by Jeff Kish
Alam beams at the attention. “I’m older than this brat, and I’m ready to become a soldier! Let’s get started, already!”
The brash demeanor is met with amusement. “Enthusiasm sure is a welcome change. And your name is?”
“Alam, sir!”
Graff eyes his commander. “I assume you proved his identity?”
“Affirmative,” Galen replies. “I can demonstrate if you’d like.”
“No need,” he says with a wave as he beckons to Alam. “Please follow me. I’ll need you to remove an obstacle for us.” He heads inside without acknowledging Di, much to her satisfaction.
Alam is curious but obeys as Graff leads him into the bright inner chamber, its metallic walls reflecting and amplifying the many light runes now installed. To her dismay, Di notices that much of the ancient equipment has been removed. ‘No doubt for studying,’ she laments, longing to be part of the research team now poring over the relics.
Though much has changed since Di was last here, the three small chambers protected by pulsating barriers of light remain untouched, even if their hum and glow are largely swallowed by the intensity of the light runes. The sight of the empty chamber gives Di a chill. This is where she lost all she thought she had, where even her humanity was brutally ripped away. She takes a place along the side wall and prepares to watch Alam endure the same trial.
Graff extends a hand to the panel lodged between two of the barriers. “Rest your hand here, please. This will verify you’re as special as we suspect.”
Alam plants his hand on the panel, and Graff expresses satisfaction as a glowing symbol appears on the back of the youth’s hand. The emblem is similar to Di’s, but within it are two lines and two circles, alternating sequentially within the surrounding circle. The mark glows as its matching barrier crackles and disappears, revealing a chamber identical to the one Di had opened.
Alam stares at the glowing symbol in awe until it fades from the back of his hand. He is so taken by the events that he fails to notice the barrier’s dissipation. Graff clears his throat to get the urchin’s attention and asks, “Just who are you, boy?”
“Me?” he asks in confusion. “I’m Alam. I already said that.”
“But who is Alam? Who are you?”
The scamp frowns as he ponders the question. “I mean, I’ve lived on the streets all my life. I’m just a regular old street rat.”
The general places a hand firmly on his shoulder. “Alam, today you will discover that you are more than a street rat. You were not born a mere decade-and-a-half ago, but nearly three hundred years have passed since your birth.” Motioning to the newly revealed chamber, he says, “This was the place of your second birth, merely two years ago. Though you emerged, it seems your memories and powers did not accompany you.”
The youth peers into the dark chamber. “My memories… my powers?”
“Sadly, your memories are unrecoverable,” says the general, “but your powers can be regained. As Diamond has assuredly demonstrated, you will awaken new capabilities. Capabilities of which you could only have dreamed.”
Alam is now bouncing with excitement. “Tell me what to do, already!”
“Simply place your hands in the pillar’s opening before you. Leave the rest to me.”
Alam practically lunges into the chamber, giving no regard for the ancient ambiance of the symbols engraved throughout. Di gives a glance to her own chamber. If Ares is to be believed, she and the other runics slept for centuries before awakening, and she wonders what event triggered their revival.
The youth eagerly shoves his hands into the pillar. The symbol beneath his feet glows softly before giving way to a wave of light and a deafening hum. Alam’s enthusiasm turns to alarm as his senses are overwhelmed, and Di shields her eyes from the display. She gives a glance to Galen, but his expression is neither one of triumph nor anticipation. To Di’s surprise, he appears apprehensive.
Eventually, the lights and noise fade, and Alam stumbles from the chamber. Graff pushes the youth aside, already fixated on the glowing orb resting atop the pillar. Unlike Di’s yellow sphere, Alam’s pulsates a beautifully immersive white-gray, yet the general doesn’t pause in admiration. He hurriedly snatches it, and the ball disappears with a searing flash as it penetrates the hand of its new owner. Powering through the pain, the conductor expectantly opens his palm, finding that Alam’s symbol is now printed directly clockwise to the one representing Di.
