by R. M Garino
“This is what we do as scouts,” Ossian said.
“He’s right,” Enid said. “We seek stillness within, and are able to blend with the world around us. Are you saying that we’re better at finding this Ri’en than everyone else?”
Angus rocked his head from side to side as he considered his response.
“Not exactly,” he said after a moment. “We mimic the Ri’en, we do not enter it. We are simply manipulating our sin’del, stilling its vibrations, not our thoughts. We do not actually achieve a true balance with the environment. If we did, we would be able to move about and stay merged, rather than having to stand still.”
Enid glanced at Ossian, who raised an eyebrow at her in turn.
“And once again, Angus, out of the lecture hall,” Demona said. “We’re all really impressed by how smart you are, but we are running out of time!”
“Sorry.” Angus paused to compose his thoughts. Exhausted, he was having trouble keeping them focused. Rambling was far too easy.
“The problem . . .” he said after a moment. “The problem is imbalance. Consider that there are two polarities: empathy and egotism. When these two polarities are in balance, our actions are in harmony with our self, and with the world around us, and our actions are effortless. We are suspended between our concern for ourselves, and our concern for others. When there is an imbalance, however, our actions become muddled and our purpose lost. Empathy devolves into weakness. Egotism slides into aggression. Belg discussed this in his Continuum. The Vol helps keep these polarities balanced. The exercise indulges the avarice of our egoism, and by seeking the Ri’en, we indulge our empathy.”
“Once again,” Demona said, “how does this—”
Angus held up a palm to forestall her impatience.
“I’m telling you this so you understand the instructions,” he said. He waited a moment for her to accept his explanation.
“Of all of us here, Ti’vol is the closest to the Ri’en,” he said. “Notice how she never gets ruffled or upset, even when things don’t go her way?”
Everyone nodded, except of course for Ti’vol, who kept her head tilted to the side as she listened.
“She’s the closest, so she is our focal point, our anchor. Ti,” Angus said, holding up a finger to draw her attention to him, “I need you to focus on a single point and clear your mind of everything but that point. Still yourself and your thoughts, like we do before we start the Vol.”
Ti’vol had a slightly vapid expression on her face, and she sat up straighter, as he addressed her. She folded her hands in her lap, and drew a deep breath. She let it out with deliberate precision, and relaxed.
“Everyone else, do the same,” Angus said. “Except that Ti is your focal point. Focus all your attention on her. Try to find your balance, enter the Ri’en as you do when you perform the Vol. But try to go deeper, with so much concentration that everything else falls away.”
Thomlin, Hironata, Ossian, and Enid adjusted their positions by sitting up straighter, and they too slowed their breathing. Their sin’dels relaxed around them, and bent toward Ti’vol in slow intervals. Enid and Ossian faded from sight.
Demona sat straight, watching the others. Her energy field flailed about her in anxious leaps and arcs.
Angus stretched his mind out to her. It’s all right, Dem’, he sent. You can sit this one out. They should be enough.
I want to, she sent back, I’m just . . .
Angus could feel the alarm that blanketed her thought, and see the edges of panic draw close around her sin’del.
You guard our backs while we do this, Angus sent, aware that they were perfectly safe in the Kal’Parev apartments. I forget to mention how vulnerable we’ll all be until we’re done.
Demona’s face filled with relief. Her shoulders slumped in relaxation, grateful for the offer. She stood, crossed her fists over her heart, and bowed to Angus in ritual salute.
Angus returned his attention to Ti’vol. Her sin’del had grown. He drew a deep breath and stilled his thoughts. With his mind he touched the edge of the field. Ti’vol did not resist, and Angus felt it all rush into him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Discussion of Strategy
The Commandant, the Master of the Areth’kon, sat in Trenton’s atrium enjoying the morning sun on his face and the scents of the private gardens. He did not often visit the Gates of Golorath, but when he did, Angus did not think he could complain about the reception he received. Rumor had it that the gardens were his favorite location, and he sought the solace of its walks. It was here that Angus found him the morning after his liberation from the infirmary. The Commandant’s slender, sheathed blade lay across his knees. The falling leaves danced in the autumnal wind behind him.
The Master’s silver hair, a herald of his Rhen’val bloodline, was held back from his unlined face by a simple black chord that cradled a single blood-red stone in the center of his forehead. There was a translucent quality to his skin, as if it had grown thin over the years and could not fully contain the glow of his sin’del. The Master’s eyes were closed, and he breathed the deep, even breaths of meditation. Indeed, the edges of his energy field blended with the world around him, and Angus was hard pressed to indicate the exact edge of it. As such, he stood still amid the trees several paces from the path, merged as best as he was able with the environment around him. He tried to hold his thoughts in the Ri’en, but stray worries intruded, creating subtle ripples around him. The Commandant had no such problems with his mental discipline.
“You are patient,” the Master finally said. “You have stood there for the better part of an hour without moving. That is a rare and commendable quality.”
Angus did not respond. He did not move.
