by Clayton Wood
“A pair of scissors by the sink,” the guard replied. “And Kyle's Aegis is missing, and Ariana's Tempest cloak, sire.” He paused, then took a deep breath in. “We believe they left under their own power, sire.” Kalibar stared at the guard for a long moment, then nodded.
“Indeed,” he muttered under his breath. “Continue searching the Tower,” he ordered. “I want a dozen Battle-Weavers sweeping the campus.” He paused. “And the docks,” he added.
“The docks?” the guard inquired. “Sire, they couldn't have gotten past the Gate shield.”
“Don't underestimate my children,” Kalibar countered. “Get me the departure schedule for yesterday and today,” he added. The guard nodded, saluting sharply, then turning on his heel and walking out of the suite. Kalibar watched him go, feeling his fear turning quickly to anger. The emotion surprised them, in that he had never felt this way toward his children before.
Then again, they had never defied him before.
Kalibar strode back into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a thought. He removed his bathrobe, reaching for the black Weaver uniform that was neatly folded on his nightstand. Kyle and Ariana had probably left last night; if they'd gotten past the Gate shield – which they almost certainly had – then they would have made their way to the docks, and maybe even onto one of the shipping frigates.
Kalibar put on his uniform, then found his gravity boots, pulling them on quickly. He activated the communication orb on his nightstand, then opened the bedroom door, striding back into the main suite, toward the front door. Within moments, a man in a red uniform appeared behind the one-way transparent door. Kalibar opened it, and the man – the Portmaster – saluted him.
“Good morning sire,” the man stated.
“Good morning,” Kalibar replied tersely. “I need all of the ships that have left or will leave for Verhan since yesterday,” he stated, referring to the only city across the ocean that the Empire traded with.
“Only two ships were scheduled to depart this week,” the Portmaster replied. “The Explorer left three hours ago, and the Defiance left yesterday morning.”
“I want both ships stopped,” Kalibar ordered. The Portmaster hesitated.
“There's no way to communicate with them,” he protested. Kalibar smiled grimly.
“My Battle-Weavers will,” he promised. Just then, a young man in black and silver armor appeared at Kalibar's door, pushing brusquely past the Portmaster. The man had long blond hair and striking green eyes, and saluted Kalibar with rapid efficiency.
“Grand Weaver,” he stated, his tone crisp and terse.
“High Weaver Urson,” Kalibar greeted, nodding at the man. Urson was his second in command, the commander of his Battle-Weavers...a highly talented man who had the misfortune of knowing it. “Send six Battle-Weavers to search the two ships that left for Verhan.”
“Our target?” Urson inquired.
“My children,” Kalibar answered. “Search the ships under the premise of harboring illegal cargo,” he added. Urson nodded at once, pivoting sharply and leaving the suite, grabbing the Portmaster by the arm and dragging him out as well. Kalibar watched him go, marveling that the man had not asked anything more. If only all of his men were that efficient. He knew of only one other that was: Darius.
Where is Darius? Kalibar thought. The bodyguard was supposed to have returned yesterday. He doubted that Darius would have allowed Kyle and Ariana to get away with this stunt, but with him gone, the elite guards had been tasked to protect them.
My guards underestimated my children, he mused as he walked into the hallway, toward the riser in the distance. And I overestimated them.
* * *
Ariana stared down at Kyle, his face so peaceful as he slept. She'd found some blankets in another shipping crate, and had placed them underneath him, stopping the magic stream to the gravity field that had kept him afloat. He'd been so exhausted that he hadn't even stirred during the transition.
She sighed, then stared out across the cargo bay. She had eight hours until he woke, maybe nine. It was a long time to do nothing, and she already felt an urge to get up, to do something. She still had to find food for Kyle, after all.
The ship creaked as it swayed gently back and forth, the wind howling around it. She could hear footsteps on the deck above, the sound as crisp and clear to her ears as if they'd been walking next to her.
