Third Chronicles of Illumination

by C. A. Pack

  Jackson emerged from the George V suite looking like a male model. He wore a fitted shirt and his leather tie with a pair of black jeans. The scent of his aftershave swirled around him like a heady cloud. He saw Johanna looking at him. “Hey. Going over to Logan’s. Everything okay?”

  She nodded. “You may overpower him with your aftershave. But it will probably fade in time for your date.”

  Jackson’s jaw dropped a bit. “You think it’s too much?”

  “A little. For now. I’m sure Logan will let you know if it’s too strong. Or at least Cassie will.”

  Jackson squirmed. He felt funny hearing Johanna talk about his date and his friends. Our friends. “I’d better go. You’re right about Logan, though. He’ll keep me from making a fool out of myself. I think.”

  She smiled. “Good night.”

  Conversation over.

  Mal walked through the walled garden in the College of Overseers, collecting his thoughts.

  RS:⌘ Greetings, Malcolm. Communing with nature?

  “No. Just trying to work out a plan that would allow us to interact with the Adventurans. I think the best way to handle it is to appeal to their pride. Tell them that we know they will not repeat history like the Terrorians, and it is because of their strength and commitment that we would like to establish a three hu*bot panel to advise us on how Terrorians might react to certain specific situations. However, I don’t know if telling them they are the only realm to assist us in this way would make them suspicious or believe they are wrongly being interrogated.”

  RS:⌘ First of all, only two realms could possibly fit the bill: the Adventurans and the Mysterians. It is pretty universally known that some Mysterians can’t be trusted. That would include the former curator named Magra, a high priestess who was removed from that prestigious position after Pru Tellerence discovered her selling the services of her library, rather than allowing residents to freely use its books for recreation. It was an ugly occurrence that resulted in the downfall of Magra, as well as Pru Tellerence’s eventual re-assignment to Dramatica after she lost her effectiveness on Mysteriose.

  RS:⌘ So there is no reason to think the Adventurans would be suspicious of your motives. But, let’s take it a step further. What do you think, besides prestige, Adventurans want, perhaps not individually, but rather as a civilization?

  “I don’t really know. They don’t seem to have a need for anything.”

  RS:⌘ I believe there was mention of how their population is slowly diminishing in diversity as some bloodlines died out.

  “Yes. Prophet IAN c. mentioned that. But he said it wouldn’t happen any time in the near future.”

  RS:⌘ Suppose we offered them live cell cultures from some of our most accomplished individuals. Luminan scientists, engineers, even poets and musicians. Imagine if entities, who have already proven their abilities beyond the average being, could be used by Adventurans to replace originators who die out. That might be incentive for them to agree to consult with us on a regular basis. It would give them something they need, and would give those brokering such an arrangement a certain amount of prestige.

  “Yes. It would, wouldn’t it.” Mal placed his hand on Ryden Simmdry’s shoulder. “I can see why you are Master of the College of Overseers. You certainly master all the problems laid before you. As if by magic.”

  RS:⌘ Magic, Malcolm? I didn’t think you believed in magic.

  “How could I not? I used to be curator of a Library of Illumination. If they’re not magical, I don’t know what is.”

  RS:⌘ I like to think they have special properties. When most people hear the word “magic” they think of a lot of hocus-pocus. Special properties is a much better way to describe what takes place in our libraries.

  Guffle inspected the back wall of the Juvenilia library, looking for broken glass. He’d shattered one of the windows the first time he used his sonic scrambler. But he and his friends couldn’t enter the library through the opening. An invisible force field prevented them from going inside. There were other glass windows, and he hoped if he found the right frequency, he’d be able to shatter one of them and get inside. But first, he needed samples of the glass to test his theory.

