The Rise of OLMAC

by Kevin Gordon

is not of my doing. Those from Averil, known now as Trint-Averil, are spreading faster than I would have anticipated. A new spirit is sweeping over the face of Rell, breathing life back into what was thought dead. I wish I could be with them more, walk and cast and talk with them, lead them in the Castiliad. But they are strong, and have wise and committed leaders.^

  ^And you started it all,^ sincerely cast Uonil, looking on him with a love that a sister might have for a brother, full of respect, admiration, and even a little awe. As powerful as Uonil was, she couldn’t dream of inspiring the number of people Arciss had. ^I think Graid doesn’t know what to do with you.^

  A cloud of despair fell on Arciss’ face for a moment. ^He seems . . . distant. When I speak with him, his answers are short, and he seems confused.^

  ^You no longer appear weak in his eyes, Arciss. You meet his strong gaze with an equally strong one. He cannot verbally abuse you, or confuse you.^

  ^I think we both interact with Graid much differently than before.^

  ^You are right,^ agreed Uonil, nodding in assent. ^He seems smaller than before. I almost feel a sorrow for him, for the confusion I feel within his heart.^

  ^I feel it too. But we both still must be careful. Our goal is not to corner him, leaving him no way out. We must be his guides, must steward him along the right path, and encourage his growth.^

  Valcha sat next to Arciss, and they clasped hands in greeting.

  ^My how you have grown, Arciss,^ proudly cast Valcha, a wide smile on her face.

  Arciss nodded in thanks. ^Thank you. I feel it was your words that set me along this path. A path still clouded to my eyes, but seeming to resolve in detail in my mind with each passing roa.^

  ^Such is life, Arciss,^ replied Valcha, wrapping her arm around his. ^When one finally sees the end, there is no going back. An eye must always be kept on the future, but never at the expense of the present.^

  Uonil rest on her staff, as Arciss and Valcha cast among themselves. Her sadness was still with her, as Martel’s memory grew in strength in her mind. She tried to distract herself by reviewing theories, deductions, and projections about the mission and soon, her sadness washed away. Uonil saw more people enter the derasar and take their seats. She searched among them for Graid, and was disappointed when she saw no sign.

  Where is he? thought Uonil. He knows the ceremony starts promptly at ten. She gazed around again for a sign of Graid. She of course would sense him mentally if he came in, but she often followed primitive ways, and Graid could mask his presence. Disappointment flowed over her as she witnessed an Alçon ascend to the throne, his voluminous robes cascading down the steps behind him. Uonil felt herself slip into an ocean of grief, bemoaning the inconstancy of Graid. Arciss cast to her.

  ^He will be here. He may be scared, even confused, but he loved Martel as we all did.^

  The throne the Alçon stood in front of was ancient, almost as old as the Kal-Durrell themselves, but lovingly preserved as a permanent symbol of faith. Smoothed and rounded by several millennia of cleaning and polishing, every inch still had detailed imagery carved into it, all relating to ancient stories told before the Kal-Durrell. It was meant to be a symbol of the triumph of knowledge over ignorance, the new faith’s dominance over the old superstitions. Besides that throne, little in the derasar betrayed it to be a Rell house of worship. In fact, the only symbols representing their faith were the ten pillars arranged in back of the throne, representing the ten Kal-Durrell. Each pillar looked alike, to the untrained eye, but every Rell seated within that hall would see the subtle differences, tribute to the individual personas of each prophet. They were the lords, the silent warriors standing watch over the faithful.

  Drums rich and loud sounded in the distance. A thousand bells tolled, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. Outside the derasar walls, millions of people grew silent. A small ship descended out of the sky, alighting on a small pad just outside the derasar doors. Graid emerged, almost minuscule in comparison to the masses around him, but appearing fully in command. He wore a silver and white, tightly cut robe, trimmed with black. The masses outside bowed before him, as he raised one hand. He looked on them, then turned, and made his way inside.

  ^He makes quite an entrance,^ cast Arciss to Uonil.

  She relaxed into her chair, her mind supremely relieved. ^At least he is here,^

  Graid moved slowly through the derasar, each row of people kneeling as he passed by. His gaze was ever straight ahead, focused on the casket. As he ascended the steps to the Alçons, they knelt before him, their staffs erect, the golden jewels in their top still forming the arc. Graid stood in front of Uonil, who then bowed before him.

