The Tower
Standing at the edge of the canyon,
its crest wreathed in swirling clouds of fog
the tower looms on the plain,
incongruous, like blood on a bridal gown.
Zedar has come to investigate.
As Grand Sovereign of the New Republic
he takes his responsibilities seriously,
and besides, he wants to take charge of this
mission personally, to remove all doubt
concerning his effectiveness as a leader.
Not much is known about the tower.
It is an architectural curiosity, constructed
from sheets of metal and wood with ornamental
granite buttresses. Built in the Seventh Epoch
it was thought by some to have religious significance,
but Zedar thought it might be used for munitions storage
for the Deviants to mount attacks against Moqaffa.
The monolith intrigues him.
It sucks him in and swallows him whole.
Feeling his way he finds a staircase
spiraling upward, disappearing into darkness.
He begins to climb.
One, two, three, four...
Compelled by his native curiosity he makes his way
slowly, stumbling frequently. The walls are cold
and slimy to his touch. A rat skitters by his feet,
and he is conscious of a low murmuring sound
that he cannot explain. Up and up he goes.
The darkness takes away his sense of time and space,
until he isn't sure how long he has been climbing.
He doesn't like the feeling of confinement, the feeling
that he is out of control, so he is relieved when
at last he reaches the top.
He marks his ascent:
three hundred twenty-two steps.
There is no means of egress, no relief
from his persistent feeling of claustrophobia.
He rests for a while to regain his strength
for the downward journey. More accustomed now
to his environment his thoughts turn to his plans
for the Deviants; the thought transference seminars
and the mind control experiments on Deviant children.
They had come so far in establishing control that there
was little resistance now, only a few guerrillas out here
on the plain, making trouble with their war wagons
and their insistence on insurgence.
His thoughts return to the the matter at hand
as he feels himself nearing the ground. He has found
nothing to concern him in the tower's bleak interior.
In his anxiety to be free of its constricting hold
he has forgotten the upward step count.
It doesn't really matter anyway...
as if the Deviants could outmaneuver him...
he continues his descent,
three hundred twenty-three,
three hundred twenty-four,
three hundred twenty-five...
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2015
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