Awakenings

by C. D. Espeseth

  Adel nodded. “I understand.”

  She saw the cage surround her, from which her father had tried for so long to protect her. Memories began to click into place, and enough of them began to make a different kind of sense. They were telling the truth. Deep down, she knew it to be true.

  The sound of a giant bell struck as the giant bronze clock within the Academy’s clock tower struck nine bells. She had to go to her next class.

  “Weaponised Conduit training, isn’t it?” Lady Buika asked with a raised brow. “I shall escort you. Don’t want you getting lost now, do we?” The smile she showed Adel had nothing to do with the friendly gesture her words hinted of.

  She didn’t trust Adel.

  “Thank you, Lady Buika. It would be appreciated,” Adel managed to say. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry, scream, run or do all three at the same time.

  Adel bowed her head and walked away from the garden, which had only yesterday been a safe haven. Now ... well, now she didn’t know what it was.

  Fellow Callahan gave Adel a look of compassion, a look which said he was there for her before he began to walk with them to the training square.

  She hoped he was there for her, but at that moment, Adel had no idea who she could trust.

  “And Anastasia was victorious over the dark hordes, and Halom saw her courage and her goodness and knew He had found His daughter once again. Halom embraced Anastasia in His arms and welcomed her home. Together they ascended back to heaven where Anastasia waited for the next time her people would need her courage. And there still, she waits, ever vigilant, ever ready, one day to return and fight back the darkness when our need is greatest.” Her father’s words echoed in her mind, and it shook Adel to her bones. Her father had ended so many of their playtime games with the same litany. He had always smiled and hugged her at the end of the game. She would jump into his arms, and he would carry her back to the house, just like Halom taking Anastasia back to heaven. It was part of her most cherished childhood memories and, she now realised, was his way of teaching her of the creed she had been born into.

  She walked the rest of the way to class in silence, alone with her memories, which continued to twist her childhood with every step she took.

  7 - Siphoning

  I wonder if there will ever be a time again when people understand how much I have altered the species? Is it evil to alter one’s own species past the point of recognition? Or does the act occupy neutral ground, whereas the intention of the act is the only thing which could be deemed good or evil?

  Most likely a debate for another time, I will be judged by the future for my actions in the past through the twisted lens of my judicators’ hindsight.

  Regardless, I have altered homo sapiens to become something else. I won’t try to classify the new species, though I doubt I could choose as badly as ‘wise man’.

  What a sad joke.

  - Journal of Robert Mannford, Day 166 Year 17

  Wayran

  The Training Square, The Academy, New Toeron, Bauffin

  “Attention!” Captain Miller’s voice cracked through the air like a whip.

  Wayran’s spine straightened as his heels snapped together. He had been lost in his own thoughts once again, yet this time he felt he was justified. His dreams were not just dreams, he was certain of it now. They were visions of possible futures, and the future he had seen last night in the Academy jail scared him to the core.

  They were all going to die unless he could find three keys. Three keys to fit the console that would turn Robert Mannford’s machine off.

  Why though? That was the question Wayran’s mind couldn’t get past. What possible purpose could Mannford have had to set all of this up?

  The answers were in the journal. That’s what the red-eyed man had said in his dream.

  And Wayran was certainly paying more attention to his dreams these days. There were hidden messages within them, some sort of truth or impetus he had not seen before. But those same dreams were too vague, and there was too much he didn’t know or understand. He had to get back to the Artificium, back to Chronicler Talbot so they could search Mannford’s ancient journal for answers. Then, perhaps, his dreams may be able to guide him better.

  Wayran’s eyes widened as he remembered back to the conversation, he had had with Chronicler Talbot at the Artificium. He wasn’t supposed to tell people about his adventure in the Wastes. It had been one of Uncle Aaron’s stipulations in paying back the debt Wayran owed him for smashing all of the santsi globes. Yet, he had been so lost in his thoughts that day that he had blabbed all about it to Chronicler Talbot without a hint of caution. The Chronicler wouldn’t tell, would he? Gods, he hoped not. Not that any of that matters now! Not with this Kali machine of Mannford’s which could start wiping out cities. But what could he do about it? Wayran started to fidget with the stress of it all.

