Suiteonem Prime, Sonombera, Amanis, 213916

  Ragay sighed.

  He caught a partial reflection in the viewing orb of the dopey smile on his face as he watched Talima’s recorded message.

  Instantly, he straightened and wiped it off.

  He was alone in his room, but that didn’t matter for his embarrassment levels as he watched the message for the second time today.

  “— you have to let me interview you when you come back. Um, I guess there’s secret stuff you can’t talk about. That’s okay, but you can still tell me, just say its off the record and I won’t write it down or record it. Promise!” She beamed.

  “Pause.”

  He took a long moment to fix her smiling face into his memory.

  He silently gave thanks to Sinaya for the hundredth time in the past few weeks for allowing the sending and receiving of recorded messages to Talima and Aunty Bilaya.

  The only thing better was if he could have sent messages to all in his house and his friends, but one didn’t attempt to devour the entire school lest the Ocean Mother grow cross with their gluttony.

  It was one of the worst sins, after all.

  At least he could rely on the two of them to carry his words to the others and to carry their words to him.

  It was by that same token that he wouldn’t complain about being only allowed to send the messages once a month.

  “Unpause.”

  “Chamba says he’s actually going to try now in Junior Reef Defenders, so that he can join you one day. I don’t know why. We don’t even know what you’re doing.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sure they’re censoring you. Maybe we can come up with a code. I asked Aunty Bilaya and she said that she doesn’t know anything. Your progenitor mother and father might, but their attendants don’t even let me into their buildings. And I can’t get any new sources.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, my ocean hero. I should’ve done better. When I discovered that there was something special going on with your class I thought it was just for something like a special program or ocean trip. I didn’t think it was about you and that they’d take you away from us.”

  He grimaced.

  None of them knew the truth.

  He had been only allowed to tell them that it was a special training program.

  Nothing about Miss Karagatan at all and what that meant for him in the future.

  Not that she had been forthcoming.

  He still didn’t know exactly what was in front of him and the others chosen.

  Talima darted from topic to topic like a stripped darter on the reef moving from spiny cluster to spiny cluster. About her investigations on more mundane topics along with his particular issue. About gossip with his friends and the extended group.

  She didn’t say anything about Naujon, which was good.

  “I miss you.” She pouted. “I know you have a great opportunity, even if you’re not allowed to tell me what it is. I mean, Aunty Bilaya and your other carers analyzed your message and they’re sure you’re not being tortured or mind scrubbed. You know, I had no idea your aunty was familiar with such techniques. I, um, asked her for an interview, but… maybe you can suggest it to her? Just maybe, I mean, you don’t have to.”

  Nope.

  He would not suggest that.

  “And we had just started to…” Talima’s cerulean cheeks darkened as she cleared her throat. “Well, that’s okay. I’ll wait for you, so you better wait for me, okay? Maybe, they’ll give you vacations? They have to. At least for Spring Dawn and Winter Dusk and Sinaya’s Holy Week! Definitely for holy week! I don’t know what they’re making you do, but no one does anything on holy week except reflect and pray with your loved ones. So, they definitely have to let you come home for that!”

  Yeah, he wasn’t sure about that and there was no way he was going to ask Miss Karagatan.

  After she had made it clear that Sinaya required his participation, he’d only look weak if he asked about going home, for holy week or another special time.

  “Oh no!” She glanced to the side. “I’m almost out of time! Hugs and kisses! Don’t forget me! I won’t forget you! Try to come up with a code! Maybe, something like metaphors, but on things and events only the two of us would know? I’ll workshop it. You think your aunty will want to help? I guess I can ask,” she mused. “But she is a little… intense… anyways. I’m really out of time now! Bye, Ragay! Kisses again! I’ll be counting the days until your next message.”

  He took time to reflect and compose his thoughts before starting the next message.

  The clock on the wall said he had enough time to watch it in its entirety before the mandatory sleep period, which was strictly enforced by everything in his room that could be a distraction shutting down.

  Truth be told, he didn’t need much enforcement when it came to the sleep period.

  The training always left him drained both mentally and physically.

  Aunty Bilaya’s face appeared above the viewing orb.

