Children of Semyaza

by Kevin C Noel

  “Stay away from him,” the hooded figure said in a familiar voice. They all looked over their shoulders to regard the one who commanded them.

  “Another proud thing,” said one of the two sitting by the fire.

  “And,” said Ingrid as she pulled back her hood, “not a baby.”

  Garrick was overcome by a mixture of relief and shame when he saw Ingrid’s violet eyes glaring at the three. She glanced his direction and seemed shocked to see him, but then she cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the wraiths.

  “He’s going to come with me and we’re going to leave without incident, okay?” The three said nothing as they undoubtedly sensed her superiority. The one that struck Garrick resignedly stepped aside as Ingrid walked up to Garrick and helped him up. “Follow me,” she said without meeting his eyes. “This is the second time I’m saving your ass. Let’s try not to make a habit of it, okay?”

  “I don’t understand,” Garrick said as soon as the wraiths were out of sight. “They feared you. Do you still have your strength here?” Ingrid nodded, still not looking at him. “But I feel weak, Ingrid. I can’t even walk without losing breath.”

  “You’re still a Nink, Volant,” she said. “You haven’t gone through the Ceremony of Consent. Until that time, your skills are locked. For now, you’re like a normal human being.”

  Garrick coughed out some sand he had inhaled. “Still calling me Volant, then?” She reddened with embarrassment but said nothing. “Who were those guys anyway? Degenerate Incardians?”

  “They’re not Incardians.”

  “But I thought…”

  “We’re not in Terraincardia. Not yet, anyway.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Ingrid sucked her teeth impatiently. “It must be so tiring being a Nink. You landed on the border with a barren limbo. Those three were lost souls who’ve been down here for longer than anyone in Terraincardia can imagine. I’m sure you can tell they don’t like us very much. Watch your step.”

  They had reached a massive wall that stretched to points unknown. They walked through a cold tunnel for some time until they were greeted by a soothing bright light.

  “The light at the end of the tunnel,” Garrick joked. Ingrid said nothing.

  As they reached the end of the tunnel, they stepped on harder ground which contrasted the sandy terrain from where he’d landed. He noted a massive structure in the distance, like a pyramid or ziggurat, with a massive burning orb at the top. He was somehow drawn to it, but Ingrid held onto his shoulder.

  “You’ll see the Oneness some other time,” she said. “We need to move on.”

  The further they walked, he began to see several craters on the floor, possibly caused by the other Ninks he saw descending earlier. Ahead, were a group of men and women sprawled around a brazier. Ingrid left Garrick to converse with one of them. He was a tall slim man; lank thinning platinum blonde hair draped his face and he wore a milky coat. He regarded Garrick with widened cyan eyes as she spoke to him. The man composed himself, looked back, and nodded his head at Ingrid who, Garrick had noticed, still hadn’t looked at him since she helped him.

  The people who lay supine on the hard ground were inhaling something out of a curious cylindrical contrivance. They exhaled a reddish cloud of smoke and lay down on their backs with fogged eyes gazing up at the dark sky. Some giggled elatedly; others merely goggled at each other; and some sat down cross-legged and ruminatively ducked their heads. There was one, however, who looked keenly at Ingrid and the pale haired man, and then at Garrick.

  “Rapturedust,” said Ingrid as she sidled beside Garrick. “It’s like methylenedioxymethamphetamine.”

  Garrick laughed at her prodigious and uninterrupted pronunciation of the word. “Ingrid,” he began, “why did I land so far from here? It looks like many others ended up in this spot.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “When he was alive… Volant… my Volant, he was a bit of a mischief-maker. He would often land in the limbo just to incense its inhabitants. You must have unconsciously picked up on that. You’re lucky I found you, though. It’s very dangerous for a Nink.”

  “So how did you…?”

  “We used to do it together. When Octavius mentioned you hadn’t arrived yet, I figured you might have landed there yourself. So, I came after you.”

  Something clenched in his stomach. It was becoming evident that Ingrid had a strong relationship with Volant, and it left him speechless. “Thank you,” he eventually said shakily.

