the kiss (part 2)

 II. THE KISS

What happened afterwards (after, that is, that improbable moment when Rayna Kisley found

herself curtsying before the man before whom her heart, for some reason, swooned, though

she barely knew this overdressed, cerulean-eyed stranger, didn't know him at all, in fact, except

for the fact that something about him had seemed hauntingly familiar all along), Rayna later

found that she had no memory of.

It was Sara who had discovered her, weirdly frozen in that very pose of elegant submission--

which Rayna had never before assumed in her life, had never felt compelled to assume, though

she realized now that it was because no man had previously drawn such a gesture out from the

depths of her feminine spirit-- and had urged her to "come back to earth."

Indeed, Rayna had seemingly drifted into some kind of trance state, one which enabled her to

remain in the curtsying posture for who knows how long (several minutes, perhaps even an

hour?), her eyes downcast, her hands clutching at her skirts, knees bent, her right leg behind her

left, right knee at a ninety-degree angle from her left knee: in short, an altogether improbable

pose to be able to hold for even a few seconds without incurring great discomfort.

When Sara had come across her friend, she was relieved at first (her disappearance from the

party for an extended length of time had caused her concern), then a bit alarmed when it

seemed that Rayna had become some sort of human statue; first, she tapped her friend on the

shoulder, and when this had failed to rouse her, she took to shaking her by the shoulders, at first

lightly, then with greater urgency as she began to worry that Rayna had perhaps sunk into some

sort of strange coma-like fugue state.

After even a violent shake had only minimal effect, Sara really began to panic, and she began to

yell out Rayna's name, even pulling her hair and slapping her face out of distress that her friend

might just be lost for good. Finally, Rayna began to show signs of reviving; her eyelids fluttered

lightly, but her face still looked distressingly blank; at this, Sara clutched her friend's face and

brought her own into mere inches' proximity, shouting, "Rayna, wake up, wake up, Rayna,

Rayna, wake up, please!"

Finally, the deep trance into which our young heroine had tumbled appeared to wear off; Rayna

came to herself, though she looked genuinely disoriented, and barely spoke. Sara, relieved, led

her companion by the hand back to their car; during the ride back to campus, Rayna collapsed

into a deep sleep; she revived briefly when they arrived at their dorm, but after Sara led her past

a few mellowly inebriated, utterly oblivious students hanging out in the halls and to their room,

she collapsed onto her bed and slept in her evening dress for ten hours straight.

"Must've been a hell of an encounter with that weird guy," Sara muttered ruefully to her friend's

unconscious, peacefully-dozing frame.

******************************

When the two girls discussed the events of the evening, Rayna found herself feeling a bit

defensive when it came to revealing her thoughts about the strange man with whom she had

first exchanged glances, before the two had engaged in a brief, odd bit of heated banter-- as

electric in its intimacy even as it was perplexing it its true nature-- after which she had, acting

upon his flagrant dare, made the most curious gesture to him, that of the curtsy. And she had

seemingly held that curtsy for some subsequent span of time, during which she had fallen into

the sort of disassociated state that still occupied her motionless frame when Sara found her

some time afterward.

Sara, first of all, wanted to know just why Rayna had been standing in what she described as

"such an unnatural position." Rayna, blushing just slightly, had muttered in reply, "It was a

curtsy."

"A curtsy!" Sara repeated with some incredulity, as if her friend were informing her of some

grotesque misunderstanding. Then, "Why were you frozen in the act of curtsying, then?"

"I have never done it before, never in my life," Rayna stated, though this certainly wasn't an

answer to Sara's pointed query. "i had never, never in my life, ever even considered curtsying

before anyone, much less a man..." And it was true. The very gesture seemed so laughably old-

fashioned, like something you would see in a costume epic set in the 18th century.

"So he made you do it?" Sara asked.

"He didn't make me do anything," Rayna answered. "I did it because I wanted to. I did it

because... because somehow it was the only thing I could do., the only thing I desired to do..."

And I'm not in the least sorry that I did it, she thought but didn't say, though her eyes now

flashed in fiery defiance, as if she were daring her friend, or anyone, to voice an objection.

"It's just so bizarre," Sara observed. "Who is this man?"

Sara had, it seemed, taken the liberty of making a series of inquires while her friend slept. She

asked her stepfather-- the very one who had embarrassed her the previous night with his

gruesome display of divorced, middle-aged licentiousness-- as well as several others in the

English department, if they had any clue who the tall, pale, overdressed man was, and none of

them seemed to know. All had merely assumed that he was some new hire that they hadn't

been informed of; even her stepdad, the head of the department, who really ought to know

who was employed and who wasn't, told his daughter that he figured the guy was "some

adjunct who had been sent our way from the dean's office, someone who was trying a little too

hard to make a strong first impression...." Many had seen him, but few, if any, had exchanged

any words with him.

"What was he doing there?" Sara asked. When Rayna shrugged, Sara began to feel somewhat

disconcerted by her friend's lack of inquisitiveness on this subject. Had the gaunt, suited specter

been some sort of interloper, perhaps even an imposter? The matter seemed of some import to

Sara, but Rayna exhibited little even in the way of curiosity, much less suspicion.

For her part, Rayna, sensing Sara's absence of interest in hearing about Rayna's true experience

of the previous night, and further intuiting that she wouldn't respond with empathy, sensitivity,

or even understanding, our heroine balked at even telling her the sort of things she actually

ached to share. How had she become so cold that she was even breathing frost into the air, and

afterwards, so hot that she might collapse from fever, and pricked by invisible pins and needles

just prior to the mystery man's initial appearance? These were sensations that she wished she

could discuss with her friend, but couldn't, due to the fact that these bodily experiences were

connected somehow to the personage whom she had encountered, the one whom Sara seemed

determined to view as some kind of menace. In fact, Rayna felt she'd already said too much

when speaking of the curtsy and what had prompted her to do it. She certainly couldn't tell her

friend what she suspected Sara already discerned: that Rayna had been uniquely captivated by

this figure, for reasons she could not now articulate.

Sara, unlike Rayna, had suffered quite a few heartbreaks through the years; the boys whom

she'd dated had, she felt, ultimately shown little regard for her; if they could not use her to their

satisfaction, they generally opted to discard her and "move on." She'd been counseled by

certain well-meaning mentors, including her own mother (embarrassingly enough) that she

ought to be satisfied with humbler, homelier lads than the ones she'd tended to gravitate

towards; boys of that sort, she'd heard again and again, were far more likely to be trustworthy

when it came to matters of the heart. And yet, though she'd tried to take her mother's advice, it

never worked; she resented having to lower her standards, simply on account of being "plain."

Further fueling her fury, as well as injuring her feelings and feeding her insecurities, was the fact

that her mother, whose beauty she had mostly failed to genetically inherit, would actually tell

her own daughter to "settle" for a plainer boy.

Thus, much as Sara genuinely liked her new friend Rayna, she struggled with the latter's beauty

and the opportunities it opened for her. A girl like Rayna Kisley surely had never been advised to

lower her standards, to seek out homelier, humbler men; instead, a girl like Rayna could surely

have her pick of the litter when it came to guys. Forgetting for a moment that Sara's own

mother hadn't particularly been a success in love (the recent divorce from her stepfather had

marked her third failed marriage, on top of suffering an initial tragic widowhood ; Sara's own

father had died young when Sara was just a toddler), Sara still felt that women like her mother

and girls like Rayna could never understand how it was to be without the gift of beauty; this, it

may be observed, contributed somewhat to her skeptical reaction to Rayna's unaccountable

reverie over this odd and captivating stranger who'd bizarrely materialized into her life.

Rayna, however, felt her own kind of distress at her friend's resistance to taking her (that is,

Rayna's) feelings seriously. She already was, after all, discombobulated enough at what had

happened to her. What she desperately wished for was someone with whom she could share

her confusion honestly, without receiving judgment or reproach. But seeing that Sara, a girl who

seemed pure of heart and sincere of mind, and who in any other circumstance would have

proved a more than worthy confidant, would apparently be unable to share Rayna's secrets for

reasons that Rayna could not fully comprehend, was distressing.

******************************

Rayna turned, as she often had before, to God and prayer. She found the local Catholic church,

which to her dismay was one of the all-too-common post-Vatican 2 house of worship whose

very architecture lacked proper reverence and did not invite a prayerful state of mind; instead, it

was a ghastly place which more resembled a plush hotel lobby than a proper temple of divine

observance. Still, Rayna's faith, as she understood it, told her that even if this wretched building

gravely lacked aesthetic allure, it was nevertheless an authentic church, one in which the

sacraments were dispensed, and thus a place where sins were forgiven and crooked paths made

straight through the intervention of the Most High.

She therefore attempted to ignore the frightful and unseemly decorative sacrilege: felt banners,

grotesque displays of "folksy" depictions of Jesus, and nary even a trace of good Mary, whose

motherly counsel and nurturance Rayna always sought-- her own mother having so often

proved unfortunately unreliable, despite having good intentions, as we have seen, leading even

to Rayna telling her the great lie about Chris, an act which Rayna still found unconscionable,

even if she trusted that her mother had told no one about it, desirous as she was, for

unbecoming reasons, to share in a secret with her daughter.

Rayna knelt before the folksily-bunted altar, uninspired and uninspiring as it was, and squeezed

her eyes shut, picturing in her mind's eye some of her favorite icons. Particularly dear to her was

one that she had once glimpsed in an exhibit of church art, displayed at a museum she had once

visited on a school trip, in which a solemn-faced Christ, with adult features yet diminutive

enough to be an infant, looks trustingly into the face of his dear Mother while placing a tiny

hand upon her shoulder. For her part, Mary stares placidly into the eyes of the viewer of the

icon, her countenance radiating an irresistible calm.

Rayna whispered a plea to the holy woman that Eastern worshippers call the Theotokos, or

"God-bearer," regarding her current straits. She knew that she was in the thrall of a man who in

some ways seemed more like a ghost or a phantom, yet at the same time, she could not escape

that nagging sense of familiarity, as if in some way, they had been acquainted before they met

the other night.

Perhaps she knew him from her dreams... Was that possible?

Rayna's dreams, like her frequently indulged secret fantasies, were a source of both intrigue and

shame to her. She had never related them to anyone, not even to her priest when she confessed

her sins, yet this new man carried a strong whiff of the ineffable essence of her clandestine

reveries.

"How do I know if he is good or bad for me? How do I know if his heart inclines towards that

which brings me into light, or if what so cries out to me about him is only a reflection of my own

darkness?" Rayna's earnest prayer did not take the form of these exact words, but this was the

essence of her query to the Theotokos. She sought motherly counsel, the sort that she would

never have attempted to solicit from her own, flesh-and-blood mother.

She knelt in her pew for a while, not so much out of an expectation or even a hope of actually

hearing an answer, but simply to allow the question to resonate in her soul, there in the

presence of the Divine. She kept her eyes shut, and focused on the lovely Marian icon of

memory, that apple of her mind's eye.

Presently she came upon a new thought: perhaps it was Mary who had suggested this thought

directly, or perhaps it occurred to her because being in this house of worship, however dreadful

and displeasing the decor, and directing her thoughts to her Mother in Heaven, had put her in a

state of mind wherein such a thought could simply suggest itself.

The thought was this: If "by their fruits, ye shall know them" is true, then we must learn what

this man's "fruits" are; once we know that, we can know how to proceed from there.

It made sense, Rayna reflected. Though of course, she had in a way already capitulated to him,

having been prompted to curtsy before him, a gesture that she had never before exhibited to

anyone, she now needed to discern if that curtsy had been bestowed in vain, like pearls before

swine.

Though it had merely been a curtsy-- that is, an old-fashioned signification of feminine

acquiescence, it had somehow felt more intimate than anything Rayna could imagine actually

doing with a man physically. She actually blushed to think of it now, how she had so readily

given him this token of her passionate esteem.

Though the act had already been performed, and could no more be undone than one could

recapture one's lost virginity, Rayna still had an opportunity to figure out if her impetuous

display had all along been an embarrassing mistake. So she would proceed.

"Amen," she whispered.

*****************************

But where to find this man, the one to whom she had been so bold as to make the recipient of

her first ever curtsy?

Days passed. Fall classes began. It should have been an exciting time for Rayna, a time for

meeting new friends and enjoying all of the freedoms that she had been denied when she'd

been living at her parents' house and attending high school. Yet amongst the flurry of new

activities and the abundance of novel sights, sounds, and sensations, Rayna found herself

otherwise preoccupied.

Naturally, looking like she did, Rayna was an object of male attention everywhere she went.

