Issue 16

by The Cross and the Cosmos, Jr

  Six thrones had been placed on the stage of the amphitheatre. Phedali and Briatynne Arondir sat in the middle, with Briatynne on Phedali’s right. Alain and Autumn sat on the Hegemon’s left, with Autumn on Alain’s right, putting Alain on the far stage left. Marildra Aerinifer sat to the right of Briatynne, leaving Iranna Mirinifer on the far stage right in honor as the potential heir of Marildra’s office under the Hegemons.

  He is the greatest of us all, greater than our Hegemons or even Mistress Autumn, Iranna thought as she watched Alain speak, and yet he takes the lowest position here on stage. But his very speech betrays what he is, for those with ears to hear.

  Somewhere beyond our knowledge and even our dreams, Master Alain and Mistress Autumn are righteous sovereigns of indescribable might, and yet here in these Realms they are but wanderers. When their appointed task on Aetalnor is done, they will leave, and we of Emberland will remember the Undying Singer and the Girl Named after the Moon and sing of them.

  “Very soon now,” Alain went on, “your Hegemons will ask my Lord to make Aetalnor an Annex of the Kingdom of Ariel. Your star system will be protected by a Nodelet and its Field, as the Kingdom is protected by the Node and its Field. You’ll never be bothered by the Rim Confederacy or any Hostile Archons again.”

  “It still will not be easy,” Phedali added, “to help heal those Adamim who were influenced by Aqrav and the Confederates in Aqrav’s timeline. But they do have in their memories a comparison of their lives in that timeline and their lives in this timeline, and how much better this timeline has been for them. With any grace, the Nodelet Field will preserve them rather than kill them, once it activates. Master Alain, have you learned what happened to the Scorpion?”

  Alain sighed sadly. “Amethyst and I together have searched the Ring of Stars for him and have found no trace, not even of his death. We know he wasn’t simply erased from the timeline, more’s the pity maybe. I assume Aqrav and his girlfriend transferred to the Warbird, fired those missiles, then fled to one of the Pockets and found refuge there. No other tactic would’ve protected them from the White Hand in this Realm, or even from a Pocket’s engine. They might even have gone from the Pocket to the Nulls’ home Realm for the sake of Aqrav’s crew—assuming the Warbird could survive the trip.” Alain shrugged expressively.

  “Then our Usurper could return to trouble your counsels again?” Briatynne asked.

  “He could indeed,” Alain replied soberly. “In fact I’m depending on it. But I wish I could be a fly on the wall when he hears of what the Hooded Man did through me to undo his part in Nicholas Blackthorn’s apostasy.”

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Personal Log: Alain Harper/Raphael Goldwing

  C.Y. 5,000:001

  Security: Red Seal Level Five

  Every time I call upon the White Hand Without Measure at Need, timelines change somewhere in the Metacosmos; and those changes center on me sooner or later. It’s not because I’m a solipsist, narcissist and egotist combined—although some have accused me of being so! No, as the Locus I move through the Portal of Light from the Metacosmic Tree to the First Realm and back again, when I call on the ultimate Power of the White Hand. But only now in my Fourth Timeline—which started with the restoration of Aetalnor to its intended state—do I remember moving so. This was the one ember in my memory not stirred to life when I finally returned from Aqrav’s Pocket.

  In the First Realm the former things have passed away and are no longer remembered by the Children of God in Power, yet there will always be angels who ask questions about what might have been had history gone differently. Autumn and I are honored to help give such angels answers. And sometimes our help demands changes in the timeline we experience here.

  So in this Fourth Timeline, Autumn Harvest Selene now looks Adami, a blue-eyed, wheat-haired, too-curvy-for-my-good-or-anyone-else’s White Tribeswoman—just like the girl I married so very long ago on Old First Realm Earth. But in this timeline, I wasn’t born in C.Y. 4,000. Rather, we both stepped through the Portal of Light into the Covenant Realm in that year. We’re masculine and feminine in form and personality, but we’re no longer truly male and female. This means we’ve had no marriage, no honeymoon, and no intimate relations such as go with those things—not in these Realms. But we remember our past as mortals and as Children of God in Power in the First Realm. And we walk in these Realms as beings like the Archons and yet greater than they, so angels in the First Realm may learn from our example.

