Chapter XLII

Loose Ends

Gorbat fell. Nothing could save him from hitting the ground and dying. He made peace with that and closed his eyes, reminiscing about his life and the fight against the hypocritical systems he had always despised.

He knew his kill count well, starting with Vinzen Quich, a superior sephirah who, over two hundred and fifty years, had been powerful enough to monopolize zinc extraction from an exoplanet for forty years, exploiting selfish interests. Many people had died because of him, including Gorbat's daughter, Nika. She had been part of Vinzen’s research team. Their incursions were not as safe as they were supposed to be, and one day, an explosion killed six members. Gorbat never saw her again.

For him, killing Vinzen had been a pleasure. It was his most significant contribution to Malkuth and the Edictum Vitae. Since then, he had embraced the extarri life, becoming one of the best dictadurians in history, in his humble opinion.

Is it normal for time to stretch out so long when one is dying?

Everything became static while something pulled his body from behind.

The gevurah.

“Furkana! I’m ready to die!”

“You won’t get away that easily. Where do you have the remaining alters?”

“Which rest? Corven and Yllen stole the last twelve I had.”

“What happened to the rest?”

“I ought you’d knew! They’ve allowed the dark markets of Dictaduria to thrive thanks to my umbras! We brought stolen outdated techs into the countries, smuggling them through the Culter, unnoticed. Our business made the lives of those in this lands bearable, unlike you, furkan sephirah!”

For once, he told the truth.

Gorbat perceived how his few remaining nanites detached and moved to Zanda’s, merging with her merkabbalah. He was about to say something when a small part of her suit rushed towards his mouth, silencing him. The rest wrapped around his limbs, hands, wrists, ankles, knees, arms, and chest.

His face showed the realization that he never stood a chance against the gevurah.

“Great. I’ll talk from now on.” Zanda flew around while he floated away from the ground, unable to move. Her tone was charged with disgust. “I have to say, you’re the nastiest person I’ve ever met. You stink. What's your problem? Are you so powerful you don’t need to shower? Gorbat, you disgrace what it means to be a Homo Synthesicus. You deserve to be an extarri and live without aequiteism, maybe more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

She flew with the dictadurian trailing right behind her.

He turned his gaze to the dead forest, which became smaller by the second. Arctic Redpolls flew above the ocean with the sun on the horizon.The sunken harbor was near. A dusty mist covered the remains of that bay and the surrounding buildings they had used as a battlefield.

The gevurah activated sacrorum and became invisible along with Gorbat moments before reaching the cement block covered plateau. It was warm while the sulfuric smell of evaporated rain covered everything.

Zanda’s merkabah filtered those toxic particles, cleaning the oxygen that passed through her nose. She read on her T.H.I.C. that enough sulfur, inhaled over years, could create mutations in dictadurian anatomy, unleashing diseases like cancer or sarsidas. The people there were doomed if they didn’t wear a face mask or receive proper healthcare; it was sickening to think about their quality of life.

It was difficult for her to accept what she had learned of Sectum and the souls that inhabited it.

Gorbat hung over the forest’s edge, pulled by the invisible gevurah, behind the mountain line that divided it from the city, covered by a layer of pollution that limited the access from natural light. They flew atop thousands of blocks, a sea of concrete unlike anything she had ever seen.

Far away upfront, near a cumulus of skyscraper blocks, the dark shape that was Dicterium stood thanks to ingravitas tech, above hundreds of buildings that seemed to be trying to reach it. The concrete surface felt alive during the day. Hundreds of figures walked around, dressed in their worn-out overalls. The flight was fast; it lasted less than two minutes at their current speed. When they landed on the roof of Dicterium, five people were waiting for them: Samelia, Pagreri, Refius, and two unknown sephirah.

She turned the ventos off. Her mentor smiled from ear to ear. Samelia and Pagreri seemed satisfied.

“What’s going on?” Zanda was confused.

No one spoke. The strangers walked to Gorbat.

“You can release him,” Samelia stepped forward.

