Second Chronicles of Illumination

by C. A. Pack

  CHAPTER 17

  Jackson’s stomach growled. “The Longevicus Ritual really makes you work up an appetite. Lunch, anyone?”

  Mal led them to the transport disk. “There’s a small place right around the corner that has delicious Fantasian food. Or would you prefer something from another realm?”

  That piqued Johanna’s curiosity. “Is there food from other realms … similar to Fantasian food? Veggies? Grains? Hold the eyeballs …”

  Jackson shook his head. “Let’s just stick with Fantasian food, thank you.”

  “Why can’t we just try something new, if Mal says it’s not so bad?”

  “You won’t even eat squid, and that’s Fantasian. What makes you think you’re going to like something totally foreign?”

  “I want to open myself up to new things.”

  “Buy a pair of Luminan shoes. Have you noticed how the toes curl up, like something Aladdin wore in One Thousand and One Nights?”

  “All right. We’ll eat at the Fantasian place. C’mon, Mal.”

  “I can’t go, it’s almost midiodi.”

  “Oh!” Johanna grabbed Mal’s arm. “The Overseers Challenge. I got so caught up in our orientation this morning I almost forgot. We’re not going anywhere. We’re staying right here to support you.”

  Mal smiled. “I don’t want you two to starve. You hardly ate a thing at breakfast.”

  “Nope, it’s fine,” Jackson said. “We’re staying put.”

  “Where’s the best place to watch?” Johanna took Mal’s arm and started walking toward the amphitheater.

  “Lucky for you, now that you’ve successfully completed orientation, you can sit in the special section reserved for curators. You may see your new friend Furst there, since Torran is a competitor. And Natalia Dalura, the curator from Romantica, may be there in support of Dame Erato. Nero 51 and Prophet IAN c. are curators, but anyone who might accompany them would not be allowed to sit in that section.”

  “At least we won’t have to worry about creeping tentacles,” Jackson remarked, only half in jest.

  A flourish, similar to the sound of baroque trumpets, came from the amphitheater.

  Mal took a deep breath. “It’s time. Let’s go inside.”

  *

  Jackson expressed surprise over the massive crowd of people vying for seats in the stadium. “Where did they all come from? We were just in here and it was empty. I didn’t see anyone outside.”

  “They came via the inter-fare,” Mal stated.

  “They’re going to interfere with the challenge?” Jackson tensed, ready to defend Mal.

  “No.” Mal chuckled. “The inter-fare is an inter-borough thoroughfare. It’s a fast way for transport disks to travel across the city underground. The disks magnetically interlock so they can travel at an even speed and not bump into one another. It’s really an ingenious mode of transportation.”

  Jackson traced an imaginary number one in the air. “Chalk one up to the Luminans.”

  Mal stopped abruptly. “This is where I take my leave.”

  Johanna kissed his cheek. “Good luck.”

  Jackson snaked his arm around Mal’s shoulder. “May the best man win—which is you, so just go out there and do it.”

  Mal smiled before walking through what appeared to be a black screen on the wall.

  Jackson walked to it and tried to stick his hand through it, but yelped when he smashed his fingers against it. “It’s solid!”

  A nearby official said without emotion, “That entrance is preprogrammed to admit only the genetic coding of the challengers. All others will be turned away.”

  “I guess that explains it,” Jackson said, massaging his fingers.

  Johanna took advantage of the official’s proximity. “Could you tell us how to get to the curators’ viewing area?”

  The official looked them over. “You’re the Fantasians.” He pointed to an entryway on the left. “The entrance is right there. Your seats are in the first row abutting the field. When you’re stopped and asked for identification, show them your left palm.”

  “What good will that do?” Jackson asked, twisting his hand palm up.

  Johanna gaped at his palm, and then turned over her own hand. They both had the Illumini constellation embedded in their palms, and Fantasia sparkled like a diamond chip. “Where did these come from?”

  “I don’t know,” Jackson said.

  The official noted their sudden distress. “That is a symbol that you’ve completed the Curator Orientation and Longevicus Ritual. It will stay with you always. Once bestowed, it can never be taken away, even if you are stripped of your duties as a curator.”

