Aspiria Rising

by Douglas Barton

  “He’s okay, he’s just medicated now, but his brain scan indicates he’s in a state of cognitive decline below minimum threshold.” Sergian swept his hand toward the phalanx. “We’re moving him out of his quarters now. I’ve already assumed most guardian responsibilities as prescribed by the Code. Temporarily, until the Grand Debate, of course.”

  Dominy clawed his robe sleeve. Every fiber in his body was infused with a yellow malignancy.

  Genna dashed toward him with outstretched arms. Sergian glared at her and knifed his finger across his lips. She stopped short and mashed her lips together. Sergian turned to reboard the Pow.

  The sun dissolved into a red blob at the horizon. A soft noise cut through the silence. Genna, her mouth still sealed, was humming. The sound was soft, but it rang familiar. Still humming, she rolled up her right sleeve to the elbow, climbed atop a bench and raised her right fist. Her humming grew louder. The force she expended to raise the sound made her face radiant, intensifying her beauty beyond what he thought possible. The high notes soared, ringing throughout the sector. “Tah-tee-tah-tah-tee…” It was the melody of his composition, his pilfered winning composition.

  Sergian stomped over to the commotion. “Genna, I’ve warned you.”

  She shrugged.

  The commotion brought the sector, students and masters alike, to a halt.

  Cal, Nalton, Vernan, and the other Alliance members, their heads held high, rolled up their right sleeves, paraded past Genna and ascended to her. Each climbed onto a surrounding bench, all joining Genna, all staring at Dominy, all humming.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sergian coughed out the unusually humid air and stepped inside the spired building. The appointed time had come. Everlen had called for a special meeting of all masters, the guardian’s last. He was stepping down. And even if he changed his mind, it was too late. The old man’s medical condition was finally below threshold. But why meet in the Sanctuary?

  The afternoon sun burst through the windows of the luminous building. One large ceiling pane was an embedded prism, refracting the sunlight into swaths of the color spectrum. Sergian averted his eyes and trudged up the aisle, bisecting the Sharing Room. He maneuvered unsurely as he hadn’t been inside the building for some time. He’d never quite understood why he didn’t feel comfortable in the Sanctuary, where competition was not allowed. He shrugged. One of the mysteries of life.

  He entered a side study chamber, awash in the yellow light of the spectrum, and spotted the yellow robe. Why was he, a designate, here for a meeting of masters? The student sat at a table, its surface covered with sacred texts, some opened and some place-marked with ribbons. The Agitator appeared happy. We’ll see for how long. Sergian hadn’t decided what to do about Genna yet. Certainly, they wouldn’t be seeing much of each other. He’d warned her. Actions had consequences.

  “What’re you doing?” Sergian asked.

  Dominy, startled, turned and picked up the Book of Aspirian Scriptures. “Thinking about the generations of effort and wisdom that went into its creation, Master.” He cleared a space on a table and carefully laid out his documents. “Here’s my accepted research. I quote, ‘It is a great sin and the ultimate act of selfishness to not share that which is true—’”

  A door slammed, sending a harsh reverberation through the Sanctuary.

  “I mean what’re you doing here, now?”

  “I thought you might know. Everlen notified me to attend. I’m about to queue up. Did you not tell him, Master?”

  Not yet. Was that why the old man called Dominy to this masters’ meeting? Did Everlen believe Dominy was a master? Sergian’s mind scrambled. Everlen, assisted by two Provisioners, hobbled into the adjacent scripture study chamber and eased into a reclining chair. Sergian glanced over his shoulder and spotted masters queuing outside the Sanctuary.

  Sergian and Dominy walked to join the line of red robes, Sergian stepping in at the front, Dominy headed to the back.

  The masters were to be called one at a time. Sergian entered the chamber first. The expansive room was bathed in the violet and indigo light refracted from the ceiling prism. The guardian was pale and thin, his breathing labored. “Guardian, are you okay?”

  Everlen finger-waved him closer.

  Sergian stepped in so close he could see the spidery veins in Everlen’s skin.

  “Call in the non-council masters first. I wish to say goodbye.”

