by Kevin Gordon
Denged turned to Inilc. ^Wipe her mind, and send her back.^
^Yes sir!^
^What?^ Uld managed one word as he struggled to recover, kneeling in his own vomit.
^Did you cast something?^ asked Denged sweetly.
Uld turned away. Denged walked over, and stood above him as Hassous was taken away, Uld instinctively cowering further into the corner filled with his vomit and blood. Uld remembered the aura Denged could project, but never before did he feel anything as strong as he felt now. He couldn’t look up, the fear of death was so omnipresent in his mind. Paranoia, confusion, despair, they all swirled in his mind, making Denged seem to be a Holis who, with the smallest of effort, could wipe him away. He stood there, his eyes burrowing into Uld’s mind, his mind breaking down barriers, plowing through obstacles. And when he was done, when Uld’s mind lay bare to Denged, Uld curled into a ball, sobbing, begging to Denged. Denged saw what lay at the kernel of Uld’s consciousness, his prime motivation for all he had done, and wanted to do, and it made him sick.
^Please don’t,^ begged Uld, with tears in his eyes, his nose and face still covered in vomit and mucus. ^Please, I’ll do anything. Please . . . please . . .^
^I don’t care what you do to Ellore. I don’t care what you do to Suld. But understand, there are limits to what chaos and vengeance you may wreak on this world. Be content with what you have, who you are, or one roa I swear I will take it all away. My Maenids have a special place for you in their hearts, for all the brutality you have shown towards women and girls, and would spend roas ripping the flesh from your body, feeding you it before you died.^ Denged bent forward a little, wearing what seemed to be an expression of pity upon his face. ^You truly do hate women, don’t you, for what was done to you?^ He paused for a moment, thinking to himself. ^I guess, in a way, we actually have something in common.^ He stood, motioning the other TELREC back to the vehicle. ^Now clean yourself up, and take care of Ellore. This will be the last time I help you—^
He bent down again, as Uld looked him in the eyes.
^—the last time I spare you.^
Denged walked away, and all Uld could do is be extremely thankful.
8
Since meta technology was abandoned after the Ascension, it is unknown whether the meta, in addition to having developed sentience, developed any mental powers. It was known they had an independent colvition server, and some meta were shielded against mental attacks. What is not known is if they could initiate mental attacks, if they had developed any powers of telekinesis. No sentient meta of Uplarin were known to survive, save one, whose fate to this roa remains unknown.
Strong thunder echoed the chaos in Graid’s mind, as he made his way through the streets of Piros. Rain threatened; dark, deep clouds of menace massed high above. Around him, diligent shopkeepers brought in their varied wares, struggling to balance waiting for one more possible sale against the ruination of their merchandise. A few happy children darted excitedly back and forth, elusive prey hunted by their doting mothers, begging them to come in before the storm. They glanced at Graid as he passed and saw only a lonely stranger, as no traces of the universally known face of the Kal-Alçon were visible. His aspect was darker, his brown cheeks a little heavier, his hair curled tightly into small knots. His grey eyes still carried an imperial bearing, his mouth was still in a little of a sneer. But something about this new face relaxed a part of him, as he no longer felt like himself.
He carried very little; a small, worn sienna sac with a change of clothes, some meat and roots wrapped tightly in salted cloth, a small bottle filled with delicious spring water, and one of his favorite books with words elegantly printed on aged parchment. He wore what most working folk wore who worked in the country: thick, simple blue canvas pants, a long, tan shirt, and light leather boots with removable insulation for the cold Rell weather at night. He knew the old Graid would have laughed at him, so much did he cherish the fashionable and expensive. He began to realize that those clothes were a distraction from his mind and soul, a way to forget the pain within.
