Children of Semyaza Read online

  “See! You’re learning already!” remarked Octavius.

  Rumsfeld emerged with a broom. “I believe I have some cleaning up to do,” he said.

  Garrick stared at himself in the mirror. He took a moment to admire the new person he had become. His ocher eyes, although unusual to him, made him look handsome. His skin was smooth as silk; his teeth were bright and white; his chin length raven black hair was a welcome change from his days as a neatly combed student; his eyesight was sharper and his glasses were no longer needed; and the most obvious of all his transformations—his body. His slightly tanned and chiseled torso was like nothing he’d ever seen. He was even taller!

  He imagined how he would have fit into his high school looking the way he did. He would’ve been at the top of the social ladder. But he wondered if this would have turned him into a sadistic predator like his former oppressors? Was it the way it was meant to be? The handsome and popular preyed on the weak and helpless? Thomas Hobbes described man’s state of nature as one of bellum omnium contra omnes—the war of all against all. One would think his school mates were all acting under this natural impulse. It was almost as if they were reverted into their states of nature whenever they were around him. But if he was the focal point of all the hostility, it would be apt to dub it a “bellum omnium contra unum—war of all against one person.”

  Among other things, Octavius had taught him how to use a minimal amount of skydust to create small portals from which he could retrieve items. As he sat on the floor attempting to use this trick to pick up a book from the library, his thoughts strayed to Reading—to Celina. He imagined being with her at that very moment and putting an end to her life. Octavius was his only stumbling block who constantly insisted he finished his training—though Garrick thought it was unnecessary because, with his new strength, he could destroy the entire town. But he knew better than to challenge his Questioner. It was a difficult task, nonetheless. Sometimes he saw her in his dreams. She would grin at him—her Nordic beauty almost confounding him—and she would gently touch his face, her piercing blue eyes staring directly into his; and she would tell him to come for her, almost daring him. He always wondered if such dreams were figments of his imagination or some new ability exclusive to the Ambler. After all, Octavius admitted he did not know the Ambler’s limits and capabilities. Was he somehow tapping into Celina’s mind?

  Celina! Celina! Celina! The name constantly replayed in his mind and he could not bear it. It made him feel guilty for not trying to find his beloved, Arianne. He felt he was more intent on hating Celina than loving her. These thoughts bothered him. And he failed to pick a single book from the library due to this distraction.

  “Your fixation on revenge is a stumbling block,” said Octavius.

  Garrick did not turn to look at him. “How did you know?” he asked.

  “I know that look.”

  Garrick glanced at the mirror in front of him to see Octavius looking down at him with visible concern. He struggled to suppress the boiling sensation within his chest and trembled uncontrollably as he clenched his fists. Eventually, he mumbled something that could only be picked up by an Incardian’s acute hearing. “‘You must turn your back on them and some day you shall return, and you shall have revenge’.”

  Octavius was confused. At that point, his Assenter was emitting a strange and warm aura. This troubled him. “What’s that?” he asked, part of him prepared for a surprise scuffle.

  “Back in the basement in Reading…those were your exact words, Octavius,” continued Garrick. “And the night I was Questioned, you gave me more hope for revenge. It was the only reason I Assented.” He stood up and faced his Questioner. Octavius finally understood what was wrong with him.

  Garrick was Glaring and Raging.

  “And now you attempt to dissuade me?!” he asked, his voice more akin to a lion’s roar.

  Octavius remained calm. “I exploited your rage. I admit it. But it was a necessary evil. It was the only way to make you fully embrace your destiny! You must forget about causing any harm to Miss Hagen.”

  “What? Why? She’s my enemy!” Something within him began to feel uncomfortable with how childish he sounded. Yet, at that point there was little he could do. His baser instincts were in control.

  “For what?” asked Octavius, his arms out wide. “For giving you a hard time? You are not a child, Garrick. That’s the Nephilim’s Rage amplifying your hatred for her into something you cannot control. It is unnecessary!”

  There was a spark within him as if a fuse had blown in his mind. Garrick was gone. What was left was a very angry monster that launched itself toward Octavius. But Octavius anticipated such an outcome and facilely dodged his out of control ward’s attack and struck the nape of his neck. In an instant, Garrick was out cold.

  JULY 1946. READING, NEW HAMPSHIRE

  Garrick sat cross-legged by the radio in the living room. He was alone, as was usually the case at that hour because his parents were usually occupied with some things an eleven-year-old would find uninteresting by then and waited patiently for another episode of his favorite radio show, The Adventures of Superman. As it began, he recited the opening line as he had always done.

  Faster than a speeding bullet!

  More powerful than a locomotive!

  Able to leap tall buildings with a single bound!

  Look! Up in the sky!

  It's a bird!

  It's a plane!

  It's Superman!

  This was followed by a cereal commercial. He was always anxious for it to end and for the show to begin. Once it was back on, he listened attentively and reenacted the whole thing in his mind. In his mind performances, he always starred as Superman. Soon into the episode, he gathered it had something to do with baseball and for quite some time there was no Superman. “Come on! I want Superman!” he complained.

