Now the institutions of Men weren't without flaws. Besides, the institution could only be as great as the mind who founded it, and the minds of Humans were great, indeed, to a flaw.
That is, to compare them — not with the simplicity of the Kyusoakin — but the philosophical sophistication and alacrity of a third kind, who simply call themselves the Xei.
The Xei consisted of three sexes that came in two-and-one-half types: the bestial Xeigon, the Xeirelle, and the humanized Xeirelle.
And upon a closer inspection, neither Gnyovante nor Lucein should have passed as human enough to participate in a classroom of human children. Still, the six year old boys flourished ahead of their second-tier classmates.
No one noticed Lucein's missing little finger. Nor did they pay attention to the pointed pinna of his ears. Frankly the six year old boy was turning out to be superbly pretty. He looked up from the icosahedron he crafted with marshmallows and toothpicks, to peep at his brother.
Gnyovante had a limited interest in geometry. Instead, the other boy was absorbed in scrolling history files, reading about the follies, wars and conflicts of men. Meanwhile the rest of the kids were playing with things that they were learning how to say, like: bird, boat, ocean, sand, and tree.
"Alright class, let's all join the circle!" the teacher said alongside a soft jingle from a small bell.
The majority of the kids gathered on the carpet. Lucein went to take his place on the abandoned outer rim of the circular rug. He motioned for Gnyovante to join him, and almost pulled his ears back like a kyusoa when he saw his brother's resistance.
Something about being directed disturbed Gnyovante. Lucein couldn't figure out why. In all of the six years since their birth, he knew Gnyovante readily accepted direction from his mother, but when it came to other authority figures, he was as stiff as an iron rod.
Lucein gave his twin a stern look. 'Come here,' he said quietly in the electric voice the two of them shared.
'No!'
'Don't get me in trouble, 'Vante. Come here!' They kept their utterances below a whisper. No one else picked up on what was being said, because it was uttered at such a frequency that no human could rightly hear it, but Lucein and Gnyovante and others like them could.
Gnyovante puckered his lips, resisting even when he got up and joined Lucein.
Then the teacher continued: "I hope all of you have brought something from home to share with the class."
A girl's hand shot up.
"Rhiandan, we'll start with you."
Eagerly she got up and stood before her school mates. The class was a small one. There was the teacher and her assistant, and no more than ten children.
One by one, the kids got up and showed off their precious things: a ball, a favorite action figure, a stuffed animal, that sort of stuff.
'What do you think mum's going have for dinner tonight?' Lucein asked.
'I hope more byiashouv!' Gnyovante fidgeted. Byiashouv was a kind of spicy, chili-like mix served on crisp strips of pliima skin layered in crunchy fat. It was a kyusoakin specialty.
The sole thought of the strips sizzling hot off the rack made Lucein giddy. 'Yes, let's hope so! Do you think Papa will be there?'
'Papa?' The word struck an ill chord with Gnyovante and his tone changed. 'You mean Rollond.'
'Yes, our Papa —'
'He may be your papa, but he isn't mine.'
'Will you ever accept him?'
Before the chocolate-haired boy could answer, the sharp glance of the teacher settled on them. "And what about you two?" she asked, her tone even.
"I have something!" Lucein sprung up and jogged to the fore of the class.
"And what do you have, Lucein?"
"It's a picture," he said, excitedly wiggling his fingers, until he got the picture to display on the teacher's holo-desk. "See, this is a picture of my family." He rocked up onto the tips of his toes and pointed at the figures in the hologram, starting from the left:
"This is Papa. He's the white-headed man you sometimes see on grown-up reporting shows. I'm not sure what exactly he does, but he tells me it's important.
"Next is me, then my brother. Behind us is our uncle, Ashenzsi."
The class snickered. Lucein looked at them. What was funny about that?
"Anyway. This is mum!" His eyes lit up at Sanci. At once he wanted to hug his mama, but the snickering of the class broke out into horrendous laughter.
"Children, children please, calm down. And Lucein," the teacher said, "I'm sorry to tell you, dear, but your mother is not a Kyusoa."