  “Got somewhere to go, young Spierling?” The smell of polished leather and steel washed over Wayran. He looked up to see Sir Vyktor’s one good eye staring back at him.

  It took every ounce of Wayran’s discipline not to say, yes. “Uh, no, sir.” Wayran froze and tried to focus on the ugly scar across Sir Vyktor’s forehead rather than meet the angry glare. Where the hells had he come from? I thought he had been watching from the edge of the training ground. The imposing man watched Wayran squirm for a long moment until finally turning on his heel and walking down the line to inspect the rest of the initiates.

  Sir Vyktor had been shadowing the brothers for the entire morning. He seemed to be an omnipresent reminder of how badly they had messed up the initiation ceremony for the entire Academy, and it wasn’t just Sir Vyktor who looked cross. Most of his classmates had given him some harsh glares, or skittish sidelong glances.

  The increased scrutiny and attention was the last thing Wayran needed, yet another part of him wanted answers to what had happened with him and Matoh as much as anybody else. How in the world had Matoh siphoned lightning three times now and not been harmed? What was the strange energy which had been unleashed during their fight? Why did he have dreams which were more than just dreams, and why could he sometimes randomly see what was about to happen?

  Too many unknowns were leaving him with few options other than to sit tight and get more information.

  The strangest part of all, however, was the feeling it was all connected. The disaster Mannford set in motion all those years ago, the journal, Matoh’s lightning, his foresight, the red-eyed man and what had happened during his fight with Matoh all felt sewn together by some invisible thread. It didn’t make any sense.

  There wasn’t much he could do about it, it would seem. He was stuck at the Academy, with no real alternatives other than to continue his training in the High King’s military. He sighed and resigned himself to a day of trying to fake commitment.

  The corsairs in their three-quarter length tan linen trousers and loose-fitting burgundy blouses had just arrived from their morning sea exercises. He immediately envied the light clothing, the unseasonal late autumn sun was cooking the rest of them in their thicker padded clothing. Wayran glanced to the side and noticed Matoh smiling at one of the corsairs. It was the girl Matoh had been standing next to before their fight last night, Adel Corbin’s friend. His brother’s charisma and charm would no doubt be working overtime. He had always envied that ability of Matoh’s, girls had always been drawn to him while the rest of the male species had to bend over backwards to get the opposite sex even to acknowledge their existence. Though, as Wayran watched the young woman who had caught his brother’s eye, he wondered if Matoh had met his match. She would certainly get more attention than she ever wanted from men, yet Wayran had caught a glimpse of her eyes. They seemed much older than they had any right to be. Matoh had better watch himself all right with this one, or else she’d chew him up and spit him out before he knew what had happened.

  Another group entered the training grounds, and spines stiffened all around him in reflex.

&
nbsp; “Weaponised conduits en mass was the revolutionary strategy enacted by the Syklan knights which turned the tide of the Union Wars, and it is what you must learn if you are to continue that legacy,” a woman’s firm eastern-accented voice projected from the far side of the training grounds and made Wayran’s spine straighten on reflex. It was a voice used to being listened to.

  Lady Conchita Buika, First of the Order of Presence within the Hafaza, strode into the training square like she owned it. Well, Wayran thought, maybe she does own some part of it. It was entirely possible considering how rich the Buikas were known to be. Didn’t they own most of Labran? Wayran remembered his visits to Buika House beside the Oratorio with his father. Harold Spierling’s invention, the trisk suit, or trisks for short, were the conductive underlayer of clothing the Syklan knights wore beneath and incorporated into their armour. His father’s invention had played a major role in the Syklans’ effectiveness during the Union Wars. After the wars were over, the Buikas had commissioned Harold Spierling to make something similar for their Hafaza warriors. As far as Wayran knew, no suit was ever made, though not for lack of trying as his father had been quite happy to take as much Buika gold as he could get before it became clear that the way the Hafaza used their Presence was entirely different to how the Syklans used the potential energy of their surroundings.