  We’ll return in a moment for the exciting climax of today’s episode

  “What? Where’s Superman?” he asked. Then he had to listen to another cereal commercial. Fortunately, the episode had begun to get interesting when some kid called Chuck threatened Jimmy Olsen, but before he could find out what would happen next, there was a knock on the door. Delilah had emerged from the kitchen to see who it was. As she opened the door she was greeted by a young blonde haired, blue eyed girl and a tall middle-aged man with broad shoulders and graying brown hair.

  Tune in same time; same station- don’t miss it

  “Delilah, it’s good to see you again,” said the man.

  Delilah looked surprised to see the man. Her mouth was slightly open for a moment before she straightened her dress and composed herself. “Hagen? I can’t believe it.”

  “You look well. Is my brother home?”

  “Yes, Jared’s upstairs. And who is this pretty princess?’ she asked as she bent to look at the little blonde girl. Garrick wasn’t used to seeing his mother acting so nice.

  “This is my daughter, Celina.”

  “Daughter? I didn’t know you had a daughter, Hagen.”

  Hagen turned to Garrick who was still seated by the radio. “Hello, you must be Garrick. I haven’t seen you since you were a baby. I’m your uncle, Hagen. This here’s your cousin, Celina. Say hello to Garrick, Celina.”

  Garrick and Celina stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. Eventually, he stretched out his hand for a handshake and Celina returned the gesture.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Celina.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Garrick.”

  Garrick woke up staring at the canopy of his four-poster. His eyes were sore as he sat up. His brain seemed out of place and his legs were almost unusable. While he took a moment to acclimatize, he heard Octavius’ voice downstairs. Garrick could also hear a second person’s voice. He couldn’t make out what was being said but could tell it wasn’t Rumsfeld’s voice. It was… a guest! Probably another Incardian. Another Assenter! The thought excited him.

  As fast as he could manage, Garric
k headed downstairs. Once he got there, he saw Octavius standing by the door with someone who wore a red velvet hooded cloak. Garrick could not see his face and as much as he wanted to get a look at him, he had a feeling their conversation was private and decided to hang back. However, Octavius had already sensed his Assenter’s presence and turned to look at him. “Tell Knox we’ll leave at once,” he told the hooded figure who looked up at Garrick without a word. Garrick still could not see his face that was shadowed by his massive hood, but the person bowed his head slightly and walked out the door.

  “Not a very talkative fellow,” commented Garrick as he walked down the stairs.

  “Oh, he’s said all he needed to say, I suppose.”

  “Is he an Incardian, as well?”

  “Oh, no. He was sent by Knox.”

  “Knox?”

  Octavius examined him intently. “Are you better?”

  “Of course.” Garrick was red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

  Octavius smiled reassuringly. “Not a problem,” he said. “Walk with me.” The two ambled around the halls when he asked, “so, you remember attacking me?”

  “A little. It’s a bit blurry though.”

  “That’s good,” said Octavius with a subtle grin. “You’re gradually getting a hold of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you remember what you do while you Rage, eventually you’d also be cognizant of your actions during Raging episodes. Your recollection is a step in the right direction.”

  The thought of finally being able to control himself and avoid further bestial fits of fury was comforting to Garrick. Octavius had had to restrain him on too many occasions. He wanted more than anything for that to stop.

  “Now, on to other things,” Octavius continued, walking in his usual noble manner, both arms crossed behind him. “Knox sent news.”

  Garrick jumped as he recalled the name. “Wait a minute! Knox! As in Knoxian Heightening Spell?”

  Octavius chuckled softly. “The very same. You do recall I mentioned being close to only one Magirev. Well, I was referring to Knox.”

  “And why did he leave so soon?”

  “That wasn’t him, Garrick. It was a disciple. Even I don’t know him. Knox doesn’t make himself easily accessible.”

  “So what news did he bring?”

  “According to him the Ceremony of Consent has been moved up. I’ve been too disconnected from everyone, I didn’t receive the news on time.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “That’s sudden.”

  “Yes, it is. It also shows that Kal’s too excited to wait another four years to see you, Garrick.”

  “You don’t suppose he’ll try to kill me then, do you?”

  “No, he had his chance when you were still a feeble human. Now you’re an Incardian and protected by Incardian laws. If he’s going to try to kill you, it won’t be by assassination. It will be by some other means, however.”

  “How do you think he’ll do it then?”

  “We’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Wait and see?” Garrick repeated incredulously. “You want to wait for him to try again?”

  “Trust me, Garrick. You won’t be an easy target. You’ll have allies this time.”

  Garrick grinned like an excited child. “You mean your other Assenters?”

  Octavius nodded. “Looks like we’re going to Terraincardia.”

  17

  The two stared intently at two coffins. The room they were in was another Garrick had no knowledge of. Except this time, it wasn’t due to his disinterest in exploring but because this room had been hidden expertly under the war room. Behind a wooden board on the wall where the weapons were mounted were two slits which could only be penetrated by the Blood Cravers. Once they were put in up to their hilts, the ground beneath them rose about a centimeter and turned with only a small section of the wall. Soon, they were on the other side and behind them was a rocky cobwebbed passageway with unused gas lamps on the walls. The Cravers were retrieved from the wall and the two went down a stone stairway at the end of the corridor. Soon they were in a dark dank dungeon.

