The End of the World
A One Shot for SciFi Spring 2024
Ku’Lano woke to the same sound he had for three days. The sun had barely risen and the village was still shrouded in the darkness of its walls, walls that pierced the sky, solid and indomitable, save for the mammoth holes high above. Ku’Lano lay on his bed, pulling the furs and hides to his chin, and stared up at the black and white cow skin that made up a section of the roof, the voice of his god chiming through the village, ‘Forty hours until shutdown.’ Kalisthea spoke in a soft voice, too soft for a prediction of end times.
‘Shutdown’ was an odd word, he’d never heard it before and nor had the priest, Bo-La’Casha. Ku’Lano imagined the word written on the cow skin overhead. Shut meant close, seal, to make unopen. Down was down, below, beneath, the earth was down the sky was up. Together… together they meant a great tragedy. A closing down of the earth, a sealing up of the below. Was the sky to fall like written in ancient prophecies that never came to pass? Was the ground to fold up on itself and a new world made, or perhaps the world was to be entombed, the sun forbidden to shine, and the people would have to learn how to live in the dark. Whatever was to pass, Ku’Lano knew one thing, no one was prepared.
But lying in bed wasn’t going to save the world. Ever since the first pronouncement of the end Bo-La’Casha had spent night and day querying with the god. Yet every question only led to more questions and more confusingly it seemed She had no recollection of making the pronouncements. Casha’s working theory was because the voices were different it must mean they are different entities. Though, on contemplation, the birth of a new god was likely to be more catastrophic than the end of the world. Not that Ku’Lano had experienced either, rather he had heard about such events from Kalisthea exhaustive archives, though She claimed them to be rather minimal compared to what was once known about the world. Ku’Lano struggled to imagine that a peoples with such a vast knowledge could disappear, fade into obscurity. Did Kalisthea not try and intervene? Was She not yet awakened? Neither of these questions, and more, resulted in an answer beyond, ‘Database inaccessible. Restore connection and try again.’ And that answer had befuddled their priests for centuries. At first it had been thought that database was a title of a group and that connecting with that group would provide wisdom, this implied the existence of other gods but on all the excursions none of the village had come across a statue, let alone a talking one. Eventually they gave up and consigned the answer to one of Kalisthea’s long list of confounding words of wisdom.
Lano donned his habit and slid his hammer in the loop on his trousers, he had no intention of using it. He stepped outside into the dewy dawn and marvelled at the cold metallic walls ensconcing the village. Children were out playing before their mothers and fathers put them to work or summoned them for lessons while the herders at already left before dawn to gather the sheep and cows for milking. A thin stream of smoke rose from the smithies over at the edge of the village, beneath one of the massive openings. He set out towards Kalisthea, high on Her Hill over overlooking the village. The petitioners at the base of Her Hill had swelled over night, from a few dozen to more than one hundred. All prayed relentlessly, some in silence, others loudly, for an answer, for salvation, for guidance. None had come. Lano padded gently by as a trio to his right knelt, clasped their hands, and began their petition, he climbed the Hundred Steps, the voices of the petitioners growing and carrying him upwards. Across to the east side of town the market square began opening, though fewer and fewer turned out each day to sell or buy. The Shutdown, for better or for worse, had triggered a shifting of perspectives for many. Children played instead of worked. Men enjoyed more ale, more wrestling, while the women played games and nattered from dawn to dusk and beyond. Fewer and fewer turned their mind to work, save those who refused to adapt and those who couldn’t. Ku’Lano had no such luxury. It had fallen to him as the acolyte, chosen by lottery, to assist Casha in his interpretative works. Typically that involved querying Kalisthea about weather patterns, crop rotations, predictions of floods and droughts, education, and more humdrum affair. On rare occasions there was a trial followed by a judgement, Lano had not yet had the pleasure of witnessing one and wasn’t sure he wanted to. Most received exile, some confinement, few death. To see a fellow User cast out into the wilds sounded miserable, though he was sure they’d deserve it, that was what Kalisthea was for after all. Deciding that which mere mortals found difficult and nothing was more difficult than how to prepare for Shutdown.
