Awakenings

by C. D. Espeseth

  Naira did a double-take as she noticed his hand was still scribbling away on his notepad. She had never seen anyone write so quickly in her life.

  “You were monitoring this young girl. How else did you get here so quickly? Why is that, Lady Buika? What is she to you?” the senior prefect asked. His hand blurred across his page and then paused, waiting for the response.

  No one spoke for a moment, and then Sister Payen huffed from the corner she had retreated to. “Enough of dis, I got things to do.” She gathered her belongings and put them back into her large bag. “Senior prefect, dat girl be the reason these two remember his face. The power of the Vinda could never touch those with demon blood in them. She will remember the man in truth, though I’d keep a watch on her. Murder will surround this one soon.” Sister Payen sniffed and squared her chest at Lady Buika and the Syklan knight. “Outta me way, my job here is done.”

  As she passed, Lady Buika caught the sister’s arm and hissed, “Best be careful, sister, words can have consequences.”

  Sister Payen looked at Lady Buika for a long moment before pulling her arm slowly out of the woman’s grasp. “So, can meddling with things you don’t understand. Good day to you, my lady.”

  The Vinda witch left, and Lady Buika turned back to Adel and held out her hand. “Come, Adel. It’s all right now, I’m sorry you had to endure all this. Come.”

  The words sounded comforting, but Naira heard the edge of command in them the same as everyone else. She didn’t like this at all, so she stood with Adel. “I’m coming with her,” Naira said.

  The Syklan stepped forward to block her path and Naira reached behind slowly for her belt knife, but she needn’t have bothered.

  The tip of Adel’s black sword slipped under the Syklan’s gorget faster than anyone could think. The man froze in place.

  “Touch my friend, and it will be the last thing you do.” Adel’s voice had gone hard as stone. It was a tone Naira had heard before, but only from her father’s lips.

  The senior prefect and the constable had gone still as well, though their hands were only resting on the hilts of their sai. None of them had even come close to Adel’s speed.

  Lady Buika laughed. “Impressive. Stand down, Sir Darius. Naira is welcome to come with us if Adel wishes it.”

  “I do ... wish it,” Adel said with cold certainty. The dark blade vanished with a formal flick back into Adel’s scabbard as if it had never been drawn.

  Sir Darius stepped back, holding his hand up to show no threat.

  “I’m sorry, senior prefect,” Adel said through gritted teeth. There were still marks from the tears down her cheek, but that was the only reminder of the distraught young girl who had been sitting with Naira only moments earlier. “I’m sure Naira and I will be happy to answer any other questions you may have in the future. Though, please leave Sister Payen behind next time.”

  “Yes, you spooked her good,” the senior prefect said. His hand left his sai and picked up his pen, which began dancing across his notepad once again. “Apologies for any offence. Halom be praised, Arbiter.”

  Adel nodded curtly. Her jaw looked so tight Naira thought she might break a tooth.

  As they left the office together, Adel’s hand found Naira’s like it had when they were little girls. It suddenly reminded Naira of the time they had hidden in the loft of the barn together during a storm which had blown up on them quickly. Naira had stayed the night, but Adel hadn’t wanted to come in from the rain. They had sat together, holding hands as the winds howled around them, shaking the walls and scaring the animals.

  Adel’s hand shook now just as it had then.

  They walked hand in hand until they came to the end of the hall. Lady Buika led them into another small office. “Sir Darius, guard the door. Make sure we are not disturbed or overheard, please.”

  “My Lady.” The big metal-clad Syklan saluted and took his post outside the door.

  “How much does Naira know?” Lady Buika asked, her tone allowed for no arguing.

  “None of it.” Adel sighed.

  “I will leave you to the details then. She is part of this now, whether you wished it or not.” Lady Buika turned from Adel and fixed Naira with an icy stare. “There will be consequences if much of what was revealed by the witch is repeated outside of these walls. Adel will explain why.” She turned back to Adel. “Tell Sir Darius when you are finished enlightening your friend.”