  “Let’s go,” she said, ignoring his gratitude. “These are the Upper Regions. Nothing here but Eagle People. A friend of mine has made a caroche available for us which will take us to the capital.”

  Garrick raised an eyebrow. “Eagle People?”

  “The Eagle People are an Incardian club,” said Ingrid as she looked their way. “They spend most of their time up here addling their brains with powerful rapturedust.”

  “Wait,” said Garrick. “What do you mean by brains? Aren’t we souls?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Well, we had to exit our bodies to come here, right? So, isn’t all we see—our hands, legs, face, brain—all just a mental construct?”

  Ingrid smirked, but her eyes still didn’t meet his. She recalled asking Volant a similar question when she was a Nink. She thought it best to give the same nonsensical answer he gave her. “The you that’s in you is what makes you you, Garrick.” Garrick was clearly dumbstruck by the strange statement. “Basically,” she continued, “your body is your link to the human world but not the real you. It’s a vehicle. The Incardian soul which drives that vehicle is what you truly are. When you come into Terraincardia, you are no longer inside your shell but in your true form and in your own world. In the human world, your Incardian soul is ephemeral but down here it is a solid entity. You are no longer a union of soul and body, you are a soul-body… one and the same.”

  Garrick could not help but feel some admiration for her. “It’s like a whole new school of philosophical thought,” he said as he scratched his forehead. Ingrid merely shrugged and led Garrick down the road.

  They walked up to a purple carriage pulled by a grayish horse with flaming red eyes. As they entered the compartment, Garrick was fed up by his guide’s reticence. “Is there a reason why you haven’t looked at me?”

  Ingrid turned to look at him almost immediately as if to prove him wrong, but gradually lowered her eyes and looked away again. “It’s nothing,” she said. Garrick had elected not to push. He considered the fact that she was the strong one and he was the puny Nink. “It’s just…” she had begun to say, suddenly piquing his interest. “The last time I saw you, you only shared a passing resemblance to Volant. But now, now that you’ve been Questioned…” She turned to look at him again and softly bit her bottom lip before letting out a soft reminiscent sigh. “You don’t just look like him anymore. You are a complete carbon copy. And I can’t stand it.”

  They horse pulled the carriage and there was nothing left between them but silence.

  At some point during the journey, Garrick had nodded off out of exhaustion. He was eventually roused by a thump on his shoulder. He looked up, dewy eyed, at Ingrid. “We’re here,” she said. Before them was a massive sixty-storied wall with an iron gate at its center. At the very top were several men and women with iron spears. They looked down at their caroche without a word and nodded their heads once they saw Ingrid. There was a large roaring sound as the iron doors parted. “Welcome to Andvaria. Terraincardia’s capital city.”

  Garrick stuck his head out of the caroche to observe the magnificent city rife with semidetached homes. Their carriage passed what resembled inns as well. There was something distinctly ancient yet modern about this place. It was like a cross between the Roman Empire and Edwardian England. They moved for some time until they reached a two-story building with yet another recognizable face standing by the entrance.

  Octavius stood, as he always di
d, with both hands at his back and beamed at the two of them as they stepped out of the caroche. He wore a dark brown frock coat over a lighter brown vest. His hair was not as neatly combed back as usual but let loose and hanging over his shoulders. He shook Garrick’s hand excitedly as he looked over at Ingrid’s still face.

  “I am relieved Ingrid’s instincts were correct,” he said. “I hope your sojourn in the nether regions wasn’t too traumatizing.”

  “No, Ingrid came to the rescue just in time again.”

  Octavius acknowledged Ingrid with a slight nod which she responded to with one of her own.

  “I saw Kolten, he knows” she said. Octavius nodded again. “I’ll be off now,” she said. “Volant… I mean, Garrick, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” said Octavius. “You need rest. Tomorrow is going to be full of activity.”

