The Rise of OLMAC

by Kevin Gordon

Aidlev?”

  Graid gazed out onto a world filled with vibrant color and life, a world he remembered in a thousand different ways, each with its own unique language of living.

  “I have seen things you wouldn’t believe. I have done things I am not proud of, but have experienced so much, in so short a time.”

  “I didn’t ask you if you’ve ‘experienced’ things, or saw things,” said Ilahon. “I asked you if you’ve lived.”

  Graid thought long and hard. “No, I guess I haven’t.”

  “That’s what love is, my son,” he said, pushing back his chair and leaning casually on its sturdy wooden legs. He rocked back and forth as he spoke, regarding the others in the small diner. “Love awakens a part in each of us, makes us take things not for granted. We take new value in a scrap of paper our love wrote on, or a fragment of song our love had sung. We wish time would slow down when we are with them, and that it would speed up when we’re apart.” He stopped rocking for a moment, as if he were looking back on his long life, seeing all the little moments crystallize in his mind. “Love means no matter how great or powerful you become, that you never change for your love. That you would even give up the richest of possessions, the greatest of power, to walk hand in hand with this love for the rest of your roas. Love makes every moment something to cherish, and look back fondly upon. To love someone means you would never go where they could not follow, that you would even sacrifice a part of yourself, to be with them.” Ilahon let out a long sigh, as his face has settled into some form of regret. He sat back at the table, hunching over it for a moment, appearing older than Graid had ever seen him, older than he thought a souman could ever be. He then put a hand on Graid’s shoulder, a gentle humor returning to his face. “Love does this whether you love a woman in that way, or a mother or father—even a friend.”

  “I never had a mother or father.”

  “And that’s why you haven’t lived!” cried Ilahon, throwing his hands in the air. “Is there no one you cherish above all others, whose existence means more to you than your own?”

  “No,” muttered Graid reluctantly.

  “Then you truly haven’t lived,” said Ilahon in a voice tinged with sadness, “and won’t understand the precious nature of life until you do.”

  They both looked off into the field, watching the wind blow the tree limbs softly back and forth, dancing a slow, sentimental dance. The birds flew through the open sky above them, playing with each other diving and rising in great circles, singing back and forth. The voices of those nearby seemed to fade into the breeze, into the rustle of leaves and trees. It was as though they both observed the world from a distance, at once a part of it, and at once so far away.

  “I wish this moment wouldn’t end,” whispered Graid. “You are becoming much like a father to me.”

  “You flatter me, young sir. There are times the father must be as the son, and the son as the father.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Graid.

  Ilahon sat in silence for a moment, his gaze seeming to penetrate to the very soul of Graid.

  “As with many things in life, you will understand when the time is right.”

  A young woman came running up to them, dodging through the maze of chairs and tables.

  “Ilahon, come quick!” she said breathlessly. “Nijil was hurt, and needs help!”

  They raced with her back through the streets, Ilahon leading Graid to a small house outside of which a crowd had gathered. Many expressed relief at seeing Ilahon.

  “I’m a bit of a doctor,” whispered Ilahon quickly, “as well as an old man, Aidlev. Follow me.”

  They pressed inside, and found a young girl lying motionless on the bed. Her chest rose and fell slightly, as a woman and man knelt beside her, anxious with fear. Ilahon knelt down, taking the child’s hand for a moment.

  “She fell, did she?”

  “Yes. Along the riverbank,” replied the woman anxiously, wiping the tears from her face. “She’s been unconscious ever since.”

  Ilahon concentrated on her for a moment. “She’s hurt pretty badly.”

  Graid recognized the woman at the bedside as the same who helped him with his nail. She held the child’s hands, wringing them, sobbing quietly. Graid could nest Nijil was near death, her heart beating slower and fainter. He looked into her mind, and found a young girl with dreams of the void and other worlds, hopes of seeing Novan, and playing with the children who lived on that world. He found her to be simple and pure, untainted by the bigotry against Novans, born with an unshakable faith. The little girl even wondered what the Kal-Alçon was like, and if she would ever meet him. Ilahon glanced back at Graid, then to the woman.