Bo-La’Casha sat atop the scaffold craning his neck over the inscription upon the base of the statue. Her unchanging form towered over him, Ku’Lano, the whole village, Her head was larger than anyone’s home, the helmet resting on her forehead the same again. In one hand She held a spear, the other a bowl. Her form, feminine without fault, was graced by toga belted at the waist, her feet sandalled. Ku’Lano gazed up until his neck could not go any further back, he sighed. Would she remember her pronouncement this time?
‘Lano! Up here,’ Bo-La’Casha boomed. ‘The inscription’s changed. Need to copy it in case it disappears.’
‘Be right there,’ Lano ran into the annex to collect his charcoal and paper. In a few leaps he’d scaled the scaffold to find a pile of paper with hastily drawn symbols and letters in the priest’s illegible hand.
‘They’ve changed three times in the night, each time to a short inscription, but I haven’t had time to translate. Some of the symbols I’ve never seen before and I don’t think are in the Texts,’ the priest’s stern gaze fell upon Ku’Lano. ‘What are you waiting for, scrawl! Write! Draw!’ His eyebrows grew wilder with each word. The priest had foregone his sandals and a hair brush. The usual sleek white hair sat twisted and knotted, shooting out at impossible angles, and gleaming with a greasy shine.
Lano began to copy the inscription, it wasn’t long but most of the words he’d never seen before. If they were words, sometimes the lines and shapes that appeared on the dry ice-like surface were pictures, images frozen in time, other times singular letters or numbers, at other times codes. The letters, this time, were familiar, and so them being words was likely but sometimes the same shapes would appear but in radically different patterns and sequences, sometimes backwards, so one could never be sure of Her meaning.
Lano finished transcribing, ‘It’s two sentences.’
‘Yes a big fat dot is the end of one clause, well done. You’ve been acolyte for four months, please tell me you’ve learned more than that? I have rats that do.’
Lano rolled his eyes, ‘The second word is ‘LOW’, the clause ends. The next begins with ‘CONNECT TO’ which leaves the first word of the first clause and the third word of the second clause to decipher.’
‘I’m the priest, not you,’ Bo-La’Casha was impressed.
Ku’Lano smiled to himself. He’d never wanted to be priest, or acolyte, and was certain when he was chosen for the year he’d hate it but instead he’d enjoyed charting the skies, predicting the seasons, and ensuring the smooth running of the village. Albeit all was decided by Kalisthea, he just had to relay it to the responsible parties.
Casha leapt to his feet, bundle of papers in hand, and snatched Lano’s drawings. ‘Time to consult the Texts. Pray a priest before me came across these words otherwise it will be a long day, night, and tomorrow. You stay here,’ he slid down the side of the scaffold, ordering as he went, ‘If it changes again, copy it, changes again, copy it, changes again, copy it.’ Casha reached bottom, ‘What are you to do?’
‘Copy the inscription.’
‘Good!’ The priest pointed upward.
‘Shouldn’t you eat? Or rest?’
‘No time. Shutdown in two days, or didn’t you hear?’ He darted inside the annex, slapping the cow skin out of his way.
‘I heard,’ Lano said quietly, he looked up at Kalisthea, ‘but do you remember?’ He considered pending an official inquiry but her response would only rattle the petitioners, and everyone else within earshot, so he resigned himself to staring at the inscription. The first word was spelled, P - O - W - E - R, ‘Power,’ Lano said. On a whim he said, ‘Oh great and wise Kalisthea, define; power.’
‘Welcome, User Ku’Lano. Power, noun, capacity for action. Synonym, strength. Any other inquiries?’ Kalisthea’s voice rippled over the village and thrummed inside Lano’s chest. The scaffold rattled against the stone.
‘Wise Kalisthea, what is power low?’
‘Query unclear, try again.’
‘Apologies for my inexactitude, please define; power low.’
‘A lack of strength.’
‘What use is strength to an immortal god? What use is strength to a statue?’ Ku’Lano muttered.
‘Query unclear.’
‘Apologies O Wise One, User Ku’Lano finished.’
‘Goodbye.’
