by Tyson Jordan
“Inside,” my captors commanded. It was easier to agree with them than it was to fight, although my father’s disdain for such a view remained with me, and I frowned.
The room was strangely dim, lit with a blue-green light. A blast of humidity rolled over my face and body. There were clothes strewn about the floor, and there was no bed; instead, there was a long, shallow tank of water in its place. Resting at the end of the tank, casual and unassuming, was a man whose slight frame belonged to no Bra’ Hca. He was an Ocean Dweller, perhaps only a few years older than I was.
His hair was an intense crimson, and, like others of his kind, he had three gills on either side of his neck, trailing down from his trident-like ears. His features were sharp, but most striking of all were his eyes, the same red as his hair, but eerie with no pupil to be seen; his irises were solid pools of orange. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, and instead had opted to wear a bright blue sleeveless tunic with loose-fitting grey pants. His forearms were wrapped in off-white, ragged bandages.
The Ocean Dweller stood from his bed and took a few silent steps towards me with a smirk on his face. He was much shorter than I was, reaching just beneath my shoulder, and he lifted his head for a moment to notice the bright blue headband tied around my forehead. His eyes flashed, only for an instant, and he smiled broadly.
“So you’re the one? Bir’ Nak and Jaf’ Rah told me that you had an … unusual name.” The man chuckled, his voice a light rasp that tingled the ears. I didn’t answer. I had no real idea why the Ocean Dweller wanted to see me, but his red eyes kept drifting upwards to my father’s headband. I shifted uncomfortably.
“Well, big guy? What’s your name?”
“Zircon. My name is Zircon Fortuna.” With that, the two Bra’ Hca behind me began to laugh uncontrollably. I turned irritably and left the room, exchanging no further words with them.
2
Waking Nightmares
Predictably enough, I arrived in mathematical physics nearly twenty minutes late, just in time to catch a legion of Guild Initiates leaving with Instructor Nacia in tow. I fell into rank at the back of the line, yet again feeling a few condescending eyes on me.
Nacia was a tall, slender woman of Grand Ocean. Her narrow eyes and long, carefully groomed hair were a striking turquoise, standing in stark opposition to her demure, soft-spoken temperament. She was young, only a decade and a few years older than I was, and had earned her Guild Instructor status through academic performance, unlike Ferric who had earned his through military valour. She was kind to her students but never seemed to be focused on the moment. Questions asked during her lectures were often asked only for the sake of snapping her out of a daydream.
I had been pulled to unknown destinations too often already, so I bent down slightly, whispering to a short blonde Initiate in front of me, “Just where exactly are we headed?”
“To the Guild Core. We had a brief review of Irenicium, and now we’re going to see how it makes this place function.” I nodded in gratitude and resumed my posture, conforming with the others in our ranks.
The structure of the Guild was methodically constructed, with everything meticulously placed. The lecture halls and laboratories were divided amongst sixty-four levels and were placed in the immediate vicinity of the two hundred and fifty-six levels of living quarters. Those successful in their studies, the Guild Sentries, were moved to the opposite end of the space station, where they would stay in waiting for an assignment. Beyond the lecture halls was one of sixteen massive dining areas, each of them filled to capacity at all times as hungry Initiates devoured more and more of a seemingly endless supply of tasteless algae. All of these components of the Guild were connected by quick shafts for fast long range transport and, of course, corridors for short distance foot traffic.
The older sections of the Guild, those in the centre, were constructed from steel and heavy plastics, while the newer ones which radiated outwards were constructed from lighter metals, with a greater emphasis on titanium and biopolymers. The Behemot family, the most affluent amongst the wealthy, had sold most of the materials needed for ongoing construction and maintenance, materials that had been procured from their Rck’ Haran mining operations.