  Garrick did not argue. He was still having a hard time keeping his eyes open. The effects of his journey had taken a lot out of him. He waved awkwardly at Ingrid as she got back into the Caroche and left, then followed his Questioner into the house. Upstairs, Octavius led him into a small room with a small bed. Nothing as grandiloquent as his bed back in Kaunas, but comfortable enough. As soon as he lay on it, he was sleeping soundly.

  Octavius noted Kolten’s distinctive platinum-blonde hair as he stepped out of his building. He was standing on the other side of the flagstone street, leaning on a lamppost with his hands crossed. His eyes were fixated on the upstairs window of the room where Garrick slept. Once Octavius reached him, Kolten turned his gaze toward him and seemed to speak without uttering a word. Octavius, seeming to understand, nodded his head.

  “Walk with me,” said Octavius. The two strolled without a word for some time as they observed the newly arrived Incardians and Ninks in the bright city of Andvaria. In the distance was the Ziggurat which shone brightest of all due to the intense orb of fire that burned above it. Their popularity in this community was immediately evident as they were acknowledged by several Incardians who passed them on their stroll, while their uninformed Ninks merely gawked at them with curiosity.

  Once they reached a crossroad, Kolten finally broke the silence between them. “He saw me earlier,” he said.

  “I heard.”

  “He didn’t recognize me.”

  “Memories of his former life come and go,” Octavius said. “They’ve yet to coalesce. Though I wish I knew exactly how long that’ll take.”

  “And you Questioned him; do you seriously think Volant would have wanted to become an Incardian again even if he had the chance?”

  “I’m only following his orders, Kolten.”

  “And how did he know you would be drawn to him? How could he possibly know that you would both have a connection in the Oneness? The connection cannot be predicted or controlled.” Octavius gave a Gaelic shrug. “Seeing him… he looks the same. Like he never died. What name does he go by now? Ingrid called him Volant.”

  “It’s hard for her to let go; always has been. His name is Garrick.”

  “Garrick? Mighty name.” Kolten said nothing for a while as he pondered more.

  “What is it?” asked Octavius, perceptive as usual.

  Kolten sighed heavily. “It’s him. There’s no room for doubt. I won’t even try it. I’m one hundred percent certain.”

  “What sold it?"

  “We connected through the Fourth as he slept.”

  Octavius smirked. He was also certain Garrick was the one he had been looking for, but it was a relief that one who was closer to Volant acquiesced. “Of course,” he said, attempting to mask his delight.

  Octavius and Kolten acknowledged the greetings of several more Incardians who passed them as they made their way to the municipal center. Kolten sucked his teeth in frustration. He was more accustomed to riding around the city in his opulent carriage and was never fond of moving around with Octavius who preferred walking.

  “Does he know?” asked Octavius.

  “Who?”

  “Your Questioner. Our Lord and Master.”

  “You know Terraincardia well enough, Octavius,” he said. “News travels faster than Haddox.”

  18

  The cantankerous Wayland, the pugnacious Yair, the hebetudinous Kira, and the aphasic Babacar, awaited the High Lord in his court. Wayland regarded his fellow council members with a supercilious air. As far as he was concerned, being a member of the council the longest, he was the only one worthy to respond to Kalder’s summon. After all, he was the feared Keeper of the Gore Council who wielded the indestructible Orlock Claymore—and by rights the most important of the four. According to him, Yair was more akin to a treasurer; Kira a secretary; and Babacar the muscle of the group. This was all despite the important roles they all played. The Doctor, on the other hand, was late to the meeting. Nevertheless, Wayland was certain he would not be reprimanded by the High Lord for it. For some unknown reason, the High Lord favored the Doctor above the rest. For this Wayland hated him the most.

  The High Lord’s court was dark and quiet even though it mostly served as a venue for merriment following the Ceremony of Consent. The four Incardian lords stood by an elevated platform where they expected their High Lord to appear at any moment. Wayland, who was responsible for their convening, circled the room impatiently. He saw the arrival of Octavius’ impostor as an unforgivable affront.

