Io Deceneus: Journal of a Time Traveler (The Living Universe)

by Florian Armas

  *

  Scharon burst into the garden at the most inappropriate moment; I was initiating Altamira into the fragrance of a beautiful flower. Silky hair was touching my face; her perfume interlaced delicately with the flower’s own scent. And to make things worse he had a bouquet in his hands. Definitely not for me.

  “For you,” he proffered the flowers to Altamira, ignoring me and moving like an idiot from one foot to another. This did not come from your head, Scharon. Who advised you? Not who, why? Both.

  “This is very kind, Scharon; I have never received flowers from you until now. Is this a special event?” Please Altamira, don’t make things worse. Look at his red face. One more word and he will boil over and burst. Shit! If I stay, it’s bad, if I leave… Why should I leave? Because you are a stranger, because you have a mission. Bloody mission, bloody politics, bloody Scharon. One step back now, later you can move two forward. I need two for a tango... Scharon was trying hard to find an answer.

  “I have to leave now; some things require my attention in the library.” I left like a coward, without meeting her eyes. The next time I went into the garden, I was alone.

  *

  Red dust from the desert passed over the city, the moon was red, a bloody cold eye looking downwards. Hot air had the taste of sand, a strange bitter taste, surprising, and ... from far away. Wake up! That taste is from another life, far from here. What did they do to Houston?

  “I don’t remember you drinking,” Batranu teased me. It’s worse than drinking. I bet you have past feelings turning you upside down too. I said nothing.

  “The lady in the inn. The lady in the inn. Hoorah! The lady in the inn has good wine.” Doesn’t rhyme, I smiled. Some belated walkers were singing, a merry group, full of wine. They were zigzagging on the bridge, unable to keep a straight path. “Be aware,” one of them shouted, “the road is too narrow.” Just in front of us, the closest of them slumped and rolled on the stones.

  “The lady in the inn must have really good wine,” I said while helping him to stand. A fist met my chin at that same moment, pushing me toward the bridge parapet. ‘Your body is your weapon.’ Munenori spoke to me from the depths of my mind. I put my hands on the bridge’s wooden balustrade and my leg went into the sternum of a black shadow. Batranu was fighting three attackers; another one jumped, grabbing my neck. I lost ground, our mingled bodies rolled slowly until most of the mass went over the bridge and our slide accelerated. Someone tried to stop us, too late, the fall was swift; our bodies turned in the air, and ended with a splash in cold water. I was above my enemy, and held my position until his last spasm ended in silence. His body was recovered two days later. No one recognized him. No one knew what had happened to Batranu. I was alone.

  “We are sorry for what happened,” said Altamira a day later.

  “We are sorry for what happened,” said the King, and the Queen nodded.

  “We are sorry for what happened,” said the Magister.

  “We are sorry for what happened,” said Garon.

  One or more of you is lying. Who is lying? What is your game? Did you kill Batranu? Why? I escaped, I will make you pay. Alone in my house, I burst into a nervous cry. Alone.

  Scorylo paid me a visit late in the night. Not good for your business to come in the day light. Keep your mouth shut! He is the closest thing to an ally on this alien world. He has his own agenda. So have you. Altamira... She left you to walk alone in the park. I left her alone with Scharon. Stop it! I threw the newspapers on the table. “Nothing about Batranu, he doesn’t exist. What game is this?”

  “I received a message; I suppose other journals received it too.” He unfolded a piece of paper where I recognized the King’s handwriting. “The King asked us to keep this unfortunate event hidden. The people in Dava would be scared to hear about his disappearance. He was ... is well known, you too. Some time ago marauders from the desert used to kidnap people for a ransom.”

  “What do you mean by some time ago?” I had nothing in my memory.

  “Thirty years ago, when Dava was still weak.” You are too evasive; I bet it was even earlier.

  “That was in another life.”

  “Your life, for them it is still fresh. Anyway it will not help.” He stopped my incipient complaint. “If someone observed something we would already know.” We...

