Children of Semyaza Read online

  Another boy, with his hand around the shoulder of a brunette, walked in. His haircut, short and shiny, smelled expensive and he held the girl as if she were his trophy, though he could not see the same enthusiasm on her face. They were followed by another boy, dressed in a similar expensive fashion, with a girl by his side as well. This girl, however, seemed to crave the attention from all the other students who gawked at her and her beau as though they were Greek gods. The young lovers fueled their classmates’ craving curiosities by standing in front of the class a bit longer. Octavius, nettled by the apparent letdown, ordered the two to sit down. Of course, due to his frail state, his voice made a wheezing sound which made the two giggle as they found their way to their desks.

  Despite his frail state, however, Octavius felt a sudden gush of heated energy course through every corner of his body. His weak heart which had scarcely beaten faster than a beat per minute was suddenly racing. He felt cool sweat trickling down on his chest. He looked over at the class door and saw a tiny boy limp in. His hair might have been neatly combed, and his shirt ironed, neat and tucked in at some point, but something seemed to have disorganized his prior cleanliness. He could easily be perceived to be a weakling—but he was not. He was a part of Octavius. They were part of the Oneness within Terraincardia. Octavius had found his first Assenter in years.

  The sickly substitute teacher’s gaze rested on Garrick and this unnerved him. Sure, he was late, but only for a few minutes. He must have been new here, obviously filling in for Mr. Julian due to his unfortunate alcohol induced accident (which he thought would straighten his father out, yet Jared Hartmann was still a firm drinker… just no longer much of a driver).

  His eyes followed Garrick as he walked up to his chair. The substitute teacher finally wrote his name shakily on the board. Despite his hand’s vibration, his handwriting was elegant and curly as he wrote:

  Mr. Octavius Wallace LeGrey

  “Good morning all,” he began. Everyone mumbled in response. “I have the privilege of being your substitute teacher until your teacher, Mr. Julian, recovers from his unfortunate accident. Now, this may be perceived as distasteful, but I hope what has happened to him will serve as a lesson to you all. Do not drive under the influence of alcohol.”

  Lester giggled. “Yeah,” he said as he kept his eyes on Garrick. “For those of us who can afford cars.”

  “Notwithstanding,” continued Octavius, “I’d rather you all abstain from alcohol altogether until you are of legal age.” Celina rolled her eyes. “I like to start my classes with a little fun fact.” He slowly wiped the board and replaced his name with ‘First Battle of Tannenberg.’

  “We’ve already done Tannenberg,” Dennis said snidely.

  “Oh? Then would you care to tell me the year of the battle, Mr…” Octavius closed his eyes and searched through his mental register, “Mr. Jenkins.” Dennis looked taken aback. Before he could attempt to answer, Octavius turned his attention to another shaky student. The boy gulped and replied August 1914. “I’m afraid not. That’s the Second Battle of Tannenberg. I’m asking for the first.” Everyone, including Garrick, kept quiet.

  Standing had become too strenuous for him, so he sat on the edge of his table. “The Battle of Tannenberg you’re familiar with was named after one of the greatest battles in Medieval Europe. As a matter of fact, the battle didn’t take place in Tannenberg at all, but in Allenstein which is in Poland. It was only so named to give the Germans a false sense of retribution for the defeat of the Teutonic Order at the first Battle of Tannenberg by the combined forces of the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania in 1410. This battle has several names but is more commonly known as the Battle of Grunwald.”

  Octavius’ voice was drowned out in Garrick’s mind. The word caught his attention and lit a sudden spark in his head. Where had he heard it before? Grunwald, Grunwald, Grunwald! It was in his head somewhere; probably some inaccessible memory; something he came across in a book maybe? What was it?

  Octavius was still teaching, “…the Lithuanians were commanded by Grand Duke Vytautas the Great who...”

  His heartbeat sped up; his breathing was heavy; and he was sweating profusely. Due to the frequency of these symptoms, he was accustomed to them and knew exactly what they meant. As he gradually faded into the depths of his dark mind, he thought: ‘I won’t hear the end of this!’