‘What is the strength of the world?’ Lano stared at the last word as he thought of the first. S - O - U - R - C - E. ‘Source, wait we do know that one,’ he was thankful he’d figured out how the letters sounded so he could say them. Most acolytes never managed to figure out the little scratches on the statue and only those that could would be considered as successor priests. ‘A river has a source, but what does that have to do with strength?’ He lay down on the scaffold, drumming his fingers against the wood. ‘Power has a source but it has become detached, in some way? How do we reattach it and what to?’ He sighed and sat up. He knelt and looked up at Kalisthea, ‘O Everwise One, what is the Source of your Power?’
‘I thought you had finished, User Ku’Lano.’
‘Apologies, Kalisthea, but there are more questions beyond are usual ken.’
‘I have no source of power for I am infinite and regenerating as I am.’
That didn’t make sense, at least not in the way Lano understood the words. ‘But where does that infinite strength originate?’
‘Within me. I am self-sustaining and through my power so you become self-sustaining.’
It was as if She quoted from the earliest of Texts, that which were repeated every Gagano evening. ‘Okay, grant us with merciful knowledge, I beg of thee, what does ‘Power Low. Connect to Source.’ Mean?’
‘Query unclear, where did you find these words?’
‘The inscription on the base of your statue.’
‘I know not what you speak of, terminating log. Goodbye, User Ku’Lano.’
Kalisthea fell silent and the inscription faded to the blue tinge the rest of the ice-like stone was. ‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Ku’Lano pressed his hands to the stone but felt nothing as the letters slipped away. There was no response from the god, nor did new words appear.
‘Acolyte, what are you doing?’
‘The inscription vanished.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing has replaced it.’
‘Good job we copied it, keep watching,’ Casha disappeared back inside the annex.
Ku’Lano lay down on the scaffold, one eye on the sleek surface, and watched the wispy cloud dance across the cerulean sky. The revellers had the right of it, if the world was ending, the sun banished and the sky forever dark, then the only thing to do was admire the view in good company. Unfortunately, he was the acolyte and with that role came expectations, duty, a certain standard of behaviour, and right now that meant cloud-watching on high alert.
‘Shutdown in thirty-six hours,’ Kalisthea spoke with a softer, more gentle voice than usual, yet no less loud.
Ku’Lano waked with a jolt, the clouds had long gone leaving behind the cerulean sky in their wake, and the sun had risen high in the sky. The heat of midday bore down on him as he sat up. He’d forgotten his hat. With a yawn he checked the inscription. Nothing. Thankfully, and if he’d missed one then so be it. Perhaps it was fate. Thirty-six hours wasn’t long and while the fervent prayers of the petitioners still chimed it seemed Kalisthea was bound by fate as well. Could a god be bound by fate? Lano shook his head, such metaphysical rumination could be left till after the end of the world. If there was an after, in all likelihood this was it. But why now? There had been no warning, no prophecy, Kalisthea never prophesied and instead guided for the benefit of Her Users. So it had been for Ku’Lano, his parents, his grandparents, their grandparents, and their grandparents. The Texts contained entries from before that too, all dated using Kalisthea’s timepiece. One merely had to ask Her. If She stopped counting did time stop, would change cease? Or would the plants bud, grow, flower, fruit, and die just as before but in an ever present now? Lano shook his head, more metaphysical considerations for after the Shutdown. End of the world or not, the weather still needed to be predicted, the auspicious times and future days known for the smiths, carpenters, and crafters of all stripes, along with hopeful couples choosing a wedding day and newly weds hoping for children. The world marched on, prophesied end or not.
Ku’Lano slid down the side of the scaffold and headed out to the annex. Smoke rose from the base of the hill, the smell of roasting meat rising with it. A petitioner had sacrificed an ewe, a ritual not seen for a century, perhaps it would restore strength to the source, to Kalisthea, but Lano had his doubts. It was Her instruction that led to end of the practice for, “She does not want for material sustenance,” the Texts recorded. He slipped between the tent flaps and was buffetted by a raucous snoring. Casha, priest and interpreter of Kalisthea, lay hunched over a mess of papers, scrolls, and bound Texts. A silver riverlet of drool wound over the page of Sa’Pul’s accounts from two-hundred years ago. Lano padded across the annex, careful not to make a sound, to recover his journal and ink. He darted back out and clambered up the scaffold. Casha could sleep, the end was prophesied and stooping over books wouldn’t prevent it.