  With that, Lady Buika stepped outside, and they heard the staccato stomp of her boots as she walked briskly down the hall.

  “Adel, what in all the nine hells is going on?” Naira shook her head and found Adel’s hand once again. She was concerned.

  Adel lifted her eyes and Naira saw the threat of tears brewing once again. “I don’t know where to start. Everything has changed, Naira. What Sister Payen said in there … it’s true. I don’t even know who I am any more.

  “Well, whatever else you may be called, you are still my friend, Adel Corbin. Nothing you tell me will change that,” Naira said.

  “You promise?” The hope in Adel’s eyes was almost painful to see.

  “Of course, you’re like a sister to me. You’re my Pix, remember?” Naira smiled and squeezed Adel’s hand reassuringly. “You heard Lady Buika, we’re in this together now. So, tell me everything, just start at the beginning.”

  Adel took a shuddering breath in and nodded. Naira could almost see the burden lifting from her shoulders.

  “There was this woman, a long time ago, named Anastasia Quinn,” Adel began, and eventually the whole tale began to spill out: who her father really was, what he had been training her for, Adel’s supposed lineage, and the history of the black sword she wore at her hip. It all came out in a rush, and by the end of it, Naira was left dumbfounded.

  “Lady, take me,” Naira cursed. “That is a lot to take in.”

  Adel snorted at that as she drew a shuddering breath. “You don’t say.”

  “Sorry.” Naira felt terrible. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “I don’t know. I was trying to understand it all, trying to figure out how I feel about it all. It’s all so confusing. Father was always stern, but never angry with me, he never lost his temper. Yet, all this time he was training me to become some sort of religious zealot, a figurehead for this rebellion that never truly went away. Is that all I was to him?”

  “No.” Naira held Adel by the shoulders and made her look at her. “No, your father loved you. He was a hard man, but he loved you. I can tell. He probably didn’t show you as much as he should have, but I remember loads of times when you were performing some particularly tricky sequence or a complicated sword-form, I would catch him with a small grin on his face. You wouldn’t have seen it because you were always so focused on what you were doing. But it was there. He loved you, and he was proud of you. Do you hear me?”

  Adel was quiet for a moment, nodded slowly but then pulled away.

  “I think Fellow Callahan was right. You said he thought your father wanted to give you the final say on all of this?” Naira asked.

  “Yes.” Adel nodded.

  Naira shrugged her shoulders. “See, your father does love you. How does Fellow Callahan fit into all this? He doesn’t strike me as a fanatic like Lady Buika does.”

  “Shhh, Sir Darius is still outside.” Adel put a finger to her lips and pointed at the door. “I’m not sure about Fellow Callahan, I think his motives are his own somehow. It was

  but then she thought back to their interview with Sister Payen. “What was all that about a demon in you, then?”

  “I think it was something about Anastasia Quinn’s bloodline and the strange link with this sword. It isn’t like any other weapon I’ve ever held, Naira. It almost feels … alive sometimes. Like it wants to be used. And the amount of power it can hold ...it’s like having an entire room full of santsi globes to siphon into. Maybe the demon is who the person is when they wield this sw
ord? I don’t know. If this was really the Dread Queen’s sword, the Blasted Isles would have been one of the first lands to fall to her armies. There are a lot of terrible stories about the Great War.” Adel spoke more confidently now as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

  “Well, whatever is going on,” Naira said and grabbed Adel’s hand to give it a squeeze, “we are in it together, all right? No more trying to suffer in silence or by yourself. You redecorated the grounds in Sentinel Woods the last time you tried to keep everything to yourself. Scared Matoh half to death, remember?”

  Adel laughed. It was good to see a smile on her face again. It had been too long.

  “So ... what do you want to do? Do you want to join this underground Singer rebellion? Take your rightful place as this saviour figure for their, I mean your religion?”

