by D M Wozniak
The Indivisible and the Void
Age of Axion
Book One
D.M. Wozniak
The fundamental notion which any voider’s power relies upon is this: Everything in our creation is built out of infinitesimal building blocks, called the indivisible. There is nothing else, besides the indivisible and the void.
- Master Voider Democryos
I cannot bear to put the words Dear Love down on this parchment, but the formality of your name betrays the years of happiness we had together. I want to remember you as being more than just my teacher. You were my lover, too.
Dem will suffice, then.
If it helps, think of this goodbye as my graduation. As you always taught me beneath your layered charm, the indivisibles move about randomly. There is great disorder to the natural world, and the power of a voidstone holds no permanent sway.
Things fall apart, Dem. I’ve fallen in love with someone else, and we are indivisible no more.
- A letter, written by the Lady Marine to Democryos
PART ONE
The Girl from Scorpiontail
A Letter from the Lady Marine
I let go of the parchment as I would a voidstone—with deliberate finality. Because it’s either a little piece of me that dies right now, or all of me.
Despite my heartache, I choose not to die today.
Just like releasing a voidstone, the sensation is one of slowing down, falling. If I were to explain it to a non-voider, I’d compare the sensation to riding the king’s steed, or captaining a nine-mast ship, and then going from that ecstatic blur to a crawl in the mud, your body weighed down with pockets full of stones.
For when you hold a voidstone in your hands, everything changes. You no longer see people, things, or places. You no longer see the world. You see what the world is made of, moving around with the ferocity of creation.
You see the indivisible and the void.
The letter hits the marble floor of my room, and I realize that for the last five years, I’ve been living in an ecstatic blur. The five years that Marine and I were together have been a dream. But now the dream is gone.
The letter folds in upon itself where she previously creased it. I see the last line clearly: “Things fall apart, Dem.”
Perhaps Marine is right. And I almost wonder if part of me always knew this, in the deep recesses of my mind.
When we met, she was so young. I remind myself that she is still young, but five years ago she was almost half my age, at twenty-one. A first-year student at the university, and my opposite in every way. She was pragmatic and adventurous, the daughter of a wealthy landowner from Giriya. For some reason, she pursued me. She didn’t have to. She was smart enough to get by on her own merits. She had the gift. In fact, she was so strong, I am confident that she would have experienced voideath on her own, had she not received proper training at the university. But in the end, she admitted to me that she would rather have luxury than a diploma. Fame rather than function. And I was an aging bachelor susceptible to perfection.
The first time I saw her, with her golden hair in a tidy ponytail and her eyes the color of Xi Bay, I knew that I was powerless. Whatever she wanted, she would have.
But now, the Lady Marine apparently wants someone else.
Is it because I am too old and idealistic for her? Her passionate youth always pushed at the edges. Years ago, she admitted to smoking hilma once. She dove naked off the cliffs of Northinglight. On occasion, she would touch her voidstone, her entire body shuddering, when we made love.
Perhaps it has nothing to do with my age, but rather my responsibilities. I have simply been too wrapped up in my teaching. The king has been pushing me to train the students hard, to get them ready for war. There have been nights upon end where I stayed in the lab or classroom, leaving Marine here, alone.
Or was she alone?
My hands form fists as I think of the possibilities.
Closing my eyes, I remind myself that the love between us was real. But when I open them and see the letter on the floor, I admit the bitter truth: this love was temporary. It had a beginning and an end.
In some ways, it was no different than the first lecture I gave to all of my students.
Voiders don’t create or destroy. We only change. We manipulate what is already there. And many times this change is brief. If you hold onto the power of the voidstone for too long, you risk voideath. So you always must let go, and when you do, things tend to go back to the way they were. It may take a fullbell, or it may take days, but eventually, the world returns to normal. You cannot change things forever.
The same is apparently true when it comes to love.
These are the words that I have said to many a student. After a student had become enraptured and subsequently forgotten by some daughter of a prosperous merchant, they would come running to me. I would tell them that they were the subject of a morbid curiosity, for the wealthy like to experience things. It comes either out of boredom or the perception of power. Loving a voider is one of these experiences. I would remind my students of my first lecture, and give them encouragement, telling them to focus on their studies and leave everything else behind. Because they are the lucky ones. They have the gift. And this gift is better than all the money and beauty in the world.
Except I am not a simple student.
I am Master Voider Democryos.
This is the reason I cannot let her go. Not until I know the truth. One does not simply leave a man of my power with nothing more than a cryptic letter.
I, alone, understand how the world was built. And so I, alone, must understand why it has been destroyed.
A gentle tapping on the door brings me out of my thoughts.
“Elrich, come in,” I say, recognizing the knock of my first footman.
“Morning, Lord Democryos.”