She turned to Kyle again, then leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. He stirred slightly, then went still. She smiled, then stepped to the edge of the crates, easing herself down. Within moments, she'd reached the floor twenty feet below. She weaved silently through the cargo bay. She wasn't particularly worried about being caught...she would hear anyone approaching long before they could reach her. And with Kyle hidden atop the tower of crates, even if someone searched the cargo bay – unlikely at this time of night – they wouldn't find him.
She stopped before the double-doors exiting the cargo bay, then unlocked them, opening the doors and slipping through. She closed the doors behind her, peering down the wide hallway beyond. It was empty, as before. She made her way back up the stairway to the hallway above, stopping at the top to listen. She heard footsteps on deck above, louder this time. The wind continued to howl, waves crashing into the ship's hull. The clatter of metal striking metal...
Ariana's eyes narrowed, and she concentrated on the sound. Metal on metal...it sounded like pans clinking against each other every time the ship swayed. Which meant that there was a kitchen somewhere on ship...and that meant food.
She turned her head, focusing on the sound. It seemed to be coming from below, to the right. She turned her head to the other side, confirming the location. Then she moved forward, locking on the sound. She reached the door leading to the rear of the deck, then opened it, slipping outside.
The icy wind shrieked in her ears, nearly drowning out every other sound. Sheets of rain fell on the deck, soaking her clothes and hair instantly.
She turned right, crouching low and moving forward across the deck. She knew that it was night-time, but to her eyes the ship was well-lit under the stars. She spotted the lookout high above, perched on the mast...fast asleep. She smiled, continuing forward, spotting another man in a raincoat patrolling the other end of the ship hundreds of feet away, his back turned to her. She continued forward, spotting another door to her right, on the side of the two-story structure. She made her way to it, opening it and slipping through. She closed the door silently behind her, peering through the darkness beyond, water dripping from her body. Another hallway, with a stairwell at the end. With the wind no longer shrieking in her ears, she could once again hear the sound of pans striking each other. They were closer now, maybe one story below.
More footsteps from above – two sets now. The muffled sound of men talking. Laughter, then silence.
Ariana made her way to the staircase, stepping silently down them. At the bottom she found another door, and opened it, finding herself in yet another hallway. This one, however, was well over a hundred feet long, with doors lining the sides. Oil lanterns flickered on the walls, sending shadows across the dark wood. She heard the sound of countless men snoring from the rooms all around her.
Ariana paused, wondering if she’d made a mistake. The kitchen was down the hall, to the left...but if even one of the men sleeping in the rooms around her woke up, she would be trapped in this hallway. A well-lit hallway, with only one exit that she knew of.
She bit her lip, considering her options. If she aborted the mission, Kyle would starve...so she had to continue. But doing so was risky, so she needed to take as much food as she could, so she wouldn't have to do this again. But if she stole a lot of food, the theft would be obvious, and might spur on a search of the ship to find the thieves...
She paused for a moment longer, then moved forward down the hallway. The wooden floor at her feet creaked under her weight, and she stopped, cursing silently.
One of the men's snoring s
topped.
Ariana froze, locking on the man's location. One door behind her, to the left. Right in the way of the only exit.
She heard a thump, then footsteps approaching the door.
Ariana bolted forward, dashing down the hallway. She saw a fork in the hallway to the right, and turned down it, nearly slamming into a large door at the end of it. She grasped the knob and turned it, but it didn't budge. It was locked.
She heard a door in the hallway she'd come from opening.
She twisted the doorknob again, harder this time. There was a muffled snap, and she pushed the door open, rushing in and closing it behind her. She found herself in a large room, rows of stoves on one side, a large kitchen counter on the other. Pots and pans hung from hooks on the ceiling, clattering against each other with the rhythmic swaying of the ship.
She heard footsteps moving down the hallway behind her...moving away. She took a deep breath in, then exhaled, feeling the tension slowly leave her. Then she moved forward, scanning the kitchen for crates, or barrels...anything that could be used to store food. The kitchen was distressingly empty save for utensils and cooking equipment. But the food had to be somewhere nearby.
