AEGIS EVOLUTION

by S. S. Segran

  Nageau stood before him, foam dripping from his clenched teeth, blood trickling from his nose and ears. In his hands, a sword glinted in the lightning’s wake. A look of delirium shrouded the Elder’s gaze as he locked eyes with Magèo. The older man stepped back, begging softly as Nageau lifted the sword over his head. “Nageau, please, put the weapon down. Please, dear friend, please… Nageau? No! No! Please, Nageau! No!”

  Magèo woke with a cry. His apprentice looked down at him worriedly. His hands shot up, cupping her cheeks, his eyes searching hers. “Nal! Are you alright?”

  The girl was startled. “I am fine, mentor. I heard you scream and ran to see what the matter was. You must have had a terrible dream.”

  “A dream,” Magèo muttered, sitting up from his divan and rubbing his different-colored eyes. The shutters of all twenty windows high up in the building’s walls were open, letting in rays from the sun. He glared at the daylight distastefully. “Yes, it was a dream. Of course it was. Help me up.”

  “You really should rest, mentor. You have gone almost four days without sleep trying to find the cure.”

  “And still we have not discovered it. Help me up.”

  Nal pulled the old man to his feet. “I did what I could while you were asleep, but my own work has not amounted to much.”

  “So we must keep plowing onward.”

  “I agree, but you have not eaten in hours. Let us return to this after our midday meal.”

  “I cannot stop, Nal! I have wasted too much time as it is!”

  “Mentor, you must eat! I will make you something myself if I have to. We have to keep up our strength!”

  Grumbling, Magèo shuffled into a self-contained glass enclosure at the far corner of the building. A construction team comprised of ten villagers had quickly erected the quarantine zone as the samples were flown halfway across the world for him. His lab was the only place in the village with access to electricity, which was generated from Dema-Ki’s thermal springs. It was fitted out to operate equipment necessary for his work, including the Vaughn twins’ special gift, which absolutely fascinated him.

  The old man put on gloves and goggles, then stepped into the enclosure. He peered through the nanoscope at the tissue samples. Both strains of the infectious agent were hardy, aggressive, and had clearly been created with deadly intent. What he found most intriguing were the results of his test on the tissue and blood samples from the Sentries. He ran the tests several times to be certain, but it seemed that those samples were not affected by the pathogen. Elated, he’d gathered samples from a few of the villagers, including himself and Nal, and discovered that they, too, were immune from both strains of the disease. He concluded that for some inexplicable reason, those of Dema-Ki blood were safe from harm.

  The second thing he learned, however, was concerning. Having tested the tissue samples from the five teenagers, he discovered that although they were safe from the aging strain, the violent strain of the disease affected the samples at random. Despite puzzling over it for two days and running a series of experiments, Magèo couldn’t identify the cause for the pathogen’s arbitrary behavior. When he reported his findings to Nageau, the Elder was just as confounded, but did express some relief.

  “It is good to know that they are safe from one strain,” he had said, “but it worries me that we cannot prevent them from possibly suffering at the hands of the other. I know you are already working tirelessly but please, old friend—I cannot stress this enough—do all that you can to find a cure. The world needs it.”

  Magèo stepped back from his nanoscope and paced around the table, mumbling furiously to himself, his hands clasped behind his back; he barely heard his apprentice call out to him before she left to prepare a meal for them both.

  * * *

  Akol trudged behind Hutar, his boots crunching in the snow, keeping guard as the young man strolled along the bank of Dema-Ki’s partially frozen river. The Elders permitted Hutar two short walks a day as long as he was accompanied by guards.

  The other youth beside Akol, a twenty-something woman, regarded Nageau’s grandson bemusedly. She leaned in, voice soft. “You look as if you had just eaten a sour tart, my friend.”

  Akol dragged his fingers through his short-cropped black hair, as though being around Hutar made his scalp prickle. “Believe me, I would much rather have eaten a sour tart than follow him around.”

