by Marc Mulero
Bones crunched as they contorted, cartilage crackling, bending like rubber bands, joints cracking, and before Eres could blink, the entire tribe was on all fours scraping dirt at their feet to pounce past their tribe mother.
She turned swiftly to watch them proudly, but when they were far enough away howling in the night, it was only her left – and that strength that she exuded, the prowess… it melted away. Jaw unclenched, brow relaxed, she just looked on.
“Tees ring… is te devil.”
The fire went out and the starry lights unlit.
“Stay strong, Shetana. I could have spread this darkness, true. I could have given pieces of it to the others. But what if they succumbed to it, or were destroyed by it? Instead I chose you. Someone strong, with darkness already in her, but also with the heart to overcome it.”
Eres thought as his chair shifted - Where are these interpretations from? The consortium that Kyta spoke of? A long line of tradition here in the UnderSpire? Which is it? I have to know. Ram said that Seren needed the Ostara, the light, which probably means he already had darkness… like Shetana, but didn’t possess the ‘heart’ that she did.
So, he’s evil. Big deal. I knew that already. Did Ram think that he could save him or something? With what, the Ostara esper?
The play continued on in the background, somewhere rich for ancient standards, where layered white brick towered high. A woman with long blond hair was reaching to feel the dense air at her fingertips, an esper breathing life on her ring finger – a traditional one, like Eres had.
Ostara and Dumos, the Light and Dark espers, are the only ones still spoken about today. But, according to this, the Founder chose five - five hearts, five espers. What happened to the others? Why are there more than ten now? Were the others split to defend the secret better?
“Don’t ever let me down from here,” the woman spoke into the wind. “I’ll just stay in you, white ring, and you can show me everything I need to know in there, right? That’s all we need.”
Now the play is speaking to addiction. My ooma, my mota. They both must’ve suffered like this woman did. Did the Founder mean for this? Did he want people to get stuck in Gushda or is that just a consequence of curiosity?
“No, no. They’ll understand, they have to,” the woman said to herself. “Prince Oser… if he really loves me, he’ll let me stay with you, white ring, so I can come back to him a learned master of the other side. Yes, that’s right. He’ll have to believe me if he loves me.”
Maybe if I find out which one of the five has the origin of my esper I can trace back to them in Gushda, assuming any of this is even true.
The woman retreated from the window and turned her back to the cold wall, her dress flowing in the breeze and hands clasped in prayer. She then sunk down until her bottom clapped the floor. “Show me what I’m supposed to do.” Her eyes closed. She took a deep breath before her body went limp and her finger began to shine a bright white, before she was lost.
The light faded from the stage.
“You must resist it, princess. Control yourself.” The Founder sounded remorseful. “You are supposed to be the Amrite’s guardian, not the other way around. It is not your keeper. Come back so you can find the others.”
Mustae… maybe this Amrite is the only addictive esper. Maybe mine represents a piece of that one?
Stop jumping so fast to conclusions, Eres. Haven’t you been burned enough before?
Eres’ chair hissed, flattened and spun to the final stage – the fifth heart - while he continued to fester.
Don’t forget, you’re here not only to learn, but to grow strong enough to find Wudon. If he’s to be the last to be murdered, that means Seren has to go through me first. I can’t fail.
He suddenly grew tense in his seat. Why was he sitting here so relaxed? Why was he splashing around in hot springs earlier like a child? He was the last hope for the Skrols. The last!
As the lights of the final stage brightened, a hand pressed softly against his heaving chest: Kyta’s.
“I know. I can feel the fire, Eres… just breathe,” she whispered. “It catches up with everyone sooner or later. Just breathe.”
He was near the point of hyperventilating – hands clenched around his armrest, nose suddenly struggling to take in the suffocating mist around him. Panic. Pure panic. “The,” he inhaled sharply, “others… they all died, didn’t they? They had to if Seren has their espers, right? I’m the only one left.”
Kyta retracted her hand and looked to the floor, offering nothing.
