The Ideals of Freedom

Marcellus and Rolen were standing at the railing of a glass deck with an overlooking view of the entire Capital. Skyscrapers in amongst small havens of green fields brushed with trees and flowers, like an ethereal painting, the perfect synchronicity of nature and nurture. Right in the middle of the lush land stood a lone tree, as tall as the buildings that surrounded it. Marcellus knew that tree. It was called the Divine Tree. It looked like a Chanticleer pear tree stuck between Autumn and Spring, the foliage ranging from pockets of red, to blooming flowers of white. The Tree had been planted after the Chinetic War as a spirit grave for all the soldiers that’d lost their lives. It was said that all the collective bodies had been buried at its base, their collective Chi flowing throughout the Divine Tree, bearing spiritual fruit. The shape of the fruit resembled a pear, except for the colour being a strange milk-like opaqueness. Nobody ever ate from the tree. It was considered a holy monument.

Marcellus was surprised at how big it had become. It was the first time he’d been back in the Capital since the end of the Chinetic War, giving up his post as General of the Ultimateum Army and leaving the Capital on a spiritual journey. He wanted to find answers to the question of why war had always been such an imminent way for humans to align themselves with their belief systems. It seemed that beliefs were always challenged with violence before a better method could evolve.

Rolen, on the other hand, had begun building the foundations of a new structural empire that could help guide the future of the human race to a more peaceful way of life, with the integration of Chi as a tool for spiritual growth. Rolen had always been far more talented in Chi control than Marcellus. Even from a young age, he was heralded as the gifted of the brothers. Their father had sent Rolen to Peru when he was nine years old in order to train him on how to harness the overflowing abundance of Chi that seemed to resonate within him. By the age of six, objects scattered around the house would begin levitating in Rolen’s presence. It took Marcellus until he was 12 years old before he could even lift a book with his mind. In this sense, he’d always revered his older brother.

“What’s that?” Marcellus asked, pointing out to a knitted grouped of buildings to the East.

“I forget how long you’ve been gone for, Cellus,” Rolen said, smiling. “It’s a school we developed to train children on how to express their Chi and use it in the right ways. Though we like to refer to it as coaching rather than teaching.”

“You believe there should be an abiding way to express Chi?”

“Of course. Aren’t there correct and incorrect ways of using anything? The way we see it, if we can coach children from a young age, give them a push in the necessary direction, they won’t develop any external means to overindulge in their Chi. This stabilises the system. We can keep all Chi users at a certain level, that way no one person can pose a threat.”

Something about what he said was difficult for Marcellus to swallow.

“But not all children are accepted?”

Rolen shook his head. “No, unfortunately not. You have to show a certain degree of proliferation to be selected. We don’t worry about any affinity under a certain talent threshold. It isn’t necessary, since their level of potential will never really pose the threat of exploitation. The irony is, if you were growing up in these times, General Marcellus, you probably wouldn’t even pass the first entrance test.”

Rolen laughed, slapping his brother on the back lightly. Marcellus smiled and looked out at the world beneath them. He spotted a lady in a silver vail, tattered and worn, her hands outstretched as though she were begging for food or money, people walking past, ignoring her.

“You always did care so much about things outside the scope of how the world really functions,” Rolen continued. “My brother, the consummate idealist. I admire it, and I’ve always tried to adopt your mentality. This here is me doing that, Cellus. I’m trying to be a man of the people. I want to help us all live in harmony. I never want to experience another war.”

Rolen’s brow furrowed and Marcellus saw the emotional, strong-willed older brother he’d always looked up to. He patted him on the back. “Well, all your hard work has paid off. You’ve turned the Capital into a beautiful land.”

Rolen smirked. “Since you stole all the attention from our father, this was my way of gaining control back. My attempt at retaining a silver medal to your gold.”

They laughed again and then Rolen sighed, looking out at the lands he’d helped unify. “I have to run a few errands. Boring stuff for the counsel. How about you meet me back at the counsel hall in a few hours?”

Marcellus nodded and Rolen took his leave, waving over his shoulder. Marcellus stood staring out at the evolution of the capital. Rolen had done a good job, he thought.

* * * * *

“Rolen, you have to stop this. It’s wrong.”

The brothers stood facing off, a sudden divergence in ideals had shaken the equilibrium of each of their resolves.

