by C. A. Bryers
Delflore stood in the doorway, hand open and features relaxed as if Salla’s actions had come as no surprise. She extended her hand further, her stare intensifying behind the tiny lenses of her eyewear. Looking down, Salla saw his boots skidding backward on the stone floor of the cell. He thrashed against the power propelling him back into the cell, but to no avail.
A second later, a body came hurtling through the air from behind the elder Majdi. Adrik Usladislau crashed into him, both men bouncing against the far wall with enough force to nearly knock the breath out of Salla’s lungs. They crumpled to the floor, Adrik on top, fist swinging down upon Salla’s crossed arms like a hammer.
“Enough.”
Usladislau’s head spun in the direction of the forceful command, and he scrambled to his feet as if Salla’s body had become poisonous to the touch. With forearms aching but little else, Salla too got to his feet. Adrik Usladislau resumed his place behind Delflore’s right shoulder, chest heaving, eyes brimming with bridled anger.
“Sorry. Had to try,” Salla said with a limp shrug, eyes darting venomously toward Usladislau. “Mate.”
Delflore gave an exasperated shake of her head. “The two of you make me grateful I was given daughters rather than sons.”
Salla slumped on the bed, the adrenaline burst from his impromptu escape attempt depleting in seemingly an instant. This was to be his life from this day forward: imprisonment. The gravity of that reality fell upon him like a landslide. His mind seemed to race through every moment he had taken for granted—a simple walk outside, waking under the stars, visiting friends anytime he chose. He wanted those missed opportunities back, if only to savor them anew.
“I know this will be an adjustment. I don’t expect you to like this outcome. I don’t. But I’ll do what I can to make your situation as livable as possible. Maybe someday we’ll find a solution that will let you truly walk free again.” She fell silent, her head bowed, her eyes open and aware. Then, she nodded. “It seems I’m required elsewhere. Iriscent, please fill him in on the details of his tephic training.”
The ijau stepped into the doorway as Delflore made her exit.
“So, who gets to teach me tephic? You?” he asked, still dubious of the girl.
Iriscent giggled. “No, that would be just strange, wouldn’t it? So, here’s what we’re going to do. As far as the Majdi Chamber is concerned, you’re still supposed to be staying put until you…well, you know.” Her face twisted suddenly into a stricken expression as she pretended to tip over onto her side. “So, yeah. We can’t have just anyone come down and teach you these things. They might start asking questions, talking to the wrong people, and then the Chamber will start asking Delflore questions. Get what I mean? That’s a mess she doesn’t want.”
His brows wrinkled. “So who teaches me? Where do I go?”
“Right here. Well, two floors up from here, but in this facility. In the House of Falling Rain.” She waved a teal folder in the air beside her. “Anyway, Delflore has your cover story all set—who you are, why you’re here, all of that boring stuff. So just read through this and try to follow along. The good news is that you’re gonna have a break from this classy new cage of yours. See, it would arouse too much suspicion if you went up every day for training, but disappeared each night to get locked up. So, you’ll be staying with the general population of this place, walking free. Well, not the ‘going outside’ kind of free, but you know what I mean. And since nobody knows you here, nobody should have any reason to do any pesky readings on you in here.” She nodded, beaming. “Yes, I read that in your file. Has that girl tried visiting you?”
“Hope not.”
She shrugged, handing him the thin folder. “Here you go. Leave that here and go over it tonight when you get back.”
“Are we going somewhere?” he asked, not feeling like doing much of anything after the blow his future had just received, but wanting out of his cell all the same.
“The information I gathered indicated you were due for another of your little head-popper episodes, so I’m taking you to my pool of goop upstairs. It’s already been prepared with tephics that should dampen the attack so you don’t die.” She gestured for him to follow, took a few steps, and then seemed to notice the look on his face. “Come on. It’s not all so bad.”
Salla rose to his feet, wishing he could still find the humor in dark situations the way he had in the past. “Easy to say. One way or another, you get to leave someday.”
