by S. S. Segran
She turned her hand up, long fingers beckoning him to initiate. For the sake of the lathe’ad their sparring had always been more of a dance than actual combat, and they never engaged their abilities, but one could hardly say it was less impressive. They circled and clashed and retreated, closing and widening the distance between them to strike or evade. Reyor moved with fluid grace though her attacks were sharp, with clinical precision. Her eyes glinted as they followed Mokun’s footwork, trying to map out where he placed his weight.
A surge of nostalgia overcame Mokun as he watched her. She’d barely aged in the last three decades. The fury that had incessantly tautened her features when he’d first brought her in had been eased by dispassion over the years. Once she founded her organization with his blessing and his amassed wealth, a sense of purpose cooled the remnants of her brashness. For the longest time, she’d been one of the most imperturbable, patient people he had ever known.
And then he’d sicced her on Jag and his friends. Over the past several months, he’d watched fissures appear in her composure whenever they outmaneuvered Phoenix. That, along with the mystery of their abilities, had rattled her, though she was loath to admit it.
Oh, how he loved her, flaws and all. She was his scion, his legacy, his family—a highly accomplished woman in every sense who had never received formal education in the modern world but rigorously studied and devoured as much knowledge as she could. She had earned her way into his plans for the future of humankind.
That was why he was content to remain largely in the shadows, keeping to himself while she assumed the helm. Even Dr. Nate, her most trusted advisor, had no idea just who he was. To the diminutive man and the rest of the residents of the Heart, Mokun was merely a relative of Reyor who, through nepotism, had equal say in the affairs of the Sanctuary. No one questioned it, nor did they need to.
Reyor’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Mentor.”
Mokun brought himself back to the present. He had her locked in place against the wide steel doors that led to the cages. As caught up as he’d been, he had managed to best her in their last round. He clicked his tongue. “You are most certainly rusty.”
“Rusty is different from stiff.” She pried his arm away. “I have a meeting soon.”
“How many of those do you have in a day?”
She granted him a rare smile. “That’s what I get for being at the head of a multibillion-dollar global corporation fronting something as important as the Ventures.” She retrieved her coat, pulling it on in one smooth motion. “Join me for dinner afterward? I’ve asked the SONE heading the Producer echelon to prepare a special dish.”
“Unfortunately, I must ask for a raincheck,” he said. “I’ll be grabbing my own meal and heading out for a bit.”
Reyor lingered at the exit, casting an exasperated frown back at him. “Sometimes it feels as though you enjoy your new toy more than my company.”
“Perish the thought! My people were seafarers, as am I. The world may change but water does not. For my sanity, I must return to it sometimes.” Mokun joined her at the doorway and brushed a kiss to her temple. “Thank you for purchasing my toy for me, Reyor.”
They returned to the Sanctuary and parted ways. Mokun gathered some food for himself and retreated to the executive complex below the Heart where his and Reyor’s quarters and offices lay, as well as the CUBE and a massive archive that was yet to be filled. It was through the latter where he ducked into his vault and took another door into a private U-shaped cavern. He flipped a switch and lights flooded the interior of the grotto, illuminating a pristine submarine.
He stepped onto the dock closest to the door where the ninety-foot vessel awaited him, held in place by hydraulic clamps. An instant sense of ease washed over him, almost cleansing. His hand skimmed the outside of the acrylic cockpit. The submarine was shaped a bit like a wingless dragonfly, with twin propellers at the back set on a horizontal fin. Windows of transparent polymer were inlaid along the sides, allowing glimpses of the space within.
Mokun settled into the cockpit. Everything about it was state-of-the-art; the sub could be set on autopilot and he would not have to worry about it afterward. He hit a blue button and felt a rumble as a massive slab of rock concealing the cavern entrance retracted upward to reveal the sea outside. Tapping a screen in front of him released the clamps and he took the controls from there, backing out into the open water. He cast one last look at the horizon as the sun began to set and pressed the button once more to close the entrance. Once he’d reached deeper water, he put the vessel into a leisurely dive.
