Hyperion's Shield

by Nathan Schivley

  "Enough!" shouted Lucan. He had let this go too far already.

  But it was too late. The cork was off the bottle.

  The whereabouts of the missing Reytana was a very sensitive subject. Tormans didn't know a lot about how Tormada were created or re-created as the case may be, but they knew that after either a Reytana or Gartune was killed, they were quickly replaced with a newborn. During the Eighth Great War, more Reytana than Gartune perished, but the Reytana who fell were never replaced.

  However, there were hundreds of Reytana that survived the war. This was known. What was not known was the current whereabouts of the former guardians of Reysa, and more importantly, why they had not come back to liberate the city they had been sworn to defend.

  Lucan walked to the windows and slowly drew the shades, peering outside before he did so. Then he walked to the classroom door and pulled it shut. The students whispered excitedly to each other. Was this the day that Lucan would finally tell them what happened?

  "It was the seventh day of the war," Lucan began in a hushed voice. The students leaned forward in their seats. "The shield had taken its toll. King Atholos knew that our chances for victory were gone. Rather than sit behind our walls and wait for the inevitable while Reysa suffered under siege, Atholos decided to lead one final charge against the enemy. But when our king went bravely to meet Hadrian in battle, he went alone. The remaining Reytana were nowhere to be found. Some say that they had been ordered to flank the Gartolians from the forest, but that they were betrayed and the Gartune were waiting for them when they arrived and killed them all. Others say that they attempted to launch a surprise attack from the sea, but that Lyse was angry that day and drowned them. All we know is that when Atholos launched his attack, his fellow Reytana were nowhere to be found. And though he fought valiantly, King Atholos could not overcome the entire Gartolian army by himself. With Reysa undefended, King Atholos' death marked the end of the Eighth Great War, and the beginning of the Gartolian occupation. Mention of the Reytana who had deserted their posts was henceforth forbidden. For, if indeed they fled, then they had committed the greatest sin that a Tormada could commit – the sin of cowardice. They had abandoned their city and the people that they were sworn to protect. We refer to them now as 'The Lost Reytana.'"

  Lucan paused for a few moments to collect his thoughts and then continued.

  "After the war ended, we waited for the arrival of our newborn Reytana – the ones meant to replace those that fell in battle. History has shown us that it usually takes a couple of weeks after a Reytana dies before a replacement is delivered from the river into our pool of life. That's how long it takes for a Tormada's aura to reach The Scales, and then be delivered back into the river. Weeks passed, and nothing came. So we waited. A month came and went and still no Reytana infants. So we waited longer. Two months passed, and the result was the same. Eventually, we came to realize that our dead Reytana were not returning. These Reytana, we refer to as 'The Fallen.'"

  Professor Lucan sat down in the chair behind his desk and looked out over his class. It was plain to see that the students had many questions to ask but they dare not interrupt him while he was telling his tale. Even Tinko was exercising restraint, although he had to sit on his hand in order to keep it from shooting into the air.

  "But, Professor," ventured a brave student from the back of the classroom, "what if The Scales are broken? Maybe that's why the Fallen Reytana didn't return?"

  Lucan simply shook his head. "One thing I can tell you for certain; The Scales of Torma are always in balance. They cannot be broken."

  Lucan was exhausted. He looked as though he had aged about ten years in the past ten minutes. The weight of his story hung in the silent room for a few minutes until the professor decided that the lesson should be over for the day and so, to the delight of the students, they were let out of class early.

  Loras, Regan and Tinko grabbed their things and began their walk home. It was the middle of the day and the sun was shining brightly. The city's glass buildings glistened just like they had in the days before the war. Reysa's architecture was like nowhere else in the world. Almost every structure was made of reflective surfaces. Most walls consisted of giant glass windows inside of shiny, metallic frames and there were very few straight lines or corners. Almost everything was slightly curved. Buildings varied in height and shape. There were no two alike. Because of the shape and variance of the structures, sunlight was reflected throughout the city in a beautiful array of color and luminescence.

