Rexrider (First World's End Book 1)

by Mark Angel

  North of his current vantage point and across the inner paddock, the cliffs of Stonehaven’s citadel shimmer; the windows of the dwellings cast light into the predawn darkness, and rows of gas lamps illuminate the roadways, enhancing the golden aura. To the south, rocky slopes rise steeply out of the Kazak Valley. Kalikanuma directs his attention toward the west where he sees the drought-stricken Kazak River spill over a drop-off toward the Fire Swamps and the sea.

  He knows that many Rexians are awake, preparing their dawn meals, the season of fasting over now that the Servant Star, principal assistant to the sun, has retuned from the Beyond to reside in the dusk sky. But Kalikanuma knows that it is simply hidden behind the sun periodically due to its orbit, and never ventures Beyond at all. The fact that its orbit is closer to the sun than the orbit of Rex makes it appear to be near the sun at all times, either dawn or dusk depending on the phase.

  The myths of the fasting season and all other misguided beliefs of his people bring Kalikanuma sorrow, disturbing his spirit. Had he not been exiled, he would have revealed the truth: that the Servant Star is neither a servant nor a star at all, but the sixth largest planet in the sun system. But Kalikanuma’s elder brother, Bakarma, insists on maintaining the myth. And the other skywatchers support him in this deception, for by this myth among other, they and other elites are served gladly by those who believe.

  Kalikanuma’s dream-self continues to float skyward, the voice of Mystery guiding him. He watches the oldest protectorate on the planet grow distant beneath him, the colossal perimeter wall shrinking away until it becomes razor thin, a mere dividing line on the surface of his home planet.

  He gains speed as he moves away from the Fifth Planet. The white sun peeks out behind the blue globe now distant from him, and the unblinking moon hangs vigilant. Faster he goes, and then ahead of him, away from the shrinking sun, the largest planet in the sun system, the First Planet, grows to fill his view. For a moment he thinks Mystery is directing him to that striped gas giant, but long before he reaches the reddish-brown orb he comes to a stop, breathless, though he has exerted no effort, now seeing one of countless objects floating freely in space. They range in size from little more than a grain of sand, to a mass larger than the Snail’s Eye Mountain, rocky debris, a belt of asteroids stretching all the way around the sun.

  Kalikanuma seeks out a sign. Why has he been brought to this place at this time?

  An enormous mass of rocky ice suddenly hurtles past him. He recoils. The shining bolide glances off another massive object. Shards from each astronomical body fly outward in every direction, but he now senses that they pose no real danger to him, so he does not flinch again.

  He is aware this collision has occurred sometime in the past. He watches the mass of rocky ice careening off on a slightly different trajectory from the one it initially maintained. Could this be the Wildstar? The comet is known to all Rexians as a visiting light in the sky visible for only a few turns every thirteen sars.

  Just to be certain, he wills himself to follow it through time and space. It accelerates back in the direction from which he came, toward the sun. And at a certain point in his flight he feels a distinctive shift in the Beyond, indicating he has transected his present timeline and now continues into his future. And then the bolide whips around the sun and rockets back out into space. But like a well-aimed stone slung by an expert hunter, it is heading directly for Rex.

  Soon, he sees the comet pass Rex, barely missing the planet, and showering it with fragments.

  His vision fades into darkness. Something tugs at him. The odors of the dung fire again permeate his senses, underscored by a cast of mold seeping out from the damp stones of his sleeproom.

  ***

  Kalikanuma opened his eyes, thick with moisture. He sat forward, gulping for air

  Raitanu wrapped her arms around him and placed her head on his chest, squeezing him tightly and exhaling with relief. “It is alright, Appa,” she said choking back a sob, “you are awake now.” She soon released him and began to pad his brow with a cool, wet cloth.

  Between gasps, Kalikanuma managed to speak. “No . . . Sweetapple, all is . . . not right. I must . . . go back to glean more. All life on Rex . . . could be at stake.”

  He wheezed roughly before collapsing back against his sleepskins under the gentle pressure of his daughter’s hand.

