Children of Semyaza Read online

  Hagen, on the other hand, maintained a calm disposition and motioned to the guard with his hand. The bars began to sink into the ground. In an instant, Garrick’s eyes were back to their normal ochre brown as he looked around wondering what was going on.

  “You’re going to kill me then?” he asked Hagen.

  Hagen shook his head and pointed at the Guard. “He will take you to The High Lord. He is expecting you.” Garrick had opened his mouth to speak but was cut off. “Ask no further questions. I do not have answers for you. Now go.”

  Suspicious, Garrick followed the guard out of the cell. Hagen took a long deep breath as the bars came up from the ground and he noted the bars Garrick had squeezed were almost bent out of shape. It was then he realized the boy had no control. Those eyes—thanks to years of training as a Skotadologist, he knew what they meant. Such immense power in the hands of an inexperienced and angry child would only lead to more problems.

  Yet, Hagen sighed in relief.

  It wasn’t every day one encountered the Knoxian Heightening spell and survived.

  23

  Kolten remembered a time long before his Questioning. His mother, Esme, would often tell him how she had come to care for the young Volant Kesgaila. How she had found him, bloodied from head to toe, in a burning house with the corpses of his parents strewn next to him. She said she could not remember what horrified her the most—seeing the dead bodies of her sister and brother-in-law, or her motionless stoic nephew on his knees beside them—but she knew she had to take him with her. She felt a sense of relief once she realized the blood on the child was not his own but that of a dead animal. It was common knowledge among Shimshonites that the blood of dead animals confounded Atrumans and served as a useful way to hide from them. With death at their door, Mykolas and Agnes thought only of their child.

  Kolten was only six years old when Volant came to live with them. He was a quiet but angry child. Before his eleventh birthday, he was permitted to train under the Order of Shimshon. He was an enthusiastic student, she often said. But he was also reckless because he was primarily driven by an unbridled thirst for revenge. Not knowing the exact Atruman or type of Atruman responsible for the death of his parents, Volant considered all of them his enemies. Often, he came close to death himself, but for his luck. Esme was certain his parents watched over him. Even if that were the case, it clearly wasn’t enough for the ambitious Shimshonite. Shortly after inheriting his grandfather’s title of General Elder of Samogitia, he set out to exotic lands around the world to learn more than the order could ever teach. And this was how he met the enigmatic Knox.

  The rest is history.

  Kolten noted Garrick approaching him with a guard by his side. “I’ll take it from here,” he said. The guard bowed and walked away. “Hello again.”

  “Hello,” replied Garrick. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Kolten chuckled. “High Lord Kalder is my Questioner. I serve him. And no, I don’t have any Assenters yet.”

  Garrick looked as if he’d been slapped. “I… I didn’t ask.”

  With a cheeky grin on his face, Kolten looked straight into his eyes. “No, you didn’t. But you were about to. It’s a talent I have. Octavius can see through walls and I have high powers of deduction.”

  Garrick had begun to wonder if he had really intended to ask Kolten any question about Assenters. He wasn’t sure, but having that information seemed to satisfy an urge regardless.

  “No, I don’t know what skill Octavius possessed before his Questioning which enables him to see through walls. I’m not sure he does either,” Kolten pointed out.

  Another unexplainable nagging urge was satisfied within Garrick. “You’re amazing,” he said. Kolten seemed pleased with himself.

  “Please, follow me.” He escorted Garrick into the center of the massive rotunda. They passed through a labyrinth of wide and dark corridors until they reached their destination. It was a curiously decorated living room with walls adorned with eerie portraits of men and women Garrick did not know—at least until he noted a familiar one in a corner. His hair was lighter, much longer and braided.

  “Octavius?” he said under his breath.

  “Yes. He’s the only former living member of the Gore Council. In fact, he resigned when he set out on his quest to find Volant. It’s been nearly 20 years.”

  Garrick wasn’t sure how to react to this. He knew there was something extraordinary about Octavius LeGrey. But he thought it unusual he had never mentioned anything about being a member of Terraincardia’s ruling elite.