"Yes she is!" He blurted, putting his hands on his hips. "That's my mama, and she's a kyusoa."
"Honey, she can't be a kyusoa," the teacher insisted.
"Why not?"
"Because it means your father, who is a very affluent political man, committed a gross act against Humanitarian Law. It is written for the sake of our species that no one is allowed to have relations with a kyusoa under any circumstances. Now I don't want to hear another peep out of you." The teacher turned off her desk and jingled the recess bell.
The students lined up at the door, single-file, and marched in obedient silence down the hall to the school yard.
Once outside, an upset Lucein joined Gnyovante on the swings. 'Is that right?' he asked.
Gnyovante shrugged. 'Again, not my papa.'
'Oh for the last time! He has to be your dad just as much as he's mine —'
'I don't care if I came from him. He doesn't mean anything to me —'
"Hey, if it isn't Twit and Twat!" Rhiandan's voice was gruff and menacing for a second-tier student. She was big for her grade, like she'd been held back a few times. A whole coterie of third and fourth-tier students were with her. Nine children, including Rhiandan, marched up to Lucein.
"I'd always wondered what made you so damn special. Now I know, Fruitcake here has a special mama." Two of her companions gripped the seat of the swing and pulled Lucein back until his legs were dangling over their heads, and the braided chain was at a tight arc. "Let's find out if you have the reflexes of one of those stupid animals!"
They threw him forward.
Lucein arched high over Rhiandan's head. He flailed as the swing swung backwards. Then she stuck out her hand, and he slammed face first into her palm.
The honey-headed boy thudded backwards onto his side in the gravel. His face contorted with pain, a reddening hand print dominating his features.
Intense silence marked the entire playground, as though every child stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to the Alekzandyr boys.
"Aw, wee thing!" Rhiandan mocked. She stood over Lucein, her gaze descending upon him like easy prey in the sight of a vehement killer. "Lookit that bright red mark — I wonder if he bleeds black blood like the rest of us!" She stepped to one side, and drew back her leg to kick the boy as hard as she could in the stomach.
In that very instant, Gnyovante swept the one leg Rhiandan stood on from under her. The girl faceplanted the gravel with the grace of a flailing goose. She rolled over, wiped the rocks from her face, and before she could manifest the intensity of her anger, Gnyovante climbed on top of her, balled his fist, and struck her.
His brother arched his back, gasped, and unleashed a shrill cry to the effect that every child except for the chocolate-haired boy covered their ears and ducked to the ground.
Not only that but the holo-desks flickered uncontrollably. Anything with speakers gave way to screeching and static. The school's entire camera system shut off.
Soon the playground duties swarmed the three children. Several adults grabbed Gnyovante's arms and pulled him off of Rhiandan. The poor girl's face was black and swollen, and the boy maintained a remorseless glare as they dragged him towards the principal's office.
Now most children would be overwhelmed with shame and guilt to be seated in the school office, if not deciding what story they were going to insist on telling their parents.
Gnyovante sat
on the bench beside Lucein. He looked at the floor between his feet, kicking aimlessly while they waited. 'How's that ice doing for you?'
'It hurts.' Lucein lifted the small bag of ice from the left side of his face and hissed. The redness had spread, but the swelling was slowly coming down. 'Do you think papa will be mad?'
He exchanged glances with Lucein. Did it really matter what Rollond thought? Of course not. It did to Lucein because there was something that bonded the two of them over the years. But that was their relationship. As much as he loved his brother, Gnyovante didn't care for his father.
He shrugged.
"Dammit, why aren't the phones working? It's been over an hour," the administrative assistant said.
"Heik if I know," said the principal.
"Siaegh — gimme your cell."
"What. You can't use yours?"
The assistant canted her head. "Mine's dead."
"And what makes you think mine's live —" The principal's cell buzzed. A look of embarrassment lit his features.
"Because that'd better be your wife. Now give it here." She snatched the phone from him and stared the twins down. "Mister Alekzandyr will be livid once he hears about what you did!"
