by O. J. Lowe
Claudia looked at her empty hand, the knife in the other and the Forever Cycle on the table. Divineborn. Blood. Fuel. Cycle. Forever.
Only one way to find out, to be sure. And it was going to hurt.
Pain didn’t bother her, not if there was purpose to it. If she cut herself and it was for nothing, she’d be annoyed. Maybe she shouldn’t do it. Once more, she considered the knife, kept sharp across the years. It was good steel, not a hint of rust on it, sharp enough to cut through skin without much trouble. She didn’t look down as she pressed the blade against the palm of her hand, felt the pressure almost immediately. Claudia wished she had something to bite down on, anything to distract her as she…
Ouch!
… did that. She felt her eyes widen, swallowed the yelp threatening to break out, only then did she look at the wet stream of scarlet pooling in the palm of her hand, the tear glaring accusingly at her. She moved her hand towards one of the cups, careful not to spill a drop on the carpet or the desk, tilted the appendage at an angle, watched the first few droplets fall into the bronze receptacle with bated breath.
It took a few minutes to fill it to the brim, she withdrew her hand and wrapped a tissue around it, anything to stop her dribbling everywhere, all while making sure she didn’t move her eyes from the cup. So far, nothing. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to happen, maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe there wouldn’t be a sign. Maybe something only happened when all seven sets of blood ran through it. Maybe she wasn’t what she thought she was.
Too many maybes and not enough facts. She wished she had more to go on, that Blut was still around. She’d taken him for granted at the time, had never appreciated the true depths of his knowledge until he was no longer here. Sinkins was an acceptable replacement, but he was still just both of those things and more, a poor imitation of the original.
She tilted her head to the side, looked at the Forever Cycle at an angle. Something was happening, she was sure of it, though what she couldn’t say. It looked like the level of blood in the cup was depleting, running through the pipe into the compass itself. And with every millimetre it sunk, something was happening to the main component, the faintest hint of light poking up from it at first before gradually it increased, warmth radiating out from the Cycle, hot enough to bring a sweat to her brow. Before her very eyes, the Forever Cycle was coming to life, repairing itself, the crack across its face sealing up. Within moments, the face of the compass looked flawless, like it had never been broken in the first place. She picked it up, studied it again, running her admittedly inexpert eye across the item. It looked fixed. More than that, it felt different, a hint of warmth to it. It felt… Alive? Was that the wrong term? She didn’t know. It appeared to have accepted her blood, she knew that much. Which meant…
“You’re still out there somewhere aren’t you, mother?” she said aloud. Under normal circumstances, she might have felt foolish for the question, not least because she was alone. “You’re probably watching me as we speak.”
No reply. She hadn’t expected one.
“You know, I’m going to follow in your footsteps. I’m going to bring these kingdoms to heel. I’m going to piece back together everything broken about them. And then I’m going to take my place at your side. You will be proud of me. You brought me into this world and I intend to change it.”
Still no response, yet the satisfaction that flooded through her was enough to make her think that it had been the right choice. With that out the way, she got to her feet and made for the door. The medical bay beckoned to fix her hand. Somewhere amidst the pain, she felt the excitement dancing in her heart, an unfamiliar feeling.
Things were well in motion, moving towards her conclusion. In time, she would achieve everything she’d set out to. If at the end of one’s life, they could say that, then they could die happy. Not that death was in her plans any time soon.
Certainly not her own anyway. A brief laugh escaped her as she closed her office door behind her, the two guards on her door giving each other surprised looks as the lock clicked into place. Only she could open it, herself and Domis for emergency purposes. Nobody else was entrusted with access to it.
“It’s okay, gentlemen,” she said. “I’ve had the most magnificent of news. We’re going to win. We’re going to bloody win!” The laughter was coming out in full now as she moved down the corridor, those words echoing through her soul.
Chapter Eighteen. New Lord Rising.