  The woman tutted, her almond-shaped eyes sweeping over Hutar’s form as the young man walked on. “He seems much different now, Akol. Look at him. There is an aura of tranquility there, and I venture to say shame, too.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “He does not request to go out unless he is certain that most everyone is tucked away in their homes. He does not wish to be seen by the people.”

  “I realized that.”

  “The lad is embarrassed.”

  “You are sympathizing with him quite a bit, I see.”

  “Do not think much of it. I only say what I observe.”

  “You really believe he has changed?”

  The woman took her time to carefully craft her answer. “I believe that when we are faced with incredible tests and difficulties, we are forced into transformation whether we realize it or not. It would seem that he had encountered terrible things in the outside world—”

  “Which he has not disclosed.”

  “True. But some things really are too personal, too horrifying, that it may be for the best that no one speaks of it. Hutar especially does not like to talk much, more so when a bruised ego is in question. And he keeps to himself by nature. Perhaps in time he will open up.” She lowered her voice further. “And do not forget, he has lost every member of his family. Aesròn ran away. He is well and truly alone, and he knows that he is not entirely welcomed here. Even the group who were with him last summer are keeping their distance.”

  That was more than accurate. Akol had kept a watchful eye on Hutar’s old accomplices since his arrival, but none of them dared to come anywhere near the young man. There was a growing curiosity in him as well, and he wished he could squash it. What in the world did Hutar face when he was away from Dema-Ki? What compelled him to go from wanting to murder the Elders in cold blood to nearly sacrificing himself for Grandfather?

  Akol battled with himself. His family meant everything to him and the thought that Nageau could very well be dead had Hutar not intercepted left an awful taste in his mouth. He looked back at the young man as Hutar paused to silently admire an eagle gliding above the valley and felt, for the first time, a pang of sadness. How time changes us, he thought. We used to be friends in our childhood. Carefree, innocent. Unsullied. Now look at us. Once you walk into a storm, you come out a different person. He was caught off guard by the lump that suddenly formed in his throat and quickly swallowed it.

  Just ahead, they saw the black-and-ginger-haired Nal hurrying toward Magèo’s laboratory from her family’s neyra, basket in hand. When she spotted them, she waved. Akol saw Hutar balk, then wave back. Nal waited by a bridge and greeted them as they came. “Akol, Venya, how are you?”

  “Very well,” Akol replied, smiling slightly; Nal, a year younger than himself, was introverted but friendly, and her keen mind was one of the reasons Magèo had chosen to mentor her in his field. “How is everything?”

  “Truthfully? It could be a lot better.”

  The other guard, Venya, hugged the girl. “I smell something mouthwatering, Nal!”

  Nal opened her basket, revealing a plate of baked salmon and some greens. “It is for Magèo. The crazy old man refuses to eat or rest while we work.”

  Hutar stepped away from his guards and took a swift look into the basket. “You take good care of him, Nal. He is lucky.”

  The girl turned rather pink and mumbled awkwardly. Hutar gave her a small grin. Akol regarded the exchange, nonplussed.

  “They have met before, on his previous walks,” the other guard whispered to Akol. “If you ask me, Nal is a tad smitte
n.”

  Akol pinched the bridge of his nose, head shaking. Ech, I should be part of these walks more often. I cannot allow this. Using his body, he nudged Hutar away from Nal. “It was nice seeing you,” he said. “Good luck with Magèo.”

  Nal scrunched up her nose adorably. “Thank you!”

  Hutar watched her leave, a certain softness in his cobalt-blue eyes. Akol saw it and decided it was time to take him back to the convalescence shelter. Hutar didn’t complain.

  Two other youths were waiting to relieve Akol and Venya of their duties. The number of guards assigned to watching Hutar had dwindled over time; the Elders reduced it from four to three, then from three to two. They felt more assured now that Hutar would not try to cause much of a problem. Akol was, of course, opposed to it, but there was nothing much he could do except keep voicing his concerns.

