Basement testing room, Mammatus Study
Sanne, full of regret over having eaten a large breakfast prior to today’s operation, takes a moment to steady her breathing, calm her mind, and settle her stomach. Thinking two out of three will have to suffice, she queasily opens the door and enters.
Her time with Minerva, where she learned her interrogation skills, pushed her already reckless behavior into a self-destructive attempt to forget her past or die trying. The psychological damage that she had buried under a mountain of brain damaging partying has resurfaced vengefully after each session with her once friend and mentor, Leven.
Leven sits as he’s taken of late, on the floor like a child.
Girding herself with the knowledge that she shouldn’t have to employ any spirit rending today, Sanne forces her voice to sound cheerful, “Leven, today we have a special treat for you.”
Leven looks up with blank eyes and an eerily lopsided smile.
“We found an old friend of yours and have arranged a visit.”
Leven, dead emotionally, forces himself to feel hopeful. Standing in the doorway are two women, Master Adera. He hates Vania Adera passionately or would if he could feel passion. Instead, the sight of her makes him colder inside, he would be capable of doing anything to her. While Sanne is the one inflicting atrocities on him, it’s all at the pleasure of Master Vania Adera, Dean of Sight and Sound at Mammatus Study.
His hatred for Vania is so complete he almost doesn’t notice the other woman until Sanne says her name.
“We’ve brought you your old friend, Mistress Jane.”
A spark ignites somewhere deep on Leven, discipline and training keep it from reaching his eyes. Instead, he unsteadily stands up.
He blinks a few times as if just waking up before speaking in his weakened voice, “Mistress Jane! You’re here! That means this was a test, doesn’t it?
“Did I pass?”
Eyes pleading, “Tell me this was a test, and it will go back to the way it was.”
Softer, almost a whisper, “please.”
The prisoner Jane, shackled with arms behind her back, a chain connecting shackles to ankle restraints, limiting her to half steps, shakes her chains in frustration, “Remove these so I can hold him. You must see that he needs me.”
Pushing Jane into the room, Vania rebuts, “Not happening, but he’s welcome to hold you.”
Jane stumbles forward, meeting Leven halfway across the room.
Wrapping his weakened arms around his mistress, “I knew you’d come for me. I did everything I was supposed to do. I knew you’d come.”
Pressing her forehead against his chest, “Yes, my Leven, I am here. Rest easy now. Mistress Jane will take care of everything from here on out.”
Feeling the chains and shackles, Leven can’t help but giggle, “I usually wear these.”
Master Adera feels she’s given them enough time and would like to move on to the next step. The sooner they break Jane the better.
“That’s enough Jane, step away from Leven.”
Jane shuffles backwards, but Leven follows, never losing contact with her forehead.
Sanne playing her role, “Jane, I’m going to crack you open the same as I did Leven. I went easy on him because he was once my friend. You’ll receive no mercy from me.”
Leven starts giggling again as he tries to speak, “You’re really going to take care of everything?”
Her quiet response was masked by the sound of her shackles hitting the floor.
Master Adara throws a restraining band of kinetic energy at the two prisoners.
Mistress Jane deploys a myriad of kinetic plates, connected at acute and obtuse angles surrounding herself and Leven.
Adara’s restraint hits a plate and spins away violently smashing the basement wall.
Sanne also took action by stabbing a spirit spike into the back of Jane’s head. It presses into Jane’s defenses easily, too easily, she must of hit a decoy, the ease of penetration giving away the ploy.
Jane doesn’t stop at reactively protecting herself, a splash of black energy drops to the floor and spreads, leaving herself and her Leven untouched.
This energy, entropy made tangible causes everything it touches to decay. Stones erode, wooden chair and table legs dry out and begin to splinter under their own weight. Everything it touches begins to crumble as if aged a century.
Having no way to counter such energy, Master Adara and Sanne can only back away.
Vania shouts, “We can’t let you leave.”
Mistress Jane cheerily counters, “You can’t stop me.”