  From what he knew of Lady Buika, a basic training session so early in the morning seemed somewhat beneath her. There must be some sort of personal interest in this particular class.

  Fellow Callahan, along with a dozen or so Hafaza marched behind Lady Buika. The Hafaza held their double-bladed glaives resting atop their shoulders, chainmail rustled beneath their beautifully embroidered blue and gold cloaks. Their faces were mostly hidden beneath their long and elegant helmets which were etched with intricately interwoven symbols of the Singer Faith. A T-shape was cut out of the front of the helmets to show their eyes mouth and nose. They were both imposing and glorious at the same time, and the silence which fell over the other initiates spoke of how he was not the only one to think so.

  It was then he noticed Adel Corbin walking beside Fellow Callahan as if his earlier thoughts had somehow summoned her. Watching how she could somehow even walk dangerously, he was reminded of the time he had spied a sand lion creeping across the dunes while aboard Deliverance, his uncle’s airship. The golden cat had been stalking an enormous desert chameleon. The chameleon was the size of a medium-sized pig and was snacking on a nest of hand-sized beetles. They had begun to hover above the scene in silence. Uncle Aaron had moved his hands upon the ancient Jendar console to stop the comforting hum the great hull emitted while it moved them forward. Even from their height, Wayran had seen the beautiful control of every muscle in the sand lion’s body. It had seemed part of the sand, flowing like quiet death towards the oblivious chameleon. The Storm Chasers had held their collective breath as the sand lion crept so close it seemed impossible the chameleon hadn’t seen it with its constantly moving eyes. Then, in an explosion of power and grace, the sand lion burst forward and bit into the chameleon’s neck in one quick fatal embrace of its jaws.

  Adel was like that lion; power, grace, agility, and speed. Her eyes were effortlessly cataloguing the people around her, spotting her prey, instinctively measuring and weighing the abilities of others and assessing any threats.

  Wayran had never been drawn to a person like he was to this Adel Corbin. What was her story? How did someone get to be like that so young? She looked to be at least two years younger than him. Sixteen maybe?

  “You all have your trisk gloves?” Lady Buika asked the class.

  Captain Miller nodded to her that his class was ready. Sir Vyktor remained silent and watchful as he slowly paced around the ground, eyeing the initiates.

  Wayran looked down at the thick leather gloves on his hands. There was a very small santsi globe set in a copper cradle upon the top of the glove. His eyes followed the hidden lines of copper wire beneath the first layer of leather to the contact points on his palm and fingers. These were his father’s work, and he found the stylised S of the Spierling brand on the cuff. It was another reminder that if he tried to cut and run from the Academy, his absence would have repercussions for other people as well. In his mind’s eye, he saw an Academy official interrupting his father in his shop, telling him the news that his son had run away. The imagined look of disappointment and embarrassment on his father’s face shamed Wayran back to the present as he felt his cheeks flush with guilt.

  Yet he knew, with a certainty which he couldn’t explain, that they were all in danger. The vision in the holding cell last night had burned any doubt out of him. He had to figure out what was going on.

  Kevin Bertoni was in line beside Wayran and was glaring at him from out of the corner of his eye. “Stop fidgeting!” Kevin hissed through clenched teeth.

  Wayran forced his hands to stop moving and tried to stay still, but it felt like torture as he tried to pay attention to class. He was trapped into inaction.

  Fellow Callahan stepped forward to join Lady Buika at the front of the class. “Most of you have had practice with siphoning already as it was a significant factor in you being selected for this program. However, very few of you have been trained to siphon properly, fewer still to siphon while wielding a weapon built for such a purpose.”