  “He doesn’t like to talk about it,” said Kolten. “He is peculiar that way. Some never liked him. Others considered him too superstitious because of his steadfast belief in the Ambler. However, Hagen owes his post on the council to him. He received it because of Octavius’ recommendation.” Garrick had opened his mouth to speak but was cut off. “Me? No, I wouldn’t like being a member of the council. It would be too stifling. Besides, my older fellow Assenter, Shajan, is next in line.”

  “Anyone ever told you that thing you do is annoying?”

  “I admit, talking with people is severely limiting. Oh, but not with him.” They both noted the Incardian called Kira emerge from a door at the other end of the room. He merely glanced at Garrick but fixed his gaze on Kolten. The two seemed to engage in an intense staring contest that lasted several minutes. Kolten soon nodded his head in acknowledgment and Kira walked away through another door.

  “What just happened?” asked Garrick.

  “High Lord Kal will be with you in a moment. He is rounding up a meeting with the Keeper.” Garrick’s incredulous expression was an obvious indicator of his next question. “Kira and I are kindred spirits. And no, we didn’t use the Fourth. We deduced everything we wanted to say before we could say it. That’s how we communicate.”

  Garrick laughed. “I like it. I wonder what my special ability is.”

  “It’s obvious, Garrick. You’re a genius,” beamed Kolten.

  Soon they entered the adjoining dining room. Kal was seated at the end of it, his eyes fixed on the Nink. He smiled and motioned for Garrick to sit down without a word. Garrick tried not to show how much he was intimidated by Kal’s presence. He wasn’t physically imposing, yet he felt dwarfed by him. The room seemed to be warmed by the power of his aura.

  He was truly in awe of the High Lord of Terraincardia.

  “So, Garrick Hartmann, we finally meet,” he said.

  Garrick flinched. Somehow, the Hartmann name left a bitter feeling which caused a fist to clench in his stomach whenever he heard it. He bowed his head and said “Lord Kalder.”

  “Kal is fine,” he said as he eyed him curiously. “I have no choice but to admit this: you’re a spitting image of Volant Kesgaila.”

  “Thank you,” Garrick answered awkwardly.

  “So, Hagen tells me you were adopted by these Hartmanns. His half-brother’s family. And he also tells me your mother was a Kesgaila. This, then, makes you the last of the Kęsgailos and Volant’s heir,” he continued matter-of-factly. “Has it ever occurred to you that your resemblance to Volant could simply be a consequence of your ancestry, Garrick?”

  “I have considered it, yes.”

  “Aha!” he clapped his hands triumphantly. “You’re clearly smarter than LeGrey. Your resemblance is merely a result of—what do you call it? —DNA?”

  “Really? Is it possible to look just like him after so many generations between us?”

  “If you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ll know it’s entirely possible. Creation is not as creative as you might think. Sometimes, things are reused.”

  Garrick stifled an urge to argue. “Okay,” he said.

  “That settles it then!” Kal stood up. “This has all been a misunderstanding.”

  “Except,” began Garrick. He wondered if his acquiescence would be wiser, but he could not control his inner rebel sometimes. “I see bits and pieces of Volant’s life, Lord Kal. They
come to me like dreams.”

  Kal’s grin had melted away as he sat back down. He knew little about reincarnation, but he surmised memories of a past life were enough of an indicator of such a phenomenon. Yet, he still approached the entire situation with cautious skepticism. “How can I believe you?”

  “I don’t see much. It’s like… reading random excerpts of a very thick book. I have seen Volant before and after he was Questioned by Jekuthiel Roth. I have felt his pain, his anger…his fear.”

  Kal showed no emotion. “Do you know why there’s food on this table?” he asked. A perplexed Garrick merely shrugged in response to such an out of place question. “It isn’t real earth food, clearly. But, you see, I’ve spent so much time in Terraincardia, I often miss the taste of food. What you see before you are Terraincardian substitutes. Some of the tastes aren’t as I remember them, but I make do with what I am presented with.”