  He didn’t design the sonic scrambler to break glass. He made it to scramble people’s brain waves and cause confusion. However, considering one of its frequencies had worked on glass, he would attempt to fine-tune it. He didn’t want to break all the glass in the library. That would be irresponsible and would cut down on everyone’s candy and ice cream allowance, because they’d all have to forfeit something to fix the windows. Only a couple of Juveniles knew how to make glass, and they only accepted candy and ice cream vouchers as payment. The good thing was, they didn’t like cake and cookies, but still, those desserts didn’t taste as good without chocolate, and you could only get that with a candy voucher.

  Back at home, he grabbed the parts he needed to create a second sonic scrambler and sat at his workbench. He didn’t want to mess up his first scrambler. It worked just fine on the bullies who bothered his sister. This second one might not work as well on people, but he had every intention of making it a vital enemy to glass.

  Shortly after the Mysterian sun began its descent, a dozen agitated residents stormed the cave housing their iridium. They carried a large log, which they rammed against the gate with all their strength in an effort to take it down. A half-dozen tries later, they gave up. The gate not only held but also didn’t show a scratch. They concluded the gates must be enchanted.

  Pagaron, a young man training as a priest in one of Mysteriose’s more arbitrary orders, studied the edges where the gates met the stone walls. “We need explosives.”

  A local trader looked unconvinced. “If we couldn’t even make a dent with a battering ram, what makes you think explosives will work on this gate?”

  Pagaron looked at her as if she were an ignorant child. “It’s not what explosives will do to the gate. It’s what they will do to the rock surrounding those gates. If we can’t go through the gates, we’ll just have to go around them.”

  “I have an even better idea,” said the assistant of a Mecox priest. “Val Dvir has a weapon, of reportedly Terrorian design, that pulverizes its targets. I’ve seen it work. It’s supposed to have come from the overseers themselves to help protect our realm against the creatures who designed it. All we have to do is borrow it.”

  Pagaron stared at the man called Nycose. “What makes you think he would lend it to us?”

  “He is reproducing them in bulk, and he probably wouldn’t notice if one went missing.”

  Pagaron eyed the assistant warily. “When do you plan to make that happen?”

  Nycose stretched and stared for a moment at the setting sun. “I’ll meet you back here at daybreak.”

  “What would you do, Garpa?” Nero 51 asked the portrait of his grandfather after reflecting on what had almost seemed like a wasted exercise. The Terrorian realized something had changed and decided to not stop training with Odyon. But confusion overwhelmed him. He’d felt like he lost control the last time he had chanted, and even though he presumed it necessary for shapeshifting, it made him feel uncomfortable. He cherished being in control of himself and the situation around him. Garpa had ingrained within Nero 51 that loss of control equals failure.

  His last exercise with Odyon left the curator totally fatigued. He was even too tired to wonder what the shapeshifter was up to, while he stood talking to a picture on the wall.

  Odyon felt confident he knew the inner workings of the time machine better than its creator. He wanted Nero 51 to return and project the machine back through the pinhole. He was sure, this time, he would be able to restructure the apparatus internally so that it could transcend the portals and deliver him wherever he wanted to be, at any point in time. However, he knew Nero 51 needed time to grasp what he had learned earlier in the day.

  Odyon thought about their lesson. At first, he couldn’t believe Nero 51 had trouble empty
ing his mind and concentrating on a single tone. It’s child’s play. Later, he was equally astounded when the curator actually changed his tone and admitted the vibrato had taken over his being.

  Odyon wasn’t sure he wanted Nero 51 to succeed as a shapeshifter, but he wouldn’t bother worrying about that until it came to pass. Right now, he needed him to power the time machine.

  The Romantican archers and weaponry militairres who had advanced earlier were given an opportunity to shoot additional targets. Some militairres who had not performed well that morning hit their marks later in the day, while others who had scored in the earlier session, missed their afternoon targets. Two people consistently hit every target they focused on, making the choice easier.

  HB:✠ Ryden Simmdry, as always, your wisdom has proven that decisions made in haste are often ill-fated.