  AUGUST 1410. ROSTOCK

  The torrential rains killed the silence which had soothed him for the past week since he’d awoken. The cracking thunder only worsened his anxiety. The blinding flash of lightening also dazed him. Volant’s pupils were black and widened, covering a greater portion of his eyeballs. His olfactory ability had increased tenfold since that night. He could smell the Baltic sea from the inn he resided in miles away.

  The weeks that passed were nothing short of hellacious. He was cold and alone. He was consumed by an almost unnatural rage. A rage which spontaneously erupted everyday causing the impairment of all his senses. His varicolored surroundings would become monochromatically red. And upon a return to normality, he would see people. Their lifeless bodies spread around him. And he’d be soaked in their blood. And he’d like it. He’d be at peace. What had he become? A demon like those he’d dedicated his life to destroy? A demon like the ones who had taken his parents from him?

  Tears as hot as viscid lava slid down his cheeks.

  “Do not fret, fledgling,” said a soothing voice that came from the corner. Volant looked over his shoulder at Jekuthiel.

  “Am I dead?”

  Jekuthiel walked up to the shivering figure and bent down till their noses almost touched. “You’re more than alive,” he said. “Let that thought soothe you, Volant. From this day onward, you shall serve no one; not the Order and not Vytautas. You are your own master. And together we shall do great things!”

  Garrick lay on the classroom floor spread-eagled and with an intense migraine. As he struggled to raise himself up with rickety hands, he noticed the innumerous eyes fixed on him. It was then he realized he’d just had one of his panic attacks. He haphazardly picked up his belongings and ran out, his head still whirling and blending the many colors around him into nauseating concoctions.

  Half the class was lost in laughter. Arianne, however, showed some concern as she stretched her head to catch a glimpse of her fleeing classmate. She wanted, more than anything, to run after him, hold him and…

  Octavius was having his own set of problems. He also wanted to run after the young man who had awaken within him something that had lain dormant for decades. He wanted to Question him right then and there, but he knew he needed to wait. This was not like any other he’d ever Questioned. That boy was something else.

  He coughed into a napkin—that was the first sign. The napkin was bloody—that was the second sign. His eyes felt like they were gradually being plucked out—that was the third sign. He wasn’t going to wait for the fourth or fifth signs. It had become very clear that his time had been exceeded. “Class dismissed,” he said shakily as he packed his briefcase and followed Garrick’s example by vanishing in the hallway. The students, who were more accustomed to leaving before their teachers, remained seated in bewilderment.

  “They’re made for each other,” joked Lester.

  Garrick snuck out that stormy night. He was frustrated by his inability to recollect even a fragment of the visions that accompanied his unusual panic attacks. Maybe he was just a weirdo as the others in school would say. Maybe something was very wrong with him and he needed to get himself checked. He could have been mad. Yes, he was mad—but wouldn’t a mad man be the last to admit his madness?

  He reached a two-story home and struggled to climb over the surrounding fence. Once he succeeded, he scanned the neighborhood to make sure no one had seen him then began to climb a tree on the grounds until he was directly in front of an open window. Quietly, he observed the young lady inside the room. Arianne was brushing her curly hair slowly with a lost look on h
er face. Her simple act of personal grooming was enough to make Garrick’s heart quake even faster than it would during one of his many fits.

  Spurred by this, he quietly entered her room through the window and gawked at her some more. The rain drops on his raincoat slid onto her floor and the dripping caught her attention. Arianne turned around to see her motionless adorer. She stood up slowly, staring back at him wide-eyed.

  She was beyond his level. She was the girlfriend of the heir of an influential and powerful family. She had no business with a social reject like him. If he knew what was good for him, he’d turn around. Turn around and…

  She walked up to him and placed her hand on his chest. “You’re late, Ricky. I was worried.”

  “I’m sorry, Anne. Had to think.”

  “Yeah?” She slowly unbuttoned her shirt. “About me, I hope?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and slowly kissed him.

  Not everything is as it seems.

