by Kevin C Noel
“He could not make out what they were talking about exactly. But he did hear a name. It was… It was…”
Kal’s hands curled into fists. “Volant?”
Everyone reacted to the sound of that name. Wayland was taken unawares by Kal’s intensity; Babacar’s left eye had begun to twitch; Yair swore under his breath; Kira smirked malevolently; and the Doctor closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. They all knew nothing would remain the same after that.
“Yes, my Lord.,” Wayland finally said. “And my Assenter suddenly knew why the young man looked so familiar. He is almost certain he was looking at Volant Kesgaila!”
Kal shivered with anger. Vincent had previously reported Ingrid’s interference, but he had also claimed the young man Octavius had intended to Question was nothing like Volant. He was skinny, scared and almost blind. The Volant he knew was a warrior from the very beginning..
“He must be an impostor Octavius intends to use to undermine you, my Lord!” declared Yair.
“My thoughts exactly!” acquiesced Wayland. Babacar also agreed with a speedy nod. The Doctor stayed silent as he pondered but chose to keep his deeper thoughts to himself.
It was Kira who spoke. “No, he is no impostor,” he declared and was greeted with incredulous glances from the others. Ignoring this, he proceeded to explain. “I’ve known Octavius a long time. He’s not one to involve himself in frivolous Machiavellian machinations merely for the sake of undermining the High Lord. After all, he used to be a member of this council and left willingly to find the Ambler. What does he have to gain by undermining us now? If he says he’s found Volant, he has. We have believed all Gusoyn’s prophecies till now. What would be the point of denying the return of the Ambler as has been foretold?”
“So,” said The Doctor. “The Ambler truly has returned.”
A frown had worked itself onto Kal’s features. He could not stomach the blasphemy.
Wayland sucked his teeth in disgust. “High Lord Kalder. I strongly suggest the Doctor and Kira be penalized for speaking treason in your presence.”
The Doctor clenched his fists in irritation while Kira returned to his signature pose and said nothing. The Doctor’s annoyance, however, had little to do with Wayland’s baseless accusation. He only hated being referred to as “the Doctor.” Yes, he was a medical doctor before he was Questioned, and he had no problem being referred to as one; but it was in Wayland’s jeering tone. Because of this, others had formed the habit of calling him the Doctor with that same tone as well. Wayland was just the only one who ever dared to call him the Doctor to his face.
Kal was aware of Wayland’s enshrouded affront and the Doctor’s disapproval of it. “I’m sure treason is the last thing on his mind. Am I right, Lord Hagen?” Kal was in no mood to watch his Dukes squabble.
Hagen nodded his head slowly as he fought to calm himself down and avoided Wayland’s grinning visage. He took a few steps toward Kalder and said, “Do not worry, my Lord. Despite Kira’s verdict, I cannot believe the Lord Kesgaila—I mean Volant—has returned. I request your permission to investigate further. Besides, what we know now is highly dependent on hearsay.”
“I assure you, my Assenter is completely…” Wayland started but was cut short by Kal who raised a hand to silence him.
“Hagen, go. I’ll be expecting to hear from you soon.”
The five bowed as Kalder walked out of the court, his mind set on one thing. Hagen was going out to determine the veracity of Wayland’s Assenter’s account. But, Kalder was aware it was a complete waste of time.
Volant was dead. And he would make sure he stayed that way.
Ingrid alighted from the caroche, aided by the driver, and she walked into the popular Varney Nightspot, MoltSang. The mentholated air within cooled her eyes and made them teary. She walked up to the counter where a thickset barkeep ogled at her. She was certain she was completely unclothed in his filthy mind. She didn’t care much. One was bound to get used to hungry stares and drooling after several hundred years. Especially one so adequately suited to fending for herself.
“What can I do you for, my lady?” he asked in a rhythmic cantabile.
Ingrid smiled the coquettish smile she had come to be known for in Terraincardia. A mesmerizing smile which had all do her bidding. “Warwick,” she said softly. “Where is he?” The barkeep did not think as he pointed toward the roof. Ingrid understood, rubbed his cheek and went upstairs.
