The king was once again meditating in his tower, his psychic field spread over his capital city. He was relaxed as he luxuriated in the feeling of an unrestrained psyche. His presence was spread so thin that it would be invisible to most of the citizenry. Only those with a mind-focus stat over 1000 would have a chance of noticing his feather-lite touch.
Feeling his aide, Walter, leading a group of three up the stairs below, the king reigned in his psychic field. In less than a moment, his senses were pulled in tight. It was like he removed his hands from the surroundings, but could still see them clearly. He took his time mentally adjusting to the perspective change, while watching the group approach through the tower. He had plenty of time before they arrived.
Minutes passed before they finally arrived. Stilling the wind around him, the King put on his robe and watched as the floor opened to reveal his guests.
Before the King could say anything, Walter spoke up, “Sire, Director Weatherby said it was urgent. He insisted that you would want to hear what he has to say in person, and without delay.”
Walter was obviously annoyed, and his voice was heavy with disdain.
As the king had a good idea what this was about, he merely responded with a smile. Locking eyes with Director Weatherby, he waited for the man to speak his mind.
Weatherby expertly ignored Walter’s tone. “Sire, the matrix of fate has successfully re-calibrated after the anomaly in Dorchester. It’s updating our projection models for everything. I’m sure you remember Weaver Duncan,” he said as he gestured to the man on his right. “He has been leading the team concerned with the war against Islangur. While interacting with the matrix, he saw something you need to hear.”
Weaver Duncan stepped forward and bowed. His face was grave as he introduced himself. “Sire, you may remember me from the briefing held at army central command a few months ago?”
Nodding, the king responded, “Of course. What do you have for me?”
“While I was double checking some of the prophecies concerning the war in the south, I was shown several different visions of the future. I saw a leader rise among the people of Islangur. I saw them win the war. Our cities were burning, and our people were slaughtered in droves. Then, I saw our armies victorious. The front was shattered, and we pushed through Islangur with ease. Our victory was absolute. More and more visions assaulted me. I saw revolts happening across their kingdom. Their country split into warrior states. I saw us winning the war and our kingdom’s merged. A crown was placed on a head of white hair. Hordes of undead walked the land, and the living hid in fear. I saw wyvern-riders massacring cities. Nothing made sense. The images were unclear, and fleeting. The official prophecy was given, and it read: ‘When the child of the heavens picks his path, his destination will be clear’. When the prophecy was penned, none of the visions of the future were found. I was the only one to see them,” he finished with a trembling voice.
The king didn’t let it show, but he was surprised. He figured that the war projections would have needed to be updated, but this was a little more serious than he thought. The matrix of fate didn’t like to admit its shortcomings. For it to tell the fateweavers that it didn’t know the future was somewhat worrying.
Putting his hands behind his back, the king turned to look out over his city. Like a statue, he thought over what he had just heard, and everyone waited patiently for his response.
The king wondered how many questions the fateweavers had asked about the boy. Why were they so concerned about him? There had to be more to it.
In a flash of insight, the answer came to him. The king realized that it wasn’t about the boy. It was about all the unanswerable questions it was being asked. The boy is an unknown, and his arrival has skewed everything. It no longer felt comfortable making predictions. If it could be wrong once, it could be wrong again. It was buying time to learn from the experience. As usual, the fateweavers didn’t understand his grandfather’s machine. They were jumping to conclusions again.
“You think it’s a nexus event, don’t you?” The king asked while still looking out into the distance.
Director Weatherby replied, “What else can it be? Our records go back to the founding, and that is the only thing that fits. Many paths, leading to one road. Sire, what do we do?”
The king felt their agitation and fear. Even Walter’s psyche was trembling with worry. If he wanted them to refrain from doing anything stupid, he’d have to choose his words carefully.
“You do not need to be concerned. Our victory is still assured, have no doubt. This war was never a real danger to the kingdom. I think that what Weaver Duncan saw wasn’t a warning as such. It was an apology,” said the king.
Confused, Duncan tried to speak up to defend his visions. But before he could say anything, the king continued in a calming tone.
