Awakenings

by C. D. Espeseth

  “So, you were meant to find it,” The High King concluded.

  “Exactly.” John sighed some relief. Maybe he was getting somewhere with this. “Then there were the murders here in New Toeron. So far, they’ve been extremely violent and brutal attacks on average citizens. All Xinnish, and now there are these racially offensive and inflammatory remarks written in blood at the murder scenes. Someone wants to get noticed, and they want the Xinnish community angry and thinking back to the good ol’ days of the Border Wars.”

  The High King finally looked as if he were taking this seriously.

  Of course, John thought, the High King understands war, taunting the enemy, goading them into committing early or attacking recklessly. He should have started out with that sort of talk.

  “You said something about a powerful Vinda witch? What’s her role in all of this?” the High King asked. His predatory eyes were squarely focused on John now.

  “I think she’s manipulating our killer somehow,” John said. “She’s changed his pattern. The killing of Princess Syun was definitely the killer’s plan, but not the clean-up. We had found his trail over a year ago, not long after you called me in. Your suspicions were correct in my estimation. Someone with a lot of power is pulling strings to make this all happen.”

  “So what is witch making this killer do?” The High King asked.

  “Well, the murders have those same damn eyes, the strangeness of them after death. I wrote about them in one of my earlier reports,” John said.

  The High King nodded and waved a hand to continue.

  “Right, well before we had seen several of these almost surgical killings in a dozen different towns. Yet, it had taken us months to put it all together. Even finding out that someone had gone missing was difficult before, finding a body was luck as much as detective work, but now it’s all too out in the open. The victims before Princess Syun had no racial pattern to them, he wasn’t picky, but he was causing a stir, just not with a racially motivated group. The pattern was perhaps even the opposite as he seemed to target diversity in his victims rather than similarity. My theory is that the witch is behind the switch to Xinnish victims.”

  “Why in Halom’s name would a Vinda witch have an interest in stirring up old hatreds between Xin Ya and Kenz? The Blasted Isles barely concern themselves with local politics within Nothavre, Labran or Tawa. Kenz and Xin Ya are practically on the other side of the world as far as the Vinda are concerned. It doesn’t make any sense.” Executor Mason threw his hands up in disgust. “The Vinda Sisterhood takes no sides, they are somewhat famous for it the last time I checked. Or is there a conspiracy behind that as well?”

  Of course there bloody well is, you damned idiot. John wanted to say but didn’t. Instead, he asked a question. “And how often do you hear of our good sisters turning a man into a slobbering mess to take the blame for a crime they didn’t commit? That’s not meant to happen either, is it? The sisters serve the people with their strange Vinda arts, that’s meant to be common knowledge as well. Tarot and fortune reading, charms, wards, herbal remedies, tea leaves, runes, and offerings to the gods. Mystical and magical shops for whatever you might need for one and everyone, right? Well, this one that’s tagging along with our killer is very different. She melted that poor man’s brain back in the Narrows and has made a whole boatload of people forget seeing a man they spent three days at sea with. The other sister who helped me in the Narrows was terrified of whoever this witch is, and the sister I employed here in New Toeron said a few of the interviewee’s weren’t effected because she had a link to the Arbiter, if that makes any sense.”

  “Maybe the killer never got on the ferry,” Executor Mason challenged. “Has that been taken into account?”

  “It was the only thing that left the Narrows that day. So, unless he swam to New Toeron, he was on that boat, because the eyes of Princess Syun and the eyes of those poor bastards in the warehouse were the same. Whatever he does to them at the end, it leaves a mark. Ask any constable who’s been at one of the crime scenes. No one forgets the eyes. It’s like their whole soul was screaming as he killed them …” John trailed off.

  That wiped the pomp off the damn Executor’s face. John shouldn’t get mad, he supposed it was the Executor’s job to question everything which might influence the High King’s decisions, but still, it seemed John was meeting an unnecessary level of resistance here. “Besides, as I said, we have had a recent break in the investigation. The only lead came from two new initiates who were on board with a man who fit the killer’s description.”

