Northern Swamps
Missionary Renzo is honored to be allowed to help Malo with his journey in search of the study hidden within Western Vorg. Along the way he’s vowed to listen to every word and watch every action to see if any other prophecies are fulfilled.
The trip for Renzo is by inu, Malo runs along, ahead, and around them tirelessly. Tirelessly isn’t an exaggeration, he never wants to stop, he sleeps maybe an hour every other night. When asked why he just laughs and says the world is too bright and loud and won’t let him sleep.
Renzo told him he should close his eyes more often and try, eliciting the cryptic reply, “How do you close your mind’s eye?”
That exchange went into his notebook, maybe a smarter scholar will understand the deeper meaning of his words, long after Missionary Renzo has achieved grace himself.
It’s their third nighttime stop, Malo is doing his usual staring longingly at the stars and listening to a universe only he can hear. Renzo drifts off to sleep, when he’s awakened by the bark of an inu and the insistent hushing of someone with no concept of quiet.
Rolling to his side he watches Malo and the 500-pound mount, Molly roughhousing in the tall plains grass by moonlight. Even at the distance of fifty yards he can feel Molly hitting the ground and Malo’s stomping and jumping produces a sound he can hear.
Quietly to himself, “That boy may not need sleep but the inu does.”
Malo stiffens and Molly signals alert.
Renzo nearly jumps out of his bedroll when Malo responds from where he stands, “Sorry we woke you, but Molly wanted to play. She loves running as much as I do, but we’ve not taken any fun breaks and she’s still a puppy at heart. I couldn’t tell her no.”
Missionary Renzo panics and sits up and says in a rush, “I didn’t mean to rebuke you, please continue.”
Grabbing his notebook, he furiously writes down the scene and every word exchanged. Did he just say the inu can speak to him and he understands?
He quickens his thoughts and ponders the ramifications of Malo understanding the thoughts or words of animals.
A strange feeling he can’t describe happens and his mind becomes clearer than ever, and he realizes immediately that he’s overthinking every nuance and not observing Malo as a whole or even being objective. He can’t keep thinking the boy is divine or on another level. He was warned that Malo is younger than he looks and is far less mature than his age indicates. He should be skeptical, not blindly naïve as he has been. This realization has him reconsider his approach to his newfound religion and his quest to achieve eternal grace.
The moment of clarity seems to be over as his expanding enlightenment draws to an end. Renzo shakes his head and returns his thoughts to normal and notices that Malo is watching him from two yards away now.
“What did it feel like?”
Renzo has no idea what Malo is referring to, “What did what feel like?”
“Your thoughts, I saw you consuming time, so I fed more into you. With other abilities it amplifies them. Makes you go faster, stronger, hotter, stuff like that. What did it feel like, were your thoughts even faster than usual?”
Renzo fights the urge to speed his thoughts again but decides to take his time answering, “I don’t think my mind sped up, but I was having some incredible clarity of thought and was able to self-reflect better than I’ve ever been able to do. If that was your doing, I owe you a thanks. Thank you.”
Malo looks disappointed.
“Don’t look glum. I think you just discovered a new use for time. I was already using quick-thought as you know. But when you fed me more time, I think you made me smarter. I’d like to try that again when we have a problem to solve if that’s ok with you.”
Malo’s countenance improves at that news. He looks at Renzo’s notebook and gets an idea.
“Can we try something else?”
Having already vowed to never deny Malo anything, Renzo can only answer affirmative.
“Can I hold your notebook? I promise to not read it.”
“Of course you can. You can read it too, but all you’re going to find is an accounting of some of our interactions.”
Renzo hands the notebook over to Malo.
Malo scrunches his face and says, “ahh.”
Hands it back, “That was worse than a waste of time.”
Renzo didn’t notice him doing anything more than hold the notebook for a moment before handing it back in disgust, “What happened.”
“Nothing but a kind of feedback loop.”
“What did you hope would happen?”
“Pick up your pen, you’ll want to write this down. I’ve not told anyone this, and I might not tell anyone else. If you do write it down, please don’t share this until I’m gone.”
“Maybe you should not tell me something you wish to keep secret; are you certain?”
Nodding his head, “You know how you don’t want me to read your book of prophecies because you don’t want me to mess them up?”
Uncomfortable hearing Malo knows about the book and their fears, the missionary can only nod.
“I can see the future.”
Missionary Renzo doesn’t know if Malo is serious or joking as his friend Teum likes to do. This is something that sets Malo so far above every human to make him seem like grace itself.
“I can see by your heart rate, blood pressure increase, and widening of eyes that you’re having a hard time believing what I said.