Lano began with the weather. Clear, warm, humid, perfect for the crops, for outdoors work, and much more. ‘Wise One, how’s the weather?’
‘Clear. Temperature is 28. Rain is detected three-hundred miles west, moving fast. Light showers expected tomorrow. Anything else, User Ku’Lano?’
‘I wish to know the movement of the stars, my measurements last night suggest a series of inauspicious days ahead and beyond. Ulsus is shadowed by Mensis, while Peragus has halted. Everwise One are my observations correct?’
‘They are. The planets are aligning with Helon at the head signifying a period of disturbance. It would be prudent to settle all affairs in the next thirty-six hours and prepare for a time of strife. It is yet unclear when this period will end.’
Lano read over the prior weeks predictions, each day had grown progressively worse. It had started with an unlucky day, then two, then a disastrous day, and now a time of strife. ‘Does any of this have a connection with the Shutdown?’
‘Query unclear, please try again.’
Lano sighed and tapped his quill against the page, he had expected that answer but it still disappointed. He distracted himself with the other one-hundred and twenty daily observations, beginning with harvest and finishing with the growth of the White Tree.
Ku’Lano stood a mile beyond the walls of the village to measure the strength of the wind. That word again. Strength; power, and what was the source of the wind’s power? He squinted against the brightness of the setting sun to admire the waving fields of wheat and barley that lay to the west and north. To the south the cattle grazed in fields marked out with dry stone walls, to the east was the village, the mighty tower that enclosed it shimmering in the sunlight. Ku’Lano had no knowledge of what the tower had been, nor why it was hollow. Kalisthea only knew it had once been larger and had many, what She called ‘decks’, but what Lano knew to mean floors. Decks implied a ship but the sea was thousands of miles away, few traders with tales of the endless frothing waters made it so far inland. Ku’Lano let out a sorrowful sigh. The snow capped mountains to the far north were beautiful and he hoped to climb them one day, the endless flat plains to the west were soothing and he knew other settlements were out there that may have their own gods or be receptive to Kalisthea’s teachings and guidance. To the south, beyond the cattle fields, was the sea, eventually, that too he wished to see but that would be enough. The land was beautiful and he would mourn it when all was swallowed up, cast into darkness, Shutdown, if he was around to mourn, if he wasn’t then who would remember that there was once beauty?
Ku’Lano made a note of the wind, growing in strength and bringing with it rain, or so Kalisthea had predicted. He descended the mound of grass and began the mile trek back to the village. Half way back he heard Her speak, ‘Shutdown in thirty hours.’ She had spoken every hour since the thirty-sixth, why that number he didn’t know and nor did Casha the Priest. Panic had begun to spread amongst the petitioners when Lano left. Bo-La’Casha slept, awaking every hour to her pronouncement. Each time the crowd of petitioners grew in number and volume. The sacrificial ewe had garnered no response.
Ku’Lano returned to a throng of Users surrounding Bo-La’Casha, pestering him with unanswerable questions and queries better delivered to Kalisthea, which was the priests job. He assuaged them as best he could but nothing worked. Even those who had spent the last days revelling with friends and being merry had begun to join the crowd at the base of Her Hill. He jostled and slunk through the men and women, children clung to skirts and sitting on shoulders, till he found Bo-La’Casha, his hair a nest and his feet caked in dirt.
‘Go home! Go home and wait. Pray, surround yourself with loved ones and prepare yourselves spiritually for the Shutdown. Make peace with those you haven’t, contemplate your misbehaviours, consider charity in these final moments,’ Casha bellowed. ‘Go home! The acolyte and I will petition Her until we receive an answer.’
‘Is that it? We are meant to sit here and wait for the end?’ A man near the back shouted. A good thirty others joined in a chorus of affirmation for the question.
‘What do you hope shouting at me is going to accomplish?’ Casha spat.
The crowd grumbled.
‘All you’re doing is working yourselves up into a frenzy when that energy could be used for good—‘
Ku’Lano scanned the crowd, the priest’s voice faded to the background, and soon his eyes settled on Kalisthea high above them all. Before his eyes the ice-like stone turned dark red and white text appeared with a large symbol below it. ‘Priest Casha, there’s a new inscription.’