  “I cannot sit here and do nothing.”

  “What plan do you have?” Bastard! You enjoy teasing me. “Are you sober enough to discuss this or should I come another time?”

  “I am not drunk.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Say it.”

  “Did they try to capture you too?” My memory rolled back, the fist in my chin, the slide...

  “Someone tried to pull me back from the edge of the bridge. Apart from this, I remember nothing; it was too dark, too fast.” And the punch... I massaged my chin, a blue dull spot, a painful reminder. “Do you think Batranu is still alive?”

  “There is no body as yet.” Body! He is not a body; he is a person. Scorylo felt my inner reaction, or he read it on my face; I am sure my face did not look nice. “I apologize; I am only trying to make an assessment.” Do it faster. “My feeling is that he is being held hostage. What is missing is who would benefit from this and if they wanted you, too.” He glanced at me, as if unsure whether to continue. “There’s a fifty per cent chance that all this has been done to promote your Military School appointment.” Your fifty per cent chance is zero if they are not from Dava.

  “What about a third party?”

  “The Desert Brothers? Most of them are dead, and the survivors are far away.” I tried to interrupt him, but he stopped me. “Those who did it knew the city, they are insiders. They knew your way home. They knew of you being out that evening.” He paused for a while. “And I don’t think that you are Deceneus.”

  “I don’t think so either.” Not yet, and not something for you to know. “They thought it, and I am not talking about the Desert Brothers. The Black Eye said: ‘They want you.’ Don’t ask me who ‘they’ are.”

  “You don’t know? Are you afraid? I need you to be more open.” You need too much. Travelers ... the entity from the future. Should I tell him?

  “Too many doubts there, let’s work with the ‘insiders’ hypothesis,” I pre-empted him.

  “As you wish.”

  *

  “Please have a seat.” The Magister’s baritone voice pulled me up from the shock of seeing Sumael sitting at the same table. Why are you shocked? You already know the link between them. “I think you know each other,” he smiled. I nodded.

  “Yes, we met once in an uncomfortable situation.” Sumael’s voice was cold and distant. “Our plans went awry from that unexpected interference.”

  “An unfortunate event ... the fortuitous result of not knowing each other better. I am sure that things will improve, if we work together.” The Magister’s voice was somehow conciliatory, as though he did not have the highest position in the discussion.

  “Unfortunate, yes. And even more unfortunately my name was disclosed to Garon.” Sumael’s voice moved from cold to icy. The snake is well informed. Scorylo? Are they collaborating? I am not sure. Never trust a reporter selling words for money.

  “This cannot be changed; we should have planned this meeting earlier.”

  “He has not been tested,” Sumael snapped. What the hell do you mean?

  “We don’t have time for this; we don’t know when he will be back.” Who ... Batranu? Don’t be stupid. It’s the tester. Who the hell is the tester? Mind-rangers... Do they have mind-searchers too? Houston said nothing… Houston is no longer alive.

  “I lost my place in the Council because of his stupid questions,” he shouted, jumping on two feet. His chair fell, his fist hit the table; the wood, covered with velvet, complained amidst the sudden silence in a muffled tone. “It was mine, and I lost it. We planned this a long time ago...” His voice suffocated in his own fury.

&nb
sp; “Sumael,” the Magister whispered gently. “We need the Military School.”

  “Yes, we need the Military School.” Sumael’s voice was cold again. “We’d better make sure not to lose that too.” He switched to me. “Are you with us?” For some seconds, I was not able to answer.

  “He is Baragan,” the Magister whispered again. “We have already discussed Baramunti over-influence in our lives.”

  “I did not ask you.” The Magister flinched, and did not answer. Yes, you are not the number one. And we thought... Who is behind you? Later, answer his question. Answer ... what to answer?

  “I... I...”

  “Is he stupid?” he said scornfully to the Magister.