A familiar male voice follows the loud crack of a high caliber bullet fired at Jane’s midsection, “But I can.”
Master Terius would have preferred to not use such a device, but a plan is a plan, and he must do his part.
Mistress Jane felt the potential energy from the bullets explosive exit, but instinct tells her if she doesn’t feel the bullet, it’s a dragon clad slug. Without thinking she turns and uses Leven as a shield.
The projectile tears into the weakened ex-page and friend of Sanne. The dragon cladding tears away burrowing their own tiny holes into his body. The main slug flattens, creating an expanding cone of destruction before hitting a rib and deflecting downward where it exits harmlessly against Jane’s thigh.
Bloody froth bubbles from Leven as he tries to cry out, while a shredded lung collapses.
The black crackling energy fills the room from floor to ceiling until there is no ceiling and Jane with Leven in her arms flies up into the same vacant courtyard where Leven was taken weeks ago. She doesn’t slow as she bursts through the skylights above.
Broken glass rains down on the three interrogators as the black matter corrupting energy continues to expand.
Terius comments, “That wasn’t exactly to plan, was it?”
Sanne answers, “No.”
Vania adds, “Not exactly.”
Sub-basement, warehouse near Mammatus Rail Station
Stuffing both sides of his wounds with gauze, Jane can’t believe she used her precious Leven as a shield. She did it without a thought, as she was trained, training she despises at the moment.
He lives, she consols herself with that thought, but for how long. Wrapping his torso to hold the gauze in place she watches his neck and counts the subtle pulse.
His heart rate was racing when they arrived, now that he’s settled and prone, it’s down to under forty beats a minute.
She shoves a small box under his knees and finds a slightly larger one to prop up his feet. His breathing is steady, his bleeding has slowed. He’d be healing better if it weren’t for the shrapnel of meta-obsidian embedded in his body.
Jane stares at the bloody mess she’s made of Leven and herself before climbing the ladder to the room above where there’s a sink she can use to wash away Leven’s blood.
There’s nothing to be done with her clothes, she undresses and goes to the wardrobe and grabs the first thing she sees, a pair of beige pants and a white blouse. A pair of wedged mules completes her ensemble.
She looks unapprovingly at her image in the wardrobe mirror, her purple hair is in disarray and there’s no brush in sight.
She’ll need to go out anyway, this safehouse has been empty for decades and the remaining food stores have spoiled. Slipping her shoes back off she tucks them under an arm and makes her way up a second ladder leading to a trap door. Not worried about being seen, she pushed it open and climbed free of the underground hideaway into an empty office.
Hatch closed, her feet shod, she runs fingers through her hair one last time before exiting the warehouse to procure provisions.
Outside the warehouse she takes stock of the area and its security. Having leased the office in the buildings rear fifty or so years ago was a prudent choice. This building has been the cross dock between the legal and illegal trade in Mammatus for hundreds of years. The warehouse porters don’t just move cargo, they’re also lookouts. She knows all their alert signals; everything is clear for now.
Mistress Jane was taught not to rely too heavily on human perceptions, has also deployed more than two dozen detector machines on the surrounding rooftops. If anyone tries to spy on her warehouse their presence will be detected, and she’ll be notified immediately.
Audibly things seem normal enough, only the incessant cawing of a pair of crows embroiled in a territorial dispute sounds out of place. The ambient noise of trains jockeying into place on their respective tracks and the coordinating shouts of foremen and switchmen tell her all is normal.
She left that waste of a study in a rush, had she had time she would have stuck around to watch the place crumble. How they are dealing with the scourge of entropy she unleashed she can only imagine. Their precious study is probably gutted by now. After she heals Leven, she’ll pay them another visit. Providing she’s allowed.
Spotting a line of food stalls, Jane decides to forego shopping and instead to get enough food for a day. Carrying a flat square box back into the warehouse, she hopes Leven will find this new street food called pizza interesting.
A wave of disorientation has Jane pause while descending the first ladder. It only takes a moment to register what happened. She’d gotten used to the oddity called Malo staying put on the other side of the world. Now he’s on the move, and fast. Taking her orders seriously, she’s kept him in the back of her mind; it can be jarring when he suddenly moves from place to place.
