“Hey,” I called.
She turned.
“Care to join me?”
She smiled. “Goodnight, Alezair.”
I watched her disappear into the hall with a smirk. Oh well; at least she wasn’t easy.
VI
ERGO
AN ENCYCLOPEDIA SLAMMED ON THE DESK, missing my head by an inch. The thunderous boom that followed shook the entire library.
I shot up in my seat.
Leid stood over me, arms folded, foot tapping.
Tap tap tap
Oh, no.
“If you’re not going to pay attention to our lesson, I’d be more than happy to toss you into Tal Ayen and let you fend for yourself.”
I frowned. “I was paying attention.”
“To the back of your eyelids.”
I sighed, looking away.
“Do you find cartography and world studies boring, Alezair?”
Who wouldn’t? “I’ve had less than three hours of sleep in two days.”
Leid shook her head and returned to the map of Tal Ayen, sprawled across the wall. “Whose fault is that?”
“Uh, yours, considering our lessons run past midnight.”
“That leaves you with six hours to sleep.”
“Yeah, because I’m perfectly fine with spending every day working and attending private tutoring.”
“So raiding our liquor cabinet all night fills that empty void?”
That didn’t merit a response. The longer we argued, the longer I’d have to sit here, so fuck it. Instead I forced a smile. “Sorry, Commander. Next time I’ll sew my eyelids open.”
And thus had been the story of my life for a hundred years.
Being a judge-in-training entailed a ten hour a day desk job and four hour a night class session that never broke for summer. There was much more to the Jury than executing contract violators. We had to be geniuses, too.
Since the Contest spanned across forty different human worlds, I was forced to learn about each world, each society in that world—their literature, architecture, psychology, theology, along with other things Leid thought would boost my character, like logic and verbal reasoning, physical sciences and (ugh) public speaking.
Although most of that crap wasn’t interesting at all, I’d found one area of study that I could tolerate: physics. In fact, I was the equivalent of a doctor of philosophy in particle physics. Yeah, me.
That wasn’t a difficult achievement, given the fact that I’d studied physics for a century. Each of us had a specific area of expertise. Adrial was a philosopher, Zhevraine was a poet (how that was useful, I had no idea), Leid was a biochemist, and I was a physicist. Together, we were quite a team.
Seldom was that the case. Each judge usually worked alone on the field, relying on stealth. Being able to perfectly blend in with any environment (a la any world) somehow gave merit to the fact that I had to sit here at ten o’clock at night, listening to Leid drone on about Tal Ayen.
“The southwestern continent has been relatively peaceful after the War of the Nine Towers, which occurred more than two centuries ago. It was a decade-long conflict involving everyone here—”
Leid’s finger slid from a portion of the map labeled Teyorni Citadel to one labeled Ukea.
“—to here. At the moment, each area is separated into provinces, controlled by different rulers. The inhabitants are human, and their theology is based primarily around nature deities.”
“What’s their technology level?” I asked, feigning interest, all the while fighting to keep my eyes open.
“Medium,” Leid said. “The west is more advanced, having some forms of mechanized equipment, along with automatic firearms.”
She paused, looking toward the door. Adrial was leaning on the frame, folder in hand.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.
“It’s fine,” Leid replied, eyeing the folder. “What is it?”
“We need to go over Commander Raith’s proposal of infiltrating Junah’s underground psi-essence research facilities for tomorrow. He’s sending his two generals for an answer at eight, if you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t,” she said, eyeing the clock. “Alright. Alezair, we’ll end it here tonight.”
Thank god.
As I slid out of my seat, snatching the notebook from the desk, Leid began rolling up her map.
“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” she said to Adrial.
“I’ll wait for you in the dining room.”
I slipped out of the library, Adrial at my side.
He smirked. “Thought you might need some rescuing.”
“Sly,” I said. “That briefing isn’t important?”
“Oh, it is, although it probably could have waited until tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks, then.”
