The New Auroras -- the saga continues...Charles and Sagan

Charles is the quintessential baddie. He has lived on Earth for longer than even he can recall. Having been witness to humanity's ravages this has bred in him a certain degree of understandable cynicism.

Few things surprise him these days.

As such, his exploits have become increasingly malevolent with the passage of the centuries, but of the evil-genius variety, naturally. There are few human reactions with which Charles is not familiar. Few body cues he cannot discern. Moreover, one may be hard-pressed to find another who commands similar authority amongst his charges. Especially his staff.

Loyalty fierce. Cross him, and his antagonism will be legendary.

Let's join him mid-conversation....




The boy must learn to bear the yoke of responsibility. He must wean fear entirely out of his bloodstream, and when interacting with these infamous brutes (whose daily occupation is in the illicit trades), Christian must learn to gaze upon them without as much as batting eyelids.

Yea, I may still place him in certain danger. But that which the lad saw on the Sierra Leonean killing field rivals any potential ‘roughhousing’ he may witness in the Canadian North. (I chuckle at the prospect of what constitutes ‘roughhousing’ in Yellowknife). The greater we potentially broadcast hesitation, wavering, or indecision, the likelier the outcome Christian shall absorb such vices into his thinking (for they are nothing more but manifestations of core human weakness).

This, in turn, becomes poisonous. If permitted to spread unchecked, it shall shift rapidly into the manner in which Christian processes information. I cannot have this. Doubt will simply not do. Christian, as I have conceived it, is precisely his namesake. A balm for the masses. The portent of a rising, the rumbling of radicalism, when, once afoot, imbues its new adherents with a verve most inspirational. One beyond the wildest dreams of possibility once envisioned - even in the masses’ most lucid of states.

That is why I have named him Christian. He will lead his unsuspecting followers into the glory books of majestic achievement. Yellowknife will be one of many niches, but our most pivotal. The keystone of our grandiose ruse, the spout of the funnel, the chief conduit through which everything will be channelled.

And the brains of this inexorable new movement must not be dissuaded by acceptable risks. Such reasonable harm may even be beneficial for the lad. In fact, I cannot recall when certain forceful behaviour did not go an instructively long way in milking out my own ancient hesitations. Christian cannot permit his instinctual ‘animalistic humanity’ to be liquidated by a conditioned doubt.

For I have seen this rawness of human character siphoned tragically out of the sharp thrust of human action. I have been alive for far too long.

Along with battle-hardened Picts and Celts, and I in the background, blue-painted dervishes were like gnats in the marauding Saxons’ sides. How delightful it was, I recall, perched on the high ground keeping a close watch on the battle’s progress! Not a member amongst the Picts’ battalion was not of one mind with fellow peers-at-arms: to defeat the Saxon hordes, to stymie them at every glen, every bluff, and safely cloaked in the enveloping foliage, the forest like family. Fear manifested itself not in the progress of their battle.

Once upon a time so unbridled, action is now meek, perpetually questioning. How society has evolved over my long stewardship. How it has transmogrified into something so utterly unlike its primal antecedent it is astonishing nations still mobilize to make war.

Christian’s early tutelage, with steps laid out in a continuous chain, will culminate in lordship over his faculties like no other task assortment should. His only actions will be of the decisive kind.

There are many who wish to infiltrate our close circle. I shall cast them bland scraps with full awareness they will dive mindlessly towards them, tearing them to shreds, scraping them bereft of flesh. For example, whomever shall be watching our meanderings at the aerodrôme -- oh la la, rather airport -- will observe Christian, not I, handing off our exchanges’ proceeds. They may attempt to process what they witness, but will find no suitable explanation. For Christian is beneath their age of majority and beyond the reach of their Justice System’s tentacles. For now, Christian, as my protégé, remains guiltless. How laughable it shall be to see the same territorial authorities attempt to intervene. Like swatting at flies. Just precious.

On the other hand, we have Thaddeus Sagan. He's made it his mission to take down Charles. This is Yellowknife, in the middle of the winter. And, oh yeah, Charles is a man of colour.



That Charles was upping the ante was clearly obvious. Sending in the kid to do his gruntwork...master stroke. Fucking brilliant. But if he thinks we’re checkmated, the freak’s got another thing coming.

I don’t think I can hold off any longer. Might even be time to send in Conjure’s ‘girls’ for a little look-see.

I need to know what Charles’ up to.

Now.