Our biological directive demanded that we be ruled by two nobles at any given time: one male, one female, usually determined by seniority. Leid had ascended after she’d slain the Ivory Queen under Oraniquitis’s influence. Adrial had ascended when I’d killed the Silver King half a century ago. Until then the violet line, our line, had been looked down at.
Now we owned the place.
Yahweh plopped beside me at our wrap-around desk, holding a mug of steaming coffee. He set his plate of mashed root with bread and fruit-spread in front of him, smoothing the sleep from his tussled hair. The bread wasn’t soft enough, but no one complained.
For some perspective, we were the most powerful race in the multiverse—at least what we found of the multiverse so far—but we kept to ourselves in our own little pocket of existentialism. We couldn’t use anything from our home; our food and other resources were outsourced. Instead of simply taking control of another, more resourceful world (or solar system for that matter), we took only what we needed through contractual arrangements from lesser societies. Our knowledge and expertise for their resources.
We lived a bit like monks, if monks weren’t theistic and instead mapped the multiverse and analyzed particle behavior using the highest form of tech possible, cerebral.
“I could sleep another hundred years,” lamented Leid, massaging her forehead. “I’m so tired that I’m not even hungry.”
“Eat anyway,” I said. “We won’t eat again until tonight.”
Leid pushed the mashed root around with her fork, sighing in defeat, taking a bite. Her brows raised. “Better than last time.”
“When’s it your turn to cook?” I asked.
“I take it you want me to make tulan.”
“Fuck yeah, I do.”
Leid smiled. “Tomorrow night.”
“Finally, something to live for.”
Adrial walked to the center of the room, taking his place behind the podium. He chugged a mug of coffee. “Good morning.”
The conversations around the room fell silent.
“Earlier we discussed what happened at the cliff, now we will discuss actions that we should take. Do we believe there is uncharted territory beyond the abyss? If so, are we under any threats?”
“I motion to explore,” I said, out of turn. “And I volunteer to go.”
Everyone looked at me.
“So, you believe there’s more land beyond the cliff,” said Adrial.
“I don’t know. Does any of us really know?” I shrugged. “Belief means fuck-all. Knowing is everything. We haven’t tried to find our roots for all this time just to get shaken by a clue.”
“I agree,” said Yahweh. “And I also volunteer to go.”
“A noble act, but you’re the only two who could go anyway,” said Zira curtly. He meant to say that Yahweh and I were the only scholars with wings.
Adrial looked between us, his brown-flecked eyes alit with conflict. “If we’re going to entertain the idea of there being more to Exo’daius than we know, we also have to entertain the idea that there are threats beyond the gorge.”
“What threats?” I asked, incredulous.
“The kind that leave fields of dead Vel’Haru in their wake,” murmured Leid.
I side-eyed her. “All the more reason to figure out what’s going on.”
“Or end up like them,” said Pariah.
I threw up my hands. “So what’s the solution, then? Should we just sit around and wait for whatever’s out there to come to us?”
“Qaira’s right,” said Leid, blotting the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “I’ll go with them.”
Adrial’s posture relaxed a bit. He was comforted by the idea that she would be with us. She was going for our protection. “I want to know as much as you three, but there’s a lot to consider. If something happens out there, the rest of us have no way of knowing or coming to your rescue. There are no feasible rescue parties, Qaira, do you understand?” His eyes narrowed on me.
“I understand,” I said.
“We’ll reach the other side, see if there’s land; if there is, we’ll head back and report our findings. If not, we’ll head back regardless,” said Leid. Those were her terms.
Yahweh and I nodded in agreement.
“Does anyone have any objections to their plan?” asked Adrial.
The others shared conflicted looks, evidently thinking our plan was flawed. However no one spoke up. I caught Zira’s gaze and he smirked; the meaning behind his expression eluded me.
Adrial sighed. “Alright, then our first form of action will be investigation. Leid, Qaira and Yahweh will breach our known perimeter and search for the source of the phenomenon we witnessed yesterday. Someone start a fragment, please.”
“On it,” said Aela with a blank, distant stare.
A second later, attica alerted us that a new fragment had been archived under our fieldwork datalog. We took a moment to read it.
“Update that as you go,” ordered Adrial. “At least then we’ll know you’re still alive.”
“It really makes my heart warm knowing how much you all care about me,” I said.
A few eye-rolls served as my only response, because that had been sarcasm.
*
“You’re not hearing me.”
At Adrial’s rebuttal I glanced away, holding my tongue.
“I asked why you think this is a good idea, not why you think it’s warranted,” he said.
“You realize that both of those sentences mean the same thing, right?” I asked, irritated. “Like, no difference at all.”
Adrial exhaled malay smoke, reclining in his chair. “In a normal case, but not with you.”
“The Court agrees with my proposal.”
“And so do I, but I’m concerned about your motive.” Adrial ashed his cigarette, pouring both of us some wine.
When he failed to say anything else, I snatched the glass off his desk. “Meaning?”
“Meaning you just got your shit together ten years ago, and suddenly you want to charge headfirst into a situation that is quite likely to get you killed.”
