by R. M Garino
"Even if we returned to our own time," Brigit said, "we are different than we were. We are separate, aside."
"But, how is that even possible?" Logan said. "I am not saying I do not believe you, but this is very difficult to accept."
"The sanctum rejuvenates us every night," Garrett said. "If nothing else, we retain our youth and our vitality. It clears us of our taint, for sure as sin, the Sur taints you. Our leader, Obsidian created this so we could fulfill our purpose. It's not a naturally occurring thing."
Brigit motioned at him, and Garrett tapped his forehead with a finger and fell silent.
The idea of never again seeing his home or the people he knew and loved made Logan's stomach clench. But, then again, he realized, there was nothing left for him back home, was there? For Heaven's sake, he kept himself aloof and alone for so long that he did not even have a Pride to return to. He had duty. He had other people's expectations of him.
He thought he had two options available to him; to return, or to die here. What if there was a third option available; to live, but chose his own path in this life? Would that be so untoward? His father did so; Lucien Fel'Mekrin walked away from his title, his wife, and his two children. Was it so wrong for Logan to do the same?
Yes, yes it was. Look at what that did to him. His father's absence created a vacuum in his life. It was one of the reasons he pushed himself so hard. He blamed himself for Lucien's departure. If he had been a better son, more accomplished, perhaps he would have stayed.
Brigit studied him, her head cocked to one side.
"Will you join us?" she said.
He considered the question before answering. He was intrigued by them and their purpose. He was tempted by the offer. There was nothing left for him at the Gates save a heartache and a life he did not want anymore. If he returned, he did not know if he possessed the strength to turn from the course his House planned for him. It was easier to stay. But then again, a gaze around the room dispelled anything romantic about the notion. They lived rough, a hand to mouth existence at best. If he was able to choose a third path here, he was capable of doing so back at home just as well.
He gave her his best smile.
"I have a mission to complete," he said. Thoughts of his missing cohort intruded, and sobered his expression. "And there are… obligations I have at home."
"You are far from your path," she said. "It is doubtful that you can return in time to find the gate."
His cohort needed him.
Arielle… he was not content to just walk away from her, even though his hopes were destroyed.
They offered him a new life, one filled with eternal youth, a grand purpose and a higher calling.
Would those at home fault him for accepting?
Would they even know?
CHAPTER TEN
The Bore
"I cannot join you," Logan said from behind the protection of his closed eyes.
Brigit sighed.
"If you would attempt to reach the gate, time is no longer a luxury you possess. If it has not closed for you, and you can make it, you can return to your life.”
"My cohort," Logan said. He wanted them to understand and accept his decision. "I promised to see them home. We were separated in the greensward."
"So be it," she said. “You have already experienced more than any other who has walked the Sur. Should you return home, your report of what happened here will have reverberations for centuries to come.”
"My mission…" Logan began. He fell silent, unsure of how to continue past the turmoil in his soul.
"What mission do you have other than passing through the Sur and returning?" Suresh said.
"The San Hedram charged me with mapping the Bore," Logan said. "I cannot return without seeing the task done."
“Garret, please show Logan the maps,” she said.
“I wish you'd reconsider.” Garrett pitched his voice low and gathered several vellum parchments from a cubbyhole in a nearby wall. He laid them atop a massive stalagmite that was broken off and leveled to form a table of sorts. “You would be a tremendous addition. None of us can claim to have slain numerous Lifeless in one assault."
Logan shook his head. "I must get back to my cohort."
“Then let us find them.” Garrett unfurled a map. The parchment was heavy, with a sturdy look to it. Garrett slapped it and grinned. “Shrulks are not good for much, but their hides make a wonderful vellum. Lasts forever.”
He searched the map. He leaned in and traced his finger across lines and designs Logan had difficulty following. What appeared to be paths or roads intersected and overlapped one another. To his eyes they created a twisted confusion. Some were illuminated and glowed with an internal light he was unable to identify.
"Are there any Magi here?" Logan said. It was the only explanation he had for what he saw.
Garret nodded and raised a finger without looking up.
"Several," he said. "Myself included. Mala'kar, to be precise. Or rather, potential Mala'kar. We would have tested had we returned."
“How can you read this?” Logan's lack of comprehension became too much to bear.
Garrett glanced up and shrugged. “You get used to it, after a time. Here, this might help.”
He tapped his finger against a glowing line and the entire image lifted off the page, creating a three dimensional, ethereal display. The coinciding lines separated, and revealed multiple layers of direction, each nestled beneath the other.
The rings on Logan’s hand warmed, causing his flesh to tingle. A glance showed him a golden light emanating from them. He chastised himself for not paying attention, and clicked the rings together to activate the display. This was precisely what he came here to find, and the device had to remind him of his purpose. The bluish image between his digits expanded, and he moved it to cover the chart. The two models merged and combined. The different levels activated one after the other. Garrett’s map duplicated itself on Logan’s display.
