Shadows from the End of the World | Bindaline 1

By Ariel Pytrell

IT IS TIME TO ACT.

THE BELLS ARE RINGING.

IF YOU CAN HEAR THEM, YOU COULD BE A BINDALINE.

This novel is the first of the BINDALINE Trilogy, belonging to the ENEALOGIA series, a dimensional epic set on the frontiers between time and the known urban landscape.

---------------------------------------------

Heed the voices of the wind when walking for the future would pronounce itself as an echo. Destiny is always a few paces ahead and will not pause to ensure that it has been understood. (from the Alde ge or Book of Revelation)

-------------------------------------------------

They had to remember their past identities, but this was only the first step. New generations are being born, the unawoken are reawakening. With the sound of the Bells, the Bindaline also appear at the end of the cycle, however, many are unaware that they are in fact Urban Messengers. The advancing shadows set the stage to complete their work. It has taken millennia…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Insepia
• Release date: Jan 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781507155721

Book preview

Shadows from the End of the World

Enealogia · Bindalinē Trilogy | 1

Ariel Pytrell

Translated from Spanish by Nicholas Bringolf

Bindalinē 1. Shadows from the End of the World

©2016-2017 by Ariel Pytrell | All rights reserved | www.arielpytrell.com

Translated from Spanish by Nicholas Bringolf | Final translation revised by Alejandra Ayala

Interiors and Cover design by © 2017, AriTopet

Distributed by Babelcube, Inc. | www.babelcube.com

« Babelcube Books » and « Babelcube » are trademarks by Babelcube Inc.

Translated from the first edition in Spanish

Bindalinē 1. Sombras del fin del mundo, ©September 2014 by Ariel Pytrell

First edition in English: August 2016

Second Edition : January 2017

Insepia Ediciones Originales

©Ariel Pytrell, 2016-2017

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author ([e-mail])

Table of Contents

Part One. The Encounters

The Calling

Sticking Points

Rings in the Darkness

The Pentagrammon

Primal Circle

The Former State of Being

DNA

Open Lines

Part Two. The Impact

The Guests

The Guardian

The Veins of the City

Within the City Walls

The Seal

The Aspects of the Light

The Whole

The Society of Tango

Part Three. The messengers of the Irmen

Deadlock

The Creases of Memory

Other births

Dark Forces

Shadowed Walls

Children of the Resplendence

Urban Engagement

The New State of Being

EXCERPTS FROM THE DANAHUACALE ARCHIVES

General Overview

A Compilation of Certain Words

Shadows from the End of the World

This first one is for Gero.

—————————————————————————-

While contemplating the memory of the ages,

I discover the first of what we learn.

When a newborn cries at birth,

it does so for its humanity...

Alatirqedar

———————————

Part One

The Encounters

––––––––

The Calling

The dimensional being presented itself before its equals

and from its larynx came the ringing of bells.

from the ALDE GE or BOOK OF REVELATION

The crowd enclosed around the dark body. A small puddle of blood lingered to the side of the man’s head. Not too far away, the wheels of the bicycle turned around and around, as if traveling upwards along an invisible never ending path.

Please, leave it to me!

But, who are you?

I’m a doctor, I can help. Please, leave it to me!

The doctor had seen everything. She had seen when the man riding his bicycle had crossed without looking, dazed and indifferent to the change of the traffic lights. She had seen when the driver had swerved the vehicle violently, even though it was not enough to avoid the impact. She had seen how the body of the cyclist flew through the air of the city and then as it fell onto the street with an unworldly weight, while the driver accelerated away, only to be lost farther down the street, which on this particular Sunday in Buenos Aires had very little traffic.

The doctor checked for vital signs, taking care not to move the injured body too much. She knew that any first aid procedures could prove to be very dangerous, since any invisible fracture or internal bleeding could hasten the loss of this wretched soul’s life. The man's chest was moving, his neck throbbed. Everything seemed fine, except for one of his arms, which was dislocated, and the wound to his head, which caused her concern, as it would not stop bleeding.

Call an ambulance! She commanded firmly. This man needs to get to hospital immediately!

The man’s beard became increasingly stained with his own blood, an intense purple on the dark tapestry of his skin. His eyes were closed, as if sleeping peacefully, as if in reality he were contemplating an ocean view through a window. It definitely did not appear as if his condition were for the worse.