With that the admin assistant dialed, and put the ringer on speaker just to see the boys cringe. There was no satisfaction to be had in Lucein's innocent expression, replete with confusion and misunderstanding. Nor did the admin assistant find a flake of apprehension in Gnyovante.
"Yeah?" Rollond's voice broke the palpable tension.
"Mister Alekzandyr, hi, this is the administrative assistant from Genriqs Arts and Sciences Academy. I'm calling to inform you that there's been an incident here at the academy involving your two sons."
"Both of them?" He sounded as though it was hard to believe that either of them would get into trouble. "Hold that thought, I'll be down there in a few."
He hung up.
'At least he doesn't sound all that mad.' Lucein grinned.
Time seemed to creep by. When he finally arrived, the first thing that caught Rollond's attention was the sure lack of technological functionality in the building. The doors seemed to refuse to operate, and the panels that normally displayed pictures of the kids and information about the school were flickering like broken teles.
The boys were still on the bench in the office, and when he stepped in, Lucein hopped down and jogged up to him.
"Papa!" The boy said. He opened his arms and embraced Rollond around his waist.
"Sweetness, child!" It was next to impossible not to notice the big, bright red bruise on Lucein's face. "What happened?" He knelt down to get a better look.
It was an amoebic thing, roughly a hand print as if someone struck him like a match against a matchbox.
"Rhiandan hit me," he said.
"Why would she do that?"
"Because I said my mama is a kyusoa."
The air in the office changed from a dusty stillness to a cold stagnation that could only be likened to rigor mortis. Every staff member wanted to know if it was true. Rollond could tell from their burning, judging looks.
He ruffled the boys hair. "Let me see your brother, and then we're going home." He started for Gnyovante.
Yet from the boy's iron-hard face, Rollond knew there wasn't going to be a word out of him. Something else happened, and there wasn't a hint of guilt in Gnyovante. He kept his hands on his lap and looked straight at the floor.
It reminded Rollond of the days of his youth. The frustration that ripped through him at every turn, always in trouble, always expecting a thorough scolding even for the littlest of his flaws.
"Gnyo," Rollond said.
"Yes, Rollond?" Gnyovante growled.
"Come on, we're going."
The boy scooted off the bench. He joined them on the other side of his brother, rather than stand to Rollond's right. Their father made sure not to let the eerie quiet of prejudice affect him or his boys. He kept an upright posture and a steady gait, one that his six year olds could manage.
Outside, Rollond's air katt awaited him, leaned neatly against the curb at the fore of the school. He straddled the sleek, linear frame of the cycle, and was about to put on his jacket and helmet when Lucein tugged his wrist.
"Papa, can we take the rail?"
Somehow, trains had gotten the short end of the design stick: they all looked like toasters, handheld vacuums, or antique electric shavers. Still, his boy favored public transportation, and so did the metropolis of Prisbeald. It'd take longer to return home by public transport.
"Sure." He dismounted and tucked his helmet into the storage compartment. Then he pressed his thumb to the tiny scanner on the center console. "We'll meet you at…" He wanted to say 'the Netroa.' "At the house."
The air katt flashed some colored lights, then lifted up from the pavement and piloted off in the direction of what they called 'home'.
A good half hour passed, spent going down to the station at a child's pace. The transit station was more akin to a 20-story mall mounted atop a towering foundation, since none of the rails were allowed to operate within a certain vicinity from ground level.
Something like a queasy, anxious uncertainty fluttered along Rollond's stomach. He kept tightening his abs to abate the feeling while he watched his boys, who were a short distance away, oogle various window displays. The bustle and noise of the transit station would've naturally unnerved any parent who wasn't standing right beside their six year olds. Yet that wasn't what was getting him.
There was also this sensation, like he was being noted, or tracked. But why?
A tall man took the seat next to him.
What was causing this worry? He —
"Excuse me," said the man beside him. "But I believe we have something in common, you and I."
Rollond glanced him over. He was a strange man: the lines of his eyelids were black, and his irises were abnormally large, cyan with drizzled splashes of chartreuse. His rounded face appeared feminine, and he grinned in such a way that it made the pointed tips of his ears stick out from his light brown hair.