  “So, what is your recommendation?” The High King was leaning forward now, convinced.

  Finally, John thought. “The constabulary needs to call in people from the surrounding nations. Have anybody spare sent to the capital. We are going to need every available body possible, and even then, it might not be enough to keep at bay what’s coming.”

  The High King grunted at this.

  “And what is coming, senior prefect?” Executor Mason asked, still more condescending than he should be.

  “Riots, uprising. Maybe even rebellion. It feels like whoever is planning all this has more instruments at play than we know of. The rumours about the warehouse murders spread incredibly fast, even for New Toeron. We need to stamp this out quickly before it overwhelms the city. We need enough people to smother this, but it might already be too late.”

  “Halom save me, this is the last gods-damned thing we need right now. We are at war, John. Or haven’t you heard? I need you to get my city in order, not ask for more troops. We have no time for riots. We’ve already mobilised. Most of our troops are already on their way west to face down these Kutsals. I don’t have anyone extra to spare for policing the city.” High King Ronaston looked weary, he rubbed his large finger across his forehead. “Executor? Recommendations?”

  “We could use the new class of initiates to police the city. They are all still here and a somewhat sizeable force. It might be enough to maintain law and order.”

  “Gods, most of them are just kids!” The High King shook his head.

  “And how old were we when we toppled the damnable Navutians? Not much older, I think.” Executor Mason shrugged.

  The High King shook his head, “Make it so, get the senior prefect the people he needs.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Executor Mason bowed.

  “Anything else, senior prefect?” the High King asked.

  “Yes, if the initiates are to be raised. There are two in particular who I would like assigned to me. They have already helped during their interview, and I’ve got a feeling they may be helpful again.”

  “Fine. Just find who is responsible. I want to take the head of this traitor personally. If there is nothing else, you may go.” The High King’s hand clenched the edge of his throne, and John thought for a moment that the giant hand would rip the thick oak arm right off the chair.

  “Yes, Your Highness.” John bowed his head and left through the doors of the audience chamber. He was trying to tell himself that something had finally gone right. He was getting people, the High King had listened, yet John couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to go to shit and he was going to be right there in the middle of it.

  Miranda met him outside the door and winked at him while tapping her bone eyebrow ring. “So, how’d it go.”

  “Fine, actually, and I told you to stop doing that!” John pointed at her damnable eyebrow. “Respect your ancestors.”

  “I am, you old twit. That’s what it means now. I wanted their luck and wisdom.”

  “That’s not what it bloody means!” John took in a deep breath and tried to calm down. His nerves were on edge. He could almost feel the coming storm in his damned bones.

  “Everything changes, you know, even things like touching my bone jewellery,” Miranda said more chagrined than John thought she would be. “Isn’t it right to take something despicable about your own culture and try to make it better? We want to
move on from the Border Wars and all the hate between our two nations. Why not take a symbol of hate and turn it into something good? Take the power away from it, you know?”

  John looked up to the night sky and shook his head. Halom? I’m trying to do right, aren’t I? Why do you make it so bloody hard? He needed to dispute morality right now as much as he needed a steel-toed boot to the head, but the kid was probably right. It was turning out that she usually was.

  “I’m ... sorry,” John grumbled. “You’re probably right. Sounds like something that would resonate with the Tenets. Come on, let’s get back out there. Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch this monster before he strikes again.”

  Duty called, but Halom be praised if he didn’t need a damned drink, and a bloody strong one, because deep down in his bones that feeling of doom wouldn’t go away.

  20 - Work Placement

  It’s the nanites that will provide the link between the generations. When the keys come into contact with the blood of a host, they will capture the neural-synapse mapping virus within the bloodstream and codify the structure of those synapses into the single-electron memory core of the key. These cores will then need to be uploaded to Kali to be analysed.

