Jon Messenger: Burden of Sisyphus

“I thought that was mandatory.” Ainj sidled up to Nova. “I thought the Voice forced Wyndgaarts to go through the ritual at a certain age.”

“How much do you know about the Voice?” Seeing only a few sheepish shrugs, he tried to explain. “All Wyndgaarts are born with the Voice already part of their genetic programming. Held within that complex genetic code are the memories of centuries of warriors who came before us. For most Wyndgaarts, it’s an honor to merge with your Voice and accept the memories of your ancestors, but the merge changes a person.

“Suddenly, the weight and responsibility of hundreds of years rests solely within the confines of our mind. As much as it’s a badge of honor to most, it’s not a requirement among us. For those who are willing to pursue different courses in life, you can find loopholes in one’s predisposition, means by which a Wyndgaart can break from his genetic coding and enact his own version of free will.”

“You make it sound like your race is held hostage by the Voice,” Yen said. “I thought it was an honor to go through Initiation.”

“It is for those who are willing. There has never been a greater experience for me than Initiation and finally fusing with my Voice, but that path isn’t for people like Keryn. They have too much potential to wind up like me, a gunslinger fighting on the front lines. She deserves more from life. If all goes well, she’ll never be exposed to the kind of danger we see every day.”

‘Will you slow down?” Bellini yelled, as Keryn passed within inches of a coral pillar.

In response, she accelerated, driving the hovercraft wildly between the coral pillars that jutted in rising spires from the surface of the cool, blue water. Tossing her head back and letting the wind whip through her flowing silver hair, she laughed and decelerated. As the hovercraft drifted onto the pearly beach, she cut the engine and let it settle gently to the sand.

“You’re insane!” Bellini’s heart pounded in her chest.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy yourself,” Keryn teased, sliding off the side of the hovercraft and smiling as gritty sand crunched underfoot. Closing her eyes, she tipped back her head to let warm sun soak into the red and purple tattoos tracing her barely concealed body.

“If I ever join the military”, Bellini said, disrupting Keryn’s sunning, “I hope I never wind up with you as my pilot. I can only imagine what you’ll do to a spaceship.”

“That much power at my fingertips.” Keryn ran her index finger along her best friend’s blue-and-green tattooed arm. “That’s exciting.”

Bellini knocked away her hand and smiled. “I’ll miss you, Keryn. I know it’s corny and childish, but you’re actually leaving the planet, so I may never see you again.”

Keryn looked at her friend sympathetically. “You’re right. That’s really corny.”

Bellini shoved her playfully, as they began their long walk up the stairwell to the houses built precariously atop the coral rise.

“I know you leave tomorrow, and you still have to pack,” Bellini said, as they climbed the winding stairs, “but promise me….”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be there tonight. Just because I’m not going through it doesn’t mean I won’t be there to witness your Initiation.”

Bellini smiled despite herself before rushing ahead. “I have a ton to do before tonight. See you there.”

“See you tonight!” Keryn called, as Bellini disappeared over the crest of the stairs and hurried home.

Keryn didn’t want to admit it, but she truly would miss her friend. They’d been friends nearly since birth. Both families were deeply involved in off-world trade negotiations, which resulted in the children traveling in similar social circles. For sixteen years, Keryn grew comfortable with the familiar surroundings of Lagurica, the Wyndgaart home world. The thought of leaving for the Fleet Academy on Arcendor simultaneously excited and terrified her. She traveled off world only once with her parents but never left their galaxy. She hated to admit it, but she didn’t know what she was getting into.

Pondering her future, Keryn strolled the rest of the way home and went in to change clothes for the evening and to pack for the rest of her life.

Religious figures carved from the pink and pale-blue coral that encompassed the staircase encircled Keryn, as she climbed the last few stairs to the shrine’s flattened plateau. Male and female figure sat entwined, their legs wrapped around one another while their hands held the typical martial weapons of Wyndgaart warriors-knives, axes, and spears. Keryn looked away from the carvings, disturbed by their perverse amalgamation of sex and war. Their imagery reminded her of the Initiation to come, and a lump of fear swelled in her bosom.

As she neared the rise, a pounding beat reverberated through her, and wild drums kept a steady rhythm in the clearing beyond. Though the moon was covered by clouds threatening rain, a soft glow was cast upon her face, and she finally entered the shrine. The glow, reflecting off two sets of elevated seats that stretched left and right, came from hundreds of small wax candles placed along the waist-high wall surrounding the open-air amphitheater.

Keryn stepped beyond the elevated seats until she reached a set of stairs that wound through the audience and would take her to her place among the already-burgeoning crowd. Her hand resting on the railing, she paused at the base of the stairs. Beyond the short wall, the shrine dropped off to crashing waves below. Candlelight illuminated a sandy stage, where a row of annual Initiates stood. Keryn caught Bellini’s eyes, as she looked over the Initiates, each clothed only in white wrappings wound repeatedly and tightly around their bodies.

Pulling up the end of the silky dress she wore for the occasion, Keryn climbed the steep stairs and found a seat among the throng of spectators. Though respectful silence blanketed the shrine, Keryn saw her own concern mirrored in many of the gathered faces.

There’s no reason for you to hide in the stands, a soft Voice whispered in the back of her mind. Take your place of honor among the other Initiates.

Keryn smoothed her soft lavender dress and acted as if the Voice didn’t exist. Ignoring the whispers in her mind, she found her eyes trained on the pathway across from her, through which the Schoolmaster would soon enter. Part of her yearned to cast off her feminine dress and join her friends in the ritual circle, but she knew that a large part of those desires came not from her own wants but from those of the Voice.

Keryn struggled since puberty to identify and separate her own emotions from those of the Voice, to make her own path instead of having it dictated by an invasive presence within her mind. It was a constant battle, one she hoped she could continue to win, as she attended the Fleet Academy.

The drums built to a crashing crescendo. Keryn’s heart beat in rhythm with the pulsing drums, as an elderly Wyndgaart emerged from the pathway opposite the raised seats. As the Schoolmaster raised his weathered hands, the drums ceased pounding, and the shrine was cast into silence, save for the thunderous crashing of waves below.

“May the sun strengthen your body, as the waves strengthen your soul,” he began in traditional prayer.

“There’s power in the Voice,” the audience replied in unison.

Keryn mouthed the words without speaking them, knowing it was better to remain silent than blaspheme within the Shrine of Initiation. She never followed the organized religion of her people as blindly as most expected of the younger generation. Her voiced dissent was one of the primary reasons she found herself sitting among the spectators instead of taking her place as an Initiate.