  “Ragay. I am pleased to see you alive and well. There are restrictions and we will not be able to speak freely, nor at the length required. Especially, since your mysterious abductors are limiting even this to such an extent as to be in violation of freedom laws. Know that when you disappeared we mobilized without delay. There was a tense moment between your house and your progenitors.” She cleared her throat. “There may have been violent threats. But that’s all been resolved. River water out to the ocean. An adjudicator assured me that you are willing and that this is Sinaya’s Will. While, I’d prefer her to have a different will in regards to you, I neither have the ability nor the will to protest. However, I will continue to protest the isolation. No one has yet to give me a sufficient explanation why you are to be kept apart from us without even a live call.”

  Aunty Bilaya cursed, which made his eyes widen.

  “I should’ve have known when your progenitors approached me three years ago to impress upon me the importance of your martial training. I had thought one or the other had finally noticed your potential and were scouting you to join them upon passing your trial.” She slashed her hand like it was one of the many weapons she could wield expertly. “No. That isn’t for you to worry about. Focus on your training. I know you are capable of surpassing this challenge, whatever it is. Now, I have many messages to relay. Visay wants you to know that she prays to Sinaya every night to let you comeback to us. She has sacrificed Mister Malgorine on the house altar to Sinaya. It was cute… and disturbing. None of us know how she learned the proper rights. Regardless, we are watching her closely, so, please don’t worry.”

  Now he felt really bad.

  That was Visay’s only stuffed doll.

  He made a note to tell her in his next message not to sacrifice anything else.

  Aunty Bilaya relayed the messages from the rest of his house, accompanied by a brief tale of each person to at least give him something to remember and warm his heart while trapped in the cold depths in Sonombera.

  He glanced at the holy relic sitting in its creche like a flagpole given to him by Miss Karagatan.

  The gnarled staff of coral stood a little taller than him topped by a hook from which dangled a fist-sized orb of swirling deep ocean water. It was connected to the end of the hook by… well… nothing.

  The magic of Sinaya’s Heart.

  With the relic he could be a poor imitation of Miss Karagatan.

  Why one was needed?

  She hadn’t said.

  This filled him with dread.

  …

  Weeks on the Sonombera and Ragay imagined he had only seen a fraction of it.

  His room to the training area and back.

  Some of the corridors were filled with cold ocean water, which was harder on the landborn chosen with him. Some areas were devoid of the ocean, which forced some of the oceanborn into wearing dryland masks and in the case of one deep oceanborn from a trench, an entire suit to protect her soft body.

  Ragay wished to start a conversation with that one to ask her what it was like in the deepest depths of Sinaya’s ocean. If only to have something interesting to tell Talima in his next message. He thought that it was the sort of information she’d love since it was all so mysterious.

  If only Miss Karagatan hadn’t forbidden idle chatter during training.

  If only there were other opportunities to chat.

  Room to training and back.

  The isolation was total.

  There were no communal meals or body cleaning.

  If it wasn’t part of the training, they did it alone in their rooms.

  He had yet to run into another soul in the corridors.

  “Focus, Ragay,” Miss Karagatan fired a water ball into his back.

  The temporary spines on the staff dug into his palm and fingers.

  Thousands of them.

  So small that he could barely see them, yet they delivered great pain.

  He was familiar with pain from his training.

  One would think he could ignore tiny, hair-like spines barely penetrating his flesh. Not even to draw blood.

  And yet…

  He refocused on the plain sphere of water sitting in the center of the circular chamber.

  The other chosen sat around it like him with a copy of the sphere in front of them in varying quality.

  “The Heart of Sinaya obeys your will and only your will,” Miss Karagatan said. “Stray thoughts will weaken your construct or you will fail to generate one at all.”

  Ragay grit his teeth.

  Prior to this whole thing he would’ve said it was easy to focus on an image of a simple sphere in his mind.

  It turned out that it was harder.

  He pictured a sphere, but it kept shifting.

  It became a ball, then another type of ball, specifically the one Ulus and the other children in his house liked to kick and throw against the walls, which made Uncle Yabas mad since he had to clean the smudges.

  And… just like that the ball of water in front of him splashed on the floor.

  He took several deep breaths and tried again.

  The orb dangling from his hook staff swirled, slowly extruding a thin tendril that swelled into a sphere at its end.

  “Good, Ragay. That was faster than the last attempt.”

  Miss Karagatan didn’t move from her perch.

  A tall chair looming over them like a weapon tower created out of the same cold, dark water they were using.