  “I don’t know.” Adel shook her head and huffed. “When you say it like that it sounds so ridiculous. Yet from what Fellow Callahan and Lady Buika were saying there are a lot of people who believe Anastasia Quinn was the true messiah instead of Meskaiwa; that she was meant to lead us back to our true path, and to salvation. They believe that if she had won the Great War, she would somehow heal the world from all the destruction caused by the Jendar and the Ciwix. A lot of people have been waiting for the Arbiter and true descendant of Anastasia Quinn to return and lead them once again.”

  Naira nodded, considering Adel’s words, but then shook her head. “Your father knew all of this too. He was the Arbiter, not as pure a descendant as you are meant to be, but he was in the thick of it all back then – right at the centre – yet he decided to give you the option of just walking away. He taught you to think for yourself. I was there for some of his sermons. He knew his doctrine, of course, but he ended a lot of them with questions as well. I don’t think he wants you to jump blindly into the role carved out for you. You can just go along with things, for now, then, once you can control your siphoning again, we ...” Naira hesitated, not quite believing what she was about to say, then whispered, “we could just walk away from it all. Get lost somewhere in the world away from all these politics.

  “Naira,” Adel shook her head, also whispering so Sir Darius could not hear, “no, I could never ask that of you. You’ve worked so hard to get here. This has been your dream for as long as I can remember.”

  “Not much of a dream if you have to watch your best friend get trapped into a life she doesn’t want to live, now, is it? That sounds more like a nightmare.”

  “Oh, Naira.” Adel hugged her. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Naira hugged her back. “The feeling goes both ways, Pix. Now, no more secrets, all right?”

  “All right.” Adel smiled.

  “Good, and whatever decision you make, just know that I’ll be right there with you. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Right. Shall we, then? Back to class?” Naira stood and looked to the door where Sir Darius was still waiting.

  Adel nodded.

  “Sir Darius, the situation has been made clear, we are ready to go back to class,” Naira called through the door.

  “You understand the consequences of having a loose tongue about these matters?” Sir Darius’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword menacingly.

  “Yes, sir,” they both said, though Naira was pretty sure if Darius so much as hinted that he might draw his blade a hair’s width further Adel would break his arm before he knew what hit him.

  The Syklan gave them a curt nod. “On your way then, I’m sure you can find your way without an escort.”

  They gave each other one last pat on the shoulder before they ran back to class: Adel to siphoning training with Fellow Callahan and Naira to the Academy docks to learn about how to sail cogs.

  11 - Opportunistic Tunnels

  Test Site A has shown a remarkable uptake of the mutagenic agent. The NREs, or sentinels as they like to be called, report one young girl continues to retain large amounts of static charge which dissipates in large electrostatic bursts.

  Fascinating.

  -Journal of Robert Mannford, Day 167 Year 22

  Thannis

  The Academy, Research Wing, New Toeron, Bauffin

  “Not safe is why,” Fellow Moors, an old cartographer and historian explained. “Sure, there are dozens of tunnels beneath the Red Tower, heck, most of New Toeron is sitting on top of what they used to call New Terondo back in the time of the Great War, you know the one where the Dread Queen marched on the North?”

  “Yes, sir, I know the one.” Thannis nodded and poured a bit more whiskey into the old man’s glass. He was fully immersed in his role as a keen new research assistant, nervous and eager to please the established academics. He had found the best place to pick up what really was happening within the research wing of the Academy was, of course, within the staff lounge. Hard days of lecturing and research made for thirsty lips, which led to those same lips wagging about things they ought not to be.

  “And New Terondo itself was built on something even older. I’ve spent quite a bit of time with the Chroniclers, now that the Faith has stopped hanging them that is, cross-referencing my own findings. They have only a few of those crazy old trinkets unlocked mind you, let alone translated, but I did come across a record which told of a great Jendar migration north. After the Ciwix that is, after the breaking of the world. Seems a group of them settled in what we now call the Shards. This was back before the Jendar lost all knowledge of their tricks you see. They built tunnels down there my boy. I’ve seen them! Some sort of mining equipment from what the Chroniclers can make of the translation, but it looks as if some great rock eating worm cut through the rock below the city as if it were a piece of cheese. Damndest thing I ever saw.” The old historian laughed hard enough to force a cough, and the old man’s blanket slipped from his lap.