No matter, she has her Leven to make well. Reaching the subbasement, she slips her shoe’s back on and opens the pizza box to give Leven a whiff.
Waving the food in front of his face doesn’t do the trick. She takes a finger, dips it in the red sauce, and smears a little on his lower lip.
Leven’s pale face doesn’t register the contact. Cupping his cool cheeks in both hands, she takes a moment to appreciate how beautiful he is.
Checking her patient’s pulse, she barely feels one.
“No, no, no! You’re too strong to go out like this. I can fix you. She can fix you!”
Another wave of dizziness hits as the one she’s supposed to keep track of circles the world and moves faster and farther away than should be possible.
Anger flashes, not even the Free’er makes himself felt so strongly. This apostate called Malo is pushing himself on everyone, eroding freedom by his vary existence. By doing so, he breaks every natural law as taught by the Free’er and his priesthood.
Why does he get to break laws, rules, and conventions? When she, Mistress Jane must follow them and hide while her precious Leven withers and dies.
Resolutely, Jane kicks off her shoes and tosses the uneaten pizza aside. Gently scooping Leven into her arms, she blasts black-entropy upwards until she sees clear skies.
Taking to the air, she turns towards the place she’s forbidden to visit without a summons. Mistress Jane will be heard. Lady Gwynt will heal Leven or pay the price.
A lone crow, the presumed winner of the territorial dispute, caws alarm at the ruined warehouse.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Space, Lagrange Point L1
This isn’t as fun as he’d imagined. His eyes keep shriveling away as fast as they can regrow. Having all the unbound fluids and gases sucked from his body was horrible in ways indescribable to someone who has not experienced it. His circulatory system has ceased to function, cells no longer carry life sustaining molecules and minerals. A new process evolved to sustain life or maybe he was slowly dying. His brain thinks his heart still beats; lungs still breathe. Neither process was happening but as long as his brain believed its going on, he can manage these wild new sensations. Adjusting his physicality and mentality to this new baseline of existence took a reconfiguration of his anabolic systems. Where the energy comes from, he doesn’t know and decides that a problem for future Malo.
He knows his position from the pull of gravity by the sun, terra, and moon. This spot is neat in that both the moon and terra feel the same gravitationally, but the two still stand out in stark contrast by their own radiation.
He should not have stopped here, when he pushes on time only the gravitational pull of the sun exerts any noticeable force, the other two bodies are perfectly in opposition. He could use the sun to pull himself out of this neutral point, but that seems like a compromise. There must be another way to move from this point. The moon still calls to him, it’s right there he feels it.
With so many other senses, you’d think this would be enough, but somehow not being able to use his own two eyes has diminished the experience.
Lethargically Malo realizes his spirit is running out of mass to continually heal his organs and keep his mind alive, a new sensation catches his attention.
In the vacuum of space there are not as many particles for time to interact, time still marches on and as there is no matter to propel through time, it instead creates tiny tears in space. Through these tears slip opposites. Malo doesn’t know what else to call them, but they seem to cancel each other out if he allows them to touch. Holding his left hand open, he calls the ones that appear as elects. He draws their opposites to his right.
He feels his spirit in turmoil, the powerful personalities permeating his spirit of the people who sacrificed themselves to save him, are equally intrigued and scared of what he’s found.
He’s positive the intrigue comes from Master Robles and Auntie Ge’get, and the fright from his mom and papa. Not having a name for the opposite elects, he goes with Robles and Ge’get’s positive mood and names them pos-sies.
He’s gathered tens-of-thousands this way before other types of particles begin to appear. He experiments to see which ones go in the left hand and which in the right. Guessing wrong, causes the new particles to bond with the elects and pos-sies until they annihilate one another and make a bit of light.
Realizing he’s gathering the basic building blocks of atoms. He begins to understand what’s happening. His spirit needs mass, he’s somehow summoning it from somewhere or more likely transforming the energy already present into these particles.
