Awakenings

by C. D. Espeseth

“I… I’m not sure yet.” Wayran looked at Matoh in confusion. “But I found those men. The red-eyed ones. The NRE’S. They explained things. Mannford. Yes, whatever that man had set in motion so long ago is about to happen again. Seventeen cycles! Oh gods, yes. It hasn’t been just three thousand years, but so much longer. It’s all going to happen again, I can feel it down to my core.”

  His words must have finally cut through any doubt which Matoh or his father had as they shared a look and nodded affirmation to each other.

  “All right, Wayran,” His father said, gripping Wayran’s shoulder. “We’ll get everyone together.”

  Matoh nodded, “I’ll get it done. You sure you’re up for this?”

  “Yes,” Wayran said, feeling surer of this than of anything else in his life. “I need to be.”

  ***

  By five bells, a small group had gathered in an antechamber to the grand hall of throne room within the Red Tower. Matoh was in his new captain’s uniform: shining brass buttons fastened the many black straps of his jacket across his broad chest, and gold braided cords snaked across each strap making his brother look very regal indeed. He wore two eagle’s feathers in his hair, and Wayran noticed a unique medal on his lapel. A lightning bolt cutting through a navy-blue square.

  “It suits you,” Wayran said to his brother as he tried to straighten his own uniform.

  Matoh nodded, and Wayran noticed how serious he now looked. His brother had grown harder and less carefree, but Wayran supposed they all had, to some degree. A level of innocence had been stripped away from the new crop of initiates. The hopeful light in many eyes had dimmed and had been replaced with icy focus.

  Tempered, Wayran thought. Like new steel from the forge. They had to be struck to ensure the impurities had been purged.

  Wayran waited somewhat nervously, and he ran his fingers over the cover of Mannford’s journal once more. The odd voice in his head kept telling him, Installation in progress. Please wait ... Whatever that meant, yet as he had waited, he had found he was suddenly able to read the ancient Jendar text within the journal with no trouble at all. In the hours it had taken Matoh to arrange this meeting Wayran had poured over the journal, reading it as fast as he could, trying to make sense of Mannford’s ramblings. Towards the end of the journal, things went very strange indeed. Most of it seemed to be madness. Yet, Mannford seemed to be hinting at finding a way to somehow prolong his life, changing it’s form somehow? It had something to do with Raidho’s experiments.

  “Uncle Aaron is here,” Matoh said quietly beside him, nodding towards the door, “and Aunt Sandra.”

  The Koslovs made their way to the two brothers to make their greetings.

  “Good to see you again.” Wayran smiled at his aunt and embraced her in a familiar hug. Matoh followed suit just as warmly.

  “Look at the two of you. How much you’ve changed, and it hasn’t even been a full year since I’ve seen you.” Aunt Sandra put her hands on her hips and gave them a knowing smile, but then her eyes saw deeper and turned sad. “You’ve both seen hardships as well. We heard about the riots. It must have been terrible.”

  “It was,” Matoh said simply.

  Their time on their uncle’s airship now felt like a lifetime ago. Memories of getting up early, aching from the previous day’s training in the gliders and shuffling down the narrow hallway for breakfast almost left an ache in Wayran’s chest. Aunt Sandra had always been up before everyone, getting the ship and its crew ready for the day. She was the glue that had kept them all running.

  “Much has changed,” Wayran said sadly. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Quite a crowd you’ve gathered,” Uncle Aaron stated as he stood rigidly watching them. He was watching Wayran closely.

  “Hello, Uncle Aaron,” Wayran and Matoh said in concert, both giving the older man a respectful tip of the head.

  “Nephews.” Aaron Koslov nodded very briefly. “What is this about?”

  “The tower in the Wastes,” Wayran answered. “It’s about what we found there. Did you ever see it again, the tower I mean?”

  Uncle Aaron shook his head. “It seems to have hidden itself beneath the sands, somehow.” He looked at them both sceptically as if he had expected them to leave such a fanciful story behind.

  “It’s there,” Matoh said with a note of authority returning his uncle’s hard gaze until his uncle smiled.