Stand back! The doctor commanded again. Let him breathe!

But the few onlookers paid little heed to the request and remained where they were, determined not to miss the spectacle.

Please, stand back! Let him breathe! The doctor insisted once again.

At that instant, as if a breath of fresh air had collided with his own humanity, the man opened his eyes and sat up with unexpected vigor. The onlookers stepped back. He began to peer into the open space surrounding the doctor. She observed his dilated pupils, how he moved his mouth in an attempt to mumble an unintelligible word. A tension was building among those watching. A primordial fear overcame the doctor, as if some part of her had sensed that this was not normal or at least it was beyond her firsthand experiences.

Remain lying down! She told the stranger, after regaining her confidence. I’m asking that you please stay still!

That sound... the bells!

The man uttered these words with difficulty, while continuing to stare at the air around the doctor. Blood continued to flow from his head. Now, it started to flow from his nose in a very fine crimson thread.

Do you hear a ringing in your ears?

The bells... the bells! He said repeatedly.

A taxi stopped a few yards away and the driver, an individual dressed in dark blue, got down from the vehicle to observe the scene.

It’s vibrating... inside me, the cyclist managed to say with clarity before being lost amidst the convulsions of his body. The tuning fork... it’s also vibrating inside of me!

The cyclist’s eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness again. If it were not for the doctor’s quick reflexes, the man, once again, would have hit his head against the surface of the road. Instead, she gently rested his head on the pavement. A bright red blood stain trembled on the doctor’s hand.

The taxi driver got back into his car, remained pensive for a moment, then closed his eyelids. When he reopened them, he observed from a distance how the doctor carried out the first aid procedures from inside the cluster of people surrounding the protagonists. The taxi driver sighed steadily and took hold of the steering wheel.

At that moment, as some would say later, the ambulance’s siren — at first afar and a world away — broke through the Sunday morning air with the harsh cries of thousands of shrieking mandrakes and of thousands of dissonant, frantic and frightened creatures. The taxi driver started the car, but the noise of the engine went unnoticed by the neighbors, amidst the dumbfoundedness projected by the sirens.

The taxi drove away.

When he heard the first sound, the boy was playing alone in the dining room of the house. He stood up and in silence, walked to the kitchen, took a glass from the shelf, opened the refrigerator and poured himself some water. Afterwards, he cut a piece of bread that he had taken from the breadbasket and ate and drank with relish, standing right there in front of the kitchen counter. Then, with careful movements to avoid making the slightest noise, he walked into the hallway, opened the dresser drawer, took out his yellow covered notebook and held the pencil he always hid in the same drawer. The boy retraced his steps along the hallway back to the dining room. He opened the shutters and let the yellowish, and somewhat greenish, transparent light reach every corner of the room. A faint breeze carried the feeling that the nearby trees rustled with the joy of all living things, the promise of the times to pass, the silence of distant lands. He took a deep breath and let the voice of the breeze pronounce his name in the depths of his lungs.

The boy sat at a wooden table, there in his beloved place at this particular time of the morning, right in front of the open window. The boy could see a patch of pristine blue sky, framed by the tops of the few trees in the neighborhood, quite a distance away from the busy city center. And he set about to start what he considered to be a game.

That morning, the March light signaled the arrival of autumn in the southern hemisphere. The greenness of the leaves was reflected in everything that could be seen. The faint shadows of the streets and the deep murmur of the furniture, paintings and memorabilia were inviting him to describe on paper the silhouettes of his thoughts, the contours and meanders of his dreams, the sensation of his heart vibrating beyond and around his own body. He drew designs on the pages of his notebook, ever in silence or accompanied with the dialog of the pencil tip as it etched itself across the surface of the paper.

The first chime of the bells startled him, and the vibration resonated inside his head. The second chime evoked fear and anxiety. After the third and fourth, he became calmer, while letting his interior endure these sounds, in the very manner he had taught himself to withstand them. His bones approached the quaking chimes and everything inside him shook.