  3

  Octavius observed the sauntering townspeople with vulturine curiosity from his living room window. Despite his firm grip on his desires, he struggled to fight off the lingering urge to completely give into his feral instincts. The infinite selection of aromas emanating from every home, alleyway and car, were all too enticing. His age and experience, however, saved them. If he were much younger and inexperienced—one easily seduced by his surroundings and quick to give into his every ferine desire—many would have perished by his hand.

  He bent his head sideways resulting in a loud cracking sound as he entered the kitchen and retrieved a cold bottle of hard cider from the fridge. He returned to his living room and lay down on the settee. He stared at his television, though it was off, and let his long, smooth and shiny dark hair fall over his face as he pondered on the young man from earlier. Garrick Hartmann, he whispered to himself softly. Yes. He was the one he had been searching for. The resemblance was uncanny.

  Octavius felt fulfilled. The grin on his face and deep sigh that followed were both indicative of his current emotional state—joy. When was the last time he felt it? He could not recall.

  Now that he had found him, it was only a matter of time before the prophecy would be fulfilled. Some would welcome it—others would reject it. Yet, there was still the matter of Questioning him. Yes, he sensed the boy and their connection within Terraincardia. Nevertheless, his euphoria mingled with concern over the boy’s reaction to the Battle of Grunwald. The mere mention of Grunwald alone had sent him into a fulminant convulsion during which Octavius could have sworn he saw his eyes turn green for the smallest fraction of a second.

  Green. Could it be that…? Inconceivable!

  Octavius was alerted to a presence within his dwelling place. The intruder was stealthy enough to take any mere man by surprise. But, Octavius was no mere man. He took another swig of his cider and brushed back his hair from his face. Killing an intruder would be justified. But wait! This was no mere man either.

  What remained was for Octavius to employ his peculiar skill and make a profile of the Atruman intruder. The gift of the inner eye was a skill he had perfected over the years. He closed his eyes, but the room was still visible to him in his mind. Gradually, every wall in the house dissolved away like melting butter. He spotted a tall man with an almost feminine and youthful face, platinum-blonde hair and cyan eyes, leaning on a wall with both hands in his pockets. Octavius smirked as soon as he recognized him. The man wasn’t trying to sneak up on him for any sinister reason—he was merely amusing himself.

  “Shameful,” Octavius said. “All this time and you still think you can sneak up on me?”

  The man chuckled softly as he emerged from the corner into the dimly lit living room. “That ability of yours fascinates me, Octavius,” said the man. “I could not restrain myself.”

  Octavius poured himself another glass of cider. “Would you care for some, Kolten?”

  The man, Kolten, chuckled once again as he sat down on a chair opposite Octavius. “You know me, Octavius. It’s scotch or nothing.”

  “Incidentally, I had a bottle of your favorite earlier.”

  “Laphroaig?” Kolten sat up with excitement.

  Octavius nodded. “But I’m afraid I shared it with a history teacher who enjoyed it a little too much,” he remarked with a malevolent grin. “It’s a pity, though. Sharing a drink with a friend would have been nice now. Reminds me of days before my Questioning.”

  Kolten let out a reminiscent sigh. “Ah, yes, the old days. Don’t you consider it rather curious, Octavius, that back then we craved for nothing more than immortality, and now we have it, we crave for our old lives back?”

  “It is curious, Kolten.”

  “It is the insatiability of man. We are still men!”

  Octavius smirked. “You’re the only one of Kal’s Assenters who doesn’t seem to believe Incardians are gods.”

  “Oh, but we are gods, Octavius. We’re just not God; our former humanity has tainted us. We can attain a higher level of being once we can overcome this flaw. To overcome it as my Questioner has tried.”

  “Yes, Kal is indeed a paragon of what it means to be an Incardian. If we could all just be so heartless,” Octavius joked.

  He straightened himself up on his chair. Kolten, some would say, was more a soothsayer than Incardian. Truth was, prior to being Questioned, he was gifted with a keen Holmesian deductive talent which was only multiplied tenfold after his Questioning. What may have seemed like random rambling to most was usually a display of bravura.