  Slightly disarmed by the change of topic, Garrick decided to play along. “How is it made?”

  “Made? More like imagined. There is no nourishment, no fulfilment… nothing. I don’t even eat it anymore. But feel free to taste some if you would like.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I can’t poison you,” he said with a scoff. Garrick said nothing. “You see,” he continued, “I’m probably the most misunderstood person in all of Terraincardia. Ever since you caused an Ousting, rumors of your identity have spread like a wildfire. Many think you’re the Ambler. And they’re also quick to assume that I see you as a threat to my authority.” He stood up and walked up to Garrick. He placed both cold hands on his shoulders and whispered in his ear. “Are you a threat to me, Garrick?”

  Garrick shook his head. “No, sir. I’m just trying to get consented.”

  “Mmmm, yes. Why would you be a threat? You have no aspirations to be High Lord.”

  “Exactly,” said Garrick with a sigh of relief.

  “Yet,” continued the High Lord, “the influence that could come with such attention could go to your head, couldn’t it?” Garrick shook his head, yearning for the encounter to be over. “Still, I have nothing to fear. I have given my all to Terraincardia. So much, I haven’t returned to my body on Earth in decades. I have sacrificed and forsaken the pleasures of the human world to keep us where we are today in the community of Atrumans. And now I eat this fake food—and I will never complain.” Kal walked over to another door and gestured with his head for Garrick to follow.

  They entered a room very much like the one Garrick had been in earlier with Kolten. This one had fewer portraits and was darker as well. Kal did not look at his guest for some time and stared into the blackness of the sky from an open window.

  “Do you know why I have nothing to fear, Garrick?” He did not wait for an answer. “Yair and Babacar are exceptionally gifted Therianthropes who can turn into creatures unknown to man and inspire fear in everyone they meet. Even I don’t know the extent of their strength; Wayland is one the greatest swordsmen in both human and Atruman history and wields the Orlock Claymore which, I’m sure you know, is the only weapon that can kill me or any other Incardian in Terraincardia; Hagen… well, Hagen prefers to keep his abilities secret for strategic reasons, but I assure you he is formidable; and Kira—yes, Kira—he is the most lethal. Kira and all those Questioned by him have the peculiar talent of melding with shadows, which makes them highly effective assassins. He has also adapted that fantastic deductive skill of his to his fighting style. He’d know your next move even before you do. A terrible person to face in battle, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Garrick nodded slowly.

  “These men, Garrick,” he continued as he placed his hand into a cauldron in the center of the room which began to glow and covered the entire room in a blanket of light. “They fear me.” What followed was a rare warmness that soothed Garrick. Whatever was in that cauldron made warm tears slide from his eyes as his mind was overcome by thoughts of Arianne.

  “They fear me because they know I am far worse. So, tell me. Why would one who instills so much fear into the hearts of such formidable Incardians be afraid of a Nink?”

  As he wiped his cheeks, the purpose of the meeting became clear to Garrick. Not only did Kal want to size him up, he wanted to give him a subtle warning. To cut all his banter short, he was basically warning Garrick not to mess with him. He was slightly relieved by this, however. For a moment, he thought he was going to be killed.

  “Take a tour if you’d like,” said Kal as he walked out of the room. “Then you can see yourself out.”

  Garrick was confused when he realized what the light from the cauldron had revealed. At the center of what resembled an altar, were two portraits. One was of three men. The man in the middle was Jekuthiel Roth, whom Garrick recognized from his visions; and beside him was the all too familiar face of Volant. He did not recognize the third man with the light brown hair. The other portrait was of Volant alone with an elaborately patterned sheathed sword hanging from his belt. Garrick wondered why Volant was given a special position on this altar when he noticed another detail on the portrait of the three men. There was an inscription below that he moved in closer to read.

