by Marc Mulero
“Ilfrid. It’s time, isn’t it?”
He nodded somberly.
Eres’ gaze was compelled past his friends to the wide spanning window beyond the pilot. Verglas was immense - a blanket of snow that Windel had promised, stretching endlessly, suns’ rays bouncing off of it to make the view a blindingly beautiful sight.
“Amazing,” Eres said.
“Isn’t it?” Windel smiled beside him. “I told you!”
Eres jolted forward like a kid who just found a new toy. He was stretching to look further below. “What the hell is that?”
Ten, maybe twelve bodies draped in snow camo Glite burst from the snow in unison. It was collaborated and purposeful. The soles of their feet were bright orange – flenos boots. Eres thought his mind was playing tricks on him.
“All the way out here, in the middle of nowhere?”
Ilfrid stood up and slapped him on his back. “These are patrol men and women, guarding a sanctuary far older than you or I can even imagine. They know my shider’s signature, otherwise we would never be able to see them. They’re beacons as well, to let us know that we’re not crazy when traveling endless miles over a desolate sphere. Brilliant, isn’t it?”
“Yes…” he gaped, “brilliant.”
The others piled up beside him to get a look. Their performance was captivating and their movements fluid, more animal-like than uemon. Graceful. Flames at their feet to propel them high, burning away the snow beneath them like a blowtorch to ice, curved backs at the peak of their jumps, and then an elegant dive back in. Over and over.
“I want to try!” Windel got giddy.
“It’s not like gliding on flat ground,” Dee explained.
“The Scarred Lands are anything but flat!”
“You know what I mean, Umby. That’s a different art.”
Ilfrid moved closer to Eres, his hot breath wafting over him. “We’ll miss you, buddy. Target approaching.” He patted him twice on the shoulder. “C’mon,” his voice soft, “let’s go.”
Eres stared ahead blankly for a moment, soaking in the feeling of being around these people, his friends, for better or worse, until eventually, he nodded and turned away to follow.
Ilfrid, being careful not to make a bigger deal out of Eres’ departure than it already was, drew a silent circle with his finger, which made Eres squint at first before realizing that he was motioning to get his Glite ready.
Sloop. Ilfrid sunk to the body of the ship and let the gravitas beads center him onto the floor.
Shit, the target must be approaching fast.
Eres grabbed his flenos boots and slunk down to follow.
Hopping on one foot to strap on each boot, he watched Ilfrid stand over the unloading point that was once used for him and Dee to dive into Dundo-Ba. He was holding up something in his hand, about to say something, but before he could, Eres charged him with a heartfelt hug. For a second, Ilfrid was stunned.
“Thanks for everything, Ilfrid. You’re a good man. And my fata would be proud… I know it.”
Ilfrid smiled proudly, feeling like he’d watched Eres grow into a man, or whatever the Dawn equivalent of a man was, in such a short time. He broke from the hug, still holding onto his shoulders. “It’s you who would make Agden proud. Don’t go breaking any more hearts when you’re down there, hm?”
“I won’t. I think I’ll be sticking to myself for a while. What about you?”
“Ohh, I have my eye on someone.”
“Let me guess, Efan?”
“Mmm.”
“Ew, gross!”
They both laughed as the others began to sloop down behind them.
“Eres, quickly. Listen. Give me your foot.”
He raised his boot.
Clack. A magnetized devise stuck firmly to it. Ilfrid wiggled it to test the stability, then beckoned the other.
“Five seconds before you hit the snow, you activate your flenos boots. These little things are going to shoot out a pulse to break the snow plane before you do. Otherwise it would be like hitting a rock-hard surface and you would go splat. Okay?”
“Ah, physics. Sending molecules into motion before I get there to break the plane.”
“Say okay!” Ilfrid snapped.
“Can’t I just use my impeller to slow my fall?”
“No! You have to fall hard.”
“What, why?”
“Ugh, no time for questions. You’ll see, just trust me. Five seconds before,” he repeated slowly, “what are you going to do?”