“Come now, Angus, son of Talon,” the Master said. “Observation is commendable; indecision is not. To remain hidden at this juncture speaks of hubris, or ill intent.” His voice was soft and held a reassuring gentleness. This was a reasonable man, Angus had heard, wise and observant; and despite the calm and peaceful façade, one of the deadliest beings in the Areth’kon.
The Master opened his eyes and stared directly at Angus, despite the precautions he had taken. There was no mistaking the steel and determination that dwelt within the depths of that ancient visage.
Angus stepped from behind the tree, and brought his sin’del back into focus. Once he was an acceptable distance away, dictated by the vast differences in their rank, Angus stood at attention and saluted with both wrists crossed over his heart, bowing from the waist. He would remain thus, once again as custom dictated, until the Commandant bade him rise.
“Your father and uncle have left to summon you from the infirmary.”
“Aye, Master,” Angus said. He remained bent at the waist.
“And yet you are here in anticipation of their summons.”
There was no mistaking the polite question that hung at the end of the sentence, but Angus remained silent.
“I trust that you at least enjoyed the sunrise while you waited,” the Commandant said.
Angus swallowed past the dryness of his throat.
“They will not find me where they seek, Master,” he said. “They will find me here awaiting their pleasure when they return.”
“And they will have come to you, rather than you coming to them.” This was not a question, Angus knew, but a critical assessment of strategy. He could not tell, however, if the Commandant approved or not.
“It seemed a sound tactic, Master,” Angus said. “Phaedrus tells us that taking the offensive is often the wisest way to defend against superior forces.”
“Ah,” the Commandant said. “Now we are to discuss strategy so you can show me how talented you are.”
Angus lifted his head in surprise, heedless of the break of protocol.
“No, Master.”
The Commandant arched an eyebrow, and let it fall, whether at the comment or the infraction Angus could not tell.
“I was stating the r
eason for my presence here,” Angus said. He could not keep the edge of derision from his voice as he straightened from his bow. “I seek nothing else from the revelation.”
“So you are not trying to impress me?” the Commandant said. His face was impassive, but Angus could sense that the calm façade was but an illusion. His curiosity was piqued.
“No,” Angus said. He shrugged his shoulders. “I figure that you have already formed your opinion of me and my character, probably well before this particular meeting. Trying to impress you now would be pointless, and a waste of both our time.”
“You do not seem too concerned about that opinion, however,” the Commandant said.
“I hope you will forgive me, but I do not fret too much over what people think of me,” Angus said. He hooked his thumbs behind the buckle of his belt, and shifted his weight to his left leg.
The movement made the elder arch his eyebrow again. He shifted his head to the side a fraction as if trying to hide a smile. Thin tendrils of derision crept into the edges of his sin’del.
“And yet in your mind my determination has already been made regarding your character,” he said.
Angus made a silent reply, and let his attention wander to the bushes behind the old Blademaster.
“I am curious,” the Commandant said, stroking his chin. “What prompts you to draw that conclusion, young Kal’Parev?”
Angus studied the trees shedding their leaves, pursed his lips, and returned his gaze to the Commandant.
“You are a Rhen’val,” he said after a moment.
“And that means?”
“That means that you are closely allied to House Fel’Mekrin.”
“And therefore?”
“And therefore your disposition toward me is evident. As a member of my House, I must be representative. It is in our nature, after all, to seek and acknowledge only that evidence which supports our biases and beliefs. Therefore, your disposition toward my House will be your disposition toward me.”
The Commandant stroked his chin.
“I must admit that your reasoning makes a certain sense,” he said after a moment, “and it does have a certain appeal. Nevertheless, there is a danger in making generalizations so broadly. It is a fallacy to attribute the characteristics of one to another through mere association. It neglects to take the individual into account.”
The Commandant paused, waiting for Angus to voice the expected objection. Angus, instead, refocused his attention on his superior. His weight shifted back to center, and his thumbs fell from his belt. When he did not comment, the Commandant paused to consider the reaction, and continued.
“If you noted that one of my closest advisors was the Field Marshal, my son-in-law, Dugal Fel’Mekrin, your supposition would be validated. After all, it is in our nature to examine only evidence which validates our biases and beliefs.”
Angus recoiled as his own arrogance was thrown back at him. He felt the trap closing in, but could not see its exact design.
“However,” the Commandant said as he stood, “your conclusion is drawn from absolutes.” His movement belied the impression of great age, for it was fluid and graceful. In less than two steps his face was a breath away from Angus, who involuntarily moved backward.
“If you noted that Talon Kal’Parev was another one of my trusted advisors, your generalization would be disproven by a single outlier, and your argument shattered.”
Angus stood up straighter at the mention of the name, but accepted the argument.
“I do not have the privilege of being acquainted with your advisors, Master.”
“No,” the Commandant said. “You do not. But, your ignorance of my affairs does not prove your position, either.”
The Commandant cast his gaze to the far end of the garden, to where it bent toward the private entrance. After a moment, he returned his attention to Angus.
“So,” he said, “you appear where your father and uncle do not expect, and hope to use surprise to your advantage. Why, then, have you stood for so long studying me?”
