The Rise of OLMAC

by Kevin Gordon

away for a moment.

  ^Not Denged?^ Jay prompted her.

  ^Not him,^ she cast strongly. ^He always kind to us, always treat us as equal. He even took us to be thanked by Monitors! Denged strong. What does it mean to be strong, yet kind?^

  Jay thought for a moment on Kleder, a strong, burly man who would not be afraid of battle, yet who felt pain at killing.

  ^It means to be compassionate.^

  ^Compassion . . .^ Errece thought on the word, what it meant, for a few moments, stopping for a moment her kicking of the dead.

  ^What if he weren’t strong?^ asked Jay, daring to pry a little more. ^What if he were weak?^

  Errece looked at her out of the corner of her eyes, almost divining what was behind the question.

  ^If he weak, he dies,^ she barely cast, her thoughts buried deep. She kicked the body beneath her hard, then grasped the hilt of the sword at her side. ^If he weak, he dies,^ cast Errece with more strength as she glanced over at Jay, thinking for a moment that she might have found the support she needed. But in Jay she saw a mind murky with violets and deeps reds, bathed in the blackness of the void, and when she looked upon Jay, she saw only a mass of confusion and deception.

  ^I need to go.^

  Jay smiled to herself watching Errece leave, thinking on a future that was taking shape in her mind.

  4

  Few outside of the religious hierarchy of Rell truly appreciated the turbulence following the creation of the Kal-Alçon. For the millennia preceding his creation, the Alçons were the ruling body on Rell. Each was elected internally, and typically represented the best his or her province had to offer. Their duties mostly concerned interpretation of the texts of the Kal-Durrell, assisting in times of spiritual crises. Prior to Uonil, the position of Mentra was a ceremonial one, an Alçon assigned to take the lead in processions, to be the first to give a speech, but who had little authority over his fellow Alçons. After the directives given by the Kal-Durrell concerning expanded powers of the Mentra, the Alçons felt great resentment and bitterness. Consensus building no longer mattered, as all decisions fell onto one person. Their power siphoned off, their duties curtailed, the Alçons let their misery consume them, distancing themselves from their provinces, becoming more rebellious against the Mentra.

  Columns of soldiers from posts near and far marched into the derasar in Piros, on the planet Rell, their faces silent and unyielding of emotion. Thousands of men and women who served with or under Martel gathered in formal dress, anxious for this roa of remembrance. Around the derasar, tens of thousands more stood in reverence of a fallen hero, one who saved countless lives, whose smiling face was known throughout Rell not only as a great soldier, but as Steward to the Kal-Alçon. Though not an Alçon, he was thought of as a sacred figure by much of the population, and his passing was ordered a sacred event. Flowers adorned the pillars of the derasar, great red and black carpets led into and around its walls. Tall, fiery torches greeted visitors inside, with the soft sounds of chants to the Kal-Durrell playing. A few hundred fortunate Rell were seated within the derasar’s walls in close proximity to the body of Martel.

  It was in that Rell house of worship that Martel was to be remembered, and seated in its small, wooden frame were most of the important agents on Rell. A small, crystal coffin lay in their midst—Martel’s body revealed for all to see. The outpouring of grief from the common Rell astounded even the most jaded observer of society. So many were taught by him, so many were saved by him, so much was discovered by him. And, most of all, it was his influence that shaped and molded Graid. Some said for the better, some for the worse. Either way, all knew the Kal-Alçon favored Martel, as well as most of the soldiers and agents of Rell. Only the council of Alçons regarded him with disdain.

  The council of Alçons slowly filed in, wearing ceremonial garb replete with rich blues, violets and orange, laced with silver, but also dressed in faces of condescending arrogance. Uonil stood in the back as their procession circled once around the unadorned crystal tube that housed Martel’s body, humming in a low chant.

  They never respected Martel, never appreciated all he was, all he did. Uonil glanced over at his wife, Rista, seated near the coffin, her head held high, her arms embracing the small child that was Martel’s last gift to her. I wish I had the opportunity to speak with her more. We have so much in common; we both loved a remarkable man that Rell is all the poorer to be without.

