by Clayton Wood
“Okay.”
Kyle pushed even more magic into his gravity boots, making them burst forward even faster above the rippling ocean. He'd rarely had the chance to fly while having a full supply of magic. At full strength, he could reach incredible speeds with hardly any effort at all. He felt a thrill as he accelerated, pushing himself to his limits, the wind screaming past them as they shot across the ocean far below. After what felt like ten minutes, he could barely make out a coastline in the distance.
“Look!” he shouted. Ariana squeezed his shoulder. Kyle flexed his mental muscle, pushing steadily more magic into his boots, the ocean zipping by underneath him. It wasn't long before they were descending toward the coast. Waves crashed onto the shore below, lapping at the yellow sand. Beyond the beach was a lush forest. Kyle was surprised; he'd expected to find another town or city here, with a pier to dock ships at. But there wasn't a building – or any people – to be seen.
Ariana tapped Kyle's shoulder, and he saw her pointing at a large, flat sandy area on the beach. He slowed his flight down gradually, lowering them toward it. They touched down on the beach gently, Kyle's boots sinking into the fine sand. Ariana got off of Kyle's back, which he was incredibly thankful for; without the gravity boots supporting her weight, she – and the backpacks – were far too heavy for him to carry for long.
“That was quick,” Ariana said, smiling at Kyle. “That was twenty miles, right?” Kyle nodded. “At this rate, we could make it to the Barrens today.”
“I don't know,” Kyle replied uneasily. While it was certainly true – they'd taken less than ten minutes to fly the last twenty miles – he was hardly looking forward to reaching the Barren forest, and its dreaded Weavers.
“You're right, we need a plan,” Ariana agreed, ignoring Kyle's obvious unease. “Our goal is to reach Sabin's lair without being seen, drop the bomb, and leave before it blows.”
“And make it past the Barrens,” Kyle reminded her.
“Right.”
“Well, we'll have to stay invisible if we don't want to be seen,” Kyle reasoned. “When we fly, when we sleep...we can't afford to be caught by a Chosen.”
“I can keep us invisible while you sleep,” Ariana offered. Kyle nodded.
“But what are we going to do about the tribes?” Kyle pressed. Ariana shrugged.
“If we're invisible, maybe they won't even see us.”
“But what if they do?” he countered. “We have to plan for the worst, not the best.”
“Okay,” Ariana agreed. “Well, my shard will probably protect me from any of their Weavers. But it won't protect you.”
“True,” Kyle muttered. He felt terrible to admit it, but he was far less worried about Ariana at this point than himself. She was practically invincible, after all...as long as they didn't run into a Chosen.
“Your Aegis should protect you,” she stated.
“Maybe not,” Kyle countered. “These Weavers beat the Ancients, remember?”
Ariana stared off into space for a long moment, neither blinking nor breathing. She looked disturbingly like a statue, until she finally turned her gaze back to him. “So what do we do?” Kyle thought about it for a moment, tapping his chin with his fingertip.
“What if we drain ourselves of most of our magic,” he proposed, “...and pretend to be helpless children? Maybe they wouldn't attack us then.” Ariana raised an eyebrow at that.
“But if they do,” she countered, “...we'll be completely helpless. You won't be able to use your gravity boots to escape. They'll kill us on the spot.”
“Right, stupid idea,” Kyle admitted sheepishly. Ariana smiled.
“Don't worry about it, just keep thinking,” she urged. “You're good at coming up with ideas.”
“Okay,” Kyle agreed. He felt emboldened by Ariana's praise, and began to pace, thinking it through. Their goal was to detonate the bomb at Sabin's lair, which was apparently in or near a place called the Barrens. So they had to get through the Barren forest to get there. Or did they? Darius had said that Sabin's lair was about eight miles in diameter, and Kyle's bomb had a blast diameter of ten miles. That didn't leave too much room for error in placing the bomb. That meant they had to be absolutely sure they were near the center of Sabin's lair before they activated it. If they guessed wrong – or worse, left it to chance – they could end up wasting their one hope of destroying Sabin and saving the Empire.
