And, so, as Nuria broadcasted the station’s information across the globe, the habitants of the new world learned all about their predecessors. They learned that the Second Cold War of First Earth began at the turn of the second millennium, AD, and concluded by ‘2100’ with the destruction of the planet. In commemoration of the century-long ordeal, the people of Second Earth organized their time-keeping system into century-long units known as ‘eras.’ For example, the year ‘425’ was called, ‘the 25th age of the 4th era of Second Earth.’ Just as on First Earth, each year—or, ‘age,’ as the Second Earthlings called it—was twelve months long, and each month was roughly thirty-one days. However, the rotation of the planet was slower than that of First Earth, so a day was thirty-six hours.
Armed with the space station, Second Earth achieved in a few hundred ages what had taken their predecessors thousands of years. Civilization on Second Earth quickly and easily surpassed that of their examples, though the overall population was a fraction of that of First Earth.
But, they did not always learn the right lessons.
As people had the tendency to do, the Second Earthlings became extremists in their desire to avoid the mistakes of the past. The seven-hundred nations of the world each elected or appointed representatives to the global legislating entity known as the Second Earth Order, which instituted the ‘Isolationist Laws,’ whose goal was to keep each state completely independent from its neighbor and maintain a worldwide status quo. Under the Isolationist Laws, the Order had the responsibility to proportionately collect specialized ‘raw and/or furnished goods’ taxes from every nation, which they distributed across the globe to each country as needed. The Order thereby eliminated the need for nations to independently engage in trade. Order was usually reasonable in its taxes, accurate in its assessment of the needs of each state, and fair in its distributions. Rarely did a nation find itself in need of a particular resource that wasn’t readily available. It was a truly ideal system, or so everyone thought.
The Isolationist Laws did not just forbid nations from becoming involved in each other’s affairs, they prevented countries from learning about one another, at all. Schoolchildren only studied the history and geography of First Earth and of their own nation, only vaguely aware of the presence of their neighbors. Libraries carried references only pertaining to their own state. Each land completely minded its own business. A perfect status quo was indeed established.
In the center of Second Earth’s northwestern hemisphere was a peninsular nation the size of the United States: the Democratic-Republic of Nuria, the original decoders of First Earth’s International Space Station. And, indeed, the Nurians were much like the long-dead Americans; they were a curious people who easily grew discontent and hungered for change. So, Nuria channeled its restless energy into rapid technological advancement and rose to prominence among all the nations of Second Earth in every field of applied science.
However, their technological pursuits were costly. In a month or two, Nuria was liable to expend an entire age’s worth of petroleum rations. And, Nuria did not have a single natural oil source of its own. As a result, by the start of the second era, their prominent scientific status had become too costly to maintain; their economy began to decline and their gas prices rocketed into exorbitance.
Nuria requested larger petroleum rations, but the Order was unable to afford it. The rest of the world was not willing to pay higher taxes to compensate for what they considered extravagance. Desperate, the Nurians began to look north, across the Septentrion Sea, toward a small, uninhabited, ice-covered island. It was located just below the North Pole—barely south enough to be spared the pole’s midnight summer sun and thirty-six-hour-a-day winter darkness. Most Second Earthlings were well-versed in the history of First Earth (the Order’s educational policies made sure of that) so the Nurians knew that, once upon a time, Alaska was America’s oil goldmine. The Nurians hoped that this northern land—which was only about the size of First Earth’s England—could be their Alaska.
Immediately, the Nurian representatives to the Second Earth Order applied for permission to send colonies to the new island. Their main goal, they said, was to search for oil and establish mines. The Second Earth Order did not believe colonies would survive the island’s seismic instability and brutal meteorological conditions. Almost every day, the ice-land experienced severe snowstorms involving accumulations of several feet and intense winds up to two-hundred miles per hour. The temperatures there rarely reached thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit in the summer. During winter months, it could reach negative seventy. Nevertheless, Nuria’s proposition was accepted; as long as they were not bothering another nation, Nuria had the right to dig its own grave, the Order supposed.
