Children of Semyaza
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There was no apparent emotion on Hagen’s face as he examined the raging young man in front of him. There was no surprise; no wonder; no excitement; no anger; no fear. There was nothing. He just eyed him stoically.
Once he seemed satisfied, he took several steps toward him and a grim smile formed on his lips. “Isn’t it curious?” he began. “Now you’ve said it, it’s so obvious.” A bellicose Garrick was disarmed by this reaction and nodded quietly. “You are part of the Oneness. What are the chances? It addles my mind!”
Garrick’s fists were no longer clenched. “You left Celina—you left her because you had met your Questioner?” There was a glint of sadness in Hagen’s eyes. There was more to it than that, but he did not feel the need to explain and nodded in response.
Garrick wanted to vent. He wanted to let him know of the pain he had felt at the hands of his half-brother and daughter. He wanted to know if he would approve of their actions. But more than anything, Garrick wanted to know if the man he had come to admire during their first encounter was also his enemy.
“How is she?” asked Hagen, his tone softening.
“I haven’t seen her in about 4 years. I don’t know,” Garrick answered curtly.
Hagen eyed him curiously. “Why do I sense hostility, Garrick?”
Before he could answer, Warwick had strolled up to them, both hands in his pocket as he stared up at the colorless sky lackadaisically. Seeing Hagen, he gave a tepid bow. “Lord Hagen,” he said.
Eyes still fixed on Garrick, Hagen acknowledged the greeting. “Warwick. You missed the Olympics.”
“Shit happens.”
“Right.” There was a brief silence before he noticed Warwick wasn’t leaving. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“No, sir. Just here for the little brother.” And for the first time during that entire encounter, Garrick noted a swift change in his uncle’s features. His eyes had widened in apparent disbelief.
“Ca… Camilla Kesgaila,” he muttered under his breath.
“What?” asked Garrick. “What did you just say?”
But behind the stunned Hagen, a flock of Ninks had begun to troop out excitedly. Warwick saw this as the perfect opportunity to drag Garrick away by the shoulder. Hagen could only watch petrified by incredulity. A torrent of what-if scenarios began to play in his head about the night his nephew was born. Being an Incardian was enough of a coincidence, he thought. But for him to be Questioned by Octavius LeGrey was gut-wrenching and indubitably the plan of fate.
And fate had a wicked sense of humor.
“You son of a bitch!”
Garrick stormed toward Octavius once Warwick had taken him back to the house. Rummy seemed startled by the Nink’s outburst and had raised both his hands demanding peace. But Garrick was beyond that. At the sight of Octavius’ face, he yelled some more. “You knew! You’ve always known!”
Octavius glanced at Warwick who had walked in behind him. All Warwick had to say was “Hagen.” Then Octavius nodded and looked back at his raging Assenter. “What do you mean?” he asked defensively.
“It all makes sense now,” he roared. “What you said that day: ‘You must forget about causing any harm to Miss Hagen.’ You knew all this time that her father was an Incardian.”
Octavius tutted and turned his back on him, “I suspected. Your cousin bore the same name as a member of the Gore Council. I’ve lived long enough to discard the notion of a coincidence.”
“You knew! Yet you used her to fuel my rage?”
“Like I said before, it was the only way.”
But Garrick could not accept this. He placed a hand on his Questioner’s shoulder and declared, “This changes nothing.”
The four of them were startled by a knock on the door. Warwick opened it and was not surprised to see Hagen standing outside.
His eyes scanned the room and rested on Octavius. “A word, please,” he said. Octavius nodded and asked his Assenters to clear the room. At first, Garrick showed signs of hesitance but stopped to recollect he was just a Nink. Also, despite what he might have felt toward Hagen, he was a member of the Gore Council and leagues beyond his level.
As soon as they were the only two left in the room, Hagen spoke. “I must know,” he began. “Are you certain? Or are you just trying to vex Kal? Do you truly believe Garrick is the reincarnation of the Incardian Ambler?”
“He’s the one.”
“It cannot be,” he shot back. “That boy is my… my nephew.”
“I would think you would be proud to know that your kinsman is the Ambler, Hagen.” Octavius sat down and motioned for Hagen to do the same. He sat with the mien of an exhausted and bewildered elder. “What is really bothering you?”
“Kal will not be pleased to know of my relationship to the boy.”
“It’s hardly your fault,” said Octavius, waving his hand dismissively. “We don’t get to choose our relatives. Besides, I’m his Questioner, not you.”
“You don’t understand!”
“Understand what?”
“He isn’t my nephew!”
As always, Octavius retained his unmoved demeanor. He never gave anyone the satisfaction of knowing they had surprised him. Though it was getting much harder keeping up this façade around Garrick, who always found ways to do so. “What are you saying, Hagen?” he asked.
Hagen was on his feet again and looked out of the window. He watched as Garrick followed Warwick and Rummy down the street. “He was never my brother’s child. I saved his life.”