Ariana spotted a door at the other end of the kitchen, and walked toward it, hearing the pots clattering against each other as the ship tilted under her feet. She reached the door, finding it locked. She forced the lock, knowing that doing so would arouse suspicion. But there was no way she was going to make this trip again, and they still had the invisibility pattern if there was a search for stowaways.
She opened the door, and found a large storeroom beyond, with row upon row of barrels. She pulled the lid off of the one closest to her, seeing a few fish heads poking through a barrel filled with salt. A smile broke across her face, and she felt a burst of elation.
“Gotcha,” she whispered.
She grabbed the barrel, heaving it upward without difficulty. She knew that it must weight hundreds of pounds, but the weight hardly strained her new body. She turned around, nudging the door open with her foot, then making her way across the kitchen again. She reached the door to the hallway, stopping before it and listening carefully.
No footsteps...only snoring and the creaking of the ship.
Still she paused, remembering the man who'd woken earlier. Had he returned to his room? Was he still awake, waiting for her to pass through the hallway again?
The ship swayed beneath her, accompanied by the loud creaking sound of wood grinding on wood.
An idea came to her suddenly; what if she only moved when the ship moved, hiding her footsteps with the creaking of the ship?
Ariana waited for the floor to tip in the opposite direction, then opened the door, slipping into the hallway just as the ship moaned around her. She stopped then, peering around the corner to the left, then the right, finding the hallway empty on both sides. She waited, then moved leftward as the ship swayed, the creaking of the floorboards melding with the sounds of the rest of the ship.
The snoring of dozens of men reached her ears from beyond their closed doors.
Still she pressed forward, patiently timing her movements with the ship, until she'd made it to the end of the hallway. She opened the door, climbing up the stairwell and making her way back outside, to the deck of the ship. The wind shrieked in her ears, whipping through her short hair as she scanned the deck, spotting the lookout -still sleeping, thank goodness – and no one else.
Then she heard someone cough to her left.
She jerked backward into the hallway, the door slamming shut in front of her. She cursed silently, crouching down in the corner. There was another cough, followed by footsteps right outside of the door.
Ariana grabbed a thread of magic in her mind's eye, holding it there.
The footsteps stopped in front of the door, and she heard another cough, then the sound of liquid gurgling. The doorknob rattled, and then twisted.
The door swung inward!
Ariana felt a bolt of terror strike her, and she wove magic frantically into the invisibility pattern, throwing the pattern outward and streaming magic to it. This close to the wall, she would still be spotted easily, but it might just buy her some...
A man walked into the hallway past her, a bottle of brown liquid in one hand. He held the door open with one hand, water dripping from the sleeve of his coat, tilting his head back and bringing the bottle to his lips. He let go of the door, letting it slam behind him. Then he staggered forward, giving a loud belch as he stumbled toward the door to the stairwell beyond. He reached the door, throwing it open and leaving the hallway without ever looking back.
Ariana relaxed, ending her magic stream. She opened the door, slipping outside once again, scanning the deck. No one was nearby. She turned left, walking quickly across the slick wood until she reached the rear of the deck. She traced her way back to the hallway, descending two stories until she'd reached the wide hallway leading to the cargo bay. Then she froze.
The double-doors were open.
She stared at the open doors, at the cargo bay beyond, the barrel of fish clutched in her hands. She lowered the barrel to the ground, then stared at the doors.
The ship swayed under her feet, the double-doors swinging to the left, then the right.
She’d closed them. She specifically remembered closing them.
Ariana's eyes narrowed, and she listened carefully, ignoring the wind and the sounds of the doors slamming open and shut. She could barely hear the faint sound of breathing coming from the cargo hold.
Kyle!