This section of the nightspot was reserved for the more esteemed citizens of Terraincardia. Jacob Kalder himself owned a private booth despite not being a regular customer.
She noted a section huddled by several laughing women. She paid attention because of the sole man who was seated in their midst as he drank a green beverage. He wore a distinctive Schott Perfecto over a dark blue t-shirt and his dirty blonde hair was arranged in a side part and quaff. Ingrid shook her head as she approached him. This was not the look he had when they had last met seven years ago. Of all Incardians, Warwick was the most current with fashion trends, no matter how ridiculous they made him look.
As soon as she got to his table, his wide grin receded instantly. “Ladies,” he started, “please disperse.” The girls exchanged confused looks at each other. “Move!” he commanded. At the sound of his stentorian voice, the ladies scampered instantly.
Ingrid waited until they were all gone then sat down on the sofa beside him. Despite losing all his beautiful companions, Warwick did not seem upset. He had missed his old friend and showed it by kissing her lightly on the cheek and she returned the gesture.
“I’m guessing daddy’s here as well,” he said as he poured her a glass of the green beverage.
“I only drink minka when I’m celebrating, Warwick.”
He chuckled softly. “Daddy has a new son. Looks like enough reason to celebrate.”
Ingrid smiled as she took a sip of the minty beverage. “You look well,” she said.
“As well as any man who knows he’s about to die looks, I suppose.”
“What are you on about?”
“Well,” Warwick sat up. “It turns out that this new son is a large walking and glowing billboard. Want to know what that billboard reads? YOU ARE ALL GOING TO DIE.” He downed the entire drink.
“I thought you weren’t a believer.”
“Who are we kidding, Grid? Octavius is no bedlamite. Never has been. If he says he has the Ambler—he has the Ambler.”
“So why are you bellyaching?”
“I’m not bellyaching,” he retorted defensively. “I’ve just never been at ease with the very idea of an Ambler in the first place; I’ve nothing against the young man…uhm, Garrick, yes? Yeah, I have nothing against Garrick. I’m just not overly fond of what he stands for.”
“I didn’t think you did.”
“I know people who will, though.”
“I bet you know scores.”
“But he only needs to worry about Kal and the entire Gore Council.”
“I’m sure Octavius has it under control.”
“He always does, doesn’t he?”
Ingrid grinned. “Yes,” she said. “Little brother has always been so tactful. I’m just the emotional one.” She took another sip of her drink and stared at the table ruminatively.
Warwick did not need to ask what was going through her mind. “He looks like him, doesn’t he?” She nodded her head slowly. “And he doesn’t remember you?” She nodded again. “That must be hard for you.”
She took a deep breath and reclined on the sofa. “I’ll get over it.” Warwick scoffed incredulously and poured himself another glass of minka. Ingrid disregarded this and snatched his cup. “Where are you now?” she asked.
“You mean up there?” he asked, pointing his finger upwards. Ingrid nodded. He leaned closer to her and she could see a menacing gleam in his Cornish eyes. “I’m in Melbourne,” he announced.
Ingrid gasped. “Really?” He nodded and laughed maniacally. “And are you representing Gr
eat Britain again?”
“No. GB’s boring now. I was going to represent Romania. But now they’re going to be pretty sour when they realize I’m gone. Even I’m sour I’m gone. Remind me to kick Kal’s ass for commencing this Ceremony of Consent early.”
Ingrid chuckled. “And which games were you going to partake in?”
“All of them, Grid.”
“Is that even allowed?”
Warwick did not answer. He grabbed the minka bottle and stood up. “Let’s go visit my new brother, Grid,” he said. “Fuck the Olympics.”
Garrick was awake, but still too tired to open his eyes. He tossed and turned for several minutes until he felt strength return to him. Once he could manage to open them, he noticed Octavius sitting down on a stool beside his bed, his silver blue eyes fixed on him. Garrick said nothing for a while and lay on the bed as if awoken from an intense dream.
