The Ancients

by Adam-Clay Webb

  All eyes turned to him.

  “You will know… one way or another,” Lukia said, then vanished in a black cloud.

  ***

  The steady movement of the carriage halted, and Zen awoke, feeling the change. Rishema, the woman who had hired the carriage, did not allow Zen to see outside. Instead, she had the curtains pulled over the windows, telling Zen that the sunlight would make her sweat, and this might turn Cyrus off. Zen tugged at the hem of her short peach dress. Since she was decorated in it by Rishema, she had made tugging at the hem into a habit. She was used to wearing clothes that barely even revealed her ankles, but Rishema thought that such clothes would just hide her flawless skin, which was made even more flawless by the oils and lotions that the woman had plastered onto them.

  A gush of anxiety hit her as she realized that she had reached her destination. She tugged down some more at her dress, which as she sat, reached just a few inches below her waist. But as she tugged down on the white frills, the tiny dress would cover her breasts less generously. Quite the predicament she thought this to be.

  “Come, come!” Rishema called, as she helped the girl out of the carriage. As Zen exited, she saw a few other chariots reaching the massive yard. A hoard of pretty girls littered the place, some engaging into pretentious conversations, others nervously looking about the vast and exquisite site. There were two layers of fencing. The outer fences, made of board painted in dark green and brown, lined the extending yard of lush grass and well-manicured gardens. The second layer of fencing merged into a gate that stood before the mansion where Chron and Cyrus lived. Guards stood about the fences.

  “Every fortnight, there’s a recruitment of girls for Cyrus,” Rishema said. “About thirty girls should be here, but he only takes three at a time.”

  Zen noticed that there were also some older folks there, most of them women. Most of them were dashing finishing touches onto one or two of the girls. Zen knew that these people were like Rishema. Zen hissed under her breath. She felt like a slave being prepared to be auctioned up.

  Of course, she could have revealed her power to create a commotion that would probably get her the attention of Cyrus far faster, but creating that kind of spectacle was something she couldn’t bring herself to do. Not only would the attention be frightening, but she also feared the possibility of being thrown in prison, even for a day. She had had enough of those dark memories.

  One of the slave masters, a mean-looking woman with stern wrinkles, in a rough-looking grey dress and harsh hair, walked up to Zen and Rishema. Zen saw Rishema’s face change for the worse as this woman came up to them.

  “How many has it been, six, seven failures in a row now?” she greeted mockingly. The woman’s face changed when she took a good look at Zen. Even with bias, no-one could argue that Zen was not one of the prettiest girls on site.

  “Don’t worry, Hagress, this one is sure to break my streak!” Rishema said confidently.

  Hagress, Rishema and the others were licensed to gather and prepare girls for Cyrus. They had attended workshops, and they knew just what to look for. No girl stood a chance of meeting Cyrus without going through one of them first, but Cyrus only paid them when they gathered girls that he selected. By now, Cyrus had gathered almost seventy concubines.

  In minutes, Zen and the other candidates were standing in a straight line. They had been carried into the selection room. Front and centre in the lavish room lined with thick, expensive curtains, was a massive, kingly chair. Seated on the arms of the chair were two goddesses, wearing absolutely nothing, their legs crossed and their posture proud. The sight of this rattled Zen, and no doubt, some of the other girls. The beauties had fans in their hands, which they motioned slowly.

  Cyrus soon entered through some special-looking curtains. He wore a black robe and sandals. The girls bowed instinctively. Zen followed suit.

  Why am I going through with this? Zen asked herself. Of course, being this close to Cyrus, she could have easily brandished her power and gotten his attention. Probably she was curious to see if she would have been chosen by him. But that she cared about that upset her even further.

  The prince of a man sat in his chair, and the two women set their legs on his thighs, and proceeded to fan him. Almost immediately after, he began to point at a few girls and motion to his servants. These girls were then taken out of the room. They had been eliminated.

  When about twenty remained, Cyrus stood up. Crying and sniffles could be heard getting more distant as the rejects were escorted away. He walked along the line of girls, inspecting each for a few seconds, touching them, looking into their eyes. Before long, he had reached to Zen.