  - Journal of Robert Mannford, Day 260 Year 17

  Jonah

  Dawn, Kenz

  “We have more tree? Where you want?” Jonah asked the foreman of the lumber mill in his halting Salucian. He was trying to get better at it, for there had been very little time to practise his language skills between training exercises, but the foreman seemed to understand what he had said, though his pronunciation must need some work as it took him a while to understand.

  The Black Rain had been put to work these last few days, and their platoon had been felling trees with the local woodsmen in a village not far from Dawn. Jonah had to admit that while swinging an axe and hauling on the long saws for hours on end had left his muscles aching in ways he didn’t think was possible, he did love the forests here. The air was so crisp, full of wonderful smells and purity. He tried to fill his lungs with as much of it as he could.

  A tenuous peace had reestablished itself between Fin, Branson and himself once again, though it was a far more serious peace. Fin continued to play his role as a likeable fool within the Black Rain while using his training in the Ninth Division subtly to manipulate their comrades towards slightly anti-imperial ways of thinking. A comment here, a well-placed joke making fun of the ranking officers out of earshot there and the minds of their fellow soldiers began to change.

  “There is another pile started behind that row there.” The foreman pointed them to the trail going back around the now impressive row of piled wood. “Damn, you boys are putting in some good shifts. Never seen the mill so busy in my life. I still can’t believe the price I’m getting from Prince El’ Amin. I never got anything close to that under the old king.”

  Jonah smiled and shrugged and tried to explain, “This how we work. Soldier get paid to work and to fight. If no work, clan no want you.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” the foreman said. “Well, I’ll let you get to it. You won’t get another load in before last light. Drop that load and then go rinse off. We got the next shift about to take over here. They’ll have more than enough timber to keep the saws going all night. We got a big pot of chilli tonight, and the first batch of cider from our new and improved still those engineer fellas of yours helped fix up. Martin says it might be the best batch he’s ever brewed. See you there!”

  Jonah smiled and nodded as the foreman cheerily waved them off to their job.

  “How much of that did you get?” Branson asked from his seat beside Sheba.

  “Maybe half?” Jonah answered. “I think he said something about it being cold tonight, and the engineers helping with a spider?”

  “Seems a friendly sort doesn’t he?” Sheba commented as she drove them around the row of piled wood.

  “Chilli is a type of bean stew which they are having for their evening meal, it’s quite spicy despite the name. A meal which we’ve been invited to, by the way, and it was cider not spider. Which is an alcoholic drink they brew from apples, it’s very sweet,” Fin supplied.

  “Well that was very nice of them, wasn’t it?” Sheba said.

  “From apples?” Branson curled his lip at this.

  “We’ll all go,” Jonah said. “Great chance to try and improve our language skills.”

  “Not to mention great food and drink from the sounds of it.” Sheba was grinning madly. “That cider stuff sounds amazing!” Bamu grunted as if in agreement and Sheba laughed. “You never know big guy, they just might have some apples left over for you. We’ll have to see won’t we?”

  Fin quirked an eyebrow at their driver. “You know he can’t actually talk to you?”

  Sheba snorted, “Says the man who is a supposed hotshot with languages. Can’t even speak yamuuk.”

  “I still can’t believe they hauled two-dozen of these shaggy beasts across the Barrier Sea. I would not have wanted to be on that boat.” Fin shook his head in wonder.

  “Yamuuk are natural sailors, we barely had an issue. Probably less belly-aching from the lot you sailed with.” Sheba laughed and stuck her tongue out at Fin.

  “That’s because we all thought we were going to die by sailing straight into the never-ending storm.” Branson grumped beside her on the wagon. “I still don’t quite understand how Prince El’ Amin knew.”

  “I don’t think he did,” Jonah mumbled more to himself than to the others. “He was prepared to gamble.”

