The Chronicle

by David F. Farris

  “Awfully excited for some tutorage,” a voice said.

  Illipsia looked up to find one of her few friendly acquaintances, Beren. He reached across her and grabbed the quill. As he wrote down his name, Illipsia asked, “Struggling?”

  “Math isn’t really my thing,” he said. “I’d stick to a pure weaving curriculum if I could, but that’s not really doable anymore. Mrs. Neaneuma has a different set of rules than Grand Director Poicus did.”

  Illipsia stared at him emptily, and Beren raised an eyebrow. “You’re so odd,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder before walking away. “See you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Amber rays streaked across dawn’s sky as people descended Telejunction’s hill. Children, adults; some alone, others with families. While most of them wore normal clothes, some donned the familiar silver of the Adren Kingdom. They had arrived in droves over the past month or so, adding a bit more diversity to Phesaw’s melting pot.

  Illipsia was leaning against the school building and watching the spectacle when someone approached her. She gazed to her left to see Beren.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  She stared at him for a moment before looking forward again. She felt different without her long hair, like she couldn’t be herself.

  “Strange ... all the Adrenians arriving here out of the blue,” he noted.

  Beren might not have understood it, but Illipsia did. Adrenians being transported to a refugee base meant one thing: Yama and Kadlest had been successful in taking hold of the Adren Kingdom’s capital, Katashi. Previously, Archains had been the dominant presence in Phesaw ... not anymore.

  Beren’s gaze became grave. “Do you think something bad happened to their kingdom like what happened to ours?”

  “Let’s hope not,” Illipsia replied. She meant it. From the bottom of her heart, she hoped that Yama and Kadlest were heeding Toono’s words: Don’t hurt any civilians. “Perhaps it’s a precautionary procedure,” she added.

  “Or maybe they were in the Archaic Kingdom and are just now being rescued,” Beren said.

  She nodded and muttered, “Maybe ...”

  “So the tutoring sessions finally begin tomorrow night. Still going to attend?” Beren asked.

  “Of course.”

  “You know what would probably help?” he said. “If you’d start paying attention in class. Don’t think it’s not obvious. You’re always distracted by random things.”

  She glanced at him once more. “And it seems you have that same issue ... distractions.”

  He blushed, then slapped the back of his head. “Touché, Illipsia.” He walked toward Phesaw’s main doors, joining the flood of refugees.

  * * *

  The following night, Illipsia strolled through the school’s towering main doors with Beren by her side. The strange man with the cane stood near the doorway. As always, he seemed to care little about his duties, taking an occasional puff from his pipe. Illipsia, however, knew not to be fooled by such an aura. Those who carried themselves in such a nonchalant manner usually did so for a reason; they feared no one.

  Illipsia, on the other hand, found a lot in life to be frightening. The Devish royal family, the gravitational fluctuations she had experienced in the Archaic Mountains, and seeing her hair massed in long strands across the floor during all of her nightmares.

  By the time Illipsia decided to initiate her plan, they had traveled deep into the Knowledge Wing. She doubled over, clutching at her stomach with one hand and propping herself against the wall with the other. As she groaned, Beren grabbed her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  Letting her shoulder hit the wall, she pressed her hand against her forehead, trying to hide that she was straining her face to make it turn red. “I’m not feeling good,” she said. “I think I’m going to head back. I’ll make it to the next one.”

  “Let me walk you out and take you to the medical ward,” he said, trying to help her the other way.

  She shook herself free. “No, go. Tell the professor I couldn’t make it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He stared at her, obviously dealing with the dilemma internally. Ultimately, he nodded and headed in their original direction. “If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’m hunting you down.”

  Illipsia trudged the other way. It wasn’t until she cleared a corner and put distance between her and Beren that she finally straightened up again. Feigning sickness had been a rather unimaginative tactic, but she had yet to master certain weaving skills with her Dev Energy that could have better served as a diversion. That, however, didn’t mean she wasn’t training. She spent every night learning to manipulate her Dev chains in new ways, hoping to achieve new abilities. She would need to if it meant accomplishing Toono’s lofty goals.