This was another responsibility he carried. He accepted the task of the San Hedram. They awaited the return of the display.
“Do you know why breaches open into the Patresilen?” Logan said.
Garrett shrugged.
“A breach is not an easy thing to explain," he said. “Consider that the Sur is like an insect nest. Termites in a wall, if you will. Oftentimes, when a nest gets too full, the inhabitants will push others out. That happens here, too. Shrulks breed like a cancer. Their numbers swell, even with us culling the herds. Now, you know they can sense our sin'dels, right?" He did not wait for an answer. "Well, they can also smell the energy of a breach. When one is about to occur, they mass near it. So that accounts for their presence. As for the breach itself, I personally think it's a buildup of energy within a node, like the plates of the earth slipping against one another that finally gets released."
"So," Logan studied the layout in greater detail. "They wait for an aperture to open, a chance to push through."
"Exactly. Can you show me where the breaches occur?" Garrett produced a map of the Patresilen, and overlaid it atop the other.
"Sure," he said. "The Magi detected a pattern."
"A pattern," Garrett gasped. "Really? We haven't been able to do so, and we've been at this a long time."
With his finger, Logan inscribed an arc running from lake Antaeus in the west, all the way to the great tree of Reven Marthal itself.
"The Magi's current operating theory is orbital drift," he said. "With one tether of the Sur cut –"
"Both tethers are intact." Garrett pointed to two lines on the topography of the Sur. One was bright white, the other dark and smoky. "These indicate the two Temples."
"But the Temple of Shadows was destroyed over six thousand years ago," Logan said.
Garrett chuckled.
"The physical temple maybe, but not the fount it guarded," he said. "That's whole and hale. I'm afraid your Magi are wrong."
Logan was stunned with the announcement. He ne
ver entertained the idea that the Magi were wrong, that they were capable of being wrong. The very thought seemed to be… heresy.
"There are other explanations," Garrett said. He pointed to several of the brightest contours on the map. Numerous lines jumbled at those points, forming intersected, knotted jumbles. "These sections here are anomalies. There are nine such courses that we've identified thus far, and each runs parallel to a particular node of energy. As I said, we have a few potential Mala'kar among our number, and our leader is an E’ine. Not Brigit. She commands the Company. Obsidian leads the Lost Guard. We think these nodes relate to certain areas of creation, but we haven't been able to get close enough to map them."
"Why not?"
"Lo'ademn," Garrett said. "We don't know if they form the tangles, drawing the courses toward themselves, or if the tangles draw the Lo'ademn, but we do know they are there, fortifying the nodes." He pointed at several of them in turn, naming the being existing within each anomaly. "Thelas. Beleth. Aenir. Kalka'il. Djall. Mashish. Rhabad. Forcas. Dumah."
"What about these areas to the north?" Logan pointed to other sections of the map that were obscured, as if covered in fog and mists.
"Also Unmapped," Garrett said. He indicated the concentration of Lo'ademn nodes that formed almost a straight line across the map. "We call it the Apostate's Citadel. We know Tarek is out there, we just don't know where. Seeing as that area holds such a heavy Lo'ademn presence, we surmised that the Apostate hides behind it."
"Sounds reasonable." Logan leaned on his elbows to get a closer look at the interplay between the differing images. Half of the arc he scribed to represent the breaches resided in the obscured region. Someone would need to penetrate its depths to secure a definitive answer.
Logan considered the information. This was invaluable to those back home. The explanation, along with the data now housed in his display held the potential to save countless lives.
“And what of my cohort?”
Garrett returned to his inspection of the original parchment. Layers disappeared as he swiped them out of his way, working his way down through the strata. At last, he found the path, and Logan saw six red dots that moved along its route.
“This is them,” Garrett said. “They still have a distance to go to the gate.”
"Brigit said I do not have the luxury of time," Logan said.
"You don't," Garrett said. "But they do."
"How does that work?"
"It's a time thing. You need to sync up with them," Garrett said. "But your possible junctures diminish the further they progress. Don't try to understand it. It will take you years of study. From the looks of it, if they keep to their current progress, they'll arrive early."
He looked at Logan, an expression of concern on his face.
“What?”
“Arriving early is always hazardous,” Garrett said. “It causes them to be static, held to a single area. Shrulks are drawn to Lethen’al. Always. By staying in one place, they will be swarmed."
"I see." Logan glanced back to the markers representing his team. "So the longer they hold position, the greater number will fall upon them.”
"Exactly."
Logan met Garrett's stare. His own resolve firmed when he beheld the look of sympathy on the other's face.
“How do I get to them?”
Garrett expanded the view and brought discarded layers back atop the cohort’s route.
“We take this juncture.” He stabbed his finger at a particular intersection. Logan bent to examine it, and noticed for the first time that different conduits connected the separate layers.
“How long will it take?”
“As long as it does,” Garrett said with a chuckle. “If we walk this path, we will overtake your companions at this juncture, here.”
