Luckily, no one can hear him all the way up here in the Watchtower. This ivory cylinder shaped apparatus is the tallest building on Aurora Boreal’s grounds. In conjunction with the town, Hyperborean, just outside its protected gates, they make up an entire World. This tiny place, by comparison, makes up one eighth of the 8ights Council. The Aurora Boreal school is the main feature of the town, and most everything is conducted around and about it. Still, it’s a good thing the children have gone away from the school for break. Otherwise, they and the remaining staff would go bunkers if they saw the state of Cris' hand when he was taken down from the force field.
This sour smelling gentleman has been through a lot these last few days. Corinth's eyes continued to brighten on and off as we together gazed upon his father stationed in this makeshift hospital high in the tower. I look through the boy, and see his father. A strong willed individual who could put any good dad in all the eight Worlds to instant shame. What he's done for his son, for his family, has been nothing short of miraculous. Frankly, I'm surprised he handled it all so well. He never struck me as the intelligent type.
He's a typical Draconian male. Brute, take-charge kind of fellows they are. However, they very seldom know what to do once they’re in control. Common short dark hair, with those ever-shining blue eyes. Skin tones come in all different shades, but they all somehow look the same no matter their physical attributes. Perhaps it’s their attitudes that clump then together so? Their eyes say business first and pleasure . . . never! Rough and treacherous lives they live. For reasons the other seven Worlds can't begin to figure out. Neither can I for that matter, and I see all things. Or so I thought.
They think they’re the planets most inventive people. Though it’s more true that they're complete hacks. They don't invent or even innovate, they just dominate through force. They've learned these tactics from a long line of hypocrites. Criston thinks the past Chancellor's of Draconia are great figures, but repeatedly they’ve refused to compromise with the 8ights Council on dire matters, which prompted many of small wars amongst them in recent times. Sebastian didn't have to work hard to persuade his fellow government officials in Draconia to elect him. This came about only weeks after he had his own son disposed of. And all that, just in pursuit of the Seat of Power.
The El Muerte Vivo curse that Sebastian has reproduced in this serum—it’s merely a taste of what's to truly come. There are bigger and badder fish out there than he. But he's connected right at the core of all these dueling fates. Draconia is the catalyst for many horrible future events. That's why I've been monitoring it through the tender eyes of the most unique youngster in all the Worlds.
Corinth, that weak child has shown me more than I could have ever seen with any other. His turquoise eyes are the signature of progression. For so long the eight Worlds have been divided. The 8ightsCouncil popped up only recently, in reference to the duration of time all the Worlds have been at each other’s throats. The 8ights hasn't been around long at all really.
Corinth is the first of a new type of people. He is mixed of two separate races. Truly he is one of a kind. Most people aren't yet comfortable or brave enough to do what they've done for love. Criston and Julia have broken the mold. A mold so firm in place that it's taken nearly a millennium-of human history for these cultures to reunite the bloodlines. More and more children of mixed ancestry are born now. But things don’t change overnight. That’s why there are people like Sebastian who would have them all eliminated from the equation. And he will have his way, unless I stop it.
The time has only now become right for it. A few decades ago they would have been exiled from Draconia for having Corinth. Actually, just for being together as well. Even people in Julia's home World, La Envidia, would have frowned harshly on them. Seeing a couple together strolling down the street holding hands and their eyes aren't the same color! A chill would have crept down the spine of every sane mind. It would have created pandemonium. Naturally, I'm exaggerating, but sadly enough not very much. Not exactly exile, like the Draconians would have done, but still a penalty for loving outside their race. The La Envidians are not known for their kindness, but they’re a more logical people than the Draconians. If it weren’t for work opportunities in Draconia, for them both, Criston would have rather lived in his wife's home World. But that would have been bad for my agenda.
Corinth's conscience ... has a name. I am the Nexus. I'vebeen lying, not so dormant, inside Corinth's mind since he was born. He’s a unique one, his parents are useful, and the three of them may very well be the only thing keeping the balance between harmony and discord for the future of the Worlds.