  “I am as upset as you about too much Baramunti influence in Dava,” I finally said the words. Good, you are now a ‘stupid’ maverick, you can eat as much shit as Earth politicians. I agree with the shit, wait for Sumael’s approval before bragging. A herald knocked on the door, silencing Sumael. In that second, while I was looking at the opening door, Sumael disappeared. My eyes went from his empty place to the Magister; he ignored me.

  “From the King,” the herald announced and proffered an envelope.

  When the herald left the room, Sumael appeared from behind a thick velvet curtain. “Don’t make stupid comments,” he snapped. Bastard! Let him talk, talk doesn’t kill. He, who laughs last, laughs loudest.

  “Tomorrow is the day, your nomination for the Military School is on the agenda,” the Magister pushed the paper towards me. I nodded without reading it. A slight hint of a smile was born, and died fast on his face. You are happy that I trusted you. Be happy ... and trust me. Silence fell in the room. You have things to settle. I hope the Magister will survive; I need him tomorrow. After that...

  “Gentlemen, I have to leave, tomorrow will be a difficult day. I hope our plans will bear fruit; we have to take some things back from Baramunti hands.” Good shit, they will love you. No, they will love the shit. “Have a good night.” The corridor was dark, and I left the door ajar, less than half an inch, and went close to the corridor’s end, ready to vanish.

  “He is not tested; he is not to be trusted...” Sumael’s voice escaped the room.

  “Sumael,” the Magister’s voice suddenly regained confidence. “The appointment is already arranged with the King. It was his idea, and I supported it. We gained the position for a Baragan, as we wanted, without promoting a candidate. We did the King a ‘favor’ and he has to answer for that later.”

  “I will not...” Sumael shouted.

  “Just a reminder, next time please be more careful about the missions we trust you with. The quarrel in the inn should have been prevented when Maug joined the two Baragans. You were too slow and things escaped from our control. Now, I have some important things to do.” I vanished before the door had fully opened. Who the hell is the boss out of you two?

  *

  I entered the Great Hall for the second time, trying to guess: Is Batranu or the garden the answer to this? Don’t be stupid; there must be more important reasons than leaving Altamira alone with Scharon. She had sent me a short note that formal duties were in preparation. She used a messenger. What do you want from her? Nothing.

  I had some mixed feelings; we had played the volcano eruption card in order to penetrate the Baragan political system as last-minute saviors. However, taking advantage of a particular death was not part of the game, and today’s call was only a sequence in the same chain. But, I had no control over nature, and I saw no reason to ponder the role played by incidental circumstances in life’s events. What happened happened, bad or good, and was of no moral significance now. It was futile self-gratification to imagine a different outcome when nothing could be changed, or to reject the favorable results of an independent chain of events. If this was opportunism, it was for a good cause.

  A moment of silence accompanied my entry, and the body language revealed a certain degree of tension among the Council members – even the most intellectual or the most neutral interactions are accompanied by this system of body-signals. A calm Garon made my appointment as head of the Military School, and then, I was allowed to be a silent witness to the Council’s work. Of all the main characters of the Baragan political scene, Garon was the clearest to me at this stage. Bloody Travelers, nothing they do is without significance. The ovoid resurfaced in my mind. They filed a white complaint only to have an anchor, millennia of intrigues, long-term games. They play long-term games. Long and dirty. The King sensed the benefit Garon could bring to his kingdom. Garon could be, at the same time, a bargaining chip in negotiations with the Munti and a soldier in his army, a very faithful one, as there was no road back to the Munti kingdom. And Garon accepted being played, only to rise slowly, step by step, to Marshal, First Marshal and then Chancellor of Baragan, as the King recognized his qualities. But the game was there; there are never two people with the same agenda. Slowly, thanks to intelligent exploitation of destroying The Desert Brothers, and later, the low-level belligerency with the Munti, Garon had gained the upper hand over the King.