  “Mystery nearly kept you this time,” she said, “and that I shall not permit. So, please . . . you must not induce another trance. Do not abandon me here to face the future alone.”

  “He who endures unto the end shall attain All Being and escape the cycle of life and death that is existence,” he reminded her.

  “I know the First Tenet of Mystery, Appa,” Raitanu protested. “But you will be of no use to me from beyond the void if you do not finish my training first.”

  Wet noises bubbled up from Kalikanuma’s chest. Raitanu could hear the sawing of his breath, in and out, as he lay rigidly without speaking. Then something about his posture softened, and he responded to her concerns. This time he did not cough and wheeze.

  “As usual, you are right, my charm. Later, I will recount what I saw and you will understand that I must return soon, but I will rest for now.”

  “And you had better not use your powder to induce another trance without me at your side.” She handed him his now lukewarm botes. “Promise?”

  “I promise, Daughter. I promise . . .”

  Kalikanuma sipped out of the mug before handing it back. Raitanu knew the stimulant would help keep him breathing, but he seemed too exhausted to stay awake.

  He began to rub his right forearm in the area of the scar left by the diamond-shaped iron brand Bakarma pressed into his arm sars before, a mark identifying Kalikanuma as an exile from the Order of Skywatchers banished from all inner citadels of Rex.

  Raitanu sensed what he was thinking. She understood the circumstances that led up to that infamous turn in which the mark had been impressed upon his arm shortly after Tolkratanuma had answered the call of Mystery. Bakarma had rallied the other, non-venerable skywatchers and cast Kalikanuma out because the young man refused to abide by the constraints imposed on skywatchers by the Ancients. Kalikanuma desired more for his people than the Oath of the Order and the Path of Innocence would allow. He did not believe that Mystery called Manifestation into existence in a single turn of the planet. He did not believe that Mystery then placed people here in the same, simple way. His ideas were heresies, and they could not be tolerated by the established skywatchers, especially coming, as they did, from a Venerable Master.

  “Perhaps I could accept their rules if only I had been born a rexrider,” he had once remarked to her joking about his fate.

  Her father believed the planet had existed long before people first arrived. He had seen the secret technology of the Ancients as described in hidden scrolls privy only to his order, but to reveal their contents was blasphemy. Bakarma, seduced by mendacity and envious of his younger brother’s extra toes, declared Kalikanuma a danger to the Civilization of Rex, and cast him out to remain forever outside the barrier walls of Rex.

  Raitanu placed her hand over her father’s hand where he held his forearm. She wanted him to think of something else.

  After finishing his drink, he dozed off. She rested her ear upon his chest, making sure that his heart was still beating strongly.

  The source of Manifestation is Mystery.

  There are those among us who still remember that void,

  And know that it still dwells within us all.

  — Kalikanuma

  20. Sleeping Masters

  Kazak Valley before high meridian, 01/02/1643--

  Kalikanuma awoke. Gazing across the expansive valley toward the inner city, he sensed the time was nearing high meridian. The sunlight left few shadows in the clefts of the cliffs adjacent to the citadel, and the brightness helped Kalikanuma feel more at peace than he had been before dawn.

  Raitanu sat beside him like a
perfectly sculpted marble statue, her angular features and smooth skin seeming to glow in the midturn sun.

  “Good to see you awake again," she said to her father. "Are you feeling better?”

  Kalikanuma spoke. “I was once a respected resident of the Skywatcher’s Plateau.”

  His daughter listened, and then said, “Perhaps one turn we shall walk together among the skywatchers’ garden statues.”

  He shifted up into a sitting position. As he absently sipped the broth his daughter offered him in a crudely fashioned stone bowl, he continued to share his thoughts with dreamy, wraith-like inflections.

  “I should have sat in my father’s chair at Council.”

  “It is unfortunate you chose to tell your brother of your plans after your father’s death,” Raitanu said evenly, a soothing, centering presence.

  Kalikanuma chuckled roughly “Reveal secrets to end the skywatchers’ mystique! Rail against the Path of Innocence, or should I say, Ignorance! That was not unfortunate. It was his reaction that was unfortunate!”

  Something crystallized in his eyes and the old man softened his voice.