More so than that, he was wearing sandals and had six toes. When he raised his hand to break Rollond's stare, the man had four fingers.
Rollond wasn't sure if he was talking to a man at all. What sort of human has six toes, four fingers, pointed ears, and — "W-what?"
"Your boys," The man said. "Well, first of all, let me be clear: My name is Chade." He offered Rollond his hand. "And I can see from your black eyelids that we do have a lot in common."
"I don't know what you are —"
"I'm a Xei, a Xeirelle, to be exact. And so are you."
"If you come near me or mention my boys again," Rollond said, his voice maliciously deep.
"Rollond —"
"You know my name?"
"Didn't Sanci ever tell you she was 'Engineered'?"
Rollond's mind raced back six years, to the first night he and Sanci spent together in his quarters at the Ankuseth Estate.
"My first mate," her voice quivered, "when he was successfully engineered, I thought, 'Finally, someone of my own kind to love.'"
Rollond was speechless.
"She never said by whom, did she?" Chade grinned.
"Who are you?"
"Again, my name is Chade. I'm a Xei. We Xeirelles here in Prisbeald want to help you. There's a rail that goes to the junction between the two societies. There, if you listen, you will find a place that specializes in 'Free-Verse Dubstep.' My dear uncle, Yonathael, has been eagerly awaiting your arrival for over twenty-four decades. And believe me, we know who has your back, and why She has sent you here."
A simulated woman's voice echoed through the station: Now arriving: Rail 32-Eastbound — Niquang Heights. All boarding passengers please have your IDs ready prior to entry. Again, Rail 32-Eastbound to Niquang Heights.
"Look, our train is here," Rollond said. He was somewhere between a half-squat and standing upright when Chade's voice rang in his ears:
"Sure it is. But I wouldn't take it. The news spreads faster than the Destiny Blight."
Rollond turned to say something, but Chade was gone. Then as if right on cue, the auto-tuned, feminine voice sounded: Soon to depart: Rail 02 — to the Pris-Ashui junction.
"Lucein, Gnyo," he beckoned and they came jogging up to him, just as he was on the boarding platform for the second rail.
The line for the second rail wasn't long. There wasn't even an attendant to check the identification of boarding persons. The train itself looked abandoned.
"This isn't the one we take," Gnyovante said.
Rollond stepped onto the platform.
"Rollond!" Gnyovante said, his tone sharp. "Rollond, this isn't the right rail —"
"I know," Rollond said, keeping his voice calm. "Gnyo, I know it's not the one we take home. Right now you need to trust me."
The boy huffed. "Fine. You're the 'adult', lead on." Even as he said it, he stepped into the train ahead of Rollond, leaving him to wonder: just what was it with this child?
Everything Rollond did was either wrong or resulted in a reaction like a pair of bulls locking horns. The boy was thoroughly stubborn, and a good deal rebellious. Gnyovante took his seat and stared Rollond down, who had entered the train following Lucein. And in those strong steel-blue eyes, Rollond saw himself.
The brakes of the train hissed upon release. The vehicle hovered for a moment, and then surged down the track. The rails were bloody fast, but inside the cars there was the sensation of being inert.
Gnyovante kept clenching his fist. The boy's blood was boiling — still pumped full of adrenaline from earlier — and although Rollond didn't quite know why, he knew exactly what Gnyovante was experiencing.
He moved over next to his son. "You're doing it wrong," he said.
"What do you know?"
"I know you punch like a girl." He took Gnyovante's wrist and opened his hand. "Don't hold your thumb. It goes here." He curled the boys fingers tight and wrapped his thumb around the second and third knuckles. "Always keep your wrist and arm straight, don't lock your elbow, and under no circumstances do you strike on your fingers."
He straightened the boys arm, leveled his wrist and hand. Then he moved one seat over and faced Gnyovante. "Hit me," Rollond said.
The boy cocked his arm back and aimed straight for Rollond's face.
Rollond snatched his fist in mid-thrust.
"What now!?"
He lowered the boys fist to his chest. "Always aim for the lungs if you want to end a fight. Only aim for your opponent's head if you've got the upper hand, the element of surprise, or you're starting something." He let the boy's fist go. "Try again."