Angus did not expect the sudden turn of conversation, and blinked in surprise. The Commandant held his gaze, brushing aside all dissembling answers.
Angus swallowed to work some moisture back into his mouth.
“I was thinking of ways to approach you,” he said after a moment. “I was not expecting you here, and I was caught off guard by your presence. I remember you from my youth, but I was not sure if you remembered me, or would welcome me if you did. There was a tension associated with my family’s sudden departure from the Vaults.”
The Commandant was slow and deliberate in his consideration as he weighed Angus’ response.
“The past speaks strongly to you,” he said, never removing the directness of his searching stare.
A presence far behind him made Angus start to turn, but the Commandant reclaimed his attention.
“Be careful of the past,” the Master said. “The past is an another absolute, and you see where adherence to absolutes leads. The past informs the present, but it does not dictate it. Old rivalries, old failures, old disappointments, old victories do nothing but cloud the mind, preventing it from seeing the present in its pure form. Let go of the past.”
Angus could hear the crunch of boots on the gravel behind him.
“I am afraid I’ve removed the element of surprise from your strategy,” the Commandant said. “Be that said, I hope we can continue our conversation in the future. You are a rare duck, young Kal’Parev.”
The Commandant took a fraction of a step back, and cradled his sheathed sword in the crook of his elbow.
“Angus,” he said, his voice projected to be heard by the new arrivals behind them, “you know patience and how to meet your enemy. But you lack respect. You are suffused with both arrogance and pride. The Magi have coddled you, encouraging your headstrong ways. And yet, you show a tremendous ability to adapt. This is promising. There is a place for independent thought and action in the Areth’kon, but you have not attained that level yet. Apply your patience to your studies, and allow your abilities to grow into your pride.
“I believe you have a tremendous potential, and I foresee that our paths will intertwine. The manner of that interaction will be up to you to decide. Do not disappoint me.”
The grin which overtook the Commandant’s visage was almost impish.
“Good morning, Finlay,” he said over Angus’ shoulder. “Good morning, Talon. I am eager to hear the details of the lad’s contrition. I trust you will dine with me this evening?”
Angus stood rigid, staring straight ahead.
“Of course, Master,” the deep bass of his uncle Finlay’s voice intoned. “House Kal’Parev will be honored to seat ye at the head of our table.”
“I invited you, Finlay,” the Commandant said. “Trenton’s table will suffice.”
“As ye wish,” Finlay said. Angus could hear the bow in his words.
“It will be our pleasure, Master,” Angus’ father, Talon said, his voice already thick and distant with his displeasure.
“Until evening, then,” the aged Commandant said. He cast one last, appraising glance at Angus. “I think I will visit with my granddaughter. I hear she, as well, is having some difficulties since arriving at the Gates.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Childish Pride
“What the devil were you thinking?” Talon said as soon as the Commandant was a respectable distance away. “I thought we raised you better than this!”
Angus stared at the gravel-strewn path, unable to meet his father’s eyes, and made no reply.
“I do not understand your behavior,” Talon said. “You are insolent. You are brash. You are confrontational. You are arrogant. And worst of all, you have shown a marked disrespect for everything and anything your family holds dear. Insubordination?” he said. “Assaulting a superior officer? Lying? Lying, Angus? What has happened to you? Not two days at the Gates, and you’re already on the Rock.”
&n
bsp; Once again, Angus did not respond.
“Your father asked ye a question!” Finlay Kal’Parev said. This was not his uncle speaking: this was the Lord of the House, and he expected to be obeyed.
Angus straightened his shoulders. His anger flared, both at his uncle’s tone and at his own reaction. He drew a deep breath and stilled his mind.
“Which charge do you wish me to address first?” he said. His voice was soft, calm, and if he knew his father and uncle, pitched just right to make them gnash their teeth. By shouting and cursing they were well within their element; calm, reasoned discourse brought them up short.
“Ye can start with the insolence that yer tone now clearly illustrates,” Finlay said.
Angus cast a defiant glare at his uncle. He was large, even by Kal’Parev standards, and the Elc’atar motifs that tattooed his chest and neck stood out in sharp contrast against the pale gold of his long hair. Despite his appearance, Finlay was normally a pleasant and cheerful sort, much like his son Thomlin. Now, however, he wore his displeasure in an open display.
“I am no longer a child,” Angus said to his uncle, “and I will not be addressed as such.”
Finlay took a menacing step, his fists rising, and his sin’del surging. Angus lifted his chin and braced himself for the expected blow, but his father held out his palm to forestall him.
“Peace, brother,” Talon said, his head bowed in contemplation.
To Angus’ surprise, his uncle stopped. He rolled his shoulders and his head before nodding once at Talon.
“That answer,” Finlay said, “shows just how much of a child ye still are.”
He sized Angus up, his disdain clear, and spit on the gravel to the side.
“You may begin,” Talon said, “with the assault on the Elc’atar Guard, Bowler.” He folded his arms across his chest, and with his head still lowered, he cast his displeasure at his son. His sin’del was awash with equal parts disappointment, irritation, and concern.
Angus turned away, unable to witness the conflicting display.