The boy realized that he could not stop scribbling onto the page, as he conceded to the spell of the ringing bells. He started to articulate a few words that he did not understand at the time, and felt a desire to look out the window, to communicate with the trees, to jump into the confidence of those who cared for the world, to open his heart to this sound that made the light and the air vibrate at the same frequency as his bones, his blood and the soul of a nine-year-old boy.

The child had not realized that his father had awoken and was watching him from the archway of the hall, motionless, with his breath clenched inside a whisper of horror.

Patricio, son... He managed to say, his voice sounded weak.

But the boy remained there, perched at the window, like a bird about to take flight, unaware of the voices of men. He was only focused on the resonance of the bells communing with his bones, making him climb up to the window.

His father slowly approached his son and took him by the hand, convincing him to step down from the window. The boy came down while looking at his father, even though he didn’t see him. Only after he was already back on the floor did the boy transform his otherworldly gaze into that of a small boy inside a terrestrial body.

Son, the father spoke again, attempting to calm himself, you didn’t wake me up so we could have breakfast together.

The father trembled inside, imagining just what would have happened if his son, Patricio, had abandoned himself to the void. Despite this, the man also let himself accept the freshness of the morning breeze.

Those bells, pa...

And the boy, with his weary gaze, perforated the space beyond the window.

Bells? The father was silent and strained his ears.

There are... thousands, pa. And, they fill the air!

Son, I don’t hear anything... I can’t hear them!

The father knelt down in front of Patricio and looked him in the eyes. He had always loved his son’s big eyes, those honey colored eyes, with long curled eyelashes and nose that vaguely reminded him of the sculptured face of some ancient Roman (and the almost forgotten face of his wife).

Don’t be afraid.

The father held the lucid gaze of his son, swallowed the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth, and only afterwards responded.

Of course, son, of course.

Patricio embraced his father and the father rested his heavy head on the tiny shoulders of his son. The father sighed and allowed himself to envelop Patricio with his enormous arms.

It’s all right, pa, the boy suddenly accepted. I’m going to go wash my face with cold water.

But, I didn’t say anything!

Patricio turned around to look at his father, and both smiled. Then, the boy walked towards the bathroom and left the man engulfed in the ringing of bells that, in reality, he could not hear or even imagine. The father sighed and sought some kind of relief in his exhaling breath. His gaze carried him to a section of the sky and trees, from where he could also see the window frame. The height of three stories would have been a perilous distance for the leap of a boy that is not by any means a bird. Another sigh finally released the anguish that was about to consume him again.

Now his gaze took him around the small dining room. The wooden table. The abandoned pencil on top of the notebook. The yellow covered notebook that Patricio had left open, with its unruled pages, just the kind his son preferred. The man stood before the open notebook, looking at the drawings his son had made that morning. Spirals ending in labyrinths of concentric circles, triangles with retraced edges to the point of almost ripping through to the other side of the page. Here and there strange letters covered the surface of the paper, drawn skillfully and artistically, along with circular figures, diagrams and sketches of extraordinary beauty. And there were also those typical and still childlike strokes created by its maker that the man had learned to recognize and so much loved.

Perhaps, due to some involuntary movement, he focused his vision in order to gain a better perception of the jumbled figures. Without being aware of the ocular process, he unfocused the more evident strokes, concentrated on what was beyond the obvious surface and, there it was, it was impossible not to notice! Either by design or by chance, the spaces left in blank formed an undeniable and disturbing image that an unsuspecting glance would have overlooked.

The figure depicted a man (or woman), almost naked, completely bald with very fine features. It had its arms held out horizontally, one on each side of its torso, as if to embrace anyone who were to see it. The opened legs formed an inverted V, although one of them was offset compared to the other, as if the figure were at the point of leaping or had just landed from leaping.

But there was another detail in this figure that suggested an extraordinary reality. At the very moment in which the detail came into view, a scream welled from within, as if all of his humanity came hurling up in a column of vomit. Although the scream crouched inside his larynx, he lifted a hand to his lips, repressing his despair, which erupted into the vastness of his blood. The man could not believe what was before his eyes, blurry forms, a little clearer than the rest, which extended from behind the figure. Immediately, they reminded him of wings, with feathers peeling away from their very own shadows, which were the greater part of the creature drawn by his son.