  As the new guards guided Hutar inside the convalescence shelter, Akol and Venya bid each other goodbye and parted ways. Akol absently reached over his shoulder, feeling the staff slung across his shoulder—it provided comfort. He passed the Elders as they made their way to the temple and placed a fist over his heart, bowing his head. They beamed and Tikina embraced him warmly before they continued on.

  Akol took a step forward, then stopped and turned to look back at the Elders. He hadn’t meant to, but a few nights prior he’d ambled past his grandparents’ neyra and heard his name through an open window. The subject of conversation seemed to be that the time might soon be approaching to prepare him. Akol had hurried past, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, but he wondered what they meant. What did they need to prepare him for? He would be turning twenty summers soon. Did they want him to find a mate? The people of Dema-Ki did not believe in arranged marriages but that didn’t mean Tikina and Nageau weren’t eager for him to start a family so that they could be great-grandparents.

  Akol pulled a face. No, marriage is not it. They want to prepare me for something else. But they have yet to mention anything… Perhaps I will leave this be. If they want something from me, they will make it known. He continued toward his family’s home. I really would like to know what they meant, though.

  20

  “It has been six days since Magèo received the samples,” Ashack said as the Elders sat around the fire pit in their assembly neyra, “and nothing useful has come out of it.”

  “I disagree.” Saiyu looked at her mate, miffed, the light from the setting sun spilling onto her bronze features through a window. “We have learned that we are immune to the diseases and that the younglings—”

  “I meant by way of a cure. By no means do I intend to diminish the work Magèo and Nal have done. Truly, their efforts are remarkable.”

  “Indeed,” Nageau said. “And I do understand your frustration, Ashack. We all do. We want a cure so badly, but we must be prepared for this to take time. If anything—”

  The door of the neyra banged open, making the Elders jump. Magèo marched purposefully in, his long beard flowing. He didn’t seem to realize that he’d walked in on a meeting.

  “Old friend, what are you doing?” Nageau asked, bewildered; he’d been too deep into the conversation to hear the scientist’s approaching footsteps outside the neyra.

  Magèo didn’t appear to hear him. He strode to the opposite end of the timber lodging and pulled open a trapdoor in the floor and climbed down the wooden steps to a subterranean vault. The Elders, after a delayed reaction, clambered after him. The large room had wall-to-wall shelves filled with leather-bound books amassed over countless centuries, all from the villagers’ ancestors. Two long log tables lay at the far end. Placed atop these were several crates filled with scrolls and various forms of ancient records. Magèo had already lit all the lamps and was working his way through one of the shelves by the time the Elders joined him.

  Saiyu gingerly began to place the books back where they belonged, making sure the well-worn bindings didn’t fall apart. “What are you looking for?”

  “There is something… something…” Magèo muttered, pushing aside more books until he arrived at the table with scroll-filled crates.

  The Elders watched him, mystified but patient. The scientist was dearly-loved by all of Dema-Ki but he was eccentric, and the Elders had long since become accustomed to his peculiar ways.

  “Can we help?” Tikina asked.

  Magèo stared at the shelves for what felt like an age, then snapped around and shooed the Elders up the stairs. “Leave me to my work!”

  “Do you want us to call Nal?”

  “No, no. Let the poor girl rest. Now, out!”

  The trap door slammed shut once the Elders were back on the main floor of the neyra. Tayoka jerked his thumb at it. “Did he… did he just throw us out of our own cellar?”

  “Yes, he did.” Nageau returned to the fire pit. “We may as well continue our meeting. I do not foresee him leaving that place anytime soon.”

  As they resettled around the fire, they could hear muffled thuds as the old man worked. The Elders shared looks, then picked up their discussion from where they’d left off.

  A jarring crash in the cellar brought the Elders’ meeting to an abrupt halt. They scrambled to their feet and barreled down the stairs, and to their horror found countless parchments and volumes strewn everywhere.

