Nearly two bells later, a strange mix of awe and disappointment warred in Arjun’s heart. Awe at the complexity of the Crown and disappointment at not being able to untangle even one thread of that complex pattern of kernel. But as soon as his essence senses took in the weather, those thoughts went out of the window. The sky had turned black as a summer night at a bell past noon, and it was only growing darker.
After walking across Breleria, the solitary stream in town, which had shrunk from fifty feet across at the end of the last Monsoon to barely two feet now, Arjun started sprinting across the hard-packed earthen road using earth Manipulation to gain better grip. Lightning strikes followed the early onslaught of the wind, and soon became deafening, and all but continuous. One struck a tall coconut tree no more than five hundred yards away, sending his ears ringing. Then, just as he reached the front yard, the heavens finally parted.
Before going inside, standing on the porch, Arjun inhaled the intoxicating smell of the earth as the first Monsoon rains hit the parched soil. Along with the fragrance of rain, came the smell of wet leaves, greedily drinking in the life-giving liquid, and in the process, giving off the sound Arjun loved most in this whole wide wondrous world. Pattering of raindrops on leaves. The only sound more soothing was the sound of silence.
That thought led to a multitude of others, all of which unfortunately settled on a single one. And whether it was the storm-clouds within or in the sky, the day suddenly turned dark and dreary. With a sigh, Arjun turned his attention behind him, already able to hear the sound he hated most.
Sound of his mother, talking. Always talking.
After wiping his soggy shoes on the doormat, he stealthily opened the door and slipped inside, dreading the scene to come. Outside, the rain picked up.
“Ah, good. You’re back. I was getting worried with all the lightning.”
Arjun’s mother, Audrey, was in her late thirties, short of stature – only a few digits above five feet like most Aiminian women – almost petite and was a renowned beauty in her younger days. But rigors of being a Power Cleric, past ordeals and especially the combination of Power Madness and Dread Disease had taken their toll. Most of her hair had turned prematurely gray, and she had wrinkles around the corner of her eyes, testament to her youthful days when laughter was a large part of their home. Wearing a traditional saree and with her hair braided, she came out of the dining room, a distracted expression in her face. Looking at her dimming Chakras, despite Arjun’s best efforts, a sigh escaped.
“Thurma lost track of time, as usual, and so did I. Are you feeling alright, Ma? Did you have lunch?”
Her face brightened, and she forced a smile. “Already had lunch. Your father insisted. Need to sleep. But before that I’ve got to feed your baby brother.” Saying this, she moved down the corridor and started climbing the stairs while talking to the air beside her, sometimes loud and vehemently, other times pleading in a whisper, changing from one to the other mid-sentence. “Find the end and pull. Keep pulling and all will be revealed.” She half-whispered the phrase in a ritualistic cadence, slowly nodding to herself.
Watching his mother, Arjun realized she was engaged in her usual epic battle with the rest of the world. That is a battle you could win. The battle silently being waged within herself has no winner. An everlasting war where both cause and effect had merged to form an incurable Madness.
Arjun missed his mother’s smile, the spontaneous one, which once used to light up everyone’s Heart Chakra, and which was becoming increasingly rare. Entering the dining room, he asked, “Ma took the medicine Thurma prescribed?”
Arjun’s father was a man of average height and strong build, though as a Builder he did no laborious work anymore, at least not in construction projects. He attributed his health to morning yoga and Sintu drills, and had impressed upon his son the need for mental and physical discipline, especially the need to exercise and practice hand-to-hand combat. In spite of being a mild-mannered man in general, he could be very strict and adamant about his beliefs. After realizing complaints were futile, Arjun had started training under his father and soon came to love it, much to his own surprise.
“Yes, but it’s almost as ineffective as all others. But it does make her sleep longer and deeper, which tends to improve her health and mood, reducing the bouts of the disease,” Siman replied in between bites.
“Wish we could do more.” Arjun slumped down in the chair across from his father.
“I know, son. But even the greatest Healers don’t know the remedy for the Dread Disease, especially for a Power Cleric like your mother, who also happens to be in the late stages of Power Madness.”
