by Paul Kelly
“We’d better get back to work then.”
When Ash came it was without ceremony. She strode into the room with the confidence that comes from people obeying your orders all day.
“The rescue will be tonight,” she announced. “And your rapt pupil shall join us.”
“I thought you couldn’t get the shield down,” replied Solomon cautiously.
He was being careful and Elijah appreciated that. But he also didn’t care for it.
“What do you need me to do?” he asked, his voice betraying his eagerness.
“The Skylanders have a shield that surrounds the foundations of their islands. It’s kept in the Security Library. Xanthius has informed me that if we can disable that shield that there is a tunnel that the Wyverns can take which will bring us into the heart of the mines. We only get one chance. If we fail, the Skylanders will block the tunnels and our chance to rescue those enslaved in the mines will be gone forever.”
Xanthius… there was that name again. Elijah had questions, but he forced them down. There would be time for questions later. After he rescued Truth.
“I’ll do it. I’ll destroy their shield.”
“That’s a suicide mission,” said Solomon flatly. “The Security Library is in the centre of the Drum.”
Elijah smiled half to himself. It was nice that Solomon cared. But as far as he was concerned he had died in Prazna, his old life taken as effectively as if a sword had done it. Truth was the only part of that life he had left. If there was anyone worth going on a suicide mission for, it was her.
“It doesn’t matter,” Elijah insisted. “I’ll do it.”
“Ash this is foolishness,” growled Solomon. “Elijah is too important to throw away on something like this.”
There it was again. More questions, bubbling just beneath the surface. But they didn’t matter. Truth was all that mattered.
“If he’s the Aontaithe the Voice will hardly let anything happen to him, will it?” replied Ash drily. “Besides if he took down the Testing Centre he’s well up for the job.”
Solomon opened his mouth to protest further but Ash cut him off. “If we send soldiers, it’ll raise the alarm. This is our only chance. Let’s just hope you’re as good a teacher as you think you are.”
Chapter 11 – The Island of Svan
In the early hours of the morning, they came for Sybil. She tried to scream, but the Siren blocked out all sound. Three of them rushed through in a blur, pinning her to her own bed. She quickly listened for the Pulse, slamming one of them back against the wall. She heard a satisfying splat. She aimed for the rest, but then two Pulse-Masters were there, shattering her every attempt at using the Pulse.
“Get away from me!” she screamed, trying in vain to concentrate on the Pulse’s erratic beat.
“Stop fighting, Student!” one of the Pulse-Masters shouted, a skinny man just barely into his twenties.
“You first!” shouted Sybil as the Pulse-Master disrupted yet another beat she had formed.
“You must come with us!” continued the Pulse-Master, his voice commanding, his brow sweating. Sybil ignored him, scrambling against the Guardians and trying in vain to mould the Pulse to her will. It slipped from her grasp. She shouted in rage, but her screams were blocked as the second Pulse-Master expertly soundproofed the room.
“Student stop!” shouted the first Pulse-Master, trying to retain control of the events in the room. Sybil just struggled all the more, clawing desperately at the hands of the Guardian who pinned her wrists.
“We are here for questions!” shouted the Pulse-Master, holding up his hands. He nodded to the Guardians who reluctantly released her limbs, one of them rubbing his back. Sybil eyed them suspiciously. The second Pulse-Master continued to prevent her from using the Pulse. “We have a warrant for your arrest, signed by the full assembly of Tommen’s Hall,” continued the Pulse-Master, producing a sheaf of paper from his pocket. “You are only to be questioned. Do not make this into a Justice trial.”
Sybil eyed the long roll of paper, stamped on one end with the seal of the Skylands.
“Just let me get changed,” she muttered at last, deciding that her options were limited at best. The Guardians muttered suspiciously, but backed out of the room. Sybil didn’t even have time to think about what was happening. Walking to her closet, she took out a plain blue dress, discarding her usual grey uniform. She still had the freedom to choose at least this much. Stripping off her night dress, she changed quickly then walked to the room’s only door and looked regally out at the Guardians.