Anger flashed in Gnyovante's face, a mixture of lingering upset and radical disrespect for his father. His fist almost seemed to blaze as it bolted into Rollond's chest.
A jarring pain surged through the white-haired man, and to his own surprise, he grinned. Very few things hurt Rollond, or at least he was accustomed to pain to the extent that it hardly registered anymore. But there was one thing about Gnyovante:
The boy had abnormal strength for his age.
Gnyovante pulled his arm back and gave Rollond a confused look.
"We'll work on it."
"Tch. Like you punch good." He twisted to one side and looked out the window.
In the window's reflection Rollond saw the boy's faint grin.
By the time the the train decelerated, both the boys leaned on Rollond, quieted by sleep. As the rail came to a soft halt, a man's voice rang hollowly within the train:
Now arriving: Rail 02 at the Pris-Ashui junction.
He roused his boys. "This is our stop."
"But Papa," Lucein whined. "Five more minutes, please…"
Rollond hoisted the boy up over his shoulder and pushed Gnyovante onto his feet.
In total, it must've been roughly an hour's ride from the station near the school to the Junction. The Junction itself was like the grayed area between two concentric circles. There was Prisbeald to one side, and Ashui-hilo to the other, but the area where they overlapped was considerably run down.
The Junction was slum-like, the exteriors of man-made buildings overrun with streaks of moss and persistent overgrowth. The pavement had eroded into rills, and the water had a greenish color.
This part of the city seemed to have been purposefully left to rot. Yet, the farther they went from Prisbeald, toward the center of the Junction, there was the unrelenting sound of music.
Like club music. Dance? No, it was Electronica — not even — it was… Bass-full and wobbled, screeching and stuttering, melodic and defiant. It came from a one-story rounded building, at the corner of which was a sign that read: Dubba's Bootlegged Free-verse Dubstep.
One thought did surface to Rollond's mind: Why 'free-verse'? He wasn't sure he wanted to approach the place. Except that after some listening, Gnyovante ran towards it.
"Gnyo!" Rollond shouted. "Gnyovante, stop!"
It was as though the boy was possessed, determined to throw the double doors open and learn what took place inside that building. He was half way across the lot when Rollond set Lucein down and ran after him.
The boy stretched his arm towards the handle. HIs fingers barely brushed the chrome when Rollond snatched him up.
"No!" Gnyovante shrieked. "Put me down, I have to see what's in there!"
"It's nothing but noise," Rollond said.
"No it's not!" Gnyovante insisted. "They're talking about me!"
How on Dyjian could this boy believe —
"It's like what me and Lucein do. We know it sounds like noise to everyone else, but it makes sense between me and him. You have to believe me, you have to! You have to!"
Rollond sighed. "I'll go out on a limb just this once." His hearts stopped at Gnyovante's smile. It was the first time that the boy seemed to appreciate him.
The man's hearts went arrhythmic when Gnyovante gripped the chrome handle with both hands. His blood ran cold with anxious expectation of the worst possible outcomes beyond that frosted glass door. When the thinnest sliver of light penetrated the slowly growing crack between the doors, as the boys pulled them apart, once again, Rollond was without words.
Vertigo nearly knocked him to the floor the second he stepped inside. It was a small building from the looks of it, but inside, it was much, much larger.
The interior was dominated by a very specific rhythm, a kind of inviolable beat that everything operated off of. It was like the pulse of a man's heart, how his every move was centered around the thrash or the sluggish thump.
The music changed.
"I figured it wouldn't take you long to get here. Did you have trouble finding this place?" As if from nowhere Chade stepped towards them.
"Not at all," Rollond said. He tentatively pulled Lucein and Gnyovante closer and a ways behind him.
Chade knelt and smiled at them. 'It is good to finally meet you,' he said, in the melodic tones.
The two boys exchanged giddy glances.
Chade smiled. "No worries," he said. Getting up he stood about the same height as Rollond. "Uncle Yonai is waiting." He turned, and they followed.