  “There she is,” Uncle Aaron laughed. “There, behind your eyes, nephew. My sister gave me that very same look so many times. Good to see the Koslov steel has not been too watered down.”

  Wayran knew it was probably the highest praise Matoh had ever received from their severe uncle in all his life, but the pride his brother must surely be feeling by being compared to their mother did not show. Matoh simply nodded, taking the compliment and returning his gaze to the crowd in the throne room.

  Luckily, they were saved from any further discussion on the topic as Adel arrived. She now wore holy robes of office, befitting the Arbiter of the Singer Faith, though she wore very functional leather armour beneath that robe and her dark sword upon her hip. She had been accompanied by two Hafaza guards, each wearing official golden burnished armour and carrying twin-bladed glaives, but they left her at the door to the antechamber and waited outside.

  Wayran bowed respectfully to her, which made Adel blush in embarrassment.

  “Stop that,” she said. “I get enough of that from the Singer faithful, I don’t need that from my friends. Well, from those whom I call friends, that is. I hope you still see me that way?”

  Wayran smiled. “Of course we do. We’ve all changed, and we will need each other now more than ever.”

  Adel quirked her head at that. “Yes, I agree.”

  “Pardon my manners,” Wayran said hastily as his uncle coughed behind him. “This is Captain Koslov of the airship Deliverance.”

  “Arbiter,” Aaron Koslov said, bowing his head respectfully. His scrutiny was intense. “I knew your predecessor. He was an impressive and complicated man. I respected him a great deal. “

  “Yes,” Adel answered, keeping her answer short. “Good to meet you, Captain Koslov.” She then excused herself to find her seat.

  Next to come was Senior Prefect Stonebridge followed by Naira. Wayran heard a snippet of their conversation as they entered. “Yes, but did you see him die? Did you find a body?” Naira was asking.

  “No, we couldn’t find a body, but he would have been dragged out to sea. Not even Thannis’s strange healing could save him from being turned to paste upon those jagged rocks. Now put it aside, O’Bannon. We’re at a fancy meeting of some sorts. We’ll go over it again later if you can’t let it go. Don’t really see why I’m bloody here though. I’ve got reports to fill before I get out of this Halom-forsaken city.” John Stonebridge sighed. He looked pale, and Adel went to his side quickly to make sure he was all right.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine, Ms Corbin, or Arbiter I suppose I should call you now,” John Stonebridge said, holding up a hand. “I’ve had worse than this in the wars and survived.”

  “All the same, I’d like to help a friend if I can,” Adel said with a smile.

  The senior prefect grunted, conceding the point. “Fair enough. Thank you.” He limped over to his seat and grunted in relief as he sat down, only to have to stand up again as the doors opened.

  The doors swung wide to reveal Yuna Swiftriver who looked them over carefully. She had her great golden broadsword, Hunsa, strapped to her back, and in her hand, she had a huge crossbow with a massive metal-tipped bolt loaded into it. It looked to be a wondrous piece of engineering. Wayran imagined the weapon could punch right through thick steel armour and that Yuna was one of the only people strong enough not to need a winching mechanism for it, given the size of the drawn cables.

  Yuna finally stepped aside and let High Queen Echinni through.

  Everyone in the room took a knee and bowed their heads.

  “Rise,” High Queen Echinni anno
unced.

  Matoh’s friend Kai Johnstone followed her in, and he now wore much more formal waistcoat, shirt and trousers. The outfit had a slightly military look to it, but there were symbols of the Singers embroidered on it instead of that of the Syklan castes. Last was Jachem Sanders, the genius Chronicler whom Wayran had met in the new wing of the Artificium.

  “Please find your seats,” High Queen Echinni beckoned.

  Matoh and Wayran took theirs. Wayran noticed Matoh tried to catch Naira’s eye, but she seemed to be off in a world of her own. Staring into space and not really present in the moment.

  Matoh sighed, and Wayran saw the concern on his brother’s face before they were called to order.

  “We are gathered here today on the behest of my new captain, Matoh Spierling, my lightning lord, and his brother Wayran Spierling. After Captain Spieling’s actions during the Battle of Keef’s Square, I could not deny him.” Echinni nodded to Matoh. “Wayran, I believe you have something you wish to tell us?”

