The Seeds of Dissolution (Dissolution Cycle Book 1)

by William C. Tracy

  “Enos?” he called. Did they take her too? I can’t see anything. Did they do something worse? Dunarn was a majus. Why would—

  “I am here,” Enos answered, and Sam’s head collapsed to his knees in relief.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, groping out with one hand, trying to get a sense of her location in the dark. She was to his right somewhere.

  “No,” she answered. Silence.

  He couldn’t hear her moving. Is she frightened? Angry? At me?

  “Have you been awake long?” he asked.

  “A while,” she answered, and he heard her inhale, a long hiss of air. “The Sathssn blindfolded me when they brought us here, but we passed through a portal. You were unconscious.”

  “Sathssn?” Is that what Dunarn’s species is called?

  He heard Enos’ clothes rustle as she shuddered. “I must admit, they are not my favorite species.”

  “Why?” Specism, from Enos?

  There was a silence. Finally, “We must try to escape.”

  “I agree,” Sam said. “Any ideas?”

  “We need light,” Enos said. “I cannot see the extents of our cell.”

  Cell? That would explain the dark. Then we are prisoners. Oddly, the anxiety he felt was a small thing, beneath his concern for Enos’ well-being. Sam brushed hard-packed earth beneath him. “There’s a wall behind me,” he told her. “It’s hard—possibly earth or rock—and there’s a little trickle of water. And my pants are wet.” A cave? If so, it’s sealed well to be this dark. I can’t even see my hands.

  “It is the same for me, save for my pants,” Enos said, and fell silent again. After a moment she spoke again. “Maybe if—” It sounded like she was speaking half to herself.

  “If what?” Sam asked. He was waiting for the panic to rise up and take him away, but it didn’t. Maybe because he could hear his voice defining a small space, and because there was not enough definition to his surroundings.

  “I’m listening to the Symphony of Healing. There are small creatures living in the water,” Enos told him. “I am not very good, but I may be able to change their song and make them luminesce.”

  “That would help.” Sam heard her shift. A hand touched his arm, drew back, then ran up and around his back. He leaned into the comforting contact.

  “I must get closer to change their music. Where is the water?” Enos asked. Sam guided her hand to where he felt the trickle. Her hand was smooth, cool to the touch, much smaller than his. He let his thumb slide between her fingers.

  Once they found the water, Sam let go reluctantly. “Can you do it?” he asked.

  “I believe so. One moment.” There was a pause, and Sam tried to listen for the fractal music. It slipped away and he tried again.

  There was a flash of white in the darkness. As in Dalhni, the color did not illuminate, though he could see it. Then it disappeared, and Enos yelped.

  “What? What happened?” Sam groped for her, finding the bumps of her spine, rested one hand at the base of her neck.

  “My notes—they’re gone.” She made a small sound. “That has not happened to me before.”

  “It happened when Majus Cyrysi and I tried to get too close to the Drain,” Sam told her. “It’s not a good feeling.”

  “It is not,” Enos agreed. She sucked in air through her teeth. “Does it always sting so? It tingles all over.”

  “Sting?” Sam asked. “For me, it was like…like a piece of skin tearing away from a scab, but on the inside.” Do other houses feel it differently? Why would she lose notes in the first place?

  “I feel that too,” Enos said. “This is something else, then.” Sam heard a flapping sound. She was shaking a hand, as if trying to get feeling back.

  “Let me try.” Sam didn’t want to lose any more of his notes—he could still feel an absence in his song from Dalhni—but he had to know what happened. This time when he listened, the Symphony of Communication unfolded in his mind.

  It was a sparse thing in the cave. The microbes Enos found created their own small melody, which would have been drowned out normally. There were echoes of sound and speech between the two of them, in trills and cadenzas, but barely any air stirred in the chamber, and Sam followed its source to a tiny exit, only a few steps away.

  He took the fewest notes he could, creating a measure to bring a draft of air toward him. The yellow of the House of Communication blossomed, around his unseen hands. As soon as he applied the change something snapped down between him and his notes, like the teeth of a trap.