Then the stage burst to life with a clang! Metal against metal. Was someone smelting a weapon? No. Flames lit within two sconces to show the audience what it was, or who, rather. A prisoner stuck in his cell continuously whipped his chained arms to clash against the bars. Clang. His bare shoulders were nearly bursting out of their sockets from trying to break free of his shackles, so deeply lined with muscle that they looked like tire marks.
“You drown me in incense, poison me. I don’t want to see it anymore. Make it stop!” He whipped both chains so hard the entire stage rumbled. Then slowly, defeatedly, he fell to his knees, all ten fingers scratching at the collar around his neck to get it off – his esper.
Eres could relate with this guy on some level, although his own chains were more ethereal - in the form of a prescribed, predetermined path that he had to follow – but still, he understood the restrictions.
“You know, Eres, I shouldn’t tell you this, but… you’ll have a choice… everyone ha-” a spark flashed and Kyta yelped. She shook her hand to ease the burn, finger smoking.
Eres leaned over, perplexed. “What the-”
She smiled coyly. “Sometimes things go haywire inside. That’s why I’m still an apprentice.”
He narrowed his eyes in suspicion before all attention was pulled back to the prisoner on stage.
“What are these visions of other warriors? Why do you show me this? My fighting days are done! Haven’t I lost enough? My home, my family, friends. Everything. I stood ‘til the end. Let me have peace now. Guards. Guards. Take away this poison. Let me die with them.”
“I cannot.”
The flames suffocated on cue.
“Your journey doesn’t end here, peaceful warrior. I’ve given you the Ostara – the Light – to guide you through our journey of darkness. You will continue to suffer, but not for long. You will find friends again.”
The sound of wind echoed through the torium as the Founder’s shadowed face appeared to blow away into nothingness.
“End of Act One,” a woman’s voice spoke through microphone. Not a second later, cheers and whistles burst the entire torium to life. Hands went up – a celebration of history – a lavish show put on by community. It all sparked an electricity of its own kind.
The play evoked a rollercoaster of emotions for Eres too. He’d been happy, cozy, anxiety-ridden, sucked in, all in the first act. But through all of it, he was learning a lot. For some reason he was accepting of this play as true history. Topics that western sphere books only touch upon were spoken about so plainly here in Verglas. Espers. Sorcery. No tech really, but that was okay. He already knew of that.
Mudry rocked himself to his feet and stretched, arms high overhead, elongating to his full length, which was kind of impressive when he wasn’t slouching. He looked kind of like Joodah, even though Mudry was uemon instead of Eplon. And well, a saint, not a devil. But physically, they had the same build. Eres guessed this was the reason he thought of him, then moved on and looked to his right, to Kyta.
She on the other hand, looked anything but relaxed. Ashamed of herself, actually, like she’d broken some rule and now had to suffer the weight of it.
“I know I have a choice. I mean, of course I do… I’m not a slave here, right? I came on my own accord, even if I was persuaded by my fata’s beliefs,” he said amid loud chatter. “Don’t sweat it.”
Kyta closed her eyes and nodded.
“So watcha think?�
�� Mudry dropped back down into his seat.
Eres wiped a lock of hair from his face and smiled. “Amazing production. It’s less about showcasing something like in Kor or the Colliding Spheres, and more about telling a story. I like it… a lot.”
“Am glad! Hear fun things about Collision Sphere too. Wish me could go.”
Eres was surprised that someone living there, in the UnderSpire - the most exclusive place in the spheres - would envy his life experience. He guessed he had to see it from Mudry’s perspective to really understand. This was normal to him like the Dolseir forest was to Eres. That must’ve been the truth.
He’d never thought of his extensive travels as something of privilege though. Well actually, he’d never thought about it at all. Always stuck on her, or the path forward – Skrols and secrets. Had he been rushing every moment of his life after Elesion? Had he actually gained the worldliness he’d dreamed of all that time ago back in his chair in Dolseir?
“I’d love to take you Mudry, if you’d let me. I’m sure Ilfrid wouldn’t mind!”
Mudry perked up. “Please, yes! Deal! One day, you show me, after you the best Skrol in Ingora.”
“The only one you mean?”
A hand slapped the back of his head.
