When I exited the publishing house, I practically soared on the wings of elation. Not merely because my work would be published, but because I had finally concluded what I ought to do regarding the Treaty. It was a challenging decision, but comic book creation had surprisingly aided me in reaching it. However, after hearing the legate of the Holy See, it was glaringly apparent: my decision could be discarded. I was certain that I would never extend the Treaty, which mandates human submission to shapeshifters as part of the World Laws. Yet, I also did not wish to shatter the Treaty, thereby plunging the entire globe into a relentless civil war. Both outcomes were unacceptable, but a choice had to be made. And this decision filled me with a dread more potent than the most diabolical creatures that emerged from the Breakthroughs.
It's unfair to burden a single individual with such decisions!
It's unjust.
But they foisted it upon me. Without my consent. And the worst part is, I can't remain silent or withdraw. The World is teetering, and the current ambiguous status of the Treaty is accelerating the End of the World.
Or perhaps I should simply shrug it all off and make no decision? Let the world crumble into dust?[1] A "non-decision" no longer seemed so wrong or horrendous.
This thought brought momentary relief.
Closing my eyes, I leaned back on the bench. As soon as I did, the images of Maya, Claire, Kael, Zanh Kiem, Melanie, Christian, Thora, and Halley flashed before my mind's eye... No. I couldn't afford the cowardice of a "non-decision." It would destroy not just me, but those I hold dear. I can't stand by, yet neither of the choices before me are remotely satisfactory.
Taking deep breaths, I attempted to compose myself. Nobody expects me to make and announce a decision immediately. I have at least a year. I sincerely hope that I can devise a solution in that time. I must - because there's no other option!
After lounging on the bench for nearly half an hour, I finally mustered the strength to stand. To rise and aimlessly wander. Thoughts surged, raced, and pounded in my head like wild stallions. I walked without purpose, instinctively sidestepping pedestrians and circumventing street vendors. After drifting for two blocks, I noticed I was heading towards the palace complex and immediately reversed my direction.
This time, I regained my senses relatively quickly. Although what Abel de Diaz had revealed was undeniably significant and shocking, it pertained to the past.
Having made a large loop, I found myself standing at the entrance of the publishing house again without even realizing it. Only one question held my interest at that moment. How did El Cid allow the Treaty to be signed under such conditions? And I had two explanations.
Firstly, he was oblivious to the subsequent changes in the subtle world energies after the signing. Was it possible? Absolutely. Who would have informed him about such a consequence? The Dark? Did they pay attention to these energies? The Light? Their main concern was to prevent the energy fever that had the whole World trembling. Maybe, while Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar was in the monastery, the clerics even persuaded him towards this decision.
The second option seemed more plausible to me: he didn't see any harm in one group of people being subordinate to another, even if this division went according to the right of blood. El Cid was a true man of his time and medieval morality. From birth, he was familiar with an extreme estate society where people were distinctly classified. There were those who labored, those who prayed, and those who ruled. He didn't know of any other world, and he had nothing to compare it with. And the Treaty he signed, in his view, didn't change much... After all, those who labored would continue to do so, and those who prayed would continue their service. Only the ruling class would change, but this has happened many times in history - when the old power departs and a new one takes its place.
From the light wave emanating from the very heart of my Self, it was evident that both options were equally true. Could I now hold myself accountable for the decision made back then? With this question in mind, I paused on the embankment, watching the passing yachts. Today was particularly windy, and sailboats glided through the waves with ease and freedom. They were in their element and looked graceful and elegant, even against the backdrop of ocean liners docked at the tourist pier.
Each individual who now passed me by or navigated the ships in the bay - they were all products of their time, upbringing, and customs ingrained from infancy. Much of what they considered normal would have been grounds for execution or exile in medieval society. The opposite is also true. Can a medieval scientist be blamed for making an incorrect statement about the structure of the universe, having no knowledge of quantum theory? Such an accusation is, to put it mildly, absurd. Therefore, I, the present self, am not in a position to judge El Cid. Especially since I myself am soon to make an equally difficult decision. All while continuing the search for a certain Door. Where could I find this Door? And perhaps, when referring to the Door, did the Creator imply something allegorical?
What I can confidently say is that my current predicament is no easier than the one El Cid found himself in at the time!
Granting myself a moment of sympathy immediately brought me a sense of relief.
After inhaling a deep breath, I surveyed my surroundings. The city was indifferent to my struggles and introspection; it carried on with its day-to-day life. Ships sliced through the waves, cars idled at traffic lights, and people scurried about their business or simply relaxed. One of these idle individuals piqued my interest: he was perched on a bench, engrossed in a book. A book whose cover seemed familiar to me.