As he recovered his composure, he thought about the possibility of there being something else astonishing on the surface of the paper. He wanted to flee, destroy the drawing and to have never seen it at all. But the man focused his eyesight even more intensely, using the same method of focusing and unfocusing, and he thought to have read a word from amongst these strange letters arranged in apparent chaos. And he did not find just one word, but two, three, even four... The inscription was somehow disguised within the designs and spirals. The message was repeated in the empty spaces over the entire surface of the page, like an obsession, like a desperate call, a muffled desire, and only to be revealed to someone who knew how to read it at that specific moment, such as himself:

ELUDORINOY ALIQE QEM SELDE.

The father did not understand the meaning of it, besides he could hardly pronounce it, but he felt the blood flowing through his veins and a tingling welling from the depths of his body. He knew that the inscription carried an echoing and far away truth, just like the mystery surrounding the page and this particular Sunday morning.

With the same certainty that he had felt while looking into his eyes, the man felt a presence. And there was his son, again in the hall archway, still barefoot, watching him intensely with those eyes of honey that he loved so much (reminding him of someone, perhaps the mother of his child). From the hallway, Patricio smiled at his father and made a gesture with his shoulders in search of mutual understanding. But the man could only return a kind of forced smile, the hint of a nervous grin.

The bells are still ringing, right? His voice trembled.

The boy nodded.

Can we go? Patricio asked.

This time it was the man who nodded.

After we have had afternoon tea, later today? The father asked.

Nodding his head again, the boy accepted the idea. Patricio smiled, his teeth lightening up his face even more, then he left, running towards his room.

The man remained where he was, looking at the now open space that his son had left in the arch of the hallway. He assimilated what he could comprehend and then looked for a CD on the stand next to the tableware cabinet, put it into the music player and, after a short pause, the speakers liberated piano chords that were reassuring and moving, hopeful and predictable, familiar and terrestrial, above all terrestrial... above all...terrestrial.

The trees from the neighborhood were still out there, swaying their green crowns as if dancing for the sky.

A flock of birds sketched their imprint onto the sky. The birds squawked shrilly, suddenly turning in mid-flight, first to the west, then to the east and then to the south again.

Zoe removed her sunglasses and closely observed this unusual behavior. The bundle of still damp clothes that she held in her arms fell to the floor of the rooftop terrace. She wanted to speak, call out to her husband, but she could not find her voice. She felt the sensation, a sensation that she had become accustomed to, and recognized that something was not quite right. A sudden hot wind caused the fallen clothes to swirl, which were now dirty and inevitably needed to be rewashed. The birds flew farther to the south and their cries disappeared as they became one with the horizon.

At that moment, Federico appeared onto the rooftop terrace. He had climbed up the stairs agitatedly and stumbled twice as he ran. Now upstairs and out of breath, he looked around anxiously, as if searching for something meaningful, something he had lost or that had perhaps deserted him.

Zoe! He yelled out. For the love of God, Zoe! Where are you?

The woman let her sunglasses fall, the late summer afternoon shattering upon the tinted lenses. Only then she could hear her name fused among the distant cries of the birds. Zoe was startled and realized that Federico was calling out to her in desperation. Within this desperation, she saw how Federico writhed and hugged himself on the rooftop terrace, shaking over and over again, as if an inner fever burned inside, as if a frost ran through his veins. In desperation, she saw her husband piercing the air with unseeing eyes, unable to perceive her, unable to retrieve her identity, while desperately searching for her with determination, eager to regain his own identity. She sought an explanation for all of this, even if it were a hopeless explanation, a confusing explanation, nonetheless it would be one that provided relief and comfort. And then she realized that the afternoon remained shattered upon her glasses.

The man, intoxicated by his own pain did not see Zoe running towards him with open arms, ready to save him. Federico stopped screaming his wife’s name the moment his own skin encountered the smoothness of her own. The sudden hot wind carried a tissue or serviette through the air.

It’s okay, my love, she said while embracing him. Relax, relax... Something is happening. I can also feel it. But, don’t worry, you’re here... you’re here and I’m here, too...

It won’t speak! Federico almost yelled, even though his voice was muffled by the arms of his wife. Once more, it won’t speak!

Zoe took Federico’s head and held it away from her chest to get a better look at her husband’s eyes. His pupils were still dilated, his eyes bloodshot, his gaze erratic, searching for the Sunday afternoon that filtered through the broken lenses scattered over the rooftop terrace.

