by Marc Mulero
Hope began to rebuild. He could sacrifice Mun’s friendship if he had to, or add to the already high pile of hate he had for Crow. It would be no problem if it meant he would still have her.
Before he knew it, Eres was shoved rather harshly into a tight room within the Academic Wing, with his bag stripped off his shoulder in the same motion.
“We have authority to search in the name of Kor safety,” Tood proclaimed. “Creela, if you wouldn’t mind patting him down while I inspect his belongings.”
“Yes,” she responded before addressing Eres. “Stand straight please.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I know you’re a good kid, Eres. My instincts are always on point.” She winked.
“Nothing but two Kor books, a fliser, an old UBS. Harmless,” Tood declared.
Creela grabbed the impeller as Tood continued his rant and searched the bag for more. “This is what he’s looking for, but just because you have a valuable piece of tech, doesn’t mean you’re a threat. You don’t have any Crule weapons, do you?” she asked, her voice still low.
Eres shook his head. “Just what Proctor Vasa let us spar with.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Creela expected Eres to smile back at her, but instead his face was scrunched like he was repeatedly being punched in the gut.
It was her. Windel. She’s the only one who could’ve possibly known about it. It’s over. She’s dead to me.
His seething thoughts abruptly turned to fear when the PA’s pat down moved near his thighs. Her movements were quick to avoid his discomfort, but the fear had nothing to do with that… what if she touched where something should be, and found nothing? But before his dread could be realized, her hands fell to her sides.
“And you, Creela?” Tood turned to address her.
“Nothing. The boy is clean.”
Tood walked over and looked down upon him, already mastering the authority of a proctor. “It looks like I owe you an apology, Eres. But be warned, if any further suspicious activity reaches my ears regarding you, then the Provost will be notified, and it will be out of our hands. Kor safety is priority. Good day.”
Creela’s gaze lingered on the troubled boy before she turned away to exit with Tood. There Eres was left to decide whether he wanted to leave, or to sit and wallow in the confirmed truth that was betrayal.
Students bustled to their first classes – collectively, they seemed so eager – destined to become something extravagant and accomplished, all while he felt destined to do no more than ride the rollercoaster inside of him. Friendship, lies, laughter, tears, and above all, long, long cycles of abandonment. Round and round he went, leading him to poetically pull out the UBS gift given by the chatty girl only to write a message of finality. The speaking would stop there.
“Don’t ever contact me again. No talking, oobing, or trying to get to me through Mun. Ever.”
Eres’ finger trembled an inch away from the send button, breath held as he read the text over once more. His stomach felt like it was in knots. Throwing away the best thing that’d ever happened to him was no easy task, however necessary it was. With closed eyes, against the wishes of his beating heart, he finally pressed it. The tiny pulse reverberated through his body like a reverberating gong and scratched at his feet as if the message itself was clawing to stay. But it didn’t. The connection was severed. His best friend and crush would soon be just another memory.
That action took all of his energy. Each step dragged slower than the next on his way to pick up his bag. All the while, he thought to himself that if it wasn’t for Creela’s kindness, he may have cranked his impeller to its capacity and buried the two into the earth. It would be a lie to say that he hadn’t fantasized about it when Tood was making accusations. Then at least he could be boundless like his father, renounce everything that he was pretending to be. Maybe then he would visit.
A darkness was rising in him. He suddenly had an understanding for how Crow felt, and he wondered who wronged the true orphan with such intensity? Eres literally felt the aftereffects of it, after all.
His legs were forced to hustle when falling into the jet stream of scrambling students, the ones who were going to be late. It was only Proctor Ren’s class, though, the one teacher that Joodah promised was always running behind himself. Once he approached the spiral and jumped onto it, he wondered whether each section climbed would result in his doom if he’d jumped.
That’s too far, he told himself. What kind of Skrol falls to the likes of a crush? Pathetic.