Recalling the sight of a bookstore around half a block away from the embankment, I made my way there and purchased the novel that had captured my interest. As the seller assured me, I had made an excellent choice, having bought the "bestseller of the year!" I could have retreated home and sprawled on my bed to read my new acquisition, but the weather was too inviting and confining myself within four walls felt like a crime. The temperature was comfortably warm, with a robust wind blowing from the sea, dispelling the typical city stuffiness. After strolling two blocks, I exited the area frequented by tourists and found a spot on a small bench nestled in a shady alley. I eased myself, performed breathing exercises, and cracked open the enticingly titled "Undefeated." I was keen to decipher what had so fascinated and mildly alarmed the Heir.
The initial lines I read were utterly gripping. The protagonist of the novel, as the Heir had mentioned, was none other than Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar. Despite being aware of this fact, I found myself revisiting the first paragraph of the text ten times. And then... I was completely engrossed for the next few hours, lost to the world until I turned the final page.
As I closed the book I had just finished, the sun was kissing the rooftops. I was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the text was skillfully written, exhibiting an impressive understanding of the subject matter. The author clearly invested in extensive research before putting pen to paper. Accurate knowledge of facts and dates, faithful portrayals of the lifestyle and society of the Middle Ages. Even the significant events in El Cid's life were accurately aligned with the historical timeline. However, despite all of this, the book was essentially a wild fantasy that barely resembled the actual events. According to the author's version, El Cid and his loyal companions, despite being ordinary humans, stood up for their beliefs, achieving victory through luck, strategic planning, and an overwhelming amount of pathos. The absurd level of pathos was almost genius in its depiction. Essentially, it was a pseudo-historical adventure novel, as they say, "based on real events."
El Cid, as portrayed by the author, came across as a potent blend of Sherlock Holmes, Tamerlane, and Lancelot. An epitome of a hero, intelligent, calculating, yet also noble, a formidable warrior, and all the while a strategist and commander utterly relentless towards his foes. It was only due to the author's tremendous literary talent that such a character appeared natural and coherent within the pages of the book. The storyline was tightly knotted: conflicts, conspiracies, romance, betrayals, and a few twists that even caught me off guard.
Despite the crux of the book revolving around the Last King of Men's resistance to the Coming of True Blood, it was all presented in such a manner that, officially, the censorship authorities had no grounds for complaint. The author did not disparage shapeshifters; on the contrary, he depicted them as intelligent, cultured, and equally noble, which further elevated El Cid's triumphs. And the overall, underlying motif of the book was the horrors of war. Any war brings pain, suffering, and tragedy. The book concludes with the hero, having understood this, retreating to a monastery. He departs undefeated, unwilling to inflict more pain upon the world. An appropriate message in general. I've been in wars, even if not as a soldier but as an operator, and I've seen enough to assert without a doubt: war is absolute hell, and war is terrifying.
However, beyond its overt meaning, the book instilled a certain atmosphere. This atmosphere was never explicitly expressed, and even allusions to it were as veiled as possible. But! Upon turning the final page, the reader no longer viewed shapeshifters as an invincible and infallible force. How the author achieved this remains a mystery to me! Could he be a master of neuro-linguistic programming through literature? I know it's implausible, but somehow he accomplished such an effect!
I study the book cover. It also conveys a certain sentiment. And I profoundly dislike this sentiment.
I felt the urge to seek out the author's contact details and confront him with the question: who recommended him to write such a book at this particular time? Or perhaps the author is a sensum of Maker rank? And he's just extremely tuned in to the current state of the World?
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The cover art and the text coalesced in my mind, and I vividly grasped the purpose of this book. It was a prophecy, a novel that was conditioning people for an action they were destined to undertake. As of now, this book was cultivating a desire, possibly unconscious. But...
Damn it!
Someone ensured that if I broke the Treaty, my forces would not be wanting for volunteers!!! No! That's impossible! Books aren't written overnight. Who could have foreseen such timing? Maybe I'm just overthinking it?
No, it's not my imagination, I'm certain of it, and my Spark has no bearing on this assurance. I simply see the whole picture and am capable of recognizing all the clues that the author wove into his work. I suspect even the Heir doesn't fully comprehend how dangerous this novel is for the existing world order.
Hold on! It's not as bad as it sounds! This book isn't a trigger. The mental "anchors" embedded within it will only activate in the version of reality where I break the Treaty. If I knew who gifted me such a "surprise," I would personally wring their neck out! No wonder the House on the Hill was so anxious. The Heir was on edge. He sensed something, not entirely, but he felt it, and now he was even more cautious.