She'd been used to this, to some degree, but here it was plainly overwhelming, and slightly

irritating. Not only because a lot of the college boys seemed to have little in the way of subtlety,

much less chivalry, and tended to look at her the way that a gorilla might regard a banana,

simply presuming that she, the "banana" in question, just couldn't wait to be unpeeled. It was all

a part of the general campus atmosphere; "This is where we finally get to indulge ourselves

freely" was the prevailing mindset, both for the boys and the girls. Few students dared to swim

against this tide of unrestrained carnality, this Bacchanal-esque culture, helped along, of course,

by copious consumption of spirits and other substances at fraternity parties and elsewhere.

It seemed to Rayna that such behavior was practically being encouraged by the administration

of the school, or at the very least, that the unashamedly debauched excesses of her classmates

were being winked at by the professors and staff, who apparently saw such activities as a "rite

of passage" of some sort.

For her part, Rayna had no interest at all in taking part in any such degrading and thoroughly

repellent rituals. Instead, she chose to hang around with Sara, who had begun to warm to her

again once that "curtsy" business ceased to be a matter of discussion. Rayna, seeing that none

of what occurred that evening sat well with her new friend, therefore artfully deceived her

friend into believing that she had forgotten those strange events, and (though Rayna never

stated this directly), that she had therefore "gotten over" the mystery man, and had altogether

put that vexing incident behind her.

The resotration of rapport with Sara was a positive relief to Rayna, who knew that she badly

needed a friend as this juncture of her life. In Sara she saw perhaps the makings of the first

"true" friend, one who could be set apart from the ostensible friendships of her previous life,

prior to college. Then, she had mostly found herself thrown together with other girls who

occupied the same social space as her, who took part in the same school activities, and whose

conversations mainly consisted of gossip and small talk. Some of those girls had actually been

nice, some of them had been fun, a few had been funny, but Rayna wasn't sure if any of them

could really be trusted with the types of things that often occupied her mind; it never even

occurred to her to share such notions with any of her school friends, or even with her boyfriend.

Though Berenice's betrayal had been a shock, it hadn't been a total surprise, and it only

solidified Rayna's conviction that for all of her "popularity," she had essentially been alone the

entire time.

Somehow, all through middle and high school, Rayna had always on some level known that,

pleasant as her sheltered, safe, and pleasant upbringing had been, it would eventually come to

an end. Now, even though she had numerous objections to the collegiate culture, recorded

above, she nevertheless missed her prior existence very little. The only events which nagged at

her occasionally involved her-- in retrospect quite brutal-- handling of Chris, and her subsequent

humiliation afterwards at the hand of a jealous "friend." When she recalled these particular

incidents, she still ached inwardly; part of her wished that a resolution could be brought in some

mode or manner.

She took a chance, and opted to tell Sara of these things one evening, as the two girls sat

together at a coffeehouse a few blocks from campus. For all of her general perspicacity, Rayna

knew little concerning the sort of things Sara wrestled with, a few of which have been shared

here; she also little suspected that her beauty alone aroused so many conflicting responses in

her: admiration, envy, awe, and distrust being just a tiny sample.

Given how discomfited Sara felt at the very notion of having such a gorgeous friend, Sara also

felt confused by the fact that Rayna possessed a unique capacity to put her at ease; as a result,

while speaking with Rayna, she often felt diametrically opposing emotions: intimidation mingled

with self-assuredness; suspicion militating against trust; a sort of petty resentment vying with a

more broad-minded acceptance. Sara's confusion often registered at peculiar moments; a smirk

when she ought to be smiling, a wary cock of the head when she ought to be chuckling. Rayna

noticed these odd responses on her friend's part, but chalked it up to eccentricities in Sara's

overall manner of expressing herself, and didn't feel particularly put off by them. Nothing in

Rayna would have suspected that she herself (that is, Rayna herself) could be the cause of Sara's

odd conversational ticks; Rayna was of a trusting nature, born perhaps of a certain degree of

naivety.

In any case, Rayna related to Sara the entire sad saga of her breaking up with Chris, of Chris

pretending to be copacetic with it, while secretly being heartbroken, of Berenice, whom Rayna

had thought to be a friend, taking advantage of the situation in the most dishonorable way

imaginable.

"That was high school for me. That was how it ended, anyhow. That's why I'm happy to have

gotten out of there," Rayna declared. Sara stared at her evenly. "Sounds like a lot of drama," she

finally pronounced. What did she mean by this? Rayna took the comment as sympathetic, and

Sara also meant it that way, but in her mind she was, in fact, a touch envious. Drama never

happens to me, she sulked to herself. "'Drama" only happens to pretty girls like Rayna, and

never to plain girls like me. Still, Sara did her best to suppress this hidden resentment and

muttered:

"Here in college it only seems to have gotten worse. Everyone just drinking and screwing their

brains out."

Sara, who like Rayna went to church and considered herself a Christian, usually didn't use vulgar

phrases like "screwing their brains out," and the vehemence with which she uttered this

declaration surprised even her. Rayna merely nodded. "It's so depressing," she declared.

There was silence for a moment, during which both girls' minds flashed again to the strange

incident of the mystery man at the faculty party. Neither had forgotten this figure, the "curtsy

man," though each, for her own reasons, had neglected to mention it for the nearly two weeks

since he had briefly appeared, leaving a significant impression on each girl, though in radically

different ways.

As both girls remembered Rayna's encounter with the man simultaneously, neither even

suspected that the other was thinking of the exact same thing. Both had become convinced that

the other had put such matters out of her head. For each of them, this false impression of the

other put her unsuspecting mind at ease. Rayna, though her mind still fixated on her

remembrance of the man nearly every hour of the day, felt relievd to have thrown her friend off

the scent (or so she thought). Sara, for her part, was similarly gladdened that her friend had put

that odd and deeply distressing business behind her, yet in truth she too was haunted by the

memory of that night, of seeing that tall, pale figure stride through the house like a ghost, and of

coming across Rayna frozen in the dark in that peculiar curtsy-stance, unnaturally still, stiff as a

statue.

After the silent moment passed, the girls began to chat of other things: how other girls in their

dorm hall acted, how difficult the test in a certain professor's class was probably going to be,

what movie they wanted to see together later. The moment was forgotten by both girls, but

when each reflected later upon their conversation that evening, the recollection of that quiet

interval gave both of them pause.

**************************************

When left alone, Rayna continued to pray.

Every night she asked the Holy Mother that that man, her man, would once again show up. She

went through each day's routines, forever anticipating that he would suddenly appear. Perhaps

she would see him standing in a parking lot through the window during a boring class lecture, or

he would abruptly materalize in the dining hall, or perhaps when the doors were closing in the

library elevator, his hand would reach out to stay the closing of the door, and he would enter;

they would then be face-to-face and all alone with one another, Rayna and her man, when the

doors closed and the elevator began to ascend... Rayna kept anticipating these and other such

events, yet every day ended in disappointment. Why, having appeared, essentially from out of

the ether and stepping into her line of sight with no warning (save the odd physical sensations

she caught just prior to seeing him, which could simply have been signs of illness at the time, for

all she knew!), had he now seemingly dipped back into the ether, and refused to re-emerge? Did

he not know the effect he had had upon her? It was maddening to her that he seemed now to

be avoiding her; it seemed, well, plain un-gentlemanly!

"Are you not a gentleman?" she asked him in absesntia, but only under her breath, lest her

roommate hear her. There came no answer from the ether, so Rayna sighed, exasperated, rolled

over and attempted to sleep.

Rayna's dreams, as usual, ran riot. She had wished to be thwarted, she recalled; that very word

"thwarted" had a resolute flavor of bitterness which was somehow, to her soul's tastebuds,

sweet. Now, however, she chafed against this thwarted state; surely she wouldn't be left in this

mode forever? It would be unbearable, especially since Rayna knew that her heart had already

been won by this stranger, however prematurely. She thought again of the Blessed Virgin Mary,

mother to all of the human race, and how she had encouraged Rayna, or so Rayna believed, to

"test the fruits" of this new infatuation. She must exercise discernment, she recalled again. If the

man never showed up again, then he clearly was nothing but a strangely exhilarating diversion,

and Rayna was meant simply to move on with her life.

But what was this "life"? Rayna was happy, of course, to be away from high school "drama," but

why after all had she gone to college? Her grades had been good, of course; she had always

been a conscientious student, and college had just seemed "the thing to do," but she had no

idea what sort of benefit she was supposed to accrue from spending four years at this place. She

also hadn't a clue what she "wanted to do with her life," as the truism goes, and couldn't feature

the notion of working an office job, nor did she picture herself as a schoolteacher or a counselor

or any of the other professions that even sounded halfway non-repugnant to her.

But I have to do something, she thought to herself, as she began to drift off to sleep. Where in

this world is the place for me? She wanted a life of adventure, not one of routine and banality.

And she did not want to be alone. And she wanted babies, too. Or perhaps she was being called

to a life of self-abnegation. She had pondered such a notion more often than once. It was

strange to be so aware of one's own beauty, yet at the same time to feel a pull towards a

celibate, cloistered life. Odd as it seemed, this scenario appealed to Rayna more than the notion

of taking any other "job" that she was aware of. Yet how could she square her desire to have

children with such a calling?

"Test the spirit," something within her whispered as she entered the warm, cozy womb of sleep.

*************************************************

It is at this point that everything changed for Rayna. And it is here that our tale takes a radical

turn.

Up to this point, we have dwelt exclusively in the realm of what most would consider to be

"realistic" fiction. To be sure, certain fantastic elements have entered the narrative from time to

time, such as when Rayna began experiencing strange and unexplainable bodily symptoms just

before meeting "her man" for the first time, but at this point things head in a rather different

direction.

I tell you these things, dear reader, as a courtesy, so that the jolt of switching tracks, as it were,

will not be overly jarring. But I also do so as a means of begging your indulgence. There is, to be

sure, no way for me to demonstrate verisimilitude except to claim it, which amounts to a sort of

circular claim: that is to say, a claim that has little of substance to buttress itself upon.

For that reason, I am afraid that I must resort to that most shopworn of strategies: the appeal to

the "leap of faith." There is no particular reason why you should believe me or buy into any of

the extraordinary events that I am about to unravel for you, so I suggest you simply suspend

what you may consider to be your "better judgment" and make a wager, if you will, that I am

indeed telling the truth with regard to the portion of the account that follows.

*******************************************

When Rayna slipped off to sleep, she immediately felt peculiar, like she was flying, or perhaps

falling (she could not tell which; she only knew that she could feel herself moving through air

with nothing solid beneath her). She was of course alarmed at first, and even gave a sort of

shout (though her sleeping self remained utterly quiet, other than emitting soft easy breaths

that one typically exhibits during sleep, as Sara-- who had not yet fallen asleep in her own bed

across the room-- could later attest).

After a moment, however, Rayna somehow ceased to be fearful about her state. She was falling,

or flying, through utter darkness, but after an indeterminate amount of time-- it might have

been five minutes, or it might have been a half-hour--she found herself moving more slowly, and

in a more obvious descent, something like being in an airplane coming in for a landing, but really

more like the sensation of riding a softly falling autumn leaf as it sways back and forth in the air

before gently settling into a soft landing.

Indeed, when Rayna alighted, she hardly felt it at all. She touched down on her feet, and saw

that she stood on a dark, grassy plain. To her astonishment, she realized that her clothes had

changed; she no longer wore her nightshirt, but instead found herself in a beautiful dress, one

that she had never before seen, much less worn. It was multicolored, with a high crest and

ruffles around the collar. She felt herself utterly comfortable in this apparel, even though she

had never worn anything so formal, not even at school dances or at church or any other fancy

occasions.

The environs in which she found herself proved to be even less familiar. There was some kind of

light, but it was faint, and Rayna couldn't determine its origin; it seemed, in fact, to somehow be

projected from the ground, which for its part consisted of little more than tufts of dirt, with

occasional groves that slightly resembled leafy shrubs of some unremarkable sort. One could

hardly discern whether there was a sky above them, but there were no stars, no moon, and

presumably, one gathered, no sun. This seemed to be a perpetually twilit place.

Rayna's bewildered thoughts were interrupted when she heard something moving through the

air just a little ways away. She looked and saw what appeared to be a large blanket or a piece of

cloth, since it floated with the a lightness that seemed to belie its size and girth. Presently it, too,

alighted, and Rayna comprehended that "it" was in fact a person, and moreover, a man: namely,

the man before whom she had curtsied, the very one whom she had been longing to meet

again.