  “You were used to maintain the actual status quo while all the players are preparing the cards for the next phase. At the moment there is an altered balance, affecting the Council’s activity.” Scorylo was comfortably settled in an armchair, late in that night, while I was measuring the room in all directions, turning and turning, like a fly in a bottle trying to work out the riddle behind the political game in the Council. What could be more exciting than jumping from a jobless geek situation into the mysteries of a royal court?

  “You are right.” But is he? What does he really know about the Council and the internecine alliances? He knows. “It will either return the council into Garon’s hands, or move in a direction where the King is winning,” I reluctantly agreed.

  “Everybody is posturing in your direction now, evaluating you; that's why no one was against your nomination – at least, not publicly. You were the ‘spark’ making Baragans proud again, and giving them hope; everybody wants to use that for their own purposes. Hope is a potent tool.” I sensed him measuring his words with care. “Batranu’s disappearance played a role, and the papers, and the mob in the street.” Batranu’s name rekindled my pain. The excitement of the day had made me forget; Scorylo put my feet back on the ground. My curse was stopped by bitterness so oppressing that it almost paralyzed me. He sensed my wobbling, and stayed silent for long enough that I could recover myself. “You are obviously the best fighter they have now, therefore the best choice for preparing future warriors and the King’s gambit against Garon. The Marshal‘s position on the Council will remain free for the moment, which suits Garon as well, as he does not have anyone prepared for the position apart from the vice-Chancellor. A move like that would have been too obvious. And it also suits the King, and it suits him more than Garon, as you would certainly never be as close to the Chancellor as his Baramunti people were, and he is waiting to see if he can, via Altamira, win you to his side completely.”

  This was already too much. I stopped my running around the table, but all I could say was: “Come on.” I was not even sure what I was protesting against. His words? My somersaulting thoughts? Coming and going with no real aim?

  “You are obviously already her protégé, and there is nothing romantic in this, it's only politics.” His lips went into a thin smile, contradicting what he had just said. What the hell can I do about this?

  “Garon is only biding his time, waiting for Scharon to grow and impose himself as Marshal.” I changed the subject, but a certain feeling of anguish still lingered.

  “In two or three years, after the marriage to Altamira, and with some greater maturity, he could challenge for the job ... but his road is long and filled with many ifs.”

  “And the Magister?” I suddenly interrupted him. I observed later that speaking of Altamira’s marriage was an irritating thorn, more irritating than I wanted it to be.

  “He gained and lost at the same time.�
� Does he know about Sumael? If I tell him what he already knows I will give him proof that I am well informed. What if he doesn’t know? You score a point.

  “Does Sumael have any chance of being Marshal?”

  “Your relationship with the Magister is advancing well.” He raised an eyebrow. “I still cannot believe he pushed Sumael for Marshal; there was never a realistic chance, even before his activity was revealed.” Unnatural behavior again? Yet they did not look hypnotized. Different levels of influence? Should I ask Scorylo? Later.

  A day later, I asked Maug to be my deputy; it was a rise in rank for him, though maybe not as much as he would have liked. Maybe he had hoped for my position, but I would never know; he never revealed his expectations. It was a risky move as he was Garon's man, but something in his behavior told me that he was never just someone’s man without reason. Mostly, he belonged to himself; this was evident in the story of the captive Munti. Therefore, this was the best I could extract from the circumstances. At worst, things would remain as they were now; at best, I would gain an ally, causing Garon to lose one.

  *

  “We never did it like this before,” Cotiso protested. He was the leader of the Baramunti cadets, together with Scharon, but Scharon did not show at the Military School in my first week as commander. “Baramunti are one team, the first one,” he proudly bragged, “Baragans the second one. All games are between these two teams.” The first, the second... Young man, this is what I have to change, this mentality of pushing you against them. That morning, I split the teams and mixed them up.

  “Are you afraid of changes?”

  “We always win, I see no reason to change what works well. Replace them, they are too weak.” You are not like Scharon, there is something in your skull; it is not empty. I bet you are the real leader, only Scharon has some inherited advantages.