It was none other than Sir Vyktor Henski. The man was a legend. He was one of the original Syklans and had been his mother’s commanding officer throughout the wars. Matoh had idolised the man for as long as he could remember.
Why is he here?! Matoh wanted to scream, but he forced down his panic and took his place beside Wayran.
The doyenne rapped a palm-held gavel on her desk and paused until the low-level murmuring subsided, she held the brothers transfixed with a stern gaze emanating from beneath the pair of circular seeing lenses she wore. “We are convened to investigate the events of the initiation ceremony yesterday,” she announced. Her voice carried authority as if she were born with it.
Matoh felt his spine stiffen as the hearing began. All six of his judges wore solemn looks. Please, Matoh thought, give me a second chance.
“You will both speak the truth as you see it,” the doyenne instructed, “and will speak only when asked. Is that understood?”
“Yes, doyenne,” Matoh said in unison with Wayran. Matoh chanced a glance towards his brother. He looked to be taking this seriously. Thank Halom for that.
“You.” The doyenne pointed to Wayran. “Take us through the events of last night as you remember them.”
“I don’t truly understand what happened,” Wayran admitted. He looked as if he were still trying to solve a puzzle. “I remember sparring with Matoh. And the storm. I remember the storm. It seemed to come from nowhere.” Wayran glanced sideways at Matoh, as if not sure how much to say, but then shook his head and looked confused. “There was a feeling, of energy all around, and a rhythm to our fight.” Wayran looked off into the distance as if remembering. “Matoh and I have fought before, we’re brothers after all, and nothing ever happened like what took place last night. Though Matoh has now survived three lightning strikes which I’ve seen. When we were out in the Wastes with my uncle, Matoh got hit with lightning during one of our energy collecting missions, and then again when we were escaping a roc. I don’t know how he isn’t hurt, but I’m worried about him.”
That took Matoh by surprise. He hadn’t thought about how this all must appear to someone else. He was having a hard-enough time making sense of it himself.
Wayran seemed to be hesitating with something.
“Yes? Anything else to add?” the doyenne prompted.
Wayran stopped tapping his foot and looked up shyly. “No, Doyenne. Nothing else. I just remember the storm, the strange rhythm of the fight, and the sudden silence when it was over. Then Captain Miller tackled me.”
Matoh struggled to suppress a grin. The look on Wayran’s face when he saw Captain Miller hurtling through the air towards him had been priceless.
Maestra Lascotti leaned towards Sir Vyktor and whispered something to the grizzled commander. Sir Vyktor nodded he had heard, but the stern mask of his face did not change. He did not look impressed to be there, as if this was all a bit beneath him, and Matoh was suddenly very embarrassed that this would be the first impression he would make on the man.
“Tell us about the storm,” Fellow Callahan said. The siphoning expert looked thoughtful.
Wayran visibly swallowed, with a second glance at Matoh. “I don’t remember much about it, Fellow Callahan, but I do remember thinking that it was odd how fast the storm formed around us.”
“Interesting. And why exactly did you say it ‘formed around you?’” Fellow Callahan leaned in closer and was watching Wayran closely.
“I ... I don’t know, sir. I suppose it was a feeling I had, that’s how it felt. Like the storm was connected to our fight somehow. I don’t know how to explain it, really.” Wayran looked confused, thoughtful and frustrated at the same time.
“And you?” The doyenne shifted her lens-covered gaze to him, and Matoh felt his mouth go dry. “How would you explain the storm?”
“I guess …” Matoh had to search himself for an answer. He hadn’t analysed it like this before. “I suppose I would say it just felt … right. As if it should happen, or if I compare it to what happened in the Wastes, I would say it felt like what needed to happen. Does that make any sense? I wasn’t focusing on trying to pull in a huge amount of energy, and I don’t think that’s what it was. It feels more like the air was changing around me. But each time I wasn’t trying to do it. I was angry fighting Wayran, scared when I attacked the roc, and excited and a bit scared, I guess, when it happened the first time next to the sandstorm in the Wastes.”
