by Matt Russell
It irritated Livia to acknowledge that she had grown used to this kind of treatment from certain types of men. She knew this sort of attention was a dangerous thing for a slave to receive. Livia was not quite a person under the eyes of the law, but only a piece of chattel. To accost a slave was little more a crime than accosting another man's pig. This was the social system that the great Cassian Asango was supposedly going to change. As Livia thought on this, her eyes flicked back up to the red blanket in the window.
It was always a risk to associate with the ‘Cassianites,’ as the more aggressive of the infamous Starborn's followers had recently named themselves. Their group in the city was made up mostly of slaves who had little supervision as well as the city's free but destitute citizens, though rumor had it that, in other places in the empire, wealthy merchants and businessmen were actively participating. Livia had heard whispers of slave-masters being attacked, and slaves set free, and even of Nemesai being beaten in the streets by attackers in cloth masks. Such things terrified and excited her. It was thrilling to dare to believe that the empire could be a different place.
She opened the wooden door of the tall building. This time the Cassianites were meeting in an inn known as The Rabbit's Foot. It was an old and dilapidated structure that had been part of the city for as long as Livia could remember, somehow taking in just enough money to stay open without ever earning funds sufficient to cover most basic repairs. When Livia entered, she saw a very tired looking old man sitting behind a desk. He glanced at her and squinted for a moment, then said: "Would you like a room, my dear?" Livia shook her head. The man only squinted harder, and she felt a tinge of frustration. Communicating with someone with poor eyesight was exceedingly difficult for her. After a moment, the old man said: "Just visiting someone then?" Livia moved very close and gave an exaggerated nod. The old man shrugged and said: "There seems to be a lot of that today." His eyes went down to a piece of wood in his hand, and he returned to whittling with a small rusted knife.
Livia took a nervous breath as stepped onto an unnervingly creaky stairway. She had to remind herself as she tiptoed up the steps that she was a comparably light girl, and that if the rotting wood were going to give way, it would not likely do so under her feet. She made it up the steps and stared at a short hallway with four doors. Only one of them would have been facing out where the blanket had been hung, and thus she knew right where to go. She walked along a creaking hallway to a grimy wooden door and knocked three times in quick succession, then paused for a few seconds and knocked a fourth time as other slaves had told her she should do. There was a scampering of feet behind the door, and then a young, male voice said aloud: "What's the password?"
Livia rolled her eyes. No one had told her anything about a password, but she recognized the voice behind the door. It was Davin Mesk, a slave from the incredibly wealthy Prethian estate. Davin, she knew, had the position of secretary to the home, which evidently took up very little of his time as she often saw him sitting about the town engaged in conversation with anyone who would listen to him. He was one of the lucky slaves whose owners were so wealthy that they could afford to keep a servant for nearly every task in their home. Why he was a Cassianite when he had things so much more comfortable than other slaves was a bit confusing, but then Livia knew him to be the kind of person who loved to be excited about something and loved even more to hear himself talk.
She gave the knock again, and Davin's voice came back more irritated: "What's the password." Livia shrugged and gave the knock a third time, but she only got to the second rap before the door creaked open and Davin peered at her through the crack. "Oh, Livia!" he said, his eyes widening with excitement. He took a step back and swung the door open, a wide grin coming across his face. Davin was a short, thin boy a year or so older than Livia herself. As he looked at her, she saw the usual nervous attraction in his eyes. Davin was not quite in love with her, but he had been harboring a crush for years. "I didn't know you were interested in the cause," he said with a laugh. "At least, I didn't think you would know about the sign. Of course you're interested in the cause!" He cast a sudden, nervous glance over her shoulder as if remembering that what they were doing was dangerous, and then he said in a whisper: "Come in."
Livia tentatively stepped into the room, which was little more than four walls, a chair, and an extremely old looking cot upon which sat a second slave from the Prethian home, a much larger young man the town knew merely as Hoss. Hoss had his hand just under the blanket, and he looked to be loosely gripping something there. Immediately she saw the nerves in his eyes and guessed he had a weapon. Was it sword? Could this pair actually be so foolish? A slave caught with soldier’s armaments could have his hands chopped off.