Despite all odds, it wasn’t long before Nuria established a handful of fairly successful mining colonies. Because salmon was one of the only natural food-sources out there, the colonists christened their land ‘Ichthyosis’—a word whose prefix, ‘Ichthyo,’ meant ‘of the creatures of the sea.’ Indeed, Ichthyosis was rich in petroleum and salmon, but had little else. And, so, sort of mercantile system was established between Ichthyosis and Nuria in which the Ichthyothian colonies provided their motherland with plenty of much-needed oil while Nuria provided the colonists with everything else they needed to survive.
It was not easy for Ichthyosis to be so helpless. If ships from Nuria were delayed by mere days, colonies literally starved. While the Nurian economy thrived as never before due to the influx of petroleum, life was grueling for the colonists. The imports from Nuria never seemed to cover all their needs. Moreover, Ichthyosis did not receive rations from the Second Earth Order, nor did they enjoy representation. Ichthyosis was not a sovereign state, so it also had no privacy or indemnity from Nuria, as they were not protected by the Isolationist Laws.
The seed of rebellion lay dormant like a sleeping dragon in the hearts of the Ichthyothians for ages. However, as everyone knew, colonial revolution was an inevitable, repeating pattern throughout the history of First Earth. And, so, one day, Ichthyosis rebelled from Nuria, not with armies and guns, but by abruptly halting all export ships.
Nuria surprised Ichthyosis by almost immediately granting its independence. Beneath their loud cries for freedom, most Ichthyothians were only truly hoping to force Nuria to provide them with greater concessions. Instead, Ichthyosis got what it ‘wanted’ and was kicked out of its mother’s home on the twenty-fifth day of the seventh month of the seventieth age, facing the Order’s cumbersome, seven-month, new-state application process. Until approved, Ichthyosis could not receive any rations.
The Nurian economy suffered indeed, but no one suffered as much as the Ichthyothian people. With neither the support of Nuria nor the Second Earth Order, seventy percent of the Ichthyothian population fell victim to starvation and hypothermia in mere months. The ‘ice-crystal-nation’ was nearly wiped out by the time it was accepted into the Order. And, so, the deadly, seven-month period between independence and acceptance became known as the ‘Epoch of the Crystal-Land’s End.’ Historians concluded that the Ichthyothian people would have never survived the seven-month ‘Epoch’ without the brilliant leadership and resourcefulness of a man whose true first and last name evaded the history books in favor of a nickname. Because Ichthyosis was often called the ‘Ice-Crystal Island,’ the Ichthyothian people fondly christened their leader after the archaic Nurian word for ‘crystal’: ‘Lechatelierite.’ ‘Lechatelierite,’ who established the first Ichthyothian colony back in the seventeenth age of the second era, was seventy-seven by the time Ichthyosis was granted independence. Despite his old age, he fulfilled his post masterfully, using his intelligence, charisma and prudence to sustain the struggling land until the day he died.
The day Lechatelierite passed away was the same day Ichthyosis was admitted into the Second Earth Order: February seventh of the seventy-first age. Upon acceptance, Nuria and Ichthyosis obtained a special trade license from the Second Earth Order to prevent t
he Nurians from begging for more petroleum rations and to prevent Ichthyosis from perishing outright.
Eras passed and resentments faded. Nuria and Ichthyosis became an unstoppable pair; their special trade relations coupled with the support of the Second Earth Order enabled the two countries to quickly become the stars of the scientific and technological world. Although Ichthyosis was Nuria’s child, they had become completely different peoples by the turn of the third era. The Ichthyothians grew accustomed to the extreme climate, so that any temperature above freezing felt warm to their skin. From lack of sunlight, their skin became pale. They developed their own variation of the Nurian tongue. Driven by the will to survive against incredible odds, Ichthyosis became a land of extraordinarily-brilliant technophiles and scientists—even more so than their Nurian counterparts. These ice-farers were no longer displaced Nurians, but a people of their own right.
