by Marc Mulero
“So, they’re as real and as powerful as they say, these Aegods?” Eres’ interest was temporarily piqued.
“The string in your bag is proof enough. It is made of their arteries, you know, so resilient that it exists as living tissue even after being separated from its system. Wonderous and deadly creatures. If you’ll entertain me, and take that hand off of your blade’s hilt, perhaps my tale can be shared.”
Eres huffed and relaxed his grip. “If you will return Ohndee.”
“After my judgement, she will be returned. By the jungle that keeps me alive, I swear it.”
With a flick of Bo’s wrist, an interwoven black-grass chair rose from the dirt, stitched together in fast-forward.
“It’s strange to see an Eplon wield Reach,” Eres commented as he accepted the seat. “My people seem to be the most connected with it, even though experience would tell me that I’ve been skipped.”
Bo cackled more innocently this time as he formed his own throne. “I suppose I am no ordinary Eplon, then, and you, no ordinary Umboro.”
Eres sniffed in agreement.
“So, where were we?” Bo’s eyes lit as he searched his memories. “Long ago, in a time where I wasn’t bound to Dundo-Ba, I would take appointments to judge those who thought themselves worthy of being inducted into the Skrol antisociety – those who believed they should inherit an unnamed esper or have a Reach master split the secret further on their account. Sometimes, a patron will seek pre-approval before their apprentice inherited their esper. And sometimes, like in your case, the apprentice will show up already decorated.
“Either way, I was busy, for a Judicator must obtain worldly stature if they are to consider themselves apt enough to judge. And since you’ll notice that I bear no rings,” he flashed his naked hands, “my limits were not the same as a secret wielder’s. I’ve met people, befriended them, had lovers and enemies – sought them even - for my own selfish reasons and to fancy myself an expert of interaction. These connections led me to a situation, pardon the pun, that was out of my Reach.”
Eres was unamused, which left a smile on Bo’s face.
“I was called upon in distress by an Umboro town leader, you see, through hlope messenger. ‘An Aegod is on a wrecking path, headed straight for our strip of small towns!’ they yelled. ‘The size of a Kor,’ they claimed, with its tightly wrapped spike protruding from the back of its head.’ What? You look confused. Oh, of course, the length of the spike speaks to an Aegod’s age, my dear lad. And this one was a particularly ancient one. Just think of its harrowing enormity, just think: eyes of intricately cracked crystal, each centered with an Eplon’s iris.” He shivered. “What a life-defying sight. And what’s more: Hardened scales of dark fading colors like the inside of a cave… that was its skin. All of this confirmed the truth of it. A mother Aegod. Even its talons were lined with muscle. But it was its breath that earned the beast its legend, as it left permanent effects that are straight from nightmares.” He framed his face as exhibit A.
“The call earned me my pain, but also my legacy. And for that, I have no regrets. This part will appeal to you, I’m sure of it…
“In this rare instance, I called together two Skrols who have since been judged by my younger self – the esper ancestors of Wukaldred and Agden -and they heeded. Hesitant of each other, since they both knew the truth of what would happen if they were spotted so close, the danger of being foiled and their espers going dark…”
Eres narrowed his eyes at that last part, because through all of the books he’s read, all of the information he’d gained through stories from Windel, his ooma, his late father, and everyone before, after and in between, he’d never understood the rules of an esper. There were so many facets to it: inheritance, the inner workings, its demise, split – it was all still convoluted and foreign. Perhaps the information was only fully understood by Skrols. Perhaps it was only privy to them. But either way, Eres chose not to interrupt the story.
“They put their concerns aside for some greater cause. And so, we met strategically, far ahead of the beast’s route, with the townspeople praying and peeking a mile behind us. We used our combined Reach splendidly to call forth a wall of tightly packed bark, layered and reinforced a hundred times over. It was an attempt to redirect its course with no harm or ill-will to any living creature. We failed, of course. With the three of us scrutinizing the outcome closely, we watched the Aegod recognize the blockade from afar, huff its steamy breath, scrape a clawed talon to gather its footing, and charge with the strength of a Sur stampede. Everything went wrong, Eres Way. I had to shout through the ground for the townspeople to flee, and the three of us were forced to turn and face the Aegod, for if we hadn’t, all that we would have accomplished would be to have sent the creature on a more expedient path of destruction. We had to slay it.