Can you see it now? Zoe wanted to know. Fede, can you see it now?

A few yards away, he replied almost without vitality, suspended on the edge of the wall...

Behind me?

Zoe looked in every direction, but could not see anything, except for the flock of birds that continued off towards the south, now a minute and quivering dot. The woman hugged the man again and they remained this way for a short while. She allowed herself to release the firmness of her embrace only after she noticed that Federico’s body had become more relaxed.

It’s leaving, he muttered while peering over the shoulder of his wife. It’s flying over there. He pointed to the southeast.

Zoe took notice of her husband’s eyes and realized that, although slower than usual, they were returning to normal. She knew that Federico was still blinded to his surroundings. She held him tenderly. They remained this way without moving for a moment longer.

The afternoon breeze carried the heat away. That wind no longer swirled at the scattered clothing on the floor of the rooftop terrace, nor was there any bird to be seen in the sky in any direction. With the exception of two airplanes beyond the sphere of the mainland, but nothing unsettling. Perhaps the sudden calmness announced that Sunday had presented everything it was going to, even if it was still only midafternoon.

Zoe noticed that Federico was becoming more relaxed and realized that her own muscles were starting to cramp.

I think it’s time to go inside, she said.

Federico moved sluggishly, as if all his strength had been drained from him. Zoe helped him to his feet and down the stairs. Both entered the house through the door to the backyard. Once inside, they walked to the bedroom. Federico sat on the end of the bed and calmly drew heavy breaths and stroked his arm like an involuntary reflex. He turned to his wife, who was leaning against the doorway, and she met his gaze.

It was beautiful, Zoe... Federico confessed. It was the most beautiful being that I’ve seen so far, and so intense!

Zoe remained silent. There was something else about her, something she was trying to hide, a harbored feeling. From a distance, she saw that her husband’s eyes retained a hint of still being dilated.

But, it didn’t speak, the man continued. The creature didn’t speak to me, even though it moved its lips full of light. I thought my head was bursting. There were thousands of bells ringing all at the same time! And all I could see was him... or her... with those intense eyes, as if looking at what couldn’t be... Zoe, the creature was looking straight at me! And all I could feel was peace, a peacefulness that was being pulled right from me, I was outside my body. My body, my bones! They couldn’t hold me back. It’s never been as intense as it was today!

Zoe sat on the edge of the bed, alongside her husband, and she held one of his hands. Federico felt assurance emanating from his wife, a warmth that pulsed through her veins. He lightly squeezed Zoe’s hand, as if it was his last hope of being connected to the Earth.

I also felt changes in the air, she said. The birds were making strange maneuvers, really strange.

Little by little Zoe’s eyes began to appear in Federico’s field of vision. He rested his eyes upon those of Zoe. For several months now, shortly after they were married, the intensity of his visions and her perceptions had begun and now living together would never be the same again.

I think we should go, Fede, the woman said in the sweetest voice that she could muster. We have to go, Fede! Please... we have to do something, it’s getting worse!

Federico looked into his wife’s eyes and felt them far away, as if looking at someone he hadn’t seen in a long time and just now noticing changes in her complexion, gestures and features. The young man allowed himself to smile, but in reality it was only a nervous reflex.

When? He asked.

I’ll call my mother and ask her when we can go see this man.

Alright, Federico conceded, mostly to satisfy Zoe’s need rather than it being of his own accord. But right now I want to rest, he confessed, while spreading his body out over the bed, where he was just sitting.

Zoe left the bedroom. Federico sighed and managed to hear his wife make a phone call from a nearby room and then, a little later, speak to someone. When Zoe finished speaking she returned to the bedroom and saw that Federico had fallen asleep. The woman laid down next to her husband and rested her head on top of the man’s shoulder. Zoe began touching the skin on the man’s face, brushed her hand over his dark bristles and noticed the trembling under her own skin. And without noticing, she, too, fell asleep.

They awoke when the ringing of the telephone shook the peacefulness of the bedroom. The afternoon had already given way to the evening. The door to the backyard had been left open, allowing moonlight to inch its way across the floor.

