The Undying Voice of Julius Gordon – Part 8
I have never seen a guillotine, but I have always been dreadfully fascinated by them, thanks in part to a title by Daniel Gerould on the subject. It describes the machine and its history in exquisite detail. I have read it twice. This makes it quite easy to put my state of mind into an accurate metaphor. My head is stocked. The lunette is tight around my neck, blood-warped and prickling splinters against my skin. I am alone and waiting for the blade. I can see my executioner waiting beside me. It is not Sergeant Karim Hassan. I see myself. My own hands, stained with ink, gripping the release. I have made so many mistakes, and ignoring Thalia’s message last night was my most egregious error yet. It very nearly cost Angus Grant his life, and it has certainly cost me mine.
The Undying Voice of Julius Gordon – Part 7
I am now writing with Brandt’s ballpoint pen. It is a degradation I can live with if it means the continuation of my journal. He also knows that I keep a journal now, and I believe he is discreetly searching for it, but I will keep the pages folded up in my jacket from now on. I have to maintain a grip on something in this world. Everything is slipping out of control. Our way of life, in service to the Voices, has become unfixed. Brandt has been tugging at the seams, gently, gradually, and now the threads are unraveling of their own volition. I have read about too many religions to choose one for myself, but the Devil is a recurring figure in many of them, and though I may not be able to choose a god, I can clearly see that Hermann Brandt is the Devil. The antithesis. The corruptor. The world-destroyer.
The Undying Voice of Julius Gordon – Part 6
Yesterday wasn’t a dream. It was a prelude to a nightmare. I should have recognized it for what it was. I should have seen it written all over Brandt and Journeyman Rybell last night. I should have embraced Thalia’s distrust. She must have known what they really wanted, and how they would get it. If only she had explained it to me while there was still time.
The Undying Voice of Julius Gordon – Part 5
I don’t know where to begin. I feel as if I must be living a dream inspired by too many science fiction novels. At any moment I expect to wake up in the mud, clubbed into senselessness by some wild man. And yet, the moments pass, and the dream proceeds. For some reason, it was easier to believe the Grants’ story than it is to believe my own senses. I have seen them. I have spoken to them. I still cannot accept that they’re real.