by Kevin C Noel
What he felt was difficult to explain.
Everything around him was malformed, yet beautiful. He was surrounded by so many flashing colors which felt blinding. Concurrently, he was overwhelmed by an intense sense of sexual arousal. He stood up but he slumped back down instantly and lay spread-eagled on the floor. He could hear Warwick’s amused cackle and although he was a few feet away from him, his voice was distant. The psychedelic state was astounding. Garrick had lost all control of himself and he couldn’t be happier. Then and there, he felt a strange sense of freedom. There was something really liberating about not being in control, he thought. Ingrid, on the other hand, was envious of Garrick’s dust-fueled euphoria. But she found his reaction somewhat endearing and smirked as she observed him lose himself in his own multicolored universe.
An Eagle Person stuck her head through the tent and looked down at the Nink and up at Ingrid. “First time?” she asked. Ingrid nodded in response. “He’s having the best time of his life,” she chortled and left just as abruptly as she appeared.
When he was human, Garrick would often help himself to Jared’s booze and would wake up with his head weighing a few pounds heavier than usual and full of regret. It was the exact opposite when he woke up from his rapturedust episode. He felt like there was a huge load lifted from his chest. He squinted as he noted his head was rested on Ingrid’s lap. Her eyes were closed as well, but he wasn’t sure she was asleep. This was confirmed as soon as he sat up and she opened her eyes to regard him.
“Better?” she asked.
“Yes, thanks,” he said as he stretched. He looked around and noted Warwick was no longer in the tent. Ingrid stood up to leave when he had a sudden idea. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
Ingrid was visibly taken aback. “A walk? Where?”
“How about Limbo?”
Garrick uncharacteristically grinned as they traversed the sandy plains of Limbo. Ingrid, on the other hand, was baffled and unnerved by Garrick’s proposal and struggled to determine his motive. ‘What does he want?’ She thought. If he had some ulterior motive, he gave no indication of it. Thus far, he simply seemed to enjoy a leisurely walk with her. This put her on edge because it was yet another activity she had often shared with Volant—the more he reminded her of him, the more uneasy she became.
“No word on when the Ceremony of Consent will take place exactly?” he began, suddenly putting an end to the silence. “I can’t wait to stop being a Nink.”
Ingrid smiled. “Don’t get your hopes up. Many will still call you a Nink long after your consenting.”
Garrick wasn’t moved by this. “I’ve been made fun of my whole life,” he pointed out. “No big deal. How long were you called a Nink?”
“I can’t remember to be honest. It feels like another life.”
Garrick nodded. “There is something I’d like to ask you.” Ingrid braced for impact. “I was going to ask Octavius,” he continued, “but I feel you’re also in a good position to answer.”
“What is it?” she asked, feigning a lack of interest.
“In Lord Kalder’s palace, I saw a portrait of Volant with Jekuthiel and his son, Azmaveth. It was like a shrine in their honor. But there was also one of just Volant that caught my attention. Somehow, I could tell great affection was put into it. What’s the connection?”
Ingrid wasn’t entirely surprised Octavius hadn’t told Garrick. She wasn’t sure why he would keep the relationship between Volant and Kal from him, but she was more than accustomed to her fellow Assenter’s penchant for suspense. “Volant only had three assenters: me, Octavius LeGrey and Jacob Kalder.”
Garrick was surprised by his own reaction. He had become numb to shock of late and received this new information matter-of-factly.
“If you three are fellow Assenters, why do I get the feeling you and Octavius are hostile toward him?”
Ingrid didn’t want to answer but she could tell he wouldn’t let it go. “For different reasons,” she finally said. “Octavius fell out with him because of their differing views on the Incardian Ambler.”
“And you?”
“I…” she stuttered a bit before regaining herself. “I don’t like that he sent Vincent to kill you.”
Garrick was happy to hear this. “I haven’t forgotten the first time we met,” he said. Ingrid did not meet his eyes—in fact, she seemed to try her very best to hide her face from him. “The way you moved effortlessly. Something tells me I could learn a lot from you.”
