A Future Coming to Us All [Chain/Alma Torran]

The next day had scarcely risen, sprinkling the mountaintops with gentle light, before the Sun looked upon the flat plainlands and breathed fire down from his upraised nostrils. It was only morning, but heat and warmth had made themselves friendly with the usual winds - and there was no help from the sea-borne ones. Instead, it seemed that Zubaidah would trade her night-time blankets for looser and lighter clothes, wanting the chill evening air back already. But such matters were not her main concern, not at all. No, she was concerned with the newest passage written in her gold-fringed tome, headed with warning words:

Here are written the last accounts of Alma Torran. There are none who remain from these pages, for the world and its peoples are gone.

It was brief and profound, making clear that these tales would not entertain her as the others had done before. She had found the tales answering her questions at last, but the warning assured her that she would not be content with the solution to her problem. Indeed, Zubaidah hesitated. She was one page from her answer and solution, but she hesitated to turn onto the next.

What would she find?

Why were these things hidden away?

How might she be changed by knowing them?

As she hesitated, however, she was met with a familiar voice. “It is fine for you to hesitate, Zubaidah.” A few words etched themselves onto the page, matching the voice sounding inside her head. “If you did not hesitate, I would wonder whether you were handling these tales with enough sensitivity. That you do hesitate, however, it would suggest that you understand the gravity of this entire issue.” It seemed that the words slowed themselves, as if the voice was pondering something in their non-literal mind.

“It might be best if you understand more about Il Illah and Alma Torran itself before you read these accounts. There is much here which you might find cruel and unusual, but I should carry out my duty so that you can take them to heart as best you can...”

I was young, midway through my teenage years, when I was first introduced to David. He was a true prodigy, much as his son Solomon would become, having mastered magic in a short time. Indeed, magic was something new and revered in our youth, since humans had been recently granted it as a gift from Il Illah. For decades and centuries before, humans had been the lowest in the food-chain and viewed as food and prey. With magic, however, we became the predators instead. In this way, since we were better adapted, David and myself were tasked with using magic to institute a safe-haven for humans from the other tribes.

He called this institution the Orthodoxy.

Over the centuries, however, there was a continued disregard for this purpose within the Orthodoxy. Instead, they began using their magic in order to subdue the other tribes. For them, humans were more superior than the other tribes because Il Illah had given us magic. Indeed, David had taken this stance upon founding the Orthodoxy, but the more conservative amongst ourselves had prevented him from acting in this way. Since he had no regard for this conservative faction anymore, he began using magic as a weapon against the other tribes, fighting them until most tribes were subdued under the Orthodoxy.

It was this Orthodoxy with which Solomon, having left his father David, found great issue. He sought myself and others out, asking that the conservative faction amongst the Council recognise the Orthodoxy as an evil thing. I was swayed to his side, for I saw Solomon as the wise and kind man that he was. But there were others who, fearing David so much, refused his hand without considering the Orthodoxy’s travesties.

For he was a man fierce and unpredictable.

In the months afterwards, Solomon and his servant Arba had gathered forces from humans and other tribes alike, united under a promise of equality between races. Indeed, one after another, he took the Orthodoxy’s power-bases down and split the Council in twain, forcing their members into exile or hiding. In the meantime, however, his father David was rather inactive. Indeed, it seemed he had focused his traditionalist faction within the Orthodoxy’s capital, where he faced his son Solomon for the last time. But, after much bloodshed, Solomon had claimed victory for his revolution and…

I lost a man who was my enemy, and my friend.

Staring into the sun-laced clouds, her gaze softened with saffron light, Zubaidah considered these words in her own heart. She could feel something within her mind untangle, threads knotted within her thoughts becoming loose and undone. With each thread, she found herself coming ever closer to the centre of the labyrinthine problem which she had proposed to Gamigin and Furcas. But she was missing something important, such that she could not solve the problem entirely.