  He stood, bowing his gratitude to the high queen. “Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you for coming. What I am about to tell you will sound ludicrous, but I assure you I do not call you here lightly or in jest.” He swallowed and took a deep breath. “The war against the foreign army invading Kenz cannot be our first priority for there is something even larger and more dangerous at work.” Wayran held up the journal in his hand. “I hold here the journal of Robert Mannford, the man responsible for the Ciwix and destruction of the Jendar civilisation thousands of years ago. In it, he gives detailed accounts of how it was done, most of which I do not understand, but what I can easily read is that he is not finished with us.”

  Wayran let his words sink in and watched the assembly of people he knew to be central to the convergence mentioned in Mannford’s journal, for that was one of the few pieces of memory which had come back to him about his misplaced time during the Battle of Keef’s Square. He had remembered the red-eyed men arguing about who was important in this convergence and Wayran had pieced together enough of the memory to know that Kenaz had tried to help him and how part of the strange metal man was now inside him.

  “Go on,” the high queen urged. She seemed to be listening to something in the distance as she watched him.

  “In this journal, Mannford speaks of a dreadful and intelligent machine called Kali. He says he created her to wait in judgement of humanity. I’m sure you all remember the initiation ceremony where Matoh and I unwittingly brought forth that strange energy. You said you thought you might have had something to do with that, Your Majesty?” Wayran asked Echinni.

  “Yes, there was music. The Singers believe a gifted few can hear Halom’s Will in unique moments. I can hear it more than others and on that day there something more than what I usually hear.”

  “Yes,” Wayran said somewhat excitedly, “Halom’s Will, of course! That makes sense.”

  “Explain to the rest of the class, if you please,” John Stonebridge growled as he watched Wayran with a very confused expression.

  “In his journal, Mannford calls it the Tiden Raika, or River of Time. He said the Jendar found a way to connect to it but that they didn’t appreciate the incredible power they had discovered. I believe that must be what you feel as Halom’s Will.”

  John’s face went a bit red. “Sacrilege if ever I heard it.” He huffed in anger, but Echinni put up her hand.

  The high queen’s composure faltered slightly as she remembered what took place within Keef’s Tavern. “I confess, I have recently lost some faith in the benevolence of whatever it is I hear. It’s power is … mysterious. Please continue your explanation.”

  Wayran nodded. “Yes, of course. Mannford explains that the Tiden Raika cycles through stages and that its flow and power carries us through these stages along with it. During one such phase of this cycle, powerful convergences of events occur, and it is these convergences Kali waits for, as they can change the very course of civilisation and humanity.”

  The senior prefect rubbed at his temples. “Wait, are you saying there is a power influencing the world around us or not? I thought you said this wasn’t Halom, because what you are explaining sounds very much like Halom’s hand on the world and his song which flows through each of us.”

  “It is most likely just two interpretations of the same phenomena,” Jachem Sanders said. The rest of them looked somewhat startled to hear him speak as ever since he had sat down, he had been working on an ancient Jendar tablet instead of paying attention to proceedings. “Hand me the journal,” Jachem ordered as he opened his hand to Wayran.

  “Jachem,” Kai hissed, “manners!”

  “What? This is how Mr Euchre talked to people, and no one would ever have dreamed to try to kidnap him,” Jachem said with a set to his jaw. “Everyone did what he wanted them to do.”

  “It’s all right.” Wayran waved away the objection. “I’ve met Jachem already. I imagine he’s thought of something the rest of us haven’t.” Wayran handed over the journal.

  “I have seen a blueprint on one of the tablets Chronicler Talbot had me unlock. He gets very excited when we find anything about Robert Mannford in them, and this blueprint was something Mannford had patented with some sort of committee before he destroyed the world. I think I know how to access some holographic files he might have on the journal.”

  “Did anyone understand that?” Kai asked with a smile.

  “As I said,” Wayran added, “I think Jachem has an idea the rest of us haven’t thought of.

  Kai smiled to himself, “You don’t know the half of it, my friend.”

