Read Online The Soul Consortium by Simon West-Bulford - Free Book Online
Authors: Simon West-Bulford
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and it is, but such wonder can be found in the heart of any man, woman, or child; one has only to look into their eyes to see it. No, not look—one must wallow, breathe, drink,
gorge
on the moments given.
I look deeper into the vagrant’s eyes and see beyond. As dark as apocalypse night, as deep as death’s abyss, I drift down and allow my will to follow. There is nothing darker, nothing more consuming than the soul, and as if the goddess desired to make this plain to all who chose to see, that circle of black is ringed by a myriad of colored fibers, a million spokes pointing to the deep. A marvel like no other is the eye.
His muscles are stiff like stone under my grip, the body odor intensifying, and though I sense the connection, there is no epiphany for him yet. But I will not lose heart. I have not failed any of Fate’s tests so far, and this one will be no exception. She has been a faithful goddess—always rewarding my desire with new souls to un-wrap—and we will be face-to-face soon. There I will gaze into her eyes and know sweet satisfaction forever. She has teased me too long. Like a drop of wine touched to the end of my tongue, I have tasted this bliss many times but never long enough to savor completely. Taste is not enough. To drink is not enough. I want to swim in it,
drown
in it.
A low moan escapes my subject’s lips. Still he does not feel it, even as I feel the cold poison in my veins. Wet slivers tremble on the rims of his lower lids as his eyes say stop. But I can’t and I won’t. The taste is too close now to break away, the perfect circle that shields the human soul holds me—the hollow with its hunger never satisfied, eating my mind, howling for more. Or is that the whoosh of my heart thudding through my ears like a boat master driving his slaves?
Through my delirium I hear the creak of the door, catch the flap of a black coat in my peripheral vision, feel the cold breeze of a body passing by our side, and my successor is ripped from me as he looks to my right, his eyes widening with an even greater terror than I could instill. And now the smell! Formaldehyde overwhelming the stench of sweat. I should have known Keitus Vieta would come here at the end. But no matter. My only regret is that I learned nothing more about him, but that doesn’t matter, either. Fate is whom I serve. She comes now with her reward—the circle of black is exchanged for its white negative, and I drop forward, hardly noticing the floorboards as they slap my cheek. A tunnel of godly light engulfs me.
Come, Fate. I am ready for your embrace.
SALEM BEN
FOUR
C
ome! Rescue me, my goddess. I am stripped naked of my soul, soaring through the white void waiting for my reward—in death I am yours. If I still had a beating heart I would tear it from my chest to place it on your altar. Where are you?
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
That voice—so familiar. “Goddess?”
Cold steel tightens against my skin as something restrains my wrists and ankles. Or is it just the return of sensation? Hair-thin wires retracting from my skull. The light of oblivion fades, and shadowy orbs bloom before me as my surroundings take shape. The entrance to the WOOM opens before me like a bloodless wound stretching its lips to welcome the real world, and beyond, a plethora of tiny slits covering the curved wall, each sheltering a single soul. All is washed in sweeping emerald luminescence.
“Goddess?” the voice echoes in mild amusement. “You missed me, Salem. I’m touched.”
“No! No! I’m Orson … Roth.” I clench my fists, pull at the restraints. I am violated, deceived. Fate has been cheated too. This is not the afterlife I expected. Instead of the goddess there is … Qod.
“I am pleased to tell you that whatever the aberration was in Orson Roth’s life, it has had no lasting effect on your physiology or mental stability. Your current confusion will pass as it always does.”
“Let me
gorge
on the moments given.
I look deeper into the vagrant’s eyes and see beyond. As dark as apocalypse night, as deep as death’s abyss, I drift down and allow my will to follow. There is nothing darker, nothing more consuming than the soul, and as if the goddess desired to make this plain to all who chose to see, that circle of black is ringed by a myriad of colored fibers, a million spokes pointing to the deep. A marvel like no other is the eye.
His muscles are stiff like stone under my grip, the body odor intensifying, and though I sense the connection, there is no epiphany for him yet. But I will not lose heart. I have not failed any of Fate’s tests so far, and this one will be no exception. She has been a faithful goddess—always rewarding my desire with new souls to un-wrap—and we will be face-to-face soon. There I will gaze into her eyes and know sweet satisfaction forever. She has teased me too long. Like a drop of wine touched to the end of my tongue, I have tasted this bliss many times but never long enough to savor completely. Taste is not enough. To drink is not enough. I want to swim in it,
drown
in it.
A low moan escapes my subject’s lips. Still he does not feel it, even as I feel the cold poison in my veins. Wet slivers tremble on the rims of his lower lids as his eyes say stop. But I can’t and I won’t. The taste is too close now to break away, the perfect circle that shields the human soul holds me—the hollow with its hunger never satisfied, eating my mind, howling for more. Or is that the whoosh of my heart thudding through my ears like a boat master driving his slaves?
Through my delirium I hear the creak of the door, catch the flap of a black coat in my peripheral vision, feel the cold breeze of a body passing by our side, and my successor is ripped from me as he looks to my right, his eyes widening with an even greater terror than I could instill. And now the smell! Formaldehyde overwhelming the stench of sweat. I should have known Keitus Vieta would come here at the end. But no matter. My only regret is that I learned nothing more about him, but that doesn’t matter, either. Fate is whom I serve. She comes now with her reward—the circle of black is exchanged for its white negative, and I drop forward, hardly noticing the floorboards as they slap my cheek. A tunnel of godly light engulfs me.
Come, Fate. I am ready for your embrace.
SALEM BEN
FOUR
C
ome! Rescue me, my goddess. I am stripped naked of my soul, soaring through the white void waiting for my reward—in death I am yours. If I still had a beating heart I would tear it from my chest to place it on your altar. Where are you?
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
That voice—so familiar. “Goddess?”
Cold steel tightens against my skin as something restrains my wrists and ankles. Or is it just the return of sensation? Hair-thin wires retracting from my skull. The light of oblivion fades, and shadowy orbs bloom before me as my surroundings take shape. The entrance to the WOOM opens before me like a bloodless wound stretching its lips to welcome the real world, and beyond, a plethora of tiny slits covering the curved wall, each sheltering a single soul. All is washed in sweeping emerald luminescence.
“Goddess?” the voice echoes in mild amusement. “You missed me, Salem. I’m touched.”
“No! No! I’m Orson … Roth.” I clench my fists, pull at the restraints. I am violated, deceived. Fate has been cheated too. This is not the afterlife I expected. Instead of the goddess there is … Qod.
“I am pleased to tell you that whatever the aberration was in Orson Roth’s life, it has had no lasting effect on your physiology or mental stability. Your current confusion will pass as it always does.”
“Let me
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