They were in Florida, now, and a storm was going on. Moone and the Pontifex were huddled close together in a [shelter.] This storm was unnatural, unlike any Moone had seen before. It was slowing them down. They wouldn't be able to get to their objective, and there was a possibility they would also be tracked down, even with Moone's enhanced aura. [possibly searching for the fountain of youth, something to do with Mushroom Cloud's apparent living?] [what are they doing about the NOC list?] Keepses's aura had leaked off of Moone long ago.
There were three objectives now, that occupied his time and waking thoughts, thoughts that Moone could not escape now, trapped in a shelter with the Pontifex, who still gave Moone murderous glances now and again, and seemed to wrestle with himself to keep in control. Moone thought about Gef. Moone thought about Cloud. And Moone thought about the NOC list.
Gef hadn't been a traitor. Cloud had been alive. MacBeth had the NOC list. What did any of those mean? Those few hours at the summit had been [insane, full of surprising revelations,] and it was tough to work out his current feelings about anything. Much less about himself.
Cloud was alive, wasn't she? Moone thought back on his dreams the night before. If it truly were Cloud, then... she hadn't really died?
Moone thought back on the wound that had dropped her: it wasn't inconceivable people survived shots to the head, of course-- but the Cloud Moone had seen before falling through the portal had no scarring of any kind. What kind of herbalistics would be able to heal a wound like that? The bullet had no magical effects, as a ward against Moone, which meant that it wouldn't be particularly difficult to heal a wound from... Not a silver bullet, nor a bullet of cold iron, nor anything.
So it was conceivable that not only that had been the real Cloud back at the Pentagram, but that she had also actually died, just healed back to life while she was still only... mostly dead.
But if Cloud were alive, if that had been the real Cloud, her connection to Moone would still work. He hadn't actually gotten a chance to tell her the truth; that he hadn't-- what was it?-- killed the Secretary? That seemed so long ago now. A lifetime. And Moone had gotten it wrong anyway; he would have told Cloud that Gef had been the one responsible. In a sense, then, it was a good thing that Moone had been interrupted by Cloud's death, otherwise an innocent creature would have been wrongfully condemned.
But now Cloud was alive, and Moone had an opportunity to tell her the real truth. Was there a plan to do so? The agency would know that Cloud had an agreement with Moone, and that he'd be unable to lie to her. What would they do with this knowledge? Wouldn't they lead with it? Send Cloud out to contact Moone, her being alive, and use that to get the truth? But the agents back at the summit had shot to kill. MacBeth would be working actively against Moone-- not allow Cloud to speak to him whatsoever.
[Moone grows restless and talks to Pontifex about it.]
"There's a, silence. Like a ringing in my ears, you know? It's been, weeks, months, since anything's really attacked me at all. Not the way it used to. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I always thought it'd be inevitable. I... I'm having trouble describing it."
"You feel restless. You feel that the peace can't last."
"I didn't think it'd be something I'd miss, but. Here we are. It's like a Damocles sword hanging over my head. No action in a month and a half."
The Pontifex raised his eyebrows. "Mothman, he doesn't count? Or any of the agents at the summit?"
It was different. But how could he explain? Possibly speak how he truly felt? Moone shook his head and shied back, giving a "what you gonna do?" grimace. He opened his mouth to speak, but inhaled instead, and let it out as a sigh, the bottom of his lungs surprisingly wet. "Never mind."
[Moone brings up old werewolf friend, continuing to skirt around the issue, mentions full moon or something.]
"That's not how werewolves work."
"It's not?" Moone said, paling.
"The moon thing. It's how people think werewolves work, but it hasn't sunk deep enough into folklore for that to become a reality yet. It's only been around, 5 or 6 decades. The notion stems from one of the Wolfman sequels. Curse of, I think. It's already sunk into popular culture, but there hasn't been a generation born yet that has the curse work that way. There's no real genetic mechanism for it."
Moone considered this, and spoke shakily. "But werewolves, real werewolves, still do transform, though?"
"Of course."
This put Moone's mind at ease immensely. He mulled over the information, and how easily the Pontifex had brought it to mind. Moone marveled, as he realized he had a true expert in front of him the whole time, someone who knew how the world really operated, down to the foundations of magic at the bones of everything. Moone squinted, glad to be the one asking the questions this time. "So you're saying that, folklore controls the magic, instead of the other way around? I thought folklore was based off of magical occurrences and beings, and you're telling me..."
"Yes and no. They... they affect each other. Cause and effect, there's no difference, yes? Not in the Dreamtime. Religion is affected by actual supernatural occurrence; superstition causes supernatural occurrence. Folklores are superstitions. Nobody actually believes in werewolves, these modern conceptions, even when they picture the full moon in their mental image of werewolves. It requires actual belief to have an effect."