Ariana lifted the barrel, striding forward through the double-doors and entering the cargo hold. She weaved through the towering stacks of crates and barrels, until she reached the one she'd left Kyle on. She heard him breathing, and felt the tension leave her shoulders. She lowered the barrel to the floor, then reached up to climb the tower, hooking her fingers into the small gaps between the crates. She pulled herself upward, making the climb easily. Within moments, she felt her hands grip the last stack. She pulled herself upward, and then froze.
The barrel of a gun was pointing right at her head.
Chapter 14
The utter silence of the Void greeted Sabin as he withdrew from his memories, followed by an intense, searing pain that crawled over his withered flesh. He sighed inwardly, recalling the easy freedom of his body as it once was, able to walk and speak, to truly live. Now he could only taste such freedom by proxy, by inhabiting his avatar, or his Chosen, or by reliving his memories. It was never the same; the greater part of his mind was always here, in the endless torture of his own ruined body. He could never escape it completely. It hadn't always been this way, of course. He'd been mortal for longer than any man should, prolonging his life far beyond its natural limit. He'd created his first Chosen decades before his body had finally succumbed to the ravages of time, refusing to resort to the same technology to achieve immortality himself.
If only he had.
Sabin pushed the thought away, knowing the futility of it. He'd wasted more time on that particular regret than any other. He of all people knew that the past was immutable, that it was absolute. None of his prior mistakes could be erased. And no matter how extraordinarily powerful he became, he would remain, as always, a slave to his past. Shackled by it.
And in this hollow, silent chamber, unable to move or speak, his only reprieve from his private hell was found in the memories of that past. And of course the memories of his Chosen. Fragmentary things, his Chosens' memories, the ones they'd formed themselves when they were alive. Difficult to access and interpret, but satisfying nonetheless. He often browsed through the millions of minds around him, sampling these memories. A necessary distraction from the overwhelming boredom of eternity.
Sabin felt the tug of a Chosen requesting his attention, and he gave a portion of his mind to it. A vision of a man in black armor flying above the ocean, a few miles from Stridon.
Ampir was coming.
Sabin smiled inwar
dly, withdrawing from the Chosen's mind. He had no doubt that Ampir would find the entrance to the Void tunnels. It was inevitable. Even as a mortal, Ampir had possessed a singularity of purpose that allowed him to excel at whatever it was he chose to focus on. He'd been an outstanding Runic, an even better Battle-Runic. And then, in politics, he'd found success once again.
It had been maddening.
And now Ampir was still alive after twenty centuries, free to roam the world as an immortal, with a body as robust as ever.
Sabin pulled on the countless threads of his divided consciousness suddenly, feeling his mind withdraw from each of the millions of Chosen scattered across the world. He felt his awareness shrink, felt the searing pain in his body intensify sharply, until it was almost unbearable. Still the pain grew, every nerve fiber in his shriveled body screaming in agony.
He let the invisible flames course over him, let them lick at his flesh. Let them consume him.
Then he reached out with his mind, rising above those flames, feeling his awareness expand across his vast network. The pain faded into the background, omnipresent but now bearable.
He was Xanos once more.
Sabin sighed inwardly, then devoted a sliver of his mind to sift through his Chosen, searching for another memory. The one that had changed everything.
* * *
The hovership slices smoothly through the crisp morning air, the surface of the ocean far below rippling endlessly. Sabin stares out of the many windows from inside its steel hull, feeling his body being gently but firmly pulled into the soft cushions of the couch beneath him. The gravity fields doing so are hardly necessary, given the incredible smoothness of the ride. Still, he finds the sensation comforting.
He yawns then, stretching his arms, then relaxing. He'd woken up earlier than usual today, wanting to prepare for his trip to the Empire's colonies across the ocean to the west. He'd spent his first few weeks as Elder Runic surveying the Empire, traveling to every major city. It was a tradition to do so, for both a new Elder Runic and a new Grand Runic and Grand Weaver. It allowed the Empire's citizens to see their leaders, and for those leaders to appreciate the enormity of the responsibility they'd been given.