As he drew closer, she discerned that he too wore unusual garb, a sort of brownish tunic over a

pair of loose-fitting pants of unknown but exquisite-looking fabric. His outfit, strange as it was,

managed to be quite becoming, just as her own dress was flattering and tasteful, if a bit exotic

to one used to contemporary-world clothing trends and styles.

The man looked slightly different from before-- perhaps a bit less pale, though just as tall. Again,

Rayna marveled at how he could both appear so alien, while at the same time retaining some

aura of unsettling familiarity. Surely she didn't know him, had never met him once prior to the

other night, yet his very aspect was somehow redolent of something she had once smelled,

tasted, or touched, and which had impacted her greatly in spite of its obscurity, like a song

heard once on the radio during one's childhood which still left a mark on one's mind, even

though it was never heard again.

She stared at him for a long moment, astonished and speechless. He gazed back-- why, again,

did the softly pleading expression in his eyes trigger something in her memory? He didn't speak,

and she felt that it was incumbent upon her to open the conversation. She had, after all,

summoned him, in a sense, hadn't she? In asking the Blessed Mother for aid, and getting the

answer she had heard in her mind, it struck Rayna that this strange meeting was actually

happening at her request.

She forced herself to say something, but could only manage, "This isn't a dream, is it?"

"No," he answered.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"This is a sort of 'place between places,' or if you prefer, a 'world between worlds,'" he said.

Then presently, he added, "Shall we sit?"

Rayna and the man settled, a bit awkwardly, into sitting positions on the soft grass, Rayna

arranging the folds of her dress with some trepidation (after all, she'd never worn it before, and

it almost felt like it belonged to someone else, so she felt an obligation to be fastidious with it as

a "borrower" takes special care not to scuff or mar that which isn't hers).

"Who are you?" Rayna asked presently, following another moment of silence. Then, a moment

later, in exasperation, "Honestly, I don't know why it's up to me to ask these things. All of this is

incredibly bizarre...you say that this isn't a dream, and I believe you, it honestly doesn't feel like

a dream, at least not like any dream I have ever had before. But just the same--"

"I am here entirely at your behest," he told her. "Your intercessions have brought us both here. I

am honor-bound to answer whatever questions you have. You asked who I am. My name is

Aeric. I suspect that you wish to know my story. I shall tell it to you now, if that suits your

inclinations."

Rayna nodded. What follows is Aeric's story, as told to Rayna Kisley in this strange "world

between worlds."

************************************************

"I grew up, for the first time (Aeric began), in your world. My childhood and young adulthood

were wonderful, until I lost someone very close to me. I grieved this loss for months. People told

me that time would heal my wounds, but every day my wounds only festered. As a youth, I had

enjoyed all of the privileges of a loving home, but now none of that mattered to me, so wrapped

up I was in my sorrow. I felt ashamed of myself, and unworthy of living, as it seemed that every

attempt I made to forge a life for myself failed... I had begun with such promise, but now I was

proving to be a misfit and a walking curse. I no longer wished to be a liability and a pest to my

family, who had to keep bailing me out after all of my failures.

"To put it simply, I no longer wished to live. In fact, I became determined to bring an end to my

existence. The shame I felt at myself was horrible to bear. I was ready. I was sitting in my car, in

some secluded spot on a dirt trail somewhere in the woods, and I had the gun pointed into my

mouth, when I heard a voice... I swear I heard it, just as much as my own voice reaches you

today. And the voice was NOT my own. It asked me; 'Son of man, why are you preparing to do

this grievous harm to your body and your soul?'

"I removed the pistol from my mouth then, and I answered the voice, 'I have no will to live any

longer,' I wailed. "Please, whoever you are, leave me alone, and let me snuff out my life in

peace!'

"I didn't even ponder the singular strangeness of hearing a disembodied voice, nor the absurdity

of me talking back to that voice, whose origin seemed to derive from somewhere

indeterminate. It was not 'inside my head,' but again, I was unable to pinpoint its source, nor

did I even care to do so. I had passed beyond the point where I even gave thought to such

matters. Such was the extent of my despair.

"I thrust the gun's barrel back into my own mouth, and, resolved as I was, pulled the trigger

without hesitation. I cannot well describe what happened next. The gun went off, the bullet left

the chamber, but instead of launching itself in the direction of my brain, it somehow,

unfathomably, flew off harmlessly, hitting the rear view mirror in front of me with a loud clatter,

and ricocheting wildly around the car before implanting itself in the ceiling.

"I cannot explain how this took place without positing notions that run directly contrary to

physical science as we know it... I do know, as well as I know anything, that I pulled the trigger

when the gun barrel was inside my mouth, meaning that it ought to have caused severe, if not

mortal, damage to my person. Instead, the bullet somehow, after being launched inside my

mouth (I had placed my lips hard against the barrel, anticipating the recoil) passed through my

oral passage and out of the back of my neck without creating any kind of trajectory of

devastation to the inside of my head! It was as if that bullet had somehow transformed into an

object without weight, density, or substance-- a mere projection of itself, a sort of ghost, even--

before reassuming its actual physical qualities after its miraculous phantom passed harmlessly

through cartiledge, brains, skull, and skin...

"I sat for a moment, dazed, my eyes fixated on the bullet in the ceiling. I ought to have felt

grateful, because that 'magic bullet' saved me from death and my soul from likely eternal

torment. But what I felt instead was anger, like one who has been thwarted by cosmic forces

from achieving the one thing he devoutly wished to do. It was a sort of impotent anger, but no

less intense for all of that. I shrieked, uttered patently animalistic groans, grunts, and hoots of

incoate rage and desperation; it took me a long while to calm down.

"The voice didn't speak again for a long moment. As my savage outburst ran its course, and I

presently collapsed against my car seat, weeping softly, the voice suddenly spoke again, in a

markedly different tone.

"'I can send you to another world,' it said. 'To this world, you would be as good as dead.

Everyone would reckon that you must have died. You would not, in fact, be dead, but you would

be as good as dead to this world.'

"I agreed to this offer, though I still didn't exactly know the identity or even the spiritual

orientation of the voice which was addressing me. Angel, demon, or other? I could not discern,

but the truth was, at that moment, I simply didn't care.

"What I didn't know was that, in starting over in this new world, I would truly be starting over;

that is, starting... from birth! Or rather, I suppose, from conception.

*****************************

"Yes, I grew in the womb of a new mother, in a new world, and after I was born, I found myself

growing up as a child given the name of Aeric. (I didn't recall my prior life at all, until much,

much later.)

"My mother was a sweet woman who was nevertheless quite anxious, especially when it came

to me. We lived in a massive house, one which people in the world you know would call a

"McMansion," as it was gaudy but not built with a great deal of solidity. My father was mostly

away; I had the impression, from what my mother told me, that he was a quite important man.

"I never found out what he did, exactly, only that he 'worked for various well-placed people and

served in various roles in helping to facilitate necessary transactions,' or something like that.

"I must tell you a few things about this new world, the world into which I was reborn as a new

person... It is a world quite similar to our own in some ways, but terribly different in others. It

could be called a 'parallel' Earth, but I am unsure if any other such parallel timelines exist.

Contra quantum physics, which seems to posit an infinite number of alternative worlds, I have

long understood that there are only two: the one that you, Rayna, know to be 'Earth,' and this

one, in which my soul was packed away and fitted into an entirely new body, the skin suit before

which I come before you today...

"The new world into which I was reborn is quite superior to our own in various ways. It is a

streamlined world, a world of greater convenience and incredible technology. Interplanetary

travel is routine, and humanity has begun to colonize other planets and moons in the solar

system. There hasn't been a war in several centuries, because-- unlike in the world you know,

Rayna-- there are no countries. The whole world is united into a 'World Realm,' and such has

been the case for as long as anyone can remember. In my world, there is a unity of perspective

and purpose, which is almost unfathomable to anyone from the Earth that you know and that I

remember, the first Earth on which I dwelt. Everyone worships at the same altars, and reveres

the same gods.

"In this world, the old gods, or certain ones, anyway, never fell out of favor. That isn't to say that

the Church as we know it doesn't exist; it does, but it has been forced underground. Its

adherents are few and far between... very few, and very far between. Most believers must

content themselves with only very occasional access to the Sacraments, perhaps once or twice a

year, depending on conditions. At times, there are whispers of a planned revolt to take place

and such and such a time; a time to 'emerge from the catacombs,' as people in your world might

say. But such a task is infinitely harder in a world like this one, where unanimity of thought, at

least when it comes to spirital matters, is such an impenetrable monolith. There are some

people, who have found their way into positions of some power, who are secretly faithful

congregants, but it is still a very delicate and dicey situation... More on that shortly.

"In any case, the situation with the fugitive Church notwithstanding, it is the old gods that are on

everyone's lips, particularly Baal Hammon and Tanit. For example, in my youth my mother

would frequently exclaim, 'By Tanit, child, will you never go to sleep?' Or, 'Baal Hammon the

Great forgive me, but I just don't feel up to doing the laundry today...'

"The old gods are worshipped frequently at festivals and various other events, especially when

their favor is invoked for the success of some new venture or other. Our ancestors-- that is to

say, those from the ancient world who originally shaped the course of our future, were well-

known as top-rate navigators and excellent ship-builders. Through the centuries, that genius for

engineering, exploration, and colonization has stood our society in good stead, at least when it

comes to expansion of the Realm. It's the reason our ancestors defeated and wiped out all of its

competitors in the Mediterranean region and grew into the supreme world power that it has

been for centuries now.

"The World Realm, as suggested by its very name, reigns worldwide, from pole to pole. There is

no race or civilization that hasn't long ago fallen to our superior might and skill. Our legendary

industriousness, which has been termed the "Phoenician work ethic," has left its mark

everywhere. Our Empire, being as far-flung as it is, has absorbed men and women from the

tropics to the icy regions. The notion of petty nationalism, of establishing a state entity

independent of the Greater Carthagenic Realm has been unheard of for centuries, if not

millennia. (I speak of 'our' Emprie because old habits are hard to kick; for most of my life, I was a

proud adherent to World Realm doctrine, like everyone else I knew, or thought I knew..)

"Pride for Carthage burns in the hearts of all of humanity. At least, that is what humanity has

been persuaded to believe, and few feel the need to doubt it, since they seldom hear any

notions to the contrary. It has become customary, for all those who can afford to do it, to make

a pilgrimage to the ancient holy land, the city-state of Carthage, where it all began.

"Today, of course, Carthage is a modern city with sleek skyscrapers and all of the modern

conveniences, but the old city section still remains to the present. One walks the pilgrim's way (I

have done it myself), through the ancient cobblestone streets, and observe the ingenious

system of architecture put into effect, complete with running water and a sewage system, and

you realize why these, our ancestors, eventually conquered the entire world. They were about a

century or two ahead of all of their civilizational competitors; they perfected warfare; their

ranks of fighting men, under the great general Hannibal (his name meaning "blessed of Baal")

proved too overwhelmingly powerful for their main rivals to the north, whom they crushed after

the lengthy Roman Wars. Rome was sacked utterly, and all of its inhabitants put to the sword;

now, the world scarcely knows about that once-formidable civilization. History, after all, is

written by the victors.

"I recall, as a child, sitting at a tourist site just off the main square in modern-day Carthage,

being asked by my father to sit atop the Hannibal statue, which depicts the iconic general

astride his trusty elephant, the same creature he rode through the Swiss Alps en route to the

final torching of Rome... My father actually picked me up, and placed me in Hannibal's lap

(though this was technically illegal, huge numbers of people did it, and the guards stationed at

the site tended to be indulgent, even to the point of literally looking the other way, since it was

well understood, by the higher-ups, how much pride citizens had in this man, the one who

defended the Carthaginian way of life and paved the way for a Carthaginian-dominated heaven

and earth). I am grinning broadly in that snapshot, thrilled as I feel to be 'riding with Hannibal,'

even if the fierce-faced, musclebound figure was a mere statue...

"But let me return to a subject I had begun to discuss earlier. My mother, who was my conduit

to understanding the world for my first few years of life, often evinced an indomitable anxiety,

one that even my young self couldn't help but notice. Nothing was ever stated directly, and in

my youthful way, I came to comprehend that the thing that caused such consternation to my

mother (and therefore brought some inevitable distress to my young self) was a thing never to

be discussed, unless or until my mother or my father brought it up to me.

"In fact, I was almost convinced-- when I thought about this matter at all, which wasn't really

that often, considering the totality of my childhood-- that if and when I ever heard about this

unspoken thing, it would be via my father, not my mother. Or at least, it would be at my father's

instigation. But I also understood, somehow, that this thing might well never be brought up at

all. Such a scenario, in fact, gave me hope that the thing, which at times seemed so ever-present

and insurmountable, might in fact be so negligible that it may elude notice for the entirety of my

life. And far from making me feel curious about the thing, and more desirous that it be revealed

upon me, I for some reason came to disregard it as a likely quite trifling thing, a thing which

needn't in any way interfere the carefree delights of my youth.