She obeyed, cutting their ingravitas attachment. The umbra leader fell to the ground, unable to maintain his equilibrium, and they dragged him away.

The gevurah turned to the other sephirah.

“What did I miss?” She focused on Refius, who knew how to handle her temper.

“We’re proud of you, that’s all.”

“What are you talking about? I was arrogant because Gorbat was weak. Getting Adria and Corven almost killed should not be a reason to celebrate. I was testing my merkabbalah and playing with him!”

“You did, yes, and fixed it. Corven and Adria are safe. Gorbat will be sent to Eslavia for the rest of his life and it seems Dictaduria is our to see many changes is the incoming days…” Her mentor was joyful.

Zanda was perplexed.

Samelia stepped in and continued.

“They weren’t supposed to be there. Every soul in sunken harbor was breaking Dictaduria’s curfew. They broke the conditions of their exile. Whatever damage they sustained is not your fault.” Both senior gevurah relieved some of the weight from her shoulders.

“I have to go back…”

“Good, 'cause you’re not done,” the tone in Pagreri’s voice was enough to encourage her.

*****

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

After five minutes of waiting, Adria started to wonder if Corven had been honest. He could have left with the alters; after all, he was an extarri, and people in Sectum were known to be deceiving by a general rule. As time stretched to six minutes, then eight, then ten, her doubts only grew. Why had she let him go alone? Was all their effort in vain? Twelve minutes passed. Was he alright?

Adria's patience reached its cusp. She was unwilling to leave without the alters and kneeled, preparing to crawl under the crystal pipe when she heard someone coming from beneath it, halting her movement.

“I found them,” Corven announced from afar, emerging full of dirt, wearing a massive smile of victory.

Relief washed over Adria, and she wanted to cry. It had all been worth it. She stepped back, allowing Corven to rise from the hole.

“I thought you said five minutes.”

“I thought it would be five. It took me ten to find them, maybe four to come back. Sorry, I’m tired and terrible at estimating time. I’ve been late to everything all my life,” he confessed.

Adria felt foolish; she should have anticipated this outcome herself.

“Furkano, I was about to leave,” she lied.

“Without the alters?” Corven became serious.

“Nah, I was about to go get you…”

He relaxed and showed him a black bag next to his face before undoing the knot that kept it closed.

“Ready? Let’s drink them.”

Adria had been thinking about it, she wouldn’t do it without Bitlan.

“We need a safe place. Let’s go back to my block.”

“Why? Everyone will be searching for us. It’s safe here,” he argued, finding her invitation preposterous.

“Don’t exaggerate. The umbras will take time to recover. We don’t know how we’ll react to the alters. What if we lose consciousness or our memories? And don’t forget, my grandad is coming with us too. I’m not going back to my block looking like someone else. I still need to convince him to do this,” she stated bluntly.

Corven held the bag closed, and they locked eyes.

Adria placed particular emphasis on her next words.

“Please.” Her pleading tone was rare.

He couldn’t refuse after everything she had done for him.

“Okay. We’ll do it your way,” he conceded, handing over the bag. “Take it. I trust you more than myself.”

“Me too,” Adria accepted the alters and secured them inside her coat. “Let’s go. We’re close to the passage that leads to my section.”

She turned, and the sound of a hatch closing alerted them to someone’s presence inside the pipe room. Adria still had five jumps left in her boots and was ready for a fight, though it could be just a random passerby. She signaled for Corven to follow.

He complied, watching her back as they moved towards the ladder leading back to the wave-shaped street.

When Adria reached it, ready to climb, a crystalline figure materialized right behind them. Corven gasped with surprise almost as if he had forgotten about her. It was Zanda, the gevurah.

Both dictadurians froze, knowing it would be futile to run.

“You guys are everywhere today,” Zanda started with a friendly approach.

Adria acknowledged her defeat, turning to Corven and passing him the alters for safekeeping.

“You know what I want?” Her helmet dissolved into her shoulders, melting into the rest of her suit.

“Did you change your merkabah?” Adria couldn’t hide her amusement at the crystal armor now tainted with rose gold hues.