  Sergian wiped his brow. Time to formulate a plan.

  The masters paraded by, ascending to Everlen, touching his hand as if receiving wisdom.

  The last non-council master ascended and left.

  Everlen lifted his head. “Where’s Dominy? He’s not on the council already, is he? Call him over.”

  Everything was happening too fast for Sergian. He blinked the sting of sweat from his eyes. “Uh, yes, Guardian, right away.” He sent a Provisioner to retrieve the student.

  Dominy arrived. Sergian moved closer in case the wrong words were spoken.

  Everlen grasped Dominy’s hand with a grip no stronger than a child’s. The guardian smiled at Dominy, his face full of joy as if he was possessed by some strange spirit of childhood. “I held on too long to the guardianship. I only held on waiting for you, and your, uh, and the other outsiders, and then for you to become a master.” Everlen’s words to Dominy garbled. He lifted a shaky forefinger. “And implement my outsider program—”

  Dominy jerked his head back. “Me? The outsider program?”

  Everlen cocked his head. “Do not fear your past, embrace it.”

  “Huh? But, Guardian, there is no outsider—”

  “Not now—he’s too weak.” Sergian leaned into Dominy, driving him away. “You understand.” Two Provisioners escorted Dominy away.

  “What did he say?” Everlen asked.

  Sergian’s forearms sheened with sweat, glistening purple from the light. “Nothing, Guardian.”

  “Why the yellow robe? He is a master, right?”

  Sergian massaged his temple. “Ah, yes, Guardian, I told you, remember? The yellow’s a new, special designation.” The lie was discomforting.

  Everlen squinted at Sergian. “The outsider program has been expanded as agreed upon?”

  “Yes, Guardian.” This one was easier.

  “And you still have the Commonwealth’s word. They’ll expedite our research and send aid freely to all the colonized planets?” Everlen studied him, suspiciously.

  “Those were the council’s terms of agreement for me to remain head of council. Yes, Guardian, the Commonwealth will accept our conditions.” Practice makes perfect. “Windlar will—”

  “Windlar will? Windlar’s a-alive?” Everlen’s eyes flashed a look of understanding, of dread. “You!” The old man seemed to have awakened from the dead. “Call the council members over now!”

  “What?” Sergian asked, too loudly.

  “What’s happening? Everything okay?” Dominy yelled from afar.

  Sergian had always prided himself on his ability not to panic. But his brain seized in helplessness. This would ruin everything. He had to find the right words.

  A flood of masters rushed toward the door.

  Sergian leaned in. His face granite hard, his voice an ominous hiss: “I misspoke—he had such an influence on me.”

  Everlen shook his head, tears swam in his eyes. “Windlar’s at the Commonwealth, isn’t he? And you’re involved, diverting our research, even our people.”

  Footsteps came faster.

  A drop of sweat clung to the tip of Sergian’s nose. His words were worthless, but he recalled old Windlar’s: At some point, you’ll be entitled to the guardianship. Entitled, a soothing word. Entitlement. A wave of release washed over Sergian. The sweat cooled on his forehead, congealing. “Yes, Guardian, I am part of the Solution.”

  The door opened.

  Sergian bent over to kiss the top of Everlen’s head, his great weight covering the guardian’s face, covering his mouth and nose. He
held the position, counting to thirty. After all, Everlen was to be respected—he was the Guardian.

  The room filled with masters.

  “Yes, Guardian.” Sergian’s voice was strong and clear. “Of course, I promise.”

  Rohan was the first to arrive and yelled to a Provisioner, “Contact the infirmary.”

  “I tried to resuscitate him.” Sergian placed his ear to Everlen’s mouth. He heard nothing—nothing but silence.

  Sweet silence.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  A veil of dread draped over Dominy. The clock for the Grand Debate had started, and he wasn’t a master. He clasped Genna’s hand. His palm was like marble, cold and hard, compared to hers. They stepped off the Pow and walked toward Masters’ Row.

  “Sergian killed him!”

  “Shhh.” Genna swiveled her head. “Don’t be crazy.”