Fellow Callahan, Lady Buika, and Chronicler Rutherford began firing questions back and forth to each other. Most of the words being bandied about by the three experts Matoh could only guess the meanings of. It seemed to be some sort of conversation about anything similar happening within the three disciplines of Jendar technology, siphoning abilities and the Hafaza’s ability to use their Presence. Maestra Lascotti was writing something down and had opened the large copy of Tenets of the Elohim on the desk in front of her.
“So, both of you deny sabotage of the initiation ceremony?” Sir Vyktor’s accusation sank through the room like a blast of arctic air. The statement was delivered bluntly. The Academics paused in their conversations to look at Sir Vyktor.
Matoh felt as if he had just been slapped. “No, sir. I mean … we did not sabotage the ceremony. We just fought.”
Sir Vyktor stood and looked at the other five members. “I fail to see why I was called in to this panel. The Syklan order has far more pressing matters to deal with than two young boys pulling off some sort of prank at the initiation ceremony.”
Matoh felt as if his heart and guts had been ripped out in front of everyone. The casual disdain riding each syllable of Sir Vyktor’s words were like nails driven into him.
“You knew their mother, the Silver Lady, very well, Sir Vyktor,” the doyenne said with patience.
“With respect, Doyenne,” Sir Vyktor said with a slow inhale of breath, “I knew Natasha, not her sons.”
“Yes, but did the Silver Lady ever demonstrate such abnormal abilities? Anything like what was described at the initiation ceremony,” The doyenne pressed.
“No,” Sir Vyktor said as if explaining to children. “Natasha Spierling was an excellent example of what Syklan’s should aspire to be. She was fearless, smart and fast when faced with a challenge, and a stronger than average siphoner. She could not create waves of energy. This is a debate for the theorists, not me.”
Chronicler Rutherford nodded respectfully and continued almost as if he were lecturing, “Yes, quite right, Sir Vyktor. Based on some of our most recent findings, the Jendar did seem to have the ability to harness the energy of storms, so the Jendar structure the boy described is entirely within the realm of possibility. Who is to say what the interactions between a competent siphoner and operational Jendar technology might produce? Uh, Wayran, was it?”
Wayran looked as if he had just been slapped, as Matoh knew Wayran had met Chronicler Rutherford at least seven times during the long hours he spent volunteering at the Artificium before he went into the Wastes with their uncle.
Wayran nodded sadly, “Yes, that’s right, Wayran, sir.”
“Yes, of course. I remember you now. You’ve been to the Artificium before. This young man does have a passable knowledge of Jendar relics; however, it is highly unlikely he could produce the effects we saw last night.”
It was then Fellow Callahan stood up, and all eyes turned to him. “This has gone far enough, I think. We are all aware of the sharp rise of applications from students who not only have the basic siphoning aptitude required for military training but who also have a much higher than average ability. We have also seen a major increase in the number of people who develop at least some level of siphoning ability, an increase which we cannot explain with selected parentage or lineage. Before the initiation ceremony, I met a young woman, named Adel, who had been holding enough energy to burn out all of us on this panel at one time. Yet today she says she feels healthy enough, though she is still walking around constantly pulling in eno
ugh energy to be akin to a small sun.” He raised a hand to ward off the alarmed looks of his fellow panel members. “Rest assured I have muted her ability so far with some help from my stone circle. She is perfectly safe to herself and those around her for now.”
He continued, “Her companion, a young initiate named Naira O’Bannon is reported to have some strange ability to disappear! Something we’ve never heard of before. The investigator we sent to Blossom Bay wrote in his report that several sailors were confused about an incident she was involved in. They recounted how the young girl of only twelve years had been working a fishing line with them to try and make some money. She had slipped on the deck and fallen into the water. They were horrified as their catch had attracted several sharks and young Naira had fallen right into their midst. The sharks went for her, but before they attacked, she was somehow on the other side of the boat. They hauled her out of the water, not understanding what had happened.
