He didn't want to give up his aspirations; they forced him to. And for why? Because he was a Kyusoa of a particular kind. A rare being, the only one, save for his mother. Yet no one knew what happened to her, except that she handed him away and then vanished off the face of the planet.
That's why, instead of perfecting his skill at a trade, or craft, he spent his years scouring as much of Dyjian as he could for answers. And lamenting that he found none.
Ashenzsi's memory left a bitter taste in Rollond's mouth.
'Th-thu'uryi,' Ashenzsi stammered. 'You truly are a conquering one.' Groggily, he rolled onto his stomach and laid, his ears back, his expression remorseful.
Rollond snorted. 'Next time you want to throw a wrench in my plans…'
'I am sorry, su'u batzuh. Just — when he came to me, saying that this was a good thing, that it would benefit me, and I wouldn't be 'wasted,' I —'
'I know,' Rollond said. He scowled. 'I saw everything. Still, that does NOT give you the right to jeopardize all that I have worked for.'
'I thought we were a team?'
Rollond sighed. 'We are. That's why we're here, just you and me. We're going to get real close real quick, because we're going to figure this 'monster' out. And every time you go buck-freig wild on me, I'm going to rattle your brain good and hard.'
Ashenzsi didn't seem fond of Rollond's terms; he didn't like the idea of being punched in the head. What choice did he really have? There had to be something to keep him in line.
'Bring it out,' Rollond said.
"I don't want to do this alone." Ashenzsi shook his head and started to crawl away.
"What do you mean 'alone'? I'm right here."
"You don't understand. When it happens there's no one with me, nothing for me to hold on to. Inside I am abandoned."
"Shenzsi, Shenzsi," Rollond said, running his fingers through his dirty-white hair. "There's a 'door,' all you have to do is 'knock' —" Or did that have something to do with it? A door was simply a passage through a wall — an entrance, an exit. Everyone knows that. But the fact that there was a 'feral door' implies that there must also be some kind of wall.
He was quick to 'visit' Ashenzsi, but save for the one time, when had Rollond ever let him in? That door existed because Rollond put it there. Then what was he afraid of? That Ashenzsi would find out his secret? And what could that possibly be? Rollond didn't know; he barely understood himself.
He focused on the feral door.
When the door melted away and the walls evaporated, there they were. There was no distinction between the man and the kyusoa; they simply saw one another as they were: physical entities with a unique bond.
The beast crept upon Ashenzsi's features, until his body was long from snout to tail-tip, and his hands were massive, all six of them. He unfolded his six wings and lowered his forebody, remembering those fists from before. From one maw he growled, and from the second he panted.
Ashenzsi didn't need words to know what Rollond was planning. Ashenzsi snorted and eagerly kneaded the sand as the man gripped his mane and climbed onto him just before his shoulders. The second Rollond's weight settled, Ashenzsi tore towards the far northwestern tip of the continent, and nearly flung Rollond into the sand.
The experience wasn't like that of riding a Sandwyrk. Every brawny contraction of Ashenzsi's muscles surged through Rollond as if he were surging along the coast. Before the bare ecstasy of the wind whipping about them both could begin to subside, they were within the perimeter.
It was a secret that Nexus was ill-informed of. Somehow the far northwestern tip of the continent went undomained, and kittycorner to the tip, just off the coast, was an unsuspicious island. The island had always been there, its sole ornament being a pillar of quartz. No one gave it so much as a second thought, until a warehouse-and-a-half ago.
Of course, they were charging across pristine white sands, when there was a flash and they both froze: Ashenzsi in mid-gait, and Rollond just as he was. Even with open eyes, in a state of absolute inertia, the subject doesn't see. Nor does one think or feel; the living soul is rendered as though dead until restored.
They had taken particular care to bind Rollond while he was under stasis, securing his arms to his body, and locking his hands with his palms open and fingers splayed. They may as well have put him in a tautonium coffin, as the bands of metal around his body were doubled over from his shoulders down to his knees enough times that he couldn't budge. They also spread and barred his knees, keeping him knelt; this in addition to being anchored down with chains.
Necessary precautions around the Prince, because they were more than aware of his vehement strength.
After these measures were taken and checked several times, they rejuvenated him.
Rollond gasped, and rolled his head over his shoulders. The restitution process was more irritating than that of warping. At least the latter just made him slightly nauseous, whereas restitution left him entirely numb, jittery, and for some unknown reason, famished.
Twelve men, rifles at the fore, stood on standby in front of him. Likely there were twelve more behind him, and six to his left and right that he couldn't see. All in all, there were forty-eight men on guard in the room with him.
"O my Prince,~" Fylus said. He stepped around to Rollond's front and patted his cheek. "Pleasure to have you here! I hope you found your reception most… accommodating."
"For the most part," Rollond said. "Though, I was expecting a parade and a feast. You know, you being a master trapper, what with all them warehouses, I thought we'd celebrate the ones I blew up."