21
APRIL 1935. READING, NEW HAMPSHIRE
Hagen wondered why bad things happened on stormy nights. In his bloodied gloved hands was a newly born baby that struggled for breath. Below was his mother who was also fading and there was nothing he could do. Absolutely nothing. This was the first time in his medical career that he had found himself unable to do something to save a life, never mind two. The mother and child would die on the same night—his first two failures hitting him at the same time.
The nurses frantically yelled questions at him but their voices were distant and inaudible to him. He was gradually taken by shock. All he’d learned in medical school was inaccessible at that moment.
“DOCTOR HAGEN!!!” yelled a nurse which made him jump back into reality.
“Y… yes?”
“What do we do?
Before he could answer, the baby in his arms began to wail as his lungs cleared. With a sigh of relief, Hagen passed the child to a nurse and focused on the mother as though a surge of energy from the baby’s crying had rejuvenated him. He barked orders in a final attempt to save her.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” the mother whispered.
“A boy,” said a nurse. “A beautiful boy. And he’s going to be okay.”
The mother smiled. “I’ll call him Garrick.”
“A good name, Miss.” said Hagen. “And you shall have him in your arms any…” He observed the pale woman had stopped moving. He didn’t need to check for a pulse to know she was gone, but he did anyway. She had passed with a faint smile etched on her face. Even his efforts to resuscitate her were for naught.
Unable to contain his rage, he punched the wall and yelled. All the nurses looked solemnly at the doctor as he struggled to regain his composure. He removed his mask, looked down at his watch and said. “I’m calling it. Time of death is 1:45am, 25th of April 1935.” He looked at her face one last time before covering it with a sheet.
Her name was Camilla Kesgaila and he found her on the outskirts of town just as he was driving home from a house call. She was alone and claimed to be from out of town. That was all he could get from her before the pain was too much for her to bear and everything else she said was incoherent. He honestly thought he could save her. He failed.
Hagen closed his office door behind him and retrieved a bottle of whiskey from his desk drawer. A few swigs later, he leaned back into his chair and stared at the ceiling pensively. Camilla Kesgai
la—he thought the name sounded familiar, but he was unable to place it.
A knock on his office door forced him to hide his bottle. “Come in,” he finally said.
A young man walked in with a wry smile on his face. He took a seat without asking and looked directly into Hagen’s eyes. “You’re the one, then?”
“I’m sorry?” asked a bemused Hagen.
“You must be. There’s something about you that reeks.”
Hagen was visibly offended. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“In a moment,” said the man as he brushed his coiffured hair with his hand. “But first, allow me to introduce myself. I am Jacob Kalder. Feel free to call me Kal. At your service,” he said with a faux bow of his head.”
“What do you want, Mr. Kal?”
Kal’s grin widened. He retrieved a vial from his jacket pocket and dropped it on the table in front of the doctor. In it was a strange polychromatic liquid that startled him.
“What is this?” asked Hagen.
“You know what it is, Doctor. You’re a Skotadologist, are you not?”
Immediately, Hagen retrieved a revolver from under his desk and pointed it at him. Kal, however, wasn’t moved by this gesture and yawned mockingly. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I can’t let you leave here with that information. I’m sorry to do this.”
“Your apology is unnecessary,” said Kal. “You’re pointing that gun because you think I’m a Shimshonite and Shimshonites kill Skotadologists because they know things no human ought to know. But would it make you feel any better if I told you I’m not a Shimshonite?”
“Bullshit!”
In a flashing second, Hagen was no longer holding the revolver. Kal had snatched it from him and spun it with his finger. Hagen took several steps away from him until his back was against the wall. “Atruman!” he yelled.
“The crème de la crème! I’m a Son of Semyaza.”
Hagen closed his eyes hopelessly. No human encountered an Incardian and lived. Especially when they were exposed.
“Relax, Doctor.” Kal threw the gun into a trash can and stood up. “You could be very useful to me. I would like to know what you know… about the Knoxian Heightening Spell.”
“So, how did he end up with your brother’s family?” asked Octavius. He had always suspected Garrick wasn’t a Hartmann when he couldn’t find a single Kesgaila in that family’s records. All he needed was confirmation. He never anticipated he would receive this confirmation from Hagen, however.
“They wanted to adopt. It was an opportunity to give the child I had failed a new home where he would be safe.” Hagen’s face was buried in his hands. “I should have known! All my years studying Atrumankind—the name Kesgaila should have rung a bell. I should have known she was a member of that family! I just didn’t think it possible!”
“And his father?”
“We never knew who he was. I found her alone.” His eyes brightened as he realized something. “Octavius, if Garrick is the Ambler, it could be very worrisome for Kal. I don’t think he’ll let the boy live.”
“I’ll take care of him. Will you assist me?”
Hagen ignored the question as something else occurred to him. “When he saw me, he gave me a look of pure hatred. I could feel it. Why?”
Octavius hesitated to answer at first. Telling the truth about Garrick’s strongest desire could turn Hagen against him. Yet, he knew there was no other choice. Hagen would find out eventually and the results could be much worse. “Your daughter,” he began.
“What about her?”
“She gave him a hard time growing up. She was at the center of all the misfortune he experienced.”
