by Marc Mulero
Eres hadn’t felt this excited and nervous since his first days at Kor - the mystery, the greatness that awaited; it culminated into something special. This time though, he wasn’t alone. He had friends, and that reminded him of something else completely – a snake, a betrayer… Joodah Roe. Would he see him again? Here? If Kovella’s Quittance was going to be striking deals in the Ozgulo wing, Joodah should be too, for sure. After all, the Eplon had orchestrated, or at least tipped off, his entire army to a hidden esper: Proctor Wudon’s. Surely, that deserved some sort of momentous promotion in his dark world.
Bastard, Eres thought, recalling the huge boy’s convincing show of trustworthy charm.
Before any of them knew it, the cockpit rotated like an Aerotrim to keep the passengers grounded as Alga turned to face the sky. Slowly, Ilfrid lowered her into a slot, pulsed the thrusters, and smoothly touched ground. They had arrived.
Dee knowingly relieved herself of her sparring sword, touched her chest to compact her Glite armor into a disc, and put down all of her other gadgets that might be misconstrued as a weapon. And so Eres and Windel hesitantly did the same.
First, he put down Kor Vinsánce’s glorious crimson blade, then he gathered his flenos boots along with his Glite disc and placed them neatly alongside it. Next, he nearly dipped his face into his bag as he rummaged through it to recount its contents. The serpent string wrapped itself around his wrist – it made him smirk, recalling how this seemingly flimsy floss managed to save his behind back in Dundo-Ba. And finally, the hardest item to put down, the only thing that allowed him to run far away if the need ever arose - his favorite gift from his father, the impeller. It felt like detaching a limb to leave it behind, but he eventually sighed and did what he was told.
Ilfrid unstrapped, pet his owin goodbye and led them out of the cockpit to the changing room, where the outfits decided a night prior were neatly hanging. Each of them rushed to change, and then eventually, after comically impressed looks were shared with one another, along with some giggling, the four of them proceeded onto the grounds all decked out in their formal wear. They blended in well with the rest of the participants who piled toward the grand coliseum. Class status could be determined immediately. Lapels curved into high, popped collars. Shiny minerals woven into vests shimmered as they were meant to. Magnificent families strutted with their entourages beside them. And after Eres made it through the first archway separating their tucked away shider from the rest, vastness he’d never known made his stomach drop. A VIP lot where parked shiders stretched into the skies – fresh paintjobs, newer models, varying designs. It made his head spin. How was everyone so nonchalant about it? This place was magnificent… even the parking lot was lined with beautiful archaic designs. It didn’t look like it belonged to any particular Faction race either… but a blend, something unique, as was its purpose, Eres supposed.
His ogling was disrupted when a gruff Dagos with a clipped ear shouldered past him and huffed with two cronies at his heel. The hair lining down his back was long and unkempt. A criminal, for sure, not just by appearance, but demeanor. Slumped shoulders, a forced limp, swagger in which every step dared a challenge. He was seeking it.
“Pretty clear who will be hanging out in which annex, hm?” Dee nodded to the thug while wrapping both of her arms around one of his. “You look soo handsome,” she whispered just for his ears.
Eres felt uneasy once again. Windel was speaking with Ilfrid, but he wondered if out of the corner of her eye, she was watching. If in between all of the chatter, she was listening. These thoughts made him noticeably stiffen.
Dee recognized it this time and quickly loosened her grip, her expression hardening.
“Sorry, was just lost in my mind,” he fibbed, grabbing her hand to reciprocate the affection.
She huffed, obviously waiting for some kind of compliment back, but all she received was a blank stare from Eres.
“Are you okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned.
Dee could only stomp her foot in frustration before unlatching from his arm to present herself.
Eres’ eyes constricted as if light had just dawned on him, and everything clicked. Suddenly, countless details became apparent to him that were invisible just a moment prior. Dark eye makeup that matched her short black hair, the sparse beads that were once plain now glimmered with the look of rare mineral, and her dress was woven short on one side and elegantly longer on the other. Where he failed to notice before… he got it now. She looked hot.
