by S. S. Segran
“We hide,” retorted the same man from before, a lean fellow with his hair pulled back from his angular face in a knot. “Even before everything Reyor has done, the outside world cultivated strife among their own. If we are what you say we are, why then have we kept ourselves apart from the people who need our guidance and wisdom the most? Not intervening when we could have makes us culpable as well.”
Whispered assents, though intended to be delivered discreetly, were picked up by Nageau’s enhanced hearing. That his brethren might be feeling this way was a secret concern he had harbored but never shared, and one he felt inclined to agree with. The Islanders and the original inhabitants of this land had moved to the hidden valley together, concealing themselves from the rest of the world as it developed over the centuries. To his knowledge, it had never been explicitly stated that they were to avoid the other peoples of the planet for the rest of time. Still . . .
“You are right,” he acknowledged. “Perhaps it is tradition that has kept us here, one that we never questioned out loud because it has always been thus. It should be said, however, that there must have been wisdom to this unspoken agreement to remain in Dema-Ki. We have made evolutionary leaps that the rest of the population has not caught up with despite their outward advancements in technology and other fields. In the past, these people may have viewed us as gods due to our abilities, building temples and erecting statues in our honor. Or they may have viewed us as abominations, going against the will of nature as they understood it—creatures meant to be destroyed because we would have been beyond the comprehension of the masses, feared by rulers who would feel threatened by our presence.”
Heads nodded slowly, accompanied by a few winces.
“A handful of generations ago, a number of our brethren were sent out to the world and have since formed the League of Sentries. The Elders of that time realized proper mainstays were required if we were to have some footing among the rest of our species. It is unclear what their plan for the future was. As far as we can tell, that was left to the judgement of subsequent Councils.”
Saiyu stepped forward. The mood of the entire assembly took on a somber shade. “This is new terrain for all of us,” she said. Her voice was brittle. “No one who bears the responsibility of an Elder is infallible. No one. We are doing the best we can, constantly asking, praying, begging for guidance so that we may stay true to you, as you are the ones who cast your votes for us to be here. When the Chosen Ones were brought to us by the Guardians, the Council deliberated and agonized for days on what it all meant. If prophecies were straightforward, I suppose there would be no need for us to contemplate, to take risks, to put the utmost effort into understanding them. We believed the younglings were the ones destined to rise against the darkness, a notion that was given credibility when they uncovered their powers. As of yet, this is impossible for anyone who does not share our blood. They were not sent to us by accident.”
Addressing the villagers seemed to have worn her down. Her words came out heavy, the pauses between her sentences grew longer, and Nageau was certain he’d heard a hitch in her breath. He placed a protective hand between her shoulder blades. She pressed back, using him as support. Tayoka, on her other side, shifted closer. The faces of the dissenters within the crowd softened a little as they watched.
“Thank you, Saiyu,” Nageau said as she moved back in line with him. “If nothing else, the harbinger’s caustic, abysmal understanding of the prophecy cannot be the truth because it goes against everything we believe. Our strength comes from that which is Good, from that which made the universe. The poison that has been spilled from the harbinger’s hand has taken root outside but it will not take this village. We must have faith. Yes, creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin, but has the world not cast enough calamity upon itself? It is not and will never be our duty to aid in its fall. What we will do is help the world pick itself back up.”
“The truth of the Chosen Ones being taken is unclear,” Tikina said. “According to the Sentry who was there, Jag had been freed and was asked to bring his friends to a place of great importance to the harbinger called the Heart.”
“The harbinger asked Jag, and he agreed?” a villager exclaimed. “What nonsense—”
“As Tikina said,” Tayoka cut in, his face matching his fiery hair, “it is unclear what the truth of that is. To clarify, my apprentice said it was not the harbinger he had dealt with, but the harbinger’s mentor who was willing to turn against her.”
Mouths fell open. The word “mentor” rolled through the gathering in waves.
“His name is Mokun, and he claims to be one of the survivors from the Island,” Nageau said. “An impossibility . . . were it not for something we know as the black crystal.” He had been anxious about revealing this piece of information, fretting over his delivery since last sundown. “Some of you may have heard about it vaguely, if at all. Our individual crystals help bolster and focus our abilities, but there is a larger, obsidian quartz that acts as a pillar—the primal conduit between us and the world of pure energy. We have been in possession of it ever since our Island ancestors found the first crystals on their shores. From what little we know, not long after Dema-Ki was established, a piece of the black crystal was removed. A number of people went missing the night it happened, never to be seen again, and we have no further records about it. From that point forward, the crystal was taken from the temple and concealed. Only the leading Elder has ever had knowledge of its location.”
Someone in the middle of the gathering rubbed their forehead, eyes half-glazed. Others simply stared, faces slack. From within the crowd, Huyani raised her voice. “Why was the black crystal hidden away?”
“While it serves as the primary conduit, there is another use for it,” Nageau answered. “When administered to the human body after a meticulous and specific method of processing, it can extend one’s lifespan to incredible lengths. Since a sizeable amount of records were lost when the home island was destroyed, we have no idea how this information came to be known. As far as we are aware, the black crystal had been whole until it no longer was. This Mokun person could very well be who he says he is, but whether or not he is working against Reyor seems moot, seeing as the remaining Chosen Ones were taken against their will.”