  She raced to the main lobby, keeping to the northeastern side of the ring; the man with the cane was still at the main entrance. She made frequent use of her clairvoyance to scout surrounding areas. Once she was sure there were no disturbances present, she reached for a door that led to the auditorium. She twisted the knob, but it didn’t budge. Of course it was locked.

  Pressing a finger against the keyhole, she mentally prepared herself for the intricate weaving of Dev chains required to pick a lock. For her to telekinetically and simultaneously manipulate all of the tiny pins contained within was a tall task itself, but to then determine the correct amount of pressure to put on each one made it nearly impossible. She’d have to try thousands of different combinations before hitting the right one. Luckily for a girl like Illipsia, she could weave intricate algorithms in seconds.

  Finally, there was a click. She twisted the handle, opened the door, and stepped through, closing it behind her. Before moving on to the next order of business, she made a mental image of the key she had woven with her Dev chains. This way, next time she wouldn’t have to fuss with the lock.

  Scanning her surroundings, she descended the steps to the main floor where the circular stage sat. This was the first time she had seen the auditorium empty. There had always been adults keeping an eye out during the day, when classes were active. While refugees might have been able to pass through the auditorium as a shortcut, rope always surrounded the stage. It wasn’t much of a defense, but that’s because it served as more of a symbolical presence ... a Do Not Cross sign. The rope was still there, even at a time like this, but Illipsia didn’t mind stepping under it if there weren’t watchful eyes around.

  So, she did exactly that. She ducked under the rope and climbed onto the stage. Five lecterns that had once served the Energy Directors during ceremonies stood at the stage’s edge. But it was the podium that stood at the stage’s center that garnered Illipsia’s attention. Shaped like a ring, the Grand Director used to stand within it. One could question the practicality of such a structure. As Illipsia circled it, she found no doorway.

  When she had attended Phesaw for one year as a spy, she made friends with a young boy named Simon. He had explained to her the marvel of this stage, how the directors would rise from beneath it on platforms, or how the Jestivan sunk below it when they were formed years ago. Only the Jestivan and Energy Directors knew of what was below the school, but Simon had bragged that Bryson had told him what they saw down there: Thusia’s coffin.

  That limited piece of information told Illipsia all she needed to know. She didn’t care about Thusia’s resting place. The Jestivan hadn’t been exposed to all of Phesaw’s truths. While what was down there might not have been as old or mystical as what could be found in the Warpfinate’s depths, it was still useful to Toono—something that could allow him to achieve a maneuver that’d surprise True Light.

  Hopping onto the podium, she slipped off and fell into the hole at its center. She crouched, hidden to the auditorium around her. And that’s when she saw it—a closed compartment with five locks bolted into the small door. Inside was likely a lever or button that’d control the platforms. She pressed her finger
against the keyhole of one lock to get a feel of its intricacies. Curious, she pressed the finger of her other hand against the second lock.

  The locking mechanisms were more complex than any she had tried to pick in her life. This would take some time—more time than she had in that moment. And something told her that there was likely an order in which they had to be unlocked. She leaned back and exhaled forcefully. For now, she’d leave it be.

  But soon, she’d descend beneath Phesaw in search of one of Mendac’s accidental gifts.

  32

  Shadow’s Omen

  Night had fallen upon Throno.

  Himitsu slipped out of the sewer, his face obscured in the shadows of his cloak’s hood. Darkness swallowed the street around him, his own flames smothering the torchlight that lined the surrounding buildings. He walked briskly, ignoring the panicked whispers that reached his ears from every angle. For the citizens of Throno, this had become an all too common occurrence, so much so that it was becoming part of the city’s lore.

  Himitsu occasionally caught wind of the story that had spread like wildfire during several of his nights hidden in tucked away booths of downtrodden taverns.