Seeing the anguish that he was feeling reflected in his father’s eyes, Arjun gave a resigned nod. Then, after a bit of hesitation, he plucked up the courage to ask something that had been on his mind ever since the fire at the build-site, where he was apprenticing under his father as a Builder – in an unofficial capacity. He knew in the depths of his heart that it was a difficult – that is to say forbidden – topic, and thus may very well elicit the usual response. Evasion. But still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“Are all Power Clerics doomed to die young, father?”
Alerted perhaps by the somber tinge in his voice, Siman looked up sharply. Seeing the fear in Arjun’s eyes, something no amount of effort could hide, not from a discerning father at least, he leaned back in his chair, shoulders slumped in defeat. “So that fire wasn’t accidental, after all.”
“It was.” Arjun felt guilty, having evaded the truth previously, when he’d been asked about the cause of the fire. “I didn’t mean to start it. I was angry.” With you – but this was neither the time nor the place to mention that. “Before I knew it…”
“Have you told anyone about it? Hammond perhaps, or old Thurma?” Siman was trying and failing to keep his usual calm demeanor.
“No. No one.”
“Your ability to Manipulate wood, earth, and metal is still unknown to all but me. I believe you have the potential to become a Builder of unparalleled raw power,” he said, almost to himself, “and you’ve held back while doing active Healing as I told you to, correct?” He glanced up, gaze intense, almost pleading.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Yes, but I think Thurma suspects.” Hiding his abilities was also hampering their development, but mentioning that to his father, especially when he was in this sort of mood, didn’t seem wise.
Arjun’s chief motivation for wanting to learn Healing was so that one day, when he’s skilled enough, he would be able to Heal his mother. That dream was no closer to fruition today than it was a year ago.
“Can’t I open up to her, at least a little? She seems more than capable of holding onto secrets.”
His father’s relief was palpable, especially to Arjun. “Of course, she suspects.” He barked an almost nervous laugh. “The old bird is sharp as a whip. But she’ll keep her peace. She already holds enough secrets to sink an ocean-liner, only some of them her own, as you rightly guessed.” A thoughtful pause followed. “But it is because your mental talent enables you to make these intuitive leaps that we must be careful. To those in power, nothing is more precious than the secret behind their power. Opening up about your mental talent almost certainly will put us, and by extension, her, in harm’s way. Does she suspect anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Excellent. It must remain so. The Clerics…well, your talent is unique as far as I know, and hence, not understood. The Order must never find out.”
“But why father?” Arjun asked, not for the first time, his frustration evident in his features. And voice, which had gone up an octave.
“All Power and almost all Material Clerics, possessing even a modicum of skill, have to enlist in the Order of Clerics, as you know. I don’t want that for you. The indoctrination itself…” A wave consisting of several emotions hit Arjun, chief among them was something he’d scarcely ever sensed from his father before.
Fear.
“I wouldn’t want that inflicted upon my bitterest enemy. The ones who aren’t absolutely loyal to BrightHeart, are made to be so, against their will, if need be. And you cannot fake loyalty, not from him.” Siman jumped to his feet and started pacing the room, the lingering fear, perhaps inevitably, invoking a similar emotion inside Arjun himself. “In your case, it would be much worse, as they’ll try to unlock the secret behind your mental ability.” His expression turned dark. “By any and all means necessary.”
It took Arjun a while to understand his father’s meaning, but what he implied…how could anyone be so evil?
“I’ve shielded you from the truth. Some, unwisely. I’ll explain everything tonight. It’s time you knew. Ignorance is never bliss, something I’ve come to realize too late in life.”
Made to be loyal? A frown enveloped Arjun’s face. As for hiding things from the High Priest, opening or Awakening all seven primary and eight secondary Chakras had not only elevated him to the status of an Ascendant, but also supposedly granted him unique abilities, including the ability to read thoughts, and not just the surface ones. But surely that’s just unfounded speculation on the part of an ignorant population, less than one percent of which could even sense essence.