Separated by three-thousand miles and three major bodies of water—the Septentrion Sea, the Briny Ocean and the Fervor Sea—lived the Children of the Fire in the South Conflagrablaze Captive, a tiny desert island just above the equator. The Conflagrians possessed the ability to manipulate the visible portion of the electromagnetic spectrum with their bodies and minds. As a result, these ‘mages’ had no need for technology or industry, for they were capable of miracles by their own hands. They were feared by all, even the haughty Nurians and the brilliant Ichthyothians. Conflagria served as the ‘Authority Nation’ of the Second Earth Order.
But, power steadily corrupted Conflagria, as the mages believed themselves a superior race. Conflagria sometimes disobeyed the Isolationist Laws itself, claiming it had the right to ‘help the magicless.’ Around the time Ichthyosis gained membership in the Order, all of Second Earth had grown to despise their mage leaders.
At first, the Conflagrian Order Chairmen thought nothing of the petty ice-nation they recently admitted. They pitied the struggling population of uprooted Nurians who actually had to depend on so many external devices to survive. Incredible power was innate for the Conflagrians, so the machine-reliant, pale-faced Ichthyothians on their seismically-unstable, ice-island seemed pathetic to their eyes. At first.
But, alas, in a couple eras, this little ice-land managed to become one of the most developed nations on the map. So, instead of considering technology a laughable substitute for magic, the mages slowly began to fear Ichthyosis’s endless possibilities for advancement. Conflagria grew paranoid their authority would ultimately be threatened.
It didn’t take long for Conflagria to realize what made Ichthyosis so strong: its special trade license with Nuria. They realized, without Nuria, the Ichthyothians would not have bread on their tables each day, let alone snow-gliders or flying crafts. Immediately, the Conflagrians sought to revoke that license, claiming it was a ‘blatant violation of the theory of isolationism, and an invitation to repeat all the mistakes of First Earth.’ Conflagria also sought to modify the Isolationist Laws to permanently secure their leadership, increasing taxes while decreasing rations, giving themselves voting veto-power, and creating legal ‘safety’ limitations for all scientific endeavors worldwide.
Within months, the whole world rose up in revolt against Conflagria—not with fleets and weapons, but by collectively withholding their exports to the Island of Fire. Breaking the Isolationist Laws themselves, six-hundred-ninety-nine nations temporarily bound together into a strong tapestry of resistance against the mages. The leader of this coup was none other than North Ichthyosis. Although the Conflagrians were powerful, they knew they couldn’t single-handedly defy the entire planet. And, so, on May twenty-fourth of the twenty-fourth age of the third era, the Order Chairman was usurped and Conflagria was expelled—or, ‘blacklisted’—from the Second Earth Order. The reign of the mages had ceased.
Conflagria did not take its defeat sitting down. It was determined to leave with a mighty bang that would resound through all of Second Earth for eras to come. As Conflagria was charged for breaking twenty-four of the seventy original Isolationist Laws, the governing entity of the Fire Island, known as ‘the System,’ manipulated their spectral web to make a day appear to its habitants to be only twenty-four hours. Conflagria therefore became the most isolated nation in the isolated world. Their time-keeping discrepancies, blacklisting, and peculiar powers completely disjoined the Island of Fire from the planet it once proudly led.
North Ichthyosis, now loved by all, was immediately voted into the leadership of the Order in place of the mages. For three eras thereafter, Ichthyosis maintained its lofty position and successfully led the earth into a state of quiet perfection. Conflagrian crisis over, each nation returned to their ignorance of all things international. The mind-your-own-business planet was back to minding its own business.
The Creator frowned upon the Children of Fire, for they had allowed their endowments to be used for evil. On the twenty-fifth day of the seventh month of the eighty-seventh age of the third era, He delivered a prophecy to His disobedient children. So, it was written: someday, a ‘Multi-Source Enchant’ would be born to the island, and this mage would ‘take from the fallen children of Second Earth what was no longer rightfully theirs’
And, so, the Creator waited, watching over his unruly flocks as they abused their gift of miracle-making, searching for the one upon whom He would bestow the gift of multiple, spectral power-sources. He searched endlessly for the individual suitable for the task at hand, for the servant worthy of the pain and suffering necessary to complete His noble work. He did not search among the mighty kings or great men, but among the weak and the simple peasantry. In desperation, He even turned his hunting eyes away from Conflagria, expanding his search to include the magic-less beings of the north.