  Unlike them, she didn’t have a hooked staff.

  That had been a disappointment.

  He had seen recordings and pictures of her using one, although, come to think of it he remembered them being different.

  The stray thoughts caused his sphere to jiggle like his aunty’s favorite dessert.

  Water sphere! Water sphere! Water sphere!

  He saved it, solidifying its shape.

  Time passed.

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  His body grew slick with the effort.

  “Very good. Hydrate and get those helmets on.”

  No one groaned, at least not audibly that Ragay could hear.

  The helmet covered his entire head.

  It assaulted him with sights, sounds, touch, smells and, yes, even tastes.

  He drank as much water as his stomach could fit.

  Then he placed the helmet over his head.

  “It is one thing to will a construct into existence while sitting still without distractions. To do it while in a fight? That will be the difference between your lives and your deaths. Create the sphere.”

  It was a lot harder to do when a dancing drylander gyrated her shapely hips in the transparent screen over his eyes. He wondered if the girls had a dancing drylander male instead.

  Naturally, the distraction foiled his attempt to shape the water into a sphere.

  It only got worse from there as a piercing whistles stabbed his ears, while the pungent scent of a durian filled his nose slits. The skittering of tiny legs across the skin of his cheeks didn’t help. Neither did the sweetness of a sea apple in his mouth.

  “The last one to create and hold a sphere for one minute will do physical training for the rest of this session.”

  Suiteonem Prime, Frozen Eternities, December, 2057

  “Remember, this is an act. We will not be killing anyone today. Or tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month. We will not be killing people unless I say so.”

  Cal addressed his troops.

  Well, the Frozen Eternities, an undead horde and a few hundred revenants.

  He was about to begin the regularly scheduled apocalypse a few months ahead of schedule.

  “Your bones will get stuck between my teeth, puny human male.” For a massive undead dragon, Bellicosiaxtramondagron had a surprisingly high-pitched voice when not roaring and such. Without lungs or anything close to resembling a larynx in his desiccated and bony neck the words came out of a magic gem and the empress had been petty in her undeath.

  “As long as you don’t kill any of the people you can keep existing. Whenever you feel like changing your mind let me know and I shall grant you your final freedom.”

  “I just want to fight.” The undead dragon shrugged massive shoulders, sending the ice that had formed over them crashing down like an avalanche.

  “Lord Cross, if I may?” Falliana, Dawn’s Light, leaned down to whisper in his ear.

  He sighed.

  Everyone was so much taller than him.

  It was even worse than back on Earth.

  “The Belligerent can’t be trusted.”

  “You have his control gem.”

  Apparently, his last name was translated by the Universal Translation System into ‘Cross’ in her language.

  The ‘Lord’ part was all her.

  She was less a paladin in the holy sense and more in the represents a leader sense. A warrior, administrator, judge and anything else her emperor needed in regards to the governance of his or her lands.

  He had tried to get her to stop calling him that, but short of mind control it wasn’t going to happen.

  Thus, he let it go, rationalizing that a ‘Lord Cross’ could a useful obfuscation.

  Maybe the others could address him in different names? At different times? That would get wonderfully confusing for spies and psychic watchers.

  “Don’t worry about him or anyone else. I’m the last safeguard. They won’t really hurt anyone.”

  “I pray you’re right. I cannot return to the old ways. You’ve given me hope that I can atone for my sins under the empress’ yoke. It would be cruel if you proved a false savior. If that is the case, please, give me freedom now.”

  “You know you don’t have to do this. I said you can go do what you want on this world or another. I trust you to obtain the death mana you need without harming innocents.”

  “Monsters are plentiful and there will always be evil men. But, I’m duty bound to stand watch over the others and render judgment when they betray your generosity.”

  “They won’t. They can’t.”

  “Yes, through this method you refused to specify.” Her unblinking eyes were startlingly crystal clear as she tried to pierce his.

  “Fair point. So, let’s get this started.”

  The empress had portal capability. Her true death diminished it. There were still portal stones, but the portable ones were limited by the amount they could transport. The fixed stones could theoretically transport until they ran out of mana. Their limitation was in the fixed size and location. The former slowed the amount of troops that could move through them, while the latter made them vulnerable to enemy action.

  Regardless, the apocalypse rules limited portal use for the mass transportation of troops.

