by Franc Ingram
“I’m not… I didn’t think,” Lorn stuttered.
“We need help,” Lysander said. Leith nodded. “You’re what we’ve got, and that's more than good enough for me.” Lysander felt his time ticking away, slipping through his fingers. His nerves felt like they were on fire.
Lorn rubbed at his eyes and Lysander wondered if they were asking too much of the boy. It was hard enough for him to be without Oleana, now they were asking him to replace her. For Lysander having his father close was a comfort too important for words, but he still longed for his mother, wondered if she was safe. Lysander was ready to rescind his plea, take the burden off Lorn.
“Yes, its agreed,” Lorn said.
Lysander wouldn’t have called the look on the boy’s face happy, but he did look determined. The skin around his eyes was tight, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. The weight of multiple lifetimes showed through in the lines of his face. Lysander felt a moment of regret that Lorn had to grow up so fast, but that fate had been hanging over all of them from the start.
“Come on, let's do this. Make a plan, then work the plan,” Lorn said. “First step?”
Lysander tore his eyes away from the timepiece and looked out to his target. The mushroom-shaped tops of the trees swayed in the gentle wind. His target area was marked by a row of dying trees at the end of the street that led to the tower.
Rust colored rot interwove its way through the dark brown of the trees’ bark. Limbs were devoid of leaves, or had become sickly yellow things, that looked like they would crumble in on themselves with a stiff breeze. Reaching out to them, Lysander could feel the disease as an ache in his joints, a bitter taste on his tongue.
“Break down the plants there to enrich the soil so it will be ready for the new growth,” Lysander said. He licked his parched lips. Nervousness crawled under his skin like a thousand angry ants.
“Don’t forget about the seeds. Break them down and you’ll have nothing to start fresh with,” Lorn warned.
Those stupid seeds. How was he supposed to find them in all the background noise? Before the Keeper sent them out he had a brief moment to study them, get a feel for what their signal sounded like. It was a slow, gentle pulse. The tone was in the soprano range with a four count that repeated. The trees on the other hand were big baritone drums that pounded away in a fast six count.
Lysander searched for his seeds. He heard a dozen different signals, some he recognized and others were a mystery, but none of them were the ones he wanted. What he did get was a throbbing at his temples that threatened to blossom into a severe migraine. Frustrated, he let go of all the sounds bombarding his mind.
Lysander’s frustration bubbled over. He slapped his hands against the nearest wall. “This is ridiculous. How am I supposed to isolate a handful of tiny seeds in the midst of all that chaos?”
“Listen, I’m not a hundred percent sure how your abilities work, but if they are anything like mine you can make even the smallest signal louder when you block everything else out,” Lorn said. Lysander had to admit he preferred Lorn’s gentle tone over the underlying tinge of irritation that Oleana always spoke with. “We are standing at the height of a giant amplifier. Use it.” Lorn managed to sneak the irritated tone in at the end.
Lysander placed his hands against the flat of the wall. He could instantly feel the vibration of the crystal. It was less of a movement and more a buzz of energy low level enough to not generate much heat, but enough to make the hairs on the back of Lysander’s hand tingle.
When Lysander first opened himself up, using the tower as an extension of himself, the feedback was too much. He fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the noise. He felt a hand on his back, turned to see Lorn kneeling beside him. His mouth moved, but all Lysander heard was a monotonous buzzing in his ears.
“Lysander, are you all right?” Lorn asked.
Lysander waved him away. He didn’t have time for sympathy or setbacks. Once his feet were under him, Lysander placed his hands back on the wall and eased the floodgates of his mind open a little bit at a time. It took time to adjust to the press of input but Lorn’s words were clear, block out everything he didn’t need.
The ticking of the timepiece faded away. Then he pushed away the booming of the trees. Next, the pulsating rhythm of the different flowers and the steady drone of the earth beneath them. It left him with the higher registers of the different fruits. He discovered a line of mulberries on the other side of the road at the start of blooming. Lysander didn’t let them distract him for long. He caught the trace of his pyracantha, delicate little songbirds that they were.