He’d been so consumed with the events of yesterday that he failed horribly in living in the present.
“You look… stunning,” he remarked, making the Swul immediately blush.
“Eres!” Windel called from behind.
“Yes?” They both spun.
“If we see anyone from Vinsánce that may recognize you…” Windel warned.
“I know. Hide.”
His pupils constricted again. More details. Windel’s long hair was smoother than usual, artificially straightened, and held back regally by the thinnest of tiaras. Her amber-colored dress was sleeveless and formfitting from neck to thigh, distractingly so.
Windel. Wow.
How long had he been staring? Was it awkward?
Say something, stupid.
“Are you… expecting anyone?” Eres asked.
“Not particularly, but you never know who we might run into.”
“Does Joodah know that I’m a Dawn? He will definitely be he-”
Windel lunged at Eres and clapped a hand over his mouth, her face just inches from his. “Are you nuts? Shut up.” She looked this way and that to make sure no outsiders were in earshot. “Unless the Generations proctors were on the side of KQ, no one should know you’re a Dawn except for the people who saw you that day after the explosion, and the Faction rangers who escorted you.”
Eres remembered a critical point. “No one cares about a Dawn, unless they’re not in Elesion…”
Windel nodded furiously with pinched eyebrows, and then slowly retracted her hand from blocking his mouth.
Eventually, after plenty more bickering, joking, finger pointing at the rich and famous, they made it to the lip of the parking lot, where a platform lowered diagonally on an invisible track to escort a very large number of people up to the Boz’oz’rue Annex. Intense winds banged against the reinforced tunnel of glass, making sounds like ice was about to shatter, yet no one looked disturbed in the slightest. Everyone had total faith in the Qual’eth dynasty in keeping their audience safe.
They fell in line with the others amongst endless chatter. Eres could pinpoint conversations here and there, about wagers, some adamant assuredness as to who would win the upcoming duels, and eagerness to taste whatever was on each annexes’ new menus. It seemed that everyone shared his energy despite having experienced it all before. It was like being on a rollercoaster going up. First time or not, the anticipation was real.
The crowd packed closer together, so much so that Eres’ elbow knocked into Ilfrid’s tucked-in gut. He looked at the pilot staring back at him, then to the finger that was still somehow greasy from breakfast when it flicked the thin chains hanging from his vest.
“Kinda fun to have company this time around.” Ilfrid snorted. “I thought I’d be dropping you off in the cold sphere and gambling my life away until the Alliance calls again.”
“Say that too loud and Windel will have your head.” Eres motioned beside him.
“Mmm. Wench.”
“Are you going to help me find what I’m here for?”
“I don’t have the luxury of being a stranger, nor innocent. Maybe use those assets to your advantages. In fact, once we enter the neutral annex, I bid the three of you farewell until after the main event.”
“Pfft. Some guide you are.” Eres elbowed him again.
“Oh? We can always take you back to that zombie land, Elesion.”
“Hmph.”
Ohndee turned to him. “See that bright light blinking e
very few seconds?”
“Now that you mention it…”
“That’s an Eplon device scanning us all for weapons, bombs, whatever. Since no one is wearing Glite, they have to be a hundred times more careful here.”
“Comforting.”
“It is, actually. Been coming here since I was in diapers… always a fun experience.”
“Because you were in the Rizal Annex.”
Dee sniffed knowingly. “You’ll see that the annexes have nothing to do with it once we get up there. Just watch. Look for the ones with dried blood around their eyes.”
The platform finally fastened into place, triggering four sets of glistening prismatic glass doors to cascade open like a blooming flower, and when they were admitted inside, Eres realized that there was nothing “neutral” about this place. Extravagance on the grandest scale – a ceiling so high that it looked like it could be its own sky, the colors of which naturally faded, alternating like a chameleon into different palettes, for different moods. Lacquered pillars webbed like trees to reinforce the dome and frame the paths ahead. Boz’oz’rue was a palace in its own right, and Eres was entranced.
“Cool huh?” Dee spoke to both Eres and Windel, whose mouths were parted in awe.
