by O. J. Lowe
Perfect. Everything was going to plan.
Chapter Fifteen. Long Lost Secrets.
“I fear that one day, the kingdoms may change, and we will not change with them. To mire yourself in the past is to risk losing yourself in a future when you have become increasingly irrelevant and out of touch. Even now, my people lack the touch with the common folk. We try to set ourselves apart and yet I fear all it’ll do is force us to stand alone.”
From the journal of Adrian Battleby, Vedo Manifold.
Then.
Battleby only donned the robes for official purposes, visits, gatherings and devotions. The rest of the time he chose to dress like a regular human being. Admiring your heritage and the long tradition of your order was one thing. Keeping it secret was entirely another and he’d rather not stand out. Too many prying eyes, especially when one considered the cargo he carried. Although the compass-that-wasn’t didn’t look like much, he considered it perhaps the single most valuable object across the five kingdoms and to lose it would be to invite chaos. In the wrong hands, it could be lethal.
They’d just prised it out of the wrong hands, losing it again would be careless and Adrian Battleby did not do careless. The Vedo were not his only heritage, he was one of the last Battleby’s of Lahzenje and they had not become the masters of all they desired through being careless. In the distant past, his family had been kings and emperors, rich men and conquerors. Now, the wealth might not be what it once was, but the name still had cachet. The Battleby name was worth something, it was a declaration of duty and integrity and honour and all those things that they’d stood for over the years.
He didn’t talk to them anymore. Not out of his choice, nor out of the rules of the Vedo order. Should a child display gifts, he would be taken into the order, the younger the age the better. All full Vedo were required to procreate at least once in their life to ensure the bloodlines continued and yet the Kjarn always found ways to renew or reject the unworthy. Anomalies in the breeding line would emerge, surprises being the spice of life. Battleby had been one such anomaly, stripped from his family and wealth, although he hadn’t missed them as much as he’d thought. He’d always felt out of place there.
What he had found was that he felt much closer to his new family than he ever had to his previous one, though the name Battleby would always be his to cherish. The last time he’d seen them, his father had told him his view of how the fortunes of the family had changed when the young Adrian had been torn away from them. Battleby always thought that perhaps where they’d gone wrong was with the sheer number of credits they’d thrown at the problem to try and get him back. If they’d shown that much concern previously for him, he might have wanted to go back. They hadn’t, and he didn’t. They’d hired mercenaries, bounty hunters, kidnappers and assassins all to take him back from the Vedo and all had failed miserably, taking their credits to the grave with them. Those men and women might have thought they were hard stuff before, they were unprepared for the combined might of the Vedo.
Ten years had passed between him leaving for the first time and leaving for the last time, he’d been dragged out as a boy and walked out as a man.
The compass felt heavy against his chest, he tried to subtly adjust the weight. He didn’t dare let it leave his person. Not until he was locked away in his cabin. It was too important and there were too many unknown variables aboard the Aerius to take things for granted. If he let his guard down, even for a moment, that hesitation could be fatal for the kingdoms.
He’d picked the Aerius because of its size and reputation, a new ship yet to be fully tested to its limits. There was less chance of it breaking down, something comforting in the sheer size of the vessel. It would power through the skies with ease, so the flier said, delivering passengers in comfort and luxury to their destination with haste. He didn’t know how many of those claims they could really back up, but they’d certainly won the hearts and minds of the adoring public with their bombast and enthusiasm. He’d seen a lot of press aboard the trip, eager to share their stories with their readers, many newspapers and broadcast shows represented, even some of those newer net-shows. People from all walks of life, all manner of colour and creed swarmed the decks as they sought to find their cabins. Once he might have belonged to this crowd, but now he felt like a predator amidst prey, never a part but present to see the whole picture. Look at the big picture, Adrian, his old master’s voice in his head chided, and you’ll never be lost for what to do. If you can work out the place for everything and everything’s place, it’s a start.