He opens the door, as I bend to pick up Marine’s letter and place it back neatly on my pillow, folded in thirds. I don’t look at the young, lanky man, but I smell the coffee in the room, and hear him place the silver tray on my desk. Usually, he’s talking by now, relaying the day’s agenda. But not today.
He knows.
This makes my anger swell. The rumors must be all over the citadel by now. The kitchen, four stories below, has probably been alive and buzzing with hearsay well before sunrise.
I take a deep breath.
Elrich is a good man. He takes his job seriously, and can always be relied upon. There are not many people like him in the world. Even the king lacks this characteristic—of course the king’s responsibilities are far broader than that of a first footman—but the king doesn’t seem to fill his role like Elrich fills his. Like a perfectly tailored suit, Elrich and his station are meant to be. It’s not that the king can’t fill his place—he understands what needs to be done, and he has blood-right. It’s more a lack of caring.
The room is flooded with summer light, as Elrich draws the silk, damask curtains.
“How was the graduation ceremony?” he eventually lets out, weakly.
My mind flashes to yesterday. My final, morning speech addressing the graduating voiders. The mid-day, elaborate ceremony outside, with King Andrej X. The final dinner banquet. Out of everything that transpired, only one thing stays with me—a sunspot in my vision. The Lady Marine, in a canary-yellow dress that hugged her every curve. She was distant, and at the time I had attributed it to her wishing she had stayed in her studies instead of coming to live with me. Years ago, I had been adamant about that. I could not be both her teacher and her lover—she had to pick. And this year would have been her graduation. The students leaving for war were her friends—the same students who were once her classmates.
<
br /> Last night had been humid. After dinner, when I came outside, I caught her standing in the fountain, her high-heeled shoes left on the stone railing. She was running water through her golden hair, and her face was wet in the moonlight. Now I wonder if there were tears there, as well.
I ignore Elrich as I walk to my desk and pour myself a cup of coffee, not caring that I should wait until he does it for me.
“How long have you known?” I ask him.
As if considering his answer, my first footman walks over to the armoire and retrieves one of my black, flaxen cloaks, hanging it on the brass post with a clang.
“Since this morning, my lord. Anna relayed the troubling news.” After an awkward pause he adds, “You have my sincerest condolences.”
His guarded response is darkly amusing. He is not calling her a whore to make me feel better, since he doesn’t know how angry I am at her. But he is not denying the fact either.
I hear the soft sound of him brushing the fabric of my cloak. But as I leave the room, walking beyond the drawn curtains and into the covered, stone balcony, the sound of his work is covered up by layers of summer. Chirping birds, nesting impossibly high up on the tower’s walls. Women in the king’s choir having morning practice. The din of commerce in the square far below. From this height, the commoners look as small as game tokens.
Anna is Marine’s lady maid—she would naturally be the first to know. The woman has never been known to keep a secret. No wonder everyone has heard by now. Marine did not sleep with me last night. She must have awoken in her separate bedchamber fullbells ago and summoned Anna to help her prepare for the journey.
Whatever journey that was.
I look out at the kingdom, with its rolling hills glowing in the morning sun and sparkling with dewfall that has not yet burnt off. And I realize that I have not been asking myself the correct questions. Ever since I found the letter, I have been focused on the why. But I will never know why she left me, not until I ask her. For me to ask her, I need to find her first.
“Elrich, get over here,” I bark.
Elrich puts down the brush and walks over to me, nervously.
“My lord?”
“Who did she leave with?”
He shakes his head. “I do not know. I asked the lady’s maid the same question this morning, with the anticipation that you would want to know. Lady Marine left the citadel by herself while it was still dark, against Anna’s strong council.”
I take a sip of coffee while I think.
“What was she wearing?” I ask.
“Her white blouse and tan riding pants, my lord.” Elrich clears his throat before continuing. “Anna already sent a footman down to the stables. There are no horses missing.”
I look sideways at him, and he looks down at the floor. His skin is flushed redder than usual at the cheeks, and a strand of strawberry hair has fallen across his forehead. As I glare at him, a single droplet of sweat falls off of his brow and hits the black marble tiles between us.
Talking about such things is apparently hard on him. The man is trembling, walking on eggshells.
Everything in life is relative. At this moment, I would relish the chance to switch places with him.
Is he the master voider of the citadel, who has just been publicly humiliated in front of the entire court? No. He is an unknown servant that gets paid a handsome wage for doing something anyone can do. In truth, he has not a single care in the world. His burden is made of straw.
Elrich swallows. “My lord, did you wish me to summon the captain?”
“What for?”
“To arrange a search party.”
A bitter smile crosses my face, as I slowly shake my head. “No. She left on her own. She wasn’t taken from me. I am not about to sap the king’s resources, which are already thinned due to the war, looking for a girl who no longer wishes the pleasure of my company.”
This is a half-truth. What I don’t tell him is that I am not about to make this humiliation worse by having hundreds of men scour the countryside in my name. I will find her on my own, since I have the power of hundreds of men.