"I believe that, for a stretch of time, I even forgot about the matter-- that is, the 'thing'--

entirely. During that period, my young self was preoccupied with the typical trifles of a young

boy's life. As my father was a high-ranking official serving the diplomatic corps for the North

American division of the World Realm, I was at times a bit haughty, aware of occupying a spot in

the social hierarchy, which I am ashamed to say I at times lorded over my peers. Some of my

schoolmates hated and loathed me for my mostly unearned high estimation of myself, while

others strove to be my friend, primarily for social reasons. Few actually liked me, though I did

possess one singular virtue-- aside from having a square jaw and a muscular frame-- that is, I

excelled at competitive games.

****************************************

"In the North America of the world in which I inhabited in my second life, the most popular

game is one called tophet, a word which in that world also has a quite different meaning, as I

will discuss later. Competitive tophet is a bit like rugby or American football, but more brutal.

Injuries are common, and not a few men have been seriously maimed or even killed. But those

who are tough, and fast, and wily, can do quite well as topheters.

"There are other games, like soccer, or track and field-- which derives from long-extinct ancient

Greece-- Grecians, like Romans, were generally put to the sword by our zealous Phoenician

ancestors-- but tophet is considered the authentic sport of our race. Other races on the face of

the earth play it as well, and love it just as much as we do, but that is only because the

Carthaginian race, the Phoenician heritage of the elite, has become the ideal to which all other

ethnicities strive.

"In order to hold a high position in the World Realm, a person doesn't have to be Phoenecian,

but it helps. Growing up, I came into knowledge that I myself was of Carthaginian stock, and that

in turn only made me more insufferably arrogant. Still, no one could argue with my results on

the tophet pitch, where I set all kinds of school records for scoring, assists, and tackles. It was a

day of triumph when I signed with the New Tyre professional franchise. Yet, as memorable as

that day was, what happened after the official signing was what truly left its mark upon me.

"I had turned 16, an important year in a young man's life, the year a boy is considered grown up.

A massive banquet was thrown in my honor, in which all of my successes were feted. I was

praised to the heavens by all of those assembled; they all agreed that I was as fine a specimen of

Phoenician manhood ever to have sprung from the munificent loins of the great Baal Hammon

himself. As conceited as I was, hearing these highly important people -- which included

numerous delegates and high priests, a sort of *potpourri* of local luminaries-- laud me so

effusively was just a bit much. But I nevertheless ate and drank to my fill, and afterwards

received the attention of more than a few temple maidens, who had been sent for, in order to

bring my evening to a satisfying conclusion.

"I had of course known the touch of woman by then, to the point where, pleasurable as it was, I

had even grown somewhat jaded towards matters of the flesh. Still, I did not neglect the

opportunity I had been given to sow every last morsel of my youthful oats...

"When the festivities were over, I collapsed from all of the wine, the food, and the fornication. I

must have slept for close to a day, because when I awoke, it was nearly dusk again. I found

myself alone; apparently, all of the comely company who had shared my boudoir had been

asked to leave. My head, of course, pounded miserably (I had been hung over before, but not

like that), and I devoutly wished to go back to sleep but presently became aware that someone

was speaking my name quite sternly, and telling me I needed to wake up.

"It was my father. Something in me realized that I really ought to pull myself together, since my

father took a certain tone with me when he meant business, and he undoubtedly was assuming

that very tone right now; even through the misery of my condition, I could discern the

importance of rousing myself, though I still little knew what lay in store.

"I forced myself to stand up, but was racked with queasiness, and I held onto my head for dear

life. I announced to my father that I might well vomit, then I ran to the bathroom and did just

that, copiously, for a good five minutes straight. When I staggered back to my room, it was with

a sense of shame at having my father see me like this. Yet had I not just been celebrated by all of

the gathered elites of the community? Had I done anything contrary to that which suited my

position? Was one who embodied the fierce, conquering spirit of Hannibal, as I clearly did -- so

all of the respectable representatives of the World Realm who had attended my banquet

unanimously agreed-- really supposed to be ashamed of himself for enjoying the fruit of his

labor, the spoils of his victories?

"Just as these thoughts raced through my mind, however, I saw that my father was favoring me

with an expression that I could barely decipher, but which seemed to betray some semblance

of... pity! This utterly threw me off, but also kindled some outrage in my arrogant young heart.

How dare my own father feel sorry for me? I was not a 'poor thing,' Baal damnit! Rather, I was

magnificent! Strong in body and stalwart in mind, and so forth... But I kept silent, and when my

father asked me to change my clothes and follow him, I obeyed him without objection and only

a modicum of sulkiness.

"Had I only known, at the time, what I would presently discover about myself, I would have

ceased to sulk, and begun to weep.

***********************************

"I followed my father down the streets of our town, past the familiar shrines to the various gods,

where I had participated in ritualistic ceremonies of various kinds, where out whole community

had frequently taken part in festivals intended to honor the pantheon of known deities for their

beneficence, to present reciprocal offerings in return for that had been so abundantly bestowed

upon us: prosperity, health, successful ventures into ever-expanding frontiers: cybertechnology,

energy efficiency, the harvesting of minerals on the Moon, the successful planting of colonies on

Mars, as well as lesser known triumphs of our collective Carthagenian will. I had nothing but

happy memories of these ceremonies and rituals, and I thanked Baal Hammon for all of what I

had enjoyed in my young life so far...

"Presently, my father led me into a building with a curious enclosure, with steps leading down to

a cramped little room. My mind was bursting with questions, but I held off, figuring as I did that

an explanation would of some sort would presently be forthcoming. We sat at a small table.

Moments later a door swung open and a man strode in. The man, bespectacled, balding, in late

middle-age, with a weathered face, wore a curious costume: a long black stole with a collar of

white. He resembled in aspect some of the temple priests I had seen at the aforementioned

ceremonies, yet I had never glimpsed a temple priest who maintained so subdued a demeanor.

The priests presiding at public ritualls tended to be loud, boisterous, and quite intimidating, but

this man had more the air of a scholar than a carnival barker. I stared at him long and hard.

Something about his get-up struck me as peculiarly familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.

"'Is the site secure?' my father asked the black-robed man, who answered, 'Our guys have swept

the place, no sign of worms. We can speak freely, as long as we make it relatively brief, lest we

attract attention for being down here too long.'

"(A 'worm' in this world is what one might call a 'bug' in the world you know, Rayna-- that is to

say, a planted device intended to record a conversation surriptitiously.) Again, I reeled inwardly;

what sort of scandelous things were going to be discussed at this clandestine spot?

"My father introduced this black-robed, white-collared man as 'Father Athanasius,' adding, 'That

is his priestly name, of course; for the sake of his personal security, I won't reveal his "worldly"

name."

"The man, however, shook his head. 'My "worldly" name is Hamilcar, and I teach Ancient

Carthagenian Literature at Baal Hammarabi College,' he declared. He looked at my father. 'I

have faith that the Lord will protect my body and soul, but should be should choose to remove

such protection, I welcome martyrdom,' he said.

"These words had the effect of causing my father some shock and consternation. I had rarely, if

ever, glimpsed such an expression on my father's face before, and I instantly felt alarmed.

Father had almost always presented himself, both to me and to the world, as a stern, highly-

competent, and no-nonsense man of importance; his typical demeanor wasn't so much fearless

as it indicated one who had no time or patience for such a thing as fear. To see him, then,

respond to Father Athanasius/Professor Hamilcar's words with such alarm thus shook me to the

quick, and caused my pulse to quicken. All of that said, I still pretty much had no idea what was

going on.

"As if anticipating the question forming in my mind, my father recovered from the shock of

seeing this man carelessly make his earthly identity known, and proceeded to tell me things that

thoroughly altered everything I thought I knew about myself and the world.

"'What you're about to hear is going to be difficult to accept,' he announced.

"That was the understatement of a lifetime! Of two lifetimes, in fact...

"I will hereby summarize what my father and Father Athanasius told me in a sort of tandem over

the course of the next few hours.

****************************

"First, I was told, I was not my mother or father's child by birth, but by adoption.

"My 'actual' father was a wealthy merchant and senator in the Westlands of the North Am

sector of the World Realm. He and his wife were unfortunate enough to be expecting their

firstborn child-- me-- at a time of great crisis. The Westlands were enduring a drought of

catastrophic proportions at the time (I even remembered hearing about it later), and when even

the best weather-changing technology failed, it came to be widely believed that Baal Hammond

was in fact displeased; the authorities deemed that a molk was necessary.

"I had of course heard whispers and rumors concerning molks, but generally believed that such

events were a thing of the past. The gods no longer expected such sacrifices from us; we had,

after all, proven our worth; Carthage had conquered the world, and was on its way to

conquering the solar system. Still, if truth be known, I was at times haunted by what I had been

told about these awful ceremonies, where appointed priests of Baal cut infants' throats, then

consigned them to a fire, kindled next to the god's enormous, bull-headed statue. It was said

that pipers and other musicians played heartily, and loudly nearby, in an effort to drown out the

screams of the little ones as they perished...

"As the date of my birth approached, my biological parents, who were secretly members of the

Church, knew that they would be asked to sacrifice me. (The point of the molks was, after all, to

give Baal Hammond those dearest to us, and thus expiate his wrath or slack his bloodthirst.)

Thus, immediately after I was born-- for the second time (though I didn't know that yet)!-- they

saw to it that I be transported to a distant location, where another secretly Christian couple--my

own mother and father-- would take me in as one of their own, the only one of their own, as it

turned out, since they had been unable to conceive a child.

"My biological parents in the Westlands claimed that I had been a stillbirth, in order to cover up

for my disappearance; thus, though they suffered the heartbreak of giving away their firstborn

son, they were at least able to take comfort from the fact that I had been spared the dreadful

ravages of the molk, and had been given a chance to live... My parents raised me, but elected to

keep me in the dark regarding their fugitive faith. They didn't want to risk exposing me as one

who, by official writ, ought to be arrested for harboring subrversive beliefs.

''Your mother and I, we wanted you to have a happy childhood,' my father told me. 'We felt

terrible about consigning you to a life of danger from your very emergence into our lives... We

treasured you so much, you were the answer to our prayers, so we just kept putting it off. But

now, with all of your success on the tophet pitch, and you becoming an adult...'

"Through my bewilderment, I comprehended what he was telling me, without using the exact

words: namely, that my ego was getting out of hand, that my proven prowess as a topheter was

making me insufferable. Put simply, I needed an infusion of humility, as well as a sort of 'reality

check,' given that much that I had believed to be real about myself was in fact not so.

"In fact, the very word 'tophet' had historical connotations of which I had previously been

unaware. Before tophet even became a popular game, the priest told me, it was the name of the

temple where the molks were held, the place where the babies were slaughtered, then set

aflame. The irony that I had escaped the 'tophet of death' only to return to the 'tophet of sport,'

where I had managed to excel, no less, didn't escape me, though I didn't know quite what to

make of it, in a cosmic sense, except that it signified the manifold ways in which I had been

favored by fortune.

*******************

"But what was this faith called 'Christianity,' or 'The Church,' which my parents and others had

embraced, in defiance of their Carthaginian heritage and traditions?

"As Father Athanasius explained to me, a certain percentage of the population had become

aware of a parallel reality, a world in which history proceeded down a markedly divergent

course. On this "other" Earth, a man named Jesus Christ was born. This man was not merely a

man, but also God. Not just a god among other gods, like those in the Punic pantheon known to

every right-thinking member of the World Realm and itsloyal colonies on Luna and Mars, but

THE God, supreme above all others.

"Jesus, the Christ (meaning "the anointed"), I was told, was God incarnate. In this parallel world,

God not only chose to take on human flesh and live among mankind, he also consented to be

put to death by human authorities, suffering a particularly cruel form of execution known as

"crucifixion," which was practiced by the Romans, who-- in this parallel world-- had (sacrilege to

proud Punic ears!) vanquished and exterminated the Carthaginian people instead of vice versa.

"But death was not the end of the story when it came to Jesus Christ, the anointed one, God

incarnate. Though the Christ was indeed put to death and thrust into the grave, he was bodily

resurrected. On the third day after his execution, Christ's disciples found that the tomb was

empty, the burial cloths set aside. Later that day he appeared too them, inviting any who

disbelieved the miracle before their eyes to examine the wounds left by the fearsome

instruments of crucifixion: holes left by the nails in his hands and feet, and a sizable gash in his

side, where the centurian's spear pierced him, which is not even to mention the scars left by the

scourging with whips which he endured prior to being hung on a cross and left there to die.

