bench was a large container of white yogurt, a soccer ball sized clump of moss, a bag of sugar and a drum of rainwater. The boy felt a chill when he looked at the blanket, the small wooden treasure chest, shovel and gasoline that sat atop it.

The old man returned with an armful of large stones. They were gray and jagged, all flat planes and hard angles, mountain rock. “You made it. Good. Make yourself comfortable, I’ve got quite a day ahead of me.”

The day continued like this. The boy sat, meditating, and the old man left, returning with ever more stones to add to his pile. The pile became a respectable mound when the sun reached it’s highest point, and as the sun began its downward descent, the mound was shoulder height. The old man was dirty, sweating and tired. He drank some of the rain water, and began to dig a hole in the middle of the camp.

“Boy, you can help with this part. About five and a half feet should do it, my neck's not that long.”

The boy nodded, eyes watering. He took the shovel from the old man, and started digging a narrow hole. The old man watched him for a moment, a soft expression on his face, before turning to the mound of stones he had created. He walked over to the blanket and picked up the wooden chest. He set it down near the small hole he had dug and began smiling broadly.

“Behold, boy. For inside this chest is my greatest treasure, which I have cherished my entire life.” As the boy dug, the old man opened the chest, an object inside of it was shrouded by a pure white cloth. The old man washed his hands with water, and dried them on the blanket before removing the cloth, to reveal a massive root with three forks.

“Is that a dandelion?”

The old man smiled, and for the first time in memory, he looked like nothing more than a happy old man. “A dandelion? No, my boy, this is a Monster. When I was a boy, I played on my great grandfather's farm. I would catch grasshoppers and chase snakes, and occasionally when caught by the old timer, get put to work. Truth be told, he didn’t need the weeds pulled, he just wanted to see me develop a work ethic. One day, he says to me ‘Boy, out here on my fifty acres, there is a monster of terrible strength. It is a spirit which has roamed these lands since the times of the Indian, and the times before the Indian when only beasts had claim to the earth. He slumbers now, deep in the earth, but he will rise again.” The old man chuckled “Then my great grandfather says ‘But child, there is a legend, passed down since ancient times. I heard the legend from the Indian shaman who gave me this farm. He whispered it in my ear with his dying breaths, that the beast can be defeated. For as he slumbers, his spirit will inhabit the root of a weed, a weed which can only be found by a child of unparalleled bravery and spirit. I believe you are the boy spoken of in this prophecy. I believe you can find, him, the spirit of great destruction.” The old man smiled, lost in the memory. “I was pulling weeds out in that field from sun-up till the sun set. For a week straight, my great grandpa sat out on his porch and watched me beat my chest and rip up every green thing looking for that evil spirit, watching me save the world. On the eighth day, I wandered far out of my grandfathers sight. I’d pulled up every weed I could see, and still hadn’t found him. Then, something funny happened.”

The boy had set his shovel down. “What happened?”

“I couldn’t tell you where I was, or how I had gotten there, but I found an area of the farm I’d never been before. The dirt was red and stank like mustard. I couldn’t see the farm anymore, I couldn’t see the porch with grandpa. . . I knew I was close. Then, I saw it. A weed of impossible size, all covered in thorns, the leaves green and thick, a single white dandelion sitting atop this, this Monster!” The old man spoke quickly, reliving the moment “I screamed at it ‘Your reign of evil over!’, I charged at it and with my bare hands gripped the base and pulled. I pulled with all the might a child can muster when he truly believes the fate of the world hangs in the balance, I screamed and fought, and he fought to stay rooted,” the old man glanced at the root, “but I fought harder. Oh boy, I wish you could have heard the ripping sound it made as he came out of the earth, felt the tremble of the air and ground as I snapped the root from the leaves. My hands were bloody and my strength was spent, but I ran back the way I came, all the way back to my great grandpa and I said to him ‘Grandpa, I did it! I got the monster!’

“That old man couldn’t believe his eyes. That plant was bigger than I was, the root longer than my leg. He was an old man, but he jumped, Jumped! Right out of his chair, hooping and hollering. He picked me up on his shoulders and shouted ‘The legend is true! The legend is true!’ over and over again. He killed his best cow and invited all his friends over and held a feast for me, made a little crown for me to wear. . .”

The old man’s smile faded. “This, this is my greatest treasure. The proof of the monster I slayed as a child; my adventure.” He stopped looking at the boy and looked to the sky instead “This is what I offer today, in addition to everything.” He wrapped the root in the white cloth, and set it inside the hole he had dug.

The boy started digging again, and the sun continued to fall towards the horizon

--

The boy dug for hours, his progress slowed by the many rocks in the soil, and the depth of the hole. By the end of it, he lay on the ground, his shovel totally underground, working to clear the final bits of earth from the ground. The old man had arranged the stones he gathered into a rough pyramid shape about chest high, twenty feet away from the hole. He was wheezing by the time it was done.

“Master, I’m finished,” the boy said.

The old man nodded. “Kneel before me.”

The boy kneeled before his Master, pyramid of rough stone in the background, the setting of the sun painting the sky purple, pink and red. The boy was weeping inconsolably, clutching his hands into tight fists, face pressed against the ground to hide the tears.

“I have thought long and hard since your training began. You are a good student, and a faithful friend. Arise, and know that I have named you Melmat, and given you my title.” The old man took the first can of gasoline and poured it on the pyramid, covering every stone with gas. “Hear me now, you of the heavens and the earth!” he shouted “Hear my blessing, hear my oath, hear my wish! I bless the master Melmat, may he be loved by God and reap the blessings of my sacrifice! I swear upon my life that I will open the way and pierce the veil! I wish upon my sacrifice that the Science of Advancement will usher in the Fourth Era! Arise, Arise, Arise Melmat, and embrace me as an equal.”

Melmat rose and tightly hugged his master. He wiped his face with a dirty sleeve, then hardened his heart, facing him with clean eyes.

“We don’t have much time. Quickly now, help me in,” the old man said. Melmat helped him into the hole and began burying him. He had calculated correctly, and by the time he was done, only his Master's head was above the ground. With the second can of gas, he anointed his Master's head, pouring every drop, and connecting the pyramid with a trail of fuel.

Melmat took the match from his pocket, and it lit against the back of his hand. Without shutting his eyes, he dropped the match. The gas lit, an audible and tactile thump impacted him as the fire simultaneously ignited the pyramid and his master.

As he burned, the Master was silent, an intense expression on his face. He kept breathing for a long time it seemed; and with his final breath the sun set on the world.

When it rose again, a patch of queer, turquoise, opalescent sky hung over the mountain. The boy quickly drove away to begin preparation. All doubt of his master had long ago left him, and soon everybody would know what had been done here.

They were going to show them all.