As the brass-colored doors of the quick shaft swung wide, hissing in unison, I glanced at the chronopatch adhered to my wrist. It displayed a small blue hologram, revealing to me that quite some time had already gone by. As we sped toward the core in the uncomfortably tight space, watching the lights above race past in time with the accelerating thrum of the engine, I began to wonder what it would be like to finally leave the Guild. Soon, I would be ordered to some world to engage in battles with the same legions that had brought about Erasure. That last thought widened my eyes in a moment of fear, and I felt a sudden pang of shame.
We arrived at the core after five minutes of disquieting groans from the squeezed masses, and when I stepped out, thankful for air, I was completely amazed at the incredible technology that surrounded me.
The Guild Core was immense and open, with terminals and displays systematically spread across a circular metal plain. Code writers and technicians hurriedly walked from terminal to terminal, checking on an ever growing number of obtuse readings, their blue uniforms stained with sweat.
In the centre of the methodical chaos was a sight that I had only seen in recordings and diagrams, and my mouth opened wide in awe. A violet crystal, preposterous in size and in placement, precisely cut to a standard no less than perfection, hummed as it hovered in an electromagnetic field. Irenicium … I followed the rest of the class, led by Nacia, upwards to an observation deck that surrounded the crystal.
“Yet another purchase from the Behemot family, no doubt,” I murmured to myself as the same blonde from before shook her head in disagreement, her short hair flapping from side to side from the brisk motion.
“You’d think that, but I read somewhere that back when Erde still existed,” I frowned at her nonchalant comment - she had obviously been born on another planet, or even in the Guild itself, “the Guild had been mining this stuff for decades. Erde was loaded with it.” We stopped our march to hear the instructor speak.
“This, of course, is Irenicium. Who knows why we have such a mammoth piece of crystal floating here in the power generation chamber?” I had no interest in the question, and remained stricken by its scale and beauty. The crystal threw off jagged arcs of white electricity, which were captured by its containment system, and the technicians below murmured excitedly as they continued making their adjustments beneath lights which glowed more intensely.
“Anyone at all?” The rest of the class was utterly silent.
“Irenicium is an energy amplifier. The more mass the crystal has, the more output it provides.” An unknown and hard voice came from the far left.
Nacia was appeased by the woman’s basic knowledge, and gave her approval accordingly. The rest of the lecture was a monotonous review of Irenicium’s various uses, the formulae used to calculate its power output, and so on and so forth. I paid little heed to the instructor’s words, as I was fixated on the woman who had spoken before.
She stood alone. She was an island, devoid of any real contact with her peers. She was tall, even slightly taller than I was, with long black hair. Premature streaks of silver ran through it, and her face, tinged slightly lavender from the light, was intent on the sight of the Irenicium before us. Her eyes suddenly shot over for a moment and locked with mine. They were green and piercing, and I broke eye contact almost immediately, intimidated.
Nacia’s absentmindedness and wispy speech led to several conversations starting amongst the other Guild Initiates. The ones closest to me seemed to be talking about the woman with the piercing eyes. I listened in, hearing fragments of their conversations.
“Is that the—?”
“Yeah, from the Coliseum—”
“Argenta Behemot!”
“The Godsend?”
“She must be.”
“I know! Have you seen her—?”
“She’s absolutely gifted.”
The word “Godsend” made itself heard time and again, at least until I chose to stop listening in. The very idea of the Godsend was completely absurd to me, just like it always had been. Even more absurd than that, however, was the fact that so many were willing to place their utter, unquestioning faith in a single being. Miracles and wonders were dead, and this Godsend, this one saviour of limitless potential, could have never existed. The only evidence of the being’s existence was in the Annals of the Gods, which I had no use for. We were alone in the world, and we had no choice but to fight for ourselves, for our survival.
It was not that I altogether denied the existence of the gods, however, but only their intents and purposes. Like a growing number of my peers, I expressed no interest in a dying faith that had once been such a staple of our society; I simply ignored religious mass, and none of those who attended were young. I offered no thanks to my god, Kyrosya, nor did I give any accolade to Drakannas, god of the Ocean Dwellers. They were there, we existed because of them, but all of their supposed love and predetermination and protection were lies. If those things had ever existed, it was long before I had ever been born. Erasure was proof of that.