Incredibly, these devastating 'whips and scorns' were stil perfectly visible on Christ's

resurrected body, yet they did not hinder the heavenly health of his transfigured frame.

"The torments that Christ endured, known as his 'Passion,' were to a purpose; by offering

himself as a sinless sacrifice, he provided a means by which humanity could be cleansed of its

sins, and through something called 'grace,' defined as 'the inexplicable loving kindness of God,'

we could be directed to eternal salvation. This, and many other finer theological concepts, were

explained to me in a somewhat abbreviated manner, given our circumstances, by the priest.

"'Wait a minute,' I objected. 'This Christ person (at my passing reference, the pious Father

Athanasius crossed himself, a gesture that only bewildered me at the time), he only appeared to

people in this other world? How do we know that this other world is even real?'

"I now discern the supreme irony of me asking that question, having been granted incarnation

into both worlds (a truth about my history of which, again, I was at the time unaware). Father

Athanasius answered that for centuries people have been given visions and received visitations.

Around two hundred years ago, one young man named Joseph living in the east coast of the

North American sector of the World Realm was even reportedly taken up in a trance, during

which some heavenly entity recited the entirety of some document that has since come to be

known as the 'Holy Bible.'

"This Joseph, a barely literate man, was nevertheless miraculously assisted in this task,

completing a massive tome composed of 66 'books' (each of which was divided into numerous

'chapters' and 'verses'); at full length, this Holy Bible contained over 700,000 words. It was

divided into two sections: the 'Old Testament,' which told of the origins of the world and the

early doings of a certain desert tribe who were adopted by God in the early days, and the 'New

Testament,' which concerned the life and doings of Christ and the early Church.

"The Old Testament covered this tribe's triumphs and tragedies: how they were led out of

bondage, how they conquered the land 'flowing with milk and honey' that God had set aside for

them, how their fortunes waxed and waned through the centuries, how prophets tried to steer

them back to the correct way after they backslid and began worshipping false gods and taking

part in appalling rites and rituals that were an abomination to the true God, in spite of

numerous prophets' warnings to the contrary. Eventually this tribe is divided and conquered,

which is the historical point where the 'New Testament' essentially begins. While the Old

Testament mainly concerns the tribe in question, the New Testament expands its scope to the

entirety of mankind, extending the offer of salvation to all.

"This 'Joseph' of the eastern sector of North America was initially greeted with extreme

skepticism, even mockery, by many. Yet the more who were able to read the 'Holy Bible' that he

claimed to have had read to him by a spiritual entity (he was never clear as to the identity of this

figure), yet the more who actually managed to read the book found that it contained an

incredible amount of detail and such a vast scope of events that it seemed impossible to believe

that just one author could have penned it,

"Instead, this remarkable document seemed to be a collection of stories and accounts

concerning an ancient world so richly detailed that it almost seemed to be real. The only

problem was, it clearly violated history as everyone knew it. Throughout the Holy Bible, there

was no reference whatsoever to the rise of the mighty empire of Carthage. Granted, much of

the Old Testament predated the truly crucial events of ancient Carthaginian lore, namely, the

Roman Wars, where Hannibal's army defeated and finally sacked Rome, putting most of its

former citizens to the sword and enslaving the rest.

"Though nothing culturally Carthaginian was mentioned anywhere in this extraordinary book,

there were several references to Baal in Joseph's 'Holy Bible,' and to rites practiced by other

tribes in which Baal (also sometimes being referred to as Moloch) demands sacrifices quite

similar to our practice of the molk in the tophet arena. God's tribe were warned 'never to send

their children into the fire,' amongst other, similar prohibitions.

************************************

"Joseph's miraculous translation of the 'Holy Bible' became a sort of underground treasure,

especially when some bold soul with access to a printing press began churning them out

regularly. Soon the authorities were alerted, and the first Great Persecution began. Up to this

point, the World Realm couldn't really be bothered with what it viewed as an irrelevant, lunatic-

fringe network of nobodies. But slowly, powerful and influential people began inexplicably to

become converts, in addition to some amongst the merchant and mechanical classes.

"In its initial anti-Church propaganda campaign, the North American branch of the World Realm

authorities spared no expense, soliciting the assistance of the most brilliant psychonauts on

their payroll.

"These thought-control experts, in turn, dutifully crafted several persuasive texts for public

consumption (some intended for the page and others for the screen), which detailed the

actvities of a dangerous and subversive cult operating within the system, insidiously planting

seeds of confusion in the minds of impressionable World Realm citizens, whom they wished to

steer away from decency and honor, towards blasphemously perverse beliefs.

"'They want to turn us against the ways of our ancestors, against our traditions, against our

gods, against all that has made us great!' read an early anti-Church pamphlet. 'In place of our

hardy, life-enhancing ethos, these "Christians" would substitute their sickly, suffering, bleeding,

dying abomination of a supposed "god-man," a pitiful wretch whose greatest glory was

perishing publicly, in full view of his enemies. Such a failure of an ostensible 'god' has no place

amongst our culture; we are a proud people who intend always to prevail, and never to fail...'"

"Those in charge of rooting out the Christian cultists had a difficult task; they wanted to describe

the offenders in the strongest possible terms, in order to inspire vehement hatred against such

treasonous reprobates, who had inexplicably chosen to bow the knees before this alien, and

indeed entirely ficticious, god.

"The first martyrs were publicly executed by firing squad. Large crowds came to watch, and a

lusty cheer went up when the bodies crumpled before the bullets. This wasn't the first time that

'deviates' had been dispatched; the ruling regime had learned that such displays, ghastly though

some may find them, nevertheless had the effect of boosting public morale (letting citizens give

vent to their bloodlust, which keeps the population in a spirited state, always ready to devote

their energy to the next big project), in addition to planting the seed of fear in the heart of

anyone else tempted to 'go rogue' after the fasion of these loathsome lunatics.

"So things had always worked previously, whenever some unhinged fanatic or pitiful

meglomaniac had disturbed the peace or raised a minor ruckus by daring to promote a creed

that ran counter to the common good. But with these 'Christians,' a different, and quite

distressing pattern emerged. Rather than feeling demoralized by the sight of their own

comrades being put to death, these insufferable scoundrels actually seemed to take a perverse

inspiration from such events. They had a term, 'martyr,' which denoted an especial kind of

eternal glory attached itself to these hapless sots falling and bleeding before a screaming,

cackling crowd. The blood and bones of these 'martyrs' were even considered to holy objects,

which many of the 'Christian' persuasion took pains to gather up, in an altogether queasy and

quite unseemly manner.

"Indeed, how did any good, well-bred, true-blooded son or daughter of Carthage comprehend

the mindset of this abominable sect? Everything they did, the entirety of their beliefs, was

totally alien to all familiar notions of honor and integrity. They appeared to embrace death and

suffering, and to spurn the very notion of striving for victory and dominance; in fact, they

rejected the gods who had sustained our civilization for centuries!

"What is more, their notion of 'human dignity'-- fed no doubt by the absurd claim that their god,

whom they called "Christ," took human form and was willing to be tortured and put to death

by earthly authorities in this ostensible 'other' world, thus in some blasphemous manner putting

man on a equal footing with the divine-- caused them to oppose on principle such necessary and

appropriate rituals as the molk.

****************************************

"Such was the World Realm's response to the 'cult' of Christianity. Their abhorrence towards

and persecution of the Church had never let up through the years, but they had grown more

clever in the way they went about it. At first, the authorities had opted for conspicuous

condemnations of the Church and the holding of public executions of Christians, events that

were even occasionally televised (TV had been invented several decades prior to its creation in

your timeline, Rayna) . But presently it became clear that this approach was failing spectacularly.

"Firstly, as stated before, the Church adherents themselves seemed possessed of an altogether

disconcerting tendency to wish to be put to death for the sake of their faith, and making such

events an occasion for witnessing a singularly breathtaking stoutness of will in the face of mortal

terror and torment. Thus, viewers of these executions tended-- so reported the diligent

psychonauts who carefully monitored a representative sampling of viewers-- to react positively

to such displays of courage, and to sympathize with this blasphemous 'Christian' sect, and thus

to feel more inclined to question the righteousness of the World Realm and its representatives

who were inflicting such cruelties upon their adherents.

"Secondly-- but this unwanted consequence was truly naught but an extension of the first-- it

was found, shockingly enough, via investigations and surveillance by various WR agents and

assets-- that the more people saw such broadcasts, the more likely they were actually to leave

behind their traditions, customs, and heritage, and actually to become members of this strange

alien cult, birthed in another world!

"One secret report, prepared by a firm hired by the WR and afterwards intercepted by a Church

convert with contacts to WR intelligence (who was later found out and became one of the

martyrs himself), reported that

...though it had been widely believed that the fear generated by displaying the power of the

state in these public executions would dissuade those otherwise tempted to join this deeply

degenerate and subversive sect, we have found, astonishingly, that the exact inverse outcome

tends to occur. That is to say, those who witness these events feel more, not less of a pull

towards conversion to this cult.

"Moreover, those inclined to heap scorn and ridicule upon these "Christians" before seeing their

"martyrdoms," either in person or on live television, afterwards betray (again) an inexplicable

inclination to respect such individuals more, not less... We had banked on being able to play on

people's terror of death and also on their desire to conform, as it has long been determined, by

our psych-technicians, that employing these, the basest and most primitive of drives, is the most

effective way to steer our subjects towards behaving in desirable ways and believing in desirable

things. The influence of this new cult, however, seems to override such primal instincts in a

surprising and alarming number of cases... It is therefore recommended that we cease to display

executions of 'Christians,' as it seems plainly counter-productive to our interests...

********************

"Once Father Athanasius finished telling me of my origins, and of my parents' secret and

forbidden devotion, I was, to put it mildly, flabbergasted. All of what I thought I knew about

myself had been blown to smithereens before my face. (The only similar shock would come

later, when I became aware of my double-life, as one who has dwelt in two bodies in both

worlds, but we shall get to that presently.)

"After a long period of denial, during which I simply refused to believe this strange tale of my

supposed upbringing, I eventually, albeit quite grudgingly, accepted that it was true, though I

still did my best to hold these verities at a distance from my consciousness. Of course, I kept my

parents' secret. How could I do otherwise? I also felt deeply thankful to my blood parents for

saving me from being sacrificed in my infancy. Yet I did not, and could not, embrace this strange

cult whose adherents had rescued me from oblivion. In my heart, I wished to remain a loyal

subject of the World Realm, an a faithful adherent to the proper worship of the gods of our

ancestors, to the exclusion of alien sects and foreign deities.

"And so I made my choice, at age 16, to remain 'normal,' and to reject the faith of my parents.

Yet I stayed loyal to them, kept their secret identity secret, and while I knew on some level that

this act was in itself a form of treason, I nevertheless tried not to dwell too long on such a

disturbing fact.

"Even less did I wish to consider the ramifications of my very existence being contingent upon

this treasonous sect taking steps to save me from the sacrificial fire when I was but an innocent

babe. To think too much about such a matter would mean that I would have to reflect on other

babies getting their throats cut and flung into the fire at Baal Hammond's altar, and what the

continued embrace of such practices indicated about the culture to which I found myself so

attached...

"The truth is, as a rising star on the tophet pitch, where I came to be known as 'Aeric the

Magnificent,' I was motivated by patently base and shamefuly ignoble drives to continue along

the expected course. Had I ever been 'outed' as the offspring of cultists, it would have been the

end of my career. For years, I lived in near-constant fear of my secret being discovered; I used

this fear to motivate me on the pitch, treating every member of every opposing team as if they

were conspiring against me; hence the fierceness of my competitive spirit only magnified and

my fame gained momentum.

"Season after season, I grew ever more a celebrity of my sport; as I matured into manhood, my

name was on the lips of every young man who aspired to fame, fortune, and glory; also, I must

add, many a young maiden viewed me as the very masculine ideal; I was kept busy with, shall

we say, admirers; being in the mode that I was in, where I was fleeing from myself, I am

ashamed to admit that I indulged quite freely in the distractions offered by such 'admirers,' for

there is no better way to forget your terrors than to gratify your libido repeatedly and without

restraint.

"I went on like this for almost a decade, until I hit the age of 25. By then, I felt at the peak of my

game. To the public, I was like unto a god. The Carthaginians are a martial people, and even in

times of peace we glorify war, which is why the brutal sport of tophet is so enormously popular,

its appeal exceeding even that of the one they call 'football' in countries across Europe and

South America in your world, Rayna, or the other sport, also coincidentally named 'football,' in

America.