  “I don’t care anymore. Suffocation, I’m positive. I’m sure they’ll do a full medical examination. Ha! The search for the truth.”

  She caressed his shoulder and tilted her cheek to nuzzle up against his hand. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  Stand tall? Maybe you know the real me now. He shivered away the cynical thoughts and pointed at Garin and Talia’s new cottage. “We have to trust one of them. One will have to debate Sergian.”

  The two outsiders entered Garin and Talia’s new cottage and ascended. The married masters led them to their shared study. The room, dominated by a large picture window, opened up to a garden. The view from Garin’s desk took in his expansive flower bed. Dominy pointed toward the other desk, Talia’s, facing the back wall. “Master, some things haven’t changed.”

  “Call us Talia and Garin. Here, we believe you’re a master. Both of you.” She pointed with her shoulder toward the window. “You are right, though. I refuse to look at them. Flowers. Nonsensical.”

  “She’ll come around.” Garin winked, draped his slender arm over Talia’s back and caressed her plump shoulder.

  Talia glanced at Garin and they became serious. “You are aware of what’s happening out there.”

  “There?” Dominy peered out the window and ducked out of view from a couple of masters passing by. “I know your mission failed. I suspect wars are breaking out throughout the colonized worlds.”

  Talia shook her head. “No, I mean what’s happening here. Sergian’s reforms are destroying Aspiria.”

  Dominy closed his eyes in contemplation.

  “Dominy.” Talia’s voice was tinged with desperation. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  He nodded, looked over both his shoulders, and whispered, “We’ve been trying to stop him.”

  “We?” Garin asked.

  “Outsiders.” Dominy held Genna’s hand. “Our Alliance. Revolting against Sergian and the reforms. This is our revolution…”

  Talia and Garin’s faces froze.

  “Fighting with our only weapon—our brains. We foresaw Aspiria’s future, the Meritocracy’s future, with Sergian in control. We couldn’t let that happen. We needed to seize leadership. We started by trying to dominate in the Games. We were unsure when the time would come, but we had to be ready. Then we realized that time would be when Everlen died. That… opportunity came sooner than we predicted, but still, we thought I had progressed just in time. But now the chance for me to challenge Sergian in the Grand Debate is gone.”

  “Why didn’t you come to us?” Talia asked.

  Genna twisted her hair and shifted her gaze left and right. “We tried early on but took the wrong approach. After that, we weren’t sure whom to trust, but now we’ve no choice. Aspiria needs you.”

  “We never imagined it’d come to this. We underestimated Sergian.” Talia’s chin disappeared into her robe. “And overestimated ourselves and the rest of Aspiria’s leadership. The subtle change in attitudes started a long time ago and increased gradually, but the final transformation was so quick. I blame myself. And now, after my failed mission, my mind hasn’t been the same.”

  Dominy stared at his two masters. A lump pounded inside his stomach. “I am sorry.” The three-word confession released a flood of words. “About everything, about how I treated you two, about…” Dominy’s head sank. “About how I treated my friends, how I treated Genna and so much more. I worry about her.” He looked at sweet Genna through blurry eyes. “And we’re worried about Aspiria. We still love it so much.”

  Talia stepped closer like she wanted to touch him. She stopped short. “We’re totally committed now to save the Meritocracy.”

  He eyed his masters. One of them would have to enter the Grand Debate. Surely they’d both prevail in the prelims, but he wasn’t sure if Garin would attack Sergian. And Talia, she would attack, but she might break down emotionally. Perhaps there was another master. “Who has the best chance to win?”

  “I don’t know, but does it matter?” Talia mumbled. “We’re all winners.”

  Dominy jerked his head up and stared at Talia.

  “Sergian, that’s what he said at the Chemical Elements finals.” Talia’s shoulders sagged. “Soon, there’ll be no winners and no losers.”

  We’re all winners? The algorithm. Dominy jumped. “Oh, Aspiria, but we can! We all can be winners in this new Aspiria.”

  Talia’s eyes widened. “What’re you talking about?”

  “What’s the exact formula for mastership qualification?” Dominy predicted Talia would have it memorized, but she referenced her notepad. Maybe her mind really had deteriorated.