  Thannis bent down and retrieved it. He tucked the blanket back around his legs and helped the old fellow sit back in his big armchair by the fire.

  “But …” he coughed again, “don’t get any ideas, young man. I wouldn’t want someone so young to get hurt down there. Very unstable, not safe, as I said, and believe me, we found out the hard way. Two expedition teams completely gone, buried alive down there. But yes, the rumours about ‘hidden tunnels’ are more or less accurate. Though, I wouldn’t call them ‘hidden’, rather ‘lost’ would be more appropriate. You can still find a few of them around, heck, you’re working in one of them, come to think of it. Attridge’s lab is the entrance to one end of the tunnels we looked into. Behind the two rows of bricks, there is just empty air. The poor man must get terrible drafts during the winter.”

  “I had thought the laboratory quite an odd structure,” Thannis mused in a slightly sycophantic voice. He couldn’t get his hopes up yet, but he asked anyway, “There wouldn’t happen to be any old maps of this wondrous system would there, sir? If I can’t see them myself, I might be able to imagine such tunnels with a map.”

  “Well, of course, there are maps of it! It’s part of what I do now, isn’t it? Here, refill my glass, and we’ll trot down to my office. I know exactly where to find them.” Fellow Moors patted Thannis’s hand and creaked up to a standing position.

  “Oh, no need to trouble yourself tonight, sir. Not on my account.” Thannis held his hand to his heart and pretended to look horrified at the thought of inconveniencing such an honoured man.

  “No trouble, no trouble at all. It’s good to meet such an inquiring mind. Besides, it’ll give me a chance to sound impressive, can’t give up a chance like that, now can I?” Fellow Moors winked at him and smiled as he hobbled off towards the hallway.

  Thannis laughed boyishly and nodded his assent, feigning embarrassment at such a comradery remark.

  In the end, it was the last glass of whiskey which killed Fellow Moors.

  No one would be able to detect anything other than a heart attack of course, as the tincture of aconite root and whiskey was virtually undetectable. It
had been a simple thing to make, he knew where to find the plant and had found out ahead of time what the fellow’s favourite whiskey was.

  Thannis had walked the old man back to the fire after he had been regaled with a dozen different tales about Fellow Moors’ adventures beneath the city before all access to the tunnels was forbidden. Thannis had poured the cartographer’s last drink from his own hip flask rather than the bottle they had shared. He had thanked the old man and waved goodnight leaving him in that large armchair by the fire.

  Part of Thannis regretted not feeling the man’s last moments, savouring the torrent of experience and flavour as he passed from this life, but Fellow Moors had needed to die in public, and in a very natural looking way. Hells, the old man might have even made it to his bed and died in the night before the poison took hold of him.

  He waited two nights before retrieving the map Fellow Moors had shown him, and another night still before he began to explore his new labyrinthian lair. A predator needed to know its hunting ground, and he explored and tested, watched, listened to the rhythms of the city and timed the movements around the mouths to his tunnels. He wrote these patterns and cycles down at first, then committed them to memory then burned the book. He had his web, he knew where to place his traps, and knew where to prowl, he knew where and how to hide bodies, knew how to dodge patrols, and even targeted several residents who would not be missed.

  His first kill, a young drunk, whose only link to the rest of society was the coin he paid at the pub on his way home from the docks had tasted bitter, angry, and salty, yet the experience had been rapture just the same, as the man’s blood soaked the old dirt of the tunnel Thannis had used. Excellent yet unexceptional as the drunk’s life had tasted, it was the fact of how when the life left the man’s eyes, Thannis still held the man’s essence throbbing in his hands, contained within one of Professor Attridge’s new santsi globes, that made him special beyond all measure.