“Activate my flenos boots.”
“Very good.” Ilfrid mussed his hair and stood straight as the others caught up. “Two sifs left, then you jump.” He gestured for Eres to turn around.
Eres pressed the Glite disc to his chest and activated it before facing his friends, turning the scene into a proper send off for a soldier at war. The armor trickled up over his collar bone and left his neck and head exposed per his request.
“It’s you guys I feel bad for. You all have to struggle to keep memories, while mine are all safely secured right here.” He lifted his finger to present his esper.
They all smiled sadly.
“Can you even see your own?” Crow asked.
“Not yet… but I will. I’ll place them in space like an architect would build in Rudo. You’ll all be there, like living paintings, for whoever treads next. Even if you don’t deserve it.” He eyed Crow.
“Okay,” is all he said back.
Eres still couldn’t bring himself to say the words to any of them, as there were too many awkward feelings in between most of the relationships. So, he just took a deep breath before addressing Ohndee and Windel. “Thank you both for being part of my life… I will cherish every moment we shared, good and bad… it will all serve as a blanket for me in my darkest hours out there. Farewell.”
A set of hardened eyes and sorrowful ones looked back at him. So much was unfinished. Stories meant to go on, cut abruptly short like a bullet to a young adult’s head. But it had to be this way. Dramatic and poetic, like he’d hoped. He could see that Windel wanted to run and give him one last hug. Truthfully, that was enough… that would carry Eres to the stars and beyond, or in this case, below.
So, with all of that, he touched the Glite disc in the same fashion as running a finger around a crystal wine glass to let the rest of the armor form up over his face.
“Ready lad?” Ilfrid was suddenly tense. “Five seconds before impact,” he reminded, eyeing him until satisfied, and then bent down to open the latch. “Everyone hold onto the handles over there.” He pointed.
“Feet first, Eres. I swear to your stupid Mustae…” Windel gasped at the profanity. “If I see a flattened snow angel as we pull away…!”
“Ilfrid.” Eres laughed. “I got it.”
He opened the latch.
Wind shot up immediately like a bomb of air, just as Eres had remembered… but this time, instead of a thick muggy blanket that came with a jungle’s climate, this was frigid. It felt like tiny shards of ice were pricking his skin through the mesh seams of his Glite, before the armor artificially warmed him to act as some kind of adaptive flesh.
Ilfrid, on the other hand, was unaffected. Too focused to care. He just bobbed his head, counting down to himself, pulling Eres close to him amidst the roaring winds that the gravitas beads circled feverishly to push out. Then suddenly, he stopped moving, tensed, braced. Hands were clasped strongly around Eres.
Intensity transferred like electricity, evoking Eres to curse under his breath. His heartbeat ticked loudly, echoing, making his throat pulse. This was more fun when I had a partner jumping with me. Ugh.
Five seconds before, he reminded himself, doing anything to calm the nerves. Peering down to glimmering snow far below didn’t help however. Clouds whipped under him like white race cars zooming on a track. And before another thought could come, Ilfrid jerked forward.
“Now. Go Eres! Fly!”
And he did. No resistance, just forward mom
entum and an extra push straight down by the gravitas beads. Feet first, he struggled to stay level. Hold, he told himself, until the wind spun him around as though he were weightless. Gravity felt different here - erratic - his whole sense of things was thrown off. Flipping uncontrollably, he cycled through the sight of three suns burning his retinas, clouds, an endless plane of snow, and again, again, round and round.
Have to straighten myself. I can’t see anything.
His nose was a funnel of cold air that he could track all the way to his lungs and all of his limbs were unbearably heavy.
Straight…
Finally, after countless flips, he was belly first, limbs pulled high as if he were being puppeteered, vision blurry from pressure. One thing was clear though - the ground - it was closing in fast. Sky in the horizon was depleting in his peripheral, replaced by bright snow, endless fluff.
Five seconds.
With everything he had, he kicked his body to straighten it, struggling to keep steady. Shivering, not from the cold but compression. It was time. He shut his eyes and willed his flenos boots to activate with every inch of his being. He spread his toes. He could feel the fire.