“Where is the crystal now?” called out a woman.
“It is in the embrace of nature. Should its safety be threatened or the location be made known—involuntarily—it must then be protected at all cost. Which brings us to our next point. Tikina?”
“The harbinger will most likely make her return to Dema-Ki very soon,” she announced, solemn. “Far will it be from glad tidings. Her vision for the world is to be rid of humanity and start afresh with her Stewards of New Earth. Part of that plan, we have come to learn last moon cycle through a Sentry’s informant, includes repopulation. We will be unwilling agents in this, for she wishes to pass down our innate gifts to her next generation of Stewards. Make no mistake—this is a reaping.”
Voices exclaimed in disgust and oaths escaped before they could be stopped. Tayoka’s consciousness knocked on Nageau’s mind and he remarked with dark amusement, Perhaps if we had led with this, they would not have even gone near the thought of Reyor’s interpretation of the prophecy being correct.
Hush, Tayoka.
Oh, come now, unruffle yourself! It is not a sin to find this funny. We need some humor, now more than ever.
Nageau’s mouth twitched but he managed to keep a straight face. He could almost imagine Ashack rolling his eyes in the space they had left him, muscled arms folded, dark blue gaze betraying the tiniest hint of mirth only to resume a stony look if Tayoka turned to him.
Nageau’s sight distorted with tears. He hurriedly blinked them away.
“Prior to her banishment,” Tikina continued, “the harbinger had queried about the black crystal. We do not know how she attained this knowledge but we must assume that she will be coming for it as well. Magèo has been wo
rking on offensive and defensive measures to safeguard our home against a possible attack. From today onward, we will be asking for volunteers to help him prepare. We will have frequent gatherings and smaller, focused assemblies to discuss the installment of further security measures.”
“There is one more thing I would like to say.” Some life had returned to Saiyu’s voice, and the gathering gave her their full attention once more. “For too long, I think, have we allowed the harbinger’s name to hold power over us with its absence. Those of us who were alive when she was still a member of our community have done our best to scrub her from our memory. But she is here, walking this earth, very much a danger, very much on a warpath. We shall not fear her. We shall not allow her to become an obscure figure of lore like the monsters from stories of old. Her name is just that, a name. I propose that from now on, we use it. We shout it as we work, as we build our defenses, as we prepare for the storm that will soon be on our doorstep so that if she comes, we no longer see her as the dark force she embodies, but as a person like you and I; a mortal, not a myth. She knows that with the lathe’ad linked to her, she will be untouchable. But as long as she takes no space in our fears, she can do us no real harm.”
The crowd tried to look hopeful until an elderly man asked, “But what of the Chosen Ones?”
“We are searching for them,” Tayoka said; by the strain of his words, Nageau knew he was mustering as much confidence as he could. “This is not easy for anyone. The Elders have hardly been able to sleep or eat. So much has happened in such a short time . . .” He faltered. “I am sorry. I wish we had more assurances to give.” His mouth parted to say something more but nothing came out.
Nageau wanted to reach past Saiyu to squeeze the younger man’s shoulder, but they needed to look strong. “There is much to be done, my friends. As mentioned, we will get together more frequently in the coming days to pass along new information and fill in gaps. Let us not tarry any longer. We have a home to protect.”
As Tikina closed the gathering with a few more words, Nageau prodded the novasphere, searching for the younglings. He’d done it all day long, every day, hoping to feel them. All he’d ever found was disappointment.
It was too much. It was all too much. Why had he been chosen as leading Elder?
Why did this have to happen during his time? How many mistakes had he made, and how many more would he make? Things were playing out too fast. Reyor’s assault on the world, Ashack’s death, Akol’s incarceration, the Chosen Ones completely lost to them, a likely impending invasion of Dema-Ki . . .
I cannot do this! he wanted to cry. I do not have the strength to shoulder anything more! What am I supposed to do? Everything has fallen apart and I am powerless to fix any of it. Please, lend me strength. Lend me wisdom, knowledge, answers. Anything. Please.
He waited for a response, but all he heard was the rustle of moccasin boots as the villagers dispersed from the square.
The human brain is a marvelous landscape containing neuron cells in a number equivalent to all the stars in the galaxy. It is the most complex organ this side of the universe. It sits above the shoulders and, through the agency of the mind, is capable of instantaneous calculations, thoughts, memories, imagination, vision and more.
This particular brain, though, was inert and unresponsive, and had been for over a week. Though cryogenics held it in stasis, the field of medicine would simply call it dead.
But in the silence of ice, a single spark.
It began with one neuron—a tiny burst of electrical energy throbbing through the axon of the cell, reaching the tendrils of the dendrites and releasing chemicals that swelled within the synapse, transmitting a signal to the next cell. Had a neuroscientist been present as witness, they might have fainted at the sight, passing into temporary oblivion without believing any of this possible.