  Zen felt an awkwardness and discomfort as he stopped before her. Cyrus smiled a little. Zen could not help but ascribe a deep vainness to the predatory look in his eyes.

  “You…” the man said, looking down into Zen’s grey eyes. This was Cyrus’ first word. This must have meant something. Zen was almost certain. With his mental prowess, he must have sensed Zen’s mental power. But something was off. This smile was not what she would expect. Also, why was he so calm? Zen might have been the only mindbender on the continent, or even in the world, besides him, so of course, sensing her power would have called for some excitement.

  The man inspected Zen thoroughly. Already he had spent more time on her than any of the others. “You…” he said again. “You are the prettiest thing.” He grabbed her neck almost roughly, and palpated it. Then he grabbed Zen’s dress. “Your tiny breasts must be delicious,” he whispered in her. His voice felt like a vile snake. He grabbed Zen’s dress to pull it down, making the other girls extremely jealous and disheartened.

  But what happened next would send jolts of fright into them. In a violent burst, Cyrus, as well as the other girls, the servants, even the beauties on the chair and the chair itself, flew back violently. Cyrus landed and rolled, confused more than anything else.

  Zen stood still, her eyes wide. What she had done was just a reflex. The curtains were still flapping in the breeze made by the sudden force. Hearing the ruckus, guards swarmed into the room.

  “Stay back!” Cyrus beckoned to the guards, getting to his feet, his eyes still fixed on Zen.

  “Leave us, all of you!” he demanded, standing fully. The guards hesitated, but the servants scurried out. “I said get out, before I mince you all to threads!” The guards got out, taking with them the girls. Only Zen stood there with Cyrus. His eyes were wild, but he had calmed. “So the rumours are true,” he said, still marvelling. He walked up to Zen, but this time, with more careful steps. “The child mindbender…”

  “I have come to learn from you,” Zen said. “I heard--”

  “Yes, I am powerful, and I did defend this country is the Black War,” Cyrus said. He moved closer up to Zen, and gently grabbed her hand. “Indeed I saw a rare beauty in your eyes,” he said. “But you’re even more special than I first thought.”

  ***

  Seated around a massively elaborate table in the shrine that sat on the island in the sky were those with the power to crush the world. Aragan leaned back on his chair, his feet set up on the table. A sneaky grin creased his face as he eyed Witch, who was sitting beside her father.

  “All of us here, we must be on one accord,” Kizer said. “As for the way forward, all things will be confirmed around this table.”

  Yuki’s chin forced down onto his interlocked fingers, his elbows firm on the table. Kizer saw that of all of his sons, he was the most uneasy. Kizer remembered well that convincing Yuki to fight in the first war was quite a task.

  “As was earlier said, a force approaches that can only be defeated with the plan I have set out.” Kizer had already briefed them on the situation, but he needed to make sure that everyone understood and agreed to the plan. “Now, this will not be a war, but a purging of the world. Of course, wiping out billions of people will be an arduous task, but I have worked out a way to get it done.” He stood and began to walk around th
e table.

  “Father,” Aragan interrupted. “Just being curious, when we destroy mankind and only we remain, there will be ten of us men and only one woman,” he said. “How will she suffice?”

  Witch’s face reddened at this. She stood immediately.

  “Easy, Witch. Your father and I have thought of everything,” Kizer said, and the woman sat.

  “Each of you, before the purging, will reserve for yourself twelve women,” Kizer explained. “In the new world, these women will bear your children, and die. They shall bring forth the first generation.

  Argros snickered more loudly than the others at this.

  “Then I suppose it’s no trouble if I have Witch then,” Aragran said, then eyed Oga.

  “I will take Witch onto myself,” Kizer said, and reached behind her, gently grabbing the back of her neck. Her eyes widened. Kizer’s sons fell silent. “Oga and I have already agreed. I will take his daughter, and this first daughter of me and her will be his. This will make our families truly one.”