“You say that Il Illah was God, correct?” A finger placed upon her pink lips, Zubaidah pondered what she could be missing. “But I am sure that the Djinni called Solomon God instead.” As she saw the puzzle within her head, her lips curled into a scarlet smile. “Who was God then, Solomon or Il Illah?”

“I would propose this solution: Solomon and Il Illah were God.”

“I would rather have you explain yourself than confuse me more, if I am quite honest.”

“I am clearer than you might imagine.” One premise, old and familiar, was written in response to her question. “Il Illah was God at one time.” She began understanding the answer, however as a second premise was written down, more familiar than the first. “Solomon was God at another time.”

She paused...

“Are you suggesting that there was a change in the hierarchy, putting Solomon in Il Illahs’ position as God?”

And then she understood.

“But how…” She could not say that she understood entirely, however, for this conclusion brought new questions. “How can a man become God?” She had known that her pre-conceptions would be challenged, but not her worldview as a whole.

“Is that not like a character becoming author of their own story?” Were her beliefs wrong? “Indeed, how could Alma Torran then be destroyed, when Solomon was God?” Were her ideals wrong? “He could have penned his own ending, where Alma Torran survived!”

“You must understand how Alma Torran was destroyed, before you can understand why Solomon could not have saved it.”

As she voiced her complaints, his words faded with the summer winds, leaving Zubaidah alone. She was more irritated than confused that Natan had not explained himself, if she was being honest, but she realised that cursing thin air was a waste of breath. Instead, she aimed her attention towards the book in her hands, noticing that more writing has appeared upon its pages. Indeed, if she could not ask Natan, then she had better find her answer here.

As she finished this account, the Sun was hanging high in the heavens. Looking into the sun-tinged skies, she put the gold-fringed book aside and laid down upon her back. She looked at the clouds, the mountains and all else in those skies, and she pondered to herself: What was her place in this vast world? If she was a mere speck when compared to the skies, what was she compared to God - whether Solomon or Il Illah?

A sound, like an insect’s buzzing, distracted Zubaidah from her thoughts, “I understand that Alma Torran must have splintered into factional conflict, if I have read this account correctly,” She was well-accustomed to that buzzing, turning towards that oh-so-useful book and - as she had thought - Natan was now writing upon its pages. "But what has it to do with my question?”

“Well, it was not just a conflict over power. It was started because there was disagreement over Solomon taking Il Illah’s position. David was viewed as an unwanted evil, but Il Illah was still revered and worshipped. Indeed, it was seen as blasphemous that Solomon thought he could take Il Illah’s position at all. And so, Alma Torran divided itself into two groups, one for Solomon and one with Il Illah.”

“I cannot blame them, if I am being honest…” She looked absent-mindedly at the clouds, her mind filled with doubts and questions. “Solomon made himself God…” She could not even see the mountains below, so concerned was she for the problems arising from this answer. “A man took the position of God…”

“It might be best that I answer your previous question then. Solomon could not save Alma Torran because he believed in the freedom of people, that they should make their own decisions. Il Illah had no such ideals, operating under baser instincts, for he cared only that people survived - and not thrived. God is not a position of complete power, rather Solomon as God allows that people may live according to their own ideals. It is the rukh that - ”

Natan was soon interrupted when Zubaidah closed his book and tossed him aside, tired of hearing his voice. “How…” She stared intently towards the cloud-filled skies, her lips pursed in exasperation. “How can I trust that Solomon is a good God…” She closed her eyes, refusing the rainbow-coloured light streaming through the wagon’ window. “How can I trust that the world is not shit because Solomon is not a good God?”

“I don’t know… She was an optimistic person, if she were honest, for she believed that anyone could become better. “I don’t know anything… But, if someone had their actions planned from the beginning, how could anyone change themselves? “I need time… If no-one could change themselves, how could anyone become better? “Yeah, time to think…

She could not understand what she was feeling, for it was greater in scale than anything she had felt before, but she knew that she had to hold onto her optimism - else she would be swallowed up by her realisation.

