by R. M Garino
He pushed against it.
He refused to accept the knowledge forced upon him. Pain blossomed behind his eyes with the effort, making them water, and he dug his fingers deeper into the dirt. He clung to his sense of self, to his mission, to his aspiration.
"The Sur will test you," they told him. "It will take your measure, and if you are wanting in any way, it will destroy you."
This was his first test, and it would determine if he was able to hold possession of his own mind, or lose it beneath the might of his clairvoyance.
Above all the other impressions was an enormous presence that dominated everything around him. It emanated power, and hatred; deep, intense and unrelenting hatred. It was this presence more than anything else that bore down and sought to crush him.
The Apostate, Logan thought. He was everywhere; in the soil, in the air.
Flashes slipped through his defenses; a fall of golden hair, a clenched fist gripping the edge of a portal, the haze of si'ru above a field of fallen Lethen'al.
Logan let the impressions wash over him, but refused to let any take hold. If he was to die here, it would not be at the hand of his own ability.
He gritted his teeth against the effort, and focused on who he was. Arielle's impression of him, the view of him she offered the night before he left the Gates complex rose to the forefront and he latched onto it with desperate need. It grounded him, gave him an anchor to secure himself to.
The psychic noise receded into the background, and Logan forced himself to his feet.
The sun hung frozen in a flawless cerulean sky. The occasional puff of cloud broke up the monotony of blue and increased the image of perfection. There was not a trace of wind, and the world was still. His thoughts turned to Arielle, and he wondered what her reaction to such a scene would be. He imagined her setting up her paints and capturing it in all of its glory.
Logan’s eyes scanned the terrain. He took in the ruined walls and half collapsed structures. Even these seemed idyllic, like the setting from some melodramatic romance or a child’s tale. Vines of ivy carpeted the stonework, and a profusion of flowers were interspersed among the riot of greenery.
This did not look like the world the Elc’atar described to him. Were they in the correct place? Had something gone wrong with the gate?
It did not matter. They were here, and they had a mission to complete. He would see his companions to the extraction point, the Gate of Fang and Thorn, and he would meet his end.
"Sound off!" he called. He did not want to take his eyes from his surroundings, least he be caught off guard.
"Sionid, present," the first voice called. She sounded shaken and filled with fear.
"Bryan." He too seemed on the brink of panic. Thankfully, both seemed to have their passions under control, at least for the time being.
"McAlister." As expected, there was no emotion in his voice.
"Vadin." His tone spoke of bored indifference.
"Senet." She sounded like she wanted to be anywhere but where she now stood.
"Alis." There was a grim finality to her, as if she were already resigned to her fate.
Logan nodded with each voice, marking their relative positions by sound and noting their apparent mental state. Their disparate reactions to the pastoral scene before them was unusual, but he put it from his mind. It was a trivial detail. His eyes never left the terrain, searching for the enemy.
The Lethen'al entered the Sur.
The shrulks would be upon them shortly.
"Cormac?" Logan said, calling the one name that had not announced itself.
Silence.
He turned, searching their number. The eighth member of their company stood gazing at the deep blue sky.
"Cormac!" Logan barked. The Yearling jumped, startled out of his reverie. “Mind your place and follow protocol.”
“Sorry,” Cormac said. He glanced around him, as if for the first time. “This place, its…”
“It is what it is,” Logan said. “Deal with it or be left behind. Any sign of the enemy?”
“Negative,” McAlister said. He slipped his bow from his shoulder, stuck it between his legs and strung it. He hefted the weapon, drew an arrow and notched it to the string. “Do we secure the perimeter, or just move out?”
“We need to get our bearings first,” Logan said. “We will move to the top of that hill.”
“Hold, Fel’Mekrin,” Vadin said. He hitched his shoulder to adjust the shield he carried. “We might want to discuss our hierarchy. No one appointed you command.”
“I have command,” Logan said. “There is nothing to discuss.”
“He’s the heir of House Fel’Mekrin,” McAlister said, though Logan wished he did not always state the obvious. “Command is his by right.”
“That’d be a fair point,” Senet said. She moved to stand beside Vadin. “If we were all of the same House, that is. Vadin and I are Le’Manon, and our House enjoys equal footing with your own.”
“So your assumption of command is moot,” Vadin said.
Logan regarded the pair. For a moment, he wondered why he was saddled with them. His own unit was tight. McAlister and Cormac were part of his squad since he entered the Areth’kon. Bryan, Sionid, and Alis were from a competing squad, but of the same House and they understood their place in the cohort. Vadin and Senet were outliers.
He did not have the stomach, nor the time for such disagreements. The longer they remained in one place the longer the trip to the extraction point would be. He moved to stand before them. Seeing their haughty bearing made him want to smack the smugness from their features.
“There is nothing to discuss,” he said. “Nor is this open to debate. I have command. You are free to find your own way to the exit.”
That said, he stepped around them and started up the hill. The rest of the cohort, Fel’Mekrin Blades one and all fell into step behind him. He did not wait to see what the other two decided. Their foreign tactics were bound to be a hindrance. He had enough of others dictating the path of his life, regardless of how short a time he had left.