Iriscent frowned. “I suppose you could look at it that way. Or you could look at it as a chance to make tomorrow better. Anyway, we decided that it would be best if you’re considered a trauma case when you go up tomorrow to start your training. Sometimes Majdi who are hurt enough in the field wind up here. The strain’s too much or whatever and they can’t perform anymore, you know? That way, the others should leave you pretty much alone.”
“Leave me alone? What am I walking into?”
She laughed as they reached the stairs. “It’s not that bad.”
“You said that a minute ago. Didn’t have much trouble proving you wrong.”
Iriscent turned in midascent, leaning her five-foot frame against the railing in the stairwell. “Let’s just say it’s about the most un-Majdi place filled with Majdi that you’ll find in the archipelago, okay? See, in the Order, there are always two modes of thinking. Well, maybe more than that, but for the purpose of this conversation, let’s keep it at two. You’ve got the Majdi who follow the precepts of what your ideal concept of a Majdi might be—you know, peace-keeping, nurturing caretakers, right? There are some of those types up there, but that way of thinking isn’t always practical. I mean, we wouldn’t have fixed up these islands without kicking the thrones out from under all the old warlords, would we?”
Salla shrugged in indifference.
“Well, let me answer that for you with a big, shiny nope. So, we need Majdi who are willing and capable of doing that.” She pointed upwards. “We’ve got some of those up there too. And those ones? Half of them see getting dropped into this place as some sort of a rite of passage.”
“A rite of passage?” Salla asked, confused.
“Sure. Someone puts them in here for behavior unbecoming of a Majdi, but come on…fighting and war itself is unbecoming of a Majdi. Those types walk through the door up there and come right out a month or so later. Putting them in the House is a formality, and not much else.” She turned to continue the climb. “There’s only one actual preceptor in the whole place, a guy called Lochmore. He oversees it all, teaches a little here and there, but his Majdi and ijau assistants do the bulk of the training. Oh, and speaking of which, I have a surprise.”
“I get a cold kipperberry slusher when we’re done?”
She laughed. “No, but that sounds good. The surprise is that Delflore’s made good on her word already. She’s made herself my rho—wait, you don’t know what that is. Well, a rho is like a sponsor. It’s a Majdi who stakes a bit of their reputation on another Majdi who isn’t doing so well. When their term in the House is done, the rho decides whether they’re in the clear or whether stronger action needs to be taken, like that uhreht’sa you mentioned last time.” She bounced then, her boots clanging on the metal stairs. “She’s already signed my clear slip from the House and made me one of Lochmore’s assistants. Probably mostly to keep an eye on you, but I’ll take that over being back out in the learning cloisters of Empyrion Prime, getting lectured at and taught things I could teach anyone in this place.”
He gestured for her to stop. “Hang up a bit. Let me make sure I’m following. Delflore tells me it’s not likely I’m ever getting out of Majdi custody. Now you’re telling me I’m going to be roaming free up in a classroom, bunking out with the others without guards watching my every move. Do you really think I’m going to act like a docile little kitten and not try to escape?”
Iriscent’s face twisted. “You’ve obviously never had a cat. Docile they are not.” She started pulling dow
n the side of her pants to reveal her hip. “Look at th—”
He nodded quickly with a wave of his hands. “They scratch. I’ve heard.”
She pulled her pants back up. “Oh, you mean the part about you trying to escape? No, you can’t do that.”
“Because you said so?”
“No, silly.” She giggled as if the answer should be obvious to him. “You can’t because you’ll die.”
Salla stopped at the top step. “What?”
“See, when I triggered one of those episodes you have that makes your brain go all haywire, I got a lot of data from that. Not only did I figure out that tephic training might help you stop them, but I also found a wavelength that makes those two angry energies inside of you go kind of crazy. Found it right away. And, well, now we’ve got a tephic ward set up that wraps around the whole House riding that wavelength. You pass through it, and no matter how much you’ve learned to control it…well, let’s just say ouch.”