Dotty old woman. He was amazed recently they’d made her their leader, the highest of the high, the grand master. Back when Allison Teserine had been his teacher, he never would have seen her as leader material. She enjoyed her sleep too much for one thing, was too content never to do something for herself if she had someone else to do it.
They’d made her their leader, a council of senior Vedo had put together a shortlist and Teserine had snuck onto the list only as a late replacement. They’d liked what she had to say, they’d made her do was she was so reluctant to before. Few had really heard of her until that moment, she’d been regarded as a bit of a radical, a dangerous thinker. He’d learned a lot from her though, not just practical stuff with the Kjarn. He liked to think that she’d moulded him into a better human being than if he’d stayed with the family Battleby.
That name had its uses still. Acquiring a cabin aboard this vessel had not been easy, the clerk had been most unhelpful when Battleby had tried being polite. He’d taken his measure of the man, debated whether fogging his mind into compliance would be the best path to dealing with him or whether to take the route less travelled. Teserine had always insisted on that as well, she passed it on to all her apprentices from what he’d heard from the others. Never use the Kjarn to do something that you can do yourself with a little effort. You’ve got hands and a brain. Use them.
It turned out that a sense of entitlement was a better key than fancy mental tricks, Battleby had fixed the clerk with his most exasperated stare and what he could only describe as a flounce that felt ridiculous leaving his body. “Now, excuse me, my good man,” he’d said, unable to hide his smirk. Old habits could be quashed but they were hard to kill. “I’ve tried to be reasonable with you, but you insist on being otherwise. Now do you know what the hells my last name is? It’s Battleby and that means I can legally buy your arse. It means I could buy this whole damn company if I wanted to, I could put you out on the streets. Hells, I could have you killed if I wanted to. You really think that anyone would ask me about it? You think they’d miss someone like you?”
He found it unsettling how easy it was to creep back into the role after so many years, spoiled rich brat out to crush the little guy. Teserine would have probably been simultaneously disgusted and proud, a curious mixture but one his efforts probably deserved.
“But, I’m in a forgiving mood. Turf someone else out, send them the regards of the Battleby family…” That’d please his old man, assuming he was even still alive. “… and move me in, there’s a five hundred credit tip in it for you.” Not a life changing sum but not bad for him doing his damn job!
The joke would ultimately be on him. Finally, he did draw on the Kjarn, made the gesture and watched the greedy eyes light up as the cabin was confirmed. He never handed any credits over, just watched as the clerk extended out his hands, closed his fingers around something that wasn’t there and slide to his pockets. He was going to be in for a nasty surprise later, Battleby thought with a smirk. He was going to be a kingdom or two away by the time the little trick wore off. Shame, he’d liked to have seen the look on his face when he realised he’d been had. Simple tricks were the most satisfying. The grand master wouldn’t deny him the moment of satisfaction. She was the least tolerant of fools out of all of them. He supposed that came with age and with time.
He liked the cabin though, wide, spacious, everything his cell at the Vedo temple hadn’t been. He
felt uncomfortable in spaces like this when it came to personal quarters. Most of his early years with the Vedo had been spent in a room ten by twelve, three of them to the room. They’d had to fight for what scraps of comfort they could find. Training to become a Vedo wasn’t meant to be easy, it was meant to toughen them up and teach them the value of resilience. If it were easy, the accomplishments would not feel the same. They would be cheapened by the lack of challenge.
Battleby liked the idea of challenge, of the contest between himself and the obstacles keeping him from his goal. He would never give up, he would never surrender, those had been the words he’d always tried to live by and by Gilgarus he’d done it. He didn’t deny he’d made mistakes for that would be a fool’s delusion and that was one thing he’d prefer not to be levelled at him.
The cabin he’d gotten wasn’t much, decidedly unstatesmanlike but it would serve purpose. Yes, the décor was sparse, but it was designed to hold objects he didn’t possess. No tragic loss there then. A place to lay low until they got to Serran. He’d jump off there, return to the Fangs up north. It sounded so simple the more he said it, the urge to remind himself that it wouldn’t be so kept filtering through his head. He needed to keep an edge upon himself lest he be dulled by the trials of the journey.
