by Marc Mulero
Eres couldn’t know if that were true, if there was so much more he didn’t know. But what he could be sure of was that he was playing his cards very close to his chest. He had, in fact, resided deeply within an esper. He knew for certain that he was not wrong in his choices. He knew that he was on the side of protection. Of ancestry. Tradition. Life.
“Why have you called me here?”
Someone hesitantly sidestepped beside Seren and whispered something into his ear, earning a curt nod of dismissal afterward.
Eres figured that someone just informed him of Windel asking questions. It was strange when swords couldn’t be drawn to settle a dispute. Things became more… political, deceptive, like a network operating underground. And although he loved to think and figure things out, he didn’t very much like this. So instead of cowering behind it, he tried to step into the light.
“Yes, I’m not alone.”
Seren narrowed his eyes, considering the boy, and then chose to ignore his statement. “We have crossed blades. You have been wounded by mine.”
Eres went to respond, but Seren lifted a hand for him to hold off.
“But not fatally.” His eyes narrowed again to ensure that Eres understood how easily he could have killed him in the Scarred Lands if he wanted to. “You see, I too like to understand my enemies. Not everything has to be silence and darkness. So… in the interest of lifting another layer of that obscuring veil I’ve been alluding to, here we are. You are here because you chose to follow Gonosh to my table, because you too are curious of removing layers yourself.
“So, I offer an exchange. Tell me what business the Alliance has with sending you to Dundo-Ba, to the Judicator, and how in the two spheres, you were able to Artifice Crule from its lands. Who are you really, Eres of Vinsánce?”
Eres could have spoken a thousand different thoughts floating in the cosmos of his mind - respond with a question, make it a stand-off. He could’ve cursed and dismissed himself, or lunged forward and clawed for his throat hopefully before the guild could intervene. He could have played into this world of deception. But instead, he said this:
“Isn’t it obvious, Seren Night? I’m to be a future Skrol who you’ll eventually hunt and murder.”
Seren was silent with mystery - a harrowing figure, thin and long, with an aura of the unknown seeping from his pores.
“Now it’s my turn, yes?” Eres asked, still pretending not to fidget with unease under the table. He had only seconds to consider how he should phrase his next question. Milliseconds. And just as he was about to open his mouth again, he stopped himself, intelligently so. He had to pause to reform how he meant to describe his father’s oldest friend.
Don’t use his full name, no. Use only what Seren might already know about him and play to it.
“What have you done with Proctor Wudon?”
Seren regarded him like he was trying to decipher his thoughts, to read him like a poker player, to wisely preclude himself from underestimating this young man before him. Either wise enough to Artifice some of the rarest Crule on his own, or with assistance, both equated to a meaningful foe.
“I have done nothing,” Seren responded plainly.
So Fata was right. They will kill Wukaldred last because of the esper he bears. No one wants to experience the darkness until they have to. Until the secret is ready to be revealed.
Eres eyed all of the espers Seren flashed freely on his hands and asked, “So what will you do if you reform what the Skrols have pledged to keep broken? What happens when you lift that veil you’re trying so desperately remove?”
Another pause between them.
“Isn’t that the right question…” Seren commended. “I suppose that will depend on what exists beyond our current reality, doesn’t it? I would be a fool to plan for the great unknown.”
“But the path to it… stop at nothing, huh? No matter how many bodies lie in your wake.”
Seren froze stiff like time itself had ceased. Eres could read nothing. Was it remorse that he’d evoked, some type of silent rage? No… he was gravely mistaken, for he noticed one of Seren’s espers suddenly ignite, for but a brief moment.
Mustae… Seren retreats like a corpse. Eyes open, body rigid.
Then another thought, a more informative one.
That’s the esper from SetaSenSix, the one he stole. It’s the only color he didn’t flash at me back there in the Scarred Lands. It was the only esper that he wasn’t wearing.
Seren unfroze when he returned. “Do you know why the Skrols are spread so far from one another, besides of course the obvious of keeping the secret disbursed?”
