by Kyle West
He had also chosen a Sect that was, arguably, as far from the Prophets as one could get: the Champions. Unlike the Prophets, the Champions were highly respected, and it showed in the way my parents treated him.
After walking a couple of miles in further silence, the trees at last broke to reveal the city of Hyperborea spreading before us, its manifold towers rising into the azure sky, seeming more like trees than buildings. They shimmered in the early afternoon light under a bright, afternoon sun, their outer ichor shells reflecting the pink of Lake Makar that bordered the city’s eastern edge. Dozens of archways and bridges spanned the gaps between the many buildings, visible even from our current position at the edge of the forest over a mile away. Above it all, supported on the tops of the highest towers, rose the Cloud Palace, seeming to defy gravity and physics, rising even higher than the surrounding buildings. It looked like something out of a fantasy, even to someone like me who had lived there her entire life.
The Cloud Palace – so named because, in the morning, it was often wreathed in clouds – was the seat of the Hyperborean royal family. And it was my home.
Visitors, upon first viewing Hyperborea, are often struck with awe, not knowing whether to call it a city or a forest. Between the thousands of buildings ran not only streets, but canals of ichor that served not just as transportation, but irrigating conduits to feed the living city. It was the flow of ichor which sustained the buildings, which caused them to grow from the thick layer of xen that served as the city’s base for decades.
We walked across cleared fields, passing plantations with rows of ripe, swelling crops cast in hues of orange, pink, and purple. The autumnal air was crisp with the first cool breeze from the north, even if it was generally warmer in the Crater than above the Ragnawall. Already, the trees leaves were dying fiery hues of red, orange, and yellow. The tallest Silverwoods rose like towers in their own right, far above the rest of the forest canopy. The very tallest rivaled Hyperborea’s buildings, could be seen for miles. The land sloped upward from the city, which occupied the lowest point in the Crater. Outside the Seven Lakes which ringed the city, all composed of ichor, fields and small villages stretched in all directions for about two miles, where unfailingly the forest began, which thickly covered the Crater in all directions until the Ragnawall. If one were to keep walking the roads outside the city through the thick forests and groves, eventually the Ragnawall would come into view, a cliff three miles high at its tallest points. Beyond the Ragnawall stretched almost a hundred miles of lands controlled by Elekai lords who swore fealty to the Farl dynasty, who had ruled Hyperborea ever since its founding almost a century ago.
Though I had lived my whole life in Hyperborea, I was still struck by the Crater’s wondrous beauty, a beauty which had been nourished and cultivated ever since the first Samalites settled here at the end of the Exile. Ragnarok was a garden for humanity, a literal paradise where few wanted for anything.
As I’ve grown older, however, I’ve come to distrust that perfection. It wasn’t so much what I saw with my eyes, with which I could see no fault. It was more what I felt in my heart. Instinct again, perhaps.
My thinking carried us all the way to the crystalline shore of Lake Makar. Across its expanse, I could see the ichorstone docks of the city’s outer edge slipping into the lake’s smooth, pink surface. Several sailboats plied the ichor, catching wind with wide triangle sails and looking like toys from the distance.
Lake Makar, along with the six other lakes surrounding the city, were all possible because of the Xenofont. Each of the lakes fed the many canals lacing the city, connecting every building in a network of life.
“Do you ever just wonder at what has been accomplished here?” Isandru asked. “Soon, the city will be celebrating its hundredth year since the Exile. We went from that, to this.”
I looked at my brother, who was staring across the lake with light gray eyes.
Isandru’s hand swept and encompassed the entire city. “Hyperborea is our reward to enjoy until the end of time. A city of peace, prosperity, and happiness. Where anyone can be anything. Imagination is the only limit.”
That was truly the sentiment of the times. But part of me also feared living in a world where what was imagined became more important than what was real. Maybe more than a part of me felt that.
Isandru continued.
“The first and second generations worked tirelessly to make a paradise of Ragnarok, where before it had been a fiery hellscape. They created the Cleansing Towers, filtering the dust of the Ragnarok War from the air, giving us blue skies and bright sunshine. When you have already attained perfection, such as you can, in the physical world…where else can humanity’s hand turn but an imagined world?”
My brother here was referring to the Hyperfold, an alternate reality created by Rakhim Shal, Grand Advisor to my parents, the king and queen.
Despite the apparent perfection of Hyperborea, there was one problem that had been plaguing it almost as long as the city existed: the Fading. As the generations had passed, fewer and fewer were being born with inborn Gifts and the capacity to connect to the Xenofold. The reasons were unknown, although there were theories. The most popular was that the bloodline from the original first generation of Elekai had become muddied, making the manifestation of Gifts more rare. A minority turned to mythology itself, citing that the existence of Hyperborea was an abomination that went against the will of the Elder Dragons, who forsook humanity when it founded the city on a site they considered holy. In retribution, the Elder Dragons influenced the Xenofold to not imbue its Gifts upon humanity as often. Others believed the cause of the Fading was something else entirely, something yet unseen…
Whatever the reason of the Fading, it had caused a furor of Scholars to seek a cure that would allow Giftless Elekai to connect with the Xenofold, while strengthening the potential of Elekai who already did have Gifts. However, it was Rakhim Shal who had discovered an entirely unprecedented solution. By refining ichor into a substance known as Aether, and linking that Aether to an entity known as the Hyperfold, people who ingested Aether could now use their natural Gifts without restriction.