  “Ho there, Bamu. Just here is fine.” Sheba gave a short tug on the reins, and the big animal huffed before shambling to a stop. They all hopped down and began unloading the wagon.

  It only took less than an hour to finish their labour, and as the sun began to set, they made their way to a trickling mountain stream running across a small plateau beside the lumber mill. A small dam ran across the river and fed a constant flow to the waterwheel on the side of the mill. The wheel’s constant motion powered the great saws and was pleasantly hypnotic. The dam pooled the clean mountain stream enough to make a refreshing placid pool and all four of them stripped down to their underclothes and paddled out into the crystal clear waters. The last rays of the day bounced off the silvery water outlining the profiles of the various pines around them.

  Jonah lay on his back for a moment as he tried to forget the stresses of the world and allowed himself to be present in the moment. To feel the heat of his muscles be drained away in the cool flowing water was absolutel bliss. He let himself hear the muted splashing of his comrades as he breathed in the fresh air and floated in a lovely void of sudden meditative peace.

  Bamu, the yamuuk, snorted his happiness as he submerged his great horned head into the clear waters, drank deeply and then stepped carefully into the pool.

  Jonah grinned as the big beast bumped him on the way by. He let his feet touch the rocky bottom and splashed water over his face as he watched the big animal wade past him.

  Bamu was too big to get his whole body in so Sheba swam over to him with the bucket she had taken from the wagon and began to pour water over the great hump of his back before scrubbing him with the special brush she kept for just such an occasion. The yamuuk rumbled his happiness and pushed his head towards his minder in appreciation.

  A contented silence settled over the four soldiers as they watched the sun dip lower behind the pines while the cool water pulled the heat from their tired muscles.

  “You can see why the people in Dawn say that saviour of theirs, Meskaiwa, found some sort of peace in these mountains,” Branson reflected as he trod water and looked at the colours painting their way across the sky.

  “Yes, there is a holy quality to this land. I feel it too,” Jonah agreed.

  “Well, as beautiful as this is, gentlemen,” Sheba sighed, “I’m beginning to feel the cold a bit too much. Besides, that cider is calling my name. I wouldn’t stay too much longer fellas. Those
blood sucking bugs will be out soon.” She paddled back to shore and changed into her clean set of thicker woollens they had all brought with them on the wagon, for as lovely as it was during the day, the temperature did drop quite sharply once the sun went down.

  “We’ll be along shortly,” Jonah said and waved to her.

  As if her departure had summoned them, the blood-sucking insects began to buzz past his ear.

  Fin slapped at something on his neck, catching one of the insects beneath his hand to leave behind a tiny line of blood, and as he stared at it, an idea began to form in Jonah’s mind.

  “Come on, let’s not get eaten out here,” Jonah said but apparently didn’t have to, as the three of them all began swimming almost in unison. Their own woollens were beginning to sound like an excellent idea.

  They changed, but before they set off back to camp, Jonah called them over to him. “I’ve had an idea. I need the spear, Branson.”

  Branson’s contentment evaporated. “What? You mean, right now.”

  “Yes, I need Fin’s blood,” Jonah answered.

  “Woah, woah.” Fin held up his hands. “We’ve just had a lovely day, can’t we just table whatever this is until tomorrow?”

  Jonah shook his head, “You don’t understand. They say the spear holds the ancestors within it, but it is not just the line of Dokans it holds. Memories of thousands of others reside with the White Spear – the memories they had can become yours while you hold the spear. But it is blood the spear requires for you to join with the ancestors.”

  “My blood?” Fin looked confused. “Are you talking about killing me? As in like some sort of blood sacrifice?”

  “No, the spear only needs a few drops. This is a tightly held secret which only a few of the Blood are partial to. It is why the Dokans have always been such great warriors and strategists. It is because while wielding the White Spear, they retain the knowledge of all those who came before them,” Jonah explained, “and if we are going to do what we need to do, I don’t have time to learn the language of these people so slowly. I need your knowledge, I need your skill with language.”