  “I don’t think I can do anything more for her, Lachelie. She’s going to pass away, any time now.” He ran a hand along her back. “Stay here, and be with her, as she passes into the arms of Kal.”

  Graid knew that with a simple thought, he could cure the girl. But so many minds were focused on her, his identity would be revealed for all.

  I barely know these people, or this girl. I shouldn’t get involved.

  Ilahon turned back once more, looking Graid in the face. Graid couldn’t match his gaze, and looked away.

  “Oh!”

  Nijil’s hand went limp, and her body grew still as her last breath escaped away. Lachelie kissed her lightly on the forehead, then embraced her one last time, weeping into her small chest, her brother holding them both. Graid turned, and went outside. Ilahon followed.

  “It’s a shame that girl had to die,” mused Ilahon, as he struggled to keep up with Graid.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “If there was anything I could have done,” said Ilahon sternly, “if it was within my power, I certainly would have saved her.”

  Graid stopped, and looked hard at the old man.

  “Would you? Are you sure?” Graid saw something familiar in the old man’s eyes, something he should know, but that was just outside of his grasp. Ilahon returned the gaze, but with a kind, fatherly smile on his face.

  “Would you?” he demanded.

  Graid walked on.

  “What’s at stake?” asked Graid, casually. “She was not crucial to the survival of anyone, or anything. This world may be facing its doom. Perhaps she was better off dying like this, with those who loved her, in peace and quiet.”

  Ilahon stopped him with rough hands, forcibly turning Graid to face him.

  “Would you accept a death like that?” asked Ilahon angrily. “Or would you claw and scratch for every moment of life, fight seemingly insurmountable odds for another mroa of looking at the sun, walking on the grass, breathing the sweet breath of life? Wouldn’t you call upon anyone else to make whatever sacrifice necessary, short of their own lives, to extend your life?”

  “No one would sacrifice themselves for me,” Graid replied morosely. “I have no one to call upon.”

  “Then you have no one to live for, and deserve a death of solitude, where the void is all you will see.”

  His words hurt Graid, striking him in a place soft and vulnerable. Ilahon shook his head, and walked off, heading to his home.

  Thoughts of Nijil stayed in Graid’s mind, surfacing when he slept, intermingling with his thoughts when awake. He seldom saw Lachelie for a while, as she and her brother went into mourning over the death of their younger sister. He was beginning to feel anxious, sensing much was changing on Novan.

  The time is coming when I will need to be there, to lead my people in the time of crisis.

  But he still despised his people. For all the beautiful scenery, quaint and idiosyncratic folk, he saw little of redemptive value in them. He dallied with some of the village women, playing with them a little before drawing back, going away, and meditating. Arciss’ words were becoming distant, as so much dirt and grass was growing tiresome. He went down by a cliff, that overlooked a great valley of rivers and brilliant flowers dotting the landscape. Lachelie came and sat beside him.

 
She had a gentle way about her, seeming to float on the air as she walked. This was despite the strong arms she possessed, arms that grew firm and tough raising her younger sister. While her smile may have been simple, and pleasant, one look at her eyes told she was not a simple person. Rather, she understood the ways of men and women, knew of the darkness life could bring—she just chose not to dwell on it. Everyone in Vujora liked her, and seemed to feed off the love she had for her younger sister. When her parents died in a farming accident five cas ago, everyone joined together to offer their support to Lachelie and her brother. It was almost as if they were reborn in caring for little Nijil. They started having children, and despite the dread and gloom the rest of Rell was buried in, Vujora thrived, and as such, the Trint-Averil had no need to venture therein. Lachelie never knew of the broader ramifications of her caring for Nijil, and even if she did, her personality was one of meekness and kindness, and would have pushed it out of her mind, sooner or later. What did stay in her mind were problems and complexities, both of which she saw in the stranger named Aidlev.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello,” happily replied Graid. “I haven’t seen you for a while. I’m sorry about your sister.”

  “Yes, well . . . I’ll miss her dearly.”

  “She seemed to be something special.”

  “She had such dreams!” cried Lachelie, as she drew her knees in, and looked out over the valley, trying to hold back tears that shed whenever she thought on her sister. “Of