“That’s understandable. I can’t see my future, or even a person’s future. We make too many choices, if I try to see your future all I’ll see is the point where you are about to decide something, then it gets muddled by all your possible choices.
“But inanimate objects don’t make choices. I can pick up a rock and see what happens to it far into the future. Unless of course someone picks it up and can’t decide if they should throw it or keep it.
“Your notebook is inanimate. I was hoping to see something written in it that hasn’t happened yet. Since you write everything in it without hesitation, I hoped that meant there was no choice, so no confusion.
“Maybe that would work if you were recording anyone else’s actions. As usual when I try to find a way to trick time into showing my future it makes my stomach churn.”
After pausing a few heartbeats to consider his next words, Malo continues, “The reason I don’t want to share this with too many people is some people will not believe I can’t see mine or their future and then assume my motives are based on that information. That would make my mistakes look like purposely harmful acts. I can’t think of a scenario where that’s a good thing.”
Missionary Renzo’s felt-tipped pen has yet to make a mark, “Then why tell me?”
“I can’t see the future for sure, but I can imagine it. Long after I’m gone there will be people making things up and guessing. I want credit and blame for all my decisions, no cop outs pretending to know the future.”
Putting his pen away, “Thank you for your confidence, I’ll record this conversation for your future legacy, but not in this notebook.
“I’ll use my spare and wait until morning when I have better light and am not suddenly so tired. I wonder if this drowsiness is a side effect of you making me smarter?”
Not waiting for a reply, Renzo lays down and is instantly asleep.
Morning comes, the travelers break their fast and make the last on foot leg of their journey. Farmland gives way to foothills, then mountains. Now traveling parallel to the Slumbering Seas Mountains, they steadily ascend to a higher elevation to the city of Poorland. Arriving by noon, they catch a train on the North-South Slumbering Seas Railway to Rebirth City. In Rebirth they’ll switch lines to the West-East Transcontinental Railway that will take them to the Peoples Province of Vorg.
The train car was full when they boarded. Malo has been pretending to sleep because anytime he accidentally made eye contact with anyone, they’d either rush up and hug him or leave the train car in fear or disgust.
No matter how hard he tries to project a positive affect, his true spirit bleeds through and he’s back to his childhood dilemma where people either like or dislike him on sight for absolutely no discernable reason.
At first appalled by this phenomenon, Missionary Renzo recalls that moment of clarity the other morning and documents every facet of each encounter.
Malo stays hunched over as much as possible, there is no hiding his size when he requires two seats to be comfortable. Having purchased third-class tickets, they get seats and no other accommodations for the duration of the ride.
Upon reaching Rebirth everything changed. They were not in Grand Switching Station for more than a minute before a woman dressed in the Brust colors approached and greeted the two travelers.
The woman has sun touched skin and brown hair with a yellow stripe, “Lord Brust, allow me to assist with your bag.”
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“That’s ok, I got it.”
Malo looks around confused, “Who are you exactly?”
Pulling her hand back that had been reaching for Malo’s pack, “My apologies milord. I’m your personal assistant, Sophia.”
The press of people opens up giving the two parties a bubble three yards in diameter.
Looking side to side and still confused, “But where did you come from?”
Sophia is a little daunted, she was told he was clever; he clearly isn’t. At least he’s nice.
“When a prominent member of the family is abroad without a predetermined return, we have the train stations and hostel’s keep watch and alert us of their return.
“I was notified of your arrival two hours ago. I’m told you’ve bought passage to the PPoV, I’ve taken the liberty of upgrading you to first class, and your servant to second.”
That brings everything into focus, “I do not have servants. If you’re speaking of this man, he’s Capitano Lorenzo Fuoco serving the house of Sacchetti. He’s agreed to assist me in navigating the customs and paperwork I’m sure to face during my stay in Vorg.
“You’ll need to upgrade him as well.”
Sophia braces herself the inevitable tantrum that’s about to ensue, “I can’t do that, there are no more available first-class births.”
Without hesitating Malo suggests, “Chang my cabin to a double occupancy, we can share.”
She doesn’t say, but its already booked for double occupancy, she’s the other passenger. Since he didn’t blow up as she assumed he would she decides to accommodate the Polizia.
“Give me ten minutes, I’ll have someone vacate their cabin in deference to your traveling companion.”
Renzo has been quietly listening and notes, for the first time since he left his home he is witnessing class-based oppression. Every aspect, the royal title, subservience, blatant use of wealth and privilege are knives in his back. Why is the bringer of grace allowing this?
“No, Sophia, you will not be taking someone’s cabin; a double berth will be sufficient.”
Temporarily at an impasse, “Yes Lord Brust.”
“And stop with the lord-stuff. That title is inappropriate when I’m dressed in my Defender’s fighting garb. You can call me Malo, like everyone else.”