"You despicable…" Fylus seethed. "The whole reason I havn't lopped off your head is you're of particular value to me. That dark-skinned esnipengesschn, Mylisto, is looking for you. And thanks to your intrusive vlawdtskemmung interruptions, I've had to come up with a new plan —"
"I'm all ears to your genius babble, Fylus, but I want you to know that I'm still willing to strike a deal with you. You cut this heiknameig out, turn yourself in and let me go, and I'll let you off with a hundred and forty years; the public doesn't even have to know all the details, we'll just say you had a change of heart."
"How dare you talk to me with your cock in your mouth!" Fylus bellowed. "You think I have gone through all this, and put up with these amkanfheik Hedonites just to turn myself in!?"
"Tell you what," Rollond said, "I'll give you until I bust out of these bonds to decide."
"Swankard to the very end."
"You have no idea."
Fylus laughed, and stepped out.
Rollond looked around wearily, and glanced up at one of the guards. He sighed, since when can anyone tell what a hedonite's expression is under those infernal masks? He closed his eyes, and relaxed.
The place in his mind where the door once was had become an open space. The horizon was dark as during twilight, and there was no ground, just water. It appeared deep, because as far as Rollond could tell, there was no bottom, just deepening blackness. And yet, he stood in it as if it was shallow. It was a tranquil place, lulling his senses, his adventurous spirit, his everything, until he stood still. He could go on forever in any direction and it would be as if he had gone no where. A cold, unsettling shiver trickled up his arms.
The shallow water rippled at his ankles. A shadow passed over him, and so the sound of wings slashing through the air. Water gushed up in torrents when the beast touched down. He was a proud, yet elegant thing. And as Rollond looked through his eyes, he shared Ashenzsi's sense of wonder.
Ashenzsi circled around on a small man-made island. The sound of sea birds overhead was calming, even though the birds were mere projections in the cylindrical wall. He settled into the water, and with a few swishes of his tail, ducked curiously under. Somewhere he found a hole in the floor. The gate opened, and Ashenzsi hesitantly passed through.
There was a common, cavernous habitat, since, as he swam about, he discovered many holes that were likewise gated. Yet he seemed to be the so
le occupant. That is, until he went to the bottom.
He had difficulty sensing what its gender was, but down at the bottom, in an ice-covered, softly radiant bubble of condensed oxygen, he made out a cream-ish colored entity, with long, hot pink stripes down its back. Its mane floated like seaweed, and it bared a striking resemblance to him.
Placing his paws on the ice, he pressed his nose to the sphere, and spoke. His words were not as formed and eloquent as his usual speech, but he managed a long, melodic, whale-like cry. And, gradually, the creature within the bubble opened its eyes. Its muscles spasmed, and its eyelids fluttered. He sung to it again, but the beast wasn't responsive, until, finally, its convulsions stopped, and it pressed its paw over his.
'Have I been away this long…?' It moaned to him.
'Away?' he asked. 'From what?'
It pushed its head through the top of the ice. Oxygen from the floor grating bubbled up with the great, gray-white blobs. It was a she; it had breasts — not only that but the pleasant insignia of the opposite sex diffused through the water. She was the strangest thing to him, because he'd swear he'd known this scent before.
She surfaced on the island, and motioned with a swish of her tail for him to come up with her, but he stayed back in the water.
'Do I know you?' Ashenzsi asked.
'Do you?'
'My body… believes I do.' He splayed his ears and kneaded wet sand. 'Who are you?'
'Tytnakea,' she said. Her name wasn't at all familiar to him, she could tell, because he furrowed his brows and lowered his snout, scratching through his mane. 'Maybe you're asking all the right things, but form your questions wrong.'
Ashenzsi snorted.
'We are similar, but you aren't like me; it is impossible for you to be. Is that why you stay back, because you don't know if I am a sister to you? — I am not your sister.'
'You are my cousin?'
'Why do you wish it so?' Tytnakea paused. The moment Ashenzsi opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off: 'You want to take me and prove them wrong.'
'Then you will come with me?'
'I will not come with you.'
He growled, fell on his side and thrashed in the sand. 'Why not!?'
And yet, she hesitated to answer. Her legs trembled as she lowered onto the sand, and her head came down as though her neck were too unstable to hold it up any longer. 'Because I can't come with you…' Her ears limply fell back. 'I regret nothing I have done; I wish only that we had more time.'
Inexplicable sorrow; why did he regret coming out here? Why did he feel he should have left her alone? Was it because, as he considered his feelings and her words, her flesh was peeling like burning rice paper? Floating into the air and disappearing, little by little, flake by flake; that she seemed to accept, with whole-hearted melancholy, that they had just met, and already, their parting must follow.
'I love you, Ashenzsi.'
His ears perked. She knew his name?
'So long as you live, never forget that —' Her body burst into flames.
Ashenzsi shielded his eyes from the violent pyre, its light more intense than the sun at dawn. Only, mere seconds later when the fire subsided, he noticed her dark, cold, metallic bones; how her remains resembled burning coals. He picked up one, a tooth or a talon, he wasn't sure, and tied it into his mane.