  “Behind my brother’s fears lay resentment that I had been the one born Venerable . . . as you have been.” He patted Raitanu’s knee.

  She glanced at her bare feet.

  Kalikanuma noticed. “I cannot imagine how things might have been if I were not born with a sixth toe on each foot,” he said.

  “Sometimes I wonder about that myself,” she said, turning her eyes away.

  “These toes are our greatest attribute,” Kalikanuma declared. “Even having lost them,” he added, lifting his scared right foot out from under the covers, “I live by their benefit.”

  Raitanu shook her head in disgust. “How could a Master Skywatcher with a Venerable father believe that cutting off your extra toes would curtail your abilities?”

  “It’s a common belief.”

  “A false one.”

  “So be it.” With that, Kalikanuma put his finger to his lips and gently shushed his daughter. “What might the fear-mongers be capable of if they found out the amputation did not affect our abilities? Even now I question the wisdom of offering them a reason to stop believing that myth. The loss of a sixth toe is a small sacrifice to pay for the life of one's self and family.”

  He shivered as if cold and exhaled, a groan.

  Raitanu raised her voice. “Just once I wish I could see Bakarma’s face filled with the understanding that he did not defeat you.”

  “He would most certainly look bilious, Sweet Apple,” Kalikanuma replied softly. “But seeking petty, self-satisfaction does not become you, so perhaps you should refrain from the practice.”

  With both hands, Kalikanuma gripped his left leg—nearly lost to infection after the toe on that foot was amputated—and swung it over to rest next to his good leg. The motion carried him to a seated position on the edge of his bed.

  Raitanu said nothing. She strapped thick sandals onto her father’s feet in silence. After she stood up, she reached out to assist her father to stand. He dismissed her with a flick of his hand, preferring to place his weight on his cane, pushing down heavily upon its thickness. Then he shook his bad leg gently. Raitanu helped him slip a simple tunic over his head. She made sure the garment fit right, and then tied a short hemp rope around his waist.

  “I could have done that myself,” he said, hobbling past her on his way to the wash basin in the main room.

  Raitanu followed him closely. “Where are you going?” she inquired.

  “To wake the sleeping masters.”

  “In that shabby old outfit?” she asked, brushing the back of his garment with her hand.

  “It will serve my purpose not to appear too noble.”

  Kalikanuma dipped cool water from a bucket nearby and poured it into the basin, and then he scrubbed his hands and arms and splashed his face.

  She watched sadly as he hobbled toward the door of their stone grotto and opened it.

  “Go with Spirit, Appa!” she called after him as the door shut close.

  Kalikanuma trudged along an eroded, rocky footpath that led through the narrow canyon walls toward the main crossroads of Southend Drainage. The warm, dry air bore an accent of sulfur mixed in with the usual floral fragrances. To Kalikanuma’s trained senses, this indicated the wind had shifted, bringing the scent of the Fire Swamps toward the city. “Maybe it will rain soon,” he said wistfully as he made his way carefully along the uneven pathway into the paddock to a place near the thirsty Kazak River. The diminished flow had surged briefly during the recent downpours, but had already returned to its previous level.

  He spotted a transport calash just across a footbridge. The vehicle was noticeably worn, its equipage bulky and obviously homemade; its domehead harnessed with a plain collar and bridle assembly held in place by aging traces.

  “Ho there! Calasheer!” Kalikanuma called out, raising his hand.

  A stalwart middle-aged woman whom Kalikanuma recognized pulled her domehead around, reining him in hard. He had been nibbling on the wilted groundcover at the side of the roadway, but now stood upright on his powerful hind legs awaiting further direction. When she snapped his reins and laid them to the right, he shook his dome-shaped spiked head, leaned forward, and pulled against the harness, bringing the vehicle around obligingly. The calash—which seemed quite serviceable despite its humble construction—clattered across the flat stone roadway.

  “Where to, Venerable?” The driver asked politely, nodding respectfully toward the Seer. Her hair was short and her wiry figure dressed economically. Everything about her seemed indispensable.

