by B.J. Keeton
Chapter Five
“Who had ever heard of a Charon before setting foot on my ship?” asked Roman, the muscled captain of the Inkwell Sigil. The room of two dozen teenagers stared ahead. Ceril and the other Recruits sat at their own desks, which were really unlike any desks at Ennd’s Academy. Instead of a blank slate, the desks were equipped with a touch-interface computer embedded in the tabletop, which projected a floating hologram they could interact with by waving their hands through any part of the display. Every single student—even the most privileged ones—gawked at the computers as he or she sat down for orientation. The technology was advanced beyond anything they had been allowed to get their hands on at Ennd’s, and that was saying a lot. Who knew about other schools? From the looks on the other Recruits’ faces, though, Ceril didn’t figure they had any more experience with it than he did.
This was technomage stuff, and if this was what they were given access to on their first day of training, Ceril couldn’t wait to see what he would get next month, or even next year, if he lasted that long.
Regarding Roman’s question, Ceril actually knew very little, only what Gramps had told him about the Charons. He thought about raising his hand and offering that information to Roman (that is what he insisted the Recruits call him. “There will be no titles and rank as long as you study with me”), but before he could, a girl in the front row started talking. Her hand had shot up like an old classroom pro, and her mouth had opened simultaneously. Roman had no time to give her permission to speak.
“The Charons,” she said, then paused. “I suppose that most people called them technomages, though. Charons or technomages, either one.”
Roman nodded and motioned for her to continue.
“Right. The Charons began as a group of scientists. According to most of the Yaghian legends I’ve read, the founding members were tired of the way science was handled thousands of years ago. A man united the four major city-states without a war, and began calling himself the Untouchable.”
The Untouchable? Ceril filed that one away for later.
The girl continued her rambling, leaving him very little time for thought. “After that, those same city-states—Yagh, Ternia, Ferran, and Bester—produced a lot of myths that indicate that the Untouchable thought of himself as a spiritual man who loathed science.”
Ceril raised his hand, and Roman pointed at him, while holding his hand up to stop the girl’s prattling. She ignored him and kept talking.
“Because of that loathing, the legends say that some scientists thought that even though he had stopped the wars, he and his government were doing nothing to advance that unification. In fact, some of my teachers in Yagh that taught that the Untouchable actually did what he could to bury scientific discoveries.”
Roman put his hands down and just started to nod. If he was giving up, then Ceril decided he didn’t have a chance to say anything.
“Apparently, the Untouchable would either label scientific progress as heresy, or more often, he would take the invention and pass it off as his own connection to the divine. The Charons initially formed out of a desire to advance science and depose the Untouchable.” The girl sat back in her chair and became quiet.
Ceril just stared at her. She seemed slightly embarrassed after her story. Her cheeks flushed red, and Ceril couldn’t help thinking she was pretty. Kind of. She might have been. If she wasn’t so annoying.
Roman, however, nodded slightly and smiled at the girl. “Thank you, Saryn. I appreciate your enthusiasm. Some of the old Yaghian legends hold some truth, indeed. Can you tell me how long ago that happened?”
“I'm not sure,” Saryn said.
“Anyone?” Roman asked the class.
Silence from the class. Roman leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed and waited. When it became clear that none of the students were going to hazard a guess, he said, “About ten thousand years ago.”
More silence.
He had obviously expected some kind of response from them. He started walking around the room. “Does anyone else know anything about the Charons or the technomages?”
Ceril slowly raised his hand.
“Yes? Ceril?”
“My Gramps told me about them over the summer after we found a sword in the garden. It took a long time to tell, though. He’s a really good storyteller.”
“Well, why don't you just hit the high points for us?”
Ceril cleared his throat. “Well, he said the Charons were protectors. Or soldiers. Gramps never said anything about them being scientists. He said they went from province to province doing what they had to so the old wars wouldn't start again.”
Ceril shifted in his seat as he spoke. He hated talking in front of people.
“Thank you, Ceril. Now can you tell me how long ago this was?”
“No idea, sir. Ten thousand years?”
Roman laughed. “I see what you did there. Anyone else?”
Ceril sheepishly raised his hand again.
“Yes, Ceril?” Roman asked.
“My roommate at Ennd’s showed me a video with some people in it. They said they were Charons. And I think that maybe the Charons might have been bad people. Sir.”
Roman smiled. “Well, thank you for that vote of confidence, my friend.”
The classroom chuckled.
I didn’t mean—” Ceril began.
“I know, Ceril,” Roman said. “I don't like to think of myself as the bad guy, either.” Roman spread his arms out and gestured at the whole class. “So tell me which of these stories is correct? Here we are, aboard a technomage ship, speeding through hyperspace. We are both nowhere near Erlon and still right beside it. Each one of you have been specially chosen based on test scores, faculty recommendations, and,” Roman looked directly at Ceril, “other more extraordinary qualifications.”
Ceril gulped.
“So obviously there is some truth in some of these stories,” Roman continued. “But which ones?”
No one raised a hand.
“No one?”
Saryn fidgeted in her chair. She looked uncomfortable to Ceril. Obviously, she wasn’t used to being unable to offer a correct answer. Ceril had no idea which of the stories was true, either. He only knew that the contradictory tales existed and that they all had to be at least partially true. He wouldn’t be sitting here if they weren’t.
Around the room, the other students were just as confused as Saryn. How could any of them know the truth? In most places on Erlon, records went back a century or two at most. And that was well after the last war had ended.
Roman walked to the front of the room and over to the window. He put both of his palms on the glass. His head dropped, and to Ceril, he looked like he was praying. When Roman spoke, his words were quick, terse, and far sterner than he had sounded with the students yet. “No one can tell me which legends about technomages are true? Really? You are the best and brightest students on Erlon, and not one of you can tell me which of these stories is correct? No one will even guess?”
A boy two chairs down from Ceril raised his hand.
Without turning around, Roman said, “Yes, Barty?”
The boy said something that Ceril couldn’t hear.
“Louder, son,” Roman said.
A second try: “Not to be rude, sir, but how could we know? I mean, back in Ferran, we don’t even know why it’s called Ferran. It just is. Maybe they know that kind of thing in Ternia or Yagh, but Professor Kline said last year that some stories are just lost and gone.”
“And what does that have to do what Saryn and Ceril said?”
Barty hesitated. “I guess that we can’t know, sir. I thought that’s why we’re here. To learn that kind of stuff.”
Roman turned from the window and faced the class. He was frowning. “I suppose you're right. Who here agrees with Barty?”
A couple of hands went up slowly—not above the students’ shoulders, though, in case they might need to hide their responses
quickly.
“I see,” Roman said. “Well, let me just tell you. Barty's right. There really is no way you could know which story is correct.”
Barty beamed in his chair and sat a little straighter. Ceril felt good for the kid. He seemed like the kind of boy who didn’t get that kind of praise terribly often.
“But so is Saryn,” the teacher continued. “And so are Ceril and his grandfather. All the stories are true.”
Saryn couldn't take it anymore. Her hand shot up, but once again, she started talking before she was called on. “But how is that possible, sir? How? They contradict each other! They can’t be true if they all tell a different story.”
“They're all true,” Roman explained, “because they all have that one seed in them that ties them to the past. Nothing is completely true. They all have bits of fantasy and myth in them. Ten thousand years will do that to just about anything, right? But Barty is right. You are in this classroom because you need to know the full truth. And before your time aboard this ship is finished, you’re going to know as much of it as anyone else in the world; more than most people, actually. How does that sound?”
The class was silent again, and Roman just shook his head. “You guys are going to have to lighten up and talk to me eventually, or this is going to be a very long year.”