“Whoa…” Alam mumbles as he discovers bronze armlets now fastened tightly to him. He gives them a tug but otherwise seems satisfied. “Is this part of my armor?”
Di can no longer stand his attitude. “No, it’s not your armor,” she cries as she pulls back her sleeves to reveal her own armlets. “They’re shackles! You’re enslaved to this madman! This… This horrible beast of a-”
“Until further notification,” the general says, Di’s symbol already aglow on his hand, “you will address me as ‘his most excellent General Graff.’”
The markings on Di’s hands glow and fade in response. She slams her palm into the wall in frustration and mutters, “Congratulations on your new identity.”
Graff places his hands behind his back, barely able to contain his eagerness. “Now, my lad, you have officially been welcomed into an elite collective. You will serve as my personal soldier, as with Diamond, working tirelessly to protect our great nation. Along with this new identity, you will be given a new moniker. You shall now be known as Opal.”
“Opal?” he repeats with delight. “That’s my new soldier name? I like it!”
“You and I have entered into a covenant, Opal.” He again holds his palm toward Di. “Allow me to demonstrate this unique relationship. Is there anything you’d like Diamond to do?”
Di is startled by the request, though Opal still fails to grasp the context. “She sucker-punched me earlier! She should apologize.”
Graff nods. “Diamond, bow down and offer a sincere apology.”
Instantly, Di dashes to Opal, bows low, and speaks with utmost sincerity. “The force I used yesterday was unnecessary. I am truly sorry for demonstrating such brutality.”
The newly bound runic is stunned. “Wow, you can make her do anything?” Suddenly grasping the ramifications of his ritual, he stutters, “A-And me as well?”
“Fear not, Opal. We are allies, after all,” Graff assures him. “Allow me to demonstrate how powerful we are together.” He opens his palm for his new weapon to see and says, “Opal, do a backflip.”
He immediately performs the feat, executing the maneuver with pride. Di watches the familiar response to the act as he transitions from satisfaction to confusion. She desires nothing more than to escape this reenactment of her own enslavement.
“You now boast the combat prowess of my most experienced of soldiers,” Graff informs him. “You have no limitations. You will be peerless on the battlefield. Save for Diamond, naturally.”
The young runic arrogantly contends, “No, I’ll be peerless even if Diamond is there.” He brashly turns to Di and asks, “Want to go at it? That sucker punch won’t work this time!”
Before Di can respond, Graff says, “Yes, such an exercise would be beneficial. Let us head to the room’s center.”
Galen and Di are each startled by the suggestion, but they follow the general and his enthusiastic new weapon. Galen glances to Di, who eyes her shackles with a deflated spirit as she follows after her master. The commander clenches his fist in frustration at Graff’s continued insistence to treat these children as weapons of war.
The general eyes Galen. “This feels familiar, does it not? However, I don’t expect we will witness such a one-sided fight this time.” He holds his palm out and says, “Diamond and Opal, when I say ‘attack’, you will knock the other unconscious. Do not deal permanent damage to one another.”
“I’m going to give you a beat down!” an eager Opal taunts while cracking his knuckles.
Di shakes her head condescendingl
y. “You still have no grasp of anything.” Knowing a command is coming, she doesn’t bother to prepare herself.
Graff licks his lips in anticipation. “Attack!”
Di rushes Opal with a burst of speed. True to form, she shapes a triangular blade made from air along each arm, and she slashes at her opponent with every indication she intends to sever a limb.
Unarmed, Opal retreats from Di’s pressure and reveals his new capabilities as he unleashes a ranged lightning strike against his opponent. The bolt clears the gap between them and zaps her forearm. She stumbles but maintains her momentum, swinging at Opal and connecting with his leg. Galen cringes as he expects the youth’s limb to go flying, but the attack is blunt. The youth keeps his appendage but tumbles to the ground.