  There have been many other changes large and small between the timelines. How I’ve related to the Glyph of Functions, and to those who wield it, is one of the more telling changes. So are the names and epithets I’ve collected like some people collect butterflies.

  I mustn’t neglect the Other Realms, places we’ve been which are attached to the Metacosmic Tree and yet aren’t part of the Tree. No doubt, some old and wise friends there realize what has changed in their relationship with us and what hasn’t, but not all could do so. Not even the Chosen Archons here, the few Old Ones who’ve always known who and what I am and where I come from, perceive the changes that have been wrought around them.

  So then, once again, our roles here have changed, and our nature and gifting has altered accordingly. And it can only mean the threats we’re ordained to face have changed their configuration too. Considering the degree and kind of Power we have, those threats must be greater than anything we’ve faced in these Realms before.

  But we know we’re ready by design for those threats. We’re not infallible here, but in the Hooded Man’s name, we’re always infallibly used despite ourselves if necessary.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Johanan Rakkav is the Hebrew pen name (anglicized King James Version-style) of a very busy Ne’fi (ENFP on the Myers-Briggs grid). Besides being a consultant in Christian apologetics, he is the editor and co-publisher of the book THE MUSIC OF THE BIBLE REVEALED by the late Suzanne Haïk-Vantoura (rakkav.com/biblemusic), a singer-songwriter who plays the piano, synthesizer, Celtic harp and ten-stringed Hebrew lyre (kinnor), a lifelong lover of the natural sciences (especially astronomy) and of speculative fiction, an enthusiast of personality type models, and (writing with E.V. Medina as Jack Shepherd) the co-author of the medieval fantasy/allegorical SF book REALMWALKERS (tiaera.blogspot.com). His fictional Metacosmos is now featured at undyingsinger.wordpress.com and rakkav.blogspot.com, as well as at the page TALES OF THE UNDYING SINGER on Facebook.

  Tesara

  by

  Joel Parisi

  Part One

  Matan swung his rucksack onto his back and snatched his walking stick from where it rested against the wall. Janae ducked in through the door, barring it behind her, and opened the window of the room.

  “The landlord’s keeping them distracted for the moment.” She was breathing heavily. “Let’s move while we have time.”

  Matan nodded and looked down from the window. The roof of the inn’s stable was directly below them. “Follow me closely.” He hopped over the sill. Janae had already secured her bag and walking stick, and she jumped out the window after him. Matan led the way to the side of the stable closest to the forest and dropped to the ground.

  “Thank El the ground is dry,” he muttered.

  Janae dropped beside him. “What direction?”

  “We’ll cut through the forest to the north.” He glanced at the sun. “It’ll put us out of our way, but it should throw them off the scent.”

  “Do they know where we’re going?”

  “I doubt it. No one would expect us to head for Tesara.” Except Gram, he thought, but that wasn’t worth dwelling on.

  They ducked into the forest, and Matan poked around a bit before locating a game trail which meandered in a northerly direction. “Let’s follow this for now.”

  Janae tightened her pack and took her walking stick from the loop which held it, giving Matan a grim nod. “Freedom, here we come.”

  ###

  Near sunset thr
ee days later, the pair of exhausted and muddy young humans emerged from the thick forest to the west of the town of Tesara.

  “Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Matan said.

  “Remind me to batter you into unconsciousness the next time you suggest hiking through forest,” Janae snapped. “My arm is still burning from falling in the glealin patch.”

  “It could have been much worse. But I would assume, if I look half as bad as you do, I’m going to need a bath and a change of clothes before going to the school.”

  “And a full night’s sleep?”