  “Rumsfeld has access to this place,” said Octavius as they walked. “He knows not to expect us anytime soon. I suggested he take a vacation. Even a factotum needs a rest occasionally.”

  “He deserves it with all the mess I’ve made him sort out,” said Garrick, his eyes circling the dungeon’s wet walls. “How long are we going to be gone?”

  “I’m afraid that’s indeterminable.”

  At the end of the hallway was an elevated structure with several rectangular structures superjacent it. Once Garrick recognized these were coffins, he began to laugh.

  “Are you sure we aren’t vampires, Octavius?” he joked.

  Octavius ignored his beamish Assenter and walked up to one of the coffins. However, Garrick’s continuous cackle irritated him. “Coffins are useful!” he barked. “You could spend years in Terraincardia. Your body needs to be kept safe and this is the best way. This way you’ll stay covered. Now stop laughing and get in, Garrick!” Octavius had opened one of the coffins. Once Garrick could control his laughter, he peered into the coffin. It looked, to Garrick’s astonishment, incredibly comfortable. He jumped in and was even more surprised when he realized it also felt as comfortable as his luxurious four-poster bed.

  “What do I do now? Chant some sort of spell?”

  “We’re not wizards, Garrick. Going to Terraincardia is one of the easiest things an Incardian can do.”

  “How?”

  “Once I shut this coffin, close your eyes and think about going there.”

  “That’s all?” Octavius nodded. “And you’ll be right behind me?”

  “Not exactly. Ninks can’t control where they land because they’re not conversant with Terraincardia’s layout. And I won’t be able to find you because your location will be random. So, you’ll have to find your own way.”

  “That sounds challenging.”

  “No, you should land pretty close to the capital by default.”

  “Capital?” Garrick repeated. “What capital?”

  Octavius passed him the Blood Cravers and closed the lid when he said, “Andvaria! It’s the only named city in Terraincardia. That’s why it’s easy to find. See you soon.”

  The oddest thing happened to Garrick inside that coffin. The second he thought, ‘I want to go to Terraincardia now,’ he felt a jolt from within him as if something dragged him down, and he suddenly woke up in free-fall. He circled and stretched his arms out in hopes of grabbing onto something. But he soon came to terms with the futility of his actions. He couldn’t even see the ground below him as he shot down like a fiery comet. It would be a lengthy descent into uncertainty. His drop picked up speed with each passing minute until he turned into a flaming ball of light shooting toward the ground. As soon as he could see the sandy terrain below him, he had crashed into it.

  He emerged from the crater unhurt, wiped sand from his hair and face, and observed several more streaks of burning light in the blackened sky hurtling down, but all heading much further from where he had landed. “Did I do it wrong?” he wondered as he walked at a brisk pace, almost a jog, toward the others.

  He was underwhelmed by his surroundings. The land was barren and sandy; the sky was black and starless (except for the occasional Incardian shooting down) and the wind was stifling and distracting. Terraincardia did not impress him.

  After what felt like hours walking without any other person in sight, Garrick noticed a campfire in the distance. Exhausted and aching, he forced himself toward the camp hoping for a good rest and a familiar face. However, the closer he got, he made out only three indistinct forms. They were three bandaged wraithlike men wearing loincloths sitting around and staring blankly at the fire. The only sign of life in them came when he had reached them heaving and panting with exhaustion.

  “What’s this?” asked one. The
creases on his face darkened around his mouth. “Another one of them proud things?”

  Garrick did not know what to say. Proud things? “I…I…” he stuttered.

  A beady-eyed one stood up and doddered toward him. He clutched Garrick’s chin and began to examine his face like a curious man of medicine. He looked back at the other two and displayed his moldering brown teeth in a sickly grin. “This is one of them baby proud things,” he said, decaying breath finding its way into Garrick’s nostrils. The others cackled rumbustiously.

  Garrick was not sure what was going on, but he was starting to feel nettled by the three. Slapping the hand away from his chin, he had begun to turn away when the same person held onto his shoulder.

  “You’re not going anywhere, baby proud thing!”

  A miffed Garrick raised an eyebrow. “Let go of me,” he said in a low yet admonitory tone.

  “Or what?” asked the wraith. Garrick scoffed and attempted to punch him, but the wraith easily dodged his blow. Dumbstruck, Garrick made another attempt which was just as feeble and easily evaded as the last.

  “My turn,” announced the wraith. Its strike landed on Garrick’s chest sending him spread-eagled in the sand a few feet away from him. Their jocular laughing was louder than the whistling wind in his ears. He struggled to get back on his feet when he noticed the wraith who had punched him was dragging his feet toward him. “You have no power here, baby proud thing. You are not a full proud thing. We can hurt you.”

  Garrick’s eyes widened. It wasn’t because of what the wraith had said or because he was obviously walking toward him to finish him off. It was the hooded figure behind the other two who were sitting down by the fire and still laughing maniacally. Garrick pointed toward it, but the three ignored him.