Sophia is pleased, she was told to get close to him, romantically if possible. Using his first name is a good start.
“Of course, Malo. I can address you anyway you like.”
Malo has had enough time to figure out some things, “It’s plain to see Lady Terara didn’t hire you, who did?”
“I’m not certain, this is just an assignment I was given.”
That was all Malo needed, “I didn’t used to be uncomfortable calling people liars. Now that I’ve been trained to spot them, I no longer feel that way.
“You just lied. This is clearly a well thought out operation but whoever did the research on my preferences in woman only got the skin tone right. I may have fathered children with War Born women, but they are far from my ideal. This is a guess, but you think you’re going to share my cabin don’t you?”
Sophia’s training has her revealing nothing consciously, her elevated heart rate gives lie to her calm composure, “If you’d allow it, of course.”
“Who hired you?”
The crowd expands the empty bubble by another two yards further isolating the trio.
“I’ll be in trouble if I say, please don’t make me tell.”
A loud clattering sound to their left has them turn that way, a luggage cart is on its side with its content spilled to the ground.
Bounding over the mess is a man dressed like a food vendor, wielding a kitchen knife, “You protect nobody, Defender. Die!”
Malo following protocol will meet his attacker with the next least lethal form of combat, decides on Judo.
The crazed vendor takes one more step when the knife in his hand is knocked free by something thrown, a fraction of a second later a short throwing knife lodges in his right thigh, sending him to the ground.
A crowd forms around the fallen man, Capitano Fuoco makes his way to the man and retrieves his two knives after recruiting an onlooker to apply pressure to the wound.
The attacker went into shock and is harmless for now. Renzo doesn’t know what to do from here. Is there a police force nearby, will they accept his out of jurisdiction actions as justified? The murmurs from the crowd do not sound encouraging.
Malo saves him, “Thanks Renzo, but you didn’t need to intervene I can handle my own fights.”
Malo applies a field dressing to the leg wound before binding the man’s wrists behind his back.
He jots a note in his notebook and tears out the page.
Looking to the crowd, “Does anyone have time to take this to a city constables field office?”
A woman steps forward, shyly, “I can do that for you.”
“Thank you, what’s your name?”
“Mildy, I’m called Mildy.”
Smiling sincerely, “Mildy, I know another Mildy. That’s a pretty name. Thank you for helping me out.”
Mildy wants to cover her cheeks to hide the pink flush that must be showing, she’s so happy she doesn’t bother. Instead of speaking she accepts the note, curtsies, and hurries away.
Moments later a railway employee in grey overalls approaches, “Defender, is there any way I may assist?”
“I’ve sent for a constable; my attacker has been subdued. If you could sit on him until the constable arrives, I’d appreciate it.”
Renzo hands the kitchen knife wrapped in a kerchief to the rail worker, “This was his weapon, I’m sure the details are in Defender Malo’s report to the constables.”
With the excitement over, the empty space around Malo reformed, the crowd fluidly avoiding his reach.
Getting back to the conversation, “Thank you Sophia for handling the seat upgrade, make sure it comes out of my account.
“Since you won’t say who you’re working for, and I’m sure their anonymity trumps your participation, we will be parting ways here. You may leave.”
Sophia blinks, what just happened? She was to accompany him into Vorg and report back every contact.
“Don’t worry Sophia, on advice from my guide here, I’ll be writing home frequently as insurance. The party will assume those are spy missives and intercept them, I’m sure your people can do the same.”
Dumbfounded, Sophia watches as Lord Brusk leaves her behind, accompanied by his personal Polizia escort.
Mammatus Study, Dinning Hall
Something is wrong, Leven has a sense for these things. He’s usually not at the center of these feelings though. This time there is no doubt in his mind that everything around him is wrong. There are no students around, even the daily assigned kitchen staff was called away for a safety training.
Terius is sitting near the breezeway; he never sits there. His two primary assignments are here, and that in itself is unusual. They never stay more than a day, and this is day three for them. The last bit is Master Adara, she has no reason to be present, this time of day.
Opening his senses he can tell Teum is tense, the rest feel relaxed, that is no reason to be concerned. The lurking presence of Master Blackwell in the practice yard doing absolutely nothing is completely out of character.
Leven can’t help but flinch when Master Terius stands up abruptly. He gets a chill as Terius walks straight towards him.
Leven tenses, as he suspects what is about to happen.
Terius, deadpan as usual, “Leven, do not attempt to flee.”
Thinking to himself, “I had a good run here. Time to go.”
Triggering the first machine built for his eventual need to escape. The room is plunged into an absolute whiteout. A sea of energy from ultra violate to infra-red floods the room, making it impossible to discern anything visually.