“You have two of hours of freedom. Whatever will you do with them?”
I grunted, making beeline for our liquor cabinet.
He watched me with a disapproving frown. “Of course.”
I frowned back, swiping a bottle, pulling out the cork with my teeth. “Don’t be judgy.”
“You’re lucky Vel’Haru can’t die of liver failure,” he remarked as I drank straight from the bottle.
He wouldn’t bait me into a lecture. All I did was wave and head for my bedroom, bottle in hand.
But he was right. To my knowledge, Vel’Haru couldn’t die of anything. We didn’t even age. We never got sick, had godlike strength and speed, and we could regenerate lost limbs and other fatal wounds by touching matter and absorbing it through our skin.
And then there were our scythes. Those black blades that I’d seen Leid use were actually a retractable part of our skeletons. The others called them scythes because they were sickled. Like bees and other insects with stingers, we tended to use our scythes reservedly. For one, releasing them hurt like a bitch and took our hands clean off, and then we were left without opposable thumbs for about twenty minutes until they regenerated. It was also messy. Twenty years ago, I’d gotten into an argument with Leid at the dinner table, and the next thing I knew my scythes were out, while the gore of my former hands decorated our plates. Nothing screamed causality quite like that.
My room was filled with books. A collection of astrophysics, biophysics, geophysics and particle physics lay in rows across shelves, some stacked on the floor due to insufficient space. I hadn’t read any in a while, probably thirty years. I knew each book front to back, but they stayed here in case I forgot anything a thousand years from now. Although they’d probably be outdated by then.
These weren’t human books, either—in fact humanity’s stake in the physical sciences domain was primitive. That was a given, since they were still an early civilization. Beyond their cosmos were galactic confederations and interstellar space voyages; wars between worlds, and even talks of nova-netting for energy and terraforming. It was a huge multiverse out there, far beyond the window of my room, but I had yet to see any of it. Instead I read about it all in books.
I sat at my desk, flipping through my decades-long research on atomic resonance. This was a private study, something like a hobby. Knowing so much about the Multiverse and its different physical laws had made me wonder where the constant was.
If the Multiverse was actually a web of universes attached merely by loose threads in the space-time continuum, so different from one another in almost every way in terms of entropy and arrangement of particles, then where was the one variable that made everything constant? How were we able to travel to these different worlds via tears in their realities, if hardly any of their chemical designs were identical?
I sat back, reviewing my notes, idly sipping from the bottle of wine. Newton’s pendulum swayed at the edge of my desk, its ever-motion like a physical idiom of my life. It was my first gift from Leid, received when I’d told her my chosen field of study. She’d seemed happy then, and seldom was she happy.
Alcohol was my crutch. Having to go so many years wit
h barely any rest made sleep nearly impossible when I actually had the chance. Without alcohol, my mind was a never-ending circuit. Passing out in a liquor-induced haze was typically how each day ended.
Someone knocked on my door.
“Come in,” I said, not bothering to turn.
Zhevraine stepped inside, a book tucked beneath her arm. She sat on the edge of my bed and I shot her look.
“Nope.”
“Please?” she insisted. “I want to hear what you think. I’m releasing this on Caliora next week.”
Zhevraine was an anonymous poet across several worlds outside of The Atrium’s reach. She went by the pen name Ink Lotus. I was hardly a poet, nor did I read any poetry, so I could only assume Adrial had turned her out if she was here asking for my opinion.
“I don’t see why my critique would matter,” I muttered, setting my notes aside. “I’m not exactly your target audience.”
She made a face. “Many of my readers are men.”
“I bet they pitch for the other team.”
Zhevraine sighed. “Fine.”
She pouted and moved to leave, and I felt guilty. “Fine, fine, go ahead. But is it really long?”
“No, just a page.”
I reclined, waiting.