I lifted a brow. “Oh, so this is about me rather than what’s best for the Court.”
Adrial ran a hand through his hair. It fell against his shoulders in a dark brown wave. He was pensive. “You become more like her every day, you know.”
“I can’t wait to grow breasts, let me tell you.” And then, seriously, “I’m not scholar material. All I know is a battlefield.” I was better suited for the role of Enigmus’s guard dog than an advisor or instructor, and he knew it. Violence was the only constant in my life.
I was from a warring race led by a military society; later I was a prisoner of the Nexus Initiative, forced into being a galactic assassin for the better part of a thousand years. The only way I solved my problems was with blood. The only way I fixed things was by breaking them. No amount of rules or higher-education would change who I was—not that I was proud of being who I was, just that I’d accepted it a long time ago. Adrial thought that by making me a scholar I’d grow softer around the edges, gain more patience. He was an optimist.
However, here was where I might be able to shine. I had absolutely no qualms with being the first one into a fray.
Adrial nodded, conceding. “Not a moment’s peace with you around.”
I flashed him a serrated grin.
He didn’t seem amused. “Are you sure you’re willing to risk everything you fought so hard to gain on The Atrium?”
The Celestial War, he meant.
Leid, he meant.
And this was where the Vel’Haru part of me took over. “There’s no sense to life if there isn’t any risk. None of us would be here if it weren’t for the risk I took on The Atrium.” Adrial opened his mouth to respond, but I stopped him by raising my glass. “The risk was selfish, yes. But it wasn’t for me.”
“It was for you. You saved the celestial race from complete destruction, murdering the Silver King and
Scarlet Queen simultaneously, just so you could be with Leid.”
I paused, considering his summary. “That felt more like a win-win, personally. But it’s different now.”
Adrial raised his brows. “How so?”
“Because this isn’t just for me, or Leid. I’m doing this for us. I’m as much invested in knowing the truth as any of you.”
Adrial’s demeanor shifted from impatience to intrigue. He took a sip of his drink. “Elaborate.”
I frowned. “Are you trying to play my shrink again?”
He laughed. “No, I’m just curious. You don’t admit to caring about anything very often.”
I didn’t relent. “As of right now all we have to go on are Leid’s dreams, and that’s a very flimsy lead considering dreams are subjective and often metaphorical.”
“Fair enough.”
I knocked back the rest of my drink in one gulp and returned the empty glass to Adrial’s desk. “We’ll revisit this conversation once there’s a tangible risk involved. So, when do we leave?”
*
We were set to depart after evening meal.
I’d spent most of the afternoon laying stomach-down on my bed as Leid refilled all of the ink that had long since faded across my shoulders and arms. She straddled my lower back, piercing my skin with a coua-dipped needle as I combed attica for stellar class arrangements of Celevis-alpha.
This was an old galaxy in an ancient universe; all of its giant stars were dying. Everywhere was either too hot or too cold for anything to live. There were only four high-intelligent races still remaining, and two of them were post-organic, or machines, having shirked their creators a long time ago.
“Yahweh can barely contain himself,” murmured Leid, stabbing me with the needle.
I winced. A thousand years later and she was still terrible at this. “You don’t seem too thrilled.”
She dipped the needle into the ink canister. “Because I’m not.”
“Oh, come on; don’t you want to know what’s out there?”
“Yes, from the safety of my archive.”
I arched a brow, looking back at her. “Then why did you volunteer to come?”
“Someone needs to keep you brave idiots alive.”
Stab.
I hissed, annoyed. “Leid, be gentle.”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to come,” I said. “I’d prefer that you stay, actually.”
“Would you?” said Leid, a hint of scorn in her tone. In my peripherals I saw her head tilt. “Still see me as a damsel in distress, do you?”
“No,” I said, scoffing at that ridiculous notion. When I said nothing else, she clicked her teeth.
“Then why?”
“Because I’m still your guardian.” I turned to her, propped on my elbows. She searched my face, her own softening. Now she straddled my lap. “And as your guardian I’m forced to deter you from any danger.”
Leid hesitated, and then she leaned in and began to kiss my neck. That was enough to get my heart pumping, and I sighed away the tension, caressing the back of her head. “And as your wife,” she whispered against my skin, “I’m forced to fuck you until your eyes cross.”
“You’ll smear my ink.”
She was already unfastening my pants. “We’ll fix it.”
I knew I’d regret that decision later, no matter how good the sex was.
***
Yahweh Telei—;
Evening meal was quiet. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut, and that was disappointing because I wanted to discuss what we might find across the abyss. Instead I sulked at my plate as everyone shared anxious looks while saying nothing. The only one who seemed unfazed was Leid, but that was just a defense mechanism. She ate quickly with a steeled demeanor, eyes on her food and nowhere else. She was on her second mug of wine.
Adrial caught my attention from across the room. He was looking at me, flashing a package of malay cigarettes from his breast pocket. He nodded toward the courtyard entranceway.
Why not. There may never be another opportunity, and I wasn’t sure why that fact didn’t frighten me more.
I took the last bite of my meal and followed Adrial as he exited the dining hall.