Her mind racing, Zubaidah left her carriage behind and walked onwards, paying no heed towards the sun-baked path. She was unaware, however, that she was not alone. No, she was followed with a trail of black buttterflies - nay, black birds - fluttering about her footsteps. As she considered her problem, she was unaware that more birds were gathering around her person with each question.

Was she treading a preset path? The birds swirled around her feet, like children clutching at their mother’s dress. Was each tragedy she faced something predetermined? Those birds grew more restless, flitting around her head with glee and ecstasy. If those tragedies were predetermined, did that mean everyone was faced with tragedies by God’s design?

And a single white bird perched itself upon her shoulder.

No, Zubaidah did not believe that Solomon was such a God. Gamigin had called him honourable; Furcas had called him benevolent. When she had spoken with the Djinni about Solomon, they had described him as someone aware of pain and suffering. Indeed, he had been described as kind-hearted by Natan, not someone willing to make people face tragedies. If he was not such a person, then surely he would not allow anyone to face tragedies?

And warmth welled inside her chest, like sunshine on a summer's day.

Of course, it makes sense now… Natan had described Solomon as someone who viewed freedom of ideals over everything else. That’s the missing piece of the puzzle.. If everyone had freedom of ideals, then tragedy would occur when those ideals came into conflict.

One could then avert tragedy, if people understood each other's ideals.

She knew, however, that tragedy could be averted. A part of her memory came flooding back into her mind, as if a dam had blocked it from her memory-banks. She had experienced a tragedy herself, a death even, averted throughout someone's intervention. She had forgotten that event, for it was more traumatic than anything she had experienced, but she could not avoid that memory forever. Indeed, she had to remember that event, accept that it had been, so that she could understand this problem further. For if someone had averted that death, there must be a way for her to avert other tragedies. In other words, she could find a way for her to help others with such tragedies.

As she remembered her death, however, she was reminded that something unusual had happened. If she was being honest, the entire event had been rather unusual. Indeed, when she had died, she remembered feeling as if she was being divided into infinite parts, turning from something finite into something infinitesimal. She had been broken from an individual and formed into the collective, allowing her to understand things as herself and everyone else. She felt herself join something greater than herself, dwarfing her entire being, but she was not joined entirely.

Indeed, as she was divided, she remembered that someone had called her away before she was joined there. She could not recall their features, just that she was familiar.

As she thought, however, she remembered that she had been a woman! No, that was not right, she was a woman-shaped light. But not even that, she had been a mass of light-coloured butterflies - or were they birds?

But wait, had she not heard something about light-coloured birds before? She was sure that Amnet had used that description for the so-called rukh, or building-blocks of magic. Indeed, she had described the rukh as light-coloured birds to which magicians issued commands, allowing them to use magic. If that were the case, had Solomon used magic to take the position of God, were the rukh involved in that process as well? There was so much that Zubaidah did not understand about magic and the rukh! But, whether she understood it fully or not, there was one thing she understood more than anything else:

She would receive all her answers, if she could access the rukh.

As she thought long and hard, her hand was drawn towards something inside her satchel, much as a moth towards flame. Zubaidah found herself holding a shard of something strange and mysterious, crystalline in shape. If she was being honest, she had forgotten that Gamigin had given her this shard when she had challenged his Dungeon. But she did remember his words, that she would know when she should use the shard. Indeed, she was reminded of Furcas, who had said that Solomon had not abandoned this world, asserting that he was listening for people’s wishes. Seeing the shard in her hand, she thought that using this shard would allow him to grant her own wish, but she was not certain why she thought it.

Casting aside certainty, Zubaidah embraced instinct over reason and began crushing the shard in her hand. As she crushed it, she began muttering her wish aloud, hoping that Solomon would hear,

“I have no idea whether you are listening, or whether you can listen, but please grant me this if you are. Let me connect with that thing greater than me, whatever it was, which I had experienced before. Please grant me that feeling of connectivity with everyone, with you, with the world, so that I can join people together and avert the tragedies arising from the disconnection between them!”