Eres’ mind was racing again, heart thumping on overdrive, throat drying out like sand. Where had he just gone? The esper that he let get away… who did it belong to?
Seren was alluding to something now, for he had just gained critical memories. Eres could feel the shift. It was all beginning to click – that Seren had some newfound knowledge about him, that he was leading the witness, and it was working.
“You… because…” He stammered for the first time in their interaction.
“To prevent connections among one another, in here.” He dropped his elbow onto the table to showcase his espers. “But what happens when an alliance is formed to stop me? When Skrols begin to interact? To stray from their prescribed path… to think for themselves?”
Eres stared blankly, palms sweaty from nerves.
“I’ll tell you… things then start to become quite clear. This esper used to belong to someone within your ranks, on your side of the Silent War. Though she didn’t know much, she did come to understand, as I now do, that the Alliance was protecting a child. A most curious, intelligent child, way back when. The descendent of the most famous boundless Skrol of all…”
Eres’ fidgeting became more apparent under the table, like he was about to jump out of his chair. He bit the corner of his lip nervously, realizing once again that he was out of his league. Speaking to him was a mistake. He’d just illuminated Seren’s ethereal path in his sea of espers.
“Now why would a young man such as yourself be in the same vicinity of that Skrol’s oldest friend? Why would you request him by name? It’s all connected now, isn’t it? Wukaldred Donn was protecting you, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he, Eres Way?”
Eres jolted up from his chair so abruptly that all of the games around him ceased to make sure nothing unsanctioned was about to occur. He was tense, trembling, knowing that if he opened his mouth, his voice would just quiver.
An unfazed Seren lifted his head to peer at the now standing teenager. “Now the question becomes - are you to inherit your father’s esper… or has it already been done?”
Eres gulped and turned to leave, sweat dripping down his face.
“Eres Way,” Seren beckoned once more, “no matter how elaborate that mask is… you cannot hide from me.”
Eres felt all of the color drain from his face. How had Seren deduced so much of his secret in such a short amount of time? He truly was terrifying, not just portrayed that way by word of mouth. This man was a danger to them all. And he felt powerless to stop it.
Eres had gained nothing from their meeting, and Seren gained everything. What had he done?
He scampered away in his fastest walk, legs all pins and needles with a limp that called even more attention. He didn’t care though. Separating from this man was all he could want at the moment. But it was a childish thought, because one way or another he was on Seren’s radar. The truth was, he was gifted the opportunity to aid the Alliance and failed miserably. The singer’s unnerving voice was reaching a low crescendo, coinciding with the theme of Eres’ dread-filled life. What was he going to do? Find Ohndee, that’s what.
His gaze darted one way to an Eplon with one shining green eye gazing past him, then to the other side of Ozgulo, where he glimpsed two seated Dagos with flaming red hair twisting down each of their backs and busting from the seams of their shirts.
“Where are you
Dee? We have to regroup and get out,” he thought aloud.
A puff of hot smoke singed his nostrils when he faced forward again. He coughed, and amid the haze felt a push that nearly knocked him off his feet. Two pipe-smoking Umboros laughed heartily as they trampled past him.
The space was turning on him… everything was tightening. It was as if these criminals could smell fear. Then, to startle him once more, two softly calloused hands rested on his shoulders. His instinct was to thrash – he had to get out. But when one stockinged leg came into view, he looked up to see Dee’s big eyes staring back at him. A sigh of relief. Finally. He reached in and kissed her passionately before quickly pulling away.
“Whoa, what’s gotten into you?” Dee said happily.
“Seren.”
“I know! I couldn’t believe he called you to sit with him.”
“He knows… everything. We have to get Windel out, now.”
“First of all, calm down. We’re safe here, Eres. He can’t do anything.”
Eres began to recount this fact. “Second?”
“Second! I don’t think he knows about Windel.”
“Why do you say? He was ap-”
“That guy that approached him while you two were talking rushed over after seeing him.” Dee nodded far to the other side of Windel’s location.