"I kept up a warm relationship with my parents, whom I loved with all the filial piety appropriate

to a son of the proud lineage of Carthage, and adhering to all of the traditions and customs

thereof. Never did we discuss the matter which had been brought up to me on that fateful day,

where I had learned that my mother and father worshipped a strange god from a different

world. There had long been an understanding between us: what they believed I was freely

invited to likewise believe, but it had to be my choice. They would continue to pray for me, my

father said, not only because they felt duty-bound to do so by the dictates of their faith, but

also, and more crucially, because I was their son and they wished more than anything to be

assured of my soul's salvation.

************

"But now, Rayna, I must tell you how my life was once again thrown off its expected trajectory,

like a moon suddenly flung from its expected orbit, hurtling inexorably, calamitously,

earthwards...

"Being in the world of professional sport, and moreover, being a superstar in the celebrated

game of tophet, I was often brought into contact with numerous celebrities of stage and screen.

I continued to live a scandalously debauched life, and was often photographed in gossip journals

in the midst of a drunken tryst with one starlet or another. I was regarded as a 'bad boy' who

'couldn't be tamed,' and my ongoing escapades were breathlessly recounted in media outlets.

But no one knew the secret I was concealing from the world, the secret which, if discovered,

could utterly undo me.

"Yet no matter how much I attempted to escape into hedonistic excess, I could never outrun the

fear which haunted me, hovering over my head like a malignant halo. Part of me knew that it

was only a matter of time before I was found out. Yet I never figured upon the course of events

which followed....

"It began at one of the gatherings I attended, in my accustomed inebriated state. There, I met

an attractive young woman who showed great interest in me. I had by now experienced

numerous such characters, but this particular girl possessed an especially unnerving capacity for

over-familiarity. Her smirking overtures caused me to suffer a discomfiting anxiety which I made

every effort to hide; I flirted back with all of the bravado at my disposal, yet no matter how

much I affected the arrogant cocksure posture of a world-renowned championship athlete, I felt

that she could see through me. At first this frightened me, but the fact that she was able to

inspire fear in me caused me to feel plainly enraged.

"I took this rage out on her a hour or so later, after the two of us retired to my expensively-

appointed hotel suite. Rarely, if ever, have I engaged in such rough and aggressive carnal

relations as I did on that day. I wanted to hurt this girl, teach her a lesson she would never

forget... I won't go into detail here about the sort of things we did in that hotel bed, but I found

her just as oblivious to my severe physical blandishments as she was to my manly bluster and

desperate swagger; in fact, the more unspeakable things I did to her, the more delighted she

became.

"I will not, as I stated before, provide any greater specifics of this unsavory encounter, except to

say that I came quite close to killing her. In fact, my hands gripped her throat at the very

moment when we both climaxed, and had I squeezed any harder, I would have shoved her right

from her 'little death' into actual expiration. I relented at the last moment, however, releasing

my hold and rolling over on my side, so I wouldn't have to face her.

"I heard her gasping for the air that had been denied her whilst I had my hands on her windpipe;

presently she recovered fully; I felt her body lean over to a sitting position, and heard her light a

cigarette which she'd apparently removed from the pants she'd discarded in the throes of her

ardor.

"We sat in silence for a long moment. As she sucked and puffed, with a disconcerting air of

nonchalance, I lay abed, gazing out of the window at the cityscape, the buzz of my bodily

satiation departing with surprising rapidity. I felt full of apprehension, and when she next spoke,

I was not shocked, for she only gave voice to what I had somehow known from the very start.

"'We know who your parents are,' she said.

I sat up, turned around to face her, but she was still looking away from me. She stubbed out her

cigarette on the nightstand ashtray, but otherwise just sat still.

"Who's 'we?' I asked her. The girl shrugged.

"I seized her, brought her face close to mine, grabbed her throat again. "Who's we?" I repeated,

in a more menacing tone. To my dismay, the girl only looked mildly frightened. She gasped out,

'I'm... just... the... messenger.'

"'I don't care,' I don't her. 'I might just kill the messenger.'

"'That... won't get you anywhere,' she replied, as coolly as one can possibly speak such words

when a man still has his hands pressing, softly but still conspicuously, upon one one's windpipe.

"'What do they want from me?' I asked a moment later, after considering that, much as I hated

it, she was right. Strangling this tart wouldn't solve my problems. I again released my grip. She

broke away, grabbed at her clothes on the floor, and moved towards the door.

"'They simply need you to cooperate,' she told me, in a tone which betrayed no emotion

whatsoever. She was, it seemed, little more than an errand girl, or so she would have me

believe. 'They will contact you soon. If you do what they ask, your parents will remain protected.

If you refuse to cooperate...' She left that sentence unfinished, and bid me a terse adieu.

"She left in a state of some fright, still clad in her underwear, her clothes in her arms. In the

silence which followed her absence, I came to the grim recognition that I had no real options.

"By this point, I cared little for my tophet career; it had brought me fame and fortune, but the

egoic glow was rapidly wearing off. I wouldn't have minded if they'd threatened to contrive

some scandal or expose some wrongdoing, real or fabricated, to ruin my reputation. But I had to

protect my mother and father. And if protecting them meant betraying this alien faith that they

had inexplicably embraced, then so be it; I would have to do what I had to do.

**************************************

"The first step was to announce to my parents that I had decided to embrace their beliefs. So I

contacted them, and we agreed to meet at an inauspicious location, to avoid prying ears, be

they human or mechanical. Now came the tricky part. When my mother and father sat across

from me, accompanied once more by Professor Hamilcar/Father Athanasius, I found myself

unable to speak for several minutes.

"I was supposed to put on an act, confess that I had come to the end of my rope, that I had seen

the futility of fame, acclaim, fortune, and worldly success, that I now wished to devote my life

and soul to a higher cause. I was supposed to earnestly ask to be baptized. Once baptized, and

thus officially on the Church roles, I could begin to do the treacherous work which I had been

blackmailed into doing.

"All I had to do, then, was lie. It wasn't like I hadn't done it before. But sitting there, in that

inauspicious location, looking into the expectant faces of my parents and their priest, I simply

could not utter a word. I opened my mouth, but all that would emerge was a sigh or a sputter,

and finally, to my consternation, a sob, followed by another sob, followed by a full-on deluge of

tears.

"Something was preventing me from making my false confession. I wasn't at all sure what it was.

Shame? But I possessed none! Consider the life I had been living, the grotesqueries in which I

had willfully submerged my soul over and over again! And here, my intentions, though stained

in deceit and saturated with the specter of betrayal, were not wholly ignoble at all; I wanted,

more than anything, to save my parents. I had that outcome within my grasp...but when I

attempted to give my false testimony I found that my body could only react with a mortifying

series of bawling spasms, which racked my body like violent seizures...

"When at last able to speak, I quite involuntarily told my parents and their priest everything. I

revealed that I had been sent to speak to them, under false auspices, to confess my faith and

thus to win their trust, in order to facilitate them taking me in to their inner sanctum, where I

would be enabled to expose their identities to the authorities... Again, I must emphasize that I

spoke these words not because I wanted to, but because I felt compelled to do so. Even as I

came clear about my coerced circumstances, something in me was screaming "NO!"

"Yet I was unable to help myself, and before I knew it, everything that had been meant to

remain secret had been rendered manifest. To my surprise, my mother and father and their

priest now exchanged looks charged with meaning. They did not seem shocked or alarmed by

this development; in fact, it seemed to make sense to them. Now I felt throughly bewildered.

"'We must now tell you the rest of your story,' Father Athanasius now told me, with another

sideward glance to my parents, whose faces were now grave, almost grieving.

"'For your own sake, we kept this from you before,' my mother managed to mutter, before she

too was overcome with emotion. I looked on with immense confusion.

'My father then related the following information to me: It seems that while I still dwelt in the

womb, my birth mother received a series of visions, in which it was announced to her that by

the time of my birth, one of those infernal molks would be held in her city, in an effort to

appease Baal Hammon in order to end the devastating drought. My infant self would thus be in

danger, and it would become necessary for me to be adopted by others who did not live in their

region.

"But the visions she experienced also provided further details.

"My birth mother was informed, by some apparent Heavenly messenger, that the child to whom

she would give birth was no ordinary boy. In fact, that boy's soul effectually straddled two

worlds. He needed to be protected, because he would prove to be a great warrior for God in

time. He would, in fact, play a role in helping to spread the Gospel to the ends of both earths.

"Thus, my secret birth, the effort to get me smuggled out of the city where the molk was taking

place, and my winding up with the two people I came to know as mother and father, all was

done with a HIGHER PURPOSE in mind. I was a man whose soul 'straddled two worlds,' whatever

that meant. I was one who would play an important role in fighting for the Church, apparently.

All of this baffled and overwhelmed me. I wasn't even a believer! And my life, so far, had

certainly been anything but saintly. I had reveled in all manner of sin, worldliness, and

debauchery. And I had fully intended to betray the cause that my parents so devoutly

embraced... yes, to save them, but also to save myself! If not for the fact that something truly

inexplicable had interceded, I would have gone through with my treacherous plan.

"I told them all of these things. I expressed my disbelief and strongly emphasized that, whatever

visions my birth mother had received, there had clearly been some mistake. The visions MUST

be mistaken, I stated empahatically. Or maybe there had been some mix-up; perhaps another

preborn child in the same area was meant to be identified as this future warrior for the faith.

There was absolutely, resolutely NO WAY it was me! I kept making this selfsame point, over and

over again, as if I were afraid to stop talking, afraid of what would follow...

"What followed once I finally ran out of breath was most unexpected, and most alarming.

"After only a brief moment of silence, there came a terrible crash.

"Before any of us could begin to wonder about what was happening, we perceived that the door

to the room had fallen off its hinges and collapsed. Men in gear were rushing in; they seized

each of us before we even conceived of the notion of resisting. In a moment, rough hands had

pulled me to my feet, pinioned my wrists together with a cuff behind my back, and thrust a bag

over my head, fitted with some kind of elastic clamp which immediately closed around my neck.

At last, too late, I lashed out, albeit blindly; I kicked and yelled, but to no avail against these

men. Something jabbed into my arm, and I passed out..."

*******************

Aeric paused for a moment at this stage of telling his story, which had held Rayna's rapt

attention as the two sat together in that strange "in-between place," Rayna adorned in the

beautiful dress which had somehow been been gifted to her in this realm where she dwelt while

her body slept.

She gazed at Aeric, this mystery man, he who had already captured her heart and caused her

knee to bend in reverence and awe, even before she knew anything about his life.

"This is where things get a little crazy," he declared, betraying no self-consciousness whatsoever

concerning how "crazy" his entire account has sounded up to this point.

Rayna said nothing, sensing that he would presently tell the rest of his tale, and needn't be

prompted. She remembered her spontaneous gesture of fealty and obedience to him, and was

bold enough to reach out and take his hand. He looked into her face for the first time, and again,

Rayna caught something in the way his features settled into a melancholic cast that seemed

hauntingly familiar.

**************************

"They took me in," he said. "And they took my parents, and they took Father Athanasius, too.

But they brought me to a different place than the others.

"When I gained consciousness, I found myself in a chamber with a most unusual and peculiarly

unpleasant smell... They had clothed me in some kind of ritualistic garb, which, strikingly

enough, resembled the jerseys we wore on the tophet pitch, except skimpier: an ivory white

toga that barely covered my midsection, and matching trousers. There was no furniture in that

room, the walls of which were a disconcerting bright red, although a set of white blankets had

been set up in the far corner of the room.

"Before I had much time to wonder at the circumstances in which I now found myself, I received

yet another shock. The pneumatic door slid open, and a woman entered whom I instantly

recognized: she was the 'groupie' with whom I had entangled at the hotel, prior to her

revelation that she.. no, not just she, but those she had called 'we,' knew who my parents were'.

But now she wore a World Realm soldier's uniform, and stood before me, hands upon hips,

gazing into my eyes intensely, wearing an expression which, oddly enough, seemed to suggest a

sense of awe and reverence. She was flanked by two musclar men in similar soldier garb, both

with weapons drawn.

"Immediately I ran up to her with the intention of doing greater violence to her person, but the

two guards were on me in a second. They restrained me and urged me to 'cool it,' but I fought

them, until one of them knocked me across the forehead with the butt of his pistol and I fell up

against the blood-red wall, dazed and shaken.

"I then demanded that I be released immediately, that my parents be released immediately,

that they didn't know who they were messing with, didn't they know who I was? The most

beloved athlete in the Greater Carthagenian Realm?