  “Look at this mess,” Ashack muttered. “I feel as though I am wading through a minefield…”

  Books upon books were piled around Magèo, who sat at the center of the clutter, breathing heavily, his face contorted. He slowly lifted his face to the Elders as they made sure not to accidentally tread on anything that wasn’t solid ground. Tikina knelt beside him and held his shoulders. “Dear one,” she said, softly kissing his temple, “talk to us. What is it? What are you searching for?”

  The old man looked at her, eyes sunken from lack of sleep and glassy with tears of frustration. He pulled away from her and went to sit on a small bench at the far end of the vault.

  “The world,” he rasped, “is descending into chaos. I have done everything I can to find a remedy but it seems to elude me. There is nothing out there that I know of that can cure this despicable plague.”

  “You mentioned that we are impervious to the disease,” Nageau said. “Can we not use our immunity to create a cure for the rest of the world?”

  “No, that will not work,” Magèo answered sullenly. “I have learned that what protects us from this disease is what makes us who we are.

  “Meaning?”

  “This pathogen strikes at the kernel at the heart of our cells where instructions for our biological existence reside. These instruction-bearing kernels make us who we are, at least physically. Ours appear to be exempt for whatever reason. It is not something that can be transferred to those in the outside world to give them immunity. The other option is to destroy the organism and I have tried every compound, herb, mineral and everything in between, with all the knowledge I have gained over the years. Every single possibility has been exhausted and nothing worked. It is just too hardy. I have been picking at my brain so much, I am surprised it has not bled yet. But then… but then, a shadow of a memory echoed in my mind.” He fluttered his fingers beside his head. “Something I heard when I was a child. It was—it was about the Tree of Life.”

  “The what?” Saiyu asked.

  “The Tree of Life,” Magèo repeated, looking from one Elder to another as though stunned that they weren’t understanding. “Surely some of you have a memory of this?”

  “What are you talking ab—oh.” Ashack covered his face, groaning. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Magèo! I am sorry that I sound disappointed, especially after the days of work you have put in, but is this really your answer? A mythical cure-all?”

  Magèo shook a fist at him and Ashack returned the gesture with a disgruntled stare. “Why do you call it a myth?” the old man demanded.

  “Because we have so much lore that dates back to the time of our Island ancestors. For there to be a cure that sounds too go
od to be true, it must be a myth.”

  “Wrong!” Magèo poked the Elder’s forehead. “You call it a myth because we do not have it with us. We do not have it; therefore, it must not be real. Yes?”

  “I—”

  Magèo leaned in closer, his finger stuck to Ashack’s forehead. “Yes?”

  Ashack gritted his teeth. “Yes.” He was even more disgruntled now and it didn’t help that the rascally orange-haired Elder beside him was trying to hold back a laugh at the ridiculous scene. He reached out to the younger man with his mind. Tayoka, dare you utter even one minuscule snicker…

  Tayoka pursed his lips but was still clearly entertained.

  Magèo removed his finger, pleased with Ashack’s affirmation. “The flaw of our species is that unless we have tangible proof of something, that thing does not exist. It is fabricated. A myth, a lore, a tale. A dream is not tangible. Emotions are not tangible. A thought is not tangible. And yet we know with certainty that they are real.” The old man placed his hands on his hips and spoke more slowly. “But you may still be right, Ashack. It could be a myth after all. We do have a lot of those. And I have asked myself if I am just so desperate that I will grasp at anything, no matter how absurd.” His gaze drifted around the room, finally resting upon the crates filled with journals. He pointed at them. “How far back do these date?”

  “Just over two or so millennia,” Nageau answered, puzzled. “Why?”

  “I found something while you were all upstairs…” Magèo pulled out a torn parchment from within his tunic. The Elders instinctively moved closer to get a better look. Magèo let out an exclamation and waved his arms wildly; the Elders had to stoop low to avoid being hit. “Give me room, all of you! You know I need my space!”

  The Elders took a big step back, forming a half-circle around the scientist. Magèo lifted the timeworn parchment to the light, tapping it repeatedly. “These are written records with sporadic mentions of seeds scattered throughout the narrative, and not just any seeds. Seeds to the Tree of Life! A tree to cure all diseases!”