“Hold up, hold up.” Salla held his head between both hands.
“What’s the matter? You look…” She leaned forward, examining him closer. “Upset? Mad? Why?”
Salla looked at her as if she had just grown another head. “Well, that’s a good question. For one, Iriscent, you told them how to turn my head into a bomb.”
Smiling, she gave him a dismissive wave. “Always focusing on the negative, aren’t you? At least this way you might be living sort of normally with the general population instead of being cooped up downstairs.”
He looked around the grim, dark corridor. “So I can take a stroll whenever I want through this broken-down former prison? Aren’t I the lucky one?”
“See? Focusing on the negative.” She waved him after her. “Come on. Let’s get you into your bathwater so your head doesn’t go splat and mess up the walls in this place. Like you said, this place is gross enough already.”
14
The following morning brought the return of Iriscent Saffora to his cell door. It was open before Salla’s eyes had fully adjusted to wakefulness, and the ijau was looking down at him with an expectant smile. In her arms lay a bundle of drab gray fabric, which she lobbed onto the bed beside him.
“There’s your uniform. Nothing fancy—kind of the opposite of fancy, actually.”
Salla groggily unfolded it with disinterest. “Lovely.”
“I think the lack of style goes along with the psychology of this place. They dress you sort of like a prisoner and send you to this shoddy, falling-apart facility on the outskirts of the city to give you a dose of reality, remind you that you’re on the outs with the Order.” She snapped her fingers three times. “Hey, are you even awake yet?”
“No.” Hunched over on the corner of his bed, Salla stared down at his ankles. “Think I changed my mind. How about I just go back to sleep instead of letting you Majdi try to turn me into one of you.”
Iriscent gave a muted chuckle through closed lips. “Well, that wish isn’t about to come true today. Get up. We’ve got a lot to go over before I take you upstairs, and we don’t have a lot of time.”
With a weary groan, Salla did as asked, slipping on the gray House uniform. She wasn’t wrong, he thought. If he hadn’t already felt like an actual prisoner, the clothes he wore now made him look the part as well.
“Now,” Iriscent said, bending low with a stern look on her face that appeared entirely out of character, considering her rather flippant outlook on Majdi tradition and structure. “Tell me you went over that file I gave you.”
He nodded, his head feeling as if it were filled with sand.
“What do you think of the name?”
“Tallas?” He managed a laugh. “My name backwards with an extra letter slapped onto it. Shouldn’t be too hard to live with for a bit. Not sure where Delflore came up with the Corso part, but I’ll go with it.”
“You saw in there that we haven’t found you a rho yet, right?”
Another nod. “Is it that important? Why can’t you or Delflore be it?”
“It’s just a little important, Salla. You can’t…well, you can’t even be here without a rho. A rho means someone believes you’re worth the time and energy the Order will have to expend straightening you out.” She smirked as if laughing at a joke only she could hear. “It’s so funny. Delflore went and asked Adrik to do it. Can you believe he said no?” Her laughter was external now. “But no, Delflore can’t be your rho because of her position. I can’t because ijaus can’t be rhos. We’ll find someone for you, though. You have the rest of your story down, right?”
“Most of it, at least. Fell asleep near the end.”
Her lips bunched. “It’ll have to do. Let’s get going. Lochmore is probably waiting to meet you. He’s the overseer here, so he pretty much runs the House. Got it?”
The trip upstairs was hurried and wordless. When the two entered the facility’s dilapidated foyer, a figure was just stepping through the main set of doors that stood between the passages on either side.
“Perfect timing, Iris,” the man said in greeting before extending his hand to Salla. “You must be Tallas Corso. My name is Lochmore, and I’m the Adjutu of this House.”
Salla took the hand extended to him. The man before him was tall, fit, and broad-shouldered, exuding an easy charm that immediately disarmed the tension Salla had been feeling. With short dark hair peppered with shades of gray, he was neither young nor old, but sat in a comfortable middle ground that seemed to suit Lochmore nicely. He wore nothing that identified him in any way as a Majdi of the Order, but rather calf-length pants and sandals, and an unbuttoned gray shirt over a black undershirt.