A storm is brewing amongst those in this reality and the next. I must use Corinth to his full potential if I’m going to succeed in anything that I'm working on. I am just now talking to the outside. Corinth's can hear me now. But only when I want him to, of course. He needs to train first. Learn to master the skills of magik. Learn to control the power that I've given him before he can know everything that I, the Nexus, know. And that's why I've brought him here. To the Aurora Boreal school. A boarding school based on learning to properly wield magik.
Aurora Boreal is-one of a kind. No, it’s not the only magik school around, but it is the only one that accepts applicants from every World on the planet. Even from Lirio and Imperativo. The only Worlds left that haven't adopted English as their national language. They both speak English more since the building of the Puente del Cielo. But Maledictus is still taught in their schools. Most can't master the spells, but just speaking it freaks the other Worlds out quite a bit.
Maledictus is something most people are afraid to even gingerly chat about in private, better yet speaking it in the public domain. The original language, fused of several others before it, but lost over the ages for a very purposeful reason. The most powerful spells can be performed only in that language. Only elders speak it wholly nowadays, but some people study it in the shadows. Those who wish to wield without wand or llave. Those who wish to gain ultimate power. But the language, and even more so its spells, are not easily mastered. Most who attempt to learn a single phrase fail. That's a blessing to the masses. If too many possessed that kind of power, the Worlds would be plunged back into the dead age. When the dead roamed the lands just as the living do.
However dangerous that all sounds, Aurora Boreal still teaches certain phrases of Maledictus to its students. They've been criticized for it, but they retort with the simple-adage; 'it is our ancestry.' If we don't know where we came from, we won't continue cautiously towardour future. It’s true, many have forgotten the perils of making power seem so alluring. To teach the language cancels out some of the mystery, which in turn neutralizes some of the attraction.
The Boreal school has always been the best and the only truly diverse school. Parents from all Worlds dream of their children being educated here. A ninety-nine percent success rate will do that. Nearly no one fails that graduates from these walls. Though there has been a few exceptions. And it seems one of them is waking from his much needed and longwinded slumber.
Chapter 7:
The Watch Towers Over The Hour
March 31, 1002 ~ Midday
Corinth was sitting on one of the stone windowsills that overlooked the town, when Señora Hendrix slipped in. Through the large wooden door at the center of the room she came, and closed it back softly. He watched as she seemingly glided across the cobblestone floors of the expansive room. Her dark cloak fluttering with the several airy currents of a softly budding spring day. Her dark brown skin, so liken to Criston's own hue, looked taut and smoothed over her demanding and aged face. So correct and eventful were her features for a woman well over fifty. Her poised dark hair, slicked back into a feathery, but overly large puffy bun. It was just as striking as the cold, robotic blue of her keen eyes. She continued on across the spacious room, advancing from the dark wooden door without as much as a word of acknowledgement to the two of them in it. She immediately took up near Cr
iston's bed, and began tinkering with the equipment employed to help keep him comfortable.
"Ow!" Criston yelled as Sena. Hendrix unsympathetically ripped the IV from a vein in his right, handless, arm. "Take my whole arm off while you’re at it," he said, through clenched teeth. Then he immediately reached down to his right hand with the left. Had it all been a tragic dream? His heart told him, perhaps? His mind screamed, no! -There was no hand there as he felt around, surveying his current state. He didn’t expect it to be there. But the simple hope itself seemed like the most despairing thing to him once he realized the truth. He sighed with a blank stare, allowing the shadows of doubt to overtake his hopeless, blind faith. His reluctant caretaker took note and decided he was too far gone from reality. So…she intended to checkmate his self-pity party with her own abstract form of consoling a loved one.