Before I knew it, the class had ended and I hurried to the next, hoping to arrive punctually at least once during the day. I succeeded, and was fortunate enough to sit in an impossibly hard, unyielding seat near the front of the cramped lecture hall. Ferric also taught this class, and his harsh, demanding tones were welcome after experiencing over an hour of Nacia’s wispy absent-mindedness.
“Welcome, Fortuna. It’s nice to see that you’re on time for a change.” I forced a smile at his comment. My instructor’s sense of humour was never particularly thrilling, and it usually revolved around my punctuality, or rather, my lack thereof.
Ferric began immediately, uncaring for the few Initiates who apathetically trickled into the room late. His face was more grim than usual as he said, “Today, we have been granted the … privilege of seeing the Guild Psychology Ward. It is there that we will focus not on the war’s socioeconomic or political impacts, but rather on personal ones, on impacts that have affected and will always affect all of you.”
We bustled out of the room, following him. He kept an unusually quick pace, despite his crippled left leg and heavy dependence on the cane.
After a few minutes in various quick shafts, we arrived in a section of the Guild that, like the Core, was typically off-limits to Initiates. The floor was not the familiar grey polymer-over-metal, but rather a strangely unfeeling white tile that I could see my reflection in. Our heavy black boots squeaked against its glossy surface. The lights above were bright, too bright, and I blinked a few times, hoping that my eyes would adjust soon. We were in a corridor, both long and wide, and there were no terminals or technicians to be seen. Instead, there were only a handful of men and women on either side of the ward. They were scrawling notes on small writing pads with their eyes fixed forward, locked onto small windows.
The silence and sterility of the Psychology Ward was broken unexpectedly by screams, terrible wailing cries of despair that came from a window far ahead on the right.
What the hell is that? I thought uneasily as the animalistic cries continued. Ferric looked back at us with a concerned look on his face, and we made our way closer and closer to the howls. The pupils around me murmured with voices full of uncertainty. The screams grew louder and louder as we neared a rather petite Erdedaughter, who swiftly rose from her place of study without paying us any comment. She nodded out of respect for my instructor, then stood to the side of the window. She and Ferric silently beckoned us to look inside.
Through the window, I could see an Erdeson in a padded room, screaming and wailing and shrieking, his eyes yellowed, with unkempt, thinning hair. His arms were bound to his starving, emaciated torso with immense chains that were linked to the walls. He howled once more and fell catatonic without warning.
“Guild Initiates,” Ferric began, “this is what many of this War’s survivors become.” He did not look into the window; undoubtedly he had seen it too many times before. I stared at the still figure in the cell, transfixed by the sight of his wretched form.
“The Affliction is a tragic result of this War. This man has seen too much, and killed too many. The Malinvicta he fought with exacted their toll on his mind, and with time, many of you will feel that same degradation. The sights and sounds and pain of this conflict are unspeakable.” We were silent and unmoving.
“You see these dark circles beneath my eyes? I avoid sleep when I can. I’m visited by too many memories at night, memories that I no longer wish to recall. Sleep deprivation and stimulants are my only alternative to embracing them.” Ferric never looked away from his students, and never faltered in his words. The crowd was silent and uneasy.
“This is what many of you will become.” There was a collective gasp in the room. I could already imagine the doubt racing through many of my peers’ minds, or for a few, a strange sense of invincibility that comes with youth. I felt neither. Doubting my path was not an option, nor did I feel impervious to the pain that came with it. I was no stranger to nightmare, and I would not turn my back on becoming a Guild Sentry.
I peered back into the window, and the man lay still and silent. I looked into his yellow eyes, and his head cocked startlingly, locking his vision with mine. He began to scream again; this time they were not demented shrieks but rather words.