Now the society of the xeirelle wasn't easy for a man to comprehend. They lived in a thing called a Chielde, and a chielde wasn't quite a house. As far as that goes, it wasn't a structure, but a privacy barrier, something like a gigantic bubble, and one chielde could house millions of xeirelles.
They stopped at the opaque-white barrier. The chielde was thin, and beyond it was emptiness. Yet when Rollond put his hand to it, the thing lit up around his hand and solidified. The sensation of thousands of tiny legs crept along his skin. He shuddered and took back his hand.
"Excuse us," Chade said. "I'm looking for my uncle, Yonathael."
A bright ring emanated from the center of the chielde. Gradually the emptiness within gave way to marbled tan and black sand. Then the chielde allowed them through.
The air on the
other side smelled entirely familiar to Rollond. The scent of home, of the desert of Khaz. His hearts raced at the thought, that he'd come across some remnant of Alekzandrya, maybe even a replica of the sky-high fortress-city.
Instead, in the heart of the small desert was an oasis, some miles wide, that took up most of the center of the chielde. On the west side of the oasis was a gigantic nautilus shell, propped up against some trees. A tattered curtain was draped over the entrance, and by the mouth of the shell, between it and the water sat a xeirelle.
As he got closer to him, Yonathael became more and more familiar to Rollond. His reddish-brown hair and swirled burgundy-violet eyes were evocative, despite the memory being buried under 200-someodd years:
"You see, it is not what's on the outside that matters, it is what resides deep within. And to that, you must know, that you are the sons of a Neisam-lord." Yonathael could sense Rollond's rejection of what he was saying. His statements sprung more questions, and this was present on the prince's visage as well.
"Why is that a thing? Why does everyone insist on making me know that I —"
"Because it means, prince, that one day you will awaken, and see that the world of your dreams isn't the same as the one you rise to. And it will be your compelling, mortal urge to fix that." This was something the prince hadn't considered before, and Yonathael knew that.
"I will see that the world of my dreams isn't the same as the one I rise to — You," Rollond said. "I remember you."
There was an aged fragility in his face when Yonathael smiled. "One can only hope to be a memory to another, however fond or distasteful." That smile soon became a deeply frustrated grimace.
Rollond noticed Yonathael's spine. It was a brushed-finish, dark metal, and the processes were protruding from his robe. He struggled to stand up, because his rising and straightening was cripplingly delayed.
"I'm so sorry…" Rollond remembered that, too. The double-fist blow to the back of Yonathael's neck, what fierce and blinding anger caused him to exert the kind of force that turned the xei's spine into finely ground bone meal.
"You haven't come here to tell me your regrets, have you? Because if you have, we'll all be sorely disappointed. No, prince, I know why you are here. The Alyi has tasked you with making a haven for the Kyusoakin, Humanity, and Xei-kind, and you cannot do it without us."
"I'm not a prince anymore."
"You are my prince, and that's never going to change."
Hundreds of years ago, Rollond would have bucked the idea that he had a father. He never stopped to realize what Yonathal was really saying: You and Ashenzsi are my sons; I am the Neisam of Alekzandrya.
"What do you know?" Rollond asked.
"Only what Dyiij has revealed to me. The reason for the haven that she's tasked you with building is for two purposes: to shield those who do not give in to Mokallai's plots, and to protect her champions."
"She's got plans for Champions?"
Yonathael nodded. "There are three of them. Though she only revealed the details about one to me. However, the oldest of them is someone you know. Does the name 'So'yi' mean anything to you?"
At once Rollond's eyes lit up. How fondly he recalled the little feral girl, with her four fingers and six toes, her copper mane and snake-like tail. "She's alive?"
"More than that, she's a grown xeigon now." He moved with a slow gait to the gaping mouth of the nautilus shell. "The second, Dyiij said, would be related to me. I'm assuming one of your children."
"Then how did you find out about the third? I mean if you only know about two…"
"Because an Iisae named Alshuraatu came to me in a vision, and we talked. He was like a hollow suit of armor, menacing, chainmail and plates, and his face was like a porcelain mask. Yet the most notable thing was the hollowness and purity of his eyes. I don't know what lay underneath that mask, but there were streaks of Aelyth emanating from his sockets like fingers of plasma.