She eyed him with suspicion. “What are you saying?”
Garrick stopped walking and began to stretch. “Train me,” he said.
Ingrid laughed incredulously. “You must be kidding,” she said. “You haven’t been consented yet. Your powers are locked.”
“And yet,” he began as he took off his top, “I caused an Ousting.”
His sudden cockiness should have annoyed her, but for the first time he seemed to channel his forebear effortlessly. “Okay,” she conceded. “This will hurt.”
It did hurt.
Garrick had no idea how it all happened because it was too fast for him to comprehend. After a few minutes, he gave up and lay on the floor with a bloodied face. To add insult to injury, Ingrid, who had sat on the ground, claimed she wasn’t using a fraction of her strength due to Garrick’s handicap. “Again,” he said as he finally got up to his feet. His tenacity might have impressed her, but she had him on the floor soon after looking much worse.
“We should get back,” she said. “This is pointless.”
“That’s what you think,” he said, as he wobbled to his feet. “I find it quite educational. Thank you.”
“You realize there’s no way I’ll be your instructor during your trial, right? It’s more likely going to be Warwick, and he’ll let you off easy. At least, I think he will.”
Garrick nodded. “And you are stronger than him, are you not?” he asked. “Which makes you the perfect teacher.” He laughed like an excited child, but his joy slowly faded away. Ingrid wondered what could have caused such an abrupt mood change and was about to ask when he sat on the sandy floor, stared at the dark sky, and said, “I’ve been thinking.”
“What now?”
“I saw Hagen earlier and I almost lost my cool again,” Ingrid had opened her mouth to speak when he cut her off. “No, I was able to hold back. He said some things that have been on my mind ever since. His daughter, Celina… maybe I should forget about her.”
Ingrid, knowing Octavius would be pleased to hear this, sat beside him. “It’s probably for the best,” she said. “The last thing you want is a member of the council on your neck.”
“Yeah,” he answered as he created random patterns on the sand with his finger. “Also, I feel the more I think about all she did to me, the more power I give her and that’s all she’s ever wanted. I can’t let her win. What I have here is beyond anything I could have ever imagined—believe me, I used to imagine I was Superman, and this is much better.” They both laughed. “I’m going to focus on this new life from now on. There’s no point looking back anymore.”
Ingrid smiled in relief and nodded her head. “Let’s head back,” she said.
Garrick stood up, but not to leave. He raised both his fists in an awkward fighting stance and said, “We’re not done here, Grid!”
Ingrid rolled her eyes. He is crazy, she thought.
“Remember what I taught you about pocket realms,” said Octavius.
Time was indeterminate in Terraincardia, but Garrick assumed the earth equivalent of two months had passed since the beginning of his constant arduous training sessions with Ingrid. He had matured considerably and was no longer the wide-eyed and perplexed Nink full of questions at every turn. He had also bonded with his fellow Assenters, Warwick and Rummy.
Warwick was born Casworan Nancarrow in the village of Nanstallon in Cornwall, England in 1760. He was Questioned shortly before his 22nd birthday after a drunken brawl left him half dead. Drunk with his n
ew power, he participated in any sporting event he could find. His special gift was the ability to manipulate the minds of humans just enough to make them forget him. Initially, this wasn’t of much use to him until he had begun to participate in almost every Olympic Games since 1896 under different names and nationalities. A fascination with William Shakespeare led him to change his name to Warwick at some point (even he doesn’t remember when exactly). The curious thing about his athletic hobby is the fact he never won a medal. He always held back at the last minute and disappeared when he was close to winning. He claimed it was for a laugh. He was peculiar that way.