  RS:⌘ Indeed.

  The final sessions for the stick fighters and grapplers were not as precise. The judges had to consider whether ground was gained during the confrontation. And they needed to determine who was truly talented, compared to those who were merely lucky. While some finalists fought against each other, a few were paired with people from their platoon who did not make it to the finals, but who were equal to them in size and weight. One of the women disqualified during the morning actually ended up as one of the top two choices for her platoon. Her skills were formidable, but earlier in the day she had been paired with someone much smaller than herself whom she had been afraid of injuring.

  The musicians were asked to play a flourish signaling the conclusion of the competition. Horatio Blastoe held up his hands to silence the crowd. Ryden Simmdry stood to announce the winners. But first, the master discussed the difficulties the judges faced weighing the performances of each young woman, and the adjustments they made to their initial assessments. The crowd listened patiently. Finally, he divulged the names of the top competitors. Each new co-captain walked to the platform to thank the judges when her name was announced. Pru Tellerence presented the women with silver and sapphire triquetras to affix to the left side of their uniforms and jackets. Afterward, she invited Natalia, Arraba, Felicia, and Milencia to come up to the platform and gave each commander a pair of gold and diamond triquetras to signify their leadership roles.

  Dame Erato presented the commanders with bouquets of rosalies, fragrant long-stemmed Romantican flowers that combined the best features of roses and lilies, ending the formal presentation.

  As everyone chatted amiably in the afterglow, a sudden explosion rocked them.

  Beyond the trees, where the Romantican Library of Illumination stood, a massive column of smoke and flames soared up toward the heavens.

  —LOI—

  21

  Logan and Cassie waited in the car while Jackson went to the door to get Emily. He felt a wave of relief when she answered the door herself, but the butterflies in his stomach went ballistic when she pulled him into the family room to meet her parents. Her father grilled Jackson about school and his plans for the future, as well as where Jackson would be taking his daughter for dinner, what movie they’d be seeing, and what time he would bring her home.

  Jackson answered all the questions and used the time as an excuse to leave, because they wouldn’t want to “miss” the movie.

  As they walked to the car, he said, “Does your father interrogate all your dates like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow.”

  “He wants to make sure you have the best of intentions. I’m an only child. I guess that’s what parents do when they’ve only got one child.”

  “Oh.” Jackson didn’t know what else to say. Most of his past “dates” had been group dates with girls he’d known forever, so he’d never had to “meet” anyone’s parents. Johanna didn’t have any parents, so he didn’t have to go through that with her. I hope I don’t have to go on too many more first dates. Meeting a girl’s family is a killer.

  Cassie turned when they got into the car. “Hey, Em. Welcome to Brad.”

  Logan thumped the steering wheel with his hands. “This car is not named Brad.”

  “Sure, it is. It’s a Mini-Cooper.”

  “Hi, Cass. Logan. Did you notice how fast Jackson dragged me out of the house? I’ll bet he thought my father was going to tie him to a chair so he could batter him with more questions.”

  Cassie laughed. “At least you got the whole meet-the-parents thing out of the way.”

  They talked about classes, graduation, and summer plans all the way to the theater and until the movie began.

  Without thinking, Jackson put his arm around Emily like he always did with Johanna. He turned red, but no one noticed it in the darkened theater. And Emily didn’t push him away or squirm, so he just left his arm there. Halfway through the film, two of the zombie characters fell in love. He felt Emily nestle her head against his shoulder. He turned to joke, “their love will never die,” when he saw Logan and Cassie sucking out each other’s tonsils. He stopped dead. Emily tilted her face toward his and kissed him. Surprise. All thoughts of Johanna evaporated. Emily Brent wants to kiss. Who am I to deny her?