The Hyperfold was like the Xenofold – a mysterious power source and consciousness, only it operated differently, and completely separately, from the Xenofold. The Xenofold was bound by mysterious rules and laws that were unknown to humanity, but since the Hyperfold was a human creation, the rules were known in advance. In some ways, the Hyperfold was even more capable than the Xenofold, for the power of Aether was much greater than that of ichor. All the prohibitions of the Xenofold were absent within the Hyperfold.
Most, if not all people, didn’t understand how the Hyperfold worked, perhaps even Rakhim Shal included. All people knew was that as long as they had Aether in their system, the Hyperfold would imbue to them the same Gifts that the Xenofold would have.
Needless to say, Aether and the Hyperfold had completely changed Hyperborean society. Aether had been invented ten years ago, and Shal had drawn up plans for a new Xenofont outside the city – a Xenofont specifically built to refine vast amounts of ichor into Aether, Aether which would be used both to power the Hyperfold’s Point of Origin, along with Aether to be sold to the general public as a cure for the Fading.
Perhaps the most significant difference between the Hyperfold and the Xenofold was that it was possible to enter the Hyperfold itself by ingesting Aether and entering a prophetic trance. The consciousness within the Hyperfold existed as a dream world that appeared every bit as material as the real world. It was to this that Isandru had been originally referring when he said that imagination had the chance to make everything perfect.
“I overheard Father speaking to Rakhim.” I said, cautiously. “Rakhim was talking about creating a new Xenofold, one greater than even the Hyperfold, as a true cure to the Fading.” I looked at Isandru, to gauge his reaction, but there was no reaction. “Do you know anything about this?”
“I…have heard of it, but
not the specifics. Such things are speculated upon, but how he plans to create something greater than even the Hyperfold is hard to imagine. Then again…imagination is the greatest kind of power, and with Aether, it is even greater. Rakhim Shal…is a great man.”
“But don’t you get the sense that something about it feels…wrong? It’s something I can’t exactly explain. Things just feel different from when we were children? The world seems…darker.”
“Maybe so,” Isandru said. “But is that the world changing, or merely our perception of it? We’ve grown up, Mia. We are still young, but not too young to see that the world isn’t perfect.”
Isandru may have been right, but at the same time, it felt as if I were the only one who was suspicious of it all. There was something missing, except I couldn’t articulate exactly what was missing. It was something only experienced in dreams, and so much of dreams, even for a Prophetess, evaporated soon upon waking. I kept a dream journal to catch most of what I could, but even so, it wasn’t perfect, and I often had trouble deciphering what I had written down.
“I don’t know what the answer is,” I said, speaking more to myself than Isandru. “I just know there’s something more. Something forgotten, or something never realized. I feel as if we’ve lost it – whatever it is – and I can only speculate as to what answers lie hidden. Hidden with purpose, or without?” I looked at him. “Do you not feel anything like that?”
“I think we all have, at one time or another,” Isandru said, hesitatingly. “I think it’s just a blip in human consciousness. Just because you feel something doesn’t necessarily mean there is something.”
Isandru did have a point. Maybe I was crazy for thinking these things.
Everyone hailed Aether and the Hyperfold as the cure to all of the Elekai’s ills. And on the surface, it seemed as if it was the solution. Very few openly opposed it, and they were often painted as old men who couldn’t get with the times.
I had personally never tried Aether – it was illegal for anyone under eighteen to consume it – and despite its mildly addictive nature, it was said to be no worse than alcohol or other recreational substances. And the fact that it was highly regulated allayed most people’s fears.
Then, there was me. I knew next to nothing, and I was so young that I knew even less than most. And yet…something about the Hyperfold, and Aether, deeply troubled me.
And the fact that I couldn’t pinpoint what that was disturbed me even more.
CHAPTER SIX
I AWOKE WITH ISARU SHAKING me. I drowsily blinked, finding that a pot of stew had been placed on the table before me, its contents steaming.
It took me a moment to register where I was. The dream had been so vivid, and its contents had been shocking. Despite that fact, I couldn’t help but still feel exhausted while my mind was muddled. The most surprising part, of course, was that it had been a vision of none other than Mia Farl, who Elder Isandru had described as the prophetess who had predicted the downfall of Hyperborea.
Only, in the vision, Mia and Isandru were siblings, when the Elder had led me to believe that Mia had lived long before his time. It was altogether bewildering, and I didn’t know whether to trust the Elder or the contents of my dream.
“You passed out,” Isaru said. “We let you sleep because it looked like you needed it. But now, it’s time to eat.”
He pushed a bowl of stew closer to me. Part of me wanted to relate the dream right there and then, but I needed to wait until later.
“How long was I asleep for?” I asked, instead.
“An hour, perhaps.” Rasi said.