“I am ready,” she smiled sweetly.
“Good,” answered the Pulse-Master. The other Pulse-Master just stayed silent, clearly just there to disrupt any attempt Sybil made to escape.
The Guardians made no attempt to grab her. Maybe it was the dress. Maybe they thought she looked too vulnerable. She could use that to her advantage. Quickly, they walked down the steep steps, Sybil’s mind churning with potential escape plans. Outside three Wyverns were waiting. The Pulse-Master got on one and instructed Sybil to sit behind him on the two-person saddle. The other four members of the group did likewise, and one group became three.
Within minutes they were in the air, the top of the city’s skyscrapers just below their feet. The wind whipped around Sybil and she clung to the shoulders of the Pulse-Master in front of her. It was freezing this high up and she was glad they’d caught her before she’d showered.
“Where are we going?” she shouted over the wind.
“Svan.” The Pulse-Master answered shortly. Sybil felt a shiver run down her spine. She clamped her mouth shut and took a deep breath. At this point, the less she talked the better.
When they at last landed on the other island, Sybil was struck by how flat it all was. Long complexes of buildings, busy even at this hour of the morning, lay as far as the eye could see, but none bigger than two stories.
‘Less of a target to hit,’ she thought subconsciously, old lessons from Strategy and Tactics coming back to her. As they lifted themselves off the Wyverns, three soldiers rushed out to lead the beasts away. Her guards marched her into a barracks in front of them, a dull building made of ordinary granite.
A cold sweat trickled down Sybil’s back. Her stomach felt like it was in knots as they led her in. She didn’t like the look of this.
“Sit,” one of the Pulse-Masters ordered, pointing at a wooden chair. Sybil obeyed instinctually. Behind her, the rest of the soldiers trickled out of the room. They were alone. Above, a single bulb cast a harsh light around the room. There was no furniture aside from the table at which she sat and the two plain wooden chairs under each of them. There were no windows and the atmosphere was tense and heavy.
“You may call me Darren.” The Pulse-Master began, pushing a piece of paper towards Sybil.
Sybil picked it up, not bothering to reply. She sensed that this place was not intended for small talk. On it was a surprisingly accurate sketch of the Seer she had captured.
“Do you know this man?” Darren asked. He had grey hair and a hard, square jaw and eyes that seemed to bore into her soul.
“I…” Sybil faltered for a second. Why was she here? “I captured him,” she finished, trying to control her breathing. She must be emotionless.
“Hm,” the Pulse-Master muttered. “Then why did you let him go?”
“I did not let him go,” answered Sybil calmly. “He escaped.”
“He escaped twice from you,” replied the Pulse-Master, his hand drumming rhythmically on the table. “Were you a Guardian, there’d be no cause for concern but you Sybil, are top of your class, you skipped through your introductory years in the Drum as if they were child’s play and I find it difficult to imagine that you would have let him escape you so easily.” To Sybil’s ears, the Pulse-Master’s fingers drummed the table as if they had a personal vendetta against timber.
Sybil felt anger boil up within her. “If there is a pro
blem with security,” she replied in an icy tone. “It is with the Testing Centre. They let him go, I might as well have wrapped him up in a ribbon for them. I fail to see how their failure could be misinterpreted as a fault of mine.”
The Pulse-Master nodded.
“Yes but the second time you met you basically waved him off. Not to mention the fact that earlier in that same day you sought mercy for a known sympathiser of the Future Storm.” He spread his hands, a picture of open honesty. “You can see how this looks.”
Sybil’s breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes, the image of the little girl’s death welling up behind her eyelids. She opened them, banishing the memory. “I was mistaken,” she replied.
The Pulse-Master continued to drum his fingers against the wood of the table, seeming to gather speed as he spoke.
