The Source- Origins

by A J Witt

  If an official from the Academy had walked by during her outburst, the consequences would have been different. In fact, Neeta had been incredibly fortunate. Lecarn was truthful. Spreading the rumor I frequent the Lucky Roach to the right people? Might as well have my bags packed. The Adept chuckled nervously. She had never been one to shy away from taking a gamble. If the alternative entailed Lecarn exposing her, Neeta was more than willing to lay bare any vulnerabilities. Her former friend acted like the master manipulator, though she understood his ways rather well, having spent years witnessing him in action. Lecarn follows one rule. Act only when it brings personal gain. Despite the apparent bluntness of his menaces, destroying Neeta’s career would net him zero benefits. Lecarn made an empty threat, and she had called him out on it.

  A few minutes passed, after which Neeta straightened her back and found her bearings. The Adept pulled out her little lipstick tube from a pocket, and twisting the bottom, she watched the dark-crimson stick rise. I need to learn to trust my intuitions more often. Neeta reapplied the color onto her lips, smacking them together to ensure proper distribution. She then remembered something that made her smile. Lecarn was right about one thing. Elias will surely cave.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “What a spectacle!” Lord Hanstun clapped as he leaned back in a fauteuil. He smiled, looked up at the ceiling of his office, and shut his eyes.

  The awkward silence gave Kyran an opportune moment to scrutinize their host. He was dressed rather ordinarily, wearing a simple brown button-down coat and an unremarkable beige cravat. With a plain goatee and wavy curls, the Noble looked like a street laborer. Definitely not the richest man in Phaidros. His receding hairline gave away his age, despite the absence of any gray streaks on his scalp.

  “Ruan,” he said, eyes still closed. “Have our guests from the Temple been escorted off the premises?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Excellent. That was, indeed, quite a … spectacle.” Hanstun opened his eyes upon uttering the last word.

  “My Lord, if I may,” said Elias. “What happened … was … uh … it was just an accident. Yes, just an accident. If you would find it in your heart to … umm … pardon these young men, I can assure you they will be reprimanded, severely reprimanded.”

  “Accident?” asked the Noble. He exploded into a roar of laughter. “This was far from an accident.”

  Confusion flooded the Adepts’ minds.

  “Do you think it was a coincidence those Overseers were in my hallway? No, no, no. You see, it was part of the plan. And it worked out better than I could have possibly imagined.” An animated Hanstun rose from his chair. “Don’t you understand?” he rejoiced, arms extended and a malicious grin on his face. “I wanted you to bump into each other, to see what would happen. And what better place to stage a genuine confrontation than a dull hallway.” Pleased with himself, Hanstun sat back down. “All of you were so unsuspecting, it worked out magnificently.”

  “How so?” asked Elias.

  “I needed to see for myself who the Overseers and the Adepts actually are. How you react under real pressure. Did you expect me to throw my support to whichever delegation brought me the nicer gift?”

  Kyran reached into his pocket and ran his fingers alongside the edges of Marrek’s wrapped present. Should I even give this to him now?

  “These young men,” continued the Noble, waving his arm at both Kyran and Edvon, “should certainly not be reprimanded. On the contrary, they should be commended.”

  Edvon was unsure whether to be relieved or concerned with the direction of the conversation. He stole a glance at Elias but found the officer’s expression useless in solving his conundrum.

  “What courage!” proclaimed Hanstun. “More importantly, what a fascinating display of pure power.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the railing and peering in a manner that made both brothers feel uncomfortable. “Tell me, how long does it take to build up energy like that?”

  “I … I …” bumbled Edvon.

  “Can you control the force of your blast?”

  “Yes sir … I mean, my Lord …”

  “How do you aim it?”

  “Well … we can’t—”

  “My Lord,” intervened Elias. “We at the Academy—”

  “Silence!” Hanstun barked. “I’m asking them the questions, not you. Interrupt again, and I’ll have Ruan escort you outside.”