A new particle begins to appear, this one seems to be sticky. When it interacts with the positrons and neutrons they are drawn together and begin trapping electrons forming atoms. His spirit takes them in, and he feels a spark of energy.
Mentally, Malo takes a restorative breath and figuratively closes his eyes. Letting his spirit expand beyond his body, where it meticulously pries open space, letting streams of time flow unhindered. Pairs of annihilation particles appear faster than he can segregate. The mass of matter and anti-matter grows and is consumed, feeding his spirit and body.
Floating stationery between the pull of planet and moon, Malo extends his desiccated arms capped by swirling balls of pulsating plasma and anti-plasma. The glow of energy washing away all color, the sudden available mass restores his previously crumpled form.
His mind has reached a state of serenity, his spirit is resonating with grace. Matter forms and reconstitutes his body to its fullest. Breathing in the mix of nitrogen and oxygen trapped by a self-generated magnetic field, he turns his palms backwards and fires streams of plasma and anti-plasma from each hand propelling himself towards a beckoning moon.
The Keep in Brust Valley
“Blah, blah, blah, blah... blah-blah-Blah! Blah-blah, blah, blah… Blah, blah. Do these people never stop talking?”
Job can only follow so much of what’s being said, the deluge of new words like, “diplomatic”, “currency”, “sovereign” are making his head spin.
“Blah, blah, war effort…”, what was that about, he almost tries to listen but can’t make himself. His mother and father will explain it all later using smaller words he is more accustomed to using.
Standing between his parents he does his best to keep from leaning against his father’s leg. He’d do it if he couldn’t feel his Chief of Staff behind him staring at his every wiggle.
It’s not fair, what’s the point of being a general if you have to do all this boring stuff; when can he start the war?
A gentle nudge from mother tells him to walk forward, not sure why, he does. He trusts his mother emphatically and will do anything she says.
Relieved, everyone follows his lead, and they advance up to the giant steps. Upon reaching them he holds up his hands, mother, and father each take one and lift him in the air, bouncing him on each step.
Finally, something fun, he squats a little on each landing and jumps skyward, knowing they’re going to lift him gently to the next step.
The huge doors are open wide, not a good defensive position to take. The construction of the building is sound, but completely indefensible. He was told they were building fortifications; this must not be them.
Entering Brusk was eye opening, having only lived in the ranger camp in the mountains, seeing so many people lining the streets was scary. Not as scarry as all the towering buildings. Some of them are four stories high. The keep towered even higher, if he hadn’t been forced to stand while greeted for a whole four minutes, he’d still be intimidated.
Now inside his trepidation is replaced with slack-jawed amazement, because the thing about big buildings is, they have big insides too.
The grand staircase, the gold gilding, the polished dark stained wood, the flower arrangements, a larger-than-life painting of a man in the house colors with a woman whose beauty rivals his mother’s.
Gentle nudges keep him moving forward, a bit slower than his parents like, but the other visiting rangers are just as awestruck.
His connection to them tells him so, they’re as awed as he or maybe his feelings are influencing them. There’s so much they don’t yet understand. He keeps telling Jadeen it won’t matter in the end, but she insists on trying to learn everything there is to know about his ability to connect with his people.
Their small group of fourteen shuffle along at the pace of a two-year-old, who has completely forgotten his mission and is trying to see everything there is to see.
A rare moment of happiness burbles inside as he looks up to his mom and declares, “I’m glad you made me come. I would never have seen a room so big or pretty if I had not left camp until the war started.
“Nonsense, you’ll see plenty of big rooms when we begin our march.”
Feelings being fickle, he’s now sad, “Yes, but they won’t look like this after we arrive.”
His sadness doesn’t last as they enter a long room with the sun streaming in the windows, lighting double rows of tables with bench seating. No more nudges are required to motivate him to walk down the center aisle between the tables. He smells food and hasn’t eaten since dawn.
At the far end of the room is a raised dais with a larger table that seats nine facing the other smaller tables. Forgetting himself he self-propels up the dais with a gentle nudge against time.