I tried to put the dream out of my mind for now, instead focusing on the meal set before me. The stew was filled with carrots, potatoes, onions, spices, and fish. Steam curled from the bowl, tantalizing me with its aroma. I couldn't wait for it to cool, but when I started to eat, I was surprised to find that the thick broth was already at the perfect temperature.
Isaru and Rasi continued to speak as I ate. The fact recurred to me that I had seen Elder Isandru as a teenager, probably about the same age as myself and Isaru. That means the vision must have taken place over a century ago, and what was more, Mia was his sister.
Isaru and I ate quickly and quietly. Rasi had to refill my bowl three times. He had cooked for far more than three people, so he had probably added more ingredients to the stew while I had been asleep. At the end of the third bowl, I was truly full. It was a feeling I hadn’t known in a long time.
Isaru and I settled back in our chairs. It was quiet for a long moment, before our host broke the silence.
“I know not from who you are running, and it is not my business. But if you truly seek to enter the Ruins, I would advise against it, if possible. However, this may prove harder in practice. The periphery of the Ruins is populated by many separate gangs, so getting around it isn't easy. The Red Wild and the Selvan flank its eastern side after a few miles, while the west is utterly barren and mountainous. You would need many days' worth of water and food to make it around, assuming you weren’t attacked.”
“We are more than capable of defending ourselves,” Isaru said.
“Perhaps so,” Rasi said. “But even two skilled mercenaries will meet their match against five to one odds.”
“If the Ruins are so bleak, then how does anyone survive there?” I asked.
“Long ago, very few could live there, but it was settled by the Elekai during the Second Century…during the time of Hyperborea. Many such colonies were founded by that kingdom, to the east and west. They had hoped to remake the city, and as such, created a marvelous contraption known as the Sphere – a wondrous machine that, miraculously, grows vast quantities of food that supports the city. Though Hyperborea is now ash, the Sphere continues to function, providing a steady supply of food without fail.
“How is such a thing possible?” I asked.
“The short answer is, no one knows. It is likely ichor-based, but most there believe it to be magic. Cults of worship have sprung up around it over the years, and the Sphere is run by a mysterious group of mystics, known simply as the Priests of the Sphere. They are tasked with its operation, and without bias, distribute the food in equal parts to all the disparate, and often warring, gangs. To attack a priest or take direct control of the Sphere is a crime so grievous that it has never been done; besides going against the fundamental precepts of the gangs’ worship, to do so would mean securing that gang’s utter annihilation at the hands of all the others.”
“I have never heard of this Sphere,” Isaru said. “Then again, I know little of the Ruins in general.”
I didn’t know about the Sphere, either, and even if the Ruins were no more than a hundred miles north of Colonia, they were still wrapped in mystery, to the point that one had to be skeptical of any strange thing they heard of them.
“In the Ruins, Food is the ultimate currency,” Rasi continued. “There is only a set supply of it, produced at the same rate, and the number of people is variable. Taking food from the Sphere when you don't have the right is the ultimate sacrilege, and its distribution is the prerogative of the Priests.” Rasi paused. "If there are too many people, there is not enough food. Then, there is war, until the population lowers enough for the Sphere to sustain all again…until the population grows again, causing wars to again break out. It is an endless cycle, almost like clockwork.”
“What point of the cycle are the Ruins in now?” I asked.
Even as I asked it, I felt as if I already knew the answer to that question.
“There are skirmishes all the time,” Rasi said. “However, as far as a full-fledged war that involved almost all the gangs?” Rasi shook his head. “It’s been years. And the longer the interval…the greater the tipping point. Then again, it has been long since anyone from the Ruins has passed by my cabin. Over a year, in fact, so I’m ignorant of its current state. Then, however, tensions were high between the Red Suns, a northern gang, against the rest.”
“So our choices
are to go around the Ruins or go through,” Isaru said. “I’m thinking the first one might be better.”
“As do I,” I said.
“Your path will be difficult either way,” Rasi said. “The Sphere is a strange thing. People are drawn to it by need, or perhaps by something else entirely. I’ve often wondered whether there is any truth to the claims the devout make. The land is like a funnel; all must pass through if they are to continue on, but for most, the Ruins are an end point. The Exiled Lands beyond are inhospitable, even more so than the Barrens in which we find ourselves. That said, the roughest sort of people live in the Exiled Lands. People even the gangs of the Ruins avoid.”
After the Ruins, the Exiled Lands was our next obstacle.
“To survive in the vastness of the Ruins,” Rasi went on, “a veritable maze of fallen civilization, one is forced to be part of a gang. Dozens vie for control in a maze of diplomacy that would bemuse even the most astute diplomat. Rivalries and alliances between the gangs stretch back decades, and even centuries. But if you do choose to go into the Ruins all the same, you must attach yourself to a gang. No one survives alone for long without one. You are either killed, or more likely, taken as a thrall.”
“A thrall?”
“A slave,” Rasi said.
“How do we prove ourselves, then?” Isaru asked.
“Nothing there is respected but strength. Be stronger than any who oppose you. Whoever pushes you…push back twice as hard. That’s the only way to survive.”
“We’re both good in a fight,” I said.
Rasi’s eyes went to our blades. “Pray that you are as good enough as you think you are.”