  “Funny, Octavius,” he said. “But we both know that even Kal hasn’t reached his fullest potential. He still possesses some human flaws. We can both agree on that. In our history, only one has overcome his humanity, my friend,” Kolten continued. “But, Jekuthiel is no more.”

  “What brings you here, old friend?” asked Octavius.

  As if coming back from another plane of existence, Kolten shook his head, scratched his brow and looked back at Octavius. “Kal sent me to inquire about your willingness to honor us with your presence at the next Ceremony of Consent.”

  Octavius raised an eyebrow. “The next ceremony is not for another eight years, Kolten. Why inquire now?”

  “He suspects you’ll present someone new.”

  The dark-haired Scotsman stood up uncomfortably and returned the dripping bottle into the fridge. “I thought it was unlikely at first,” continued Kolten. “Seeing as you haven’t Questioned anyone since Rummy many years ago.” Kolten was standing as well now. “Many of us thought you were out of questions to pose—out of connections within the Oneness—yet here you are spying on your next potential Assenter. The idea excites my master.”

  “I’m sure it does,” said Octavius, as he looked out his window again.

  “So, will you be present?”

  “I will.”

  “Your word?”

  “You have it.”

  Kolten smirked and headed back to the corner from where he had emerged and pulled out a small pouch from his pocket. “I hope you don’t mind me using skydust in your apartment. There’s no point exiting as sneakily as I came in.” Octavius nodded in approval. “See you around, LeGrey.” He scooped up half a handful of bluish sand from the pouch and poured it on the ground in front of him. A bright blue flame erupted as the sand hit the ground and swirled wildly, yet it burned nothing. Kolten walked into it and parts of his body gradually vanished as the flames engulfed him and turned him to ash.

  “As a messenger of Kal, there is only so much I can tell you, Kolten,” Octavius said as he circled and watched his friend gradually dematerialize with the blue flame. “But as a friend I will tell you one thing.” The flame had already engulfed Kolten’s torso and all that remained of him was a blazing floating head. “I found him, Kolten. I’ve found the Ambler.”

  Kolten’s flaming head turned to look at him. His eyes had widened and just before the flame overcame his entire head and vanished, Kolten was able to say one last thing: ‘Volant?’
/>
  Garrick aimlessly watched the swirling smoke rise from his lit cigarette. His breathing was heavy, and his sweat had turned cold and sticky. Despite her gentle demeanor, Arianne was fierce in bed and it was hard for him to keep up with her sometimes.

  “Those things will kill you,” she said. She lay with her head rested on his pounding chest. She stretched continuously as if hinting for more of his attention.

  “I should be worrying more about your parents. They’ll be the ones killing me if you don’t stop screaming.”

  Arianne smiled shyly. “I can’t help it. Sometimes I don’t realize I’m doing it.” Garrick allowed himself a smile—a phenomenon only Arianne had ever witnessed. She traced the long-cicatrized lines on his chest with her finger. “These make you look like a POW,” she quipped.

  Garrick looked down at the brown-haired girl who no longer gazed at his scars with astonishment and horror. “I feel like a prisoner, babe.”

  “You could always leave that place,” she suggested.

  “I could,” he kissed her forehead tenderly. “But they’re the only family I have. As messed up as it may sound, I love them.”

  Arianne sighed resignedly. “I can’t pretend to understand that. Are you still tired?” She turned around and faced him, her soft naked body felt like smooth velvet on his. She kissed him as if she hadn’t done so a few minutes earlier—with passion so unrivaled to anything he’d ever experienced in his life. Once their wet lips had parted, she looked down at him sternly. “How long are we going to keep doing this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The sneaking around, Ricky. When can we come out in the open?”

  “You have a boyfriend,” he said as he gently set her aside and sat up. “A boyfriend who could raise up a stifling dust if he feels insulted.” Arianne had opened her mouth to speak, but Garrick already knew what she wanted to say. “No, Anne. You cannot break up with him. Jesus, we’ve discussed this before!”