“You are aware that the Drum is far more than a school Sybil. It is the seat of all our power. It is where new techniques for wielding the Pulse are perfected, it is where our military are trained, where our elite Wyverns are housed. And you are aware that there are those within it that dabble in dangerous research areas that can be unpredictable. There are even some who think that we can control the power wielded by Seers and use it for our own. Practical experimentation in such matters is of course forbidden, yet there are those who dabble nonetheless… and often drag unfortunate Students into their depraved experiments.” He stared at Sybil intensely, the drumming of his fingers intensifying.
“How long have you known you are a Seer, Student?” he asked.
Sybil froze. Her mouth refused to move. “I… I…”
“Because I have a transcript here,” continued the Pulse-Master, tapping another sheet of paper. “That says that Hesther identified you as such. It is of course not a naturally occurring happenstance, a Seer has never been born on these islands, but there is Earthlander blood in you Sybil. Your mother, I believe? And if a Pulse-Master within the Drum were to have conducted experiments on you…”
“Hesther is mad and I have no mother, only my Raisers,” replied Sybil.
“You have nothing to fear from me Student,” replied the Pulse-Master his twisted smile saying anything but. “You are as much a victim of all this as anyone.”
“I am not a Seer,” hissed Sybil in a dangerous whisper. “I would never become involved in something so pathetic.”
“Maybe not willingly,” replied Darren. “But if you were a Seer your actions over the last few days make sense. Your sympathy for the girl in the mine, letting this boy go…” he tapped the picture with his spare hand, his other one still occupied with slowly drilling through the table. “Master Sooth has even reported that you are showing a reluctance in disciplining the Wyverns. Seers are known to have a special bond with Wyverns… Do they ever talk to you Student?”
He leaned back, his expression saying that he was disinterested in the conversation, but his eyes staring at her intensely.
Sybil began to feel sweat form on her upper lip. She moved a hand to wipe it away. Blood glistened on her fingers. Her heart pounded. The Pulse-Master raised his eyebrows.
“You are bleeding, Student,” he remarked.
“Must have been the wind or something,” Sybil stammered, brushing off the blood with her fingers. Why had she worn a dress? There was nowhere to wipe her fingers. In the breast pocket of the Pulse-Master’s uniform, she could see a handkerchief, but he did not offer it to her. Instead, he just stared in that relaxed, idle fashion that never reached his eyes.
“As a citizen of the Skylands, you may reject the offer of a Pulse Probe, but I would recommend that you don’t,” he said offhandedly.
Sybil seized at the words, desperate to divert attention from her bleeding nose. She had never prophesied, the Probe could not prove she was a Seer. She crushed the thought instantly. She was not a Seer. There was nothing to prove, she’d never been involved in any experiments, the nosebleeds were unrelated. They were caused by something else. They had to be. It would be a routine scan. She looked directly into the intense eyes of the Pulse-Master before her. “I’ll do it.”