The smile broadened across his square-jawed face, and his dark, almost black eyes seemed to twinkle as the crow’s-feet beside them tightened. “You’re wondering about the casual clothes. Most folks from Prime who visit us out here do.” He sighed, glancing about their surroundings. “They leave us pretty well alone here, so long as I straighten enough heads out before sending them back to the field or the learning cloisters. So, you know, I figure I wear what I feel like.” He popped a dried berry into his mouth, turning his attention swiftly to Iriscent. “Out of the gray rags pretty quick this time, huh? I’m impressed.”
Iriscent blushed. “I made a friend.” She did a double take, remembering Salla was still there beside her. “Oh, right, Tallas. Did I tell you I’ve been in here before?”
“Let’s hope you don’t come back for number four,” Lochmore said with a wink. “Now Tallas, let me give you the basics of how I run this ratty old shack. I’ve been doing it for close to ten years now, and in the last few, my philosophy’s altered a tad, you might say. I feel it’s my job here to be the one who sorts out the ones who have a future with the Order and the ones who don’t. Plenty who have come into this place are gone now, and that’s something I’m proud of. This Majdi thing, well, it isn’t for everybody.”
On one hand, Lochmore’s frank admission made Salla anxious. This man had the autonomy to weed him out within days, well before he could learn the techniques required to survive the storm raging inside of him. On the other, the loose way in which Lochmore carried himself made it appear that he wasn’t some strict taskmaster that would throw him out the door the moment Salla failed to grasp a concept or two.
“I understand you’re here due to field trauma. Can you tell me about that? It might better help us design a tephic program for you.”
Salla looked at Iriscent uncertainly. “A tephic program?”
Lochmore folded his arms. “Things are taught a little differently here from how you might remember. We’re testing a new method of learning called tol’kaa, which is one of those fancy, ancient ways of saying tephic infusion. Each person gets infused with a tephic lesson, I suppose you’d call it, one that’s tailored specifically to them. It focuses on the fundamentals of what that person is struggling with. When the infusion is complete, we practice. Or we talk. All depends on what’s holding you back. Then we make tweaks to the n
ext infusion, and so on and so on until we come to a decision point. Simple enough, right?”
Salla gave a flimsy smile.
“Now, tell me about what brought you here.”
He drew a deep breath, hoping he could recite his cover story convincingly. “We were on a training mission in the countryside of Sinovesia, using tephic bracers. Targets with tephic…” He blanked for a moment, but his memory lapse was over quickly. “Tephic signatures that mimicked living hostile forces were set up throughout a canyon. Seven of us were down there trying to find them and knock them out.” He shrugged. “One of the others thought I looked like one of the targets and hit me with a blast. When I woke up and tried using tephic again, I couldn’t.”
“I see.” Lochmore studied him, rubbing at the day’s growth of stubble on his jaw. “So maybe start you back at the beginning, try reopening the channel that’s blocking your ability to use tephic. On the scale, how adept were you with tephic beforehand?”
Salla hesitated. The answer he was supposed to reply with was in the file, but his recollection of it blinked in and out like the lights running through his cell block. He did, however, recall the explanation of what tephic bracers were—devices that fit around the wrist to focus and enhance tephic ability for those Majdi who were low on the scale of ability in the tephic arts. It gave him enough information to fake an answer.
“Low, hence the bracer training.”
Lochmore clapped his hands together. “Well, let me show you around, then. The others are still in the old guardsmen’s barracks, and that’s where you’ll be racking up until your retraining is complete here. Oh, and I’ll let you know in advance that men and women share the barracks. It’s a space availability issue, so if you have a problem with that, you might want to tamp that down. We may be just people at the end of the day with base needs and all that, but we’re not animals and I expect everyone to behave as such. Understand?”