  When the sun shone, there were very few dark alleys or corners in the city. Shady spots were few and far between. And the Reysene, who absolutely bathed in the warmth of the sun were perfectly fine with that. In days past, the people spent the majority of their time outdoors. Today, they only went outdoors when necessary.

  The reason was obvious. People avoided going outside because instead of the massive, golden-haired Reytana patrolling the streets, it was the fierce Tormada of Gartol – the Gartune – that were now in control.

  An occupation of no less than one hundred Gartune patrolled the city of Reysa at all times. They spent their days walking the streets, intimidating the Reysene in every way that they could. The main instrument of their intimidation was their eüroc – a daunting staff made out of a mysterious ore that was a combination of stone and metal. Some thought that the staffs had magical powers. A simple stomp of the eüroc could cause a minor earthquake or cause a mound of rock to raise up out of the ground. And as if they weren't frightening enough in their natural state, the eürocs could transform at the push of a button. They were the perfect intersection of Gartolian engineering and violence. Those Reysene that had actually seen a Gartune use the weapon would not step within fifty feet of a soldier if they could help it.

  The Gartune's dark skin, fierce violet eyes and violent disposition were in direct contrast to the appearance and demeanor of the previous regime of Tormada. The ornately carved eürocs that they all carried were symbols of fear and pain. Often times, the staffs were brandished for no other reason than to watch a passing torman jump out of the way.

  The Reysene had never been afraid to walk the streets with the Reytana. Often times, a Tormada and a torman would be seen walking together while having a friendly discussion. It was quite a sight to see a full-grown Reytana, nearly two feet taller than any torman, bending down so as to speak at the same level as his or her shorter companion. The Reytana had been more than happy to help the smaller Reysene carry a burdensome load or to otherwise lend a hand in any way that they could. In contrast, the Gartune would rather stand and laugh at the tormans' struggles. The only time a Gartune would address a torman was to give them an order or to scold them.

  It was because of this that Loras, Regan and Tinko chose to use the alleyways for their walk home. Rarely did a Gartune travel on the smaller streets because the paths were too small for a Tormada to comfortably traverse. This allowed the three teenagers to travel unmolested and discuss things that they wouldn't dare if they thought they might run into a Gartune.

  Naturally, their thoughts were still on the "Fallen" and the "Lost" Reytana.

  "I bet that the Gartune just keep killing the babies," said Tinko. "That's why none of us are allowed down at the pool of life. I'll bet they have a few soldiers stationed there and they just sit and wait until the Reytana babies show up and then kill them on the spot. It's like an endless cycle – baby dies, their aura goes back to The Scales and then they're reborn, only to meet a Gartune's dagger a few weeks later. They've probably been doing it continuously since the war.”

  "That's barbaric," said Regan. "A Tormada would never kill another Tormada newborn, even if it was of a different race."

  "Oh, because the Gartune have such a strong sense of morality?" replied Loras.

  "No, because the Tormada have a code," answered Regan. "It's about honor, not morality. The Gartune may be cold and cruel, but I just can't believe that they would—"

  "Why am I
not surprised that you would defend the Gartune?" interrupted Loras before his sister could finish her thought. Regan saw the look in his eye and knew what he was referring to, and it had nothing to do with Tormada children.

  "Subtlety is not your strong suit, brother," said Regan coolly. "If you have something to say to me, say it."

  Loras looked at Tinko who was becoming noticeably uncomfortable. Tinko knew where this conversation was going, and he didn't want to be a part of it.

  "I'm not going to speak of your actions in front of Tink, but just know that I saw you two last week... and you should be ashamed!"

  "Like I had any choice!" Regan exclaimed, tears forming in her eyes. "What would you have me do?"

  "Not flirt with him, for starters!" answered Loras. "And look at your hair. You never used to braid it until he started coming around. Why is that?"

  Regan’s cheeks flushed. She defiantly turned her back to her brother in an attempt to hide her red face, but both boys had seen it clearly enough.

  "Ok now, come on," interjected Tinko. Normally, he stayed out of it when the siblings fought but this was going too far. He was going to have to play peacemaker again. It was one of his least favorite characters, but one that he had been forced to play frequently as of late.