“Job!” dual hushed admonishments erupt from his parents as he scurries under the table to the side with the chairs.
Spotting a seat fortified with a block of wood and cushion he takes it for himself. Crawling up he surveys the table for the food that must be nearby.
Seeing none is hugely disappointing, the room is filled with the aroma of baking bread and the unmistakable smell of cavi charring over an open fire.
Resigned to starving, Job patiently pouts while the grownups take their seats.
The youngish looking man from outside dressed like the man in the portrait takes a seat to his right, his father, the War Consort sits to his left, mother is next, followed by Elias. Job can’t see who or knows the names of the people to his right.
The grownup to his right leans a little to his left and speaks in a stage whisper that half the table can hear, “Are you as hungry as I am?”
Answering the unanswerable in the same tone, “I don’t know. How hungry are you?”
Using a more conversational voice, “Hungry enough to wish the kitchen staff didn’t hate me this week.
“I can never remember names after those long formal greetings outside. My name is Lord Tomas Brusk, but I would be honored if you would simply address me as Tomas.”
Job should have realized this was the “king” of Brusk but not having any frame of reference for the proceedings he just experienced, he didn’t know if the man talking had been a herald or a head of state.
Remembering his manners, “It’s nice to meet you Tomas, I am called Job. I’m supposed to meet Lord Brusk today.
Extending a tiny hand in greetings, “That must be you.”
“Yes, yes I am indeed the one and only Lord Tomas Brusk.”
“Good, then you can make them feed me.”
Chuckling at the boy’s naïve optimism, “I wish it were so; the kitchen staff and I are not on speaking terms presently. If I tried ordering them around right now, I’d need a new food taster at every meal.”
“Why?”
“The same reason as always, their budget. No matter how much I allocate they never feel it’s enough.”
“No, not that. Why would you need food tasters, are they going to make you yucky foods?”
Stifling another chuckle, “You could say that. When your education expands to politics, you’ll get a better understanding.
“Speaking of education, I hear you’ve been entirely educated by your parents and advisors. One on one lessons are good, but some lessons are best taught in groups for the sake of discussion. How does that work, are there other children in Bearlower?”
The question catches Job off guard, he’s never considered other children or their necessity, “No. I’m the only child.
“You should know that. Three of our rangers had to leave because they were having babies. Two came here… are they still here… can I see them... the babies?”
Softly, “They are and will be joining us at our table shortly.”
Tomas gestures to an attendant waiting at the end of the table and hurriedly gives the woman instructions.
“The babies are adorable, slow growing, eating machines, just like their father. The kitchen staff can’t wait for them to be fully weened.”
“Speaking of the cooking staff,” Tomas doesn’t finish as Chef unceremoniously drops a platter lid on the table before him.
A silver platter loaded with snacks is then gently placed in front of Job with a little flourish, “You must be starved after your long march across the mountains. Formal dining will not start for another hour, the kitchen staff put this together in your honor.”
Scowling once at Tomas before turning, Chef leaves without another word.
Job takes in the food before him, recognizing berries he start with them.
Sarich doesn’t wait for an invitation and takes a slice of bread, butters it, and passes it to his wife.
After eating a few berries, Job gets curious about the unusual assortment before him. Turning to a bemused Lord Tomas Brust he points to a wedge shaped green and red fruit with black seeds, “What is this?”
“That is something I was told we were out of, just yesterday. It’s called watermelon.”
Memories of the large green fruit, Citrullus lanatus, a gourd, floods his mind, stalling him for a heartbeat. Having gained knowledge he didn’t need, he regrets having asked.
Job pulls the platter close, takes the enticing slice or nutrient filled fruity flesh and commences eating it.
Tomas takes up the platter lid and holds it up and back from the table, an attendant quickly takes it away.
“I could go for some of that watermelon.”
Job pretends not to hear.
“You shouldn’t eat the seeds, that’s what that metal cup on the platter is for. You hold the cup close to your mouth and spit the seeds into it.”