“How long have I been sleeping?” he finally asked. “I feel heavy the way you do when you’ve overslept.”
“I have no idea. Time down here is indeterminable. But it has been a long time.”
Garrick sat up and stretched. “Did Volant know a Kolten? The name kept ringing in my dreams.”
Octavius smirked. “All in good time. How are you feeling?”
“I’m good,” he said as he sat up. “What now?”
“I suppose,” started Octavius, “a little sightseeing would be appropriate.”
Garrick was excited by the thought. “I caught a glimpse of the Oneness,” he said.
Octavius smirked. “Follow me,” he said.
The two of them walked through the narrow streets of Andvaria until they reached an open space. In the distance, Garrick could see the gilded ziggurat. The very top of it was covered by a bright flame which swirled around without burning anything. Garrick was more overcome by wonder than anything else and approached the mammoth structure with curiosity. He was surprised when he realized that the closer they were to the top, the cooler he felt. It was as baffling as the effects of being consumed by the flames of skydust. A flame which did not burn.
At the top of the ziggurat, he saw that the flame was circling around a large lambent globe. Within this globe, there were several atomic mercurial beads which zipped and zoomed haphazardly as they flickered like fireflies. Their collective luminance lit up the dark sky and the two Incardians had to shield their eyes as they approached.
“This is where it all begins for us, Garrick,” said Octavius. “This is the Oneness. We walk through the flame to return to our physical bodies on earth. Jacob Kalder, as the High Lord of Terraincardia, is the only one who can use it to teleport himself wherever he chooses within this realm. But more importantly, it is the tool through which the Originator manipulated creation. As are many things connected to the Originator, no one knows how this was created, but we have figured out its dual function. Those little beads within the massive globe represent all of us. Those who are born and those who are yet to be born are within. We are Incardians even when we are humans awaiting the Question. The Oneness holds the connection a Questioner has with an Assenter. Look into the sphere, you will notice that some of the flickering beads are attached to others. What you’re seeing is a connection. Of course, no one knows who the beads represent specifically, but be certain that I am there and so are you. Somewhere whizzing about within are the two of us connected, along with my other Assenters.
“Inside the Oneness, one starts out as an Incardian in potency and this is when you’re attached to another. And when you’re an Actual Incardian—and not just a Nink, but a full-fledged Incardian—then you’ll become a sole entity with the ability to Question as soon as a new bead is connected to yours.”
Garrick circled the bright orb and was made dumb with awe. For him, being a part of something was a new feeling. For the first time, he was part of a group. This made him cheery and watery-eyed. “More than ever,” he began, “I’m glad to be an Incardian.”
Octavius beamed. It seemed all thoughts of revenge were forgotten, albeit momentarily. He would use their time in Terraincardia to keep him on track. “Come,” he said. “The introduction starts soon. We should go.”
Next, the two of them stood in a crowd at the center of Andvaria. Before them was a massive rotunda which housed the Incardian prince, High Lord Jacob Kalder. Garrick was overcome by a sense of exhilaration at the sight of so many Incardians around him. He could easily distinguish Questioners from their Ninks seeing as Ninks all had the white arm bands as he had on his left arm. He found the uniformity of it a little irritating, however. He was eager to be consented.
“Octavius!” yelled a man with a mighty loud voice. The two of them looked over their shoulders and saw Ingrid walking toward them alongside a lanky auburn-haired man holding a cane and Warwick with both his hands in his pockets.
“Warwick,” answered Octavius.
“You never write,” said Warwick.
“I never know where to send the letter. Where are you, anyway?”
“Melbourne.”
“Ah yes.” Octavius nodded. “The Olympics. Looks like your plans have been thwarted by the High Lord.”
“Eh,” shrugged off Warwick. “There’s always the World Cup.” He glanced at the ocher-eyed Incardian adolescent.
Octavius noted the prolonged stare. “Warwick, meet Garrick. Garrick, this is Warwick, my second Assenter.”
Garrick gulped once it occurred to him; he was before his elder. He straightened and stretched his hand out formally. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Warwick.”