“I couldn’t stand another minute in there,” he said once I stepped outside, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “It makes everything worse when no one speaks.”
He handed me a cigarette. I bowed my head, allowing him to light it for me. It tasted like soap and flowers. “Aren’t you worried, too?”
“Yes,” said Adrial, “but not enough to go completely mute.”
I smiled, but hadn’t intended to. The sky had turned yellow and I felt like I was floating. Doing this now, right before we were set to depart, probably wasn’t a good idea. Qaira was going to get a heap of help from his drunk wife and her high guardian.
At that thought I stifled a laugh. “Is it strange that I’m not worried?”
“You’re not worried at all?”
I thought about that, then shook my head. “No.”
Adrial shrugged. “Perhaps you’re better suited for this lifestyle than many of us.”
“What scares you the most?” I ask, taking another puff.
“That dead Vel’Haru part of Leid’s dream.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “The idea that we’ve been living in an unknown, larger world with inhabitants who know we are here, yet haven’t come calling.”
“Perhaps they’re dead,” I said. “What do you know about Exo’daius’s history?”
Adrial shook his head. “Not much, only that the proxies came here after Philo’s destruction.”
“Came here,” I repeated. “This place may have existed before they arrived. We might be the only ones left.”
“What about that thread?”
I tilted my head. “What about it?”
“We’re inert here. Whoever left that wasn’t, or isn’t.” Adrial took a seat on the steps, putting out his cigarette and absorbing the waste. We were very pro-recycling around here; in reality we were walking composts.
“Yes, that’s a puzzle at the forefront. I need to know.” I frowned, getting rid of my cigarette as well. “The curiosity is maddening.”
Adrial grinned up at me. “That’s the spirit.”
“I just wish I had a firearm, or something long range.” Physics didn’t work the same here so anything residing in that domain was useless. Hand weapons were equally useless because we had our scythes, although…
“I need to get something,” I said, hurrying back to the dining hall, leaving Adrial staring confusedly after me.
***
Qaira Eltruan—;
“Where the fuck is he?” I whispered to Leid.
We stood at the edge of the cliff, clad in our Enigmus armor; black amid the vibrant yellow grass around us. The others were here as well, seeing us off. Except for Yahweh, who had disappeared at the end of evening meal, never to be seen again.
“Not sure. Should we look for him?” responded Leid, whispering as well.
“You might as well speak plainly; we can still hear you,” said Zira.
I shot him a look. “Then go and find Yahweh.”
Zira rolled his eyes, but turned and headed down the cliff to exact my charge. He only made it halfway down the hill before Yahweh sprinted over it, coming into clear view. There were black statues in his arms, one almost as tall as him.
“Sorry,” he huffed, dropping the statues at our feet.
They weren’t statues at all. They were weapons.
I looked to Yahweh in question. We all did.
“If there are any threats,” he began, readjusting his armor, “then we don’t have to rely on our scythes.”
Because healing would be slow and torturous. Smart, kid. “Where did you get those?”
“From the Sanctuary,” said Adrial, coolly. “Those are proxy weapons.”
“Why would proxies need weapons?” I asked.
“Maybe for the sa
me reason you need them,” proposed Zira.
We all fell silent, staring at him. He was far too brooding and snide for my liking, but sometimes his intelligence shined.
Adrial’s eyes set with cognizance. “The proxies knew.”
Not just Oran. All of them.
“If we’re done speculating, I’d like to go now,” interjected Yahweh, impatient. He knelt down and handed Leid twin crescent blades, their glass surfaces reflecting the sky. She studied them, quizzically. He gave me a strange set of cuffs that arched into long curves. They sort of looked like my scythes.
Yahweh claimed the last weapon, a pole-axe nearly as tall as him. He walked by us and to the cliff’s ledge, unfolding his wings.
I tried the weapons on. They were a snug fit between my lower forearms, but very light-weight. For a second I felt silly, like a character from one of those Tagwarkian serial dramas, but I’d take anything over severed hands.
Leid followed Yahweh, looking back at Adrial.
He nodded. “Good luck.”
I unleashed my wings, last at the edge. I scooped Leid up and without another word Yahweh and I lifted off, showering our court with black and white feathers. They disappeared behind the mist within seconds. I squinted ahead, trying to keep my trajectory one-eighty.
Here we went, adventuring.
Did Yahweh even know how to use a polearm?
VI
A TANGIBLE WORLD
Qaira Eltruan—;
WITHOUT WIND, FLYING FELT WEIRD, almost like floating weightless out in space. The ride was a bit rough because Yahweh and I kept jerking backward after lunging far quicker than anticipating. Leid kept complaining that I was going to drop her. An hour in and I wanted to drop her.
Yahweh abruptly came to a halt, treading windless air. Concern bled from his only visible eye. He always kept the other concealed in a thin, black sash. As the Argent Commander, he’d never concealed his scar; I didn’t know what had changed between then and now.
I stopped as well. “What?”
He looked around, searching the red mist. “I don’t know if we’re still straight.”
Dysphoria: Rise (Hymn of the Multiverse 6) Page 4