Locked on, he could feel them nestled in a bed of lilies. Focusing in on their unique tone, Lysander used the special properties of the tower to amplify the rhythm of the pyracantha so he could let the other signals back in. After the symphony was organized in his mind Lysander could clear out what he didn’t need.
“Lysander,” someone behind him yelled.
He stepped back for the wall, startled, losing all sense of the symphony he’d so carefully constructed. His head swam because of the sudden disconnect. He tried to take a step but his feet weren’t where they were supposed to be and he stumbled. Lorn’s support kept him from hitting the ground. Leith came up on his other side standing close enough to lend help if needed. Lysander was quick to wipe the blood tinged beads of sweat from his forehead before his brothers could see them.
“Did I run out of time?” Lysander asked staring at his feet. He couldn’t bear to face failure in the eyes of his brothers. “I pushed it as hard as I could. I was almost there. Just another minute…”
“Look,” Leith said, his voice surprisingly hard.
Lysander looked up to see several guards had entered the room. The Keeper was busy talking to them. With his ears still buzzing he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Troubles coming,” Leith said.
The Keeper turned from her men. “Troops have surrounded our city, yeti and human. Your people were forced to pull back to the tower.”
Lysander stared out the window, expecting to see the cruel ice god smiling up at them. Lorn stiffened beside him. They exchanged a look of dismay. The haunted look in Leith’s eyes told of his fear while he remained silent.
“Send everyone you can after them and cut them down,” Lorn said. Lysander and Leith nodded their agreement. Cornelius had forced them to flee Caledon, separated them from Oleana. The ultra and his warriors needed to be eliminated.
“This city is neutral, always has been. I will not compromise that for you,” the Keeper said. “We will only act in defense if they try to breech the tower.”
“Do you think for a second Cornelius will honor the rules of this city? Lorn asked. “He didn’t gather his troops along the border to have a chat.”
Lysander’s eyes were drawn back to the timer still running out. He thought about the pyracantha seeds ready to sprout. The people of Solon built the great wall to keep the yetis out. Evermore needed a temporary fix until things could be sorted out.
Lysander put his hands back on the Crystal Tower wall, searching for that connection with the tiny little seedlings. He was a solider, not very good at being aggressive for himself, but there was no way he would let others come to harm.
The decay had done its job. Lysander felt the cold spot of decay around the gently pulsing song of the pyracantha. Lysander could change their song from one of passive survival to one of explosive growth. He used the tower’s focusing powers to send the instructions to the tiny seeds, like turning a flute solo into a grand orchestral symphony.
“What are you doing?” the Keeper asked, her dulcet toned voice barely registering on Lysander’s conscious.
“I’m going to build you a wall,” Lysander said, not breaking his concentration, “keep the enemy out, and your city safe.”
“You sure bout that?” Leith asked.
Lysander brushed their concern off.
The first bush sprouted, its song deep and throaty. The second and third were easier to get going because Lysander already knew the right sequence to spur them into over-growth. Seconds ticked by and then they blossomed, and Lysander’s brain exploded with a million new songs springing into the air.
At first, he panicked. It was so much at once he didn’t know how to control it and the seeds needed to go where he wanted, otherwise the wall would be chaotic and ineffective. Lorn’s hand fell on his back and another hand on the wall next to his.
The wind picked up the seedlings and scattered them in an even layer around the city. Lysander wanted to thank Lorn, but forming the words were beyond him, his mind stretched to the limit. He was forced to keep three complex, overlapping songs straight at once. Preparing the soil for the seeds, sprouting new pyracantha bushes, and interweaving the thick bramble bushes with the existing trees creating an impenetrable living wall.
Lysander felt like his brain was going to overheat and liquefy, his body was going to shake apart. He vaguely registered the impact of his knees against the floor as the simple act of standing became too much work.
“They’re surging forward,” the Keeper said.