Rumsfeld Choirhall the Fifth’s story was a little difficult for Garrick to take in because it was immensely depressing. The Choirhall family had sworn allegiance to Volant ever since he saved a Haytham Choirhall from execution at the hands of the Order of Shimshon for practicing magic. Ever since, he became his faithful companion even after his Questioning, which Rummy claimed was an awkward transition at first. Every Choirhall after him aided Volant ever since. But what was depressing about Rummy was the state he was in. Every Incardian, Ninks included, knew of the major inconvenience surrounding a sojourn into Terraincardia—it was the one time an Incardian was ever truly vulnerable. If an Incardian’s body was destroyed somehow while his “otherness” resided in Terraincardia, the Incardian would be doomed to spend the rest of his or her days there. Most Incardians, except Kal, were only in Terraincardia during the few months leading to the Ceremony of Consent. Once that was done with, the realm was mostly empty and boring for those who were stuck—Incardians such as Rummy. He was Questioned by Octavius in 1938 as he carried out his duties on behalf of a Volant Kesgaila he never knew he’d meet. In 1940, he was compelled to travel to London to ensure his family was safe during the War. Unfortunately, his timing could not have been worse. Rummy lost his body during the London Blitz while he participated in his own Ceremony of Consent. He had learned to accept his situation, but often thought about the family he left behind.
Octavius and his Assenters had gathered in his apartment to prepare Garrick for his Consenting. Despite the common belief that all Incardians passed their trials due to their ease, all present understood Octavius’ concern. A major rule of the Ceremony was that no one would know who the instructor in the pocket realm would be because it was often announced at the very last minute and no one knew if Kal would try something. However, Warwick, in his usual jesting manner, promised not to go easy on him in the event he was the one to meet him.
Regardless, Garrick approached the situation with confidence. His encounters with Ingrid had toughened him up. His eyes had also retained their stable ocher color—an excellent sign of progress toward a firmer grip on his emotions.
“Your power will be restored the moment you’re in the pocket realm,” continued Octavius. “Think hard of a weapon and it will be there waiting for you. You need to be fast. None of us know what Kal will do. The first sign of trouble, you end it! And don’t worry about killing your instructor—it’ll only hurt like hell, but you won't be using the Orlock Claymore.”
“What if I think about it before the trial?” Garrick joked.
“You think they haven’t taken the necessary steps to make sure that never works?”
Garrick rolled his eyes. “It was a joke, Octavius.”
The appointed site for the ceremony was the base of the Ziggurat of the Oneness. 76 Ninks stood in anticipation and excited to gain the right to be finally rid of their white armbands and be addressed as fully fledged Incardians.
Garrick had fought Ingrid on several occasions after their first encounter. Granted, he never won any fight against her, but he could feel himself improve every time.
He was ready.
Kal emerged from the top of the pantagruelian ziggurat wearing a splendiferous golden cloak and his flaming crown which both glittered with the flaming fire of the Oneness behind him and the crepuscular sky above him. He had an uncharacteristically joyous mien that further soothed the Ninks that looked up to him as a divine entity. “Welcome!” His stentorian voice rang in Garrick’s ears. “Today you shall be elevated from fledglings to fully recognized Incardians!” There was a mighty cheer and praise from all present which reminded Garrick of graduation. Surprising even himself, however, Garrick had joined in with genuine delight. Clearly pleased by the uproarious adulations that had followed his announcement, Jacob Kal raised his arms and declared: “You will return to earth members of the greatest of Atrumankind. Never forget we are gods!” More cheering followed.
Everyone’s attention fell on Hagen who approached one end of the ziggurat surrounded by several hooded figures. Garrick could not count them all, but he assumed there were exactly 76 of them—their instructors. The faces of some were visible as he saw their eyes gleaming with anticipatory glee, but he recognized none.
“My lord, Kalder,” Hagen began enthusiastically, his grin more malevolent than soothing, “I present the instructors for the trial!”
Kal glanced down at them for a brief examination and nodded in approval. He looked back at the expectant Ninks and said: “Those of you who are your Questioner’s first and only Assenters will face randomly selected instructors. Most of you who have fellow Assenters will face any one of them for this trial. Lord Hagen will now send you all to your respective pocket realms where you will engage them. You will not return until your instructors have either been defeated or are satisfied enough by your performance despite your loss. Whatever the case may be, you shall enter Ninks and emerge Incardians.” Jacob Kal glanced at Garrick before concluding with a measured “good luck” and retreated into the flaming Oneness.