  “Here it is, but why?”

  Sergian hunched over his desk. He’d wait for the line of masters to take their places along the big window before acknowledging their presence. He convened the council meeting in his study. If he had to acquiesce, he’d do it on his terms. His terms. He had received another directive from the Commonwealth. Given the singular importance of securing new Aspirian leadership, the Commonwealth offered additional assistance.

  No. Thank you. This is my time.

  Sergian inhaled the fresh, clean air. Strange. A good strange. A council meeting without Everlen, without that foul smell. Sergian flexed his thick legs and shivered. Everlen would’ve been dead soon, regardless. This way, the ancient man suffered less. Aspiria suffered less.

  “Let’s make this quick.” Sergian stared at the masters, calculating who’d vote with him. “Who’s representing the case for mastership?”

  Talia stepped forward, ascended to the council, and drew in a deep breath as if she needed to control herself in order to not upset him. “The case is straightforward. At the time of the candidate’s research acceptance—before the change in mastership criteria—the candidate, as conferred by our head of council during the Chemical Elements finals, did in fact have the requisite number of points. I have the transcripts from the finals. The critical words were, and I quote, ‘We’ll consider you, technically, all winners.’ The candidate was never assigned those points. He was given fourth-place points.”

  Sergian half opened his mouth in protest.

  “It was my fault.” Garin stepped forward. “I’m his master.”

  Garin was helping Sergian save face. Still, he could no longer count on the non-confrontational master’s vote in the Grand Debate, not since that, that marriage. “Nobody’s perfect.”

  “Nobody’s perfect?” Talia whispered. “You say that like you’re proud of it.”

  Garin grimaced at Talia and she shrugged in resignation.

  Sergian knew he couldn’t stop the promotion without facing dissension in the council. While his support from the growing population of masters was now unassailable, his support from some of these old-robes on the council was still a bit tenuous. “No need to vote. I’ll agree with the stipulation that the countdown to the Grand Debate starts now.” Ten days—prelims included—until the appointed time. The compromise was the best deal Talia could expect from him, and she’d know it. “All in favor?”

  The council responded as one in the affirmative.


  “Perhaps this decision is for the best…” Sergian lumbered over to the side wall that housed the embedded glass-cased enshrinements. He stared at the list of heads of council. Old Windlar had lost in his final showdown. The student surpasses the master. “I’ll let the Grand Debate—and the votes of every master—decide the far greater issue at stake.” Sergian bade them off, ending the meeting.

  “Rohan, a word. Tomorrow, announce the final proclamation—” He checked his words, eyed Talia and huddled in tighter with Rohan. “Have Pandor mobilize the Youth Ministry. Oh, and you’ll need to change the venue. The Grand Debate Hall is too small.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Dominy rode the Pow heading south toward Masters’ Row. His notepad flashed with a stream of incoming messages:

  Garin. “Master Dominy! It’s official. Come get your red robe. Talia came through at the council meeting. And no one’s opposing you for the right to debate Sergian. The Grand Debate settles everything. Nine days. Good reasoning.”

  Official proclamation. “‘Due to the success and acceptance of the reforms, the final, logical step, the Aspirian Solution, will be authorized after a successful Grand Debate judgment. Henceforth, all competition will be abolished, ending the Meritocracy. We have concluded that competition is a detriment to the collective minds of Aspirian youth. Aspiria will flourish in an atmosphere of reduced expectations and…’”

  In one respect, Sergian’s Solution was a good outcome for Dominy. The decree crystallized the issue for all Aspirians. No gray area, no middle ground existed—just two factions, one for and one against Sergian’s reformation.

  Dominy continued reading the proclamation: “‘Due to certain volatile anti-reform actions, Aspiria will temporarily operate under martial rule’.” Just like the ancient Academics under Lucean.

  Genna. “Can’t talk. Get to Guardian Park. Now!”

  He spotted the towering statues at Guardian Park, leapt off the Pow and ran. He passed the Marika statue and stopped at the tiny Everlen memorial square with its four benches.