  It was more fun for Suiteonem to watch a horde of undead stretching across the horizon march across the ice sheets. It gave the so-called god a smile thinking of what the living felt as they watched their doom approach.

  Falliana leapt from the ice to Bellicosiaxtramondagron’s back.

  There was high-pitched grumbling, but he knew she had his control gem.

  Cal added helpful thoughts.

  There would be no collateral damage.

  The horde marched.

  Undead were tireless, but it would still take several days to cross the frozen seas. Then they’d have to climb over the mountains to reach the holds.

  They would cross several encounter challenges and spawn zones, which would add to the time.

  That was fine with him.

  He had promised the revenants the opportunity to collect death mana, Quests that might’ve popped up and brief attempts to collect rewards from said monster-filled areas.

  It worked out since they’d get their fill and by the time they pretend attacked the mountainholds there’d be less desire to kill.

  It helped that outside of the undead dragon the revenants he sent were those closest to his personal morality and ethics. At least, when they had been alive. He hoped and planned for them to get back to that now that they were free from the empress.

  Cal flew back into the frozen city. Most of it lay within the glacier-covered mountains. The lack of living beings anywhere close meant that he didn’t have to worry about his speed.

  Many kilometers in seconds.

  Deep into the Frozen Eternities.

  “Melasghoul, Betrayer of Caith.”

  The revenant started, leaping from the chair and thrusting glowing hands in front of her.

  She wore rich violet robes that glowed with magic visible to all of his senses. Every part of her not covered by the voluminous robe was wrapped tightly in white bandages with glowing script stitched into them.

  A mummy in robes.

  He had a peek and her body, what remained of it, was as dry and desiccated as the mummies back on Earth.

  “You betrayed the kingdom you swore to protect and serve.”

  “That is factual, my…”

  “Falliana calls me ‘Lord Cross’. But you will not call me anything.”

  “I… see…” her eyes were glowing orbs of violet.

  “I understand you betrayed them for a reason. Tell me.”

  So she did.

  It was a convoluted tale of intrigue. Of spycraft. A web of illicit love affairs and more incest than he wanted to hear about.

  The short of it was that she had betrayed her kingdom so that approximately ten percent of the population could escape the empress’ hordes instead of zero percent.

  To her credit she didn’t prevaricate around the portion where the promise of greater magic power and knowledge had played a fair part in her treachery.

  As with all his revenant interviews the test was in how honest they were.

  He saw the truth in their memories, after all.

  “Alright. You have a choice. The freedom of oblivion or you can work for me.”

  “The latter, my lord.”

  “No hesitation?”

  “Oblivion is unappealing.”

  “Okay. Let’s start with a thought exercise.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “There is a secret council of powerful mage-types controlling an empire. The true power behind the crown. How would you go about subverting them without alerting the mind reading parasites secretly controlling them?”

  Suiteonem Prime, Suiteonem’s Sanctuary, World Tree, Suiteonem V, 20136

  Two months passed after the worst night of her life.

  Sixty-eight spent her days in violent conflict.

  She fought with words in her classes.

  Her fists and feet in training.

  She fought with her half-siblings.

  With teachers and trainers.

  Her only semblance of relief was her four hours of sleep every night.

  Oddly enough she always woke physically refreshed if not mentally.

  The God dreams were rarely pleasant for a variety of reasons a young child wasn’t truly equipped to process. Many adults would find them difficult.

  …

  Morning.

  Suiteonem’s 3rd Day of the week.

  War Arts Class.

  Eidolon Samtis punctuated his sentences with wood cracking jabs of his finger.

  It was no wonder that there was a new podium every class.

  “Logistics. The true lord of warfare. Your mission, your Quest is to lead a warband of one hundred Level 30’s. Assume the standard mix of classes suited for raiding. For terror tactics: infrastructure disruption and destruction. Assume the enemy nation consists of scattered settlements ranging from villages of a few hundred to cities in the ten’s of thousands. Assume lowlands leading down to a coast for terrain.” He snapped off a piece of his podium with a particularly vicious poke. “I pose one question to you. Supplies. Type and amount?”

  All hands shot up.

  Sixty-eight’s no quicker, nor slower than the others.

  Negative reinforcement was swift and painful for those that thought they could hide behind the others.