  Any attempt to physically intervene would result in Tinko getting knocked to the ground. He really only had two choices – tell a joke or change the subject – and he wasn't feeling particularly funny.

  "Why do you think the professor chose today to talk about the Reytana?" Tinko blurted.

  Silence. Tinko took that as a sign to continue.

  "What if the Fallen Reytana are alive somewhere? Maybe the Lost Reytana captured them and they've all been hiding out and waiting until The Fallen receive their light, and then they're going to return and take back the city!"

  Tinko grabbed a tree branch and began thrashing it around wildly as if he were brandishing a sword and the nearby trees were Gartune.

  "Take THAT, you Gartune scum!" Tinko cried as he landed a rather clumsy thrust on the side of a tree.

  Tinko's flailing had the desired effect and the twins let go of their quarrel and turned their attention to their friend thrashing around in the alley. Regan's scowl turned to a smile and she covered her mouth to mask her laughter. Loras decided to join in the battle and grabbed his own tree branch off of the ground.

  "In the name of King Atholos!" he shouted as he struck a mighty blow to an innocent tree that now found itself under attack. Loras then twisted in the air and came around to the other side of the tree where he landed three precisely-placed strikes in blinding fashion.

  "Wow," said Regan mockingly, "my brother the Reytana."

  "Maybe I am, and I just don't know it yet!" exclaimed Loras as he continued his onslaught.

  "Ummm, not to burst your bubble," said Tinko, "but you turned eighteen three weeks ago. I think you'd know if you were a Tormada."

  "Maybe I'm just a late bloomer!" said Loras as he jumped off of a tree stump and attempted to hover in the air, only to come crashing down awkwardly.

  "Well, Professor Lucan always did say that you were a bit slow..." said Tinko.

  "Boys..." Regan sighed as she watched them turn their attentions from the trees to each other. Loras was the far greater athlete and enjoyed repaying the slower, fatter Tinko for his earlier brown-nosing in class.

  "If the Reytana do return," Loras said as he landed a stinging blow on Tinko's arm, "I will join up with them! I will lead them straight to the capitol building, and the first person that I shall send to The Scales will be—"

  Regan shot Loras a piercing look.

  "No, not him," sneered Loras. He pushed Tinko all the way up against a wall with his flurry of tree branch parlays.

  "Who then?" asked Tinko as he struggled to regain his breath.

  "Dario!"

  And with this declaration, Loras landed a mighty blow that cut Tinko's tree branch sword clear in half. He stood victorious with his hands raised in the air as Tinko doubled-over from exhaustion. Regan rolled her eyes.

  Just then, the clanking sound of unfolding metal rose from around the city. Loras, Regan and Tinko looked up to see four enormous metal arms unfolding above them. The arms stopped unfolding a thousand feet above the city, each one about five hundred feet from the next and evenly spaced. As soon as they had finished unfolding, a curved steel plate emerged snakelike from the tips of each arm. The steel plates moved clockwise in a circular pattern until they met the adjoining arm and created an enormous circle. Three feet below the tips of the iron arms, four more steel plates emerged in the same fashion and continued until they had created another circle directly inside the first. The smaller circle fastened seamlessly into a groove in the interior of the outside circle. On and on this went in rapid succession until the steel circle had filled itself in. It was now a massive, steel saucer held up by the four iron arms.

  "Is it four o'clock already?" asked Tinko as he looked up at the mechanical marvel covering the city.

  "Time to get home," said Regan.

  The three teens walked slower as their small alleyway was now covered by the giant saucer's shadow. The city of Reysa lay in darkness. The shield had blocked out the sun, just like it did for the first time nearly eighteen years ago.

  "To say that The Crescent represents the civilized portion of the planet Torma may seem like a loose application of the term when you consider that the area has only known limited times of peace in between centuries of chaos and war. But throughout the years, there has been one constant that has kept the region from devolving into complete anarchy – The Scales have maintained the balance of power between the Reytana and the Gartune."