Having said that, Arjun’s father rarely used the High Priest’s less favorable moniker, even in private, which was a cause for concern since it meant he was even more worried than he seemed, and Arjun had seldom seen his father so agitated. On every single previous occasion he had, what had followed was something he’d very much like to avoid this time.
After moving from place to place, never staying more than a couple of years in a single place, Agnipur was the longest he’d ever stayed anywhere. It was a place where he’d found friends, people he liked, a place he could finally call home.
“Will we have to move again?” he asked, fearing the answer. Or rather, knowing it.
“I have an errand to run. Meeting with an old friend. I should be back before nightfall and then explain it all, but yes,” Siman said, eyes full of apology, Heart even more so. “We may have to move. I’m sorry, son. I truly am. As you know.” Then, picking up his raincoat from the rack, he hurried out of the door.
Outside, the rain and thunder raged, providing a calming balm to Arjun’s soul. Not only did it match his turbulent heart, it also hid the whispers from above. Perhaps he was fated to be a nomad, doomed to be dragged all over Sindria by the tides of destiny, tides so strong that none but the Fatewardens could resist them.
After finishing his lunch, Arjun forced himself to wait for an appropriately long time, and not just because of the heavy-yet-tasty nature of the meal, which consisted of long-grained rice and prawn, cooked using ground mustard seeds, fresh green chilies, mustard oil and coconut shavings.
Only after he was reasonably certain did he dejectedly drag himself upstairs. A quick peek inside his parents’ room ensured what his ears had already indicated – that his mother was finally asleep.
And blessedly silent.
He then went to his room to finish the essay on soil composition of Aiminian Plains, or Flatland as it’s colloquially called, that his father had assigned him.
After three bells of trying to remember classification of rock and soil, boredom and anxiety took a firm hold, and Arjun decided to visit the inn. He’d promised Hammond help in ransacking old Barney’s liquor cache, against his better judgment. If nothing else, it would clear up his foul mood. One last hurrah before the bell tolls.
While putting his notebook away in the drawer of the desk, his fingers brushed across an old intricately carved wooden box, no larger than his palm. On a whim, Arjun took it out and slid the lid open. On the polished inner surface of the cover was the sigil for the Globe of Gravity, one of the seven Artifacts of Atma, a hidden one that supposedly could unlock the corresponding dormant Aspect of Reality – Gravity.
It is a strange twist of fate – a fitting twist one might say – that he’d chanced upon this box today. Last time he’d opened it was years ago, just after arriving here at Agnipur. Inside lay his past – a collection of objects mundane to all eyes except his own. Even glancing at them brought back bittersweet memories.
A tiny ash-white pebble, smoothed by time and the Viskian Sea. A small dark-brown figurine of the Allfather, made of polished mahogany. A simple steel band that had once promised a glorious future.
Mementos of past acquaintances who weren’t quite friends, but could’ve been, given time.
With a sigh he clamped the box shut and headed out of the room with determined steps. Perhaps today, two more items will need to be added to the box.
As he was heading past his parents’ room, a soft, insistent whisper reached him. A softer than usual, but still familiar, whisper. Almost against his will, Arjun glanced inside.
His mother sat on the bed, eyes wide, face flushed and hands clenched.
“You and your brother must stay together. You will protect each other, won’t you?” she pleaded with the air beside her. Then, giggling like a child, she insisted, “He promised…yes, promised. I did as I was instructed. Yes, yes, I did,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Find the end and pull. Keep pulling and all will be revealed.”
Fear and frustration coursed through Arjun’s veins. Experience had taught him that stopping her now will only exacerbate the condition, increasing the severity of the bout. Standing there in the dimly lit corridor, Arjun struggled to choke back tears. Why in the name of Aimin is it so dark in here? He gazed up at the unlit candle located inside the wall-sconce to his left.
A sense of overwhelming power flowed through his stomach, and the candle suddenly burst into brilliant orange flames.
Arjun fled down the stairs, the whispers as always chasing him, even after he’d exited the house.