  “You know, I saw Mal’s symbol when I shook his hand,” Jackson said, “but I thought it was some weird tattoo.”

  Johanna smiled. “I don’t think of Mal as the tattoo type.”

  “Me neither,” Jackson admitted.

  When they entered the curators’ viewing area, they found Furst already seated. He rose when he saw them and bowed.

  Jackson greeted the Dramatican curator: “Hey, Furst.” He gave him a playful punch on the arm.

  Furst looked at his arm with trepidation as his curly red hair pulled into tight wiry corkscrews. “A concern, do you have, to take up with me?”

  “Concern? No. Just saying hello.”

  Johanna explained. “That’s just Jackson’s way of playfully saying hello. It’s how we greet our friends on Fantasia.”

  “Friend, yes.” Furst nodded, relaxing. Jackson had saved Furst’s life by pulling him to safety after he lost his balance while trying to summon the overseers. The teen was the only person among a crowd of Dramaticans willing to risk his own safety to help the curator.

  “Do you have one of these?” Jackson asked, holding up his left palm.

  “A curator, I am,” Furst said, revealing his own constellation.

  “I heard one of your friends is running for overseer,” Johanna said, joining in the conversation. “That must be very exciting for you.”

  Furst’s hair tightened into wiry corkscrews again. “A countryman, Torran is. A friend, Torran is not.”

  “Oh.” Johanna didn’t know what else to say.

  They barely noticed her sudden silence, for at that moment a parade of musicians marched onto the field and formed a colossal circle around the perimeter. Each wore a coat with a different jewel tone embellished with gold arabesques.

  “There must be hundreds of musicians out there,” Jackson said.

  “On pageantry, Lumi thrives,” Furst noted.

  “That’s what I love about it,” said a voice behind them.

  Johanna, Jackson, and Furst turned to find a beautiful woman seated directly behind them.

  Johanna tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Where did you come from?”

  “I’m Natalia Dalura, the curator of Romantica. My kinswoman Dame Erato is a challenger, as is Malcolm Trees and Torran. I believe we will be the only curators in the viewing box, considering the last two challengers are curators themselves.”

  “I’m Jackson Roth.” He reached for her hand and, for a moment, looked at it like he was going to kiss it. He gave it a squeeze and then introduced Johanna and Furst.

  Natalia gave them a dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”

  Jackson moved to the seat next to Natalia. “Have you been to one of these before?”

  “Only once,” she replied, “when Pru Tellerence won the challenge. It was my first year as a curator.”

  “I heard the overseers were all males before that,” Jackson said.

  “Yes, and some challengers were angry that the tradition did not continue.”

  “Were …” Jackson paused and laughed. “I was going to ask if the challengers were anyone I might know until I realized they probably aren’t around anymore.” He gave it some thought. “Unless it happened recently. How long ago was the last challenge?”

  “Pru Tellerence became an overseer three hundred se
venty-seven years ago.”

  “Gee, is that all?” Johanna’s tone had an uncharacteristic edge to it.

  Jackson stared. “You look really good for your age. But what’s really amazing is that you speak the same language that we do. And I’m surprised that you said ‘years,’ because even though we measure time in years on Fantasia, I didn’t think people from other worlds would.”

  Natalia laughed. To Jackson it sounded like the tinkle of crystal wind chimes.

  “I’m quite sure we don’t speak the same language, or use the same system of measurement. However, Lumi has a translation enchantment, so that everyone here can understand everyone else.”

  Jackson blushed. “I knew that. I don’t know what possessed me when I said we spoke the same language.”

  *

  Johanna knew exactly what possessed Jackson. Lust. Natalia Dalura was an exquisite beauty. She had an abundance of blond waves, high cheekbones, sensuous lips, and eyes the same shade of violet as the Luminan sky. Her floor-length ice-blue dress had a plunging neckline and was fashioned out of a diaphanous material that both molded to her curves and floated in the wind. To make matters worse, the Romantican curator’s voice was as soothing and hypnotic as her laugh was lyrical.