“Ow, Kyta, what the h-”
“Wukaldred still lives.” Her eyes blazed.
“Of course he does.” Eres rubbed his head. “I wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.”
The lights dimmed once more. “Act Two – Deliverance,” the woman’s voice announced.
Eres and Kyta both grunted and clapped themselves back into their chairs dramatically.
As the play went on, Eres got lost, both in it and his own mind. He watched as the Five Hearts showed up on alternating stages to carry out different parts of their journeys. One by one, their characters developed, they dropped into their espers, which had some mind-blowing effects of flash fires, snow sprinkles, lightning storms, all to paint an eccentric view of Gushda. Until finally, those hearts understood that they weren’t alone.
This, Eres decided, was the most entertaining way to be educated. It reminded him of Proctor Ren’s lectures, and his octor magnifier. Proctor Vasa would’ve loved it here too. She’d fit right in - a show-woman was everything that this place called for. She should’ve gone with him to Verglas.
“Ugh, the princess is the worst,” Kyta commented.
“Very hate-able,” Mudry agreed. “Self-center and childlike. Wish Shetana would slap.”
“Shetana is the most badass, even more than the prisoner Gardone. I want to see those two go at it… wait a second, this is your first time seeing the play?”
“It’s a debut, Eres! We know about it because Ram bounced lines - or the whole script even - off of us, but it really came together, I must say.” Kyta motioned with her hand to acknowledge the stages.
The play continued on and Eres took note – the depiction of the Dark esper, or Dumos, was terrifying. A dim stage spawned bright red slits cycling up and down like serpentine eyes opening and closing; demon faces made of fire had open jaws and several snake-like tongues. A sporadic spotlight would show an actor getting impaled with a spear, then go dark. Another would pop-up on the opposite side of the stage just to show a stabbing. This esper was the stuff of nightmares and he couldn’t help but think of Proctor Wudon’s eternal struggle of living within it. That half-dead face and one glazed-over eye.
“Poor Shetana,” he found himself saying as he watched her fall to her knees when everyone around her left.
She was always holding her head high, always acting strong, except when she was alone. Was that what Wudon’s life was like?
More time passed. The audience gasped when the Founder announced his plan to be put into motion and vanished from his usual location at the center point of the ceiling. There, it was him, on stage – depicted as a hunched over gentleman with a voluminous cloak covering his face.
He called guards away from Gardone - the prisoner - left a key close enough for him to grab with his teeth, and vanished with the wind. The next stage sprang to life and the audience gasped again when the Founder had somehow traveled within a second, Eres guessed by way of wire. He was leaving breadcrumbs for each of his Five Hearts the whole way through. Messages in fire were left in the ice for Rikle - the Kujin town sorcerer. Leaves bent and folded for Xellious, similar to how they did in Dundo-Ba for Eres.
It was quite a journey of coming together. It kind of felt like his own ride. Less haphazard and more planned, but still – Ilfrid, Vasa, Ohndee, Crow, Windel, they felt like his Hearts in some way. That was over now, though.
By the end, the last act, the Five Hearts had found one another. After Shetana and Gardone nearly ripped one another’s heads off, after a kind Xellious was driven to drag the princess by the hair – the audience cheered at that one – after Rikle learned that he wasn’t crazy and hugged his counterparts, they had come to their crossroads. The decision that had to be made.
Assembled, the Five Hearts trekked through the vicious lands of Okabin, where the trail of breadcrumbs ended. There, amid loud black winds and whipping sands, emerged the Founder. All five drew their weapons. Metal. Elemental. They were ready to attack who, or what could have been living out there, ready to face it. But with a wave of his hand the winds were silenced; their grips loosened in wonderment. A bubble of clear air surrounded the group. Xellious heaved out sand and the princess rubbed her eyes. Was this really happening?
Grips tightened again when the Founder slowly pulled back his covering – they were expecting a demon, or a god, something grand and dreadful all at once, but not this…
An old man stood before them, bald but for a few white wisps on either side of his head. His chin was weak and inverted, mouth dirtied with a scarce number of whiskers. A feeble thing in such treacherous lands. Why? How? He didn’t seem to mind however, for his smile was comforting and true.