Lysander opened his eyes briefly but it took a few moments for him to be able to see anything but the notes of the song. He could see the first group of soldiers trying to make their way through the growing mound of living wall.
“You must stop this or you’ll kill them,” the Keeper insisted.
The sky darkened and rain drenched the ground in sheets of gray. The soil became pliable and hungry for more seeds. Then just as quickly Lorn cleared the clouds and the sun beamed down showering the starving new plants with needed nutrients.
“You stop and we all die,” Lorn yelled, his nails digging into Lysander’s back. “Keep going.”
“Give ‘em a break,” Leith urged.
Lysander heard Lorn’s voice, but saw Oleana’s face just behind his eyes, Leith’s worry faded. He remembered what it was like being inside her head, knowing exactly how proud she was of them and yet how scared she was that she couldn’t protect them. One of those nameless soldiers could have been the one that took her away from them. Lysander couldn’t let that go unpunished.
He let his anger and fear feed the pyracantha plants, pouring every ounce of energy he could spare into the building of the wall. He could make out the vague outline of the slaughter as thorns the size of hands pierced flesh. Lysander felt the violence as blood seeped into the soil strengthening the mutant plants.
Lysander built his wall on the bodies of his enemies and it scared him, but he couldn’t stop himself. The wall grew five feet thick and six feet tall. Lysander felt less human and more like a carnivorous plant as his creation swelled, stripping the ground of the all the nutrients it could get.
“Stop this,” the Keeper yelled.
Lysander felt Lorn’s hand leave his back. The lack of support felt like the wind was knocked out of him. Lysander collapsed and only a shrill ringing was left in his ears. His head swam, unable to wrap around what he’d just done.
Leith kneeled beside him, mouthing something that Lysander couldn’t make it out. His whole body felt like he’d been dunked in a boiling hot spring. His breathing came ragged and he could taste blood and dirt on his tongue. Lysander couldn’t help but focus on the screams of the Keeper. She’d told him to stop and he’d ignored her. Lysander wondered what that meant for the test. Was his desire to avenge Oleana for nothing? Had he ruined their chances of being crowned?
Lysander swallowed hard and summoned his courage to ask, “Did I fail?” he croaked, his throat feeling as if he’d swallowed a pound of sandpaper.
Leith shrugged. “You okay?” he asked, helping Lysander to sit upright.
Lysander pushed Leith away and struggled to his feet. His vision blurred and he had to steady himself against the wall, but his question remained the same. “Did I fail?” he shouted not worried about the pile of bodies he’d left in his wake, or the tornado swirling around behind his eyes. None of that mattered half as much as passing the first test.
“You saved us all,” Lorn said standing in front of Lysander. The boy grabbed Lysander’s chin lifting his face so that their eyes met. “That’s success in my book.”
Lysander turned to the Keeper. While he appreciated Lorn’s sentiment, that’s not what mattered. He needed to know what she would say. “Did. I….” he couldn’t bring himself to say the word again, though it kicked around in his chest. Failure. In so many ways that’s what he’d always been, a failure.
His body often failed him. His fears and doubts overwhelmed him. He failed to be the son his father wanted, failed to be the perfect soldier his people expected. Now when it was most important, had he failed again?
“You showed a tremendous control of your abilities.” The Keeper indicated the line of dark green thorn bushes stretching out around the city as far as he could see, and as tall as the tallest tree in sight, “Your wall is a thing of power and function. I would not have expected such a thing from one so young.” She glanced at the timepiece, her face rigid, giving nothing away.
Lysander wanted to scream at her. Demand she hand down the verdict. He also wanted to run away and hide. If he never heard the words, then he could always pretend he’d done the right thing. “You completed the task and more, with time to spare. While you disobeyed my order, you did not violate the neutrality of the city as you built it in defense and not in attack. You, Master of Earth, have passed your first trial.”