“Cellus, you lack foresight, let alone understanding. Humans crave to be governed by a force, whether it be consciously or unconsciously. Don’t you see? The only way that we can prevent events like the Chinetic War from ever occurring again is through control. Damn it Cellus, lack of stability is what causes war in the first place. People have their own sets of beliefs that diverge from others, like currents of energy, electricity that run parallel to one another, until they finally veer off and collide. That friction causes death, pain, destruction, and devolution. Well, this…this is evolution, Cellus. Necessary evolution. Our father knew in order to have peace there needs to be a governing system of superior power authority. And I’m better equipped to do this than he was. Don’t be mistaken, Cellus, this is a burden for me, not a privilege. Don’t you see? It needs to be me. Who else could possibly do all this? Look around you. I can do it the right way. Control and not make it seem controlling. Give people a choice. They get to live happy lives as long as they choose to follow the code. That’s peace. People need other people to look up to, a system, a governing force. They crave to put their trust in something. Religion no longer works. Everybody is afraid of everybody else because of their beliefs and the fact that they no longer have anything to believe in.”

They were standing at the base of the Divine Tree. It was even more stunning up close, the vitiligo like patches of red depigmenting into white. The milk-like fruit gleaming in sparse portions among the overhanging canopy. The white around Rolen’s irises had turned red with vascular lines as if he were stoned, a line of opaque, milk-like liquid was running down his chin from his lower lip. In his hand was one of the pear shaped fruits from the Divine Tree, a clear chunk taken out of it with what looked like teethmarks imbedded in the craters edge.

“Rolen, our father was wrong. Oppressing people into a paradigm of realism and control is what causes war in the first place. It’s not about controlling peoples views, there’s always going to be a separation in views, it’s about trying to understand one another, allowing these views to live harmoniously. What you’re doing isn’t evolution. It’s puppeteering. It’s authoritarianism. It’s subconscious oppression. Your gift of choice is an illusion. And one day, they’ll find out, and the people will revolt against your freedom. The freedom you’ve fed them. How can you expect humans to evolve if you don’t allow them the choices to learn? You’re just giving them a set of spiritual rules you’ve decided are the best to follow, and forced them to abide, with you at the apex. It’s a God complex.”

“Call it what you want, it’s the only thing that works. This is what I have to do. Don’t you see? I was the gifted one. Why do you think that is? Why was I given this innate inner power if not to use it to lead? An entity has to step up and do what needs to be done. What the others aren’t able to do. You speak of control and harmony. Our father shipped me away to another land, segregated me the second he could no longer control me. That’s the worlds idea of harmony. How is what I’m doing any different? Do you know why our father gave all his attention to you? It’s not because he loved you more. It’s because he could control you. You lacked power, which gave him a space to fill. Control is love, Cellus, you must understand.”

They stared at one another, pleading in both of their eyes.

“Rolen, I can’t go along with this, you know that.”

“So then what shall we do, Cellus?”

Rolen squared his jaw, the look in his eyes shifting into a decision, his chin lifting. Marcellus stood, wondering what it was he was meant to do. Did he need to take up the sword once more to fight for his beliefs? Why? Why again? He’d spent the last three years washing away the violence of the past, the necessity to cause conflict for apposing views, and now here he was again, faced with a difficult decision. And against the only person left in his life that he loved irrevocably. How could he stand down when he knew that was exactly what Rolen’s governing was facilitating? Compliance to a way of life.

A set of poles crackling with lines of blue electricity were standing a few meters to the side of them. Young scholars that’d seen too much, caught doing research on the Divine Tree and captured for the good of the Capital.

Marcellus closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. The scent of the Tree filled his nose and lungs, the sacrifice of all the souls who’d fought for evolution above a tyrannical hierarchy, one that he was once a part of. When he opened his eyes, a clarity had appeared, much like that within his brothers. Two apposing energies, electricities running parallel to one another, now on a course toward inevitable collision. He knew it. Rolen knew it.

Marcellus stretched out an open arm.

“Cellus…don’t do it.”

Rolen’s words were a subtle plea, but had the edge of a consequence engraved against the tip of them. But Marcellus had already made up his mind. He opened the cage with his Chi and gave the scholars his gift of freedom. The muscles in Rolen’s jaw twitched but his eyes looked sad. He began to raise his hands at either side of him and the Earth began to quake, silver and bronze rocks lifted from beneath the soil and levitated beside him.

Marcellus knew that he could never win this fight alone, but this was his final battle for freedom. He would die here at the hand of his brother. But maybe his life could perpetuate a change. A seed of hope. A spark. Every spark holds with it the potential for a fire. Either way, he knew the key to freedom pleaded for his sacrifice.

The brothers squared off in a final battle. Freedom versus Order.