"We talked at length about names. The conversation ended with… 'You will call me Schiirin.' I only assumed it had something to do with Dyiij's chosen. Why else would one of the Iisae come and chit-chat with me?"
"I thought all Iisae were beast-like."
"Only the deserters are. They devolve into animals. True Iisae are marked by dignity and magnificence, despite being harbingers of death."
"Right," Rollond said. "And what about this help Chade said you xeirelles want to give me?"
"Well, it's really an ongoing project, but we're onto something. For now, we'd like to extend to you one of our chieldes, to hide you and your family from the angry beings you've been flirting with."
"Angry beings?"
"You don't think Mokallai isn't pissed at you, after what you did to Fylus?"
"And how do you know about that?"
"Don't for a second think that you're the only one whom Dyiij talks with. That and our eyes are everywhere. We xei know about everything that happens on the surface or down in the depths of our planet. Like that girl that attacked your boy. I'd almost feel sorry for her, since she wound up with her face destroyed as a result."
For a moment, the man had forgotten that his children were with him. He looked at Gnyovante, and the boy shrank back.
Was it worth asking whether or not that was true? No. Not at all, because from the tumbling sensation in his gut, Rollond knew it was true.
"I'm sorry," Gnyovante said.
"No, no. I'm the one who has to apologize." The city was going to want answers. Someone's family needed condolences, and there was going to be money to pay. These were the least of Rollond's concerns. He hid his worry behind that all-too-familiar facade.
Yonathael rolled his eyes. "You have too many worries."
"Like you know me," Rollond muttered.
The xei shrugged, unaffected by the man's menacing gaze.
Seeing that this matter was going on for longer than he would have liked, Lucein tentatively strayed towards Chade, who was crouched and vainly sweeping the sand aside with his hands.
"Whatchu dooing?" Lucein asked, stepping around to the xeirelle's front.
"Planting," Chade said. "Tending to my uncle's oasis is one of the things I do. My rel, Vaeschus, sees to his back."
This all made sense to Lucein, except that in Chade's hand was a peculiar crystal-looking thing. It was dodecahedral in shape, a soft-pink color, gleaming with its own light. "What kind of seed is that?"
"This is an isteryte. Some of us call it 'Intelligence', others refer to it as 'Form'. Its possibilities are infinite." He pulled out the boy's hand and plopped the isteryte on his palm. "When you figure it out, I want you to tell me what yours is."
With that, the boy watched Chade pull another from a pouch slung over his shoulder. He swept the sand aside, turned the isteryte until one of its faces was level with the ground. He touched the bottom and as he drew his finger away, tiny threads followed. When he figured they were long enough, he put it in the sand, touched the top face and did the same.
'Become an eshoby tree,' he said in the melodic tones. Then he covered it. Before long a sapling sprouted. Soon enough it was a towering succulent tree with long, sturdy, feather-like leaves.
Lucein clutched the isteryte, his hands shaking, barely able to contain his excitement. This — this could be anything! It could even be everything!
… What if it was everything? What if Dyjian was a world completely furnished by isterytes? A home for the Xei, equipped and decorated by the Xei. Thoughts like these raced through the boy's mind.
He squealed and raced back to his brother.
Rollond and Yonathael hadn't finished talking by then, and Gnyovante stayed within earshot, taking it all in:
"One more thing," Rollond said, "you never finished telling me about Ashenzsi. Something about 'What is in my blood also flows through him.'"
"Ah, yes,~" Yonathael cooed, briefly reminiscent. "It means that like you, he too will have a compelling urge to change the world."
"But uncle Ashenzsi
is a very peaceful shojen," Gnyovante said, loud enough to disrupt the two adults.
Skepticism marked Yonthael's gaze. "And you're certain about that?"
Threshold.
Melvas, the 5th day in the month of Nesvyn;
Regarding Ashenzsi;
Spring of the 697th year of the Second Epoch of Dyjian.
The Kingdom of Ecstasy Page 10