“Then there is also the rise in the number of Singers who can manifest the Presence, and as I understand it, the Hafaza have also seen a dramatic rise in those who are capable enough to join the ranks of Halom’s holy warriors.” He looked to Lady Buika for confirmation.
“Yes, this is true,” she conceded.
“Now there are these two. If you’ve read your scripture, you will know that in the Tenets of the Elohim, at the time of Meskaiwa the Raven, there were also others who had extraordinary abilities.”
“You speak of the Dread Lady?” Sir Vyktor asked angrily.
“Yes, her and Rykavin Stonesplitter, whose descendant we all know to be Yuna Swiftriver, who even by Navutian standards is formidable while also being an incredibly powerful siphoner. There were also the Elohim, and the holy text even hints at others outside these influential people who had extraordinary powers.”
“What is your hypothesis then, Fellow Callahan? I assume you have a point to make?” Chronicler Rutherford harrumphed looking annoyed.
“While the Chroniclers do not put much stock in religion, they do put much faith in history, do they not?” Fellow Callahan smiled at the agitated man.
Chronicler Rutherford grudgingly conceded the point.
“The Tenets of the Elohim is very old, and the Singer order has been incredibly meticulous in scribing multiple copies throughout many centuries in order to keep the story of the Raven. Even you cannot deny that.”
Fellow Callahan waited for any further argument, but there was none. “What I believe, is that during the time of the Raven there was a confluence of events. Great forces were brought together, which changed the course of events dramatically, and I believe we are seeing the same happening now. Great change is coming and with it rise people of great influence upon the world around them. Ronaston Mihane was only the forebearer of those to come. There will be more who grow into their abilities as we approach this next confluence of events.”
Contemplative silence met Fellow Callahan’s final words as he sat down. The panel watching Matoh and Wayran mulled over the new revelations with a mixture of worry and acknowledgement.
“I have to admit I did find it strange how many initiates were already arriving with exceptionally high siphoning abilities,” Sir Vyktor conceded. “Captain Miller has written several reports about it already.”
“So further study of these two young men and the other initiates who have already been identified is required.” Chronicler Rutherford concluded.
“I am already overseeing the training of the young Adel, as I mentioned, and I think it best if I continue to monitor her personally as she has a very particular siphoning problem which is being managed, but I don’t think it wise for anyone else to disrupt her current regimen.”
“Yes,” the doyenne agreed and wrapped her gavel to gain everyone’s attention before continuing, “agreed. We are all experts in our different fields, and a more comprehensive answer needs to be found. As these two are not the only ones who we have found displaying strange abilities, but as they are the only two who have manifested such an explosive display, they will require a more intensive scrutiny.” The doyenne looked around the assembled experts with gravitas.
They all considered what that might mean for a long moment.
Matoh looked to Sir Vyktor, hoping his story might be enough, but the hard man’s stony gaze did not change. He felt his heart sink as he realised his idol thought him a simple boy trying to impress his betters.
“Is there anything else either of you would like to add?” the doyenne asked.
Matoh and Wayran shared a glance. It was blatantly apparent Wayran was just as confused about the entire thing as he was.
“No, Doyenne.” The brothers spoke together. Matoh was glad to see that Wayran was also in no mood to argue.
“You will resume your regularly-scheduled classes and training. However, you will be monitored for quite some time by a series of experts. You will afford them every courtesy, and if they require anything further from you outside or during classes, you will comply immediately. Understood?”
Matoh could not have heard correctly. He was being allowed to resume classes?
“Yes, Doyenne,” Matoh said immediately trying to hold down his excitement.
“Yes, Doyenne,” Wayran echoed a bit later. Matoh wondered if a part of Wayran might have been hoping to be expelled.
“Sir Garrick,” the doyenne called, “you may escort them outside.”
And with that, they were led out.