"I know you can read," Davin said, walking over to a small sack that rested behind the bed. "You'll like this." He reached inside and drew out a small, neatly folded pamphlet that was made of a much finer paper than the stuff she was holding under her arm. Livia walked over and took it from Davin's hands. The substance was so smooth and pliant, like nothing she had ever seen. It had beautiful printing on the front that read: ‘A Call for Freedom.'
"Oh, you like the paper," Davin said. He leaned in and said in a hushed voice: "Rumor has it our Starborn leader has gotten hold of some machinery from the dwarves. Supposedly, it makes paper out of wood of all things! It's good stuff though, isn't it?" He ran his finger up and down the surface of the pamphlet. Then he looked into her eyes and said: "Anyway, Asango talks a lot about what he calls the coming age of reason. It's amazing stuff! I can't really follow all the language in it, but there is quite a bit about the inherent natural rights of all human beings." He gave her a twitching smile and hesitated before saying: "I... I would love to discuss it with you when you've read it. I mean—I could talk, and you could write—like we used to do sometimes." He reached up and scratched the back of his head, and his eyes moved all over the room except where hers were.
Livia gave him an awkward smile and then lifted her coin purse out of her pocket and held it up, giving Davin a questioning look. The young man raised his hands and said: "Oh no, I wouldn't dream of taking money from another slave. Don't worry about it. Lord Asango's people distribute these for free, and they even give us a little money to help us deal with some of the...difficulties of distribution."
Livia smiled at him again in thanks and tucked the small pamphlet into the middle of her roll of papyrus sheets. She turned and started for the door, but before she opened it, she cast another look at Hoss. He remained stern. His hand had not moved from its concealed place under the blanket. She waved a quick goodbye and stepped out, hurrying quickly down the hall and back down the stairs and out of the building. There was a wonderful thrill at having dared to acquire the dangerous piece of literature.
Livia wanted more than anything to believe that the radical Cassian Asango could rise to the throne. Most merchants in the city, from what she overheard here and there, were sure that the other Starborn contender, Dimitris, would defeat the "mad" young Cassian. Livia worried that she was indulging in foolish hope. She reminded herself that even if Cassian succeeded in becoming crown prince, it might be ten or even twenty years before he actually took power. Asango was close to the same age as herself, which logically meant by the cycle of the star that Emperor Tacitus would be around seventy. This was certainly an old age, but Starborn lived longer than most people. It was not unheard of for their lives to reach a century or more in length. Still, the thought of an end to slavery happening at any point in her lifetime was terribly exciting.
Livia was running all of this through her mind as she made her way back into the central marketplace when there was a sudden tingle in her body. It was subtle at first, but it grew over several heartbeats into a sensation of searing pain. She gasped and looked down. There was no point on her body at which the horrible feeling seemed to begin, and she checked desperately to see if she had stepped on something. The pain expanded. It tore through h
er muscles, and suddenly Livia lost control of her arms and legs. She dropped to the city street, her roll of paper falling out of her arms and crumpling under her elbow. Before she knew what was happening, her body began to slide along the street as if being dragged, though no one was touching her. In nearly the blink of an eye, her body had slid into the alley between the inn and the building next to it, and there she came to a sharp halt at the feet of a tall man in a heavy cloak. He had a thick brown beard and eyes that stared with savage, predatory anger.
The man did not speak, but stepped over her, and she was able to look up enough to see that he cast a look around. Evidently, what had just happened had transpired quickly enough that no one noticed, for when he turned back, his eyes were calmer and more confident than they had been. He moved to her and lifted his left hand and whispered: "Eskathia, Des Moroko." Livia felt her body rise up from the ground to a standing position, only she kept rising so that her feet dangled above the ground. More pain ripped through her, and she tried reflexively to thrash against it but found she could not move.