As he rested back and unwrapped a simple chicken sandwich, he observed marine life passing him by. A couple of sharks eyed him curiously but otherwise left him alone, while schools of fish kept their distance. He took a few meditative breaths, each exhale relieving the stress in his body.
So much has happened to the world at Phoenix’s hand, and there is more still to come, he thought. Every little bit of reprieve counts. This is not an insignificant undertaking.
The weight of it all was certainly not lost on him. As terrible as humanity could be, it was no small task to extinguish them. Reyor, though . . . she seems to be taking all this well. Better than well. His lips thinned. If something does manifest from Jag’s tests, would she be willing to put the brakes on until we’ve at least considered what it means?
He wanted to believe she would, but he knew what the real answer was.
Inside the training grounds behind the temple, Ashack watched as Tayoka entertained a wide-eyed group of children, performing acrobatics on the line of stripped logs that progressed in height. The little ones gasped as the flame-haired Elder threw himself thirty feet skyward. He seemed to float at the peak of his ascent, the hem of his white tunic splaying out like wings, then executed a headfirst spin on his way back down. He landed on the log with one hand, his entire body held up straight above him.
The children shrieked and chattered excitedly. “Show us more, Elder Tayoka!” one of them begged.
Tayoka grinned as he dismounted onto the snow. When he noticed Ashack at the edge of the clearing, the mirth slipped off his face. “Perhaps tomorrow.”
The children groaned and complained but Tayoka stood firm, waiting until the last of them had trickled out through the gate before heading toward Ashack. “Please, do not tell me you come bearing even more grievous news.”
Ashack turned to lead the way out of the training grounds. “No more than what we have already learned.”
Tayoka tightened the red sash around his tunic, heaving a beleaguered sigh. “Being one step ahead of Reyor was of no help, it seems.”
“Mmh.”
“I do not know why I thought trying to convince the authorities that more danger was coming would be a quick task.”
“You were hopeful. We all were, and we acted as fast as we could. But Reyor moved faster.”
“And now the outside world slips further into the abyss. I cannot see a way that this latest assault will be quelled swiftly enough to prevent further damage.”
Ashack narrowed his eyes as the Elders made their way among the looming pine trees. “Attempting that would be a vain effort. We must look past this and anticipate forthcoming difficulties. Only then might we be able to contain the tribulations as best we can.”
They exited the grounds and Tayoka easily pulled the fifteen-foot-tall gate closed. Passing the temple, they descended the terraces in the direction of their abodes. A few villagers were busy shooing away some overly playful sheep from the slippery, frozen river and back to their pen, stopping only to greet the Elders with one fist over their hearts. Ashack and Tayoka responded in kind.
When the men reached their neyra cluster, they were surprised to see Akol reclined against the door of Nageau and Tikina’s home, tapping the blade of his staff with the tip of his finger as if testing its sharpness, a furrow stitched to his brow.
“Akol,” Tayoka called. “What a surprise! What are you doing h
ere?”
“I was supposed to meet my grandparents here after first-light meal,” he said. “They wanted to speak with me about something.”
“They are with the Chosen Ones’ families, apprising them about the recent troubles of the outside world.”
“Oh.”
“They must have forgotten to mention it to you.”
“Probably. It is alright.” Akol collapsed his staff, then slung it over his shoulder so he could blow warm air onto his reddened hands. “Are you well, Elder Tayoka, Elder Ashack?”
“As well as we can be at this time,” Ashack grunted. “And you, Akol?”
The youth gave a tight-lipped smile. “In all honesty, I am quite frustrated. I feel useless here. I have been pleading with my grandfather to allow me to assist the Sentries and the Chosen Ones in their search for Jag.”
“Seeing as he has not brought this up with the other Elders, I assume he has refused your request?” Tayoka said.
“Yes. I only wish to help, to do something.”