“No, get away from me! I’ll kill you! I swear to God I’ll kill you! You’re dead! You’re all dead! Burn in hell, you bastards!” He fell motionless again soon after. There was a tense ripple of nauseated panic in the room.
“Why don’t we put them out of their misery?” a man behind me asked, his voice full of the superior tone that always comes with faulty judgment. My eyes drifted to the hunched old man before us.
“These people were not Guild Sentries or even the higher-ranked Guild Sentinels, Stannum. They were Guild Centurions . Do you see the links of chain holding him to his cell? They’re crafted largely from osmium, and yet he lifts them almost effortlessly. Ending their lives is next to impossible, and so we must learn from them.” A Centurion? I thought, recalling that they were the most powerful caste of the Guild, although fewest in number.
“As a result, all we can do is keep them contained and cling to dim hope that they can one day be rehabilitated. After all, they can’t be permitted to go free. Only our Lord Kyrosya knows what would happen.”
“What about the Guild Centurions who can resist the Affliction?” The question left my mouth before I knew it.
“What about them? They’ll continue serving in the military or retire to becoming Guild Instructors.” Ferric was condescending and I knew he had good reason to be. My curiosity had gotten the better of me, though, and I asked, “So Centurion is the highest caste of the Guild? There is no further rank or level of power?”
“No, Fortuna. Thank you for reminding everyone of the Guild’s most basic hierarchy.” The atmosphere was lightened somewhat by the few chuckles then. I took Ferric at his word and we left soon after. Classes for the day had ended.
I returned to my room typically tired and solitary. I flopped onto the uncomfortable, narrow bed and soon fell asleep.
That night, I dreamt terrifying nightmares of that pitiful creature breaking free of its shackles and coming for me. Just when he reached my quarters, just when he was ready to end my life, his face contorted into a soulless grin, and he cried, “We’ll chain you in the future.”
3
Sightless
“Oh, for God’s sake, why are you here yet again, Fortuna?” The voice of Sentinel Stannum was rife with exhaustion as I stood in one of many physical conditioning centres the next morning, a few familiar peers standing around me and groaning in distaste. I paid them no mind and pointed at the thick slab of metal that had been placed in the centre of the room. The
other initiates groaned even louder, and returned to their exercises throughout the facility, which was full of conditioning equipment of every sort.
Stannum was a thickly muscled man of some thirty years whose age had been hidden by winding scars and an impatient, demanding nature. He had been recalled to the Guild as an instructor after serving in one of the campaigns on Rck’ Hara, if only because he was a survivor of some terrible battle that had claimed the lives of those other Sentinels who had served with him. He made no effort to mask his contempt for incompetence, and the years we spent with him in physical conditioning were infamous for their cruelty.
“You cannot be serious. You tried this a year ago, and look what happened. You tried this nine months ago, and then six, and then three, and look what happened. And now,” he raised a thickly calloused hand to his face and grumbled, “here you are again. You don’t have it, Fortuna. Face facts. You’re Sightless.”
I shook my head in defiant frustration and walked toward the rectangular slab of wrought iron in the centre of the chamber, taking note once again of the impossibly deep dents that had been hammered into its surface. Stannum, of course, was duty bound to offer instruction, and he muttered, “I should have stayed on Rck’ Hara.” I gave him no response.
“Fine, you want to mangle your hand again, be my goddamned guest. But you can see yourself to the infirmary this time.”
“How do you do it?” I asked simply, my eyes locked on the deep dents in the iron slab. The instructor sighed loudly, and for a moment I thought I saw a flash of pity on his face. That pity evaporated, however, beneath the oppressive weight of an immovable scowl.
“It’s not just iron, you know. It’s everything. Your own body, the Guild, and all the rest of the matter out there,” the instructor began as he stood beside me, his eyes fixed on the slab as he drew a long breath.