  “Oh!” piped Elias, turning red from humiliation.

  The Noble carried on as if nothing had happened. “You were saying?”

  “We’re … we’re not really fit to answer your questions, my Lord,” lied Edvon. “We’re only just learning the techniques.”

  “Hah! What a bunch of rubbish. Neither of you are novices. If Marrek sent you here, then you must be some of his best students.”

  Edvon cringed. Not because Lord Hanstun had outed him, rather because Kyran had been called a good student.

  “It’s very interesting, the Source seems to sap you,” the Noble said, pausing to scratch his chin. “Your first strike killed a man, whereas the second caused no wound. And you,” Hanstun pointed his finger at Kyran, “I’ve never seen such a strong manifestation of Source power. I always thought Adepts had roughly equal capabilities, but that’s clearly not true.”

  They were breaching a topic always avoided at the Academy. Some Adepts were subpar despite their best efforts to master the Source. And nowhere was this phenomenon more evident than in the varying lifespans of different Source-powered machinery. The strength of a Source blast and the resulting transfer of energy from individual to machine directly correlated to that machine’s power. On one hand, the strongest Adepts of this generation had produced engines capable of lasting months at a time. On the other hand, there were those Adepts only capable of making a trinket buzz through the air for a short hour. It was a well-kept secret. By branding all innovations as works of the Academy, generations of Adepts had been able to avoid the truth from slipping out.

  “No answer?” prodded Hanstun. He was met by muted faces. “Fine. It doesn’t matter now, we’ll have more time to talk. And I’ve seen what I needed to see.” The Noble leaned into his guests. “Tell me, though. You’ve been testing Source-powered technology in those poor villages, haven’t you?” Before any of them could deny the allegation, he brushed aside his own question and winked. “You don’t have to answer. We all know, right Ruan?”

  “Right, my Lord.”

  “Don’t you worry, I like the direction your preceptor has picked. No, in fact, I love it. And with my funding, the Academy’s full potential will be realized.”

  Kyran raised an eyebrow. Full potential?

  “You don’t agree?” the Noble asked, having caught the dubious look.

  “No, I—”

  “Not so quick with your tongue anymore, are you? Words only get you so far, their abstraction only means so much. You think I acquired my power by taunting people? Hah!”

  Kyran gritted his teeth. “No, I think you gained your power when you were born.”

  Ruan unsheathed his scimitar in a swift motion, but Hanstun waved him away.

  “I could kill you for saying that,” threatened the Noble.

  “I thought words were abstract, that they only mean so much.”

  Hanstun peered at Kyran for several uncomfortable seconds, and convulsed with laughter. “I like you!” he exclaimed. He then addressed Elias, setting aside their previous exchange as if it had never occurred. “Go back and tell your preceptor I’m inclined to lend him my support. Together, we will forge a stronger Academy, one that won’t bend to the will of others. Based on what I saw today, the possibilities are endless.” The exuberant Noble walked behind his chair and paused. “This is truly exciting,” he added before vanishing into the depths of his palace.

  The stunned Adepts remained still, until Ruan spoke. “This way, please.” They followed the scarred personal attendant as he accompanied them out of Lord Hanstun’s
office. The dead Overseer had disappeared, though there was a trace of smeared blood on the wall where his body had struck. Walking around the sunken pit in the waiting room, past the large and colorful doors, and out into the welcoming garden, the three Adepts left the property.

  “We need to talk,” said Elias.

  Foregoing benches along the walkway, they cut to the right and followed the edge of a pond toward a secluded grove.

  “I don’t even know where to start,” mumbled the officer.

  “How about with my brother’s big mouth almost getting us killed?”

  “Are you blind as Lutigas?” Kyran snapped back. “Didn’t you listen to a single thing that clown said? My big mouth is the reason he’s supporting the Academy. He wanted to see which group would win his little game.”

  “Game?” shouted Edvon. “Is that what you think this was?”