Bo-La’Casha twitched, ‘Go home!’ He shouted again and again, waving with his arms to shoo the people away. Most went, a few remained. Those who remained prayed or shouted up at their god, not that She’d respond to anyone. The earliest Text taught them only two could commune directly with Kalisthea at once, no more; why was never explained. The priest shooed the last woman away who wasn’t praying and finally looked up to the inscription, ‘Why are you here? Get up there and copy it,’ he clapped twice.
Ku’Lano ran up the Hundred Steps and scaled the scaffold in three leaps. His charcoal and paper remained from before and he hurriedly jotted down the words and symbol. The words were familiar, yet slightly changed — ‘Power Critical! Connect to Source.’ Beneath them was a large triangle with a line and a dot, like the shape after ‘Critical’. That mark clearly meant danger or attention. From there he figured the word critical meant worse than low, something of vital importance. That much had been obvious before so why had She felt the need to stress the situation? If the Users knew what the Source was they’d connect to it, but they didn’t and Kalisthea suffered from amnesia, unable to answer questions.
‘Shutdown in twenty-nine hours.’
Darkness had befallen the village and Ku’Lano left the copy of the inscription in the annex. Bo-La’Casha saw stooped over a Text and offered a grunt as thanks. Lano went home and fell into his bed.
‘Shutdown in twenty-eight hours.’
Ku’Lano awoke to the hourly pronouncement, ‘Shutdown in twenty hours.’ He’d woken to three of the eight calls throughout the night and there had always been the sounds of reverent prayer, sacrifices, and merriment. At least the people had listened to Casha the Priest, mostly, instead of hectoring him with unanswerable questions. Somehow Lano knew he wouldn’t be sleeping until Shutdown, he didn’t relish the thought of twenty hours awake so he turned over and attempted to snooze a while longer.
‘Shutdown in eighteen hours.’
Ku’Lano rolled over to find Bo-La’Casha crouched in the centre of his tent. The old priest picked his teeth unaware Lano was awake. ‘What do you need?’ Lano croaked.
‘You’re finally awake. Never known an acolyte to sleep so much. Everyone’s doing my head in. Too many questions and now they’re drunk too.’
‘You did tell them to make merry.’
‘Yes, away from me,’ he snarled and hung his head.
‘No luck I take it?’
‘Not a little. Three hundred years of Texts and nothing about any Shutdown or Power Critical or Source. Not a thing. The older Texts are sealed away for their own preservation. Come,’ he rose to his full height and swaggered outside. ‘Now, acolyte.’
Ku’Lano jumped out of bed and found his robes quickly. By the time he made it outside Casha was halfway to the gate. He chased after the priest, ‘Hang on, where are they stored?’
‘Come with and you’ll find out, no need to tell you.’
There was no use arguing so Ku’Lano followed his teacher out of the village and around the outer wall of iron. A quarter of the way around the outside they came upon a door with numbered buttons on it and a big wheel. Casha inputted a long series of digits in rapid succession, something clicked, and he span the wheel twice anti-clockwise. The door popped open a couple inches and only after considerable effort from the pair did it open fully. Lano followed the priest inside the dark and dry chamber, the air was different, thinner than outside, and the ground was barren. ‘What is this place?’
‘Longterm storage… mind where you step,’ Bo-La’Casha fumbled around in the dark knocking over objects left and right until his hands settled on a small metal box. ‘Help me with this.’
‘But it’s so small,’ Lano attempted to lift it one handed but couldn’t. ‘What is it made of?’
‘No idea, let’s get it outside and open it up,’ his voice was strained as he lifted his side of the box no wider than a plate. They set it on the ground as the sun began to rise to midday for the last time. The black box was a shadow, no light reflected off it, and nothing could smudge its surface. Bo-La’Casha reached around his neck and pulled out a key on a long chain from beneath his robes. A quarter turn and the box popped open, resting inside were four thick tomes, Casha reached for them and the pages turned to dust in his hands. He gasped, ‘No! No!’ He punched the dirt, flattening a dandelion, it’s little yellow petals breaking against his knuckles. ‘That Text was six-hundred years old,’ Casha tentatively pressed his finger into another tome, the cover melted beneath his touch. His finger was stained grey. ‘There’s nothing for us here…’ he shut the box. Kano shut the door to the storage chamber and the pair returned to Her Hill, the heavy lockbox left in the dirt.