"And the fact that I believe in werewolves, because I know they exist, but have, superstitious misconceptions about them...?"
"Well, I wouldn't call your misconception superstition," Pontifex said with a wave of the hand. "But [etc.] [brings up briefly his own powers and how they fit into the belief thing.] It's what we were doing, in the Kabbalah. Controlling folklore, repressing minor belief systems from overthrowing our power structure. Belief is the most powerful force in the world- the Soviet States were technically atheist, but we managed to survive and thrive."
The Cabal. Moone hadn't thought of that in-- well, ever since going on the lam with the Pontifex, truthfully. It had crossed his mind once or twice, doubtlessly, but he hadn't given thought to it: they were still a threat, still out there somewhere. ["What was your role in the cabal? What do you do? How does your aura work? Who are you?"]
The Pontifex sat up, and leaned closer. "They call me the Pontifex. Do you know why?"
"Something about bridgebuilding, yeah?"
"But why do they say I'm a bridgebuilder, well. I'm a liaison between the human and the divine. My aura is something of a physical manifestation of the Axis Mundi. And it has the power to increase flow of power from the Source to our universe, wherever there’s a nozzle."
"And this source, it can be affected by belief?"
"The Source is... it's not a place, exactly. It's all places, all times. There are planes and realms- you've been on a few. The physical, the aural above that. Even higher above that is the Dreamtime, which is where creation itself is even now going on. And even that's only halfway to the Source. There's a reason they call this power supernatural; it comes from a place truly above our own."
Moone wasn't sure if the Pontifex's words were to be taken seriously, or if it was some sort of religious belief system that the Pontifex had. The discussion here, and the talk of the difference between religion and superstition earlier, reminded Moone of Mushroom Cloud's religious belief: she was a sorceress, a wielder of magic, and a believer in some ancient pagan power or deity-- but in practice, she was a Christian, because she knew that whatever reconstruction they'd be able to make of the ancient pagan worship would be flawed, and thus a mockery. Far safer to practice a religion correctly, even when she didn't believe everything in it, than it was to practice a religion she believed but knew she didn't have the correct practice or doctrine of.
Pontifex's words nonetheless made sense enough, though Moone feared that now he'd have to take everything he said with a grain of salt- and maybe he always did. Was this the way you've chosen to attack me? Through my beliefs, which I wouldn't dare to fight back against, being so starved for knowledge as I am? "I don't understand," Moone said aloud. "How would our human beliefs change something so high above us, then?"
"The Source doesn't change, itself; things come down from the source. We change our own environment, through the power of the Source. The Source is what transforms common objects into their mythical forms. Based on folklore, superstition, local belief. Foxes in Japan become kitsune; tapirs become baku; household objects become tsukumogami when they reach 100 years of age."
Moone nodded. "There's a reason I stay out of Japan," he said simply.
[Pontifex says more about belief]
"And belief is changing," Moone said, growing excited. "This is what I've always been saying. People having superstitions about the external is starting to disappear. Not that superstitions are going away; they're simply shifting toward... the self. The way people interact is changing fundamentally.
"Technologies. The World Wide Web? We'd thought that the rise of technology was going to displace our supernatural world, but if anything, it's thriving. It's a little early to tell for sure how this is going to pan out, but... People’s notions of themselves are changing, as fantasies become more accessible."
"And so, it was you who found me," the Pontifex said, smiling tiredly at the eyes. "Yes, it's true the world is changing, but to call this the closing of the book of the supernatural and paranormal would be... short sighted. Like the attempt to end the Pentagram, the summit there. A fire is rising, through the electrical wires. This is no age of reason. This is no age of skepticism. This is no age of doubt."
Moone chewed on the Pontifex's words for a while. Now that Moone knew about how the Pontifex's aura worked, something that he had said, long ago, when they'd made their contract together, came to Moone's mind.
"Pontifex, mind if I ask you one last question?" It was getting late, and the flickering candle was barely a stub now, with maybe a few more minutes of wick left.
"Go ahead," the Pontifex said.
"When we struck our deal, you mentioned that your aura had an ultimate purpose."
"And you are asking what that purpose is, yes? Well, then. I will answer. Your power is increased, under my endowment. Your aura opens up, like a-- like a pore-- widening and becoming stronger, as it gets closer to the Source."
"Yes," Moone confirmed.
"Well, have you ever wondered what would happen if I bestowed my aura upon myself?"
"You'd... be yourself?"
"If I bestowed my aura upon itself," Pontifex continued gently, "it would loop on itself, becoming more and more powerful, until it brings a physical manifestation of the Source place to this world. A portal, to a higher plane. It will be a great and noble purpose."
"Ah," Moone said.
"And in doing so, in creating so, in fulfilling this purpose, well. I will be consumed," the Pontifex said. And the candle sputtered out.
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