“What you seek is honorable, but Nageau is a wise man and I am certain he has his reasons for keeping you here.”
Akol started to raise his eyes heavenward but caught himself halfway. He tugged the collar of his winter tunic higher. “I think I might hunt today—surprise the others at tonight’s youth gathering with fresh game.”
“I may just make an appearance to nick some for myself,” Tayoka said, waggling his eyebrows, though Ashack noted the humor seemed forced. It could not be easy to maintain a buoyant disposition when the thread Reyor had pulled was unravelling the tapestry of the world at an accelerated pace.
Akol dipped his head at the two Elders, not sharing in Tayoka’s levity, and strode away briskly, leaving a fresh trail in the snow. The men swapped curious looks before Tayoka turned toward his neyra. He stopped, hand on the door. He opened his mouth as if to speak before snapping it shut.
Ashack folded his arms. “Tayoka?”
The other Elder seemed short of breath, his voice suddenly hoarse. “What Akol said, about feeling useless . . . I would be fooling myself if I told you I did not feel the same way.”
Ashack faltered, then walked over to grasp the younger man’s shoulder. Tayoka rested his forehead on the door, the cords in his neck straining as his body shuddered in effort to hold back his grief. Ashack tightened his grip. There was nothing he could say. No matter what they did, Reyor somehow always ended up unleashing worse horrors upon an unsuspecting planet. It certainly didn’t help that Jag was still missing. Tayoka in particular would be feeling the brunt of that fact. He was the boy’s mentor, and although he tormented him endlessly with his quirks during their training, Ashack knew how much Tayoka loved his apprentice. Having no choice but to be tucked away in a hidden corner of the world must be an excruciating burden.
Tayoka lifted his head a minute later. Without looking back, he patted Ashack’s hand and entered his abode, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Ashack retraced his steps to the center of the clearing, taking in the five neyra encircling him, two of which were empty since most of the current members in the Council were also couples. He stood there for a time, feeling the cold breeze nipping at his bare arms.
“Ashack?”
Saiyu, garbed in her favorite royal purple headband and insulated winter garments, sidled up to him, looping her arms around one of his. He lightly traced her angular jawline with a finger, then kissed the corner of her mouth. She closed her eyes, nuzzling her nose against his cheek. “What are you doing, standing here as still as a tree?”
“Thinking.”
“Well, clearly. About what?”
“Truthfully, I am not entirely sure.”
“Ashack.”
He tucked her soft hair behind one ear. “I need to exchange thoughts with you on how best to approach a situation. Is now a good time?”
“I was on my way to help Magèo with the defense apparatuses he has been tasked with putting in place,” she said. “With Nal tending to the Trees of Life today, he sought my assistance. It seems urgent.”
“So is what I have on my mind. How long will that take?”
“Not long, according to him. And if he dallies, I will leave him to his devices. Where shall I meet you?”
Ashack considered her question for a moment. “Outside the temple. Then we may enter together for reflection.”
She smiled, grasping his face in both hands, and touched her nose to his. “See you soon, beloved.”
He watched her go, then disappeared into his neyra. Their home was thoughtfully decorated, with colorful dried flowers pressed between frames of glass covering an entire wall; it was Saiyu’s hobby, though she’d done less of it over the years.
On another wall hung some of their late son’s belongings—the feathers of a broken-winged bird he’d once tended to; the clay pendants he’d sculpted for a class project; a reed pipe he’d loved playing; the bow and one of the arrows he’d used on his hunts. Ashack ran his fingertips over the curve of the bow, a wistful touch, then continued toward his room to freshen up.
When he headed back out, making his way up the terraced slope leading to the temple, it was almost midday, and most of the villagers had gathered in their homes for their meals. Good, he thought. More time to have the temple to ourselves.