Eres was the last one in Factions class, similar to his first day. He and Crow locked eyes, both with matching expressions this time. Eres saw him differently now, as if he was seeing him through different eyes - scorned eyes - like they’d shared some kind of bond. But the tensed jaw and animated snarl aimed back at him was a stark reminder that the epiphany wasn’t shared. Shying away was the only way to avoid a beating later, so he did. He slid into his chair and slumped, for there was nothing to do but wish that Proctor Ren would take him far away, like he often did.
“Class. Class! How foolish of me!” Proctor Ren hurried into the room, purposefully massaging a set of beads in his hand. “We’re missing the Imperion debate! I know, I know, students, I want to talk about the ceremony too.” He waved his long sleeves for the front rows to put their hands down. “Later, I promise.”
He rolled the octor into its holster and twisted his fingers to activate it, and by the time Eres had blinked, he was in another torium of lavish finished wood. Where was he exactly? He’d seen this before. Of course… the Imperion Chamber, the place where he met each Faction’s representative on day one. Proctor Ren did say that we would be observing how the highest level of government conducted their decision-making process. Eres guessed that’s what this was. The Imperions were so close that he felt as though he were sitting right beside them. They were all so polished in their own ways, so confident, presentable. And they hadn’t even said anything yet.
A light flickered from the center of the table and blinked as a speaker projected the mediator’s voice. “I expect that all agendas are in order? Right… so we begin on the topic of the Colliding Spheres. Another death was cheered on by the victor as well as the audience. A Crule stab punctured the heart of a Bumos Trainer by the hand of a warrior. Faction citizens plead for stricter safeguards outside of a mere contract accepting the risks. What say you, Imperion Council?”
Sore Yon Roke, the Swul Imperion, jumped in first, red eyes bulging and blue braids quivering. “Champions seek glory, audience, entertainment. Since the dawn of the First Races, even before the Swuls, this practice has thrived. Economical and entertaining. Only a fool would hinder the Colliding Spheres at the peak of its prosperity.”
“Have you learned nothing sending the young in to fight your wars, Sore?” The Dagos Imperion, Yuvos, barely let a second lapse before responding.
“Not all of us go soft like yo-” Sore tried to quip but Yuvos kept on.
“Violence begets violence, my blood thirsty friend. I would starve myself again if it meant achieving peace. Hang me by my wrists for a month if it would cease senseless death.”
Spera Noe Donnus put a calm hand over his, her cat eyes smiling. “Now Yuvos, I think we can find a more diplomatic way to curtail bloodshed than to hang an Imperion over a wall for two halfmoons.”
The others chuckled.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Yuvos relaxed into his chair. “I vote for a contract that fines the victor of all his tournament winnings in the event of a ‘glorious’ murder. That will make them think twice.”
Sore clenched his fists and eyed the peaceful Dagos like he wanted to jump over the table and strangle him.
“It pains me to align with someone who so obviously promotes uncivil activities,” Spera spoke up. “However, I’m afraid I agree with Sore. Coin that employs thousands is generated through these events. Look what has been manufactured around the arena. Mustae! Look at the arena itself. Built on the sea
to house something that all Factions look forward to attending. Every family who gets to go brags of being so close to the Verglas Sphere. And the entertainment around it – restaurants, unionized gambling, merchandize.
“I remind all that this council aided in propelling a bill in which five percent of proceeds of a for-profit organization would be donated to lower performing Kors. We have already done our deed of goodness by interfering at the brink of our authority. I say this now: Tread carefully, my fellow council members. Do not try and fix something that is so far from being broken.”
Eres’ eyes were pulled to Proctor Ren, who looked like he wanted to give her a standing ovation. Did he have a crush too, maybe? History even? This wouldn’t be the first time he thought so.
Prika Bean shifted in her seat, her smile pleasant enough to disarm, but not so wide as to downplay the seriousness of the matter. “Yuvos, I side with you. Glory can be won without violence. Look at Surfech. Pure entertainment without the likelihood of a family becoming less whole after the event. I would agree to the design of a bill that strips the trophy and one-half winnings as penalty for death. The symbol is worth more than the money in many cases. For instance, it would show that the Factions do not promote its citizens traveling from all havens of Ingora to watch a slaughter.”