“We are the knife behind the throne, a threat never uttered. We never rule, but we hold the reins. They might not know our names, but they will bow to us, for to lose our favour is to lose all they cherish. That is who we are.”
Master Amalfus to Kyra Sinclair on her first day as his apprentice.
She’d not been to Zalchak in Serran for a while, the old city didn’t hold much mystique for her. Still, obligations were obligations and duties were duties. Pree hated the city, had too many bad memories of it. The sort of memories that’d make a lesser person wake up in the middle of the night screaming in terror. Ascension had taken place here. The moment she’d ceased to solely be Prideaux Khan and started on the path to becoming someone else. Something else…
She didn’t like to think of it like that. Some of them did. They liked to think of themselves as beyond humanity, no longer part of it, what they could do setting them apart from the rest. The building looked abandoned, condemned, not suitable for purpose. They wanted it to look that way. In any other city, in any other circumstance, it would have been torn down long ago. Nobody here in Zalchak dared, those who even suggested it soon found themselves tooting a different tune. Even the homeless avoided it, they took one look and found themselves wanting to be elsewhere. Woe betide anyone who entered who didn’t belong.
Did she belong? Absolutely.
Was she going to be welcomed? Possibly. It was too early to tell. Either she’d be welcomed as a hero or left an outcast for the rest of her very short life. Divining the future had never been her strong point, there were few Cavanda out there skilled at it. Some skills did veer more towards one path rather than the other. Those aligned with the Vedo, those supposedly with light in their heart turned out more Cognivites and Restorers, seers and healers, while the Cavanda, the darker side, allegedly produced more Manifolds and Enhanciles, destroyers and brawlers. Her own speciality was testament to that, as a Manifold she was capable of so much more than any other speciality. A curious thing, to be sure. Alchemites and Elementalists were common on both sides, only Farwalkers remained an enigma among both sides alike. It wasn’t to say that a Manifold would never emerge amongst the Vedo, or a Restorer amongst the Cavanda. People were who they were, those who sought power didn’t gain it in looking to help others or divine the future. They worked for it, relied on themselves.
She placed her hand across the door handle, let the Kjarn rush into it, a sign identifying herself. Anyone not knowing the specific spell to enter would be vaporised, she’d seen it happen. It was the reason she’d left Wade behind. His time would come, he would be magnificent, but only would she be permitted to teach him when she’d gotten this task out of the way.
At her side, the bag bumped against her leg and she tussled again with the idea behind bringing it with her. Getting it out of Burykia had been a hassle, it’d taken all the power of the Kjarn she could muster towards warping minds and her Unisco badge to bring it along. But it’d have the desired effect when she revealed it.
The doorman stood on the other side of the door, a huge Enhancile with a pair of kjarnblades hung at his waist. She’d come unarmed, neither blaster nor blade on her waist. Best to present the right impression, show she had nothing to hide. The Dark King of the Cavanda and the princes were all about the right impression, especially in an organisation where everyone had secrets. Secrets was what the Cavanda did. They had people everywhere, every organisation, all feeding back information to make the group stronger. The doorman didn’t look at her, continued to stare past her
as if she wasn’t there. If she wasn’t welcome, he would have let her know by now. One didn’t get past him if he didn’t want them to. The black armour he wore repelled all but the strongest of Kjarn attacks, his gifts made him a fearsome foe blade to blade. The single greatest swordsman in the entire order, barring King Vezikalrus himself, as the rumours went. The king hadn’t crossed blades with anyone for decades though, surrounded himself with the darkest aspects of the Kjarn. To challenge his dominance was to accept death was only a breath away and that was if you were lucky.
“Good evening,” she said. “Blade Telles to see the royal council. I have an announcement to make immediately.” One king, two princes and eight lords. The Royal Council of the Cavanda. Those that she’d have to convince her claim was lawful by the rules long ago laid out by the first Dark King centuries ago. Well, the seven lords right now. Tarene wouldn’t be making it after all.