‘Shutdown in sixteen hours,’ Kalisthea called throughout the village. A family huddled at the side of the road, twin girls crying into their mother’s skirts. Three men across the way were singing drinking songs about adventuring towards the horizon and saving the woman of their dreams. A group of boys were fighting with sticks, their fathers watching ashen faced. A hundred or more people ringed Her Hill, their hands clenched as they feverishly prayed for salvation.
Ku’Lano climbed the Hundred Steps in Bo-La’Casha’s shadow wondering if there would be a prelude to the end, a darkening of the skies, an earthquake, something that signified it was time. Speculation was a waste for he would live it soon enough, the mystery would be unmasked, all he had to do was wait. Perhaps Kalisthea would save them at the last, as the Shutdown fell upon them She would emerge from her statue and rescue Her Users. She had guided them thus far, for centuries, why would that change now?
‘Shutdown in fifteen hours.’
‘Shutdown in twelve hours.’
‘Shutdown in eight hours.’
‘Shutdown in three hours.’
Time ground to a halt. Bo-La’Casha had ceased his reading and returned to sleeping in the last of the afternoon sun. It seemed Shutdown would correlate with dusk, a fitting time if any. Ku’Lano sat atop the scaffold overlooking the village with the inscription behind him. It hadn’t changed. Power was still Critical; a lack of strength, of vitality, could kill a man. Wasting disease was serious yet the statue bore no signs of illness, the stone was impervious and perfect as ever, besides who ever heard of a god becoming sick. Ku’Lano snorted and felt the weight of survival lift from his shoulders, the sun dipped beneath the lowest of the great openings in the wall.
‘Shutdown in two hours.’
Lano watched families gather together for a final time. Two brothers, their grievances known by the whole village, made peace with one another, while a mother and daughter held each other, crying over some half-forgotten insult. Children continued to play, though with less vigour as the Users had sunken under a torrid and sombre cloud. The sky darkened, heralding the Shutdown, all the birds sang and the cows mooed. If it was the end the animals were blissfully ignorant. Ku’Lano wondered if other villages knew, had their own gods warned them in their own way or were the Users the only group cursed with knowledge of the Shutdown. He slid down the side of the scaffold and joined Bo-La’Casha on the highest of the Hundred Steps.
‘Aren’t you going to find your family?’
‘My mother died last season, she was the last one. My elder brothers all succumbed to the wasting disease two summers back.’
‘I remember, I lost a daughter. The other married a trader and they travel the world, haven't seen her in… oh, fifteen years. You never told me about your mother, did you conduct the funeral?’
‘I did, out on the hill I observe the wind from. You were sleeping when we set the pyre, surprised you didn’t know, half the village was out there.’
Casha smiled to himself, ‘I’ve been priest a long time, there’s a… distance that grows between me and everyone else. My predecessor didn’t suffer with it but he was a very different priest to me, I don’t know why he chose me to succeed him. I’m thankful though, otherwise I’d be working the fields still and I despised trudging up and down those fields. You’d make a good priest I think, though you need to talk to that lot more. Either care or be aloof, don’t be in the middle.’
‘Are those your wise words?’
‘They are words, I never said they were wise.’ They sat in silence for a while.
‘Shutdown in one hour,’ Kalisthea’s voice was as calm as ever.
‘Nothing to do but wait,’ Casha leaned back on his elbows and stared up at the evening sky. The brightest of the stars began to shine even though the sun had not yet fully set. The moon too was full and bright. ‘Auspicious moon, inauspicious stars. There’s a war in the heavens.’
‘Kalisthea said nothing about a war but she did say to prepare for a time of strife.’
‘Time of strife? I’d say we unprepared for that. Had the Shutdown been after harvest then maybe but the granary’s practically empty and the lambs haven’t been born yet. Ah well, can’t plan a time of strife.’