An ancient staircase was cut into the hillside, leading the way to what once must have been a fortified structure. As he hoped, the location provided a grand vantage to view their surroundings. The ruined city was vast, and stretched to the discernable horizon. Vegetation covered much of it, and large swaths of untamed grass and trees filled the ancient streets.
“They’ve decided to tag along,” Bryan said to Logan when they reached the top.
He did not answer.
“Secure the perimeter,” McAlister said to the others behind him.
Logan took out his field glass and examined the immediate area. Nothing moved. The tree limbs hung motionless. The stillness of this world was unnerving. The Elc’atar told them to be ready the moment they crossed over, as the shrulks were able to sense their presence and would be upon them immediately. The streets, however, were empty.
He quartered the city, taking his time to gain his bearings. There were no beasts anywhere. Had something gone wrong? Were they sent someplace other than the Sur? Was such a thing even possible? He was not a Magi, and was unable to answer such a question. He was a soldier, a Blade of the Areth’kon. His job was to fight. But there was nothing to test his mettle against.
On what he estimated to be the eastern edge of the city was a wide expanse of grassland, like an inland sea.
He handed McAlister the field glass.
“What do you make of that?” he said, pointing to the distance.
McAlister lifted the glass. He was quiet for some time, adjusting his angle from time to time.
“Reminds me of the planes beyond Reven Marthal,” he said at length. “It's too dark to tell for certain, though.”
Logan regarded him before snatching the glass back.
“Its bright as noonday,” he said. “I never thought your sight was so poor.”
“Its black as night,” Cormac said from where he stood. “If not fo
r the red glow in the sky I couldn’t see five feet ahead of me.”
“Nor I,” Sionid said.
Logan looked about him. The sun was bright in the sky, although it had not moved the slightest bit since their arrival. How were the others seeing a different reality?
“It’s more like dusk to me,” McAlister said. “Moving toward evening. The light is very comfortable to my eyes.”
“And to mine,” Vadin said. Of course he’d make his opinion known.
“Bryan. Alis?” Logan said. “What say you both? What do you see?”
They looked at each other before answering.
“Black night,” Bryan said. “There’s the faintest hint of red in the sky, but I can hardly see a thing.”
“Early afternoon,” Alis said after giving Bryan an odd look. “The sun is bright yellow, but it hasn’t moved since we arrived.”
Logan digested their words and took a moment to make sense of it all.
“Why are we all seeing different things?” Sionid said. There was note of panic underlying her words.
Logan looked at McAlister. He was alert and attentive, and judging from his sin’del, the energy field that surrounded him, he was calm. Sionid and Bryan, however were not. Their sin’dels showed them a heightened level of anxiety. He examined his own emotions. What was he feeling? He was empty, bereft, but determined, even a little eager if the truth be told. Alis' sin’del spoke of the same disposition.
“I think our emotions dictate our perception here,” Logan said. “Alis, and I will secure the perimeter. The rest of you perform the Vol. Now.”
The Fel’Mekrin Blades responded to the command with alacrity. They stood straight and focused on their breathing, before beginning the ritual movements to attune themselves to their bodies. The Le’Manon soldiers first exchanged a brief telepathic communication. They must have found his judgment sound, for they too began the meditational practice of the Areth’kon.
Logan moved his attention to the north and western sections of the city, only after ensuring that Alis focused on the south and east. He complimented her in his mind. Her disposition impressed him as much as that of the others annoyed him. They needed to hold tighter to their emotions, as they had been trained to do. He chanced a glance behind him to gauge their progress.
McAlister stepped beside him after only a few moments.
“It is as you say.” He took the northern expanse, examining the city. “The sky is bright day now. Thank you.”
Logan nodded, accepting the gratitude.
One by one the cohort opened their eyes and took a position around the perimeter. Sionid and Bryan required a second round of the exercise. Cormac required a third.
“The best I can do,” Cormac said when he finished. “Its late evening, but I can see.”
Logan stopped himself from castigating the Blade. That was not the memory he wanted to leave him with.
“We head for the grasslands,” Logan said. “Mind the quarters.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Display
The sun held fast to its position, though the cohort traversed a good portion of the ruined city.
The air was humid and close.
Senet unslung her water skin and worked the cork.
“Save it,” Sionid said, her voice just above a whisper. “We have no way to replenish our supplies here.”
Senet seemed about to respond, but Vadin touched her arm and shook his head. Without a word she recorked the skin and returned it to its space on her pack.
Logan noted the exchange but kept his thoughts to himself. Such concerns were beneath him now. Besides, a little discomfort would be good for her. Suffering brought clarity and truth. In his own way he pitied them all a little. They were still consumed with thoughts of their future and plagued by personal dreams and aspirations. Such were the thoughts of children and fools. Such things made one weak, blinding them to the reality of their existence. They did not yet understand the release death brought.
They continued on, and their steady pace devoured the distance. Time slipped past them, marked only by the exertion and strain upon their muscles.