Sticking Points

There are many realities that can be explored while using an adequate

vehicle and the personal means to experience such.

from the Alde ge or Book of Revelation

That night, Zoe had driven the car. He still felt weak. She parked at the door and they got down. Afterwards, she timidly rang the doorbell, in such a way as if to apologize for the interruption. They waited for a while on the street. It was quite late by the time they arrived.

It was a large two-story mansion, which seemed familiar to Zoe, as if she had walked passed it many times before, but it was only just now that she became aware of its presence. And she felt that such behavior was unforgivable. Her common sense told her that the mansion should not have gone unnoticed, unless she had been absent minded or that it had recently been constructed. But the robust and discolored door frames, the door itself, the stained glass windows and the handcrafted bars protecting the window overlooking what could be described as a kind of entrance hall, all revealed its long-standing existence. How could I not have noticed this marvelous building, she thought.

After a long while, during which they felt nobody would eventually come to open the door for them, a young man with thick glasses appeared and after requesting the identity of the newly arrived couple, he immediately let them in, as though he was already waiting for them. They walked along the entrance hall and then up a marble staircase. The first thing that they noticed while stepping onto the top landing was an ambiance of total calmness, almost dense, monopolized by a soft cadenced voice that, despite sounding drowsy, did not come across as being monotonous.

The lobby was overflowing with people of all ages, seated on chairs or on the floor. Many stood, leaning against the unpolished wooden walls. The fans did not force sufficient fresh air and oxygen to satisfy its demand. Later, some would say that it was the first time that a gathering had held so many people, except for the multitudinous conferences that had taken place at much larger venues and better prepared for such an occasion.

On this particular Sunday, there was not enough room for everyone and they had to open up the adjoining rooms, including the kitchen and hallways. Zoe and Federico settled with huddling into a small and hot room, perhaps an antechamber or dressing room, whose doorway hemmed them in, so they were not able to move for a good while.

A man spoke slowly, his voice was deep, capable of holding everyone’s undivided attention. At first, Zoe and Federico did not understand very well what he was speaking about, it was evident that they had arrived in the middle of a speech or something of the like. From their enclosure, they could only hear the voice rising above like the whispering of an unknown litany.

It appeared as though the man spoke of what had happened that very Sunday, but the articulated words came to Zoe intermittently, as if there was a muffling noise in the ambiance that subtly interfered and prevented any idea from being understood in its entirety. Little by little, she began to receive the words with clarity, carried along an invisible warp and woof, woven by the feelings of the audience, who remained eager and expectant.

Zoe glanced at her husband and was surprised when he liberated an uncomfortable expression, which at first annoyed her. Immediately, she understood that Federico had agreed to accompany her, even though he was not convinced that this was the place, nor were they the people that could help them. Right then, she saw indications of fatigue imprinted inside the dark circles bulging from under her husband’s eyes, invaded by an unexpected tenderness. She held Federico’s hand and she told herself that she should be more attentive.

She returned her attention to what was being said, trying to access the meaning of what was being conveyed, wanting to understand what usually happened at this very particular social gathering, which at the same time also made her feel somewhat uncomfortable. Nonetheless, for as much as she wanted to, she could not concentrate, either due to the heat and anxiety. This was until the voice pronounced a revealing phrase.

It was not only what he said, but how he said it. Be watchful, she thought she understood, at how we are born and how we die during these times. Zoe squeezed Federico’s hand and they both looked at each other. She realized that her husband was also taken aback. Federico’s inner voice granted the speaker an opportunity. We observe how children are born on this side of reality and, also, how we are born on the other realm and who the midwives are that receive us after passing over the threshold.

Federico began to perspire, these declarations plucking at the strings of his humanity, even though he was not able to comprehend its entire meaning.

Who can continue to walk blindly, the man’s voice continued, while facing the realities that are to come? Even the Unawoken will notice changes in the air and the changes in people’s moods. Then, many around the world might say: A dimensional being shall come before some of us and from its mouth bells shall ring.

It appeared that the man had formulated an answer to some question, whose acoustic vibration reverberated like a drifting cloud of intense calmness. The man gave the floor to another voice — Federico thought it was that of a woman — and a new question, which drew Zoe’s attention. In reality, she only understood that the woman conjectured about the erratic fight of the birds, which had occurred