“With the three of us stationed far behind the wall, we braced ourselves. Wukaldred’s ancestor, Tosius, was a darker man than he, if you could fathom it, in spirit and attitude as was necessary to wield the Dark esper. He was summoning from the breadth of his skills, for when the Aegod trampled through the many layered blockade, Tosius called the floor to sink a hundred feet on cue, leaving an already angry Aegod to crash hard into the earth, winged shoulders and roaring snout the only parts left of him above ground-level. Then Agden’s predecessor and I charged, Crule weapons aflame so that they would cut the deep natural armor of an embodied god, and they did. But one of us was destined to suffer, we both knew. The demon would undoubtedly swing its head in one of our directions to reduce the threats. It was clear that only one of us would succeed.”
Eres was fully invested, leaning forward in his chair and visualizing a past that was somehow closely connected to him.
“Its breath was a smoky mist, a visual of ice rapidly thawing, but a feeling of anything but. I dashed hard using flenos Boots - dodging, rolling back to my feet and dashing again. I closed in as did my counterpart, and in my last cut across, the Aegod anticipated my move, and to its breath I had succumbed. I threw my lit spear with the last of my vision, and suffered the rest.
“Your grandfather, broadsword in hand of shining blue Crule, severed the demon’s neck, swinging so hard he nearly dislocated both of his shoulders in the clash. Though I was reduced to my knees, writhing, my skin feeling as though it was freezing and boiling at the same time, our enemy was headless and done.
“They came to my aid, those two, and stayed with me through my thought-to-be final days. As luck would have it, thanks to your grandfather-”
“What was his name?” Eres was eager to know.
“Why, Alres, of course.” Bo looked perplexed that he did not know. “Thanks to Alres, alternative medicine was sought and found by the gracious Dagos people. And my unending pain was eventually sated by this contraption. Now I reside here, where I can breathe freely, where my skin doesn’t feel like it’s tearing itself off. I am a more stationary Judicator now. My appointments are forced to seek me, such as yourself, Eres Way.”
“A captivating tale indeed…” Eres nodded to emphasize the truth of it.
“Yes, indulge your esper on your next rest. I’m sure with this newfound knowledge you can navigate your way to it. I wouldn’t dare submerge yourself into my perspective, though. You would know a pain not wished on my foulest enemy.”
“Point taken, Judicator.” Eres thought deeply about the purpose of his story, whether it had to do with the remaining Skrols having to come together for a common enemy, or maybe the reasons they shouldn’t. But one potential he did not dismiss was that this was an Eplon deprived of his old style of living who desperately wanted it back.
Masarian Bo rose from his throne as it intricately unmade itself and sunk back into the black grass. Eres tried to do the same but found himself unable to move. He jerked his arm, but it was stuck. Same for his legs, too. Kicking and swaying did nothing… and then he finally looked up, to Masarian Bo’s shining green eyes, to the clenched fist that was causing the Reac
h chair to tighten around him.
“Bastard,” Eres muttered through gritted teeth. His mind was cycling in distress…
Was he playing me the whole time, keeping me here so this prison could quietly wrap itself around me? Does he so desperately want to keep his company? Wait, no… Ilfrid and Bo… could they both have turned sides? Could they be with Seren Night? The pilot did come out of nowhere. Maybe they need me for something.
Eres tried to rid his mind of the gross improbabilities and instead coached himself to breathe, all while Bo circled him slowly, maniacally.
If there’s one thing that I’ve learned here, in Dundo-Ba – it’s that the Judicator loves his tests. Well then, I think it’s time to figure him out.
Instead of shouting curses at him like he wanted to, he tracked his eyes upward to stare deep into the vibrant cat-like orbs wafting in smoke. A grin triggered Bo to tighten his jaw.