He searched for four eras.
Scarlet July
The train screeched to a halt. Reluctantly, I left the warm confines of the engine room and stepped out into the chilly, drizzly, fifty-degree air of early spring of the ninety-second age. My work for the day was through.
I walked into the Alcove City Train Station and punched out on the clock. On my way to the exit, I eyed the station’s arcade—a corner devoted to entertaining waiting travelers. Of course, the video games attracted much more than those in transit; it was a known hotspot for countless city kids and teens. I often saw the same trio of boys, about two or three ages older than me, huddling around the ‘Submarine Adventure’ consoles, near the arcade entrance. The objective of that game was to maneuver a virtual sub through an underwater obstacle course while shooting down colorful moving targets, crossing the finish line before your competitor. I looked now and, sure enough, the three teens were there, playing and making a whole lot of noise. I usually ignored them, but today was cold and rainy, so I wasn’t exactly eager to head out. I leaned against a post and watched for a bit. The kid nearest to me had bright hazel eyes, a medium complexion, dark-blonde hair and a little, silver cross dangling from a leather strap around his neck. He held the joystick in his left hand.
“Nurtic, watch out for that reef!” cried the boy standing over his shoulder.
“Relax, Ecivon,” Nurtic answered with a dimpled grin, darting around it.
Nurtic. Ecivon. My eyes widened. Were these the same kids I eavesdropped on at the National Library on my very first morning in Nuria, four—almost five, by now—ages ago? The ones who unknowingly lead me to the Link house?
“I want a try,” Ecivon whined.
“You’re gonna have to wait a while,” said the guy playing against Nurtic. “Don’t you know champion pilot Nurtic Leavesleft never crashes?”
Nurtic Leavesleft frowned as he sat back. “But, I just did, Tnerruc,” he murmured.
“Good,” Ecivon grunted. “You’ve been at it forever. One of you, get up.”
Nurtic didn’t respond. His large eyes rose from the screen and landed on my face.
“Hey, do you want a turn?” he called.
I looked over my shoulder. There was no one.
“No,
I meant you. We’ve been hogging the game. Were you waiting for a turn?”
“Oh, um, no.” I brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. “I was just watching.”
His furrowed his sandy brows. “I see you at the station a lot, but I don’t recognize you from school. Where do you go?”
I was taken aback. “I don’t go to school.” The words slipped from my mouth. “I’m a train conductor.”
“You look a bit young to be a graduate!”
I didn’t answer. I just shrugged and turned to leave.
“Wait, do you want to play a round or two with us?” he quickly asked, before I could step outside. “All I do is compete with these amateurs.” He gestured to his friends, who playfully punched him in response.
I hesitated.
“You can race against Ecivon or Tnerruc first, you know, as a warm up before you take on the professional.” He put his left hand on his chest.
I stared, stricken by their carefree attitudes. I looked at their cheerful, well-fed faces in wonder. They were normal kids living ordinary lives. Each day, they went to a high school where they attended classes, socialized with others, and ate a hot lunch. Each afternoon, they returned to warm homes with mothers and fathers and siblings, and ate yet another meal. They weren’t forced to work since the age of ten, starving and shivering on the crime-filled streets. They didn’t have to worry where their next morsel of food would come from, or whether or not they’d get through the night without being assaulted or raped. They had nothing to worry about but their studies. They had the privilege of attending a learning facility where information was neatly presented to them; they didn’t have to break into public libraries after hours to teach themselves everything from scratch. They didn’t have to count change and figure how many meals they’d have to skip this week so they could afford to spend the coldest night in a cockroach-ridden, cigarette-scented motel. They had change to spare for entertainment.
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