  Lady Buika continued the instruction seamlessly, no doubt having taught with Fellow Callahan on several occasions. “And it is rarer still to have experienced the enhancements a trained Hafaza can offer on the battlefield. Today we begin to change that.”

  “Now there is a woman,” Kevin whispered near his ear.

  Wayran jerked slightly as Kevin’s elbow nudged his ribs. Sir Vyktor looked his way with a glare, and Wayran clenched his jaw to stop the curse he was about to whisper at Kevin.

  “Got you nervous, eh? Well, I suppose I’d be nervous as well if she were the first woman I saw after getting out of the clink.” Kevin’s smirk was infectious.

  “I was only in for a night, and shut it! She’ll hear you,” Wayran hissed, but he wasn’t mad at Kevin. The Tawan initiate and ex-thief always had a half-grin on his face like he always knew something hilarious was about to happen.

  Sure enough, Lady Buika turned and her eyes locked onto them. Wayran tried to make himself look like the epitome of attentiveness and appropriateness. Kevin, however, wasn’t wrong in the slightest, she was truly stunning, and her elegant dress only enhanced her very womanly form beneath. She wore the Hafaza colours of blue and gold, but the dress was tailored to a rather bold fashion. She suited it, though. Powerful and beautiful. Wayran knew his fellow initiates weren’t just giving Lady Buika’s words their rapt attention.

  “Now we do have records on most of your siphoning abilities.” Fellow Callahan’s eyes wandered over to Wayran and then to Matoh. “Though, as we saw last night, many of you no doubt have other hidden talents. We have begun to notice an increase in … anomalies, shall we say.” He let his eyes search the crowd. “For your safety and of those around you, it is crucially important for you to tell us if you are experiencing anything abnormal.”

  All heads turned to look at the brothers. I don’t know what happened either! Wayran wanted to scream, but he kept his mouth shut and looked at the ground.

  “Yes, class,” Lady Buika interposed and gave Wayran a sympathetic half-smile. “We are all very aware of what happened between the Spierling brothers last night. Rest assured it’s being dealt with.”

  “Yes, it is,” Fellow Callahan continued. “Regardless, the Academy still needs to establish a baseline of your abilities. Today will most likely be the first day for many of you to show us what you can really do.”

  There were quite a few grins among the initiates at the prospect of being able to push themselves.

  “Sir Vyktor is here to ensure nothing like the initiation ceremony happens again.” Fellow Callahan explained with a smile.

  Sir Vyktor’s steely gaze was quite the contr
ast. The venerated Syklan looked as if he was not happy to be called away from his duties.

  “Right, shall we begin?” Fellow Callahan said with a smile. “To the basics then. What is siphoning? Come on, hands up. Yes, you there.”

  Someone near the back was selected from the dozens of hands which had shot up. “The ability to pull energy in from the environment around you,” a very confident voice recited. Wayran recognised it as Jerome.

  “I wondered where he had got to,” Kevin whispered with a smile. “I still owe that boy another toss-up. Round two, if ya like.”

  “Shhh,” Wayran hissed but had to grin as he remembered the two of them with arms around each other’s shoulder, laughing about how they had just beat the stuffing out of each other.

  Fellow Callahan nodded. “Ah, Jerome Dangstrom is it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And how is it that you do that exactly, Jerome?”

  Jerome hesitated, “I ... well, I feel for it and pull it towards myself, sir.”

  “How many would describe it in the same way?” Fellow Callahan asked the class.

  Wayran raised his hand. He saw Kevin’s hand pop up, along with several others around them.

  Though not everyone raised their hand, in fact, quite a few people were looking rather confused by the explanation, and Wayran was, in turn, confused by their confusion.

  “Any different interpretations?”

  Adel’s hand went up.

  “Yes, Ms Corbin.” Fellow Callahan’s eyes seemed to twinkle as he looked to her.