“Blade Telles,” the doorman rumbled. “They are expecting you, I think you will find.” He stepped aside. “Go on through and if the Dark King rules, you will come out again. Should your favour not be found, it has been nice to have seen you one last time.”
Well those words didn’t bode well. The doorman certainly had a way about him.
“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate your candour. More than that, I know you’re right in what you say.”
Behind him, the doors swung open and she drew a deep breath. “If you want to offer me some good luck, I’d take it.”
“You don’t need luck, Blade Telles. You need a small miracle.”
Nothing sinister or sarcastic or cruel, just cold fact in a hard voice. The doorman didn’t take sides, he didn’t favour or discriminate, he just was a constant presence in the residence of the Cavanda. No matter who came and went, lived or died, the position remained filled. Regardless, the insinuations of his words lay heavy. She knew the odds weren’t entirely in her favour. The Royal Council were automatically inclined not to trust those who’d murdered one of their own out of fear they would be next. It was self-interest of the highest order, but the laws were the laws. If her claim was valid and true, and they’d know if there was even a hint of deception, they couldn’t punish her, only grant her what she’d won by right of victory.
“Stay well,” she said. A pointless thing to say to an Enhancile, she knew that, but there you go. Enhanciles were at the peak of human conditioning, the Kjarn affecting them on a physical rather than spiritual level. They couldn’t do any of the other stuff, control the elements or telekinesis but they were unbeatable in physical combat, their bodies healing naturally any damage caused to them at an extraordinary rate. She had a theory she’d not managed to prove one way or another in her other life, knowing for sure might have made things at Unisco a lot easier but better to stay silent for now.
“And you, Blade Telles.”
Pree took the side door, didn’t dare venture through until she’d changed into her robes, black and ankle-length with splashes of colour across the armbands to designate her speciality of Manifold. It was a good job she liked the colour purple. She’d heard that Vedo made it a point not to reveal what they were skilled at, the height of rudeness to inquire casually. A strange way to be sure. No wonder they’d all been thought wiped out long ago and only recently returned from the dead. Five years wasn’t a long time and she had to wonder about the quality of the job that had been done. If they hadn’t all been killed, then whomever had been in charge had done a piss poor job of it.
That was a story for another day. For now, she had her own job to do and the cost of failure would be immense. She slid her own mask on, black and purple and red stripes with ghastly protruding teeth. The doorman would know who she was. The Royal Council would know who she was.
Appearances. Keep them up. Obey protocol.
The Cavanda, for a secretive mystical group, wasn’t too dissimilar to Unisco in that respect, as strange as it might sound.
She strode through the door, made the deliberate decision to do it like she owned the damn place. A risky stratagem but it came back to appearances. Those who looked like they had something to hide inevitably did. Those who looked guilty and suspicious inevitably were. Pree was neither of those things, she saw ten bodies staring at her and she dropped into a bow, her head low. All of them wore masks, the simpler the mask the higher their rank. The lords wore intricate designs of colour and pattern, horns and spikes and piercings. If the effect was to terrify, it would succeed on a lesser being.
The masks of the princes were less so, no protrusion or exaggerations, only whorls and swirls against otherwise plain backdrops of monochrome shades of blacks and whites and greys. The Dark King himself bore the plainest mask of all, just a simple shade of black that looked to suck you in, engulfing you. Looking at him made her heart want to flee her body and run for cover. He wore no crown, but the aura was there. Of all the Cavanda, he was the only one not to wear the coloured armband that signalled his speciality. Nobody knew what it was, nobody wanted to ask lest it be directed against them in devastating fashion. King Vezikalrus didn’t suffer fools gladly.
“Arise, Blade Telles,” he said, his voice like the wind across dried leaves. “Your show of respect has been noted.” She got to her feet, looked around the room at the seven lords with their missing member and his empty seat, the two princes studying her intently. She didn’t break the focus in her stare back at them. If they wanted to gawp, then they could. She had nothing to hide. “At this time, anyway. Though it is the opinion of this council that perhaps your respect has not been noted in other areas, particularly concerning our missing member, would you not say?”