  “Ahh!”

  “Then it is not just me,” Enos said.

  Sam gasped, his whole body stinging. Like touching a live wire. It almost masked the loss of his notes. “It’s not just you,” he said, panting.

  “Are our captors keeping us from using our song?” Enos asked.

  “Is that even possible? How could you know which house was changing the Grand Symphony?” Trapped. Terror welled up.

  “It must be a System, but not one I have heard of.”

  “What do we do?” Keep it together. Only rock and dirt around you, and Enos is close.

  “Where is the air coming from?”

  Sam found her hands again, taking comfort in his friend’s touch. It was off-balance, without Inas on his other side. They made a circuit, finding their prison was maybe six steps across, and as many deep—even smaller than he thought. The trickle of water vanished down a little hole to one side, but it wasn’t even big enough for Sam to get his finger into.

  The door was hard to identify, though Enos finally discovered the crack running around the edge. The surface was slightly smoother than the walls, and there was a small slot cut into it near the bottom, where Sam had felt the airflow. The door didn’t so much as budge, even with both of them pushing on it.

  He left Enos’ touch for a moment to kneel and press his eye to the slot, but could see nothing. They regrouped near the trickle of water.

  No one knows where we are, Sam thought. He groped for his watch. The pocket it was in had a button, fortunately closed. He found the smooth oval with a sigh. “I’m out of good ideas. Do you have any?”

  They settled on the floor, shoulders together, one of Sam’s hands in hers, the other on his watch. The ticking was loud, in the stillness, now it was out of his pocket.

  “Not now,” she said. She rested her head on his shoulder, and Sam gently rested his head on hers. His stomach gurgled. No idea when I last ate—was it this morning in ChinRan? When Inas and Enos and I were talking in the tent?

  They sat in the dark for some interminable period of time, occasionally trading a few words. Neither wanted to speak, and Sam took comfort in Enos’ nearness.

  It could have been hours or half a day later, when he glimpsed light, outlining the rectangular opening in the door. It was enough to see faintly, and he could make out Enos leaning against him.

  “Are you asleep?” he whispered.

  “Hmmm? Not any longer.”

  “There’s a light.” We’re not completely forgotten.

  Enos kept close to him as they stood.

  The room brightened, and Sam’s eyes watered from the flickering light. It must be a torch.

  It was bright enough to see the rough-hewn cave now. It was oval, the ceiling close above their head, and the walls only far enough away for them to sit a few feet apart at most. There was no exit but the stone door with the little hole.

  “Little birds, are you awake?” came a voice. Gaotha.

  Sam looked to Enos. Should we answer? Maybe if we don’t, he’ll come in and—

  “We are awake,” Enos called out.

  There goes that idea. Sam frowned at her, but she wasn’t looking.

  “You are hungry?” Something clattered, and obscured the light for a moment.

  “Eat, and I will come check on you later. Gaotha, he must know his little birds are kept safe. The form must be whole, in all who are here.” Th
ere were footsteps, and the light dimmed.

  “Wait!” Sam called, rushing to the door, but the footsteps didn’t pause. What did that mean? His foot hit something with a clack, and he bent down while there was still enough light to see. It was an uneven wooden bowl filled with odor-less glop. He poked a finger in it and felt a cold wetness.

  “Dinner is here,” he told Enos. “Or possibly breakfast.” How long have we been here? He still expected a spike of anxiety, but it didn’t happen.

  They sat down, and split the goop in the dark. It wasn’t very good, but Sam was hungry enough not to complain. Enos ate as quickly as he did. When they finished, he put the bowl back near the door. Maybe when Gaotha came back next time, he could…grab it? At least he seems to want us alive.

  “Who are they?” he asked.

  “Sathssn.” Enos’ words were flat, harsh. Even though he couldn’t see her, he could hear the shaking in her voice. She really doesn’t like them. Why?