“How far have we come?” Bryan said.
Logan regarded him.
“I’m getting hungry, is all,” Bryan said to fill the silence. “It must be well past midday, and I couldn’t eat much this morning. Or last night, for that matter.”
“Senet had the right idea, earlier,” McAlister said. “Take a short break and refuel. We never know what’s ahead of us.”
Logan waved them on, consenting to the respite. Soldiers travelled on their stomachs, after all.
They moved off the remnants of the road and took shelter from the sun within the shade of a disheveled wall. Logan held himself apart, maintaining the perimeter while they rested. His own hunger gnawed at his innards with a devouring rumble, but he ignored the sensation.
He turned the ring on his index finger while he studied the landscape. Its twin rested on his thumb. They created a tactical display, created from the various expeditions of Yearlings that walked the paths of the Sur. His own father wore a similar set during his tour. Lucien Fel’Mekrin’s travels here were marked, should his son decide to study it. Logan resisted the urge, though the thought of his long absent father stoked the fires in his belly. Now was not the time to contemplate such an abandonment.
“It might be useful to turn that on.” Sionid dusted the remains of her rations on her trousers. “At least to find out if we’re anywhere near where we should be.”
Logan considered the suggestion. It was a good idea, he decided.
“That records our surroundings, does it not?” Senet said. She finished stowing her gear and slipped her pack over her shoulders. “It overlays our position to those already known.”
Logan held up his hand to display the rings.
“The Field Marshal, Dugal Rhen’val, charged me with mapping the Sur,” he said. Now might be a good time to reveal to the them the extent of their mission here. “Specifically, he requested that I identify an area called the Bore.”
“The Bore,” McAlister said. “That’s some Magi thing isn’t it?”
“It’s supposed to be the intersection of numerous paths,” Cormac said. “My Master, Gleason, was big on things like that. I think he’s gonna try for Mala’kar someday.”
“What did he say of the Bore?” Logan prompted when his companion did not elaborate.
“Oh, right,” Cormac said. He busied himself with arranging his gear, and spoke into his pack. “He’d go on for hours about the different realms, he called them dimensions. Claimed there were thousands of them, reaching every facet of existence. He said that the Sur was removed from the Patresilen, the same way the Patresilen is removed from the Quain. But, he also said that the Sur was connected to another realm; the Bore. Its where all those other realms intersect.”
“So why do they want us to map it?” Vadin said. Logan glanced his way, and was pleased to note the precise fitting of his kit. At least he was meticulous. It was an admirable quality. “What does Command want with the Bore?”
“They plan on studying it in order to predict future breaches into the Patresilen,” Logan said.
“That would be huge,” Bryan said. “Do you remember the one in Reven Marthal a few years ago? That was massive. They almost called up a full muster of the Gates for that one.”
“How could we not remember?” Alis said. “We were all there. It's what made me want to become Elc’atar.”
“It won’t bring your family back,” McAlister said. “You know that, right?”
Alis glared at him. It did not take long for her features to soften, though.
“I know that,” she said. “But I preserve their memory by ensuring no more families are torn apart.”
“A noble sentiment,” Logan said, though he knew her story well. As graduates at the Gates, their squads were pulled to help contain that breach and placed under his command. He remembered well the sight of her
standing in the remains of her family home, the bodies of her kin strewn about. A haze of si’ru, the fragments of their souls released when the physical body of a Lethen'al died, hung heavy about her as if in a final goodbye. Her rage was profound, though she focused it throughout the battles that followed. “Consider this mission a continuation of that thought.”
She regarded him, and her sin’del firmed around her. The grief was still there, but it formed more of an armor rather than a wound. She gave him a tight, curt nod, accepting his statement.
“So what are we waiting for?” McAlister said. “Fire that thing up and let's see the job done.”
Logan tapped the rings together twice, and an ethereal blue field appeared between his thumb and forefinger when he spread them. A map appeared, with a silver star indicating their present location. A red line showed the path the cohort travelled since their arrival. The remnants of the city showed in the background, displayed with a softer green. A dark purple line showed them the path to the Gate of Fang and Thorn. A set of numerals counted down in the lower right hand corner, showing them the time until apogee for the gate.
The cohort gathered around, each of them peering at the map.
“Where is the Bore?” Bryan said. “I don’t see any markers for it.”
“We need to find it first,” Logan said. He used the finger of his other hand to move the orientation of the display. The path to the gate was well defined, but when he moved from that point, there were large blank swaths. “The paths taken by former cohorts are well established, but no one has ever ventured off of it.”
“We’re heading into uncharted territory,” Vadin said. “In a very literal sense of the words.”
“Yes we are.”
“What if we wander too far?” Senet said. “What if we can’t make it back to the gate in time? We only have three days.”
"Two and a half." McAlister pointed to the descending digits.
“That is the risk.” Logan looked into each face gathered before him, weighing their resolve. “I intend to see you all to the gate, but I also intend to see this mission completed. I will not lie to you. There is a decided chance that we will miss the extraction. The only directions they gave was to look for the light of creation shining through the darkness.”