In the foyer, he turned to face the valley, watching the multihued flames twirl up from the cauldron as he worked to get his thoughts in order. The situation with Nal and Hutar was an urgent one, and it was also his last leg to stand on. If it came to light that his accusations were wrong, Ashack knew Nageau would have to keep to his word about reviewing the state of his position on the Council. Nageau was a good man, easily one of the best Ashack knew, so he could never be bitter if it came down to him losing his title as Elder. But his pride would most certainly be wounded.
What a ridiculous thought, he grumbled to himself. But I suppose I am just human.
There was movement to the side. He turned his head, ready to greet Saiyu, but found Nageau and Tikina’s grandson instead. He relaxed. “Akol. We cross paths again.”
The youth neared the cauldron, not saying anything, eyes cast downward. His staff was in his gloved hand, unsheathed.
“I thought you would have left to hunt by now,” Ashack said.
Akol stopped on the other side of the fire, across from the Elder. His jaw ticked.
The hairs on the back of Ashack’s neck stood up and a creeping cold enclosed his body. Tentatively, he murmured, “Akol?”
The youth looked up.
Ashack wasn’t sure what he realized first—that Akol’s eyes were green when they should have been dark brown, or that the staff had pierced him through the stomach.
He didn’t feel the pain, not at first. It was just a strong tingle emanating out from the epicenter, gathering in intensity.
Then the heat; the burning, throbbing heat that shot his mind into another world.
Gritting his teeth, he grasped the staff with two hands to keep himself upright. He looked through the flames. Again, green eyes met his. They seemed familiar, but in the swirl of the agony setting in, he couldn’t place them.
“Who . . . are you?” he rasped.
The imposter drew the staff from Ashack’s stomach before plunging it into his chest. The Elder cried out as the force shoved him to the ground. His vision began to narrow, more and more disappearing as he felt the blade twist and move, widening the wound.
The eyes appeared above him. As his sight dimmed into its last slivers, recognition finally dawned on Ashack.
But the blackness claimed him before he could utter another word.
Saiyu stood at the topmost terrace, looking at the temple. All the sound had rushed out of her ears. Her pulse throbbed in her head, in her face, in her limbs that had gone cold from shock. When she screamed, it was as if it came from a distant place.
Akol whipped around, and when he saw her, he smiled.
Alarmed villagers were c
oming out of their homes to investigate the disturbance. A few of them at the riverbank below could clearly see the scene at the temple and shouts punctured the air.
With a yank, Akol pulled the blood-soaked staff free and sprinted out of the foyer, circling around to the back of the temple and out of sight. Saiyu scrambled forward but even as she moved, she felt as though she wasn’t in control of her actions, like someone else had taken hold of her body and was guiding her as she hovered just above, watching in limp disbelief.
Her lips trembled when she rounded the fire and saw her mate gazing lifelessly up from where he lay, splayed in a puddle of crimson. She moaned, kneeling beside him, arms wrapped around her torso. She sobbed without tears, gasping for breath, wanting to follow Ashack into the afterlife.
His face. His beautiful, oft-grim face, perfectly clear of blood while everything else below the neck was soaked. She leaned over him, pressing a long, trembling kiss to his forehead, then his cheeks, and a last one to his lips.
Everything was a blur after that. Someone grabbed her around her waist, and she heard voices calling out in confusion and anger and grief. A flurry of shadows fell across her face. Feet took off in the direction Akol had gone. All she could see was Ashack’s dark blue eyes before a villager’s shaking hand closed them.
When she finally returned to herself, she was standing, being held up by a woman’s embrace. The entire village seemed to throng around them. A few were crying, but it was mostly a stunned silence that hung in the air.
“We have him!” a man called from behind the temple, firm and furious.
Some of the crowd pressed to the side of the foyer to get a better look but were chased away by others. Four people came into view. Gripped in between them was a struggling Akol. “I do not understand,” he snapped. “Why are you doing this?”
One of the villagers holding him shoved him roughly toward the center of the foyer. When Akol’s gaze landed on the dead Elder, he nearly fell to his knees. “What—”
“Why did you kill him?” the villager demanded.