“The next time I’m at rest.” Eres echoed Bo’s words, and in an instant, his head fell back in a dead sleep with his finger aglow.
Bo stared incredulously at the teenage boy as his body twitched, obviously navigating his esper to find the tale that was told. It was a smart move, because if the Judicator was truly an enemy, he would be tortured, with Ohndee used as leverage, to do whatever bidding that was required. However, if Eres was living inside his piece of Gushda, then there was nothing further to be done in Rudo.
On the other hand, if Eres could somehow find the instance of his grandfather slaying an Aegod, then he would know the truth of it – that this was just another test.
Bo’s pace became more staggered than unhurried, knowing that Eres would return, and that his little ploy would be known. Surely, the Judicator was contemplating transforming the jungle into the stuff of nightmares and leaving Eres to fend for himself until he learned to respect his elders. But the truth was, Eres was right – there was little room for spiteful games in times like these. And so, an hour or so later, when Eres did return, Bo took a different approach.
“Welcome back, Eres Way. Clever beyond your years, you are, defiant like those who wielded that ring before you. However, you do lack something crucial.”
“And what’s that?” Eres voice was scratchy from low energy.
“In the light of Skrol practice, in the dark of their existence, by the winds that you would travel, and the hearts that you may be destined to stop… Eres Way… you are corruptible.”
Eres was offended, but somewhere beyond his denial, he understood. Further, he considered Ohndee’s words on the shider – that the Judicator’s point of view may be a stubborn one, similar to Ilfrid’s, similar to his. So instead of fighting to be a part of an echo chamber that he once desperately wanted to be included in, he chose to accept the verdict.
“Fine. If that is your judgement, then I will be on my way, with Ohndee, as promised. And I will roam the spheres of Ingora as a Herald, instead of a Skrol, like many before me. I will become a philosopher like Apa Kernakus, and contribute to the cause however I can.”
Bo laughed again and shook the ground. “My judgement is made when I deem it.”
“And my decision too, will be mine,” Eres retorted.
“True it will. And before it is made, and before I speak mine, you should remember… your father did not dissipate himself, sacrifice himself, to a boy he did not think was worthy of a cause he spent his entire life to protect. Blinded by love he may have been, but perfect vision he attained through Reach. While that will not affect my judgement, it should undoubtedly affect yours.”
Now Eres was the one with a clenched jaw, a rush of his past smacking him in the face like a ton of bricks.
“How do you know all of this? That I know Proctor Wudon, and the fate of my fata, the –” Eres was distracted by a hlope gliding down above them, past them, and then landing on one of the oversized leaves.
Eres found his answer when Bo’s eyes went blank, like he’d disappeared to somewhere else.
“That’s what you meant before… they bring you messages through Reach. Through Gushda.”
Bo eventually blinked back to reality and caught up with the audio that his brain had registered. “Espers are not the only way to touch Gushda, Eres Way, however more powerful they may be than alternatives. I fear our time is up.”
Two glowing sets of eyes came alive at Bo’s flank – in the shadows – and proceeded forward.
The vines loosened on Eres’ chair as Bo began his judgement. Harmless sparks burst from the black arena for dramatic effect.
“Eres Way, today you are not a Skrol. Tomorrow, on the hour that the Silent War dulls, you will travel to the Verglas Sphere to conduct your trial of solidarity, if you so choose. There, you will find truth, a Skrol’s decision, and a Skrol’s path. You will walk it or you will not, but my judgement acknowledges your worthiness. Go, for I am merely the first gatekeeper, as the Founder thought it should be. Now you move to the next, as I deem it.”
Eres rose abruptly from his chair. He may have told himself that he didn’t want this, desire it, need it… but his body seemed to disagree. His heartrate was abnormally high, drumming in his ears. “The Verglas Sphere is unending and desolate. How will I kno-”
“Your pilot,” Masarian cut in since he was pressed for time. “Ilfrid knows the coordinates.”