"Oh! I'm sorry, Señor Gambit. Is my touch too rough for you? Perhaps, you should have 'dropped' in another time. Perhaps, a time when there were more staff on that could help welcome you back into the fold, ever so politely." Whoa! A bit of overkill. Her tone was nearly as cynical as Sebastian's, but fewer crazy flags went up when the vibrations of her sharp tongue pierced the eardrum.
"No, I should apologize. I'm a guest and you've been so kind to take care of me without question." Criston went into damage control mode. Momentarily forgetting himself, opting to focus his thoughts on his son. He needed Sena. Hendrix to tolerate him, for Corinth's sake. "Thank you from the depths of my heart, and if I ever have the opportunity to repay this debt, I won’t hesitate," he tried to slap as much gloss as he could on those words.
But -Sena. Hendrix was an old bird, and she didn't fly her coop for just anyone. "Please, allow me, if you will Señor Gambit, to cut out the pleasantries. I have been instructed to put aside my enduring hatred for your sniveling, puckish ways. A high figure has taken an interest in you. A rather ill-placed interest, I might add—but nevertheless, I will not question someone of her caliber. This is why you are here and nowhere else in all the Worlds. So—do shut up and let me get on with it."
Criston was only half-awake, so while he heard her, he didn't completely understand what she was saying. Had she named this ominous figure, and he simply hadn't heard? Or was Sena. Hendrix being her old mysterious self again.
See… Criston and she have history. Before Sena. Hendrix was Grand Ministrant here at Aurora Boreal, she was just one of many premonitions teachers. She taught Criston, or rather attempted to teach him, back in the day. That is, until they kicked him out. Cris had a knack for rallying the masses to do his bidding. Luckily, for the masses, his bidding usually involved crisis support for fellow students. If the price of chocolate milk went up even a cent, and any one student couldn't afford it, you bet Criston would gather all his classmates for a protest on the Olympus Grounds.
The grounds are the entryway into the Main hall that can direct a person to any, and all the classrooms in the Olympia building. Surrounding the grounds are large pine, oak, spruce, fruit bearing, in fact, every type of tree. Likewise, lining every pathway are small shrubs that are sprinkled with silver pixie dust. This keeps them fresh and healthy for nearly an eternity. Everything is sprinkled with that silly dust. Especially, the expansive hills, and grassy knolls that harbor the large white marble pillars. These tall pillars are plated with motion sensor silver stripes that shine with dazzling luminosity in the night. They're spread out across the entire school grounds, for light, among other things. So many useful functions are associated with each individual column. All these features and more make the Olympus grounds the most beautiful place on the school's land.
In addition, the marble benches and vending machine stocked gazebos make the grounds a social gathering place that few rarely want to leave. Having the rallies there made them the first thing any and everyone saw if they wanted to enter the Olympia building. This gave Criston the opportunity to solicit and persuade students and teachers alike into supporting whatever cause he was touting that particular day.
A few times too many it seemed. Criston's last rally was to save a program that he actually hated. But he knew how many others loved it. So, he decided to use all his powers of persuasion to help influence, or rather force, the hand of the Ministrant Committee. The school decided to halt funding for the trading card and battling game known as, Deaves. Effectively putting a stop to it being played on school grounds. Suffice is to say that he didn't succeed, and he was immediately expelled for inciting a riot. Who knew geeks would get so worked up over a little card game, Criston thought seventeen years ago. He was half the age he is today when he was kicked out the year before graduation. That's more than enough time to have matured a bit. But Sena. Hendrix wasn't pleased to be waiting on such an insolent fool, as she believed Cris to be, even after all this time had passed.
Corinth simply watched on, as Sena. Hendrix dismantled the entire set up of equipment surrounding his father. A tube here, a wire there, and monitor everywhere. There was a lot that happened over the past two days that his father loudly slept through. He came in and out of dreams, saying odd things that frightened his son. During that time, Corinth got to know Sena. Hendrix somewhat, and he wasn't sure yet whether he liked her, or completely hated her guts. He seemed confident that he'd get the answer to that question soon enough, but decided to stay as respectful as Sena. Hendrix had instructed him to be. He didn't open his mouth once during the entire ordeal.