“You are coming with me?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Garrett said. “We're the protectors here. We watch over the pilgrims, as well as the Bore. We always have. I may not be with you, but I will be watching.”
“You guard every set of travelers?”
“No." A look of sadness overtook Garrett's countenance, and his eyes wandered back toward the maps. "Every cohort that walks the Sur is monitored, but we do not intervene. It would not be a true testament of their prowess if we did. The Blades stand or fall by their own merit. It is a… heartbreaking endeavor."
"Then why watch?"
"There are times when someone gets lost, as you did,” he said, "or misses their extraction like I did. At those moments we collect our own and bring them home."
“There have been years where no Yearlings returned.” Logan returned his attention to the parchment. “Did they join you, or did they die?”
Garrett brushed the question aside with a wave, as if it were unimportant. “Depends on which year you’re referencing. Some years, entire cohorts have joined us and we become a beacon for every shrulk in the land. Other years there are none. We watch them pass through the gate and wish them well. In terms of deaths, it all depends on how well they face their own demons. Some can see true, and others can’t. Those who can’t become fodder for the Lifeless.”
“The truth is almost as disorienting as the Sur's directional changes," Logan said. "Still, now that I am here and I have taken its measure, I am surprised so many fall victims to it."
Garrett chuckled, but there was a menacing, dark edge to the humor. Logan shot him a wary look.
“Don’t be so dismissive, Fel'Mekrin, your defining moment hasn't happened yet. But don't worry; something feckin' awful is gonna occur, and sure as sin, it will change you."
“I have spent days fighting my way through the Sur,” Logan said, stung by the innuendo that he had somehow took an easy way through.
“But you have not been tested by it,” Garrett said. He pointed at him to drive his argument home. “By deviating as early as you did, you were spared the worst it had to offer. Things will be different when you rejoin your cohort, believe me.”
“How so?”
Garrett grinned and raised his hands with a shrug. “That has yet to be determined. It’s different for everyone. You never know until you experience it. The test is what changes folks. Consider it a rebirth. I’d wager that you are the same as when you entered. Mayhap a trifle wiser, but fundamentally the same.”
“Of course I am.”
Garrett pointed at him again. “There you have it.”
Logan looked away.
"Some things are different," he muttered. He hated cryptic responses. It was one of the things that infuriated him with his mentor. Whenever he probed for information regarding the trials, Mason teased him with enigmatic responses that revealed nothing. He doubted Garrett was any better.
“When do we leave?” Logan said at length. He had no more time to waste with these games.
“When you tell us you are ready to go.” Garret pointed to Brigit, who watched them from across the chamber. Other members of the Lost Guard milled about; some slept, some tended to their weaponry or clothing, some ate, some read. Typical soldier behavior, Logan concluded. Waiting was a part of a Blade’s life, and they learned early to make the best of it.
A Blade approached Brigit and whispered in her ear.
She seemed disturbed by the information, and turned her gaze on Logan.
"If you are going," she said when she noticed him watching her, "it is time to leave."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Logan's Personal Journal
Final Entry Before Entering the Sur
The universe blocks my every move, and mocks me for the attempt.
Others see honor and glory.
I see despair and incompetence.
I fail. The vision others have of me is far removed from the truth of who I truly am. They see a hero, imbued with skill and precision. My reality is closer to a slipshod and disorganized blind man stumbling about in the dark.
I have given this tremendous thought of late, and I know I have not been happy for a very
long time. Whether it is my vision of myself that I am unable to live up to, or the life I aspire to; My existence stagnates and festers. This is the constant throughout my existence. Despite my numerous victories on the field of battle, my every attempt to live my life as I see fit is stillborn, and defeated before I begin. There is no progress, and I can see no better day ahead. There is abject failure and discontent.
I grow weary from the effort of picking myself up.
I tire of pushing on.
There is a comforting thought that came to me just now, while I contemplate the course my life has taken, and what it is about to become.
I can die.
This life will not go on forever; it its finite. The idea that I can die whenever I want, that I can chose the moment of my own destruction is liberating. Even if I have no control over any other part of my life, if I am ineffectual in effecting any type of positive change, I know that I can still end it all, and through that one action take control of my life. Some methods may be quick and messy, others long and protracted. There is an infinite choice here. I will be the architect of my own demise; an accident, a blatant suicide, a slow meandering death. The choice is mine, to be made within the confines of the Sur.
I must remember this.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Juncture
Logan hoisted his pack and settled it about his shoulders and hips.
Garrett swatted Logan's hands out of the way and secured the straps for him. "You're about to reenter the Sur; your test is starting again. You need to focus."
The admonition brought Logan up short. Those very words were his mentor's mantra. And they spoke the truth, even while they stung.
Logan chanced a glance behind him. Brigit offered him a nod, and she touched her fist to her heart in salute. Logan returned the gesture.
He and Garrett passed through the tunnels. Neither of them spoke. At length, they entered the grand foyer and stopped before the exit.