Yuvos bowed graciously, showing the heavy locks running down his back.
“In the event that Lasarius falls to the darkness, Yuvos, we can set up a fund to aid families of fallen warriors… to show that they’re not alone in their sorrows,” Prika added.
Sore snarled. “I don’t think there could be a greater insult to Swul families. You would dare tarnish reputation by making such a glorious end feel as though it warrants charity? You should consider other ways of life before trying to throw money at everything you don’t agree with, Prika.”
“Ease up, my Swul friend,” Spera jumped in. “To be clear, Mr. Roke and I vote to leave the Colliding Spheres as they are, to remain the profitable, honorable, economic empire that it is, without our dirty hands grubbing at it any further. What do you have to say, Lasarius?”
All eyes and bodies shifted to the odd man out, the one without a counterpart sitting across from him. The wildcard of the Imperions, called upon to break the ties like he was elected to do. Lasarius scrutinized his peers now as he did the audience in the first portrait that the class was shown. Gloved hands massaged one another in front of his face, slowly, showing the others that eyes on him did not evoke anxiety or pressure. His response would be on his terms.
Proctor Ren broke the tension by saying, “Even if a bill is formulated here, within the Imperion’s chamber of deliberation, remember that there are other checks and balances that would need to be cleared before signing anything into law. Although, it should be noted that the Imperions’ influence on the people as well as other branches of regime is immense.”
Lasarius’ eyes squinted in Sore’s direction. “There seems to be a matter of experience that drives these two members to such extreme rationalizations. Sore, who has devoted his entire being to victorious battles and operations that, I do believe, have been for the betterment of civilization, albeit while committing uncivilized deeds. And Yuvos. Epiphanies are interesting things – they cause us to abruptly change how we perceive the world. As a chieftain of war yourself, you have been spun like a top in the opposite direction. It would be next to impossible to reign either of you back toward the center of reason, but I will try.
“At the source of this phenomenon, the Colliding Spheres, we bear witness to something extraordinary – our most primal urges, for each of our races, that are no longer otherwise exercised within the confines of civilization. Yuvos and Prika, you see this as callous and brutal… but is it? If both contesting warriors willingly train and submit their bodies knowing the risks, undergo psychological testing for assurance that they weren’t brainwashed into joining, is it? These are of-age adults that chase something that has long been lost since the construction of our Factions. That is, contesting for alpha status outside of a deliberation room. It stems from our earliest in developmental evolution – something that has never left us. And the audience, experiencing what they yearn for, to cheer for something that raises their heart-rates, connects to their mortality and the thrill of the kill, something that they could never find the courage to participate in within the comfort of a stationary life. The Colliding Spheres are necessary.” He held a gloved hand up to forestall protest.
“You would beg me to consider… you would ask, ‘But Lasarius, what of our ulmanity… our morality as a collective? What kind of example do we set by allowing such violence, especially if the result is sometimes death?’ For these questions I have one answer: these acts are currently contained. It’s a legal, open, auditable business that the Factions have full visibility over. We have a responsibility to monitor and permit its existence, and we also have a responsibility to limit its expansion. More sanctions on the arena itself would equal its eventual shutdown, and civilization’s regression of holding these same events underground, in the shadows, out of sight. Only then do we Imperions lose our ability to protect the ulmanity of this. So for this reason, I vote that we do nothing with respect to the proposed bill. And I also vote that we have this debate over and over again, until the end of time, to keep each other in check.”
Prika shook her head disapprovingly, but politely. “You are gorgeously articulate as usual, Las, but I fear you’ve fallen into the darkness of brutality on this matter. It’s regrettable that there is no compromise here.”
“To continue the debate is compromise, Prika,” Spera said.
