Modal Sojourn

"Inject the prophet’s remedy when he attains 1545," instructed a second unlabeled wizard. The name ‘Tesla’ came to me unbidden.

Nostradamus flashed sequences of polarized fringe colors, reshaping the mode into a melody closer to mine. This time the others blended into the theme instantly, encouraged by progress. Again, the light aqua being manifested before me with delicacy and grace. I’m certain it was a she. Her essence was female and mothering, not cloying or demanding in any way. I felt caressed and recalled, like a partner summoned, a lover beckoned. Memories of pleasure seeped in my psyche. Slowly, my song was resurrected from within, but with less harsh an intrusive descant. Now my tune struck a resonant chord, paralleling theirs with impunity. Suddenly and naturally our former disparities began to congeal. We were less apart, though still unmated.

"Marie is my name," chimed a whorl of blue, answering my curiosity. "A physicist. Curie. Many are summoned in the vortex to assist you."

The plasticity of the walls silvered, reflecting the mirrored colors of this latest mode. I struggled unsuccessfully to speak, to thank my new friends. I saw sounds with greater congruity and heard tints with more refined accuracy. Perhaps this progression, arrayed kaleidoscopically around my searching mind, was part of what was being offered, a method of fusion. My ability to reproduce specific hues improved. I could feel that and with it a sense of freedom and comfort. Matching them became desirable and possible. I was able to change my song. No longer crude, the tune acquired lilt and contour as it expressed itself, reaching and overcoming theirs. It was a counter melody, but it did not stray or confuse the effect of thematic content, not like the first time. When this occurred, I noticed beaming acquiescence among the multicolored monitors, indicated by luminous pastel coronas of yellow and white. The drug was working well. Clearly, I could equal and surpass the mastery of such beings, if indeed they w ere truly the ones whom they claimed to be.

"Change the timeline," ordered the bell. "No further than 2525 to heal."

I cannot quantify the time spent coursing through the duet, only the result. My tune continued to elongate and elevate in majesty until I perceived its strength and singularity amidst the chorus. It was they who learned my mode, not the other way around. Every nuance was supported with appropriate clusters of tone, perfectly balanced with myself as violet soloist. The harmonies were delicious. The audience was appreciative according to the room reflections. Thrilled and captivated by the achievement, I ended by giving praise in tuneful tribute, sinking slowly back into my waiting cocoon of flesh, no longer pathless and unproven. I wondered whether or not I was clever enough to repay my illustrious helpers.

Marie returned in radiant yellow, reclining next to my pulse. I could not hear her words, but I saw the meaning of her incandescence. Tomorrow they would try again, now that I could sing. Tomorrow Nostradamus would increase the tempo and raise me up to a higher plane of synchronization. She would be there to teach me a useful rhythm, a supreme syncopation of sympathetic resonance. She promised symphony and immortality and I found myself wanting it. Oh, to be part of such an event and still remain me.

The wizards adjusted their coils and lulled me from awareness to dreams, never permitting my mind to slip into unconsciousness. I never observed their dispersal, merely the absence of color voiding ebony around my fantasies like a border. It was the last I sensed of them, for they have not returned.