“Surely you wouldn’t strike a decrepit thing like myself?”
“Surely we would not.” Gardone immediately sheathed his broadsword with a hiss. “So long as this decrepit thing explains how it survives where nothing else does?”
“Tis ting es a devil, a devil. I know it.” Shetana looked sideways at Gardone. “Feeds us tees rings, he does. Look at dat smile.
The princess’ eyes rounded. “You gave us these?” She flashed her esper, pausing with an intense expression, all eyes on her. “Do you… have more?”
“Sheesh,” Xellious said, “he may as well have given you Opiuts, drug addict.”
“What did I tell you about speaking to a princess like that?” She stomped her foot.
Rikle stepped past the squabbling fools. “You… took me from Verglas, took everyone from their homes.” He gestured behind him. “Brought us all here, to the worst place in the spheres. Why?”
“My my,” the Founder paced, “so quickly we are to flash our treasures to any old thing met in our travels.”
The group was collectively taken aback.
“What if I had a gang of scavengers with me, about to swarm you, and I was merely the bait? What if I want those treasures for myself? What if I’ve been searching everywhere for them, and you brought them to me on a silver platter, in my lands… my territory? What then?”
Gardone looked ashamed of himself. A warrior should have known better. Shetana however, had a different thought.
“Ten I take two steps and slit chur troat. Ten I,” she pounded her chest, “become teir new leader. Is dat what you want, devil?” She held a deeply curved, sharp blade to her own throat to show how fearless she was.
The Founder nodded slowly, his smile growing. “It is good to see you in the flesh, Shetana. It affirms that I chose wisely.”
“Eh? How does tu know my name?”
“Please. Please,” he lowered his hands, signaling for everyone to relax, “I am of nonviolence, and am, in fact, alone. Merely a lesson to not be so forthright now that you possess gifts connecting you to Gus
hda.”
“Goosh-what?” Shetana’s entire face crinkled.
“Gushda,” Xellious spoke up, “the Eternal World. I think this old man, whoever he is, gave us eyes into the Eternal.”
“Ohhh,” the Founder wagged a finger, “I gave you more than that. Had I just given you an eye, you would wander about aimlessly for a lifetime, finding memories of old, exploring new types of experiences, what have you. What I gave are keys, a map, that when combined will reveal a secret.”
The princess sneered. “You should’ve gone into drama, old man. You would do just wonderfully in the arts. Look at him, dragging us from our homes, way out here. Hmph. Makes me suffer with you people. All for what, just to tell us you have a secret? Well, how about I tell you something? Why don’t you lead me back to my tower so I can get back into,” she looked at the esper on her finger, “whatever this thing is.”
The Founder sucked his yellowed teeth. “I worry most about you,” he bowed, “princess.”
“I can ease tat worry with one poke to tat pretty tiny neck,” Shetana offered.
“No violence, if you please.” The Founder put his palms together. “I vowed never to strike, and to prevent striking where I can.”
“Sir,” Rikle spoke respectfully, “what is your name?”
“Not important.”
The Kujin squinted his eyes. “Alright then, please tell us, what is important? You brought us together apparently, brought us here. Now what?”
“Well… an old man would hope that you would hear him out, and then, simply… make a decision.” He laughed weakly to himself. “A decision that will affect the entire fate of your races, but a simple decision nonetheless.”
The Five Hearts exchanged glances with one another before Gardone stepped up, redrew his sword and slammed the point of it into the sand. He then rested his arms over it and said: “We will hear you.”
“Bless you for your time.” The Founder straightened, and with a snap of his fingers, blew the protective bubble outward so they were suddenly in some serene land that had no hint of Okabin’s deadliness. “I was a traveler in my young life – it is known – with such a propensity for magic. The greatest Dagos mystics bestowed upon me their crafts, their tomes, the Umboro told me of some connection to another place… one I already knew of. Kujins, these faraway people of miraculous wonder,” he smiled at Rikle, “unlocked what was inside of me here, in Rudo, without delving into Gushda.