Eres saw a tall man hooded in some intricately designed cloak that he would’ve questioned if not for the lavish décor of everything in this place. Swirly designs. Orange and reds that probably would’ve been shimmering if not for the muted lighting and cigar smoke wafting around. The cloak was too large to tell whether the man was chubby or skinny. The commotion made a stampede of bodies that impeded Eres’s vision, forcing him to bob his head for a better look. The only thing that was certain was his height. Head hunched, hands gloved.
“Any ideas?” Dee asked.
Eres shrugged. “Nothing.”
Maybe there’s much I still don’t know, other angles of this war…
“Can we please call back Windel and get the hell out of here?”
“Eres, you seem spooked. You’re worrying me. Tell me what you found out.”
“He knows I’m a Dawn… saw right through my mask.”
Dee lurched back in dismay. “Wha-”
“He knows I’m Agden’s descendent.”
Another blank look.
“And he suspects that I already have his esper.”
“Shit. We do have to get out of here then.”
“Comforting.”
“Mm.”
Dee grabbed him by the hand and immediately navigated like a parent guiding a toddler through a crowded park. They went in the opposite direction of Seren’s location, which was wonderful in Eres’ book, because he was still dizzy from the proverbial beating he’d just received and had enough of hot-breathed criminals snarling, scoffing, and cackling too close for comfort. So he looked up to dimly lit orbs hanging from the low ceiling. What a strange mood this place evoked, built how he imagined a criminal’s heaven would be. But he was soon sidetracked by the sight of a familiar figure – a giant, the back of him anyway, and Windel’s delicate frame opposite him.
“Joodah.”
Dee turned around, jaw clenched, expression serious. “I’m pulling her out. They have no idea who I am.”
Eres nodded and faded back into the crowd to avoid being seen. He was afraid he might lose himself upon seeing his face. An old friend. A betrayer. So much death on his account.
He deserves to be carved by a Sindus assassin. Maybe I can coax fate to allow it by goading him, taking a punch for the greater good. No, stop…
Before he knew it though, two beautifully made-up faces were inches from his, dragging him once more away from it all – back to the bridge, to get out of this mess.
“Well?” Windel said as she turned.
“I need to find Ilfrid immediately and find out exactly how many espers are left.”
“Umm did you not hear him?” Dee squeezed his hand for emphasis. “We can’t be seen in his presence until afterward. That will have to wait.”
The stadium thundered once more, followed by thumps that started far away on the other side, the rich side - the Rizal Annex - then making its way down to Boz’oz’rue, and finally to Ozgulo.
“What in Mustae…”
Dee’s eyes lit up. “The main event… everyone knows the cheer. It’s the audience getting ready!” She looked toward the windows longingly, likely remembering an old blissful memory with her family. “C’mon, the mission can wait. We won’t be able to find Ilfrid until the eighteenth hour anyway. And there’s no way I’m going to let the two of you make a trip to the Colliding Spheres and not watch a match. Especially not the match of the century. Boz will have plenty of room for us!”
Ohndee made up their minds for them. There was no room for protest.
Up the bridge they went, gloom shedding off of Eres with each step, light returning to his atmosphere thanks to the glass enclosure he traveled within. They returned to Boz’oz’rue to find torches lit aflame, tables in the restaurant cleared out, and two cutouts within the windows open to file the audience into the arena.
“Can we go out there?” Windel asked.
Dee nodded excitedly, snapping three laminated tickets in her hand. “Ilfrid gave me these. He must be a well-known gambler here.” She squinted to find the seat numbers. “Well, not too well-known. But either way, I’ll take them. C’mon.”
Hand-in-hand, the three of them snaked their way between the crowd on Ohndee’s lead, outside into the turbulent weather. Eres didn’t feel a touch of wind like he expected to. Of course there wasn’t - all of these people were dressed to kill, so it makes sense that there would be some kind of protection from the elements.