  “Surely a few of them don’t represent the entire species,” Sam said. “I don’t think all of them captured us. Why do these Sathssn want to capture apprentice maji? What do Sathssn need to hide from the maji? What about the ‘form’?” A flash of insight singed through his brain. Oh.

  By the sounds of Enos shifting, she had come to same conclusion.

  “The secession,” they both said at the same time.

  “I’ve heard how strict the Most Traditional Servants are, but that doesn’t tell why they captured us,” Sam said. “Nor does it explain why they were near the Drain. The secession was about the Aridori rumors. This might still be something else, but if it is, I have no idea what.”

  He waited for Enos to speak, but she didn’t. He squeezed her hand, and the minutes stretched out. She shivered, and made a strange sound, like a whimper. Is she crying?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. He reached for her face, one hand moving up her shoulder, to her cheek. It was wet.

  “I—I can’t,” she said, her voice hitching.

  “Can’t what? What’s the problem?” I’m missing something, between the Drains, the Sathssn, and the Aridori. I wish Inas was here. He turned his head blindly in the dark. I wish we were with him.

  “We must escape,” Enos whispered. “We must change the Symphony to get out.”

  “I…I agree,” Sam said. “But I don’t want to lose any more of my song to whatever field they have around this place.”

  “Can we break through?” Enos suggested.

  “Break through what? The System cut us off the moment we started to change the Symphony,” Sam said.

  Enos scooted around in the dark, and put one hand on each of his shoulders. He could feel her breath on his face. Is she going to kiss me again?

  “I do not know if it will work, but we must get out of here.” Her words were fast, nearly hissing out of her. Sam flinched back.

  “I don’t care about losing some notes.” Her hands gripped tighter, almost painfully so, and Sam scrunched down. “We can’t just sit blind in this little box until they kill us. Help me!”

  “They didn’t say anything about killing us,” Sam said. “Gaotha said they want to keep us safe.” Sudden heat boiled up in him. “Why are you so scared? What did he mean about ‘the form’?”

  Enos was silent, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “The Sathssn Cult of Form,” she said, each word a puff of air.

  “What does that mean?” Sam felt the beginning thrill of tension in his gut, heard his breath get faster. I was doing so well.

  “It’s the religion many Sathssn follow,” Enos said. She pushed up from him, her voice fainter and then stronger as she paced back and forth. “They think the body is holy. Anything physically wrong must be culled. Few follow it like they used to, but the strictest adherents are the Most Traditional Servants.”

  “Culled, like killed?” Sam said. Keep it together. His heart was starting to race, and he palmed his watch. “But that’s their own species, not the other species in the Assembly, right? So why us? We’re not injured, and they don’t have any reason to hurt us.” Is Enos hiding something? He imagined her pulling up a sleeve to reveal a hideous scar, or a third arm.

  She didn’t answer for a moment, and Sam’s thoughts spiraled. She broke in before he got too far. “They referred to our forms. I have never heard a Sathssn apply their religion to one outside it, so this is something new. We aren’t injured, but there is no telling what they might do, if the Servants are making up new rules. We have to escape. I’m going to try again.”

  “Don’t—” Sam got out before he saw the flash of white, followed by a moan of pain. He stretched out a hand, found her, shaking and spasming. He rubbed her arms until it went away.

  “It was worse this time.” She sounded terrible. “Will you try?” Her voice still quavered.

  “After that?” Sam could still feel little judders, as the muscles in her arms contracted.

  “Yes, after…after that.”

  She’s desperate, terrified of something, but what? Sam kept rubbing, but didn’t answer.

  “Please. We have to get out.”

  Sam took in a long, deep breath, let it out. For Enos, for getting back to Inas. I’m an idiot. “One more time.”

  “One more time,” Enos repeated. “If it does not work, I will try alone.”

  I can’t listen to her go through that again. He would try as many times as it took for them to escape, if that was what Enos wanted.

  He heard the strains of the Symphony almost immediately. He could listen, but the System reacted if he changed anything. Could he overwhelm it and change all the notes in the Symphony at once?