As she read, I watched her. Zhevraine was centuries old—millennia even, all depending on the universe and its gauge of time—entombed in the body of a seventeen year old girl. The daughter of a warrior king in Ancient Asia, her people were killed by a rival clan and she was left for dead in their burning village. Somehow Leid had found her, but I didn’t know the details. Zhevraine was her first guardian, and despite her appearance, she was smarter and stronger than Adrial and I put together. Misogynists need not apply here, where two little girls ran the show and could beat your ass in a heartbeat. I’d said that once as a joke and Leid was quick to remind me that misogyny was a human trait. I then reminded her that I was programmed human and thus ended the argument.
Zhevraine finished a minute later, and I fumbled for a critique that at least sounded like I had any clue of what she’d read. Poetry was intentionally vague and full of metaphors. My logical, to-the-point brain had difficulties understanding it. The blank cluelessness of my face gave me away, and she frowned. “It’s about a woman who lost her lover in war.”
“Right.”
“You weren’t even listening.”
“I was so. I was sitting here looking at you the whole time. It sounded pretty, Zhev. I’ll admit I have no idea what any of it meant but I’m sure the more poetically-inclined will eat it right up.”
She closed her poetry book, staring at me. There was a measure of uncertainty in her eyes. “Why were you in the Nexus?”
I was surprised by that question, as she hadn’t ever inquired about my previous life. “Don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“They erased my memories.”
“Oh.”
“Why so curious?”
“The Nexus is a multiversal prison. Not for petty criminals, either. Only the most dangerous ones are sent there—ones that pose a threat to the outside. Too powerful and evil to be free.”
I glanced away, entertaining that thought. It made me grin. “You got me. Dangerous, evil, criminal mastermind, right here.”
Zhevraine laughed. “Hence my question.”
I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
She rose from the bed, patting me on the shoulder. “Thanks for your thoughts, as unhelpful as they were.”
“’I’m here all night.”
The door behind me closed with a click.
VII
THE WRETCHED
ISSUES WITHIN THE CELESTIAL COURT could only be described as a cluster fuck.
Today marked the first time that I stood in on one of Leid’s private meetings, and was already sweating the day when I’d become an official member of the Jury. And by official, I meant being able to do my own work in my own office, without Leid hovering over my shoulder every second. On the bright side, the meeting had given me a single piece of insight:
Celestials were just as flawed as their creations. When the human bible relayed the idea that ‘God made man in His image’, it wasn’t joking.
Naberius Uhnem, Archdemon of Lohr—the third layer of Hell—and Seyestin Trede, General of the Argent Court, had come to a disagreement over Hell’s method of dissuading their code violators.
In order to understand how the contest worked, one would also have to understand the level of influence each realm had over its creations. So, let’s talk about murderers.
Psychology provided evidence that murderers were often created through life experiences. Serial killers were molded into placid, violence-seeking shells after enduring years of identical trauma.
John Locke, a human philosopher from the sixteenth century was among the first to explore human development. He coined the phrase tabula rasa, which referred to the minds of the young. It was Latin for empty slate, signifying that intelligent beings were plastic; shapeable in personality depending on how and what they learned.
The Obsidian Court (Hell’s Parliament) argued that despite plasticity, natural instinct was a force stronger than societal influence. Within each individual, a strong presence of natural aggression laid in waiting for the right moment, whether it was to get what one wanted, an act of self-defense, or an act of passion. Ultimately, these were things that were uncontrollable by any moral means.
But sex and lust for resources was a pattern seen in all intelligent life, no matter how peaceful a society tried to make itself. Nothing seemed to deter their creations from these factors; not the idea of eternal suffering nor the promise of eternal bliss. As of right now, the angels’ hypothesis was unsupported.
The angels argued nurture, while the demons argued nature. And neither of them seemed to be totally right, but one thing was clear: the Obsidian Court had an enormous lead over the Argent Court, code violations aside. So, I was a little confused as to why the demons were so eager to break the Code and get themselves executed.