Kyle tapped his chin with one finger, continuing to pace. What if they simply flew above the Barren forest, using the invisibility field to avoid the tribes altogether? It might be their only chance to get to the Barrens alive. He said as much to Ariana.
“I don't know,” she replied, clearly unconvinced. “The tribal Weavers might be able to detect us. And the closer we get to Sabin's hideout, the more Chosen there might be,” she added. “If they have the same senses I do, they might be able to sense us coming.”
“How?” Kyle asked. “You can't see me when I'm using the invisibility field.”
“But I can hear you,” she reminded him. “Your heartbeat, your breathing.”
“What if I seal myself in a gravity shield?” He asked. “That would prevent any sound from getting out. I used one to fix the Defiance's hull a few days ago.”
“But you won't be able to breath for very long in it.”
“True,” Kyle admitted. “But isn't the same true if we go through the forest on foot? They'll be able to hear us then too.”
“It's less likely,” Ariana replied. “When I was in the Tower, or out on the streets in Stridon, the noise made it impossible to hear any one particular person very well. If the forest has a lot of ambient sound, we might not be heard.”
“And what if it's quiet?” Kyle countered.
“Well, the tribal Weavers live there,” Ariana reasoned. “It wouldn't be surprising to hear people moving through the forest.”
“I don't know,” Kyle muttered. “If we walk, the invisibility field will contact the ground and give us away.” He pondered for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “What if we fly just above the treetops? Then we'll still have the sounds of the forest to help camouflage us.”
“I don't know...”
“I can seal us in a gravity shield,” he continued, “...and when the air runs out, I can release the shield, then make another one. That way we'll be mostly silent.”
“That might work,” Ariana admitted. “And even if we're forced to go through the forest on foot, I'll be able to hear and see anyone before they ever have a chance to notice us,” she added. “Either way, they'll never even know we're there.”
“But what if we're wrong?” Kyle asked. “What if they do find us?”
“Then I'll fend them off while you fly away,” she answered. “They won't be able to win against my shard.”
“You don't know that for sure,” Kyle countered. “And I wouldn't just abandon you and run off like that.”
“I can take care of myself,” Ariana reminded him, removing her hand from his shoulder. “And you're the only person who can activate Ampir's bomb, so we have to keep you alive, no matter what.”
“I still don't like it,” Kyle muttered. But he had to admit that she was right. Without him, the mission was impossible...it would fail. He had to stay alive long enough to make it to Sabin's lair, even if that meant putting Ariana at risk. He hated the thought of leaving her – and of having to go on alone – but if it came to that, he'd have to do it. If he didn't, everyone else he loved on Doma would die.
“I know,” Ariana said, leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. “Neither do I,” she added. They both turned to look past the yellow sand of the beach, at the forest beyond. The trees were unlike those he'd become accustomed to near Stridon; they were taller, and much more lush. Dense undergrowth blanketed the ground, thick vines hanging from the tree limbs, nearly reaching the forest floor.
“Well, I guess we'd better get to it,” he sighed. He pulled the compass Grotes had given him out o
f his pocket, finding northwest. Then Ariana wrapped her arms around him from behind, and he streamed magic to his gravity boots, lifting off of the sandy shore and into the blue sky above.
Chapter 21
Sabin stared at the shimmering facets of the green shard through his avatar's eyes, cupping it in one hand. He traced the microscopic network of runes within, double-checking, then triple-checking his work.
It was, of course, flawless.
He pulled his mind back from his avatar then, allowing his consciousness to swim amongst the millions of Chosen that comprised his extended brain. Thousands of Behemoths, hundreds of Void Behemoths. Fleets of flying ships, each piloted by a Chosen's disembodied brain. An army of elite Chosen, the Void Chosen.
The work of twenty lifetimes, an army more powerful than any that had ever been built before. No enemy could withstand it. Even Ampir would be useless against such a force; Sabin's army was scattered across the world, and even if Ampir had the capability of eventually destroying it, Sabin could rain destruction on the planet before Ampir would ever be able to save it.