In sheets a chill rain suddenly fell, slowly at first, then in great round droplets that drenched him and his clothes quickly. He picked up his pace a little, wanting to make it to the outskirts of Piros before he stopped to rest. Darkness brusquely advanced shoving aside the light to make way for the time of lovers and sleep, save the outposts within the houses he passed. He glimpsed in them every once in a while, seeing mostly men and women sit down to eat, draw heavy curtains, and relax on wood and straw chairs in front of some entertainment. It had been a long time since Graid experienced such quiet—no cast, no noise from trans or supply ships. Just the elegant simplicity of the rain, monotonously pounding the tarred roofs and worn, wooden shutters around him, dancing on the concrete and smooth cobblestones beneath him. He heard it gather in small rivers, wind its way cleverly through the streets, working ever downwards into the sewers below. Some trees afforded him some protection, their leaves dancing in the approaching moonlight.
Kolob likes the rain—it’s a constant in all timelines. I never really understood it until now. It’s as if I am alone among the press of civilization, the rain shielding me from their presence.
He made his way up and down several hills and valleys, covered with increasingly isolated homes, as the rain began to dissipate. For a moment he considered using a motorcar and traveling along the major thoroughfares, but knew this way was for the best.
I won’t watch things speed by. Arciss thinks I need to experience Rell? Then I will see everything it has to offer. A small building up ahead caught his eye. That looks promising.
A lone, low, dark building sat as a kind of watchman at the top of a gentle hill, beyond which could be seen miles and miles of open, green fields, through which a small road wound its way. On the lower level of the building light spilled out of thick, murky glass windows, flickering as patrons within walked back and forth. The stone it was built with resembled ground and dirt, and long, sturdy vines enveloped the entire facade, making it appear as if it was a part of the planet itself. Graid stopped at its door and glanced back to see the whole of Piros spread beneath him—thousands of lights twinkling in the moonlight, the sky clearing as a cool breeze pushed the storm further north. He could see the capital derasar, and thought on Uonil for a moment.
I hope she can handle things without me. She has grown a great deal, but this may be her greatest challenge.
Laughter and music could be heard from behind the door.
Well, it’s time for my journey to begin.
The sign above the doorway read ‘Nubraaci,’ which meant ‘the fondest point of a circle’ in ancient Iquitian. Graid took it as a good omen, and decided to venture a visit. Warmth and light billowed out of the doorway as Graid forced himself inside, along with a dank odor of people and food, strong drink and wet, heavy clothing. Dozens of people sat at small, round tables talking and laughing, eating and drinking. All manner of Rell were before him—men and women, the fat and slim, old and young. An instinct too old to break took his eyes to the most attractive women in the group but strangely, they did not return his glances. He made his way through the press of people, an unusual experience for Graid, as he was used to others automatically deferring to him and moving out of his way. Eventually he sat at a long wooden bar near a small stage. An old man was just getting seated at an instrument to the side of the stage that Graid recognized as a viyus, arranging the chair and his clothes. Behind the bar a thin bartender moved quickly and efficiently, servicing the many patrons that clamored for drink and food with a wide smile and raunchy quips for his regulars. Graid got his attention, and the bartender paused for a moment after racking a few last glasses.
“A draw of olla, please,” requested Graid, putting on his most courteous smile. It was met with a smile in return, but it was grim and serious, as the bartender deftly scanned Graid in an instant.
“Have you lottment?”
It took a great deal of composure no
t to betray his shock.
“Of . . . of course.” He produced a small silver coin. “Is that enough?”
The bartender, a slim, wizened old man who looked as if he had drank one too many in his time, with pock-marked cheeks and small yellow eyes picked it up, and rolled it around in the light.
“It’ll do.”
Graid held his head aloof for a moment, half-expecting some acolyte to bow before him but as he turned and glanced around, no one paid him any attention. Even those seated next to him were more interested in their drink than him.
“That is quite a storm,” he said to no one in particular, in a voice proper and ill-befitting the establishment he was in, “it almost swept me away! I guess I must look like I dragged myself out of the ocean! It is a good thing it is warm in here—I am sure I’ll dry out quickly.”
A man next to him glanced up in his direction, then back down to his drink. Graid sat back, scanning the room as the bartender brought his glass of olla.
What a sad sort of people here. They all seem run down and pathetic. I guess Arciss’ Trint-Averil has missed the capital itself! The old man at the viyus began to play a few notes. Maybe he will lift their spirits.
The old man seated at the viyus leaned into the instrument, arranging