"'Yes,' she answered, her face unwavering. 'We do know who you are. Didn't I tell you as much

when last we met?'

"My head began to pound, and I couldn't reply, and she took this opportunity to continue.

"''We knew this day would come, eventually. We meant to use your infiltration to maximal

benefit, first, but you, Aeric, chose to blow your cover, silly boy. Yes, we had a microscopic

listening device implanted on your person; I placed it there myself during our little... tumble in

that hotel room. Suffice to say, we used it to track you and monitor all that you said, and all that

others said to you... Because you gave up the game immediately, which some of us always

predicted you would do-- myself included, Aeric, as I think I know you somewhat intimately by

now (here she smirked rakishly)-- we had to extract you immediately. Which brings us to the

present.'

"She knelt next to me, and began to stroke my chest gently.

"'I want you to know, Aeric, how exalted by the gods I feel to be living in this moment, and how

grateful I am to you, for providing me with this opportunity,' she purred. 'Even though you may

not know it, or understand it, you have helped the World Realm to no end. Whatever treachery

you may have contemplated in your mind, your bloodline nevertheless steers you rightly...'

"She grabbed my chin, pulled her face close to mine. In my weakened condition, I could only

regard her quite helplessly.

"'I am Tanit-Felicity,'" she declared. "'My namesake. as surely you know, is our Carthaginian

goddess of fertility. And well am I named, for indeed, I am carrying the child of the chosen one.'"

"An interval of silence followed, during which my mind was assaulted with a barrage of inchoate

horrors.

"'I am carrying your child, Aeric,' she stated flatly.

"I pulled my face away from her hand, shook my head vigorously, tried to laugh, to display my

disbelief, but the attempt at self-generated mirth only caught in my throat. Still, I persisted.

"'That is a lie,' I spat.

"'It's no lie,'" she replied.

"'I am not any 'chosen' one,'" I weakly protested. Tanit-Felicity just laughed.

"'Do you know who I am?''' She mimicked both my words and my attempt to assume an

authoritative tone. "Yes! Indeed, Aeric, We know who you are! We know you, better than you

even know yourself."

"'Who am I, then?'" I asked. I meant the query to be defiant, but it came out lamely, like a feeble

bleat from a dying goat.

"'You are a man who has lived two lives, in two separate worlds,'" she announced. "'You are a

man who lived in the OTHER world, then, by some unknown, uncanny magic, perished in that

place and came to be born in THIS place.'"

"I shook my head dumbly.

"'Before you came to manifest yourself here, most of our wisest sages and scientists thought

that the notion of another Earth, on which this Nazarene, the 'crucified god' lived, died, and rose

from the dead, was sheer, ludicrous, superstitious hokum. We thought that these so-called

'Christians' dwelt in delusion, and yet a minority of our metaphysical seers and psychic

intelligence collectors sensed that there may indeed be another world, existing somehow,

alongside our own.... Some of our men even believed that there were certain souls which had

actually, somehow, made the leap between this world and the other place. But all was mere

speculation, until we found you.

"'We have had our eyes on you for a long time, Aeric. Of course, we keep our eyes on

everybody, that's our job. But you were a special case, from the very beginning. We have had

our spies in your parents' church since before you were born. Your parents and all of their

friends really have no idea how much we have penetrated and infiltrated their circles, or just

how long we have dwelt there. Having you there would have assisted our efforts somewhat, but

it was honestly something we could take or leave, and when you immediately blew your cover

and told them the truth, we made the choice to extract you and just get on with the process...

"'The truth is, we have always been multiple steps ahead of you. We had our informers telling us

of your case a quarter century ago. When your people made plans to save you from the molk

when you were still in utero and saw to your secret adoption by the man and woman you grew

up to know as your mother and father, we received reports about your case. We knew the

whispers about you being one who would play a special role in the future, and that you were

one who had lived previously in the other world, in a different body.'"

"I was about to reply indignantly that all of that business of me having a 'prior' life in a parallel

world was sheer nonsense, when something extraordinary happened. It was like an electric jolt:

I fell to the floor and felt something coursing through me; I writhed desperately as it surged

through my skin, and then began to absorb fully itself into my body and mind. In seconds, I

recalled that I had lived in that other place, where I had been tormented by some terrible loss,

which had marred my heretofore charmed life, and had made me want to die. I recalled how

some being had spoken to me, had seemingly blocked the bullet I attempted to launch into my

own head (an act which bewildered me at the time but which now strikes me as a true miracle,)

before offering to give me an entirely new life.

"Suddenly, I was just as sure of having lived this first life as I was of living my present life.

Something within me whispered, though not audibly: Steady now, courage. Fear not, I am with

you.

"Tanit-Felicity, having seen me collapse, and as little comprehending what had happened as I

had, nevertheless pretended to take it in stride. 'Fainting, a most unmanly response to stress,'

she taunted. 'But you shouldn't feel stress at all, Aeric. It has been taken out of your hands... All

you must do... is watch.'

"She nodded to the two armed, burly men, who promptly grabbed me, pushed my arms behind

my back and began to fasten me with some kind of binding device, as had happened before,

when they snatched me from that room. Again, as before, I kicked and thrashed, but to no avail,

and as before, they shot something into my arm, which instantly took the fight out of me.

"'Don't worry, it won't knock you out this time,' cooed the girl. 'It will merely enable you to

watch what is going to happen next. It is crucial that you be here, Aeric, for you set all of this

into motion when you took me so forcefully in that hotel room... Just remember that you are

the progenitor through which the mighty Baal Hammon and his stalwart companion Tanit, and

all of the glorious gods and goddesses of our race, who have helped to make Carthage a

relentless devourer of all of its enemies and have scattered to the four winds all who seek to

thwart our ambitions to rule the world, and to expand into the greater galaxy, to reign for eons

and eons on end...'

"'Not gods or goddesses,' I grunted out. 'Demons!'

"That thought had never before occurred to me, but just then, by grace, it assumed such an

awful clarity that I just had to put it into words, render it sensibly manifest. I had never paid

much heed to doctrinal matters or public rituals honoring the 'gods' before, though I suppose I

went along with things, as any loyal citizen would... It never even occurred to me to question

our public rituals and sacred ceremonies. I had always been proud to have possessed

Carthaginian blood, and I never even envisaged that all of our successes had perhaps come at a

very dear price, that we might be enslaving ourselves to sinister forces, that our ambition to

conquer the world, then the solar system, then the universe, might just result in the

relinquishment of that which is most dear in us, that is, our very souls...

"The girl looked amused by my blasphemy. 'So now you're going over to the cult of the crucified

Nazarene!' she exclaimed. "Oh, your mother and father would be so proud, if only they could

see you now...If only...'

"She let those words, 'if only' linger in the air, to cruelly taunt me, but I refused to give in to her

provocations. Your parents have their reward in Heaven, regardless of their present condition,

the sweet, calm voice from within informed me. Do not fear that which merely can kill your

body... But steady now. Have courage.

"The voice kept telling me to 'hold steady' and 'have courage,' which of course filled my heart

with dread, as I wondered what ordeal was coming. But I resolved, with my newfound faith, to

'endure til the end,' whatever that end might entail.

"'It little matters to us if you choose to throw in your lot with a blaspehmous death cult, Aeric.'

the girl was saying. 'The integrity of your blood sacrifice is not contingent upon your mindset... It

is your blood, infused as it is with the magic that enabled your soul to travel between worlds,

that matters... This blood sacrifice will enable us to travel to that other place, in order that our

World Realm may expand still further. Your blood will enable us to plant our roots in that alien

soil, to ensure our dominion endures for endless eons...'

"She was speaking very quite grandiloquently now, and my mind struggled to understand.

'You're going to kill me?' I asked.

"'Oh no,' she answered. 'You must simply watch. Or be in proximity, anyway, though why you

wouldn't want to see this glorious moment for our realm is beyond me... but either way, suit

yourself!'

"She began to shed her clothes, first her tunic and trousers, then her undergarments, until she

stood totally naked before me. She gazed brazenly into my eyes, daring me to recall our time

together in that hotel room, when, in the gross folly of my arrogant carnality, I had relinquished

her my seed to her womb. I tried to cry out, as I could sense what was coming, but the sedative

prevented me giving full voice to my horror. She read my face, smiled grimly, as if to confirm my

fears, then strode towards the white sheets which had been set on the floor in the corner of this

otherwise blood-red room...

"It might have been my drug-induced grogginess, but it seemed that the lights dimmed slightly

at that moment, and something in the atmosphere perceptibly shifted; the air appeared to grow

thicker, somehow. I reeled under the oppressive change, lost my vision for a brief interval, and

when I came back into awareness I gasped quite involuntarily: an assemblage of high priests and

a psychonaut shaman, recognizable by his peculiar robed garb and bull amulet, representing

Baal Hammon, had entered the room. They were standing in a semicircle around the girl, who

lay prone on the sheets, her legs fully splayed, her face hidden by her hair. She and the priests

and the shaman had begun chanting something in ominous guttural tones, in a language that I

could not identify, though it sounded ancient and primeval.

"At length, the shaman gathered up his robe, and knelt in the spot on the sheet on the floor

where her legs were garishly, obscenely spread-eagled. He held something in his hand, some

kind of tool which a sharpened edge... I moaned, groaned, tried to move, but found myself

rooted to the spot, immobilized by whatever they had shot into my arm... I now knew for sure

what was happening, and with all of my will I wanted to get up, run a few paces over to the spot

where the men were grunting their awful incantations; I wanted to beat all of them to death, to

prevent what they were now in the process of doing. But I couldn't, so I began to weep quiet

tears of unutterable anguish. 'My... child, my child. You can't do that... to my child!' I gasped

feebly, but I knew they couldn't hear me, and it wouldn't even matter if they could.

"I lowered my head and the uncanny chanting reached some sort of crescendo; when I dared

look up again, I nearly retched with dismay and disgust. The white sheets had been stained

bright red between the girl's legs. The shaman's gloved hands now held a tiny object, soaked in

blood, which I knew to be the life I had conceived with this girl; my own unborn child had been

the blood sacrifice. I heard a low rumble, and became at once aware of an awful redolence; it

savored of smoke and death and fear; the men in the room sensed it too; they began to quail,

mumble excitedly, and grovel before a sinister presence that had coalesced in our midst.

"It had manifested in a manner not quite corporeal but still grotesquely tangible; indeed, the air

had now thickened to such an extent that I could barely draw breath, yet the priests and the

shaman somehow began shouting wildly, ecstatic with the thrill of meeting their god.

"'Great Baal Haamon!' the bull-amuleted man shrieked, holding high his blood-dripping hand,

which still bore the tiny frame and fragile entrails of my poor lost son or daughter. 'Here is the

blood of the sacrifice! May it appease your divine hunger and slack your royal thirst, and

through your power, may our entry be granted to the realm of the Nazarene, in order that we

may extend our power to heretofore unexplored corners of the universe!'

"The girl, for her part, was keening loudly; it was unclear whether this was due to the pain of the

invasive procedure, or out of the same ghastly excitement that was impelling the men who

stood above her to emit their own fearsome verbal ejaculations, prompted by the manifestation

of that nauseating entity forming in our midst... But I could do nothing, except groan pitifully

and feebly, having been anesthetized so thoroughly with the effects of their poison shot, and

feeling so heartbroken at my loss yet at the same time so murderously angry at those diabolical

souls who had wrought this atrocity within my eyesight...

"Presently my mind came to comprehend that another thing had, as it were, drifted into being

within that wretched room: a big, swirling, humming, undulating phenomenon, weirdly hovering

in the air a few feet away from where I lay. From it, there vomited forth a stream of what

sounded like harsh gibberish, but if one harkened more carefully, it seemed to be a cacophony

of innumerable anonymous voices.

"Suddenly I felt seized with an instinct to draw nearer to this vortex, as I perceived it as my only

possible manner of escape. At the moment, I didn't know what that vibrating anomaly was, or

what it contained, or if passing close to it might obliterate both my body and my soul, but I little

cared. What I did know is that it had been summoned by their fearful sorcery, and thus could

not be good, yet paradoxically, I grasped that God-- the true Lord of the universe-- could take an

appalling transgression against nature and turn it to good, just, and holy purposes (I could not

have spoken it thusly at the time, of course; in truth, I could articulate very little at that point)...

"But before flinging myself into the possibly obliterating vortex of such intense sight and sound,

I found myself being swept up by the evil spirt of Baal Hammon, and for a moment I surrendered

to his vengeful will. I felt his hideous strength rise up in me, overriding the sedatives. I

immediately broke my bonds, roaring like a beast, and lurched over to where those wretched

priests and that pestilent shaman knelt, still quailing with perverse ecstasy...