“No. It’s the same one; just changed its pigmentation.”

“And now you’re going to tell me the merkabah can now also change its composition and morph—?"Adria asked, half-jokingly before being interrupted.

“Into different shapes? It’s been five years since that update. This one I got yesterday after my Ceremonia,” Zanda remarked as if they were having a casual breakfast chat.

“Congratulations,” Adria resigned, having a hard time believing that was her first day as a member of the Fifth. There was nothing they could do; they were powerless next to Zanda.

“Thanks! Anyway, I believe you guys were taking care of something for me, right?” The gevurah couldn’t hide her proud smile.

Was she forgiving their crimes? Was it time to surrender the alters? Would they get extended sentences? Adria turned to Corven, their eyes locking in silent agreement. Their plan was over, highlighting the naivety of dictadurians who underestimated a gevurah’s true capabilities.

“You mean Corven? Here he is. All in one piece, as you requested.” It was the last try.

He felt disappointed at how easily she had given up on him.

“I don’t care about him or you; it’s the alters I'm after. My kabbalah placed trackers on both of you.” A pair of tiny glowing nanite patches detached from the dictadurians and floated towards Zanda’s right hand. “I know everything you’ve done for the past forty-five minutes. So, hand them over willingly, and you’ll both be pardoned a fraction of your sentences for your help with Gorbat’s arrest.”

Corven, angry and disappointed, took the black bag and threw it at Zanda.

She caught it and handed it to her kabbalah, which let a thin string of crystal thread wrap around the alters, securing them.

“Thank you. You won’t regret this,” she said, at peace.

“I won’t?” Adria was skeptical.

“No. It’s how things should be. Atone for your sins like everyone else here.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” the dictadurian muttered, envisioning the repercussions of their actions, all for nothing.

“Doing things the easy way is often wrong,” Zanda tried to reason, but her words fell flat for them.

“That was not the easy way,” Adria was stung by those words, staring at the alters with anger.

“It was. You planned to morph your atoms and become someone else. That is not the answer to your problems. Face them, complete your punishment, and return to Malkuth once it’s finished.” The gevurah believed in their potential for redemption.

“I am not supposed to be here,” Adria retorted, tired of the clichés.

“What do you mean?” Zanda's interest piqued.

“My friend believes she is innocent. Stupid, right?” Corven, while nervous, attempted to ease the tension between the two women.

The gevurah laughed and he followed.

“That’s a lie. You were convicted by the sephirot nearly eight years ago for your part in an organ sabotage operation. Your punishment should have been much longer, in my opinion. Why was it so short?”

“It’s not a lie,” Adria’s voice was firm.

“What?” She didn’t believe her.

“It’s the truth. I didn’t do it!” Adria burst out with a mix of fury and desperation. “The reason my sentence was short was because my lawyers work and the people of Malkuth’s sympathy.”

“There’s no way. There’s footage that places…” The gevurah was skeptical.

“Me. At the crime scene; I've seen it, multiple times, including my birthcloud. But it's not me.”

Zanda reviewed the footage on her T.H.I.C., her expression unreadable.

“Why do we bother with this? I’ll comply and serve my time. You have the alters. Your mission is completed; forget about us. What are you still doing here, gevurah?” Adria’s words were laced with anger and despite.

“You are right, indeed. Benediximus to you two, my hope is to see you out there one day.” She had completed her mission. “Aequitas, until the next time we met.”

Her merkabah morphed, taking on a similar appearance to what she had back at Gorbat’s, now with bicolor hair, but her clothes were different; she now donned an overall just like theirs.

Zanda’s kabbalah turned invisible as she ascended and exited through the hatch.

Both dictadurians were left alone in the silence, exhausted and defeated.

****

That's it for Chapter XLII!

Please support "A Tree of Omens"

Follow, rate and review, they all work.

Patreon is up and running with the rest of Volume I & Volume II's first eleven chapters, including PDF and EPUB versions.

Thank you for reading, see ya along the road!

Aequitas and much love,

Indigo Sapiens.

© All Rights Reserved