One of the lords chuckled at the insinuation, she didn’t break her stare. Vezikalrus’ eyes flickered to the side and the sounds of mirth died away. There was no laughing in this chamber, the same one used for full gatherings but empty and devoid of all life but the ten men and women in front of her. It was a solemn place, one where cruelty became reality.
“I would say that my respect has been where it always has,” she said, considering her words carefully. A false step would condemn her, even if it were an innocent slip. The council did not forgive mistakes lightly. They could be fatal, for mistakes led to exposure and exposure to a loss of the secrecy they prided. All who entered knew that would be the cost they’d have to bear should they need to pay the price. “I respect not just the Cavanda itself, but the rule of law passed down from generation to generation. Ever since the first Dark King laid down the decrees, I have sought to follow them, I have aimed to use my skills and my aptitudes to ensure the prosperity of the Cavanda. Where there has been an advantage to benefit, I have been there to take it. Through my acts, the Cavanda grows stronger. I respect the laws and the traditions as I respect my king and all those he chooses to enforce his will.”
“Then pray do tell why you removed Lord Tarene from the land of the living?” Vezikalrus said. “I find this…” He paused, almost silently considering his words before he spoke. “Disrespectful.”
Her breath caught in her throat, she took a moment or two and let it out. “No disrespect has been offered to you, highest of them all. A challenge was made, a challenge was accepted and Lord Tarene was slain in combat.” She almost said single combat, enough of a distinctive untruth to catch her out, had caught herself in time. That would have been fatal. At least one of the lords was a Cognivite, she knew that much and to lie in front of him, no matter how small, would be a mistake.
“No challenge was recorded by our keeper as delivered or accepted,” Vezikalrus said, casting a glance about those in front of him. “Unless someone wishes to update me with something I am hitherto unaware of?”
None spoke up, the king looked back at her expectantly. She couldn’t see his face for the mask, didn’t know who he was under there, but she almost got the impression he was waiting for her to justify herself. He didn’t care, she realised, whether she lived or died, or was raised to the vacant lordship position. He wanted her
to prove that she was worthy of it and that meant surviving this interrogation.
“No challenge need be recorded,” she said, moving to prove she knew the laws. “If special circumstances behold it.”
“What special circumstances were this?” Prince Samandir spoke up. “Please do inform us in as great detail as possible.”
“As the Royal Council is aware, we all do our part in organisations around the kingdoms to ensure a flow of information is retained for future use. My role as an agent of Unisco currently involves the hunting of the terrorist Claudia Coppinger. An investigation into one of her associates…” She paused, was that the right word? She’d gotten their attention by mentioning Coppinger. Coppinger was the biggest name in the kingdoms right now, a figure to rally around or to defy and she wondered which side the Cavanda would choose if they deigned to get involved. Coppinger had a Vedo on her side, yet so did Unisco and they had many. This could get interesting.
They wouldn’t though. They’d fail to get involved. It didn’t concern them. They’d take the advantage wherever they could from the conflict though. That was their nature.
“Led me to a building which contained a number of vaults. Secure vaults filled with the greatest treasures of the strongest and the most powerful of the five kingdoms. Entirely through accident, we found our way into the Cavanda vault. All our greatest treasures.”
“Who is this we?” Prince Tabukah asked. “Has your partner been dealt with?”
She chose to ignore the question, she knew what dealt with meant in this context and she didn’t want to answer it just yet, didn’t want to prejudice their opinion early. Not until she knew for sure what her own fate would be. If they killed her, they’d kill Wade as well. She held no sentimental value for him, other than he’d probably give his own life to save hers. They were partners after all. The Unisco lessons might feel like a lifetime ago but their roots had sunk deep. Partners looked out for each other. A strange battle between what she should do and what she wanted to do, she could feel the two warring sides clashing inside her.