I hope Ilfrid tested these first.
Then, when he saw two orange flares propel below him, he exhaled. “It worked!”
Stiffening for a proper pencil dive, feet first, arms to his sides, he dared to look down – to snow caving into itself before he scooped right in. He flew down hard into something that should’ve been a dark mess of snow, but when he opened his eyes, a tunnel of bright blues and whites presented itself, almost transparent like water. What was this place?
Finally, after looking into what seemed like a frozen kaleidoscope, he felt his boots touch the snow – legs wanting to bend but forced not to – before his whole body was wrapped in it, still pushing violently down from momentum. This was why he had to fall hard, so he didn’t get stuck halfway between the surface and wherever it was he was going. One wrong thought would activate his flenos, and with it, flames would boost him in the wrong direction.
Be careful. Don’t think, he told himself. You don’t want to be stuck here forever. A fossil for no one to find.
Down he went. Further. Deeper. Softly packed snow pounded his protected face like he was continuously getting smacked with snowballs. Just blotches of black and white impeding his vision, shifting around. All he could do was focus on keeping his legs flexed stiff, fighting the pressure. One hardened ice patch and he was dead for sure. The impact would push his spine through his brain, but what was the sense of wondering about that now? Ilfrid wouldn’t have him die like this, would he?
Floouuuf.
Suddenly the ground was no longer pressurized. His legs were free - kicking into open air – then his torso, his whole body. Finally, he’d broken through! But the excitement shifted when he realized he was still flailing. Did he travel through some intermediary? Was this another sky to plummet through? What was-
Crack. His boots slammed onto some sort of ground, body curled forward to catch himself, vision still nonexistent.
Not bad. I feel fine. Intact. But where am I?
Eres retracted his Glite, snow flinging off it and making two servants behind him cower from the wetness. His mouth hung open, looking to fifty gar ceilings, glistening icy blue pillars everywhere. A hollow, mystical palace that felt underground even though it wasn’t.
He looked back, to one normal-sized lady and one miniature man, both draped in burgundy robes with sleeves slightly too big for their hands and hoods that neatly held their hair in place, then straight ahead to open ice-looking floors of the deepest blue. One step forward proved that it somehow wasn’t slippery though. Further, a dais, a single step, and a seat. He had ended up in some sort of throne room.
What the hell is going on? Where did you drop me, Ilfrid?
A tall seated figure with one eye continuously blinking stared incredulously at Eres. That’s when it hit him… all this time he was assuming that some grand invitation was prepared for him, but perhaps he was unannounced? A trespasser. Mustae, that would be terrible, he thought.
“Agoo bursal.” The loud voice echoed.
Eres tried hard to translate, but those weren’t any Umboro words he’d ever heard before, nor Universal. He peered back again to the servants for a translation.
Nothing.
“Uhh.”
The man cleared his throat.
“Greetings, I’m Eres.”
Now the man’s other eye was twitching.
“Okay that didn’t work,” he said quietly before trying again in Umboro. “Astoe! Vela mosh Eres.”
Still nothing. The silence was becoming uncomfortable at that point… just exchanged looks between the three standing before whoever this royal figurehead was.
Finally, the little servant nudged the back of Eres’ leg with his head, making him skip a step forward.
“Move closer…” The servant whispered as loud as he could. “He has bad eyes… the Crown has bad eyes!” He nudged again.
“Okay. Okay!” Eres whispered back before hesitantly inching closer. His brow crumpled when he could’ve sworn he heard giggling from behind him.
“Helosh numash.” The Crown shifted in his seat, belly jiggling a good second after his behind settled. “Ava!”
Eres turned again. “A little help, please… what’s he saying?”
“Oh, um,” the servant coughed, “the Crown said… um, burn the intruder.” He grimaced.
“Burn the intruder?! My visit was supposed to be announced. Shi-” Eres stomped forward frantically. “Sir. Crown. I’m here to see Ramillion Kesh, sent on the request of the Judicator, Masarian Bo. I’m sure I would be no good to anyone burned.”