  “They say it comes once a fortnight,” one man had said, his voice low, as if the very monster he spoke of would hear him and kill him for it. “It does well in hiding itself, but at the same time, it’s easy to avoid.”

  Himitsu had bowed his head over his bowl, his cloak’s hems inches away from the rim.

  “Where it lurks, darkness follows. It summons shadows as black as the Warpfinate’s farthest reaches.”

  The man’s friend had laughed. “Like you’ve ever seen beyond the picture book category of such a place.”

  “Hush, Gwin,” the man replied, an airiness returning to his voice.

  “I’m just saying; I recall our time at Phesaw. Not once did you enter that place ... scared the Lost Boy was gonna get you.”

  After a chuckle, the other man replied, “You know what I mean.”

  “I do,” Gwin said, a graveness returning to his voice. “I’ve seen the shadows.”

  The other man sputtered and said, “You have? And you’re here now, breathing?”

  Himitsu smirked at his soup. These tall tales were becoming more farfetched as the days passed.

  “Nobody dies from its shadows,” Gwin said with an exasperated sigh. “The only thing about it that strikes fear is the disorientation from the loss of senses—except the stench, of course. You don’t smell it at first, but give it a few seconds and suddenly you’re hacking up your insides from the foulness of it.

  “I found it settling to stop what I’m doing, reach out for something—maybe even sit down—and allow the monster to pass.” After a pause, Gwin added, “It tends to roam. Its purpose is unclear.”

  “It hunts someone,” Himitsu said, deciding to humor himself.

  The two men startled from across the low-rising wall between their booths. They peered over the wall, but Himitsu kept his hood up and face down, keeping a hand on a dagger’s handle at his waist. These weren’t the safest of areas.

  “What was that?” the unnamed man asked.

  “You speak of Shadow’s Omen, correct?” Himitsu said.

  “Yea.”

  “Well, I’ve heard that such a monster hunts something equally as monstrous.”

  Gwin lifted a mug to his mouth and took a swig. He smacked his lips with narrowed eyes and said, “Two beasts in the same city? What are the odds?”

  “A couple of skeptics, are you?” Himitsu asked, twirling a spoon in the leftover broth from his soup. “So you wouldn’t believe it if I said that it all started a month ago, that night the intruders had been found in the Archaic Museum?”

  The two men seemed to ponder on it for a moment. One man said, “That adds up.”

  “And that this monster had been released from the rarest of relics contained within the museum?” Himitsu added, pushing his luck.

  Gwin’s gaze dulled, eyebrows falling flat. He then turned away from Himitsu, as did his friend, returning to their own conversation. “The lunatics you find in these streets,” Gwin said. “Shouldn’t be allowed inside these establishments if they don’t know how to bathe.”

  Himitsu frowned and sniffed under his arm. He twisted his lips with indifference as he shrugged. It wasn’t his fault. Living in the sewers granted little opportunities for hygiene.

  Replaying the stories he had heard in his mind, Himitsu had made it from the sewers to the rooftops of a sector several miles away. He didn’t bother with assassin flames here, for nobody had a proper view of him. He was too high for those on the ground to spot him, but low enough and at a proper angle to be hidden from the lone building that mattered most—Throno’s embassy, where Elyol had resided since arriving over a month ago. After many nights of stalking the building, Himitsu had spotted Elyol’s quarters—or at least what he thought to be it. He saw the man through the window nearly every night.

  Himitsu had become a nocturnal being since separation from the group of Fane, Kaylee, and his father. Roaming the city in daylight proved dangerous with Elyol and his soldiers scouring every inch, although he’d risk it on occasion.