  “Yes, that would be nice too.”

  “Gram said the Mark of the Dragon is the best inn. It’s on Weaver Street... though he never mentioned where Weaver Street is.”

  “Why don’t we ask the gate guard?” Janae said.

  Matan stared at her, then smiled sheepishly. “Right. I forgot we weren’t still in Inek.”

  The gate ahead was not imposing, but it was sturdy, as was the wall surrounding the town. The lone guard at the gate stood from where he’d been lounging and looked them over as they approached. “Who’re yeh, then?”

  “We’re travelers from Inek. We’ve come to join the school.”

  “Is tha’ so? Well, good luck to ye, then.” He waved them through with his pike.

  “One moment.” Janae gestured toward the town beyond the gate. “Can you point the way to Weaver Street for us?”

  “Sure. It be straight down the road, fourth street on the left.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded and they walked away down the street. Tesara was quiet for a town of its size most of the town’s six thousand inhabitants seemed to be indoors, or working in the outlying fields. A few carts rattled by as Matan and Janae passed through the market circle, which was deserted apart from a group of children playing in the fountain.

  Janae had been counting the streets, and now pointed. “There’s Weaver Street.” They followed it until they reached a building under a sign of a dragon holding a mug. Matan pushed open the door and they stepped in.

  The dining room was vacant, and the bulky proprietor was setting up chairs and rearranging tables. He glanced at them as they entered, finished shoving a chair into place, and walked over to them.

  “Greetings, travelers. I am Teswold. What can I do for you?”

  “We’d like a room for the night,” Matan said. “What are your prices?”

  “Well, that would depend on who you are, wouldn’t it?” Teswold studied them closely, grey eyes sharp below his bushy brows. “For instance, by your accents I’d say you’re Inekí. By the state of your clothing, I’d say you’re fleeing something. And by the similarity of your features, I’d say you are related.”

  Matan had settled back into a second-form stance, walking stick at a slight angle and ready for him to grab with both hands. Teswold noticed and shook his head.

  “I’m not speculating because I want to turn you in, lad. This is Argeliawe get runaways all the time. I’d have to be a stupid man or greedy fool to try breaking the Articles by turning you over to Inekí authorities, and I am neither.”

  Matan relaxed. “You’re right, of course. We are running. Our parents died before they were able to pay back their land debt.”

  “So, the galleys for you and a brothel for your sister. I’d have fled as well.” Teswold glanced out the window, gauging the sunlight. “You’re welcome to stay the night,” he added. “I only ask you pay for your foodboard is free.”

  “Thank you, Teswold.” Janae ducked her head in a brief, polite nod. “What room may we have?”

  “Any room at all. Shall I see you at supper?”

  “Yes, you shall indeed,” Matan said. “We wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  ###

  Matan and Janae were up at dawn the next morning. After breaking their fast, they gathered their belongings and left the city through the east gate. The Tesara school of Istarí was situated on a hill overlooking the city, and the building itself was five stories high. The two approached the bronze double doors with some trepidation.

  Matan reached toward the door, then paused. “Do we just...knock?”

  Janae eyed the massive metal door, then shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt.”

  Matan raised his hand, but just as it touched the gleaming metal, the doors swung inward on silent pivots. A man dressed in a gray cloak and breeches with a white tunic stood just beyond the doors, and smiled gently at them.

  “Welcome to Tesara’s school of Istarí, my children.”

  They both bowed. “Good day to you, Father...?” Matan left the sentence unfinished.

  “Father Quinar. Are you seeking shelter for the night, or do you wish to apply to the school?”

  “We wish to join the school.”

  Father Quinar smiled. “Bold. I like that. You think you can pass the entrance examinations?”

  “We believe so, Father.”

  “Good. I like confident students. Come with me.”

  They followed Father Quinar as he led the way down the hall, and the doors swung shut silently behind them.