  The Alçons gathered in a circle around the crystal tube, lifting wooden staffs into the air, bowing their heads over Martel’s body. Their chant rose in volume, most in the audience humming along, linking their thoughts in memory of Martel. The Alçons then stopped, and each of them struck the floor with their staffs three times, signifying the unity of Rel with Kal, then seated themselves in chairs arranged behind the coffin. She always felt they sat in judgment of others when they gathered in this way; seated as statues, they mimicked the poses of the Kal-Durrell.

  I’m glad Graid is late.

  Uonil moved slowly down the center of the derasar, holding high her staff. She always felt this aspect of Rell faith to be a little ridiculous—a holdover from ancient Iquitian times. She wore the thick, heavy, blue robes of her office, her youthful face framed with a hood of ornate gold lace, inset with small, precious jewels. As she made her way through the circle of Alçons, she knelt before Martel’s casket, touching it once with the staff in her hand. Aloud she spoke the sacred words of incorporation.

  ^Il Kal uh ollht.^

  ^Il Kal ot hull,^ answered the assembly.

  She drew back her hood, as she stood in the middle of an arc the Alçons now formed, facing the audience around Martel’s crystal coffin. Their robes shimmered in the light, their colors reflected in the many facets of the casket. She gazed out on the audience, glancing over those present, seeing faces she had not seen for quite a while. She seemed to notice people more now, after her time spent in Averil. She allowed her eyes to linger on a man she found attractive, sought to build friendships with women she respected. In the few roas that she had been back, many remarked on the change within her—how much more confident she was, how much more she smiled, and expressed her thoughts. And all the while, Arciss’ smiling face was never far away.

  Martel, you would have been proud.

  But her roas had also been filled with conferences about the battle on Topside, usually with the full council of Alçons raising their voices, their dissent, against her. The council was never satisfied with answers regarding Rhonva’s power and Graid’s ability.

  No one saw him! No one witnessed his strength. Nahlai said it was over quickly, yet she struggled and lost against Rhonva. We know Graid is strong, but now everyone feels that Graid has been hiding his power, and they all blame me. The demonstration before the council only piqued their curiosity more. Away from Graid, their fear has faded into the recesses of their minds.

  Lately, Uonil dwelled on the memory of Martel less and less. After his death, she thought she would never survive without him, his face seemed to haunt her dreams, even sometimes her waking, quiet moments. But now, she could feel the crisis time was approaching. Many players were now involved, and it took many droas each roa to review and assimilate all the surveillance she was bombarded with.

  The fragments of the Iganinagi, OLMAC and Suld, Denged and his Maenids, the TELREC, and the meta! They all intertwine with one another, allies one moment, adversaries the next. It’s almost as if Kolob has receded in priority for them, as they battle amongst themselves. Maybe that is how Mal wants it.

  She had a meeting with Odre and Unti earlier in the roa, the two meta Graid accepted as ambassadors from their kind. They spoke at length about Mal, that they had recently discovered some new information. Uonil tried to pry it out of them, but they refused, stating they would share it when they felt it was necessary.

  It’s something big, something that would change all of our plans, I know it! They are so terminally arrogant. If it were anyone else, any souman, I
’m sure they would have shared their information, even with the meta. If only we had meta of our own that we could send inside Malhrer. The more information we have on Mal, the greater chance we have to succeed. I feel Mal is responsible for many of the aberrations in this timeline.

  She took a breath, long and deep, and remembered why she was there. There was incense in the air, smoky and sweet, given off by the torches that calmed her mind once she breathed it in. Her eyes fell on the crystal tube, glistening in the light of the derasar, Martel’s face just seen over the edge. A great sadness washed over her as she remembered how it was just in times like these, when everything was at stake, when a multitude of issues and problems seemed to overwhelm her that he would comfort her, and be the pillar of strength she had come to depend on. Martel knew a thousand different ways to make her smile, had a proverb for every situation, a smile and a reassuring word for every failure. When Graid taxed her strength to the utmost, Martel would replenish it.

  Oh how I miss you, you sweet man.

  ^As do I.^

  ^Arciss!^ cried Uonil in surprise. She saw him take a seat in the front row, his appearance causing a minor commotion. ^I’m glad you made it. You have become quite the celebrity on Rell.^

  Arciss flashed a gentle smile. ^You know it