Butlers bowed and waitresses curtsied to invite their guests while in the shadows, and not too far off, lurked the wide-eyed blood-crusted… things… that Dee had just mentioned.
Windel whistled like she was rapt by some old relic. “The Sindus Guild, blood assassins. We learned all about them in Carrier class.”
“Oh?” Dee looked impressed.
“Yep. Blades for hire, kept thriving by this steady gig and their Faction bounty hunter treaty. Freshly dried blood around their eyes means recent kills, and,” she did a sweeping pass of the ones she spotted, “it looks like all of them have taken blood recently.”
Eres squinted to get a better look at one. The woman was pacing, draped in mostly black; the battle-suit plastered onto her skin made every line of muscle visible like she was covered in tar. The guild she was a part of was marked by expensive, custom-fitted Glite laced with crimson indents racing all throughout its design, ending with strips of cloth of the same color flowing past each of her arms like long ribbons. But it was the crimson spatter framing her eyes that spoke the loudest, appearing laminated, reflective, intimidating.
“They’re rotated out since this is a bloodless gig – a more preventative job than an active one. Keeps their reputation at its peak, though.”
“Why don’t they compete in the tournaments?” Eres inquired. “Sounds like they would do well.”
“They don’t believe in sport,” Windel recalled, “only in contract, to earn their Sajs and forge more articulate weaponry, gain more status within their guild. They have very strict rules.”
“I see. Why would Carriers have to study them?” Dee questioned.
“Because long ago, the Sindus Guild infiltrated the Imperion Chamber when Faction Treasury failed to adhere to a contract. They didn’t kill an Imperion, but they sure did hold a blade to one’s throat… something that had never been done in the history of our great Coming Together. Their message was everlasting, and you can be sure they collected.”
Just as they were passing the threshold, each of them was startled to see a flood of people heading toward them. Eres tensed up from the commotion. Was this normal? Why hadn’t Dee warned him? He remembered how to breathe when realizing that the mob of people was happy, excited, surprised. Faces were plastering up against the glass, looking down to the descending platform that had just lifted them. It was being cleared by security. Why? What was happening? Someone special, a celebrity of some sort? Eres lost his cool when he saw who had stepped on.
“Sore Yon Roke,” Ohndee announced.
“Spera!” Windel cheered.
“Lasarius…” Eres couldn’t believe it. Three Imperions were there, in his presence, just fifty gars away.
“This would be my cue to leave.” Ilfrid stretched his arms to lay fatherly hands on Ohndee’s and Windel’s shoulders. “Remember Eres, one night after the main event, at dusk, we depart. You have about eighteen hours. Find what you can about Wukaldred,” he lowered his voice, “for the Alliance, my friend.”
Before Eres could turn, Ilfrid was gone. They were on their own, so he faced forward to marvel at the three ascending Faction leaders while he let his plans marinate. They were so much more unapproachable in the real. Octor projections did not do them justice. Each had their own presence – all with unwavering confidence. Immaculately dressed.
Lasarius always intrigued Eres most. An Umboro orphan, much like himself. He was a true inspiration to all. Tall, thin, suit tapered to perfection, salt and pepper hair neatly combed, brow always knitted, eyes always shadowed in some faraway thought. This was the most articulate man he’d ever heard speak… of course he was always thinking.
“This is a treat, huh? Reminds me of Kor,” Windel said cheerfully with an ear-to-ear smile.
Eres nodded, thinking back to Proctor Ren’s class. He missed Alfonze, the vast depth of information he possessed - like an endless well of knowledge - and the calm outlook he always seemed to have with an adventurer’s spirit. And then came that familiar pang of guilt that plagued him so often. His proctor was gone now. Suffering in jail, on his fifth and final year… for him. He tried to break Eres out of Elesion unknowing of his true purpose, just because it was the right thing to do.
Oish, he cursed in head.
“I love Spera Noe Donnus. By far the most likable Imperion.”
“Really?” Eres tried to rid himself of the creeping weight. “I would’ve thought people adored Prika Bean more.”