Di raises her air-shaped club over her adversary’s head, disappointed the fight is over so quickly, but the lightning elementalist swings a charged, bare foot into her thigh. She reels back, and Opal lunges for her torso. The moment he makes contact, a loud snap rings out as Di is flung backward from the force of the jolt.
Opal watches his opponent as she manages to stay on her feet, and the two circle as each calculates the best path to victory. The lightning runic holds his hands at the ready, the electricity crackling loudly throughout the room, while Di kicks off her shoes and dispels her weapons, apparently opting to fight bare-handed. Galen wonders what she has in mind.
With an outstretched hand, Opal unleashes another bolt of electricity, but it takes an unexpected path to a nearby console, completely missing his intended target. Di steps into him, as if foreseeing the mishap. She slams him in the stomach and kicks him backward. When he swings a fist at her, she jumps in the air and plants herself on a solid, invisible platform. Intending to take advantage of her position, she reforms one of her dull weapons and lunges down at her opponent.
With a sneer, Opal snatches another hidden blade from his pant leg and deflects Di’s strike. He swipes at her and, though she dodges it, he closes the gap enough for the blade to unleash its charge into her. The electric shock throws Di violently across the room. Opal rushes her with his fists charged, and the air shaper barely manages to form a thick wall to protect herself from her aggressor’s assault.
The lightning elementalist slows to a stop, his expression filled with pride. “Is hiding the best you can do against me?” he gloats.
Di holds the wall steady as she works through a strategy to best her super-charged opponent. However, to her surprise, Opal walks confidently to the wall with his arm extended. Her hand tenses as he nears her, and she compresses the air with all her might in preparation for his strike.
“You said air doesn’t conduct electricity?” he asks, placing his hand on the shield. “Let’s find out!”
Though Opal appears to be doing little more than resting his palm on her wall, Di can feel the air thickening with charge. Now a prisoner behind her barrier, Di compresses the air to increase its resistance to the foreign element, and sweat pours from her brow as she desperately maintains her protection. Mere inches apart, Di sees the fierce determination in Opal’s eyes. She can tell she is on the losing end of the struggle, and she braces herself for the inevitable impact.
The surge of electricity breaks through, and the brilliance of the colossal spark temporarily blinds the observing officers. Their ears ring from the booming pop, and the ionized air pierces their nostrils. As their senses recover, they find the victor of the fight standing over his fallen opponent, already in the process of confirming she is, indeed, unconscious. Once his objective is verified, Opal collapses and wipes the sweat from his brow.
“Bravo!” Graff lauds as he approaches. “A most impressive display from our new weapon!”
Alarmed, Galen hurries to the defeated warrior’s side. He crouches beside her and confirms her vital signs.
“I take it the weapon is fine?” Graff asks, to which Galen nods.
“That was GREAT!” the victor screams while victoriously pumping both fists into the air. “Yeah, talk about revenge! I can’t believe I got through her barrier like that. Go, Opal!”
Graff puts his hand to his chin, pondering the results before turning toward the entrance. “Come, Opal. Let us head back to the military barracks. I suspect you’ll want to see your new living arrangements.”
The new weapon hurries after his new master, not giving any regard to his fallen opponent while marveling over his newfound abilities.
Galen sets his gaze upon the unconscious, seemingly harmless child lying before him, trying in vain to view her as the soulless weapon Graff believes her to be. Yet, despite the military uniform, Di’s sleeping innocence only serves to reverse the progress he had made in changing his perspective. Gently, he hoists his former asset into his arms and carries her up the staircase.
Chapter 7
Commander Talkem’s freelance mercenary, Gular, hikes through the underbrush, grumbling to himself as he plucks leaves and twigs from his clothing. He hacks at the thick foliage with a machete and pushes through the brush until he arrives at his destination. Taking a position behind a wide oak, he rests his knapsack on the ground and withdraws a bound notebook, a quill, and a bottle of ink. After clumsily preparing the pen, he starts adding to his notes, already dreaming of the fee he can negotiate from his client.