That sounds like a good idea, but to acknowledge it he would have to admit to hearing the man. Stubbornly Job continues to swallow the seeds.
The rows of tables are filling quickly, well-dressed people, some recognizable as those that had lined the street when his procession entered the city. Uniformed attendants escort groups to their assigned tables. It’s a well-organized process until a rushing keeps guardsmen intercepts an attendant leading a group to the front row.
The contingent from Bearlower is instantly on alert for any attempt of subterfuge. After exchanging words and a glance towards Tomas the attendant finishes seating his party and follows the guard out of the reception hall.
Tearing off a chunk of bread and smashing it into the butter, Job barely notices the loud bang of the servant’s entrance door, quickly followed by a table carried by two men. The table is set near the front blocking the walkway down the right side of the room.
Reccy gets up from her seat on the other side of Sarich and taps Job on the shoulder and points to the right end of the table where two rangers holding large bundles are being seated. He’s seen rangers before and returns his attention to his bread and the activities before him.
Reccy shrugged and goes to the end and of the table to introduce herself to the two mothers. They may be War Born and her just a human but all mothers have a bond, and through that bond the three ladies become fast friends.
Eyes ahead, Job chews his bread and watches as the first two rows are shifted to the left, making room for the extra table now perpendicular to all the others. The already seated people take the resettlement in stride and helpfully move their bench.
After all is settled, two long benches join the unattended table. The room is not yet fully seated when a swarm of staff begin distributing glasses of chilled water.
Seeing this Job is surprised to see that he’s been served water as well and greedily takes his glass in both hands and sates a thrist he only now notices.
As if that was a signal a polite voice asks from behind, “Master Job, if you are finished, I can take that platter away.”
Job isn’t sure if he’s done yet, but Sarich speaks for him, “Job is finished, you may take it.”
With nothing to do, Job leans forward and rests his chin on the table’s edge. Wishing he was anywhere else; he starts thinking about all the things he needs to accomplish. Not able to think of anything he can change or accomplish while stuck here, his mood turns to boredom. He heats his water to a boil and cools it until ice crystals begin to form.
Sensing the glass stressing from the rapid expansion and compression, Job turns his attention to the glass in front of Tomas.
A stinging sensation to the back of his hand has him sit up straight.
Sarich whispers, “Stop that.”
Food comes next, a plate drops in front of Lord Brust, followed immediately by one for Job. It’s grilled cavi with a mix of greens and an unrecognized blend of beans.
Picking uninterestedly at his food his ears pick up the high-pitched chattering voices of a dozen kids aged three to six. A single woman rides herd on the unruly group and steers them to the lone empty table.
Food is rushed out to the group; they are fed sandwiches and cups of punch.
Job is amazed by his first look at people around his same age, it’s one thing to know something exists, it’s another thing to see it with your own eyes. They are like him, they may be taller than Job, but at the same time they are small, just like him.
He watches the group hungrily as they munch excitedly on their food and talk optimistically of the events to come.
Sarich slides his chair back and leans behind Job. Having been waiting for such a movee, Tomas does the same.
Conspiratorially, Tomas addresses the unasked question, “This group goes to the same home study, their study master has been requesting a field trip to the keep. I thought a sleepover would be fun for them.”
“You did this for Job. I recognize a rushed change of plans as easily as the next man.
“Thank you.”
Returning to his place and speaking first to Reccy and then to Job. He barely finished talking when Job slips out of his chair to the floor, crawls under the table and alights on his feet after hopping off the raised dais.
Forgetting any sense of decorum his parents and chief of staff have attempted to instill, Job flies directly to the kid’s tabletop and walks down its center to survey his new soldiers.
Tomas stands and the room instantly quiets, all except the kids table which is in chaos over the sudden new arrival.
Speaking just loud enough to be heard, “Milldy, could you please escort the kids to their next activity?”
Reccy stands, “Excuse me, I will assist Milldy if there are no objections.”
Not waiting for a reply Reccy takes up the rear of the rapidly forming line of children with Job at the lead.”