* * *
Sir Garrick left them at the front of the administration building. Matoh was still in a state of shock.
“Wow,” Matoh said as he squinted stepping out into the sunlight, “so, we aren’t getting kicked out?”
Wayran shook his head.
“Do you understand what happened last night?” Matoh asked.
“No …” Wayran was lost in thought. He looked worried. “There was something more than just the storm though.”
“Yeah.” Matoh nodded, he had felt it too. Like something opening up around them.
Matoh tried to remember their fight, but the details weren’t clear. He remembered being completely absorbed in it, yet all he could recall was a rhythmic undercurrent and a sense of purity and purpose to it all.
“I’m sorry,” Wayran said, surprising Matoh. “I meant no disrespect to mother last night. This place was her idea, after all. I know what she fought for. What she died for. I respect that.” Matoh saw Wayran pause and push to quell his emotions. “I just didn’t want to fight you, and especially not in front of all those people.”
“It was the initiation ceremony. Random choice, but I watched the names get pulled out of the same bag, just like everyone else’s. You do know what happens at the initiation ceremony, right?” Matoh couldn’t understand Wayran at times.
“Yes, of course I do, I’ve watched loads of them with you, as you know. It’s just, well, I was a bit preoccupied.” Wayran shook his head and then snapped his attention up at Matoh as if he had just thought of something. “Back in the Jendar complex, in the Wastes, did you ever see a man, all in metal, watching us, with red eyes?”
Matoh paused at that. What? He looked at his brother closely then as he tried to remember. The description had shaken a memory loose. Had it been in a dream? But he knew the only thing close to a man he had seen down in that complex had been the mummified corpse and then the ghostly image which had tried to talk to them. “No. Should I have? I could have missed it. Was it a statue or something?” Matoh asked. Wayran looked like he had just woken from one of his recurring nightmares. A bit lost, not quite sure what was real.
“A statue …” Wayran trailed off. “No, never mind. I need to go see Chronicler Talbot.”
“No, what you need is to get to class with me, double time.”
“Right. Yes.” Wayran shook himself visibly.
Head in the clouds again, Matoh thought to himself, but deep down, he was worried. Something was wrong.
“Hey, don’t look at me like th
at.” Wayran cracked a smile as he saw Matoh’s face. “You’re the one we need to worry about. How is it that you’ve become a lightning rod all of a sudden? Could you please stop it? I’m pretty sure it’s not good for you or anyone else’s health.”
“Point taken.” Matoh grinned his half-grin.
“Not a good start, boys.” A harsh, gravelly voice growled behind them.
They both jumped, startled.
Sir Vyktor shook his head in disappointment. “You’re already both late for training, and you thought it a good idea have a little chat.”
Matoh found it hard to swallow his shame in that moment and wanted to find a way to crawl under a rock just to escape the judgemental stare from Sir Vyktor’s one good eye.
“Well move,” he said flippantly. “Get to class, on the double.”
“Yes, sir.” Matoh bit his tongue and sprinted off to class wishing to all the gods who would listen for a way to regain some of his lost honour, but there was nothing for it. He had to just put his head down and show everyone why he had earned his spot here. He tightened his jaw and increased his pace and sprinted all the way to the training yard.
6 - A Different Type of Training
Raidho spoke of something very strange today. It had the idea of trying to upgrade or alter the structure of its nanite body in order to achieve some form of symbiosis with an organic lifeform.
I was intrigued, to say the least, but thought the idea ludicrous.
“You would cease to exist, Raidho. Whatever creature you integrated with would have millions of years of evolution on its side. You would most likely be absorbed, or attacked by the creature’s immune system,” I said.
Yet, I do not think my words put Raidho off. If anything, I may have somehow encouraged its flight of fancy.
- Journal of Robert Mannford, Day 244 Year 33
Adel
Fellow Callahan’s Private Garden - The Academy, New Toeron, Bauffin
Awakenings Page 7