  Kalikanuma crossed the bridge and approached her slowly, cane clicking with each step. “The Central Gate, please,” he instructed as he climbed aboard. Once he had settled into the seat, after what seemed for him to be an eternity of effort, the driver whooped and gently slapped the reins against the back of her domehead. The creature lurched into motion, beginning their trip over the rough and bumpy paving stones.

  The roadway wound through the knolls and hummocks of the inner paddock where each swell of the valley was carpeted by dry vegetation except where irrigation provided a handful of colorful patches. The pavement on these less traveled roadways was cracked, but the driver took pains to avoid the worst fractures. It made for slow going at first, but they had better progress once they merged onto a more traveled route, at least until Stonehaven’s pride of prairie rexes blocked the way. Some of their minders banged on brass stick-bells in an effort to get one of the more recalcitrant rexes to move along.

  The domehead stopped and crouched down a safe distance away from the foul-smelling predators. He twitched his tail sharply against the dash of the calash and backed up slightly, signaling disquiet.

  “Easy, Boy,” the calasheer said in a reassuring voice.

  Two of the bulls appeared to be wrangling, their swollen blue pates displaying a state of mutual excitement.

  “Ugly!” the driver said almost to herself. Then glancing at Kalikanuma, who clung to the guardrail for balance, she said, “It amazes me that those rexes do what their riders tell them. It doesn’t seem natural.”

  “People shape the world around them to a greater degree than do most other creatures,” Kalikanuma said. “There is nothing unnatural about that.”

  The calasheer grunted, the strongest rebuttal she would offer the Seer.

  When the rexes finally passed, the calasheer set her drawbeast back into motion, and soon Kalikanuma found himself at the gates of Stonehaven’s Central Barrier. It was time to disembark; he offered up his cubeage.

  The driver refused the fare. “It was my honor to take you, Venerable,” she said, and headed back into the paddock.

  Gaining admission through the gate into the city was usually a matter of baring one’s right forearm, but if Kalikanuma did that, he would have revealed a diamond-shaped brand indicating his need for special permission from the Guardians’ Lodge in order to e
nter the citadel. The Seer, therefore, divined to use his own strategy.

  “You there! Gatekeeper! Open the gate that I may pass in, I have an engagement to keep.” He said it in the most pleasant manner, holding up his arm, palm facing outward, projecting the influence of his Power.

  The Senior Guardian yielded to the simple request by this friendly outsider who often sat at one gate or the other, telling the future for a spare chip or two, but had never before requested admission. That the Seer had held up his left arm seemed to escape the keeper’s attention.

  Although somewhat guiltridden by his use of the Power, Kalikanuma hastened through as fast as his damaged leg could accommodate and made his way toward Fen Plaza. Just inside the barrier, a pod of gyrodancers performed, entranced and spinning to the drones and rhythms of their musicians. They whirled and bounced oblivious to everything else around them, including the cadence of Kalikanuma’s cane tapping to match their beat. He would have likely been lulled into staring were he not committed to his mission.

  As he walked on, he took stock of his surroundings and renewed his familiarity with them. Whispers of nostalgia passed through his mind, colored indelibly by the sars since he last past by this way. The beehive of dwellings and infrastructures integrated into the cliffs, crevices and craggy plateaus of the citadel were the apex of Rexian architecture with aims that never strayed far from utilitarian.

  Stonehaven! The principal city of the Western Kith. Nowhere else in the Civilization of Rex was the popular disposition displayed so vividly, among the minstrels, mongers and mongrels, along with the multitude of varlets, vagabonds, and vagrants who enhanced the unique character of the street.

  Stonehaven! Here, the first Rexians had settled, providing a thousand sars of shelter to the Orders of Skywatchers, Tellers, Merchants, and Rexriders in addition to the myriad artisans and laborers who inhabited the place. Not much had changed since his last visit so long ago. A vendor’s success still determined the amount of tribute he was expected to give to the Order of Merchants. They, in turn, managed commerce and communication, ensuring subsequent distributions of that tribute provided for all civil servants—from the skywatchers on the Skywatcher’s Plateau, to the tellers and guardians in their libraries and courts, to the sweepers and lamplighters out in the streets.