“Pfft! I prefer a symbol of strength, not kindness.”
“I should’ve guessed,” Eres said before leaning to Dee, who was pointing.
“My pops dined with Sore a handful of times. I forgot how great he is,” Dee spoke into his other ear.
“So… wouldn’t he recognize you then?”
Dee looked inquisitive, finger to chin. “I suppose he migh-”
Before she could finish, Eres had grabbed both girls’ hands and dragged them away from the crowd.
“I would like to use my hours here productively, not on a shider back to Elesion, thank you very much.” Eres fixed his vest and straightened. “Shall we?”
Eres offered both of his arms in gentlemanly fashion, thinking back a long way to how suave Illiad, from his favorite novel, could be at events, and how this was as good a time as any to try his best to exude a similar confidence. He had to fit in, after all.
Both young women looped their arms to intertwine with his, as was customary, but it was Eres’ right arm that began to tingle. He focused on Windel’s bare skin touching his sleeve. The softness, the memory of when she had done the same back in Dolseir. What exhilarating, intoxicating effects it brought him.
“So, what’s the plan?” Dee interrupted his daydream.
“Take a gigantic gamble and look for Joodah Roe, the Eplon who so sociopathically stabbed me in the back. Hope that he has no idea that I’m… well you know. And see if I can get anything out of him regarding Proctor Wudon.”
“Even if he is alive, do you really think they would offer you any useful information?” Windel inquired before exchanging a look with Dee.
Eres was aware of the silent communication, knowing that they’d probably discussed this in length while he was sleeping, that they probably thought this was a waste of time. “There’s a popular quote in Bane’s Wrath… ‘Know thy enemy not through words, not only by action, but by their deception.’”
Another look was exchanged between the girls.
“I’ve spent the better part of a year with the spy. I think we have something to gain by seeking him out. It’s a start, anyway.”
Just then, a waiter appeared, bowing so low his back could’ve been a shelf, extending the deepest of respect. Then he rose up taller than the three of them.
; “Seme mu, uvah guis. Oilma te ghu?”
“Umm, what?” Dee was astounded that the man didn’t greet them in Universal.
Eres translated, “He said, ‘Excuse me, gracious guests. Care to dine?’”
“But we don’t have any Sajs,” she spoke lowly back.
“No, we don’t,” Eres replied before looking forward to address the patient staff. “Tornae, sir, for the offer. However, we –”
“Would love to.” Windel finished his sentence for him.
“Magnificent!” The waiter whirled and snapped his fingers high into the air, leaving Eres to stare incredulously at Windel.
“What?”
“Currency, Windel. We don’t have any.”
“Yeah,” she mocked, “then how did you plan on getting close to Joodah, or anyone for that matter? Waiting in the hallways like some creep? Everyone will be at gambling tables, or dinners, or something else that requires currency in this palace. Not every place is a library, you know. Usually you have to pay.”
Eres huffed. She was right. Out of all the braininess he possessed, financial and economic practicality was not in his cards.
“Relax. I’m a working woman. I have plenty of Sajs.”
Eres was blatantly embarrassed, his throat running dry. He was supposed to take care of them, in line with his gentlemanly persona he’d decided to adopt in this fancy attire. Being in direct conflict with Illiad’s swagger made him feel less than a bug.
Windel strutted behind the waiter, chin held high as she mockingly mirrored the pompousness of her server. Eres could only seethe behind her, feeling as though he was being courted.
“You know, Eres, in Swul culture the winner of a duel generally attains the honor of paying for a meal. Male, female, or otherwise,” Dee mentioned, aware of his distaste for the situation as an Umboro.
“I’m keen to your culture. It’s just, in every story I’ve ever read, it’s the guy who pays for the girl… or girls in this case.”
“Yes, yes, chivalry, it’s the Umboro way. Welp, it’s a good thing you’re not a guy then, right?” she said lightly, locking arms with him to try and dispel his shame. “C’mon. Why don’t we sit, enjoy ourselves for once, and try to formulate a strategy to get a real lead so we don’t leave here emptyhanded?”