  Himitsu constantly stymied doubts that crept into his mind about his father and friend’s possible capture. The night they had fled the museum, Himitsu believed he successfully helped the trio to escape. After all, it had felt like every soldier in the city was after him from that point forward. Plus, he trusted his mom’s updates about the group’s safety. And he believed in his dad—the very man Himitsu had to thank for the knowledge of how to sprout flames that absorb light. That’s how the stories of Shadow’s Omen started running rampant throughout the city in the first place. But wait until they witnessed the grand finale, something he had been working toward for quite some time.

  Himitsu would extinguish the stars.

  * * *

  Elyol Brekton stood by the window of his room, looking out at the city stretched below him. The only structure that rivaled the embassy’s height in Throno was the Archaic Museum, the place where it all began. And not just the witnessing of Himitsu and his fellow Passion Assassins, but this entire war, when Toono made the first move by stealing five white gems from its confines.

  That was three and a half years ago.

  Elyol often questioned how he wound up fighting for this side, when it was this side that had betrayed his father. The color of the flag that had impaled the back of his father’s head had been burgundy. Now Elyol worked for people who seemed to be nothing but pawns for the man in charge of the kingdom that sported that exact color.

  Elyol was disgraceful. Had he been a proper son, perhaps he’d be the one hiding in the shadows right now, plotting something vengeful to annihilate whichever monster had taken his place here.

  “Are you still scared of the dark?”

  The question came from the man seated comfortably nearby. Without averting his gaze from the window, Elyol said, “Continue to patronize me; it has no effect.”

  “I’m simply stating that you shouldn’t treat the shadows with such respect,” the man explained. “They’re easy to avoid. That Jestivan using his flames with such disregard causes his location to always be identifiable.”

  “And what about the others he was traveling with?” Elyol said.

  “We have not a clue where they went.”

  Elyol gazed at the man in the window’s reflection, the candlelight helping to illuminate his face. “You and your wife,” said Elyol, causing the man’s face to wipe itself clean of any expression. “You know she’s across the kingdom right now, stationed comfortably in Phelos, yet you falter when her name is said, Preevis.”

  The man’s eyes fell to the oval table in front of him. “Vliyan is not one to cross, even when you feel it’s safe. And it’s not just her Cloutitionist’s Necklace, but her very essence of being.”

  Elyol nodded, spotting a mighty bird in the sky. Vliyan wasn’t the only one who could be ha
lfway across a kingdom, yet hold a certain power over one’s decisions. “Ophala’s eyes are everywhere,” he muttered.

  “That they are,” Preevis said.

  “It almost feels like the strings of every person in the kingdom are tied to the birds in the sky, and the movement of each pawn is determined by the rhythm of their flapping wings.” Elyol turned and leaned back against the window. “I have a proposition for you, Preevis.”

  Preevis’s empty gaze lifted from the table. He was a wounded man, a father who had lost any reason to continue living, stuck between the facade given to him from his association with Vliyan and his true identity.

  Elyol would prey on such a weakness.

  * * *

  Horos descended into the abandoned cellar that had served as his home since arriving to Throno. However, ever since Himitsu’s disappearance, it felt like nothing more than an empty cellar. His son was gone, and while Fane was family in his own way, nothing ran as deep as blood.

  Fane and Kaylee didn’t acknowledge Horos’s arrival, not verbally nor with the slightest of gestures. After five weeks of coming back empty handed, they had come to expect that outcome every time.

  Horos approached a loaf of bread on a rickety table and tore off a piece. Sitting down, he stared at Kaylee’s silver hair, which glistened in the little bit of moonlight that trickled between the boarded cellar window. Every time he looked at her, he thought of how his son did the same, and how similar it was to when Horos was young and had first met Ophala.

  Horos swallowed, then relaxed his neck. With his eyes glued to the packed dirt beneath him, he sighed softly. If progress wasn’t made soon, he’d abandon all cautious maneuvers. He’d light a fire to this city.

  “Did your wife soar above tonight?”

  Horos looked up at Kaylee. He had grown accustom to her one gray eye. “Yes, for the fourth night in a row, one of her falcons lingered amongst the stars.”