  - Chapter One of The Crescent Wars, by Nicholas Baston

  Chapter Three: The Fallen Reytana

  The city of Reysa sat atop a soaring cliff that served as the northern terminus of The Crescent Mountains. Its eastern edge was a one thousand foot drop directly into the Delucean Sea. Centuries ago, the city’s constructors followed the instructions of their god, Rey, and chose the location because it received more direct sunlight than anywhere else on the planet Torma. This was essential because the city, like its Reytana guardians, drew its power from the sun.

  The capitol building of Reysa towered like a beacon at the highest point of the city. The multi-level glass building soared several stories high and was slightly curved for the length of a semi-circle. Inside the curve was the most striking piece of its stunning architecture – an immense open-air courtyard. And in the center of the courtyard lay the most important object in the entire city. The lotus.

  The lotus was a large glass orb that spanned nearly twenty feet in diameter with a large, circular opening at the top. Sprouting from its base were several petal-shaped solar panels that collected the sun's rays and converted them to energy. The energy was then collected within the glass orb and dispersed to the city via a network of translucent tubes. These tubes stretched out from the orb like vines across the courtyard.

  Everyone in Reysa referred to the energy orb as "the lotus" because when it was full, the glowing orb with its solar panels and tube vines resembled a giant, radiating lotus blossom. However, it had not been full for nearly eighteen years. Currently, only a small pool of solar energy sat at the bottom of the orb; enough to power the basic needs of the city for just a single day.

  It used to be that on a normal day in Reysa, enough solar energy was collected by mid-day to power the city for the next twenty-four hours. The remainder of that day's solar rays were converted into a reserve that was stored in the lotus. But ever since the solar shield was deployed, the lotus had not seen a solar ray after four o'clock in the afternoon. Thus had the Gartolians regulated and controlled the city's power supply since the end of the Eighth Great War.

  Dario leaned against the window of the conference room and stared down into the shadowed courtyard. A small amount of luminescent liquid swirled gently at the bottom of the lotus. The motion of
the liquid created watery reflections of light that cascaded over the dark petals. Dario found it equally sad and calming at the same time.

  Behind him, sitting around a long, glass table sat several pristinely-dressed Gartune. The Tormada of Gartol were meticulous by nature, but these city officials took it to the next level. Each one considered their position as a politician to be a great honor and yearned to advance as far as possible in this foreign government, knowing that they would never have the chance to do so in their home city. In Gartol, King Hadrian was the government. His voice was the law. But here in Reysa, things were done differently. For an ambitious Gartune, it was a rare opportunity for advancement and, more importantly, for power.

  Each Gartune looked at Dario expectantly. The meeting could not begin until he sat down. It was a bizarre formality, but one that they adhered to. Keeping up the appearance of normalcy lent credibility to their farce of a government and allowed the Gartune to convince themselves that they were conducting business the same way that the Reytana had done so before the war. At first, the charade angered Dario greatly, but now it was merely a single annoyance heaped in with the mountain of aggravations that was his life.

  Dario sunk into his seat at the head of the table and looked around with tired eyes. He slowly rubbed his forehead which held more wrinkles than a Tormada of his age should have contained. His head didn't hurt, it was more of a habitual motion than anything else; a way to communicate his mood without actually having to speak. And his mood was always the same.

  These weekly meetings were exhausting, and Dario had long since begun to dread them. The room was filled with cheats, manipulators, liars and bullies. Had he met them on the battlefield, his light sword would have thirsted for the blood of these Gartune. Unfortunately, all he could do now was listen to their bile and obey their commands.

  "You are looking old, my friend," said Rankin, captain of the Gartune regiment and second-highest ranking Gartune in Reysa. His squinty eyes were a darker shade of purple than his fellow Gartune, making them almost black. That trait would have given him a menacing appearance if it wasn't cancelled out by his patchy facial hair – a defect that he tried to cover up by growing his goatee longer than normal. Gartune were very particular about their beards. Every other 'Mada at the table had a neat, clean, close-cut goatee that accentuated their square faces. But not Rankin. His beard betrayed him, and it was seen by his peers as a sign of weakness; an imperfection that implied greater character faults within.