Here though, he could allow himself a respite. The door behind him was locked, a wedge driven towards the base to grant him extra security. He felt, if not safe, then reassured by his predicament in here. They’d all been wiped out. Nobody else knew that he had the device. Just himself. Just Arventino and Frewster and Butcher. They all had seen what they’d seen. None would betray the others. Not with what had been shown to be at stake.
The Forever Cycle. He’d always thought it a myth. He withdrew it from inside his jacket pocket, tugged it free with great effort, felt the fabric sigh from the release of the heavy object. He was amazed he’d kept it in there for as long as he had without his pocket tearing under its girth.
He laughed to himself. If only it were that simple to smash it. The compass was a divine artefact of immeasurable power. It was doubtful one could break it by dropping it six feet to the ground. If it were that easy to destroy, someone would have done it long ago. Thousands might not be able to resist temptation, one person would have done it, even if they were careless enough for it to be accidental.
He tossed it on the bed, lobbed it underarm and watched it bounce lazily onto the mattress. A shaft of stray sunlight through the porthole window caught the reflective copper, caught his breath in his throat. That made it look special, he had to admit, the light framing it giving him a sense of what the fuss was about. More than that, he could hear it if he listened. It sang to him, words unable to be made out no matter how much he focused but an unmistakeable tune demanding his attention. Catchy. Seductive. It wanted his attention and it knew it had gotten it. More breath caught in his throat, he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe or move. As spells went, it was better than any the Kjarn could cast over him.
His finger twitched, one of the pillows jerked at the motion and flopped over the compass, smothering it and the lull vanished into a distant buzz. Not gone but quieter. Enough to ignore. He blinked several times. He could remember what had happened, even recall the last echoes of seduction. The thing wanted his attention, the Forever Cycle was calling to him. If this wasn’t a moment of scary realisation, he didn’t know what was.
He made a choice then, something he’d already toyed with for and decided was finally worth the risk. The Vedo would like to see the artefact, no two ways about it. The council of nine liked rare and powerful objects, they liked them out of the way from where they could cause unnecessary damage. In the Vedo vault, there were enough rare and powerful artefacts locked away, that some Vedo had never even heard of them, never mind knowing what they’d do.
Ignorance was bliss but sometimes it could be its own punishment. It could truly be a prison, could lock you up and hide you from wonders that the rest of life were experiencing.
He took out his blade, studied the artefact and told himself again the choice would be the right one he could make. He had to know for sure. He thumbed the activation switch, felt the blade snap into life, the room bathed in the illumination. Battleby flicked his hand, the cushion slipped aside, and the compass dropped to the floor, landed on its side and rolled the rest of the way like a wheel until it halted in the middle of the room. He studied it like a predator, gripped his kjarnblade and went for it, drove the glowing sword down hard into the artefact.
He saw what happened, he could feel it, he truly couldn’t explain what happened next. His blade swung towards the ground, the tip close enough to touch the compass and yet it wouldn’t. Battleby’s eyes widened, he put more of his strength into the efforts and yet it wouldn’t shift, more than that it was trying to actively slip away down the side. If it went through the floor, there’d be some explaining to do. He didn’t need that kind of notoriety now. He withdrew, turned and slashed at it, trying to bring the blade down on top of it. Again, it came up short and he felt his muscles screaming under the efforts of trying to force it down through the compass.
That wasn’t possible! Nothing should be able to resist the kjarnblade like that. All while he struggled, he heard the humming of the compass bellowing through his ears, roaring like a mag-rail through his head. It was enough to make his vision swim, his head feel heavy, the room spun around him, and he had to steady himself against the dresser to avoid falling. His stomach lurched, threatened to purge the last meal he’d eaten but he closed his mouth and focused on the patterns threading their way through the carpet, pink backdrop with a line of black and white triangles.