  Witch looked at Oga with utter shock. She felt like a slave being offered as part of a deal, but even so, she felt a strange honour; after all, she was being given to the most powerful man in the world.

  “Kizer, can we regain focus on the current matter?” Oga said uncomfortably.

  “Surely,” he said, offering a smirk. “Now, the first phase of the purge--”

  “Father,” Yuki came in. “When you fought against Oga, you fought to protect this world. How can you now so easily and trivially scheme to destroy it?”

  “Yuki, I know you are an honourable man who hates strife, but your sight is short.”

  “Three months,” Yuki said. “In the grand scheme of things, three months are insignificant. Postpone your plans until then.”

  Oga looked at him with curiousness.

  “By then, if I have no alternative, then I will help you to cleanse this world.”

  “I agree with Yuki,” Aven joined in. “We should not so quickly decide to kill billions. Let us first be certain that we have no choice.”

  Kizer had anticipated this from Yuki. “Oga?” he solicited, turning to him.

  “Let’s get on with the killing already!” Argros blasted, slamming the table.

  “Give them seven weeks,” Oga said. Oga knew that no alternative could be found that would satisfy Kizer, so he figured that the sooner the purge started, the sooner the new world could be formed, and the sooner he will be a god again, as opposed to staying in the shadows.

  “Very well,” Kizer agreed. “In that time, you must each make a resolve. If no one has an alternative by then, we must proceed.”

  “Until then, I ask this,” Yuki said; “stay in the shadows. Do not kill anyone.”

  “And if within that time, you, or any of your brothers, should be seen scheming with the enemy--”

  “You mean my son?” Yuki asked, interrupting Oga.

  “Primarily, yes.”

  “Yuki will not think of crossing us,” Kizer said, but not to the assurance of Oga.

  “We will leave the enemy be for seven weeks, and so will you,” Oga said sternly.

  “Very well,” Yuki said.

  Argros hissed.

  “Reasonable,” Kizer said. “When the time passes, you will see for yourself that this is the only way, Yuki.”

  ***

  “There I was, wasting away in a cold cell. I had lost track of time, and all hope was gone. I wanted to die. And that is when I met him,” Zen said. Cyrus and Zen were walking through an elaborate and labyrinthine orchard at the back of the mansion. “I heard footsteps, but at first, I took no notice of them. The guards would regularly patrol the cells,” she said. “But I soon realized that something strange was happening. Strange men were in the prison, and they were searching the cells for someone.”

  Cyrus was quite intrigued by Zen’s story. He had told her that before he would consider training her, he must first know everything about her.

  “The men stopped at my cell, and were talking amongst each other. Finally, the guards called out to me. I was so frightened. Even though I was wasting away and wished to die, the thought of finally being killed horrified me. But then I heard a voice, his voice, and suddenly, I was not afraid.”

  Cyrus appeared put off by this. “Whose voice?” he asked.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Zen said. “That’s what the voice said. Then I felt a hand touch my face. There was a coldness on the hand, but at the same time, a trusting warmth. Then he told me his name… Lex Leo…” As she reminisced, tears welled up in her eyes.

  Cyrus almost hissed. But then, after a moment of thought, he appeared perplexed. “That name…” he said.

  “Yes. I did not yet know, but Lex Leo, he was, and is the boy of prophecy. And that night, he was my saviour.”

  “That boy is only a myth,” Cyrus said caustically. Now he questioned in himself whether anything that Zen had told him was true.

  But Zen would spend hours in the orchard not only convincing Cyrus that Lex Leo was more than myth, but also telling him of the hidden truths behind the Black War, and behind the gods, and most crucially, about the imminent war that would determine the world’s fate.

  Even as the sky dimmed, Cyrus and Zen sat in the orchard on a tree. All that Zen had told him was like a fantastical fairy tale. Even though he saw in her eyes that she spoke truth, he was still in disbelief. With all this new knowledge, Cyrus now had to unlearn all of what he thought to be the true history of the gods. Not only that, but he also realized… “This looming war to save the world, it is also mine.”