Warwick kept both hands inside his pockets and stared down at him for a while. Despite his senior’s refusal to acknowledge him, Garrick kept his hand outstretched. He couldn’t help but see a bit of Lester and Dennis in him. A good looking young and athletic man who probably had everything go his way his entire life. “Shake my hand, damn you,” thought Garrick. Warwick merely looked at him some more. The others waited for this staring game to be done with before speaking another word themselves.
After what felt like several minutes, Warwick grinned. “Everything’s copacetic here,” he squeezed Garrick’s hand, “little brother.” Relieved, Garrick nodded his head and looked back at the other man, who was smiling affectionately.
“Garrick,” said Octavius. “This is my first Assenter, Rummy.”
A startled Garrick looked back at his Questioner almost immediately. Rummy noted this and laughed softly. “I see you’ve met my grandson,” he said.
Garrick turned to look at him almost as quickly as he looked at Octavius. “Grandson?” he asked.
“That’s right. Rumsfeld Choirhall the Seventh is my grandson. I’m Rumsfeld Choirhall the Fifth.”
Garrick grinned. It was obvious, really. They walked the same; his estuary accent and tone were identical; and upon closer inspection, he also noted the resemblance between grandfather and grandson.
“How is he?” he asked.
“He’s great.”
“The amazing Choirhalls. He shall live long, I’m sure of it,” he stated histrionically.
Octavius patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. “A light lit up within him when he started serving Garrick. He felt he was fulfilling his life’s duty. And he’s turning into a formidable Shaman himself. You’d be proud.” Rummy smiled. Octavius turned to Garrick. “You owe a lot to clan Choirhall, Garrick. They’ve served Volant for centuries in fulfillment of a multigenerational oath.”
Not entirely sure what to say, Garrick merely nodded.
“Well then,” yelled Warwick. “Looks like the family’s back together. Now, let’s squeeze our way inside this darn place and get it over with.”
“I’ll be at MoltSang when you’re done,” said Ingrid as she turned to leave.
“Wait,” Garrick had stretched his arm toward her. “Why are you leaving?”
“I’ll see you later, Garrick. This is a family affair,” she said and was soon lost in the crowd.
“What did she mean?” h
e asked Octavius. “I thought she…”
“No,” Octavius answered. “She isn’t my Assenter. She sees me as a sibling. Our Questioner’s been dead for a while. And you’re smart, Garrick. You know who I’m talking about.”
Garrick didn’t meet his eyes and nodded silently because he did know. Their connection suddenly made sense. The reason why she hated the fact that he could not remember her when they first met. He had known for some time that Volant was Octavius’ Questioner—but he was Ingrid’s as well. And they shared a connection within the Oneness. He suddenly felt overcome by an extreme chill of hopelessness like he had just betrayed a best friend.
19
It was incredibly tasking for Kal to mask the stifling terror he felt. To hide the upsurge of emotion that erupted like a boiling anxiety within him. He could have sworn that at the sight of this doppelganger, even his unconscious body back on Earth had twitched. This was indeed a surreal moment for the High Lord of Terraincardia.
But Vincent’s report suggested that the boy Octavius had claimed was the Ambler was nothing more than a skinny waste of time and no threat at all. Yet this young man he watched quietly from his balcony stood as Volant once did in his early years. His hair was just as dark. Yet, he was not as fully formed as he once knew him. Despite the uncanny resemblance, Kal could still note an aura of inexpertness surrounding him.
Hagen walked into the rotund room and bowed his head as a supplicatory servant. “My Lord,” he said. Kal turned to regard him. Hagen was moved by his usually graceful master’s pale complexion. “What troubles my Lord?”
“The boy. I have seen him.”
Hagen walked over to the balcony to catch a glimpse of the cause of such a livid visage but where Garrick once stood, was a tall purple-haired woman accompanied by several faceless Ninks. “One as cunning and motivated as Octavius LeGrey could easily find someone with a striking resemblance to Volant Kesgaila.”
Kal scoffed as he sat on a divan. “And what if it’s really him?.”
“But you said Volant was dead.”