“Nexus events are things that WILL happen. There is nothing to be done about them. No matter what we do, they’ll happen. They are rare, and usually dependent on a powerful individual building up to a decision. For example, if Plastia started destroying cities, the matrix would be capable of determining how long we had until Hennings was destroyed. It could offer an ‘absolute’ warning that the city would be destroyed, but it couldn’t give the details. We could do many things, but Hennings wouldn’t remain where it is. We could not stand against a great dragon. That is a nexus event.
“Luckily, what you saw wasn’t a nexus event. It was, in fact, the opposite. It’s saying that a person will be powerful in the future, and that anything could happen during their rise. Those were all just possibilities, not futures. Grand, sweeping visions, all of which were shown to make its point. The words it gave, that was the point. Do you understand?” The king asked, and turned to face the group. His words of reassurance didn’t seem to put them at ease.
Director Weatherby asked, “Is it the boy in Dorchester?” With worry, and a hint of anger, he pressed on, “Should we have him eliminated?”
The king couldn’t help it, and burst into laughter. The four men were shocked, as the king was not prone to showing such strong emotions. They’d seen him chuckle, but he’d never laughed in their presence. The king was usually very composed.
With a smile on his face, the king said, “No Director Weatherby, we won’t have the boy ‘eliminated’. I told you, the matrix wasn’t offering a warning. It was saying that anything can happen, and it doesn’t like not having the answers. Without having a better way to say it, it showed you what it could. Let me clarify what it was trying to get you to see.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
The boy will be powerful. Don’t exile him. Don’t kill him. Don’t interfere. His path is out of our control. In short, the matrix was saying, ‘until he makes a decision, stop asking about him’. It doesn’t have any insights to share. Hopefully, you can understand that. I’m not sure I can be any clearer.”
The three fateweavers all bowed and thanked the king for seeing them on short notice. In no time at all, they were scurrying back to their tower. The king watched them through his psychic field with a smile on his face. ‘They really are too attached to that silly little toy. I better do something soon, before a stupid weed ruins my garden,’ he thought.
-----
Nero had returned to his room to sulk. Laying in bed, he was trying to look on the bright side. Ms. Averett wasn’t all bad, and she would probably be a great trainer. The bathroom situation wasn’t ideal, but he was sure he could adapt. Different cultural values were the least of his worries. In the grand scheme of things, did it really matter if he shared a shower room with women?
As he tried to move past his upbringing, his room’s speakers broke him out of his thoughts.
“All recruits report to the yard. All recruits report to the yard,” spoke a firm voice from the walls. Nero couldn’t see any speakers, but quickly dismissed that as a priority.
Opening his door, he saw everyone moving quickly to the front of the building. Following along, Nero felt very short. Everyone around him was taller than him. Luckily, no one seemed to be shoving or posturing. The ambiance was extremely professional.
The recruits filtered out in front of the building, and were soon in two rows of ten. Nero made sure to avoid the front row. The last thing he wanted was to be in the spotlight. He’d seen movies with basic training. There was always one guy that was used as an example, and Nero didn’t plan on being the sacrificial lamb who’s ass-whooping demonstrated how serious their training was going to be.
Captain Angelton stood in front of the recruits holding a clipboard. Various trainers, along with Sergeant Blackwood, were spread out to his sides. They were all wearing blue linen shirts and thick canvas pants. Their boots were shined, and Nero couldn’t help but think of them as gym teachers. The image was so powerful, he had to stifle a chuckle while he looked for their whistles.
The captain finished checking something on his clipboard, and handed it to Blackwood. Striding forward, he addressed the recruits in the firm tone Nero had gotten used to.
“Where you come from doesn’t matter. Whether you are from the monster-hunting teams, the clearing teams, or are a hunter, or even a noble; from now on, you are all elites. Dorchester hasn’t had elites in over 400 years. There was no need. Now the threat has returned, and we will rise to face it,” he said.
The captain started pacing, his words trying to convey a communal purpose. “We will train you to be the most dangerous thing in the wilds. As the danger out there grows, so will you. Among you are various skills. Those skills will be shared, and grown in concert. Together you will face the horrors of the wilds and together you will return victorious,” he said.
Gesturing to the training circles behind him, the captain continued, “These grounds have seen thousands of recruits. While training, you will feel them supporting you. Dorchester itself will be watching. The city needs you, and you will not let it down.