Tents litter the clearing ahead, and workers mill about lazily until a soft whine interrupts the quiet, and the noise grows exponentially when a sky boat appears over the tree line. Maneuvered by powerful air runes, the modified stagecoach makes a clean landing in the midst of the settlement, and a certain silver-haired pilot removes her goggles and greets the approaching workers.
Gular excitedly records the details of the female pilot, so enwrapped in his surveillance that he fails to notice the unfriendly footsteps approaching him from behind.
The sound of a struggle beyond the tree line prompts the operation’s workers to scramble for weapons. Pearl’s adoptive father catches her eye and signals for her to duck into her tent. Obediently, she dismounts the craft and takes up a position behind the flap so she can continue to watch, fearful of who may be encroaching on their space. After a tense wait, the armed intruders step into the clearing, dragging an unconscious captive with them, and it becomes apparent to Pearl that her friends would be severely outnumbered in a fight.
The leader steps forward and brushes dark hair from her eyes as she raises a hand in the air, as if invoking peace. The silver chain around her neck sparkles with the sunlight, contrasting sharply against her dark leather tunic. As if her entourage lacks sufficient intimidation, the scar along this mercenary’s right cheek instills a sense of fear in the inexperienced workers. Pearl can’t help but notice the brigand’s darkened skin, though she doesn’t seem to be fully Allerian.
“An Avvie?” the manager mumbles to himself as he extends his arms. “Welcome to my humble home, dear travelers. The name is Poulton, and I manage this sky boat operation. How may I be of service?”
The boss lowers her hand. “My name is Sreya,” she declares, her voice soft but confident, “lieutenant to Angal Rohe and representative of the Smith’s Hammer guild.”
Poulton’s eyes widen. “You’re here on behalf of Rohe? To what do I owe such an honor, that the head of the Smith’s Hammer should send his officer to speak with me? Is this regarding the recent work we’ve conducted for the guild?”
“Somewhat,” she replies while gesturing toward the unconscious, bald-headed mercenary in the custody of her subordinates. “This is Gular. It came to our attention that he has been searching for you on behalf of the military.”
A chill runs down Pearl’s spine. She knew the military might hunt for her, but she had clung to the hope that their new location would keep her hidden.
“As you say, Poulton,” Sreya continues, “you’ve performed admirable work for the guild, and we protect those on whom we rely. We followed Gular to your location, and we will hand him over to our interrogators to determine the military’s
intent. Consider this a personal gift from Rohe.”
Poulton places his hand to his chin, knowing well the expected response. “I am certainly in Rohe’s debt for acting on my behalf. What can I do to repay him?”
Sreya’s demeanor turns stern. “I want to meet your pilot.”
“W-What? I mean, for what purpose would you-”
“The purpose is irrelevant,” she interrupts. “Bring her out.”
Reluctantly, Poulton surrenders to Sreya’s demand and beckons for Pearl to reveal herself. She complies and pulls back the tent flap to approach.
“Very impressive,” Sreya notes as Pearl approaches. “An exquisite pilot you have here, Poulton. And she’s your daughter, you said?”
Poulton’s brow furrows. “I didn’t say that, but… yes, you’re correct.”
“And what of her mother?”
“Pearl is adopted.”
“And how long ago did this happen?”
“I adopted Pearl just short of two years ago,” he replies.
Sreya runs her finger along her scar as she observes Pearl. “Just as was reported to us. Fascinating.” Pearl shrinks back as she absorbs the penetrating glares of the surreptitious group of armed guild mercenaries.
In an effort to conclude the discussion, Poulton states, “My daughter is the reason for our success in smuggling your weapons. We have been two years without losing a pilot, and she has abandoned just a single load in that time. Please tell Master Rohe that he can continue to expect such service, and that his next job is free of charge.”
The guild officer shows no interest in the offer. “Rohe wants to borrow your daughter, Poulton. I’m to escort her from here.”
Pearl’s eyes widen as Poulton seethes. “With all due respect to Rohe, he cannot have my daughter. I will defend my family, Sreya.”