He who had the power to destroy something, controlled it utterly.
Sabin had no intention of resorting to such drastic measures. Indeed, before Ampir's arrival, he hadn't expected to ever require the use of his secret army. But he'd learned long ago the importance of power. How vital it was in ensuring that no one would ever be able to repeat the injustices that had nearly destroyed him.
No tyrant would take advantage of humanity again, taking from the weak to benefit the strong.
He cast his mind outward then, to one of his Chosen, suddenly eager to remember. He'd met countless tyrants across the centuries, but the first had taught him the most.
* * *
Sabin opens his eyes.
He feels something cold and hard pressing against his face, and he lifts his head up, realizing that he is laying on his side on a gray stone floor. He grunts, rolling onto his hands and knees, wincing as he bends his left knee. Then he pushes himself to his feet.
All around him are dull gray stone walls, ten feet to a side. There are no windows, no doors. On one corner there is a small, round hole in the floor, barely large enough to fit his fist into. He walks up to it, kneeling before it. The rim of the hole is stained, the pungent odor of urine and feces rising from it.
He stands up, backing away.
Sabin turns in a slow circle, then glances upward, seeing the ceiling some ten feet above his head, also made of gray stone. A single lantern hangs in one corner, its lone flame casting a yellow light down on the cold stone floor below. The room is utterly quiet; he hears no sound save for his own breathing. But that is not the only thing that's missing.
There is, he realizes as he searches his mind's eye, no magic.
He glances up at the lantern on the ceiling again, concentrating on it. No magic emanates from it. There is no magic in the walls, or the floor. No magic in his mind. No magic at all.
He fights down a sudden bolt of panic.
He remembers waking up in his bed now, remembers the guards storming his room. Remembers one of them shouting in his ear, accusing him of some terrible crime. And then...
He can't remember.
He makes another slow turn, taking in the starkness of his small room. He knows where he is, though he has never seen this room before. There is only one place in Stridon with rooms like these, rooms designed to be inescapable. He'd heard of them, but had never seen one. Rooms designed to slowly suck the magic out of their occupants, rendering them utterly helpless. State-of-the-art cells in the most advanced prison ever built.
Stridon Penitentiary.
Sabin feels his legs start to wobble, and lowers himself to the ground, feeling the cold stone floor on his buttocks. He looks down at himself, realizing that he is dressed only in an undershirt and his underwear, his pale, scrawny legs splayed out before him. A wave of nausea comes over him, and his gut lurches, sour fluid rushing into his mouth. He swallows it back down, shuddering at the awful taste, and nearly retches again.
Then he hears a screeching sound from above.
He scrambles to his feet, jerking his gaze upward. A thin groove appears in the ceiling, slowly lengthening, forming a long line in the stone. Another line appears parallel to the first, a few feet to the left. Then two more lines appear perpendicular to the others, forming a large square.
Sabin backs away slowly, his eyes locked on that square. There is a loud thump, and then the square starts to lower itself into the room.
Sabin feels his back strike the cold stone of the wall behind him, and he presses himself against it, staring at the stone slab descending from the ceiling. His bare foot lands on something moist, and he looks down, seeing his heel next to the hole in the floor. He grimaces, scraping his heel on the stone, then stepping to the side.
Two feet appear, standing on the stone square as it lowers itself. White boots, followed by stark white pants. A perfectly pressed white shirt. And then, a face.
Sabin's eyes widen, and he steps forward from the wall, his jaw dropping. He recognizes the man descending into the room through the hole left by the stone square immediately, his heart leaping into his throat.
Nespo!
The platform the Grand Runic stands on slows its descent, meeting the floor with a dull thud. Nespo stares at Sabin for a long moment, then steps off of the platform onto the floor. The stone platform rises up of its own accord, fusing with the ceiling above.
“Good morning, Sabin,” Nespo greets.
“Nespo!” Sabin cries, rushing up to the man. Nespo holds out one hand, and Sabin stops in his tracks. Layer upon layer of gravity shields appear around the Grand Runic.
“Stand where you are.”