Tytnakea's violent eruption did not go unnoticed, especially in the Executive Chambers, as her death was relayed over video feeds.
When he saw it, Fylus gritted his teeth, peering into the holo display. She finally died, just as he'd gotten one that was remotely like her. He rolled his stylus between his thumb and index finger. "Was he sterilized!?" he barked at one of his subordinates.
They flicked through the light. "Sir, yes."
"No he wasn't!" He swatted one of them upside the back of their head. The rest of them stopped as their comrade's skull cracked on the corner of the console. "HOW ELSE does he transmit some spontaneous combustion DISEASE!? SOMEONE," Fylus screamed, "IS NOT DOING THEIR JOB RIGHT!" He kicked the trash chute, bit his lip, and limped towards his station. "If you keep being this INCOMPETENT, not only am I going to fire all of you, I'm going to FEED YOU THROUGH A MEAT MINCER — ONE — BODY PART — AT — A — TIME! NOW BACK TO WORK!"
They exchanged glances, and resumed fingering through the holograms.
Fylus settled into his seat. "How am I ever going to take my own country with these…" he muttered to himself, pulling up a transmission of Rollond. He was sound asleep, head tilted back, mouth open. He made Fylus sick to his stomach. How was it possible? The Prince knows he's in immediate danger, and yet he just zonks out, like that, like his circumstances are of no consequence to him.
You know what? Screw ransoming.
Fylus thumbed up the feeding schedule. The Female Beast ate very little. She had gotten to the point where she had to be attached to a gastrointestinal bypass and fed mush like an invalid. But this freshly acquired male was far heartier, and likely had a great appetite.
He called the chief of the guard detail with Rollond. "Put him in the terrarium," he hissed, delightedly.
He watched:
The entire time they handled Rollond, loading him onto a platform to be warped, how he was jostled and jolted, not once did the white-haired man stir. In fact he slept through it all, even the warp, and when he reemerged on the central island in the terrarium, still chained up like he was, he still didn't bother to flinch. Not even to curiously open his eyes.
Fylus was furious — how!? How does he do it!? How could someone — anyone — get under this man's skin!?
Never mind that.
He sunk into his seat, slouching, legs spread wide, his head rested in his fingertips, as he awaited that one juicy moment. That one where the Prince's head was torn off and, in a single swallow, vanished into the mouth of the beast. And the rest of Rollond —
Was loosed from his bindings. Fylus didn't believe it.
The Beast, Ashenzsi, chilled the metal until it shrank, constricting Rollond, only to blast it with intense heat. And just like that, the metal straps, the chains, the harnesses, all of it, peeled off like… like glue on wax paper.
This — this is absurd. This is definitely —
When those with him saw Rollond free, and that the beast aided him, they unanimously turned to Fylus, stood, threw down their badges, and walked out. One of them tapped into the intercom:
"We've had enough; it's time to quit." Afterward, this one turned to Fylus and bowed at the waist. "It truly has been a pleasure serving you, you titanic toddler. And I, on the behalf of all of us Hedonites here, and our loved ones in He'Don, wish you the best with your impossible goals." Then he opened the terrarium doors.
"Y-you…" Fylus was almost speechless. "You can't quit me. You can't leave me! You can't! Not one of you! I have you all on contract, and so long as your names are signed to those documents, I OWN you! ALL OF YOU! GET BACK TO YOUR STATIONS —"
The last man walked out; Fylus was alone.
He hurried over to the station that monitored the terrarium. Rollond and the beast were suspicious at first, but once they were on the other side, a second feed revealed that even the low-men, the guards and the janitors, were throwing down their guns and powering off the defense and cleaning drones, disabling the turrets. In fact, they were applauding Rollond, shaking his hand and reaching out to pet the beast.
Something wet trickled down Fylus's thighs. This wasn't happening! This wasn't happening! This — the more he tried to convince himself, the wetter he got.
"This is what you call Fate, is it not?" An abysmally deep, unforgivably cold, raspy voice made Fylus's hearts stop.
He turned around, slowly, and his eyes burned as he regarded two, floating, disembodied disks of polished gold; what were irises with no proper eyes, or body. It was like a man, rising up from the floor, black-silver, like coagulated human blood.
"Didn't I tell you, that if you let that one creature go, you would have succeeded?"
Fylus swallowed hard. "M-mokallai?"
The blood-man chuckled. "It really is a shame, Fylus. I could have made you very, very mighty. If only you would have obeyed me." He had a slow, lurching gait, because his 'feet' would meld onto the floor and stick, being made of old blood. The sound of his every step was nauseating as it peeled up, leaving gelatinous wads behind.
Fylus braced against the console, his face flushed pale green, looking as though he wanted to vomit his intestines out while simultaneously slitting his throat. "What do you want from me!?"
An Elegy of Fate Page 16