Lasarius lowered his head, stared at the middle of the table and shook his fist purposely to emphasize his next point. “Our rigorous checks and balances keep all angles of this council in order. Rest assured that our forerunners’ decision to permit construction of the Colliding Spheres in the first place was of the same sound compromise that we reach here in our chambers.” He looked up and opened his hand. “We do justice here by doing nothing.”
Proctor Ren twisted his fingers under the octor to warp the scene back into a classroom. “So you see, students, the gathering of these great minds helps mold and sustain the rules by which we all play. This is how we keep peace among our races. Slow and measured changes over time. Endless refinement. A highly political process that can be considered boring to many of you, but the idea here is for you to appreciate the chosen who upkeep this duty.”
Eres was temporarily entertained by the uniqueness of Lasarius, but now that he was back, his mind began to drift again. Always to the wrong places. He floated through the rest of class in the same manner, pulled back every now and again by Ren’s lingering eyes on him.
There it is again. He checks on me like he’s afraid I might die in this classroom…
At the close of the lecture, which had ended on a very high note about behind-the-scenes work that went into the ceremony the day prior, as the students packed up and headed out, and after Crow shouldered Eres so hard that he thought his arm would pop out of its socket, Ren spoke through the noise.
“May I have a moment, Eres?”
“Uh, s-sure.” He adjusted his bag over his shoulder and sullenly stopped at the proctor’s desk.
Ren’s thick black and scarlet braid jingled with trinkets as he raised his head. “You look troubled, my boy, like you always have a question you’re about to ask, but seldom do.”
“It’s nothing, Proctor Ren.”
“Please, call me Alfonze when class is adjourned. Try me, I’ve traveled to the corners of this sphere. Perhaps I can help.” His eyes glinted as if he were speaking in code, egging him on.
Eres was hurting too much to care about his end goals at the moment. Windel’s betrayal was like an oversized thorn stuck in his abdomen, stinging after every wrong thought, but he knew his future self would never forgive him if he didn’t seize this opportunity.
“Are you a Skrol, sir… Alfonze?”
Ren hooted. “No, no. I am a mere surveyor. A collector and interpreter of information. But I’ve been known to also serve as an ally to regime and, separately, to the Skrols.” He winked. “I’ve always found the idea of their ‘secret’ interesting.”
Eres still couldn’t quite figure him out. Was he downplaying his value? Trying to hint that he’s ‘the eye’? Or was it all just in his head?
Eres slid his messenger bag off of his shoulder and dropped it to the ground. It was only the two of them in the class now, and he didn’t care much about the rest of his day, nor being late to any of it.
“What do you know about it… the secret?”
Ren clasped his fingers together and tensed them. “That it is the most guarded information in the history of Ingora. So sacred that it is said to have never been even half-collected through the sands of time, since the First Seer.”
Eres’ mouth hung open. “You believe in all of that?”
“What fun would life be if I didn’t? Heh. Anyway, history seems to be outdoing itself now. Seren Night appears to be making tremendous strides in collecting espers.”
Eres cringed, hoping that his father was still safe. “Everyone keeps talking about it, even though most here don’t seem to really care about what the Skrols do.”
“Well, it’s like anything else that’s dated… it fades from the public’s memory unless something riles it up again. Truth be told, knowing the Skrols I’ve bumped into during my travels, I would presume they would have it no other way than to be forgotten. That would be one less problem to worry about. But Seren’s presence is disturbing the waters, and everyone is beginning to notice. I’m sure you recall the footage shown on the first day of Factions.”
Eres thought back to the image, of Seren’s multi-hued hand glimmering in the otherwise haunting scene.
“What happens if someone wears multiple espers?” he probed.
“I wish I knew for sure what happens if someone only wears one! All I have are tales, Eres. Legends told through Mystics and Skrol worshippers - of memories and feelings that are brighter than any octor could ever produce. And each esper contains a snippet of the First Seer, the Founder, the genesis of the Skrol legacy.”