  Zen nodded.

  “But this time, the enemies are…”

  “I need your help, Cyrus. Make me stronger. This time, I must be more useful.”

  Cyrus looked at Zen. There was a grimness in his eyes, a disappointment. He knew that what Zen meant was that she wanted to be strong enough to protect Lex.

  “Well, the first thing I must do before I can make you any stronger is gage your strength,” Cyrus said.

  Zen nodded sharply and stood. Immediately, she placed her index and middle finger on her temples.

  “No need for that here,” Cyrus said. “If we mess this garden up, an old woman will be very upset.” He laughed a little, but stopped a little suddenly when he saw that Zen was silent.

  “As I speak, there is a seal on my mind that restricts my powers completely,” Cyrus said. “As I became stronger, a constant ache fell upon my head that only worsened. I entered my own mind and somehow created a seal that supresses my power.”

  “So whenever you fight, you are constantly in pain?” Zen asked.

  “Yes. I think my mind has reached a fundamental limit. When you touch a flame, you flinch in pain. This pain is a warning that the mind creates, telling you to stay away.”

  “So this terrible pain you feel is a warning?”

  “Yes. I believe that if I try to force myself beyond this limit, my mind will destroy itself.”

  “You said that you entered your own mind,” Zen said.

  “Yes. I will teach you how to see and use your mind. If somehow your mind has a higher limit that mine, then you will be able not only to manipulate you own mind, but the minds of other people. This is the power I sought to reach, but I could not. At my level, my mind has the destructive capabilities of arcane magic, but this power is nothing compared to what can be achieved. There was a man, I read about him, a man of old with a mind so strong he could defeat any opponent without lifting a finger. But without such a man around, my mind must suffice as the strongest, so you have come to the right place,” he said proudly.

  He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them. A slight glow shone from them. Zen saw that he was struggling to bear the pain. Veins surfaced about his temples. He walked up to Zen and touched her head. She flinched. “Not bad,” he said. “Your mind is impressive. Your force fields can repel most magical, elemental and physical attacks, and you can also create waves that can slice t
hrough most solids.”

  Zen was impressed.

  “Come with me,” Cyrus said. With those words, Zen witnessed her reality vanish, and instantly replaced by another.

  ***

  His muscles torn and weary, breathing heavy and desperate, the shirtless boy fell to his knees. He plunged heavily into the thick snow. Icilda, who was sitting with crossed legs on a chair she had formed from ice, hissed in disappointment. Crank, Fross and Artaco stood about Lex. Fross cased re-cased his sword.

  “Is this all you amount to without those wretched demons to help you?” Artaco mocked.

  “We should give him a break,” Fross suggested.

  “No. Not until he reaches,” the woman insisted sharply. “If you boys are too tired to go on beating him, I will take over,” she said.

  Lex had totally separated from himself the Zagans’ strength. Maximo and the others were told not to interfere even slightly. Not only that, but Lex was wearing a special bracelet upon each wrist, a limiter that made it ten times more difficult to summon ice energy. The other Icemakers had used these same bracelets, forged by Sage Lukia and given to Icemakers to make them more effective against the Ionides. They had been locked away in a secret vault by her father, but she had discovered them. She figured that her father might have locked them away because they were dangerous, probably with the power to suppress an Icemaker’s power until it completely vanished. But Icilda took the chance and used them on herself and the others, and the only result found was a massive increase in power.

  Fross, Artaco and Crank had been pounding on the almost-powerless Lex for four straight hours. The boy was now bleeding all over, and suffered several slices from Fross’ blade. In all of this, Lex restrained himself from relying on the Zagans. Icilda was sure that pushing Lex to his very limit, straining him to the furthest possible point, would evoke in him the zenith of the power of ice, what Asuri had called the ‘Epic State’. Only after reaching this state could an Icemaker not only summon ice energy, but fully control the ice in the environment around him.

  Lex struggled up to his feet, slouching over. “Icilda… let me fight you instead,” he muttered, blood escaping his mouth.