"What happened then is mostly lost to my memory, thankfully; however, when I came to myself

again, I saw that all of their bodies had been mercilessly mangled; they resembled, in fact, full-

sized facsimilies of my own lost child, which they had conspired to slaughter in my sight. The girl,

meanwhile, was screaming in terror, and turning to run; I reached out, gripped her arm, pulled

her to me; I gazed wildly in her face, aware that my body was covered in the blood of those

men, whom I had apparently torn to pieces before her eyes. Encountering my feral visage and

gore-soaked frame at close range took something out of her; her eyes went blank, her body

went limp, and she crumpled in a heap onto the while blanket still stained with the blood of her

abominable sacrifice. The vortex still swirled, and I leapt toward it, eager to escape the blood-

red room, then found myself tumbling headlong into darkness.

*************************

"I landed with a heavy thud in a place that seemed faintly familiar, but as my entire body

smarted with a pain that throbbed intensely through my frame for an interminable interval, I

just had to lie there for a while before I finally raised my head... and saw that I now stood

outside of a familiar sight: that deserted car where I had attempted to end my life, before

being entreated by that mysterious voice to relocate my consciousness to the other world.. The

infernal portal had taken me back to my original life, and the world I had voluntarily left behind,

to be re-incarnated in a new body in the parallel world: namely, the one I had just left.

"I had, that is to say, returned to the exact spot where I had previously ceased consciousness in

this world-- the world that you and I share, Rayna!-- and wildly enough, it seemed that no time

had elapsed since my departure... But one thing remained unchanged: the body I occupied was

still my foreign body, the body of Aeric of the World Realm, where Carthaginian rule held sway,

where I had dominated the brutal sport of tophet, but had fallen into disrepute when I refused

to betray my heretic parents. And... I was still coated in the blood and gore of the men I had

ripped into ribbons. My heart still hurt with the sickness of worry for the mother and father I

had left behind, but I also began to recall the parents I had in this world... how would I possibly

explain, how could they comprehend my transformation? Why had I not reassumed my old

body? Was it because I had allowed myself to be drawn under the wicked spell of Baal Hammon,

in spite of now knowing his demonic identity? Had I been cursed to remain in this foreign body

after being released back into my old world, with the effect that no one I had previously known

would recognize me?

"Soon, I was to ascertain that my form had degenerated significantly and quite suddenly. When I

leapt into that vortex, I had been muscular and tan, as befitted my athletic avocation and all of

the time I had spent in the sun, but now, after giving myself over to that infernal bloodlust, I had

become wan and pale, as you see me now... I have a cough sometimes-- it comes and goes-- as

well as certain phantom bodily aches and pains. One doesn't delve into the dark arts, however

temporarily, without consequence. I see that now, and have repented of my accursed deeds.

"In any event, I felt it best to attend to practicalities at that moment, lest fixation on the broader

questions drive me mad. I hiked to the creek that adjoined the path in the woods, which

thankfully were deserted at that time (else I might have been spotted walking in my gore-

soaked raiments, which may well have created a sensation); I bathed in the creek in the twilight,

just as ominous winds began to gust; before I knew it, the heavens themselves had opened, and

rain was plunging down upon me from above even as I lolled in the creek bed, with the water

cresting ever higher minute by minute.

"I lay there naked, having abandoned my bloody clothes, and felt as if I were being baptized for

the second time. Not merely was my body being cleansed of my recent sin of succumbing to

murderous wrath, but my soul was likewise getting washed clean of all the brutal, loathsome,

and filthy deeds I had committed in my second life, the very life which had supposedly been

furnished for my redemption, where the self-slaughter I had attempted had been miraculously

circumvented, and I had been given a new chance, only to find myself again heading quite

determinedly towards a new iteration of self-destruction, one from which I had again been

'plucked out.'

"How many chances would I be given? I recalled suddenly that verse from our Scriptures, where

Christ invokes the number 'seventy times seven,' meaning something close to infinity. Suddenly

it burst over me: I was loved by an unfathomable being, one whose most salient property, at

least as far as it manifested itself in my bizarre life, seemed to be a stubbornly persistent mercy

and a nearly un-extinguishable love.

"As the rain fell from above, and as I drifted there, naked as a newborn child, in a rapidly rising

canal, silent tears began to fall from my eyes. They were not tears of grief-- even though in truth

I had much to be grieved over-- but rather of gratitude. I felt like one who has been rescued

from certain death; despite everything that had happened to me, all that I had endured, I

nevertheless had been set free again from that which had held me in bondage.

"'Now, I see,'" I whispered to the wind. "'Now I know'." And I solemnly pledged, to myself and

to the one who had been my Rescuer, never to forget. As well, I would never forget all those

who had participated in this rescue, including my parents (in both worlds), and the ones who

had given me birth, and had, while facing enormous danger, helped me to be literally born

again.

But there was one more person whom I still needed to seek out, one who, in my first life, had

shattered me so thoroughly, so carelessly, who had brought the very thought of ending my

existence to mind. I needed to see her again. If for no other reason, I had to warn her about

what was coming."

***********************

Rayna stared hard at her interlocutor, who matched her stare with unabashed and guileless

intensity.

Presently, Rayna lowered her eyes and shook her head.

"I can't believe it," she muttered. "I don't believe it."

Then she looked back at him, and for just a brief moment, he transformed before her eyes. In

place of Aeric, for just a split second, she thought she saw a familiar face.

"Chris..." she could but whisper.

"Find me," he said, reaching out to her. Rayna tried to reach back, but at that moment the scene

began to wobble maddeningly before her eyes. Then, she felt herself hurtling through the air

again, as if suddenly launched from a slingshot. "No no no no no no..." she moaned.

Then she lurched forward abruptly, and realized that she had sprung up from her bed, sobbing

uncontrollably. Sara had rushed to her, was grabbing her arm, shaking her frantically.

"Rayna, wake up! It was just a dream!" she was crying.

Rayna, panting hard, felt herself slowly readjusting to being ripped from that incredible

conversation she was having, with that extraordinary man, in that bizarre place. It took a

moment for her to collect her wits, but presently she pronounced, with great conviction: "That

was NO dream."

***************************

It was still early, and dawn hadn't yet broken, but Sara, seeing her friend in such a wild and

disheveled state, had been jolted wide awake. The two girls sat together for hours, while Rayna

related the events of her "dream."

Never before had a "dream" of hers contained such intricate detail, which she was able to recall

afterwards with such great clarity. Fantastic as all of the particulars were of Aeric's account, and

loathe as Rayna was to believe in their veracity, if for no reason just because it was so

undeniably fantastical, she nevertheless would not budge from the notion that what she had

"dreamed" had in fact actually happened, in some manner that she could not explain or

comprehend.

"I know it's difficult for you to believe me," Rayna told her friend. "But I need you to try."

She spoke these words with such heartbreaking earnestness that Sara, whatever her secret

qualms concerning her friend, found herself moved beyond measure.

"I'm with you, Rayna," she declared. "I'm on your side. It's just all so strange..."

In spite of herself, Sara felt deeply flattered that a girl like Rayna was taking her into such

confidences. She even wished she could speak with others about this situation, drop hints about

her friend's wild and wooly mental state, engage in spiteful gossip under the guise of displaying

care and compassion. The truth was, she felt her friend had probably lost her senses, in the grip

of this fearful obsession which had overtaken her.

Still, it wouldn't do to tell Rayna that she found it all patently absurd. All of this business about

double lives and parallel worlds, and finding her lost love in the person of this new man, this

"Aeric"... well, it was plainly crazy, she didn't believe it for a second. And yet, there was

something in this account which deeply appealed to Sara, in ways that she was quite reluctant

to admit to herself. It was exceedingly exciting, for one thing, and quite romantic. She even

wanted it to be true. Indeed, it was her secret ardor for this fantastical romance to play itself

out, to prove itself to be more than Rayna's fevered imagination, that propelled Sara to remain

in league with her friend, even while her less credulous impulses lead her to be tempted to

engage in more ignoble behaviors.

*******************

Rayna, for her part, couldn't be talked down. For her, everything simply fit together, and now all

that remained was finding her man again.

"He said, ''Find me,'" Rayna muttered. "Where would he be?"

Again, Sara was struck by just how rapt she was; her fervor hadn't diminished in the slightest

since waking up from the encounter which she was most adamant HADN'T been a dream.

"Where would he be?" Rayna repeated, her eyes bright with the fanaticism of love, her brow

furrowed with intense concentration. Without another word, she abruptly got up and took her

leave. Sara watched her exit the door, still in her pajamas and barefoot, with open-mouthed

astonishment. She hadn't said where she was going. She hadn't even bothered to put on her

shoes, in fact.

As Rayna tore across campus towards her destination, her mind was continually assaulted with

new visions. Everything that Aeric had told her about his world, she began to see in her mind's

eye, as clearly as one might glimpse sights in one's own environment. The impressions which

overwhelmed her began to assume all manner of texture and detail, not just sights, but sounds,

smells: full-bodied sensations of all kinds.

She knew, in a manner that she couldn't readily convey to anyone, that all of these intimations

of Aeric's world were real, as real as the world she knew, and she knew this in a way she had

never known anything before... It little mattered that she was barefoot; it made no difference at

all that she was still clad in her pajamas. Though she was nearly sprinting, she felt no pain as the

naked palms of her feet struck the concrete, nor was she in any way conscious of being out of

breath; instead, Rayna remained resolutely preoccupied with the sensory revelations which

were tearing through her awareness even as she made her way to the place she needed to be;

knowledge of Aeric's sure, undeniable existence was animating her spirit, igniting a flame in her

heart, filling her mind with heretofore unexperienced clarity.

Outside of the chapel she finally stopped running. Though the place had been built, as

previously explicated, in an unfortunate era of Church history wherein much that had been

beautiful and reverent was junked in favor of ugly, clunky, and garish art and architecture, there

yet remained a statue of the Blessed Virgin just outside of the narthex, which retained the

dignity and glory of a refined and devout era of worship.

The Alabaster Lady stood, her hands outstretched, her eyes humbly downcast; she embodied

purity of heart and resolve of will in obedience to the needful dictates of the Divine. With nary a

thought, Rayna dropped to her knees, and began a litany of whispered invocations; the words

pulsed from her lips with such rapidity that Rayna scarcely knew what she was saying, yet every

word was an impassioned expression of gratitude that poured forth from her soul.

She thanked the Mother, her own Mother, the Mother of God and of us all, for bringing her

here, to this exact spot at this precise moment, the moment of awareness and fulfillment.

She closed her eyes, and seemed to fall into a trance; calm enveloped her being, and a delicious

intimation of inevitability overtook her. Thus she was not in the least surprised when she felt a

hand grip her tenderly at the back of her neck. Keeping her eyes closed, she reached behind her

and slid her palm into his.

"You found me," she heard him say. It was the same voice that she knew, from the "dream," and

from that fever dream of an evening, when she had met him at Sara's father's party. The hand

she now grasped for the first time belonged, surely, to the same man before whom she had

curtsied that night, when she realized she had met the man who truly ruled her soul.

"Chris," she mutterd dreamily, first in her heart, and then aloud. And then he had turned her in a

pirouette and was pushing his lips against hers. Her eyes remained closed; she did not know if

the man she was kissing looked like the boy she grew up knowing as Chris, the one she had so

callously rejected, whose heart she had broken, whom she had unknowingly driven to near

suicide... or if he still bore the exotic visage of Aeric, the man that Chris had become in a

different life, while living in another world.

It hardly mattered; a visage was just a visage, after all.

Both visages belonged the same man, the man she loved, the man whose strong arms now held

her just as sturdily as her father's arms had once gripped her during her youth.

At last they disengaged, and she remembered the details of his incredible history, which she

now knew to be absolutely true, and felt seized with trepidation for the future.

Would her world, their world, soon be subjected to an invasion it never saw coming, from a

realm it never knew existed?

Was a true War of the Worlds soon to commence, with surely fearsome consequences?

"Open your eyes," he commanded. And as she did, and gazed into the face of the man whom

she loved and who loved her, she realized that whatever happened next was without any doubt

under the protection of grace, the same grace that had ended her misery and longing and had

brought the two of them together at last.

"I see you!" Rayna exclaimed, and began to weep with joy, repeating "I see you, I see you, I see

you!" over and over.

The two lovers witnessed each other, before that statue of the Mother of God, and Rayna

herself felt as one reborn.

Their prologue was at long last over, and their real story could finally begin.