The Crown pursed his lips, regarding him carefully, then looked to each of his servants. He squinted hard, as if trying to read some fine print, and then perked up. “You will be… tortured… first. Greatly tortured, by fire, in our fire chambers.”
Eres looked back at the servants, horrified. “What the…”
The miniature servant’s mouth was twitching; Eres couldn’t understand why though, was he about to cry? Trying to hold back a grin? What was funny about burning someone alive?
Okay Eres, think. You have your weapons… your boots and your impeller. If they try to seize you, make it a massacre before you go. Kill the king… maybe they will bow to you next. Then you can escape.
The servant coughed again. “The Crown regards you in Universal, a great honor. Face forward so as not to offend. Shoo, shoo.” He brushed Eres onward, sweeping him with his hands.
Eres was getting angry now, recognizing that no one in the room appeared threatening enough to defend against his Crule. They weren’t even wearing Glite.
“And if I resist?” He shouted to the Crown.
“Resist… hm.” He looked again to the servants. “Resist?”
Fingers lazily snapped, and in marched soldiers in icy blue suits of Glite that blended perfectly with the palace walls with spears longer than bodies and intimidating shadowed faces resting behind M-shaped helmets.
“No resist,” the Crown proclaimed, then snapped his fingers again to dismiss them.
Nerves started to get the better of Eres. If they had guards, then they likely had an army. Eres wasn’t a Skrol yet, not yet worth a hundred soldiers to his one.
Did Ilfrid play me? Did he drop me here to be a prisoner, knowing that Seren would never be able to infiltrate this palace if he tried?
He took a deep breath, the air so cool and crisp. It had no malice or blood in it. No ill-will. But the Crown’s words, this bizarre situation, surely suggested otherwise. Something was off about this whole thing and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“I am the son of Agden Way. Does that mean nothing to you, Sir Crown?”
“Coldness,” the servant said quietly, “we revere ice here. Regard him as ‘Coldness,’ it may fare better for you.”
“Does the name mean nothing,
Coldness?” Eres corrected.
The Crown’s nostrils flared. He looked terribly angered, arms flexing straight to adjust himself in his throne. The servants squirmed behind Eres, cowering squeals escaping their lips, likely rehashing some terrible consequence of upsetting their king. But then, thankfully, he relaxed, staring ahead, making the silence an endlessly awkward rollercoaster of emotion for his audience. So much power without uttering a word.
“I run from Seren Night, Coldness. I seek Skrol training to defend myself. To defend my fata’s honor, and my own. Will you not help?”
Eres recalled getting out of situations before, in Kor, Elesion, just by using his words, by imitating his favorite character, Illiad, with some failure and some success. But how was he supposed to sway someone as frozen and slow as a glacier?
“No. No help you. But help Skrols. Yes,” the Crown decided.
Eres’ confusion was evident.
“Burn you, is, is help Skrols. Hide by make go away. Or,” the Crown pointed to the high ceiling, where icicles with dark centers hung, “freeze you, and let hang, like others. No one ever find. Have not yet decided.”
“Screw this.” Eres scraped his blade off of his belt, swiped behind him to make sure the servants backed up and then pointed the blade forward.
The Crown’s eyes rounded like beady brown marbles, deep brow expanded back in surprise, hands grasping either side of his armrests. That’s when the miniature servant fell backward.
Eres turned at the sound of more squealing behind him. No. It was… laughter. Was the servant mad? Did he have a nervous twitch?
“Okay, okay, hah hah. Hah! Hah. That’s enough, Eres. You can put away Kor Vinsánce’s treasure. Hah, hah hah hah!”
The servant was rolling around, unable to control himself. “You should’ve seen your face. Priceless. Hah hah. Priceless! I wish your father was alive to see, my boy.”
Eres’ grip loosened around the hilt. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“They all did say you were bright!” The servant goaded, trying very hard to catch his breath.