Dee looked back as they rounded to their seats, smiling happily. “It’s a Moragos-Field, protects against fast moving particles, you know… wind, guns, explosions. Very expensive, but how else could the Colliding Spheres ensure everyone’s safety and keep people coming back?”
Eres was speechless, looking up to see streaks of red lightning amongst clouds that were way higher than he was used to in Dolseir. The grey mist sloped from high sky to low waters, like avalanches descending in slow motion. Stars twinkled even while the suns were still up. He felt like he’d stepped back into his esper – it all felt like Gushda in Rudo.
First-time children lucky enough to experience the Colliding Spheres pointed to the sky, showing their parents what they found up there with unknowing innocence. The scene that should’ve evoked a smile instead struck Eres like he was punched in the gut. It hurt to remember that he had no one to take him out into the world growing up. All he had was his chair and his books.
Be grateful, he told himself. Ooma taught you much and raised you well.
Then the sound of a tidal wave beckoned his gaze downward to the center arena, where a platform lifted from the ocean’s depths like a smoky cauldron, then another levitated a hundred paces away. Chains rattled from beneath the platform as the machinery cranked. He understood the wonder now. How was this all made… so far out and so long ago? It seemed impossible.
“Beverage, my dear?” The same waiter who served them at dinner gravitated toward Windel, stuck in a low bow until she responded.
She looked over to her friends and then back. “Three Nor-ales, please.”
His head perked up after her request. “My dear… you are not of age.”
“It’s our first time, sir. Surely you remember yours.” She clasped his hand with hers, a sparkling Saj sandwiched between them. “Make it light, so no harm done, right?” She winked.
“Very well, just one.” He winked back and continued on.
“What did you do now?” Eres glared at her, worried once again about wounded pride.
She shrugged while fighting to hold back a smile. Her cute demeanor brought him right back to Kor, sending a time lapsing chill up his spine.
“Ladies and Gentlemen.”
Ohndee snorted in laughter.
“Reach,” Eres said, squinting at the floor to see neat vines running up and down the rows like electrical wiring.
“Fellow Umboros,” the voice swept through the arena from left to right, “humble Dagos,” then from right to left, “kind Eplons,” his voice lowered, “sweet Swuls.”
The low rumble of an entire arena laughing was something Eres had never felt. It was fun.
“They pulled me from the depths of Sawasaska, where I spent most of my time talking to trees. ‘Perfect!’ they said! ‘Bring ‘em on down,’ they beckoned. So here I am.”
The ringleader of this show rose impressively from the depths of the ocean, arms spread wide, forming waves from the invisible aura around him like he was some massive force. And with a flash of conjured fire, his metallic black suit was dry and all eyes were on him. He was curiously thin like the branches he controlled, exaggerative in his demeanor, eccentric. Magnetic.
“Jestani Bouvuh Alcart at your service, and summoned to host the event of the century, with you!” The audience applauded. “Now…” he lowered his hands, calming the waves around him, “I must ask that you all find your seats, feast your eyes, unclog your ears, ready your mouths… because if we don’t make noise for this accomplished challenger, we wouldn’t be the Colliding Spheres!”
Jestani turned to ensure his timing was impeccable, and whirled back exaggeratively. “Without further ado, I present to you the most daring, accomplished, and controversial Seedar Trainer Ingora has ever known. Dashing to the corners of the Osa Sphere, venturing into Verglas, and finding his way back to civilization - he has come to challenge the might of the long-running Champion. He comes to dethrone the most famous dynasty in history. I present to you - the one, the only, Ivennes Rood the first!”
On cue, a massive dulwar appeared as a spec in the red speckled-sky. Black, smooth wings swaddling itself, the creature descended like a fiery torpedo, arcing to the furthest risen platform and crashing down to make a vast heavy floating disc teeter. And when the creature rose, it unfurled its wings like two carpets flapping open, and out he came – Ivennes, the man Eres had witnessed a time ago in Proctor Ren’s class – the Swul who denounced his prescribed path to heed his calling. How far he’d come since then.