  Volant Aurimas Kesgaila; Jekuthiel Roth; Azmaveth Roth

  Cruorem Diabolus

  24

  The reddish smoke from burning rapturedust swirled over Warwick’s face and, in his addled mind, had begun to take the form of intertwining dragons. He lay on his back, pipe in hand, with an ecstatic grin on his face. Ingrid sat beside him, legs crossed, also indulging in the crimson stimulant. They were in a tent in the Uppers among Warwick’s brethren, the Eagle People. Regardless of what any Incardian thought of the Uppers and the Eagle People, they were just the people to be around during the drawn-out period leading up to the Ceremony of Consent. This was primarily because of their special talent to create rapturedust. Its origin was a well-guarded secret among the Eagle People—not even Kal could get the information out of them. Eventually, others could do nothing but periodically visit the barren Uppers for a fix of the fantastic substance.

  Warwick was one of five founding members of the Eagle People, and his fellow Assenters and allies benefitted from his unlimited access to the dust. Fortunately for Ingrid, she counted herself among the few who enjoyed this privilege. Whereas others endured long wait times or nothing at all, she could get an endless supply at a moment’s notice.

  “We should break him out” slurred Warwick. “Do you concur?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” spat Ingrid. “The last thing we want to do is incense Kal. Do as Octavius says. Wait it out.”

  Warwick shrugged. “I don’t really care either way, to be honest. I’m still not sure I’m sold on the Ambler.”

  “Not many are,” said Ingrid. She was slightly annoyed at that point but not from Warwick’s lack of faith. It had just occurred to her that it was taking her longer than usual to addle her brain. It turned out that decades of continued use of rapturedust led to some sort of resistance to its effects. It was so human it irritated her.

  Warwick helped himself to one more puff of the reddish smoke and sat up. “Volant was long before my time,” he said. “But you knew him well. Is Garrick anything like him?”

  Ingrid did not respond immediately. Her mind wandered to a time before she was Questioned. She remembered when she still hated the man who would eventually become a part of her. She sighed in frustration as she said, “when I first saw him—before he was Questioned—he was a poor imitation.”

  “And now?” inquired Warwick with an almost childlike curiosity.

  “Now, he seems the man himself. Yet, his manner is different. The way he talks, walks. That’s all Garrick, not Volant.”

  Warwick knew not to push any further. The story of Ingrid and Volant wasn’t the typical boring love story. Love had very little to do with it. The bond between a Questioner and Assenter was a strong one, but theirs went beyond that. They shared more than a connection in the Oneness. Yet, even she coul
d not point out what it was—and that was always a source of frustration for her. If only she could pinpoint it, she would probably be able to get over it.

  Over the years, Volant’s life had become romanticized by his ardent followers such as Octavius. Ingrid always chuckled whenever she heard anyone recount the adventures of the Ambler because the stories were mostly exaggerated. Volant lived an impressive life before and after his Questioning and she believed his status as a legend was well deserved. However, only one aspect of the stories often tickled her for its inaccuracy.

  Volant’s supposed mastery of the Knoxian Heightening Spell.

  She remembered how he often complained about its unpredictability in times of battle. He never knew when he would attain the highest level of the spell or its lowest. Volant had only ever mastered the art of winging it. But what really made him peculiar was the fact he survived usage of the highest stage of the enchantment—the green eyes. Knox often insisted that it was never meant to work for any other being but himself—especially not a human being. Yet, Volant survived it and became the first and last human to achieve this. Even more amazing was the fact that his eyes had become green by default after his Questioning. This was also why there was no doubt that Volant was the Incardian Ambler mentioned in Gusoyn’s old prophecy—Green eyes were curiously absent in Incardian circles.

  As if on cue, Garrick arrived and stood by the tent’s entrance as if lost in thought. Ingrid and Warwick showed no emotion seeing him out of his cell. Warwick simply passed him his pipe and lay back down while Ingrid shuffled uncomfortably as Garrick sat and took a long drag of the pipe without asking a single question. Garrick had never tried the dust but assumed it would cool his head which had burned with so many thoughts.