Hagen shook his head. “Misfortune? Celina? Not possible. They got on so well when I left.”
“Then something must have changed. Eventually, even your drunk brother tortured him occasionally at you daughter’s behest. The students at their school would also take to beating him based on her stories about him. Garrick has never known peace. And as much as he would like to take his revenge on all of them, your daughter remains the focus of his rage. I suppose he grew to hate you as well for bringing her into his life.”
“Nonsense!” Hagen shot up. “Didn’t you teach him about what happens as soon as a Questioner makes oneself known to a potential Assenter? The humans around him were subconsciously hostile because of it. He must know that she wasn’t in control of her actions! If he doesn’t know, I will tell him!” He was headed toward the door when Octavius held him by the shoulder. As Hagen looked back at him, he saw the stern expression on his face.
“Hagen, this all began long before I made myself known to him. Years before. She was in control the whole time.” Hagen sighed. “The truth is she hated him for some reason. And now, his fixation on her has made it exceedingly difficult for him to overcome the Nephilim’s Rage. I’ll have Kolten talk to him. If anyone can get through to him, it might be him.”
Hagen said nothing, but the look of gratitude on his face sufficed. He nodded and left the room. He was fond of Garrick from the day he was born. He surmised it was because he had failed his mother and wanted the best for the child. But he could not help feeling the bitter sting of guilt as he walked down the streets of Andvaria. If his half-brother was truly as awful as Octavius claimed, it was all his fault. And Celina… What could he do about that? Surely, he could not choose an adopted nephew over his own daughter.
A smile had formed on Octavius’ face. Regardless of the threat of having Hagen, a longtime ally, friend and fellow believer in the return of the Ambler, as a potential enemy due to Garrick’s intransigence, he was pleased. Finally, he was sure beyond a doubt that Garrick was the one he had been looking for. Garrick Hartmann was indeed a Kesgaila. Possibly the last surviving Kesgaila.
The Ambler had returned. Octavius took a moment to consider the evidence: Garrick’s occasionally green eyes; his apparent strength and agility even before he was Questioned; his memories of Volant; his innate skill with the Blood Cravers; connecting with Kolten through the Fourth; and then, proof he was a Kesgaila after all.
From that moment, Octavius was confident he needed no further evidence to confirm his beliefs.
MoltSang was jam-packed with Ninks. Warwick, Garrick and Rummy waded through the masses and found their way upstairs where Ingrid sat cross legged in a private section. “Minka anyone?” she said jubilantly.
“Don’t mind if I do,” said Warwick as he sat down and poured himself a glass of the green beverage. “You should try this Garrick.” He passed him a cup. “It’s great.”
Garrick took a swig and convulsed uncontrollably for a brief moment before he began to cough as the rest giggled at the sight. It was a corrosive and hot sensation which flowed down his throat into his stomach and was subsequently followed by a sweet and minty aftertaste. “What is this made of?” he asked between coughs.
They all shrugged. “I say you need it to keep that temper of yours in check,” said Warwick. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Nink call his Questioner a son of a bitch.”
Garrick suddenly felt crushed. He didn’t even realize he was being unruly. That was yet another terrible effect of his disdain for Celina. “I’m having a little trouble controlling myself.”
“Well you’d best learn fast, mate,” he took another swig of his drink. “If you can’t get the Rage under control you won’t be consented.”
“And we don’t want that, do we?” Everyone noted the man with the distinctive platinum blonde hair standing by the curtains and stood up to acknowledge him, including Garrick who had no idea why but followed suit regardless. “Then again,” he continued. “Why consent someone who has already been consented. Volant Aurimas Kesgaila was consented long before me.” He stretched out a hand toward Garrick.
“The name’s Garrick, actually,” he said as he grabbed his hand in return.
“And a fitting name it is. I am Kolten. Please, sit down everyone. Warwick, a pleasure as always
. Missed the Olympics, I see.”
“I’ll get over it,” said Warwick.
“And how are you, Rummy?”
“Very well, sir,” said Rummy.
“Ingrid.”
“Kolten,” she responded with a wave of her finger.
Then his gaze fell on Garrick again. He had studied the theories behind reincarnation for years in preparation for this encounter. But the literature could not prepare him for this. The young man by his side did not merely resemble Volant—this was Volant in person.
Garrick could feel Kolten’s gaze. He had grown accustomed to being stared at back in Reading and it was never a good thing. He instinctively shuffled uncomfortably and quietly hoped the stranger would leave.
A startled Garrick glanced at Kolten. The voice in his head was undoubtedly his. Terraincardia was a strange place, he thought. Maybe hearing voices was one of its many oddities. So, he dismissed it at once
Slowly, Garrick looked back at the grinning white haired Incardian then back at the rest of the gang. They were lost in conversation and seemed to ignore the two of them. Soon he managed just one word in his bedazzlement: “How?”
Somewhat irritated by Kolten’s didactic tone, Garrick considered the reason. Before long, it came to him. “The Fourth!”
Kolten nodded approvingly.
The Nink’s eyes widened excitedly.