  “No, that’s what he thought it was.”

  “Whatever it was,” threw in Elias, “those Overseers were holding real knives.”

  Kyran sighed. “There’s no way Lord Hanstun would have let it go that far, watching the whole scene from his stupid balcony.”

  “It did go that far!” exclaimed Edvon. “And even so, did you know any of this when you decided to inflame the situation?”

  “Well … ahem …”

  “Exactly what I thought,” the older Adept concluded, satisfied by the small victory. “Just because it worked out doesn’t change the fact that you acted like a cholee in there.”

  “At least I stood up for us,” Kyran proclaimed.

  “By doing what? Making a joke about a mother?”

  “Stop … arguing, please,” interjected Elias. “What was he saying about the Academy?”

  “Sounds like he wants to militarize Adepts. Push for the development of more Source-powered weaponry.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” muttered Kyran.

  Edvon glared at his brother. “So it’s easier to blame us for the annihilation of those villages?”

  “We’re already being blamed for that.”

  “Doesn’t mean we should be building an Adept army.”

  “Might be exactly what we need.”

  “You’re so immature.”

  “And you’re—”

  “Will you two just shut up?” said Elias. “By the Gods, keep acting like this, and you’ll end up killing one another.” The officer massaged his head with his soft hands. “And now, I have a massive headache.”

  As Elias spoke, a large object came crashing atop his head with a deafening crack.

  “Maybe this will help!” Gorgios hollered.

  The senator’s hand was grasping the end of a long branch, and the brothers watched in horror as Elias’s numb body fell to the ground.

  “You punks are coming with us.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When viewed from a distance, the Apex was a preposterous sight. The column rose so high into the air, it stuck out like a sore thumb in an otherwise vertically challenged city. The palaces found in the Noble District averaged five stories, the Academy’s Ivory Tower was estimated to be double as much, and the Temple’s largest spire climbed to a remarkable twelve. These structures were significant architectural accomplishments in their own right, only embellishing the incredible fact that the Apex reached eighty stories. Even more impressive, the feat of engineering had been accomplished by none other than a coalition of common citizens, with no help from any of the Dominion’s predominant institutions.

  Sunlight glistened off its smooth white stone, bestowing upon the Apex a surreal glow. On bright days, the tower became difficult to stare at without causing a temporary glare in the viewers’ eyes. But it served quite a practical purpose by acting as a giant sundial for the citizens of the capital. As the Apex’s massive shadow progressed over neighborhoods, residents were reminded of the time. In fact, districts around the city had constructed entire schedules according to the Apex shadow’s diurnal commute. Some restaurants only opened once it had gone by, others would close upon its onset, and workers took breaks from their jobs for what they liked to call shadow time. What had initially been created as a testament to the Phaidrosian work ethic spawned a daily sabbatical.

  The long shadow neared the Academy, an indication that the day was moving too fast for Aiden to follow. I need answers. Now. His team had come back from the flower market empty-handed, leaving him irritated and in charge of an investigation getting colder by the hour. As he leaned on the railing of his modest office balcony, the chief contemplated the small statue at the very top of the Apex. Man or woman? A question all residents of Phaidros had asked themselves at one point or another. The androgynous figure was staring up at the sky, legs close together and arms outstretched. A symbol of our longing to return to the Gods. Or something like that. Aiden was still a believer, most Phaidrosians held the Book of Provenance in high regard and trusted its words. But I have neither the time nor the desire to care, especially when Overseers use the text to their advantage. The chief turned around and went back inside, closing the door behind him. Not like the Adepts are any better, in their secluded Sea Tower. Grabbing his coat from one of the two chairs, Aiden left his office and made his way down a flight of stairs. He walked through a set of adjoining rooms, saluting his men as he exited the building. Would be nice if we could all control It.