He deactivated his weapon and tossed it onto the bed. It wasn’t working, no point wasting his power cells. He might need it to defend himself as he travelled, best to keep it in working condition. Battleby walked over to the compass, picked it up and studied it. He’d kept the vials separate, left them in his pocket. The blood within them had been charred into a scorched mess, no longer viable but there was no point tempting fate. Anything that wanted the whole thing would have to take it from his body, as distressing as that thought might be, an opportunist sneak thief wouldn’t make the take of a lifetime in one lucky swoop.
Precautions didn’t hurt. He reached into the depths of his pocket, drew out the seven brass vials and clutched them in his grasp, not saying or thinking, just feeling. The easiest thing in the kingdoms for a Vedo to do was to feel, to open oneself up to all manner of new experiences and let them wash through you, soak into the very fibre of your being. It wasn’t always a pleasant experience but always it was enlightening, even if perhaps that wasn’t the feeling at the time. The breath caught in his throat, he clutched the vials together hard, so hard he feared he might crush them. His core sense of self screamed, he could feel them all, those who’d died to fill these vials. Not just the recent ones. All of them. Years and years turned into decades and centuries, always some being filled but never all, people died and yet their fall never mattered for always the same result would come to pass. Their torment and their terror would lie forgotten amidst stories and legends of something so potent it couldn’t possibly be true. How many stories had Battleby ever heard about various artefacts around the kingdoms lined with divine power? The Chain of Fate, the Gilgarus Heart, the Cycle itself, not to mention the Spear of Griselle and the Orb of Rochentus to mention just a few. Most of them hadn’t even been seen for centuries, only the Cycle ever came into whispers. Maybe it wanted to be found. He’d sensed everything when he'd opened himself up to it, more than fifty victim’s dead in its name by his guess.
Divinity was a funny thing, only the gods above themselves could ever claim to understand it. When Gilgarus had stood on Cradle Rock millennia ago and proclaimed they were leaving humanity to its own devices, they’d taken with them a lot of knowledge and certainty, only scraps left behind for their subjects to fight over. Nobody could agree on a damn thing. Certainty was replaced
with debate. He was amazed it never turned violent beyond the occasional skirmish between academics. People had enough to fight over in the kingdoms without throwing religion into it.
None of this was his concern. He wished Arventino had come with him, but he’d had other pressing business to attend in Canterage. Business that couldn’t be avoided. Battleby was capable of this, he knew that. If he wasn’t, then the Vedo had done a sorry shit-show of training him. He could murder a rival Cavanda in combat with little effort, yet this piece of bronze was getting under his skin with little effort. Not a pleasant thought.
Battleby didn’t like touching it with his bare skin, but touch it he did, rolling it under the bed and out of sight. For the time being, that would have to do. He wanted to get out of here, get some food in him. The Kjarn could sustain only so much. The vials he slid back into his pocket. Keep them separate. They couldn’t do harm that way. They might be tainted but at least they didn’t make him feel sick like the Cycle did.
The dining room aboard the Aerius was more refined than he’d been expecting, given the way the people had been crowding aboard the ship before it took off, he’d been anticipating a zoo, a real fight for food and space. In truth, nothing could have been further from the truth. Pleasant atmosphere, not too loud. Perfect really. People were behaving themselves. Wonderful.
He couldn’t help but grin as he strode through the room towards the counter at the back. Official mealtimes were set through the day aboard the ship, only then would hot food be served but there were a selection of sandwiches and candy bars at the back, crisped potatoes and packets of smoked chewable meat. Sustaining rather than substantial. The best sort of meal. The sort of meals they’d been raised on back in the day. It’s not meant to be enjoyed, it’s meant to give you strength, they’d always said, and by Gilgarus, they’d been right. Taste of food had always ceased to be a consequence for him, as unimportant as colour or texture.