  ^It’s good to see you.^

  ^How could I disappoint my faithful?^ asked Graid casually. He knelt before the casket, placing his hand above Martel’s head, repeating the words of incorporation.

  ^Il Kal uh ollht.^

  ^Il Kal ot hull,^ replied Uonil.

  Graid then took his place at the throne behind the Alçons, as Polintin, the Alçon who was the keeper of tradition, stood before the podium. The other Alçons, including Uonil, were seated in an arc with Graid as its center. The lament of requiem was sung, resounding through the derasar as untold millions around the planet sung it also. Graid cast as they were singing.

  ^Salov Valcha, and Arciss.^

  ^Salov, Graid,^ replied Arciss. ^I’m pleased you are here.^

  Graid bristled at Arciss’ tone, but hid his discomfort.

  ^I have heard the Trint-Averil grows. You must be proud.^

  ^It is not for me to feel pride at their accomplishments,^ demurred Arciss. ^Rather, I am encouraged by the awakening of our people. It is the only way we will survive if the Cuhli-pra ascends.^

  The lament ended, and more music was cast to the worshipers, as Polintin cast the prayer of invocation. Uonil cast a sidelong glance at Graid, who caught her attention in his silver robes trimmed in black. The silver hung not as satin, but more as metal, strands of it falling effortlessly off his figure. His tunic seemed black as an abyss, and mirrored the unknown depths in Graid’s eyes. Her mind wandered for a moment, then quickly Uonil focused on recent events, casting to Graid some of her concerns.

  ^There has been mush discussion over your battle with Rhonva.^

  ^I know, Uonil. It brings up some disturbing possibilities, and questions the accuracy of our surveillance.^

  ^If TELREC are hiding genetically altered agents like him, what else are they hiding?^

  ^Not much now. They would have had to shield it from Rhonva’s memory,^ laughingly cast Graid with a malicious grin. ^I was very thorough in my scan of him. But we did lose a great number of agents. Not as much as they, but more than we anticipated. We must be better prepared should another conflict arise.^

  A few more filed in, taking the last remaining seats as Polintin neared the end of the prayer. The derasar was filled beyond its capacity, with the simple benches filled with the faithful and the small arena in the rear packed with those lucky enough to be let in to stand. Uonil relaxed in her chair, and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress.

  ^I agree, Graid. You should supervise their re-education. I think you may have some . . . new tricks to teach them?^ she cast with a slight smile.

  ^Hunting for something, dear Uonil?^

  She paused for a moment, thinking on Arciss’ words about confronting Graid.

  ^You know of what I cast. You showed abilities unimagined on Topside in your battle with Rhonva.^ She cast firmly, with growing confidence. ^And you have been unwilling to explain the extent of your abilities! That cannot be accepted.^

  Graid felt anger well within him, but suppressed it, taking much of his concentration. ^This . . . is not the place for this discussion, Mentra.^

  ^As long as you know it must happen, Kal-Alçon.^ She decided to switch the subject. ^Odre and Unti are proving to be a valuable asset.^

  ^I’m pleased you think so,^ cast Graid curtly.

  I hate it when he g
ets in these moods. It’s useless casting to him.

  ^What do you expect, dear Uonil?^ replied Graid, in answer to her thoughts. ^Do you think I didn’t nest your cesct earlier with Arciss? Do you think I haven’t nested all the cescts about me since the two of you returned from Averil? You forget there are no thoughts that escape my awareness—none! You speak about dealing with me like it were a game of strategy, and—^

  ^You have brought this upon yourself,^ retorted Uonil. ^You don’t communicate with us, and for too long have hidden your actions behind your title, behind threats and warnings. You brush me aside as if I was some mewling sycophant.^ She paused for a moment, reflecting on his treatment of her after his competition with the meta in Castiliad, the event that sent her home to Averil in the first place. ^No more!^ She struggled not to leap at him, gritting her teeth, the frustration worn into her face, ever aware of the multitudes seated before her. ^No more.^

  ^Do not communicate?^ retorted Graid angrily. ^I was raised without communication, in a void without even the touch of another souman being. And now, you think I will spill my soul, trust in those who betrayed me before, who treated me as an object, as a weapon?!^

  They both could nest Polintin was entering into Castiliad, and beseeched all present to enter with him.

  ^We will finish this later, Graid.^

  There are times he shows such promise, then there are times like these. Uonil thought, deep down in her mind, so