Elrich takes this as an end to the conversation, and he rushes back to retrieve my undergarments. I extend my arms in anticipation, and he places a silk shirt on me and changes the subject.
“If I may kindly suggest then, the weather today looks splendid, and an afternoon ride may be exactly what you need. The fresh air will do you well. Your only obligation today is dinner with the king, at sevenbell.”
But I am not ready to end the conversation. Not by a king’s mile.
Elrich steps away, only to return with my black, flaxen cloak.
“Back to the lab, this morning?” he innocently asks me, but I shake my head.
“Lady Marine’s bedchamber,” I answer, feeling the weight upon my shoulders.
A Black Substance
I let Elrich unlock Marine’s door with his gold skeleton key, even though I could do it just as easily, by fingering the voidstone hung about my neck.
Let him feel useful.
“You can leave now,” I utter.
When the door shuts behind me and I hear his long strides fade down the hall, I let out a sigh, and then breathe in deeply.
I can still smell her.
Her bedchamber has always been more luxuriant than mine, as it should be. I never spend much time in my room. I am always busy in the library, laboratory, or classrooms. My room is for sleeping and dressing, and little else. Marine would come to me sometimes, in the middle of the night, but more often I would come here, for her. To be embraced in her world of pink.
Layered rugs in blushes, creams, and golds cover the floor, hiding the white marble tile. A sitting room with floral settees sits between the entrance and her actual bedroom—a semi-private place where she would entertain her closest friends, where the young, beautiful women could talk beyond the earshot and gaze of men.
I pass through this room like a ghost, heading straight for her bed as I try to remember the last time I was here. A week ago. The days leading up to the graduation are now part of the tapestry—a blur.
Now I wonder, if I had come to her this past week and showered her with attention, would things be any different?
Somehow, I doubt it. Our problems go back further.
Gathering the white, silk bed sheets to my face, I breathe in her scent deeply.
There’s nothing exotic about it. I smell her hyacinth-infused soap, but it is weak, barely there. Yet it intoxicates me. The smell of her sweat should repulse me. Any other person’s would. But hers is achingly familiar.
With one hand, I tear back the sheets to the foot of the bed, while touching the voidstone in my other and channeling its power.
The world of white, pink, and cream disappears, and the black void takes its place.
The soft, feminine silence of the room also changes, as the voices fill my head.
Of course, they’re not actual people speaking to me, but I’ve always thought of them as such. When I was a child, my teacher used an analogy of a thunderstorm and a cave, and it has always stuck with me.
Imagine there is a terrible storm. The violent wind enters the mouth of the cavern, and whips around, echoing off of the jagged walls, creating dozens of copies, each different in pitch and strength. Now imagine that you are a scared child, and within this dark cave, every once in a while, the wind is speaking to you.
Under the influence of the voidstone, I still see the bed sheets, but they are not white. There is no color here besides black and non-black. Only shape and movement and the voices swirl around me. The fibers are woven tightly by expert hands. Massive, humming ropes, overlapping themselves repeatedly. Over, under, over, under. Closer in, they fill my vision as I move between them. The ropes surround me now, vibrating like a strung guitar. I am in a maze that goes left, right, up, and down. Which way do I go? I can go inside one of the ropes, or stay in-between them, swimming in this blackness. If I went inside, the moveme
nt would increase and the ropes would cease to be, becoming points of non-black that collide against themselves in tight, random angles.
The indivisible. This is as far as one can go.
Something catches my attention. I stay where I am.
Faraway, over the landscape of humming ropes, the lattice is suspended within some medium. Everywhere else is blackness. But here, I can distinguish an ocean of non-black that is made of different indivisibles than the rope. I go in further and stop once I discover what it means. The millions of tails and heads. The infestation repulses me, and I let go of the stone.
A man has been here.
The stain clearly isn’t mine. We have not been intimate in over a week, and the idea of Marine’s bed sheets not being washed over that time is a ridiculous notion.
Almost as ridiculous a notion as her being faithful to me.
I just stand there in the silence of the room as the realization hits me. The letter was one thing, but this stain is indelible. I finger the voidstone absently. Not the smooth black surface of it, shaped like the pit of a peach, but the gold setting of the necklace itself. This will not draw its power. The only voices in my head, for the moment, are my own.
When I eventually look up, I stare at my reflection, caught within Marine’s massive gold-framed mirror, which is leaning against the wall. I don’t look like an old man, although suddenly I feel like one. My brown eyes are partially sunken in. My short beard and hair still are more brown than gray, but they seems to be getting grayer every day. As for my body, it is in good shape for its forty-three years. I stand straight and strong, framed in my luxurious black cloak, made from the finest flax.
Despite the war raging far to the south, here in the citadel we are immune. Most men my age have taken to daily wine and feasting and have let their bodies go to shame. Take the king, a man of less than thirty years who can hardly walk up a flight of stairs.