  Johanna considered her own outfit: tan slacks, brown boots, a brown silk shirt, and a burgundy scarf looped around her neck. It had seemed low-key yet sophisticated when she packed it, but now she felt plain and brown next to the Romantican curator. She sighed deeply, suddenly realizing how Jackson must have felt when she had shown an interest in Casanova.

  Johanna stared at the center of the amphitheater. It had changed since that morning when she and Jackson had taken center stage. Now, even though the circle of overseers remained, Master Ryden Simmdry stood in the center of the Illumini constellation, and five podiums had popped up, encircling him.

  She turned to Jackson. “Are you going to move up?” She patted the seat next to her.

  “I’m good here,” he answered quickly, before asking Natalia about her home world.

  Each of the candidates spoke about themselves and their particular talents and explained the benefit their strengths would bring to the position of overseer. Johanna heard Jackson laugh at something Natalia said. The only thing that prevented her from sliding into a deep funk was suddenly seeing a giant three-dimensional hologram of Mal’s head floating above the center podium. He was the fourth candidate to take the podium, and Johanna realized she had been so obsessed with Jackson’s reaction to Natalia Dalura, she’d missed hearing what Torran, Dame Erato, and Prophet IAN c. had said.

  Get it together, she told herself. She concentrated on Mal’s words rather than Jackson’s infatuation.

  “… but there is so much more to take into consideration,” Mal said. “So allow me to discuss a matter that came to my attention a few weeks ago and plays into what is going on here today. It all starts with counterfeit library books.”

  Furst suddenly jumped up from his seat and left the curators’ viewing area without a word to anyone else. An odd sense of vulnerability swept over Johanna as she sat alone in the front row of the viewing box.

  LOI

  CHAPTER 18

  Like a swarm of bees, the crowd buzzed at the possibility of a chink in the library’s armor. They quieted when Mal began speaking again, hanging on to his every word. As Mal spoke, some of the Luminans discreetly looked at Nero 51 while covering their mouths, so he couldn’t read their lips.

  “What some of you might not be aware of,” Mal’s voice rang out, “is a recent breach of the portals brought on, innocently enough, by my own protégés.”

  Suddenly, all eyes were on Johanna and Jackson, as their three-dimensional images replaced Mal’s and slowly rotated above the central podium. Jackson, engrossed in his conversation with Natalia, remained oblivious, but Johanna could see her humiliation etched on her face after being called to task by Mal.

  “That rather unfortunate event,” Mal continued, “resulted in my handpicked successor having to submit to three days of servitude in another realm. During that period, a counterfeit was discovered. I humbly ask the overseer’s permission to enter a picture of the offending literary offering and an excerpt from Johanna Charette’s own diary: ‘Mal, I found a fake obelisk. It looks like crystal, but it’s not. I knocked it over by accident and it didn’t break.’

  “This observation by a young curator”—Mal’s voice increased in strength—“obviously begs the question”—Mal’s voice increased in volume—“why does the Terrorian library have counterfeit literature on its shelves?”

  *

  The challenger’s podiums were positioned according to the realms that they came from, placing Nero 51, Realm Twelve, right next to Mal, Realm Eleven. The Terrorian’s tentacle snaked around Mal’s neck in an instant. Everyone watched as Mal’s holographic image turned blue. Ryden Simmdry raised both arms in the direction of the Terrorian curator. Nero 51 felt the overseer willing him to release his grip on Mal’s neck, and as he fought the interference, he felt himself strangling. One of his tentacles had wrapped around his own throat, mirroring the pressure he put on Mal. He reluctantly released his grip, standing there—glaring at Ryden Simmdry.

  “Lies!” the Terrorian curator spat out. “The Fantasians seek to discredit me to promote their own candidate into the role of overseer. Let us see this fake obelisk of which he speaks. Can he produce it?”

  All eyes turned to Mal. “No, I cannot.” There was defeat in his voice.

