Seventy Seven

During this whole ordeal, a sea change had been happening in the leadership of the G. Their leader, Solomon, since seeing the beast hadn’t said a word. He had fallen into line with the rest of the G and followed Bird in her exodus. In the many decisions that were made along this journey, instead of eyes looking to Solomon for guidance, they looked to Bird.
Seen in the low angle fall sunrise, all of Solomon’s weaknesses and failures were laid bare for all to see. His pallor and ill health were on full display. This disaster that they had all undergone had interrupted his morning routine. This was the act of normalizing his blood alcohol level. Instead of rising to the occasion and demonstrating the level of leadership that his office required, he was forced by his physiology to quiver his way through the myriad symptoms of the Delirium Tremens.
Eventually, a look was shared between Bird and Solomon. Words were not exchanged. They had known each other for a very long time and were well acquainted with the subtle art of non verbal communication. Solomon had looked her dead in the eyes and then glanced up toward the peak of the mountain. Solomon had come to a decision. She didn’t like what he was going to do, because it was childish and unnecessary. She mouthed, “no,” silently to him, but he paid her no mind. Up on the peak of the mountain, the feature that he had glanced at was something called the church.
The church was a rite of passage for the G. It was a name for a geological feature that had been passed down in legend since the old world. It was not exactly a cliff, but a sort of rockslide held in a state of suspended animation by the root structure of the scrub pines that made their meager living on the high peaks.
This feature would be negotiated on skis in the winter months to prove the skill of the skier, and glorify their god. To say that you ski down the church isn’t entirely true. There is skiing involved, but that happens briefly between moments of free fall. It isn’t even that tall of a feature, perhaps about forty meters, but its sheer verticality makes successful negotiation a difficult and dangerous prospect.
At the bottom of the church, there is forest, and a skier would call the trees there “tight”. This means that the areas where you ski, that is, where the trees aren’t, is not readily apparent at first glance. Somebody, having made it most of the way down the church, would have to make a very quick and wise decision as to how to proceed. This person would be traveling at a speed that approached terminal velocity and they would have to look for a feature in the trees called a hole. This feature is the absence of trees. A hole needs to meet certain criteria, it needs to be wider than your shoulders, be vaguely body shaped, and have snow on the bottom of it. Failure to meet these strict criteria will result in grievous bodily harm.
As a skier gains skill and starts spending more time in the woods, they will get better at seeing and finding holes. Once a hole is found, there is a whole head game that you have to play with yourself to actually commit to surviving it. Questions about free will and destiny may float around in your head, begging to be answered, but this is a terrible time for existential musings. This is not only a physical skill, but a state of mind. To find a hole and commit to it requires a calm open mind and a wholehearted trust in your instincts in a truly lethal situation. Eventually, the skier in question starts finding hole after hole in quick succession, this is called a line. Solomon had always been good at finding his line.
All of this is decided in a split second while fully in the clutches of gravity. As one is beckoned toward the center of the earth, skill and judgment are applied to change course and choose a line that results in a non lethal outcome. That didn’t seem to be the sort of line that Solomon was looking for.
Before anyone had realized what was going on, Solomon had slipped off into the woods and started making his way to the top of the church. He was planning on doing some high velocity democracy. Bird had seen the change in the G and had a pretty good idea how that was going to shake out. He would end up as a smear of carcass chutney splashed over a couple of square meters of glacial scree.
Even if the G actually tried to catch him, which they wouldn’t, he would probably still die and take a couple of his acolytes out with him. The church was just way too high for The Dive.
“Solomon!” Bird yelled to him as he crested the top of the church and looked down upon his people, “don’t do this.”
The G were stoically preparing themselves to perform their civic duty by gathering at the foot of the church and making a semi circle of clear rubble for Solomon to die on. Bird seemed to be the only person that thought that this was an incredibly dumb idea.
Maybe they were finally sick of Solomon and all of his bullshit, Bird certainly was. He wasn’t without his redeeming qualities though, he was an incredibly inspiring leader, he was whip smart, and he had been around the block a number of times so his wealth of experience was a true asset. For him to throw it all away was severely short sided.
He didn’t hesitate. He committed fully to his line. He had seen his holes all lined up and just fucking sent it. A fall from this sort of height happens shockingly fast. There are stories about time slowing down and having your life flash before your eyes, but that doesn’t really happen in a fall like this, there just isn’t enough time. People just say that to romanticize the final moments of a truly tragic death. What does happen is the nauseous feeling of freefall and the intensely loud sound of air hurtling by your ears. Before you can count to three, you are dead.
Bird expected to see blood and the shockingly white bones of a series of compound fractures. She imagined gathering up bits of him to toss later on a funeral pyre. What she actually saw was Solomon standing up from a kneeling position in full Hunter armor.
“So,” He addressed the crowd, “it seems we have cause for celebration.”
The crowd looked around confused. They had just condemned this man to death, and here he was calling for a party.
“We have a new Queen,” he gestured to Bird, “I have lost your faith as a leader and you have chosen wisely. I don’t blame you, I have been just kind of going through the motions the last five years or so, and I am surprised it took this long. She will lead you well. As per tradition, I have abdicated my throne through the ritual of the dive, I just happened to survive it. Hail the Queen. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to.”
The business in question was succumbing to the full suite of symptoms that the DT’s can provide. He collapsed to the ground and began to have a grand mal seizure. Bird was frozen in shock, but in her head she heard Mycellus.
“Do you wish to keep him?” He asked.
“Yes,” she answered aloud.
“I’ll do what I can, but I can’t make any promises. He is quite far gone,” Mycellus answered in her head.
With that, thousands of mycelial strands emerged from the rubble where Solomon was shaking himself to death and cocooned his body. Eventually his flailing stopped, and he was pulled into the depths of the earth, presumably for safe keeping.
This extremely busy couple of minutes was followed up by a very deep silence from the G. There were obviously questions that everybody had, but nobody had gotten around asking any yet. The questions were still just rattling around in people’s minds attempting to be formulated. The only sound was the wind. A storm was rolling in over the peak from the west and it brought with it the promise of snow.
“What the fuck was that?” Roxy finally posed.
“Which part?” Bird answered, not really knowing where to start.
“I guess the giant fucking monster would be a good place to start,” Roxy suggested reasonably.