Lysander laughed. It started small, at the back of his mouth, then burst forth bouncing off the angular walls of the observation room. “It only took the slaughter of dozens of people to be able to call myself a success,” he said in a whisper so low he could hope no one else heard him.
“Need to rest,” Leith said, coming up beside him.
Lysander realized his legs were still shaking, and he was drenched in sweat. The pain in his head was only growing.
The Keeper nodded. “You may all go rest. I will direct the others to keep an eye on the wall.”
Leith and Lorn helped Lysander down the spiraling staircase. He let them move him without resistance. His mind was torn between thoughts of Oleana and thoughts of the people he’d just killed. They were his enemy, but Lysander had never given over to the power surging within him before. He’d never been so excited by the violence of it all.
It took several heartbeats for Lysander to realize that they’d stopped moving. He looked up to see a couple of the farmers of Evermore had rushed in to meet them at the bottom of the stairs.
“What is it?” the Keeper pushed past him.
“Cornelius sends a message. He wants to talk.”
“Now he wants to talk. He tells us where my mother is and then we can talk.” Lorn sounded as if he was sure Oleana was alive, but Lysander didn’t hold out the same hope.
“As I said, this place is neutral,” the Keeper explained. “If he wishes to talk peacefully then we will allow him. And him only,” she told the two farmers.
They nodded and ran off.
Cornelius. The name sent a chill down Lysander’s spine. He didn’t have the strength left to deal with the ultra face to face.
“This stupid. Man’s a killer and you wanta talk it out,” Leith said shaking his head.
“He could say the same of you,” the Keeper said. She waved it off as if their complaints meant nothing to her. “Go get him food and water so you will be ready to talk with a clear head.” She walked off before anyone could object.
“Cornelius,” Lorn said, as if the name were a curse that had befell them. “This will not end well.”
100101
Two guards with dragon scale armor on from head to toe, and twin axes in their hands, escorted Cornelius into the great room, yet the wannabe ice god stole all the attention. With ten-foot-high ceilings and an eighty-square foot room around them, Lorn still felt claustrophobic being in an enclosed place with the ultra. The
smug smirk on Cornelius’ face made the feeling worse. What did he have to be smug about surrounded as he was by the enemy? Yet he strode down toward the crowd as if he were in his own ice castle, held his shoulders back, and walked with the speed of a man confident in his surroundings.
“Cornelius, Ice Ultra, welcome back to the Crystal Tower.”
Cornelius looked up at the ceiling and the creation mural painted there in exquisite detail. It started with the formation of the rings in which the Twelve reigned over Euphoria, moving on to the descent of the Crystal Tower, then the shadow figure spread of the ultras, and ending in the forming of the five realms. “Even after five centuries away this place still feels like home. And you, dear sister, you still look the same.”
The Keeper failed to show any reaction to Cornelius’ words. “You requested a chance to make your case before the Heirs. Do so now.”
“I came to broker a truce. Your display with the wall was impressive, but it will only delay an invasion. You have the forces of Caledon pull back and let Ivar have his river. I pull my yetis back to Mount Elmire and you three return to the various realms that you came from,” Cornelius stated flatly.
“Why would we do that?” Lysander asked.
The three Heirs stood in the center of the room. A dozen or more armed guards where spaced throughout all ready to attack Cornelius if he showed any intention of raising arms against them. Daycia, Nadir, and Tycho stood off to the side for support. Even with all that, Lorn felt so small and unprotected with the Ice Ultra so close.
Cornelius reached in the back pocket of his pants and pulled out an odd bundle wrapped in twine. The second Lorn saw the color, a deep black with purple and yellow threads coming loose from the rest, he knew what it was. The others didn’t catch up until Cornelius undid the binding and let the severed locks hit the floor in a shower of hair and thread.
Tears fell against Lorn’s cheeks and he exploded forward, rage burning through him hotter than the fire heating the giant room. Lysander’s firm hand arrested his forward momentum. How Lysander anticipated his reaction, when Lorn himself didn’t know it was coming, surprised him, but wouldn’t stop him.