The most recent code violation had been from a demon living in Lohr, belonging to a faction known as the Sanguine Court. This court worked secretly, its leader still unidentified, and orchestrated violations using the psi-essence trigger technology that I’d witnessed firsthand before I was recruited into the Jury.
Adrial caught the perpetrator, but only after a massive amount of collateral damage. The demon had managed to trigger a powerful man who convinced twenty-five people (along with himself) into ending their own lives. I didn’t know how, as I’d stopped reading the indictment after the first paragraph. It’d been lunchtime and it wasn’t like this was my case or anything.
Although Obsidian Commander Lucifer Raith had promised to crack down on the Sanguine Court and its activities, nothing had happened so far, and the latest violation capsized the Argent Court. Their Commander, Yahweh Telei, had sent his First General to demand immediate action against Lohr’s leader, Naberius Uhnem.
It was the first time I’d ever seen a direct member of the Obsidian or Argent Parliaments. Before now, only their representatives were sent.
Things got ugly, fast. It was easy to see why angels and demons rarely occupied the same room.
Once we’d received word that General Trede was on his way up, Leid shoved aside her collection of folders and massaged her head. I’d never met Seyestin Trede, but heard from the others that he was a force to be reckoned with. “Don’t say anything,” she warned me. “Not a single word, no matter what he does. Do you understand?”
My silence served agreement. I was a little confused about the ‘no matter what he does’ part of her warning, though.
And then the door flew open, hitting the wall with a bang.
I almost jumped out of my seat.
Seyestin Trede stepped inside; ice blonde hair, gleaming cerulean eyes, lips curled into a scowl. He was tall—well over six feet, dressed in a white suit. Witho
ut a doubt he was the grumpiest angel I’d ever seen. If his career resembled Leid’s even remotely, I reckoned he hated his job so I wouldn’t judge.
He glanced at me, and then at Leid, crossing his arms. “Do you know how I spent my morning?”
Leid leaned into her hand. “No, but I figure you’re about to tell me.”
“Sitting in my Commander’s office while he chewed me out for not being persuasive enough.”
“Yahweh is incapable of chewing anyone out.”
“He doesn’t shout, no, but his never-ending lectures always take little bites out of my sanity, Justice Commander.”
“Touché. Tell me of your toils, General Trede.”
“This is the fourth violation from Lohr in two months. The Argent Court is beginning to see a leadership flaw. We’re motioning to impeach Naberius Uhnem.”
Leid arched her brows. “On what grounds? He isn’t part of the Sanguine Court.”
“Even so, he’s doing a piss-poor job of stopping their activities in his layer.”
“You can’t impeach an Archdemon,” Leid sighed. “That’s a decision reserved only for the Obsidian Commander.”
Seyestin smiled, but there was anger behind it. “Commander Raith wouldn’t dare take action against such a lucrative crime.”
“We’ve already questioned Naberius. He’s clean. He can’t account for every one of his subjects.”
“You know, it’s beginning to sound like you’re protecting him. The demons are sodomizing the Code while you sit here pushing paper all day.”
Leid’s eyes narrowed. There was a moment of silence as they glared at one another. Then she looked at me.
“Justice Czynri, tell Nephilim to get Naberius up here.”
I left my desk, slipped between them and headed for the door.
***
Nephilim Shoen was our angel secretary. Purgatory was considered neutral ground for demons and angels, and we were an equal opportunity employer.
I crept down the steps, approaching her desk. She didn’t notice me, her attention drawn to our digital calendar splayed across the computer screen. Her hair, like Seyestin’s, was ice blonde and hung clear down her back. Today it was twisted in a braid that she kept over her shoulder. Nephilim’s sense of fashion was eccentric, eccentric being a gross understatement, as she tended to pair professional attire with casual attire on the level of evening gowns with galoshes. Right now she wore a purple skirt suit and red boots, a gold scarf to top it all off. At first it was weird, but I barely noticed anymore. Nephilim was Nephilim, from her spunky yet amiable personality all the way down to her horrible wardrobe selection.
The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy Page 5