“Nespo, what the hell is going on?” Sabin asks. “Your guards attacked me last night...they're accusing me of murder!”
“So I’ve heard,” Nespo replies calmly
“You don't understand,” he states. “I haven't murdered anyone. You have to-”
“I don't have to do anything,” Nespo interrupts coldly. “Particularly for the man who conspired to assassinate me.”
Sabin's eyes widen, and he takes a step back.
“Wait, what?” he exclaimed. “Nespo, I didn't...”
“I think you did, Nespo interjects. “The accomplice you hired ratted you out. In exchange for immunity, of course. He was more than happy to provide the letters you wrote him detailing your little plan.”
“Letters?” Sabin exclaims. “What letters? What accomplice?” He shakes his head angrily. “Nespo, I swear I don't know what you're talking about!”
“The evidence is overwhelming,” Nespo states calmly. “The letters were written in your hand. The signatures you so stupidly signed them with are yours. Even now, the Grand Court is reviewing the documents.”
“Nespo, whatever you found, it wasn't me,” Sabin insists. “I didn't hire anybody, I didn't send any letters!” He steps forward, pressing his palms against Nespo's outermost gravity shield. “I'm innocent, damn it!”
“Innocent?” Nespo retorts, raising one eyebrow. He pulls a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it and holding it out from behind his gravity shields. Sabin stares at it.
We must act quickly. The longer we wait, the greater our likelihood of being discovered. The tyrant must die. It cannot be traced to me, or our efforts are in vain. With luck, I will be sitting in Nespo's office, ordained with his power, within the month.
You will be richly rewarded for your efforts.
- S
Sabin's mouth falls open, his eyes widening. The letter is in his handwriting, there is no denying it. But he never wrote it.
“I didn't write that,” Sabin protests. “Nespo, I didn't write that, it's a forgery!”
“Your accomplice gave us this,” Nespo retorts. “Along with many, many others.”
“Nespo, I swear I didn't write those,” Sabin protests. “Someone else must have done it, forged
my handwriting and my signature. I'm being framed!”
Nespo folds the paper into a small rectangle, then deposits it back in his pocket. Sabin feels a slight vibration, and the stone platform descends from the ceiling again, lowering itself to the floor beside Nespo. The Grand Runic lowers his gaze to Sabin's right hand, and Sabin stares at it himself, seeing his ring there, on his middle finger. The onyx ring with the diamond-shaped emerald.
“It wasn't enough, was it,” Nespo murmurs, his eyes flicking back up to Sabin's. “You had to have more.” He steps onto the stone platform then, and it immediately begins to rise.
“Nespo,” Sabin cries. “Nespo, wait!”
“Your trial is in two days,” Nespo declares as he rises slowly through the air, toward the hole in the ceiling. “When you are found guilty, you will be sentenced to public execution.” He folds his arms over his chest, his stark white clothes practically glowing in the light from the lantern above. He stares down at Sabin as he ascends, his expression stony. “They'll cut off your fingers, then your toes. Then your limbs, piece by piece, cauterizing every wound. When they finally cut you open and burn your intestines, you'll be begging for death. And everyone you care about will be present to bear witness...all of your friends, your colleagues, even your family.”
“Nespo!” Sabin shouts, rushing forward to grab onto the edge of the platform. He is thrown backward by an invisible force, slamming his back against the stone wall. He crumples onto the floor, gasping for breath as Nespo continues to rise. The Grand Runic stares impassively at Sabin, the corner of his mouth twisting into a slight smirk.
“Consider this,” he stated, extending both arms out to his sides. “...the greatest accomplishment of your life.”
* * *
The twelve Councilman, Kalibar, and Erasmus sat around the circular table in the center of the War room for the third hour of meetings that day. Kalibar stretched his legs under the table, shifting his weight from one buttock to the other to try to keep his legs from falling asleep. He glanced at Erasmus, who was clearly having trouble keeping his entire body from falling asleep, and tapped the Grand Runic's leg with his foot. Erasmus jerked awake, glancing at Kalibar, then immediately pretending to be engrossed in Councilman Hewes' speech.