  The teachers, eidolon or otherwise, had taught them all that lesson in their very first class.

  “Thirty-seven. In less than one hundred words,” Eidolon Samtis said through grit teeth.

  “Three day supply of water per member. One week supply of nutrient paste. Five classes with food and water cleansing and creation abilities. Fifty percent above standard loadout in mana gems and healing gems. The greater cost will be offset by the space and weight savings over liquid or solid potions.” Thirty-seven took a quick breath before he continued. “One hundred percent over standard loadout for sapper-type classes. Each member will be assigned explosive and incendiary items. Each member will be assigned an automaton steed configured for speed and endurance.”

  “Passed.” Eidolon Samtis sneered. “Next!”

  Twenty spoke as soon as he raised his hand.

  A risk.

  Sixty-eight had seen the tactic punished, but she had also seen it treated with approval.

  It depended on the teacher and sometimes the same teacher varied it over the course of a single class.

  Her half-brother was bigger and stronger than everyone else in the class. She remembered him as the one from the Grand Brawl that had decent control over his rage and had tried to knock her out quickly as an act of mercy.

  Not that she’d ever thank him for treating her like she was weaker than the rest of them.

  She was the youngest and smallest, but that didn’t mean she was the weakest.

  “Same as Thirty-seven except I’ll cut the food and water we start with. More explosives and burning. More mana and stamina regenerating items. I’d bring speed enhancing items. Teleportation. We’ll take food and water from the villages. Raze and pillage. If that’s a problem then we’ll forage. Even the smallest village needs to be close to a source of water. And if we’re moving like the lightning and teleporting they won’t have the warning to burn their crops and stores before we hit them.”

  “Better. Pass. A son of Suiteonem should act with aggression in all things.”

  Sixty-eight began to panic.

  Just two answers and her ideas had been taken.

  There were still thirteen students left to go and she was certain that the later one went the more likely one would receive punishment for a failed answer.

  …

  “Get up, you worthless worm!” Hoplos Soborn palmed the top of her head like a ball and held her in the sand for long enough that she could see that there were more flecks of gold in her blood than from the last one versus one fighting class. “You couldn’t last a minute with a Level 20 pugilist fighting like that! I’ll bury you before I let you shame our God with your weakness!”

  He tossed her back into the ring.

  Seven scowled, a brief flicker of displeasure, not at her, for his red-gold eyes fixed on their combat trainer like a raptor’s.

  “Got something to say, Three? Gonna complain about the rules again? Whine about the fight being over when you knock this worm out of the ring?”

  Seven wisely stayed silent.

  The beating Hoplos Soborn laid on him the first time he protested had been legendary.

  They still spoke of it in hushed tones.

  Sixty-eight snarled.

  Anger rose at the thought that her half-brother saw her as a weakling in need of protection.

  She didn’t need anyone on this world, in the tree taking care of her.

  None of them were her mother, her true father, her people.

  She dug her toes into the sand, crouching low like a feral ripper.

  She was going to go for the ankle pick.

  Then she was going to bite Seven’s toes off.

  The healers could regrow them.

  She had seen it firsthand.

  Hoplos Soborn laughed deep from his massive power belly.

  “I wouldn’t take it easy on her, Seven. It might cost you. And I promise you that if you do decide to be a soft weakling, I’ll make up the difference. Do not shame your God!” he roared.

  …

  Midday.

  Suiteonem’s 6th Day of the week.

  Communal lunch.

  Seven sat down at her table with his loaded tray.

  She just barely managed to not growl at her half-brother.

  “I’m sitting here.” He shrugged.

  She looked around pointedly.

  There were over a hundred tables, which meant they could all have their own solitary table. Most of them had taken that option.

  It was hard to focus on nutrition while trying to keep their pots from going from a simmer to a boil and attacking each other for earlier slights, perceived or legitimate.

  He raised his bloody, bandaged foot.

  “You owe me.”

  “Healing?” she grunted.

  “I have two more days wait. The hoplos was peeved with me.”

  “You didn’t hold back.”

  “I sensed that only made you madder. Then, again we tend to get madder regardless.”

  “Why?”

  “Sit here? Can’t I just want to get to know my sister?”

  She glared.

  “I’ll let you know when the others get here.”

  Fifteen bounced her way toward Sixty-eight’s table.

  The pot began to boil.