Although every cell in Eres’ body yearned to fulfill his childhood wish – to make his father proud, to be an adventurer when he was stuck on that chair - his mind was keen to deception, possibly to the point of paranoia. But there, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Were Masarian Bo and Ilfrid Noct sending a boy on a fool’s errand? For some personal gain that he could not see?
Trust, it seemed, no longer came easily to the “corruptible” Dawn. Not after what happened with his “friends” at Kor. Toxicity and doubt, however, were immediately dispelled by the two sage-like Dagos prowling forward on all fours, at the heels of a familiar face – Ohndee, who was unharmed. Sharp shoulder blades alternated like a hyena’s would as the two stalked to their Judicator. Then the boney transformation that always made Eres cringe whenever Mun had done it at Kor set the brother and sister upright, with two calm hands placed on each of Ohndee’s shoulders.
“Tell me you’re alright.” Eres could barely utter the words, for fear that it was too good to be true.
“I’m alright,” she confirmed. “These two don’t say much, but they seem to communicate a different way. I trust them, somehow. And I knew not to scream until you and… Mustae… this other Eplon were done talking.”
“Racist Swul.” Bo chuckled. “Eres, you have brought me back to another time. But Alas! I must see you out of Dundo-Ba expediently. Ofel, Efan, please escort them onward, to Alga Menace Fie, the shider, and the scoundrel residing within her.”
The two Dagos contorted back onto all fours and spaced themselves suggestively for the two guests to gather in between them. Ohndee wrapped her arms around Eres and planted a kiss on his lips, leaving Bo nervous for fear of future troubles.
“I heard everything,” she whispered. “I like you even more now.”
Eres just looked at her adoringly in response and patted her to get in position.
Bo once again clasped hands behind his back. “Farewell Eres Way and companion. By the grace of Mustae, may you fly.”
Chapter 20
An Unlikely Encounter
The suns rose and set twice on Eres and Ohndee’s silent journey to Alga Menace Fie. They traveled all the way west to Ilfrid’s shider, and what a frightening road it would’ve been without two native Dagos watching each end of the line. Jungle storms were different than those he’d experienced in Ombes – flash fires ignited at their feet, blanketing the entire grounds right before rain drops culminated to sizzle them out. A bizarre dichotomy. And what’s worse, the condensation in Dundo-Ba seemed to accumulate low in between the trees, within a thin protective film instead of a cloud. It allowed the rain to grow into the size of boulders, which was a horrifying surpr
ise to the two trespassers at first, because these rolling transparent nightmares picked up mass and speed in the same fashion as a rolling snowball would. And when the water bubbles crashed, it felt like they were being slapped and drowned at the same time.
The Dagos siblings found it hilarious at least, especially when they’d all moved out of harm’s way, except for a mesmerized Eres. Even Ohndee couldn’t hold back. While gazing up at the fluctuating scenery, Eres was abruptly thrown onto his back and pummeled with a seemingly endless stream of water.
He coughed and spit it all up. “Ha, ha,” he wiped his mouth, “I see you two can speak, or laugh at least.”
Ohndee helped him up with one hand and innocently covered her mouth with the other, followed by a few pats on the back from Ofel and Efan that told him it was all in good fun.
Eres scoffed playfully as he rung out his hair, then turned to Ohndee. “You notice the jungle-wide flame before the storm?”
“What about it? This whole place is odd.” She motioned to the two sages who egged them on to pick up the pace, “I’m not surprised by anything.”
“Doesn’t make sense scientifically. I mean, how could a flame ignite in this humid place, right before a storm, no less?” Eres pondered aloud. “I think maybe it’s Bo clearing the jungle of critters, since his skin probably can’t handle them crawling around. That’s why we’re encountering all of these oversized species in need of food… because hunting for prey is sparce. The food chain is all messed up.”
Eres noticed Ofel stiffen in front of them.
“What’s your point?” Dee asked. “He’s selfish. Who cares?”
Eres shook his head, noticing that Dee had resumed her grumpy attitude and wasn’t all that interested in his take.