"You stupid little slave," the man said in a low voice, his features curling into a sneer. He started walking, and Livia felt herself being whisked backward in pace with him. Her body floated in agony to the end of the inn and then swung sharply to the right. The man followed her behind the building where the two of them were alone in a little fenced off area at the inn's back. As soon as the man's eyes fixed on Livia, she sailed into the back wall of the Rabbit's Foot where she slammed so hard her vision nearly went black. She would have fallen forward if some invisible power were not holding her firmly in place.
"Pretty thing, aren't you?" the sorcerer said in an icy voice. He took a step toward Livia, and the pain in her body redoubled. She was terrified as she had never been. The man seemed to sense this, and he hissed: "Yes-s-s-s, you should be afraid, you little rat." He pulled the neck of his cloak open and let Livia see the spear tip insignia on his leather armor. The man was a Nemesai sorcerer, which was the most terrifying thing she could imagine. Her body trembled in as much as it could move, and her eyes began to gush with tears. He cast her a cruel smile and said: "Your life is over, you stupid, stupid little slave." The invisible force around her tightened, making it difficult to breathe. He leaned into her ear and whispered: "You're the one who cannot speak, aren't you? Livia? That's all right. Before I arrest those two idiots you just met with, I would like to know how much you know about Asango's distribution network." He leaned in closer and hissed: "I'm going to take a look inside your mind. It will hurt!"
He reached up and put a rough, calloused hand on Livia’s forehead. Within a few short seconds, she felt a strange sensation in her skull. Her vision blurred, and she became entirely focused on an alien presence prying its way into her thoughts. She could feel it, like a ravenous beast clawing at her consciousness, and without thinking, she tensed and drew back from it, closing herself off. It was something like rolling up into a ball, but inside of her own mind.
"WHAT?!" the Nemesai hissed. He leaned in and snarled into her ear: "How the hell did you learn occlusion?" Livia opened her eyes, trying to look at the man, but her vision was still hazy. He gritted his teeth and said: "You think you can block me, you little Slave? I've been doing this for twenty years!" He pressed his hand harder into her head, and she felt the beast once again inside her mind. It slashed and tore wildly at her mind, transmitting an unbelievable level of pain. Livia began to panic. The sorcerer’s attacks were boring into her, tunneling closer and closer to the most private and sacred places. In a wave of terror, Livia lashed out at the intrusion with the same part of her mind that she had drawn up around her thoughts. She thrashed blindly, not even beginning to understand what she was doing.
"HAHHHHHHH!" the Nemesai screamed. He drew back from Livia, suddenly clutching at his own face. She felt the invisible magic around her body weaken and dissipate, and she dropped back to her feet. The sorcerer continued to clutch at his face, shrieking. Livia blinked, focusing her eyes on him as he thrashed around. He managed to let out several guttural whimpers of pure agony before his body slackened. His arms fell to his sides, his jaw dropped open, and then he was still. Still shaking with terror, Livia peered into his eyes. They had rolled back into his head. He was breathing, but only in a slow, high-pitched rasp.
It took her a moment to think even at all. She had no idea what she had done to this man. She took a quick, terrified look around, expecting more Nemesai to come running to attack her, but after a very long moment of waiting, nothing happened save for the man's continued rasps.
After another moment, Livia found the courage to take several shaking steps back to the alley. No one was there. Off in the distance, she could still see her roll of papyrus sheets half crumpled where the sorcerer had attacked her. She glanced back at him. His eyes remained listless, their lids twitching.
Livia was too frightened to think. After another moment of hesitation, she was somehow able to make the decision to leave the alley. She moved toward the street, still expecting at any moment that Nemesai men would descend on her. Ever so slowly and nervously, Livia reached down with hands that could barely work and gathered up her paper. Then she rose and looked around the street. People were going about their business as usual. Nothing seemed amiss.
Panicked beyond reason, Livia turned and started walking toward her home. She could not think of anything else in the world to do.