  *

  Mal’s statement stunned Johanna. She had brought the fake obelisk to Lumi. Just before leaving Fantasia, she had run back up to her apartment while Mal and Jackson discussed the time machine and had thrown the counterfeit in her bag. Even though she had inserted pictures of it in her diary, she had never admitted taking it, nor had she shown the actual object to Mal. She rummaged in her bag for her diary, and wrote on the end page: Mal, I have the obelisk here on Lumi.

  Mal turned to stare at her, as did all the overseers, who sensed what she had written in her diary. They stood as a group and faced her.

  ℌThese proceedings will be postponed for an hour, in light of the charges made by Malcolm Trees against Nero 51.

  The crowd grumbled discontentedly about the delay but, in true Lumi spirit, dared not publicly complain.

  ℌJohanna Charette, because you specifically instigated the charge, we would like to see you in our chamber.

  Two Lumi officials instantly stood over Johanna, waiting to escort her inside.

  Jackson shot up. “I’m going with her.”

  “No. Just the girl,” one of the officials said.

  “I’m a curator as well,” he insisted.

  ℌJackson Roth, you were not sentenced to serve time on Terroria. Your presence is not warranted.

  The officials took Johanna’s backpack and led her away, while Jackson remained behind.

  *

  Johanna felt her blood run cold. She had stolen a book from the Terrorian library. She had done it willfully, while being punished for destroying another Terrorian artifact. The only bright spot in the whole sordid affair turned out to be Jackson demanding to accompany her. He might be attracted to Natalia Dalura, but he still wanted to protect Johanna, and that gave her a small measure of warmth.

  The overseers’ chamber formed a circle, just like everything else at the amphitheater. Officials led her to the center of the room, where she stood and waited. Except for the guards at the door, she remained alone. Fifteen minutes passed; then a half-hour. Her legs were starting to ache from standing in one place for so long. She began pacing, relieved the guards did not try to stop her.

  Finally, the overseers entered the chamber. A Lumi official handed Johanna her backpack.

  They’re sending me off to jail somewhere. Please don’t let it be Terroria, she prayed. Then she realized another place might be even worse: the Toro Zone.

  *

  Outside, the crowd whiled away the delay by sp
eculating about what might be going on inside the overseers’ chamber. They were confused. Officials declared the delay after Malcolm Trees lodged a charge against Nero 51, yet both curators still stood in position at their podiums. Only Johanna Charette and the overseers had left the field.

  Jackson tried, unsuccessfully, to talk to Mal about the strange turn of events. He knew only that Johanna had disappeared. He had been too busy flirting with Natalia to know why, and he couldn’t ask Furst because the Dramatican had disappeared.

  *

  The overseers took their places around the chamber.

  ⌘Johanna Charette, show us the obelisk.

  Johanna dug inside her backpack, and pulled out the counterfeit. She weighed it in her hand, to make sure someone in cahoots with Terroria hadn’t replaced it with the real thing. Confident it was the same obelisk she had taken from Terroria, she trembled as she handed it to Pru Tellerence. The woman calmly looked her in the eye, without a hint of what might be coming, and nodded almost imperceptibly as she took possession of the object. Like Johanna had done, she weighed it in her hand before telekinetically transporting it to Ryden Simmdry.

  As Ryden Simmdry inspected the obelisk, the other overseers began nodding their heads. They all sensed the inferiority of the object and knew they faced a monumental task. If the Terrorians were selling library artifacts to buy weapons, merely replacing the Terrorian curator might not be enough to stop the mounting war effort. The overseers needed a strategy that would give them time to prepare for what might be coming.

  ⌘Johanna Charette, please wait here. If you wish to view the remainder of the Overseers Challenge, you can do it from this location.

  A screen showing the amphitheater appeared, as well as a chair.

  The overseers filed out and returned to their positions on the field. Mal looked at the curators’ viewing area expecting to see Johanna—and raised his brow at seeing only Natalia Dalura and Jackson in the section. He looked at the overseers, but they averted their eyes—with the exception of Pru Tellerence. She looked at Mal as calmly as she had gazed at Johanna, but it did little to lesson his anxiety for his protégé.