Criston got to thinking during the silence between the three of them. He decided that silence was a cold way, even for disjointed family members, to behave around one another. He broke the ice with a simple enough question. "So," he started, "who exactly is this ominous figure you were referring to?" he tried to sound upbeat and friendly.
"You'll know that soon enough. We will discuss it at my office here in the Watchtower," her tone was oddly flat as she annunciated the 'tow' in tower.
"Actually ... I'm feeling a bit nauseous. Do you think it'd be possible to do it here?" Criston tried to sound strong, but the focus of his eyes kept drifting in and out, which made him very dizzy though he was just lying propped up in bed.
"No, we will not!" said the witch dressed all in black. "You will make your lazy way toward my office before eight pm or I bid you good luck with that maimed excuse for a hand you have there. Moreover, with the events that will reveal themselves in the coming days, you won't stand a chance without my counsel. Rest assured that they will be very trying, with...or -without my assistance!" She drilled that last point in as she turned to walk out of the room. She considered her job here… finished!
"I just thought that maybe ... since -the office is a far ways, I—"
Sena. Hendrix needn't to bother to listen to the rest of his sentence. Her mind was firmly settled while standing under the archway of the large wooden door. "My office, at eight o'clock, or there will be hell to pay. For you, and you alone," she said with a disdainfully cocky attitude.
"What about Corinth! Will he pay the price of hell too, because you're too stubborn to be sensitive to my situation. For goodness sake I can barely breathe, better yet walk! I thought you had a high level of respect for that unnamed idol of yours!" Criston's emotions began to bubble over as he nervously fidgeted in the bed.
Sena. Hendrix walked on, then willfully stopped herself just outside the doorway, but didn't bother to turn back. She just stood there for a second in thought. She was affected by those words. The expression on her face noticeably changed to something more compassionate, but also fearful. Though her surface hard shell was cracked momentarily, she quickly regained control. She blocked out her affections for Corinth, and dug her claws deep into his father.
"You'd play your own son as a card in this ill witted game. You're a disgraceful father." Cris' head dropped low in defeat. "And, for the record, I'm not disrespecting my 'idol'— I’m disrespecting you!" And with that, she disappeared into the dank halls of the tower. While her black high heels clopped away on the cobblestone ground, y
ou could hear a faint echo of her saying... "Eight o'clock, Sen. Gambit, eight o'clock…"
Now,Corinth and Criston were finally alone, and safe all at once. It’s remarkable considering what’s transpired over the last two years. Though you'd expect a lengthy conversation to ensue, neither of them had much to say. Corinth now knew it was indeed his father who stole him away from the comforts of his bedroom that fateful night. Before then, Cory had no recognition of me, the Nexus. I was awakened, in a sense, by the jarring psychologically toll it took on him when he was kidnapped. Any child would have been scared out of their mind, but in a way, Corinth was scared deep within his own. For almost two years the boy's been in a hyperbolic coma. He didn't know much of anything about how the Worlds were steadily changing around him. He slept free of that, and now he needs a refresher course. But it seems his father is stunned into a new wave of silence. And this one he can't break as easily as he did with Sena. Hendrix. He knew how fragile their relationship was at the moment.
He decided to start slow and work his way toward a more fatherly position. "Corinth, I want you to know that—”
He was cut off by a simple action. There was no need for all that chatter, Corinth decided. Instead of waiting to hear what his father had to say, he jumped down from the rocky windowsill and ran into him head on. His disregard for his own safety bit him on the butt when he slammed into the metal railings on the hospital bed, but he didn't care about the pain. He just wanted to be with his dad. Cris used what little strength he had to help Cory into the bed with his one stable hand. They hugged with teary eyes and no words for quite some time.
Original Souls (A World Apart #1) Page 13