  “You know, of course, as a school we mostly teach the lore of Ekelek, as well as the history of the First and Second Words and how to apply them to your life, and how to refute Shadow worshipers who may try to convert you. Fighting is not of primary importance to us.

  “Now, were we at war, our primary goal would be to train strong fightersand being a warrior is obviously a component of becoming an Istarbut our first goal is to ground you in your faith. That said, your first test will be of your fighting prowess.”

  Matan and Janae looked surprised. “How is that possible?” asked Janae. “Do you keep shadow beasts tied up to loose on the students?”

  Father Quinar chuckled. “No, no, nothing along those lines. You will be sparring with a pair of other students, probably a brother and sister. As soon as we get into the arena, I’ll hand you over to Brother Iretus, our fighting master. I’ll take your bundles now, if you like, and deposit them in the rooms where you are to stay, and then pick you up after the fight.”

  “So, we’re in, then? Just so quickly?”

  “No, but the exams are spaced out over three days to make it easier for you. You will stay here for the duration.”

  Matan nodded. “Very well.” They both handed over their knapsacks.

  Father Quinar slipped the packs' straps over one forearm, then gestured at the double doors to their left. “There is the arena. Remember; even if you don’t win, you can still gain admittance. I’ll see you again shortly.” And he left.

  “Somehow, I don’t think we should be worried about losing,” Janae muttered.

  Matan smiled. “You never know how much the training here might have improved others’ natural talents. Let’s not be overconfident.” He opened the door and stepped in.

  Brother Iretus was sorting weapons into their places on a wall rack, but stopped and hurried over when he saw them.

  “Welcome, welcome,” he said, pumping their hands. Janae hid a smile. He reminded her of the hummingbirds that fed at their house. “Your names, please?”

  “Matan.”

  “Janae.”

  “Mmhmm, hmm. Lovely name, young lady. I assume you are here for the entrance exam sparring match?”

  “YesFather Quinar sent us.”

  “Good, good. I see no amulets, but are you Ichtul, perchance?”

  Matan glanced at Janae, who shrugged. “Actually, we don’t know. No one in our family is, and neither my sister nor I have ever attempted to manipulate elements.”

  “Fine, just fine. Let’s see.... Do you fight best alone or as a team?”

  “As a team, definitely,” Janae said.

  “Complementary powers?”

  “Somewhat.” Matan exchanged another glance with his sister. “She’s faster and more flexible than I am, but I can shield myself better.”

  “And may I be so bold as to ask why you have come?”

/>   Janae glanced at Matan. He blinked twiceso, story number two. “Our parents say we have abilities with the light that are far beyond the ordinary.” She tried to ignore a twinge of guilt for misleading the Brother. What she said was true, except it should have been in the past tense.

  “Ah, yes. I love the ones whose parents have sent them. They’re usually more confident. Would that be accurate?”

  Matan gave a marginal shrug. “I don’t know about confident, but we are competitive.”

  “Well, your competitiveness shall work in your favor. I am putting you against the twins, Alemnar and Ariel. Go choose your weapons.” Iretus pointed at the wall rack of weapons, ranging from daggers to poleaxes. “All are blunted.”

  Janae had a slight sinking feeling. “No ranged weapons?”

  “No ranged weapons other than the Light. Hurry, hurry, we haven’t all day.” He darted out the far doors.

  Matan selected an oaken staff, but Janae didn’t pick anything, after looking over the weapons one more time. She knew she would be better off unarmed if she couldn’t have a bow.

  The far doors opened again, and Iretus ushered in their opponents. Janae quickly sized them up. Ariel and Janae looked to be about evenly matched, but Alemnar was a good four inches taller than Matan. Both of the twins were blond haired and blue eyed with freckles. Alemnar chose an oaken staff for his weapon and Ariel chose a pair of daggers.

  “We’ll need to split them up,” Matan murmured.

  Janae bit her lip. “You sure?”

  “Yes. I can tell they’re used to fighting back to back. If we separate them, they lose their advantage.”