  The problem with movie theaters is the utter lack of privacy. And space. And he knew Logan’s car would be too small to do anything more than push them together. Snuggling was one thing. Maneuvering would be out of the question. Why am I thinking about this? We haven’t even had dinner yet. He felt his stomach drop. The thought of eating at Piccolo Italia where he could run into anyone he knew, including Johanna, or his mother, didn’t feel like a good idea, but he’d suck it up and accept the consequences.

  In the end, he needn’t have worried. Logan pulled up in front of a restaurant in a neighboring village. Jackson helped Emily out of the car. “Where are we?”

  “Mama Marcella’s Trattoria,” Logan said as he locked the car. “I thought we’d try someplace new for a change.”

  Jackson looked through the leaded glass windows into the dimly lit restaurant and saw couples sitting at candlelit tables.

  Emily grabbed Jackson’s hand. “It looks so romantic.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Cassie agreed with enthusiasm. “I’ve always wanted to eat at a place like this.”

  Inside, the maître d’ asked if they had a reservation.

  “Elliott,” Logan answered. “Party of four.”

  They were shown to a table near the window.

  Logan pulled out the chair for Cassie, but she had other ideas. “Where’s the ladies’ room?” The maître d’ pointed out the way, and she grabbed Emily’s arm and dragged her off.

  Logan smirked at his friend. “Are you going to thank me for coming here instead of going to Piccolo Italia?”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking of doing, until the girls started talking about how romantic it is.”

  “Isn’t that what you want? A little romance?”

  “No. Yeah. I don’t know.”

  “Whoa, pal. Make up your mind. You and Emily sure looked like you were enjoying yourselves in the movie theater.”

  “How would you know? Are you telling me you actually came up for air long enough to notice us?”

  Logan sighed. “A man’s gotta breathe.”

  “Right.”

  “So, what’s going on with you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s like every time I relax and go for the gusto, I think of Johanna and it brings me down a notch. A dozen notches, actually.”

  “They’re coming.”

  As soon as the girls slipped into their chairs, the waiter arrived for their drink orders. The girls and Jackson ordered soda, but Logan asked for a beer and was served one. Jackson looked at Logan with raised eyebrows. Logan smiled and leaned over to whisper, “I’ve got big boy proof, and for fifty bucks, you could, too.”

  Jackson stared at the bottle. “You’re driving.”

  “One beer isn’t going to affect me.”

  “Famous last words.”

  “Don’t say that!” Cassie said. “Besides, I’ll
make sure he only has one.”

  “Great,” Logan replied, sounding defeated.

  “So, what are you ordering?” Emily asked Jackson.

  “I don’t know.” He picked up the menu and looked at the choices. “I guess I’ll have lasagna.”

  “Chicken Parm for me,” Logan said, putting down his menu.

  Cassie and Emily chose lighter entrées. They talked until their dinners arrived. At that point, Cassie and Emily continued the conversation while Jackson and Logan stuffed their guts.

  “That was so good,” Logan said, pushing his empty plate away.

  Jackson’s dish was still half-full. “Johanna makes better lasagna.”

  Emily put down her fork. “Who’s Johanna?”

  Nero 51 felt Odyon staring at him. The curator opened his eyes. “This place is off limits. You are not welcome here.”

  Odyon flicked his hand as if batting the curator’s words away. “It is time to fulfill destiny. I believe I can successfully redirect the time machine and remove us from this form of hell.” He walked around the curator’s private meditation space. There was very little to it. A different picture of Garpa hung on the glowing orange wall. A small altar-like edifice stood beneath it. On top, glowing embers provided a little more light. The remainder of the room was unadorned, aside from the floor mat the curator sat upon.

  The curator stretched his tentacles, snaking them around the space, but said nothing.

  Odyon made his taunt sound like a question. “Surely you’re ready to give your grandfather everything you promised him?”

  The Terrorian huffed. “Do not talk about my ancestor as if you’re intimate with him. This is not your domain.”

  “Thank the creators!”

  Nero 51 stood. “Come. Let’s see if you are as competent as you say you are.”