A thump felt in his chest, tells him someone has already switched to sound. Placing wax plugs into his ears for protection, Leven activates his next machine.
A cacophony of white noise fills the space, sending noise and false echoes in all directions from every slight sound.
Leaving the two machines on the table, it’s time to exit, something he’s rehearsed endlessly. Every day he walks the same path with his senses masked. He first moves away from the exit and Terius; he always greets a student on that side of the room as if it was his intention all along. Then he follows the wall for three paces and turns right, greeting one or more diners in passing, and crosses halfway to the far side before turning left and heading out the breezeway.
Next, he will slip skyward and exit through one of the open skylights.
Except waiting for him in the practice yard are Master Terius, Master Blackwell, Master Adara, Luscin, and Teum.
Whoever made kinetic bindings on him did an impeccable job, he can’t move a muscle. Surmising it must have been Luscin, since this is not a technique taught to Defenders. Leven uses another that isn’t taught here.
Forming a thin spirit blade, Leven slices away his bindings and drops flat to the ground and flies towards the northeast stairwell, a mere inch above the ground. Moments before reaching the door, Teum drops down blocking the door.
Reversing course shows the other stairwells are equally blocked. Panicking Leven looks around, a bit of motion catches his eye. There on the third floor landing, exiting the library, is a possible hostage.
Creating duplicates and sending them at every stairwell, he launches straight for the unlucky student.
It’s that old lady Torsha, she’ll do nicely. Reaching over the railing he wraps his arms around her head and lifts her off the ground. Now all he needs to do is demand his release in exchange for her life.
Her muffled words are not expected, a little screaming maybe, but what is she saying?
“What are you saying… say ing wum mum.”
Falling beside the now comatose Spy, Torsha trusts Master Blackwell to catch her as rehearsed and casually responds, “I said, Got you.”
Leven is allowed to strike the ground unassisted, knocking the syringe from the back of his neck.
It’s nine hours before he wakes. Something is wrong with his brain; he can barely think, and his spirit is ignoring his every desire.
He’s in a basement level room from the feel of things. No windows, the walls are lined with layers of lead to keep out extraneous energies. He’s not bound, he could stand up from the rooms only furnishing, a wooden chair if he had the strength. Whatever was done to him made him feel like he was rolled over by a millstone.
He’s alone, but surely under surveillance. If they plan on interrogating him, they have no idea what they’re up against. As powerful a group as these study masters are, they can’t do anything to compare with the other side. All he needs to do is wait for them to make a mistake.
Taking control, Leven shouts, “You’ve got me, throw me in a dungeon or kill me. There’s no way I talk to any of you. Besides, your only trained interrogator is dead.”
The door behind him opens; he feels Master Adara’s presence.
“You’ll talk. We brought in another; we sent her to the same Master in Vorg that trained Master Robles.
“You remember Sanne, right?”
“Sanne? You’ve got to be kidding me. If you thought invoking her name would strike fear in my heart, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Sanne enters, “Oh Leven you are truly a disappointment.
“You should know me better than that. I was sent to learn from Arachne, she realized my reckless behavior was well suited for higher learning that the cautious Masters of Mammatus would never approve. She passed me off to Minerva; the same Master that you spent a month learning to resist the interrogation techniques taught by Master Arachne.”
Leven flinches as he feels those protections being assaulted.
“I spent six months with Minerva; she refused to teach me more because I wouldn’t consume the spirits of my interrogation subjects.”
Sanne, pantomimes scratching Leven's nose with a crooked finger, “Had I done that I would most likely been recruited as you were.”
Leven begins sweating as he feels her slide through his defenses and pick at his spirit. A low groan escapes his lips as he feels her pull on his spirit, it’s like a hangnail the length of his arm, slowly peeled away.
Pulling the strip of spirit free and showing it to him, “Tell me did you ever have a taste?”
Leven watches as jagged thread of his spirit dangles from her fingertips; it’s shiny, it glitters, it sings of life.
He watches in horror as the sparkles disappear, the silver tarnishes, the life melts away to gossamer cobwebs that disappear forever.
While the amount of spirit was miniscule, he knows the world just became dimmer, he’ll no longer feel the same level of happiness, rage, terror, or sadness.
Leven sobs, “I can’t. They’ll still do so much worse.”
“Then we’ll just have to repeat the process until you no longer feel fear.
Without warning or a playful showing of hands, she rips a chunk of spirit from Leven a hundred times the size of that first thread, “I’ll stop when you’re ready.”
Leven releases a shriek of terror, as loud as human vocal cords can produce. The basement testing chamber turned interrogation room, was designed to contain energy of all forms; the students eating breakfast in the dining hall above hear nothing.