Drat. I had hoped to enjoy a good book and unwind. Well, I did read a good book, but it didn't help me relax. Sliding the tome into my bag, I rose from the bench, realizing sleep was a long way off. Plus, I didn't really want to sleep.
So, I ended up wandering around the city all night, even making it as far as the bridge in the capital that connects the university island to the mainland. Consequently, I attended the first lecture not only without having slept all day, but also without a shower since I hadn't returned home or to my dorm.
"Looks like someone's been on a bender!" Christian greeted me with a lively and spirited voice as I neared the academic building.
"Eh?" Instantly, Claire popped up beside me like a jack-in-the-box. "Who's been on a bender?"
"Guess who? Izao! He didn't sleep at all last night."
The "twins from the box"[2] simultaneously took a step back and scrutinized me from head to toe.
"I see you're both in high spirits too." I waved them off. "What's got him so cheerful?"
Indeed, Christian seemed as bright that morning as a spit-polished naval sergeant major's badge.
"He got her!"[3] Claire winked at me.
"What?!" Christian practically leapt at her words.
"He persuaded her to go on a proper date. Not just a walk, but a café, movie, the whole nine yards," clarified Claire, barely suppressing a chuckle.
"How do you know that?" Christian sounded surprised, distancing himself from the redhead.
"Oh, Jan!" Claire, spotting our classmate exiting the academic building, dashed off in his direction instead of replying. "Hey, do you have notes on thermodynamics of closed systems?"
"She's not going to answer me, is she?" Christian asked rhetorically, a hint of despair in his voice.
"Do you think she doesn't have her own notes?" I didn't offer any comfort.
"A beauty with a bite!" Christian couldn't help but blurt out, his voice more admiring than disapproving.
"Aren't you smitten with Mary?" I teased him.
"Ah, that's different!" Christian waved off my comment. "My feelings for Mary don't stop me from recognizing the truth. I'm still objective!" How his mind arrived at that conclusion was beyond me.
As entertaining as these conversations were, time waits for no one.
"Let's get to the lecture." I nudged the guy toward the door.
Today's first lecture was advanced mathematics, and I immediately regretted my lack of sleep. The problems and tasks the lecturer assigned were brutal. Conversely, the upcoming double lecture promised to be less taxing. Anthropology, what could be so hard? You just sit back, listen, and occasionally respond to the lecturer's queries.
Regrettably, I found myself attending this lecture alongside the military department, and due to my lack of sleep, I had unfortunately lost all focus and found myself seated next to Ketsu Sugawara. True to form, the Japanese guy acted as though I were a void, completely invisible to him. He has a knack for provoking me. It's not as though he's done anything particularly egregious to me, he even gifted me his drawing, but still, something about him just grates on my nerves!
Consequently, I spent the first half of the lecture in a state of heightened tension. The idea of relaxing or even managing to sleep with my eyes open was an impossibility with such vexing company. To make matters worse, the second half of the class was dedicated to independent work. We were required to split into pairs and complete the task before the lecture concluded. Naturally, I found myself paired with Ketsu. With my luck, it could have been no other way. The task was, to put it lightly, unconventional. We were escorted to a clearing in front of the building and presented with a large pile of sticks, stones, and thick ropes. Our assignment was to use the materials at hand to craft a composite stone tool within an hour and a half. We were strictly forbidden to use any of our own instruments.
"A knife, axe, spear, or a bow?" I queried my partner about the task at hand.
"If you opt for a bow, you'll have to make at least one arrow to go with it," the lecturer's assistant, who was standing nearby, promptly added.
"A scraper doesn't count as a composite tool," another assistant was explaining the obvious to a different pair.
While I was still digesting the information, Ketsu had already picked up a couple of sticks and some stones from the pile. Without uttering a word, he moved away and sat down under the shade of a palm tree. Classic Sugawara! Acting as though I don't exist.
So, he wants to play games? Fine, let's play.
Unlike my "partner," I took my time at the pile, meticulously selecting the right "parts." Ketsu was blatantly demonstrating his intention to complete the task solo, without any assistance from me. Fine, I thought, I'll complete the task on my own as well.
Ignoring Sugawara's disgruntled expression, I sat down across from him and spread out my materials. I realized that my youthful enthusiasm was kicking in, but honestly, what did it matter? At that moment, all I wanted was to outdo this haughty shapeshifter. His physical strength, precision, quick reflexes, and animal instincts gave him a significant advantage. Still, these odds only made our "duel" all the more intriguing.