Chapter 4:
The Path to Insanity
The Sansrit path is perhaps the oldest form of harnessing preternatural power known to mortals, yet its champions have never risen to the height of kings as those born with sorcery have. For thousands of years, its followers have been content to live quiet, often secluded lives, acting only from shadows and with great restraint. We know virtually nothing about their disciples save that if enough of them ever wished to pose a threat to this world, they most certainly could.
---Dracus Mobius, Starborn of the eleventh generation and first bishop of the Onkai Order
Kota listened to the wind blow against the tree branches above him as he sat upon the small blanket Gretis had knitted for him. He let his thoughts fade distantly away from his consciousness as she had taught him. Kota became a still and silent part of nature, entirely at peace. He breathed in slowly through his nose and let the many scents of the forest tickle his senses. His eyes were shut, and there was a distant awareness that the sun had set and the air around him was growing cold, but this did not bother him. Kota had learned to control his heartbeat and make his body warm even in snow. This was the beginning of Sansrit Philosophy: a quiet mind, free of the weight of thought and emotion, focused on the body and the world around it. He had spent entire days in this state at Gretis's instruction.
He detected intrusion.
Kota had only a fraction of a second's warning before the sword came at him. Gretis was impossibly silent, but he could still hear the faint beat of her heart. His hand moved without hesitation to the handle of the training sword sitting across his lap. The sound of his master’s blade cutting through air told him that the attack was coming from behind, and he whirled around, whipping his sword up horizontally to block either a downward or possibly lateral swing from where he guessed her to be. Kota felt the two metal blades clack against each other and he smiled just a little.
"Impressive," said a voice that did not belong to Gretis.
Kota shot up and turned. Standing before him was a man perhaps ten years older than himself, with thick dark hair and olive skin like Lady Gretis. He was not quite as tall as Kota, though he had a lean, athletic build and stood with dangerous confidence. The man was clad in deep brown leather armor, and he had a long, silver sword in his hand. There was a smile on his face, though it did not seem to be a friendly smile.
"Who are you?" Kota said.
"All you really need to know is that I am an enemy," he said. Without another word, he swung his sword at Kota's throat. On instinct,
Kota raised his own weapon to parry the blow, but the power behind the attack was far more than he anticipated, and his own sword was ripped out of his hands. It whipped through the air, striking a tree and then falling to the ground. Before Kota could take a step toward it, the tip of the man's silver blade was at his throat.
"Hmm," the attacker muttered. "No real power yet." He sighed and lowered his sword and walked over to Kota's weapon. He picked it up and, to Kota's surprise, tossed the thing back handle first. As Kota’s fingers closed around the hilt, the man said: "Let's try again."
"Who are you?" Kota said again, his throat dry.
"If you let yourself be distracted by such things, you'll end up CUT!" the man said, shouting the last word as he swung for Kota's face. Again, Kota blocked the blow, and he was surprised to find that this time the strength behind it was far closer to his own. He dodged back from the parry, dropping into the Nuthrak stance instinctively, fixing his eyes on his opponent. Whoever this man was, he could kill Kota with ease, but he was not doing so. Still, there was no friendliness in his dark eyes, and Kota had the sense that if he failed to defend himself well, this stranger would slice into his flesh without mercy.
A quick thrust came toward Kota’s chest. He blocked to the right and dodged his body to the left. As soon as he caught his footing, he delivered a counter-thrust, swinging his sword laterally into the man's face. His opponent dodged away in a blur of speed, dancing back several feet and letting out a soft chuckle.
"Beautiful counter!" the man grunted. "I would have lost an eye if you were a bit faster, which begs the question—" he moved forward so fast that Kota barely had time to attempt to block. He was only vaguely able to follow what happened next, but it seemed that the tip of the man's weapon hooked under the guard of his own sword and snapped it out of his hands. A fraction of a section later, his opponent was holding both swords crisscrossed just in front of his neck like a giant pair of tailor's scissors. "Why hasn't she unlocked any of your power?" his attacker whispered.