‘Shutdown in forty-five minutes.’
‘I feel calm,’ Casha said.
‘I’m all nerves,’ Lano said. ‘I’d rarely considered I wouldn’t see my future and now that I know the end is here I regret all that wasted time.’
‘Wasted time? You’re still young, imagine how much wasted time I have to look back on! How many sins went unrepented, how many feuds went unresolved, some of those I argued with are dead, no reconciliation possible. I’m not focussing on that, not now, remember the good times, meet the Shutdown with a gladdened heart.’
‘Shutdown in thirty minutes.’
Ku’Lano nodded at the sage words. The last of the sunlight vanished from the sky and night descended, the crickets in the field still sounded, louder than ever, but the village sat in a strange contented silence. All the panic and fear had gone, the singing ceased, the merriment had become leisurely. Many still prayed, silently, but most watched the sky. Why everyone expected something to happen from the sky, Lano didn’t know, or perhaps it was to bask in the beauty of the firmament. He prayed someone would survive to remember the beauty of the world, someone, anyone.
‘Shutdown in fifteen minutes,’ Kalisthea announced. Her words were followed by a siren and a flash of light. Her eyes began to glow white, then red, then white in a sequence, the red shining when the siren blared.
‘I suppose this is it,’ Bo-La’Casha said between the high pitched whines. ‘Nothing to be done now,’ he gazed up at the stars.
Users across the village gasped and shouted, babies cried, but after the initial shock everyone looked to the sky. Save the babes, they continued to cry. Ku’Lano’s heart raced yet he was frozen in place. There was nothing to be done. Perhaps if they’d had more warning or a means of quickly travelling, though that required the Shutdown to be limited and there was no reason to think the warnings of a god would be limited in scope. Again his mind wandered to questions that were no help to him. He looked to the sky and sighed with appreciation for the stars, their movements predicting a time of strife.
‘Shutdown in ten minutes.’
There was no star shower, no change of night sky, no tremble of the land, no bright light, merely the dulcet sounds of the night. Owls whistled, the wind rustled through the wheat and barley, and the crickets continued their never ending chorus.
‘Shutdown in five minutes.’
Would he of lived differently if he’d known he would die young? Ku’Lano didn’t think so, though he would have spent more time with his family, especially his siblings. He would have approached Mo’Sha years before she’d gotten married to Fe’Ren and he would have hiked the snow capped mountains to the north, like his father had in his youth. He did not regret his life but only wished to have lived it more fully.
‘Shutdown in ten. Nine. Eight. Seven,’ the siren wailed after each number, a prelude to the end.
‘Six.’
‘Five.’
‘Four.’
‘Three.’
‘Two.’
‘One.’
A great echoing whine emanated from Kalisthea. Her eyes faded back to stone and the inscription with it. The crickets ceased their chorus and the wind fell still and there was silence. Infinite silence.
Minutes passed before Ku’Lano found his feet and stared up at Her, ‘Oh Wise and Merciful Kalisthea! What are we to do?’
There was no reply.
Ku’Lano shivered, his heart raced. ‘Try again,’ Bo-La’Casha whispered.
‘Everwise One, has the Shutdown occurred?’ The night sky remained as it was, there was no great fire or earthquake, the horizon remained intact.
There was no reply.
‘She saved us!’ A man bellowed. ‘Kalisthea thwarted the Shutdown!’ Faint murmurs of agreement roused the Users.
‘Kalisthea! What of the heavens?’ Ku’Lano queried.
There was no reply.
‘What are we going to do?’ A woman cried. ‘Without Her we cannot go on!’ Greater murmurs of agreement wormed through the villagers. Kalisthea had been judge, predictor, guide, and protector for centuries.
Ku’Lano leapt atop the scaffold and yelled for attention. ‘We will go on! Kalisthea has given Herself for us. She has protected us and now we must spread the word. Our Texts will guide us. Our priest can guide us. We can choose judges who are well versed in Her guidance, appoint astrologians who are versed in the movements of the firmament! We can go on! We must go on! For Her sake, for She has died while we have lived and now we must live for Her! She lives on in Us!’
Thank you for reading, you’re the best.