  Source manipulation was gained at birth, something Aiden had come to accept. You either have it or you don’t. And I was one of the unlucky ones. Though extensive research had been carried out, it was still not well understood why some gained that ability, while others retained ordinary faculties. Several years back, a rumor had circulated that everyone was born with a form of Source control capability, but only those who went to the Academy learned to refine it. For the rest, whatever innate skill they possessed was quickly lost. Aiden winced. Probably a conspiracy theory floated by that conniving Confidante Najara. He knew the Adepts, major source manipulator or not, had neither the luxury nor the desire to pick and choose their brethren. The Academy, making up only one in a hundred, perhaps even less, needed every man and woman it could get its hands on. Especially now.

  Chomping on the skewer of roasted geega he had picked up on the way, the chief crossed through a narrow courtyard and walked under the archway leading into the gymnasium.

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” said a voice behind him.

  Aiden spun around. “You must be kidding me … Lecarn? I was just thinking about you the other day.”

  “Oh! Of me?” Lecarn exaggerated his astonishment by bringing his hand up to his forehead.

  The chief laughed and pulled his old friend in for a warm embrace. “It’s been too long.”

  “I know.”

  “So why don’t you come to Phaidros more often? You must miss it.”

  “You know why.”

  “Yes …” What a gaffe. For a moment they remained quiet. “What are you doing here, then?”

  “Come on, let’s talk inside,” answered Lecarn.

  Aiden raised an eyebrow. “You want to lift weights? Now?

  “Sure. For old times’ sake.”

  “Hold on. You were waiting for me here, weren’t you?”

  “And I timed it well, it would seem.”

  “How do you know I still come to this gym?” asked Aiden.

  “Some things never change.”

  “No, you’re up to something, I can tell. What’re you really doing here?”

  Lecarn smiled. “Can’t we talk about it inside?”

  Aiden sighed and entered the gymnasium. They changed into the required tunics and made their way onto a main level filled with grunting men. Over the years, a majority of the workout facilities in Phaidros had become mixed-gender, except for the one Aiden frequented since he was a teen. Just my luck, of course. The chief smiled. At least I know I won’t stumble upon Criss here. “Let’s start with the press.”

  They walked to a wood bench, one of several along the wall. An iron b
ar was suspended on a rack. Lecarn lay down while Aiden stepped behind to act as a spotter. With his feet flat on the floor, Lecarn grabbed the bar, pulling it off the rack and toward his chest. He thrust the weight back into the air, repeating the motion ten times. “Ah!” he exclaimed, standing up from the bench and rubbing his pectoral muscles.

  “Looks like you haven’t stopped exercising either.” Aiden took his turn on the bench.

  “Got to keep fit for the baqua courts.”

  “They have baqua in the countryside?” Lecarn looked the other way, and Aiden regretted his remark. “You won’t believe it, they’re building a gym in the Main Complex,” added the chief, trying to change the topic.

  “Oh, yeah? Did you commission it? I hear you’re the big boss, now.”

  “Something like that.” They switched exercises. “So have you seen your friends at the Academy?”

  “I don’t have many friends left there, I’m afraid.”

  “Doesn’t … surprise me … the way … you left …” huffed Aiden in between repetitions. He wiped the sweat from his face with his forearm. And only then did the chief notice how little his friend had changed. Lecarn’s hair was still long, its golden shine contrasting with his piercing eyes. The square jaw and strong features that had made him such a handsome youth had faded ever so slightly.

  “How are the girls, anyway?” asked Aiden with a wink of his blue eye.

  “As beautiful as ever.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I assumed.” Lecarn had always been good with women, frustrating Aiden to quite an extent back in the day. Now, I don’t even care. Just like everything else in life, the chief accepted some were better or luckier than others.

  For an hour, they progressed through a number of athletic motions, alternating muscle groups. On one hand there were those who liked to spend an entire afternoon in the gymnasium, exercising in leisure and socializing with friends. Aiden, on the other hand, wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible. The time he spent there was one of his only releases, and he had come to find the shorter he hung around, the sweeter it was to return the next day.