  Sam held measures in his mind, listening to the Symphony play over itself. Air was the most basic thing the Symphony of Communication affected, but the air in the cell was sparse, simple compared to the riot of music he normally heard. Find the core of the piece, change each and every note and maybe the System won’t be able to stop me.

  It was like trying to cram all of calculus, or the French language, into his mind at once. Every other sense fell away, until the music ran through him, intertwining with his song. Will it still be air if I change all of it? Overlap the notes of my song, all at once.

  His new creation was a screeching, jarring mess. It wasn’t pleasant, but he could feel the notes buzzing, trying to become a different melody. A Mozart sonata becomes a punk rock ballad. The air thickened around him, and Sam struggled to inhale. Can’t breathe if it’s not air!

  The System slammed into place, splitting the notes of his song. Some came back to him, others were ripped away. Sam fell to the floor, jerking uncontrollably. Enos was a presence over him, and he tasted fabric—an obstruction to keep him from biting his tongue.

  Thoughts scrambled, and Sam shook. The feeling lasted an age. It lasted an instant. Wet warmth trickled down a leg.

  Then his fingers and feet were his again, gently twitching in a discordant rhythm.

  “Sam—I’m so sorry.” Enos hovered over him, touching his face, his chest, his arms. “I did not know—mine was not—”

  “I’m—” He swallowed. “I’m alright, I think. God. It feels like a chunk missing from my—” He searched for the right word. “Mind? Soul?” Did I pee my pants?

  Enos’ weight moved back, still over him, but not keeping him down. “I will not ask again.”

  The shaking was almost gone, and Sam struggled to sit. Enos heard him, and groped for a hand, helped him up. “Something happened,” he said into the silence. Cloth scraped the earthen floor from Enos’ direction. “I changed the whole melody of air at once, or started to. It was going to change, though into what, I don’t know. Then the System they have here won out.” There was no answer, and he almost asked if she had heard.

  “You changed the entire melody of the air?” Enos asked.

  “It wasn’t easy,” he said.

  “No. It is impossible,” Enos corrected. “Councilor Ayama to
ld me: maji can change part of a Grand Symphony, but there must be something of the original. One cannot make a Symphony fundamentally different.”

  Then what did I do? The room grew brighter. “Gaotha,” he said. They scooted to the other side of the cell, away from the door.

  “Your food, is it all gone, little birds?” Gaotha’s wheezy voice drifted through the slot at the bottom of the stone door. “If the plate, it is all clean, then push it back to Gaotha and he will bring you more later.”

  Sam reached for the bowl, but Enos’ hand stilled his. In the low light, he could just see her head shake.

  “Come now, little birds,” Gaotha said. “Majus Dunarn, she says you can understand Gaotha. Push the bowl back.” His voice was louder than before.

  Enos got to her feet and quietly stepped to the door, white glowing about her fingertips. She reached for the surface, color dividing into smaller and smaller tendrils around her outstretched hand, encompassing the outline of a figure.

  There was an audible snap, and Enos crumpled to the floor, twitching. Sam was on his feet in an instant, by her side. Enos, why?

  Outside the door, there was a guttural laugh. “Little birds, you should not do that. Gaotha can see what you do with the toy the majus gave him. As long as it is on, you cannot do your magic tricks. It will hurt more each time, little birds, and we want to keep you safe and keep the form whole. Bad, if not.” He paused. “Now, the bowl. Push it back to Gaotha.”

  Sam snatched up the empty wooden bowl, and Enos put out a shaking hand to stop him. He pushed her away and fit the bowl through the slot. I won’t let her kill herself. I can make Gaotha go away, make her stop trying to use her song.

  There was a scrape outside the door. “Good, you are eating well. Tomorrow, one of our doctors will tend you. He will make sure you are healthy before you meet the leaders.” Gaotha’s footsteps left them, the light receding.

  “They’ll let us out tomorrow,” he said. “They’ll just check to make sure we aren’t missing limbs or something. It’s fine.” He forced his mouth shut. He was babbling. He tended to Enos, soothed her shaking.