  “Which is most likely why Mr Euchre pushed so much funding towards Jachem’s brand of research,” Wayran said as he remembered how stunned he had been to see Mr Euchre, the ‘tall man’ from his nightmares.

  “Alright, I think I have to should shed some light on the man you are all calling ‘Mr Euchre’ if I have your leave to do so, High Queen?” John interjected.

  Echinni nodded.

  “I don’t know how this links to what you were saying,” John looked to Wayran, “but ‘Mr Euchre’ was an alias Thannis Beau’ Chant, the prince of Nothavre was using. We are certain he was the man behind all the murders which incited the riots. There is possibly some doubt as to how willing of a participant he was in it all, but from the evidence I gathered, and my own gut instincts, I would swear to Halom himself that he loved the killing part of things. You should count yourself lucky Mr Sanders that you were not included in his list of victims,” John Stonebridge explained.

  “He was always nice to me,” Jachem said bluntly.

  “Right,” the senior prefect narrowed his eyes at Jachem. “You weren’t perhaps working on some sort of horrible gel that interacted with santsi globes were you?” John asked, a notepad had somehow appeared in his hand, and a pen began to whirl across its pages.

  “No, he had me working on unlocking manuscripts and databases on ancient Jendar technologies,” Jachem said confused. “You’d have to ask Chronicler Rutherford about the gel.”

  John’s hand stopped scribbling notes, and he looked to the rest of the group. “Well, at least the rest of us will not have to deal with him any longer as Adel and I saw him fall to his death.”

  That was news to Wayran. How does the death of one of the major players affect things? Does it change how things converge? Wayran had been quite sure Mr Euchre had been the ‘tall man’ from his dreams and was important somehow.

  “What is it?” John Stonebridge had been watching Wayran when he had shared his news with the group. “You know something?”

  “No, not really. I was almost sure I had seen Mr Euchre, or Thannis Beau’ Chant that is, in one of my visions. He was a prominent character in my recurring nightmares,” Wayran explained. “I’m not sure how this changes things.”

  “Nightmares, huh,” Stonebridge huffed, “that would fit.”

  Jachem had stopped listening to the rest of them and had been busy carefully pulling something free from
within the cover of the leather journal. “Could one of you siphon some energy through this bit of wire?” Jachem asked the group, holding the wire end out to Naira who sat beside him.

  “I’m not a very strong siphoner,” Naira objected.

  “Strength isn’t important. Just keep a consistent flow through the wire,” Jachem instructed,

  Kai cleared his throat and gave Jachem an angry glare.

  “Please,” Jachem added as he gave Naira the wire. “Now, if you could please wait until I say.” Jachem held his hands up at Kai, who rolled his eyes and nodded to indicate it was a lack-lustre but sufficient display of manners.

  Jachem then took out the tiniest screwdriver Wayran had ever seen and adjusted something in the opened-up tablet. He then took two more pieces of wire hooking one end of each into the tablet. “There are two tiny ports just on the edge of the binding, here and here.” Jachem held the journal up for Wayran to see as he pointed out the tiny holes with the screwdriver. “I’m going to connect the journal to this tablet.”

  “All right.” Wayran nodded.

  “Ah yes, there it is,” Jachem said to himself as he adjusted something on the flashing surface of the Jendar relic and then waved his hand at Naira. “Start siphoning, and everyone look towards the far wall.”

  “What in the world are you–” Kai began, but before he could finish, bright blue light shot out of another tiny pinprick hole in the journal and the space between them and the far wall lit up with a scene made of light.

  “Halom take me!” John Stonebridge jumped back as if he had been bitten, but he was not the only one shocked at what he was seeing.

  There appeared to be a woman standing in front of them speaking in what Wayran recognised as ancient Jendar. Behind her was a scene he had seen before.

  “What is she saying?” Adel asked in wonder.

  “I can only describe the devastation being wrought, but you can clearly see what is left of Hindasburg, and this level of destruction has occurred up and down the west coast! Somehow an earthquake was set off all along the coast. The resulting tidal wave has travelled over thirty miles inland. The casualties here are in the millions,” Wayran translated, awed at his own ability to understand her words flawlessly. Whatever magic the NRE’s had performed on him was powerful indeed.