Tonight, enjoy your last meal as individuals. Afterwards, stop by the equipment hall to receive your kit. Bed down early. Tomorrow, reveille is at 0400. I expect everyone here in the yard and ready to train by 04:30. Dorchester needs you to be elites, and you only have a week before you have to face the wilds. You’re dismissed.”
Like a bomb going off, everyone left to go about their business. Nero just looked around confused. ‘That’s it?’ he thought. As speeches go, that wasn’t all that inspiring. He was expecting something more. All in all, it was pretty weak on the indoctrination. No one got their ass kicked, and there were no insults. If anything, Nero thought it was more of a pep-talk.
Shaking his head, Nero walked off toward the cafeteria. He saw Nick and Ms. Averett walking side by side, probably talking about him. Rather than join them, Nero walked on his own and tried to listen in on all the conversations going on around him. He thought it was more important to get a feel for the recruits than it was to listen to Nick making fun of him.
Nero tried to figure out who the city lord’s spies were, but everyone just looked too normal. Men and women both. There wasn’t a consistent hair style, or anything that made them seem like a unit. They were really just 20 people who looked like they were in pretty good shape, and wearing the same outfits. No one really stood out. Nero wasn’t liking the normalcy.
Where were the typical characters. Why wasn’t there a joker? A bully? A misunderstood rebel? There were women here, so where was the super attractive girl with a complicated backstory? Nero hadn’t admitted it to himself, but he kind of expected the city lord’s daughter to be here. It would have been thematically perfect. She would hate him for what happened to her brother, and Nero would eventually win her over. Their love story would have been epic.
With a frown on his face, Nero waited in the chow line. He listened as people introduced themselves to one another. Everyone was polite, and there didn’t seem to be any ego-clashes. What was going on?
No one seemed interested in bothering him. Nero knew that he was keeping to himself, but he expected someone to walk up to him and start a conversation. Why was everyone respecting his personal space? Where was his character-defining confrontation?
Soon enough, Nero had collected his plate. He stood looking over at the tables which were being shared by the recruits, and he saw Nick waving him over with some impatience.
As Nero set down his plate and took his seat, Nick said, “Why are you scowling at everyone? Are you already causing problems?”
Nero didn’t look up, and just started eating his meal while replying, “No Nick, no problems. I just didn’t expect this. This whole thing is weird.”
The woman sitting across from Nero had really short blond hair and looked like a softball player. Attractive, but not overly so. She didn’t seem to have an issue inserting herself into Nero and Nick’s conversation and asked politely, “What whole thing is weird?”
Nero looked up, surprised that someone was speaking to him. “Um… I just figured that someone would try to position themselves as the group leader. You know, try to intimidate everyone. Assert their dominance,” he said lamely.
While chewing on some sausage, she looked confused and asked, “Why would anyone try to do that now? No one knows what anyone else is capable of. We have all week to figure out the pecking order. And I doubt the captain will choose squad leaders before at least a month of training.”
Nero just nodded numbly. His disappointment in their professionalism was immeasurable. “So no hazing, or fighting. Everyone will just act all prim and proper. They’ll just do their jobs and work together for the greater good. That’s just great,” he said with practically no emotion. His apathy was so apparent that several people were staring at him in confusion.
Nick seemed amused by the situation, and chimed in, “Nero’s just not used to people doing what they’re supposed to. He’s incapable of it, so it depresses him. Don’t worry about it.” Everyone chuckled, and returned to their conversations.
Nero took a big scoop of mashed potatoes and created a catapult with his spoon. If no one else was going to have a personality, it was up to him. Subtly, he aimed it toward Nick on his right, and let loose.
Instead of the satisfaction of a food fight. The mashed potatoes just halted in front of Nick’s chest. Nero turned to see him scowling, which was nice, but not what he was going for.
Nick used his psychic field to lower the potatoes back onto Nero’s plate, and said, “Nero. I’ve been told that I will be your partner tomorrow afternoon for magical combat training. Are you sure this is the precedent you want to set?”
Nero returned the scowl, and replied, “If something interesting doesn’t happen soon, I just might have to do something drastic.”
Nero saw Nick’s face lose it’s scowl and morph into one of worry. Pleased with his efforts, Nero returned to his meal. As he ate, it dawned on him that maybe HE was the joker?