The room they led Sybil into was cushioned on every surface. The plain goose feather pillows were torn in several places- a testament to a Probe that had not gone well. Sybil steeled herself and walked to the room’s centre. The door closed softly behind her. Sybil waited nervously, the comforting beat of the Pulse sounding in her ears. Then the Pulse surged forth, growing to a deafening roar that she could barely comprehend. She forced herself to stay still. The Pulse screamed in her ears, coming closer and closer, hunting her mind. Then the security system of the Island of Svan entered her. Instantly her vision split, as it had when she had entered the mind of the Wyvern, only now Sybil was on the receiving end. Her mind felt like it was being violated, a dirty, oily tendril leaching into it, rifling through her memories. She shivered, trying to resist the urge to vomit as nausea entered her mind, falling slowly through her throat to her stomach. She didn’t move. She couldn’t move, or else it would start all over again. In front of her, images of the Seer she had captured flickered through her mind’s eye. She watched his pain as she slammed him into the wall, his shock as she did it again, his fear at the arrival of the Guardians. Her behaviour had been perfect, Sybil knew. But the Probe didn’t stop. It kept searching, images of her conversation with Sam springing across her vision. Sybil panicked. Would it know what she had felt in the mines? The visions moved forward, their pace seeming to increase, as if it knew there was something she did not want it to see. Sybil could feel blood pounding in her veins, could feel her stomach lurching from fear and nausea. Could the Probe feel it too? She couldn’t let them know. She couldn’t. She was not a Seer, could never be a Seer, it wasn’t possible, she couldn’t have them thinking that…
Without another thought she embraced the Pulse, the full screaming, hammering depth of it. The entirety of the security system of the Island of Svan, within her grasp. Blood began to flow down her lips, a trickle at first but then increasing as Sybil drew in more and more of the power behind the Island of Svan. She screamed in pain as the Pulse rocketed through her, burning like fire through her mind, its every oily tendril turning to flames. In the distance she could hear the pounding of feet as Guardians rushed towards the room where she stood. She pulled the Pulse towards her, trying to use it, to mould its beat to her will. But it had its own will and it fought against her. Sybil almost lost her footing in shock. More than the nausea, more than the burning pain of an entire Island’s concentrated Pulse, this hit her. The Pulse did not have a will. She backtracked, following the beat of the burning flames which fed on her mind, trying desperately to find its source. It had to be the Pulse-Master, controlling the Probe from beyond, using it to search for her memories. An image of the Drum flashed in front of her eyes and then a room and within it the largest power shard she had ever seen, the size of a child’s fist. Suddenly, Sybil heard the door slam open, people sprinting towards her. She opened her eyes. Then a Guardian was there, pulling her away from the centre of the room. The burning beat of the Pulse cut off and her double vision snapped back into one. Suddenly, her legs gave way and Sybil collapsed, falling onto the cushioned floor. She landed awkwardly, twisting her wrist and she gave a yelp of pain.
“Get her up!” commanded the Pulse-Master from before, his face creased with worry. “Get her out of this room!” Sybil looked back as a Guardian lifted her, her head hanging limply from his arms. Behind her, the room was a ruin.
Sybil stared at the cracked mirror across from her bed. Blood still stained the very edges of the broken glass, unnoticeable, unless you knew it was there. It glistened faintly in the dull light of the bulb above her head. Her head pounded in pain, but she ignored it. There had been too much emotion already today. She was not sure if she could handle even mild annoyance. She surveyed the facts. The Probe, she knew, had been invented in 105 AE as a reaction against Future Storm insurgents. It had successfully stopped any from i
nfiltrating the upper echelons of the Drum, the military or Tommen’s Hall. It had been integrated into the Island of Svan’s security system and transferred memories from the one being interrogated to the one doing the interrogation. It was designed so even those without the Pulse could use it. So how could it have a will?
It couldn’t, she knew it couldn’t, it wasn’t possible. But if it was… then it would know far more than just the memories, it would know how she had felt in the mines, how she had felt when she had let that Seer go… She stood up suddenly, staring at her fragmented reflection in the mirror. She was going to find out what they knew.
Chapter 12 – The Security Library
Sybil stepped off the Board and onto the platform, ignoring the stares from the Fortunate behind her. It was evening, everyone was travelling home, not towards, the Drum. She had no reason to be here, especially not in the grey uniform she wore. She tried to look like she knew what she was doing.
“Sybil?” a voice carried across the wind. Sybil turned, a look of mild annoyance crossing her face. Across the plaza, Sam hurried towards her.
“I was looking for you,” he said, by way of introduction.
“What is it Sam?” Sybil asked impatiently.
Sam lowered his voice. “I heard you were taken to Svan.”
Sybil’s breath caught in her throat. How did he know already? She had to destroy those records, now. She brushed past Sam.
“That is none of your concern, Guardian,” she sniffed.
“You are my concern, Sybil,” Sam replied, his voice serious. Sybil frowned. She had always known Sam liked her a little more than was proper for a Guardian. She shook her head. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by such things now.
“Please leave me, Sam,” she said, in the coldest tone possible. “I have work to attend to.”