Hagen raised his left arm and with a snap of his fingers, Garrick was overcome by a strong frigorific breeze. His first instinct was to close his eyes and think of his weapons and that’s when it happened. In an instant, he was alone in a room with bare white walls and a sandy ground which reminded him of the outer regions of limbo. A few feet away from where he stood was a bundle of something on the floor. He picked it up and was taken aback by the beauty of what was inside.
It felt like ages since he had held the Blood Cravers.
He could not understand how Volant’s prized short swords ended up in the pocket realm with a mere thought, but dismissed his own confusion as he prepared for the coming battle. He had never fought or seen Warwick fight, but he wasn’t deceived by his lackadaisical manner. He was certain his slacking temperament belied his true strength and Garrick would not be taken unawares.
A similar freezing gust shot at him yet again. Without a doubt, this was a signal that his instructor had emerged in the pocket realm as well. The test had begun. Garrick swiftly unsheathed his weapons and stood at the ready. He noted a figure armed with a large broadsword emerging from the icy fog. At first glance he could tell this person was much taller than Warwick. The figure had begun to approach him at a brisk steady pace. The closer he got, the clearer his features became.
No amount of determination could prepare him for the fright that clawed in his stomach the moment he recognized the Keeper of the Gore Council walking toward him with deadly intent. More frightening was his chosen weapon for their encounter.
The adamantine Orlock Claymore.
25
SOME TIME AGO
With swift flicks of her wrists, Shajan placed the names of various instructors next to those of Ninks on a large floating parchment. She took her task of selecting instructors for the Consent trials very seriously despite how dismissive most Incardians were of them. Even Kal thought she put in more effort than was necessary with her choices. Nevertheless, she believed it was important for every Nink to be challenged and not merely granted elevation through negligence. She believed the reputation of Incardians in the Atruman community was to be guarded and never tainted—and consenting undeserving Ninks before they were prepared would inadvertently affect all of them. They were the pride of Atrumankind, and no straggler would be accepted. With this in mind
, she often picked the strongest of a Nink’s fellow Assenters as the instructor for the trial. And For those who were the first Assenters of their Questioners, she selected only the most elite Incardians to instruct them. Because of this, things were usually harder for them. An Incardian was less likely to hold back and do any Nink a favor when they weren’t bonded in the Oneness.
She never knew how long it took her, but it was an awful long time nonetheless. Her dedication, however, ensured she would do nothing else until she was done with the pairings. This was made possible by the fact that she often handled it alone. The lack of interruptions had turned it into a rather peaceful exercise for her.
This was why she was jarred by Kal and Wayland’s presence while she worked this time. Initially, they both stood in a corner of the room deep in conference with each other but speaking in hushed tones. Occasionally, they would look over their shoulders at her as they plotted.
“I have your permission then?” asked Wayland.
“You do,” replied Kal.
“Do I let him live?”
“He cannot leave the pocket realm alive.”
Wayland nodded. “Can he still keep his weapon? Honor demands I face him fairly.”
Kal sighed. “Do as you will,” he said. “I am not worried. He is still a Nink after all. You, on the other hand, are the Keeper of the Gore Council. I have no worries about the outcome. We just can’t let him mire Volant’s legacy in shit.”
Wayland bowed his head in subservience. “Your explanations are not necessary, my lord. Anyone who threatens you, even by existing, is guilty of treason.” He began to leave the room as he said, “taking care of treasonous Incardians is why the Orlock Claymore was forged in the first place.”
Kal admired Wayland’s absolute loyalty. Once he was gone, he approached Shajan and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Would you mind doing me a favor, my love?” he began. Already she dreaded it. She knew she would not be fond of whatever idea they had cooked up, and she knew she would not refuse. Not because of his authority over her as her Questioner or as the High Lord of Terraincardia. But because she had given herself to him completely—her loyalty was even greater than Wayland’s. “I have a request. Octavius’ Nink—the young man, Garrick—who do you have him facing for his trial?”