Molecules from an exogenous black quartz, long since converted to liquid form, had suffused the first neuron and become the catalyst that branched off to the rest, sending signals to critical organs and starting the slow process of regenerating life. The molecules moved with seemingly intelligent direction, undoing damage as they travelled and absorbed the poison that had claimed the body. Nerve cells ignited and, with them, the initial pulsations of motor functions.
Air.
Every cell screamed for it, but none was found.
Air.
Where? Where?
AIR.
A fist smashed through glass, the shattering of inlay breaking the silence of the room. Droplets of bright red blood dripped from fresh cuts, flanked by faint clouds of super-cooled nitrogen gas escaping the cryogenic chamber.
Mokun gasped, lungs filling with the excruciating pull of his first breath. Slowly, as if awakening from a coma, he braced himself against the now-empty frame and pulled himself out of the pod. He stepped over broken glass at the base of the chamber and instantly folded, crashing onto polished marble. A groan tried to free itself but his vocal chords, tight and dry, refused to grant him the sound. Raging thirst swallowed his thoughts as his body identified its severe dehydration, and every inch of him ached from the deep freeze that had settled into his bones.
What . . . happened?
Sluggishly, he tugged at the strings of scattered memories as they drifted by, drawing them back to him. All he could recall was Reyor standing over him, her face touched by the barest hint of sorrow.
How . . . long?
He would need to get up to find out. Powering through the agony and wanting to return to death the entire time, he rose onto his forearms, then his knees. With one last push, he got his feet under him and remained there, crouched, to catch his breath.
Why am I back? he moaned.
He swayed, then steadied himself with a fist on the ground. Little by the little, the rest of his memories returned.
Jag.
He and the boy had struck a deal, and he’d been in the midst of preparations for the arrival of the other four youths when Reyor had approached him about needing to speak over dinner. His heart thundered as panic set in. She wanted me dead. This changes everything.
He glanced down and saw dark veins running the length of this arms. The color faded a bit at a time. As he watched, it dawned on him what must have occurred. The crystal helped return me. Is it—is it giving me a chance to turn the course?
He needed to learn how long it had been since Reyor had done away with him. He needed to find Jag and protect him from the monster who shared his blood.
With a surge of adrenaline-fueled energy, he forced himself upright and took a proper look at his surroundings. She put me in a glass case in the middle of my own archive? This woman . . . I suppose I should thank her. Now there is clarity in what needs to be done.
His office and living quarters were across the hallway from the archive, but so were Reyor’s. He would have to be careful.
Strength seeped back into Mokun’s body. It felt as if the living waters itself had wound its way through his being, infusing him with new life. He looked back at the shards on the floor and flicked his fingers. The fragments of glass rose up, coming together like a visual symphony to arrange themselves back within the frame of the cryogenic chamber, perfectly unblemished. Satisfaction swept through him.
Hold on, Jag. I’m coming.
The door slammed open.
Kody flinched. Not again. Please, I can’t see Jag like that again.
To his utter befuddlement, a Steward flew backward into the room. Her gun clattered and skidded across the gleaming floor and she lay sprawled on her back, out cold with a dart protruding from her chest. A man strode in, fair-skinned with broad shoulders and a full beard, dark around the mouth but gray at the edges, matching his hair. His incisive amber gaze zeroed in on Kody. “You must be Mr. Tyler.”
Kody gaped at him like a fish. A tired fish, but still a fish. “Who are you?”
The man stepped over the SONE and began unfastening Kody’s restraints. “Someone who wants to make thing
s right.”
“That’s a long name. Got something shorter?”
A flicker of a smile. “Mokun.” He didn’t give Kody time to process. “You and your friends have been tricked, I’m afraid. We need to get you all out of here before Reyor returns from her trip to the Sanctuary in New Mexico, and definitely before Jag notices something is amiss. In his state, with his abilities, he is a very powerful, very dangerous enemy.”
Kody rubbed his head as the band around it and his neck were released. Enemy. Was that really what his best friend was now?
Something sharp cut into the skin of his shoulder. He yelped, twisting away as he reached up, only to be startled by the warm liquid that met his palm. “Am I bleeding?!”
“Are you always so dramatic?” Mokun held up a silver object the size of a pea as he tossed a scalpel aside. “Tracking device. We’ll leave it here. Let me find a bandage for you.”
Once that had been dealt with, Mokun helped Kody onto unsteady feet. His legs were weak and his mind slow. He tried to wade through the fog, searching for clarity. If Jag came around now, there was no way he would be able to fend for himself.
“Here.” Mokun tossed him something. Kody grabbed it reflexively, thrilled to feel the familiar smoothness of his staff. They left the chamber, making sure to close the door behind them. Using his weapon as a walking stick, he hobbled after Mokun down the empty hall, toward the same room Jag had taken him to before. As they traversed the length of the corridor, some of his senses caught up with him. He halted, supporting himself against a wall. “Wait, wait.”
Mokun turned to him impatiently. “We cannot tarry here, Mr. Tyler. An automatic report of your progress goes to Jag’s communicator every hour. We have fifty-seven minutes left before he receives the next update.”
“Right, sure, okay. But . . . We were told you were gonna help us if we came. And then we were kidnapped, and we found out Jag was repurposed, and you were nowhere to be found. How am I supposed to trust you?”
