PART FIVE: CHAPTER ONE

David

I awoke in a new world with my back resting against the slim trunk of a silver birch, its gleaming white bark pierced with diamond-shaped fissures of deep ebony. My mind was wonderfully cleared of the debris of my earthly existence, or so it seemed; my awareness was on another level, and I was possessed of new knowledge. Not only was the tree the original form of the silver birch, but it was also the living template for every silver birch that ever existed.

Dressed in a simple toga, with a cool breeze playing about my bare legs, I was home, resting in the foothills of a steep mountain, part of a range of glorious peaks that resembled a pantheon of Greek gods gazing down on the world beneath.

The light was of such clarity that I could see the smallest detail in all that surrounded me; even the grass beneath my feet was the miracle of complexity and colour I first saw as a copy in an illusion.

Hearing a cry above me, I stood to watch a convocation of eagles of the original creation soaring across the blue sky. Effortlessly riding the rising currents of warm air, their bills were like beaten gold, and their feathers were fringed with vanes of barbs.

The summits of the mountain range, thousands of feet high, were unsullied with snow or ice and home to grass pastures and dense forests. In the lower reaches were the original templates of pine and spruce, and the grass that covered the slopes was more verdant than any other, though I still remember a cultivation of almost equal perfection in the Arcadian splendour of The Grove.

Cutting through these green prairies were scarlet dream rivers, great swathes of red corn poppies that bordered the path to the summit. In the heat of the sun, the abundant milky sap of these luscious red plants exudes a natural intoxicant, and I breathed in the fragrance. Climbing the steep path without effort, I come to a horizontal plateau, like a rampart, jutting out from the mountainside. Rooted in the loamy earth of this living bulwark were seven magnificent oak trees with bark like weathered ivory and a troop of watchful knights, ever vigilant against the return of the outcasts.

The great variety of birds that flew close by were of gorgeous plumage and supremely graceful in flight. Some smaller birds resembled grand versions of the common sparrow. No longer the brown and bedraggled street urchins, denizens of the smoky cities of Earth, the birds were clad in coats of gleaming bronze and flew through the tall trees of wild and uncultivated forests as defenders of the realm, wings shining like burnished shields in the dazzling sunlight.

A train of brightly hued canaries skimmed across the blue sky behind them, leaving slipstreams of brilliant yellow to mark their passage. But all was not motion, and down below, smugly complacent green and blue budgerigars sat like lines of festive bunting on the skeletal branches of thin and angular trees.

The perfect geometric symmetry of these silver sculptures was cast by a hand well-versed in eternal mathematical laws. The hybrid forms that bridged the gap between the inanimate were a tribute to the elegance of an ordered governance that allowed not only the creation of stars but also the emergence of conscious observers to wonder at their glow.

Tired now, I rested my body at the foot of the tree whilst my unfettered mind galloped exuberantly on like a colt brimming over with joy at its first sight of a meadow of spring flowers. When I awaken, a voice bids me rise to my feet, and I do so.

Even though I have little curiosity about the past, I am told that the full account of my journey must be heard before I become as one with the eternal present of the transcendent realm. Seeing little point, now that my journey is complete, I am promised that the telling will soon be done.

"You are safe now, David. Rest with us. All will soon become clear; calm your mind and listen. When the truth is revealed, you may choose to stay." 

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My brief period of tranquillity in this most fortunate of worlds has ended, and my mind is in turmoil. The voice has gone silent, but his words still resonate with meaning. Consumed by restlessness and unable to stay seated, I rise to my feet and walk away from the silver birch. The relief of finally arriving at my spiritual home has vanished. I have a decision to make. Has my journey ended, or do I fight on?

Surrounded by such ethereal beauty, it is not difficult to calm myself, and the rhythmic thud of my feet on the path down the mountain helps bring order to my thoughts. The battle for supremacy between man and machines has swung in our favour, but there is a far deeper conflict to be resolved.

Human consciousness is the product of a natural universe, but the machines have a master who seeks to change their governance and replace it with the cold logic of inanimate matter, machines that have the appearance of life but lack a spiritual core or code of morality.

I am offered the leadership of an army of The Good against the evil that threatens to destroy us. It is to be a physical contest on an immaterial plane, and the result is binding and irrevocable.

Whilst in this world, it was hard to believe the existence of evil, but we were fighting for the continuance of the perfect realm and just governance by the spiritual power of The Good.

I will take up the challenge.

With the decision came a great feeling of relief. The cooling breeze on my face carried the scent of flowers, and above me. The snow-capped mountain peaks were a breathtaking sight against the icy blue of a cloudless sky.

I had now reached the foothills of the mountain, and I saw a figure waiting below.

 I approached and saw that it was a Tribus, come to be my guide.