The first thing I crafted was a rudimentary hand ax[4] and scraper. This did not escape Ketsu's notice, and his smug grin made it clear that he found my efforts amusing. I then spent a good fifteen minutes working on a relatively straight stick I'd found in the pile, shaping it with the scraper until it was just right. The result was a stick with a rough groove running along one side, about one and a half cubits in length with a substantial knot at the thicker end. The moment I noticed this particular stick in the pile, I knew exactly what I was going to do.
I spent quite a while tinkering, attempting to craft a tiny tip, just about the size of a pinkie finger. Three attempts ended up being futile, but eventually, I managed to fashion something resembling a pointed stone with a dovetail joint. Lucky for me, the flint I had found was fairly pliable; I wouldn't have been able to achieve this with granite or malachite in such a short span of time.
Sugawara, however, chose not to fritter away time on such minutiae. He seemed quite determined to carve a stone ax out of granite. As the saying goes: if you've got the strength, why not, indeed! Good luck to him! The challenge of crafting a stone ax lies not in creating the handle or the blade, but in securing a reliable fastening, which can't be achieved by simply wrapping it with a rope. You need to employ water, fire, resin, wood softening, and other techniques. Just a week ago, our lecturer had enlightened us on these "minor details," but evidently, Ketsu didn't deem it necessary to remember the intricacies of some primitive people's craft.
My edge lay not only in my significantly greater experience but also in the fact that I had been part of a film crew documenting the lives of the Amazonian Indians. I had witnessed firsthand how those who had renounced the conveniences of modern civilization lived, in order to preserve their ancestors' way of life. As an assistant camera operator, I was tasked with ensuring the equipment functioned under any circumstances. Constructing a sturdy camera tripod out of crap and sticks?[5] I've tackled that challenge more than once.
After confirming a detail with the assistant, I stood up, hand ax in tow, and approached a bush in the clearing. I selected a straight branch of the required length and thickness and chopped it off with a few assured strokes.
"Hey, is that even allowed?!" exclaimed one of the shapeshifters, having noticed my actions.
"The bush is within the clearing, cadet. You should have paid closer attention to the instructions," the teacher responded coolly to the outburst.
After trimming the branch, I made a small split at the thicker end and inserted the tip into it, securing it as tightly as I could with a rope. It was crude and unreliable, but it would suffice for one-time use. And I believe that's all that's expected from us on this assignment. Raising my hand, I declared:
"Izao Vaillant has completed the task."
Sugawara shot me a fiery glare; his stone ax had slipped out of its holder for the third time already.
"A short dart?" The teacher approached and carefully examined my creation. "Technically, this is a composite tool, so technically, you, Izao, have completed the task. But, even though you were the first to submit and completed it on your own, I can only rate your work as satisfactory for such a simple tool." Ketsu's eyes gleamed with hidden triumph as he heard the lecturer's words.
"Not so fast, Mr. lecturer."
With a courteous bow to the teacher, I retrieved the stick I had prepared earlier, the one with a knot at its end, from the grass. I held it by the thin end, placed the dart into the makeshift channel, and secured its end on the knot. Trusting my intuition, I swung and launched the dart with the aid of the spear-thrower towards a tree standing fifteen meters away. The projectile embedded itself in the wood, the entire length of the tip buried, with a resounding thud. To my relief, the fastening held. Applause echoed through the clearing, starting hesitantly, then growing louder and louder. My impromptu display evidently entertained the students.
Ketsu's face turned an envious shade of green.
"An Atlatl!"[6] exclaimed the lecturer, snatching the spear-throwing stick from my grasp. "It's not often that I'm taken by surprise, but you've managed it. Izao Vaillant, you've earned top marks!"
[1] TLN: "The whole world - into dust. But later." is a catchphrase from a well-known movie where a low-ranking officer shows recruits around a military base. One of them jokingly suggests pressing "the red button." The officer, failing to understand the joke, responds seriously: "From here, boys, our motherland dictates its firm will to the international community. Shall we bang? Certainly, we will bang. And more than once. The whole world - into dust. But later." https://www.youtube.com/shorts/2WujcB4TY0o
[2] TLN: This is a reference to a cartoon featuring two magical workers who carry out all tasks given to them, albeit incorrectly. They are primarily remembered for their synchronized movements while speaking. https://youtu.be/UJ84I0iKd_s?t=10
[3] TLN: In the original language, this phrase carries a sexual connotation, which Claire obviously intended.
[4] TLN: For those unfamiliar with the term, a 'hand axe' is not a literal axe but a piece of stone. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hand_axe
[5] TLN: The phrase "build from crap and sticks" is a popular idiom meaning to construct something from primitive or even inappropriate materials found at hand.
[6] TLN: Atlatl is a type of spear-thrower, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spear-thrower.