  “What troubles you, Your Grace?” asked Yair. “You’re unnerving us with your circling.” Wayland glared back at Yair in response, then turned away from him to continue his circling without a word. “I asked you a question!” yelled Yair.

  “I don’t owe you an answer!” Wayland shot back. “What gives you the right to interrogate me?!” The two were soon face to face. Babacar merely grunted his disapproval while Kira adopted his usual dégagé pose of resting on a wall with his arms crossed and his head drooped.

  “I asked a simple question, Wayland. There’s no need to get offended!” explained Yair.

  “Well then,” started Wayland, “be patient and wait for the High Lord’s arrival. I detest repeating myself.”

  “Repeating yourself? You’re…”

  “If I may interject,” interrupted Kira, his head still down pensively. “Lord Wayland may be in such a state of worry because something has happened which threatens his current station.”

  Petrified and with mouth ajar, Wayland slowly looked over where the detached Kira stood. Yair was also taken aback. Somehow, he could tell that Kira’s statement did not solely concern Wayland, but all the members of the Gore Council—this could not be taken lightly. Kira’s supernatural power of deduction could only be matched by that of Kolten Adler. No one in the room could begin to figure out how he had come up with his conclusion, but they could sense its validity. Wayland’s face was enough of an indicator.

  “I… I,” Wayland stuttered.

  Kira said nothing more and returned to his silent state; Babacar merely shook his head; and Yair had begun to circle the room as well.

  “What does he mean, Wayland?”

  Wayland said nothing and looked down at his feet. Yair had begun to approach him, possibly to get physical for an answer, when the hall doors were opened and a tall stalwart man with dark brown hair tittuped into the court as his eyes scanned the entire room. By the time he had reached his confreres, he was almost stifled by the tension in the air.

  Once he caught sight of the Doctor, Wayland held his head up high again. The Doctor merely observed them, a grim smile upon his lips, and said, “You gentlemen know something I don’t?” There was no answer. The Doctor noted Kira standing on his own in a corner. “Ah yes, Lord Kira. Care to regale me with your amazing application of logical deduction?” Kira also didn’t answer. The Doctor didn’t take it personal—Kira didn’t like anyone.

  The Doctor turned to Wayland again. “Are you going to tell me why we’re here, Wayland?”

  “N… Not until the High Lord joins us.”


  “If that be the case,” said Kal, “pray share.”

  Seeing their benumbed High Lord perched solemnly on his throne as if he had appeared out of thin air, the four genuflected in deference while the Doctor simply bowed his head. Despite his seemingly insolent refusal to kneel, there was still something supplicatory in his manner as he raised his head. The way he looked up at Kal with such reverence, no one could ever accuse him of disrespect.

  “I ran into LeGrey earlier, my Lord,” reported Wayland.

  Kal suddenly sat up upon hearing the name. “And?” he asked.

  “He said something that only now makes sense to me, my Lord. He said he had a surprise for the Council and the whole of Terraincardia.”

  Kalder rubbed his chin. “A surprise, eh?”

  “Yes, my Lord. I initially shrugged it off as the ramblings of a deranged rebel. It’s no secret that Octavius LeGrey is the most fractious of Incardians, so I’ve learned to dismiss the things he says.”

  The Doctor scoffed as he remembered his own run-ins with the tenacious Highlander. Because of his rebellious manner, no one would have possibly surmised Octavius LeGrey once sat on the council himself—long before even the pompous Wayland.

  “Later on, my Assenter went to the Uppers to purchase a batch of rapturedust. For himself, of course. It’s a filthy habit I do not partake in.” the Doctor scoffed, and Wayland shot him a scornful look before he continued. “Well, he told me he saw Ingrid Faustel deep in conference with your Assenter, Kolten.”

  Kal raised an eyebrow. “What is the relevance of this?” he inquired.

  “Well,” continued Wayland, “he overheard them talking about a young man who traveled with her. He saw the young man in question and thought he looked familiar.”

  Kal inched forward from his seat as he knew where Wayland was going with his story but pushed on for indubitable confirmation. “What about this young man?”