Chapter 8

Revelation: III

Ariei

I sit alone on the hanging bed within my private barracks room. The shelves are carved into the wall in lengthy rounded indentations, scarred on the edges from age. A small open closet stands beside them, holding my civilian outfit, my emberstrand’s uniform, and a black suit for moments of high achievement or major life events. It was gifted to me by Marit just a year ago, never worn. Small esperstone lights hang suspended from the low ceiling, the bed taking up the remainder of the space. Most civilians live in one of the main housing buildings just outside of the city. Not us- living in the headquarters has been both a security tactic and tradition since the guild’s formation.

I lie, mindlessly toying with the small steel brooch that normally remains affixed to the front-right of my uniform. It is a carving of a strigara, the jaws closed; an almost regal expression compared to the animosity of the real thing. It’s said to be a necessity, an honoring of natural existence amongst the ferocity of the beast. As they exist, so must we, and thus the cycle begins. I’d just always just considered it an excuse to make fanciful badges for our uniforms in a vain display of manufactured honor.

I mull over the night’s occurrences, bit by bit, but the main focus of my mania is the lapse in the fortitude of my father’s mind, along with my response to it. He’s finally been honest with me. For the first time in years, he’s spoken about my mother, about Elias. He has spoken of his guilt, a guilt I had never thought to be there in the first place. I keep mulling over his words, before placing the brooch on a shelf as a loud knock emits from the room’s vastinroot door.

I stand cautiously, taking slow, soft steps towards it. I decide to grab the brooch again, holding it in my fist in the event that physical conflict should arise. Such precautions should never be necessary here- with a potential enemy in the walls, there are no rules. Unfortunately for me, the weapons are locked in their armory. I open the door a small distance, enough to make out the figure in the hall.

It’s Liet. She stands just outside, still clad in her uniform. She speaks in a soft whisper.

“Ariei. Come with me.”

I consider questioning further, but I let it subside. I trust Liet for the most part- I'm only partially aware of my father’s anxious reservations. It’s been obvious since I witnessed the exchange between the two and Gierant in the chamber of council, and the anxiety has made its journey from his psyche to mine. Still, she’s my commander- I'm not one to make betrayals myself. I follow her into the hall, her combat boots thumping against the smooth flat stone floor below. We pass more rooms before reaching the nearest ladder and descend, dropping us into a small training area. The simulatory mannequins of eidelion line the walls of the room. They’ve seen better days; pockmarks of coremag rounds and aesthetically damaging wounds cover them, some being stuffed once again and stitched back together in a haphazard fashion before more training can begin.

It takes me a moment to realize why she’s taking us this way- had we continued through the barracks area above, we would’ve passed not only the Cantralian’s temporary quarters, but my father’s as well. We move on, reaching another ladder, taking us upwards into the living quarters once more. Only two emberstrand live in this area- or, rather, used to live here.

One is Liet herself. The other was Braham.

We stand in front of his room as Liet reaches towards her belt, grasping a small ring of keys. She sorts through them, before settling on one. I stand silent as she inserts it into the lock, the mechanism slowly rotating before the door finally becomes unlatched. She opens the door slowly before standing aside and letting me in. As I move past her, I realize something that shouldn’t feel out of place.

She still has her sword on her back.

Braham’s room is a complete copy of every other barracks room in the building. I had expected something at least a little bit more intricate with his pedigree, but, as was his personality, he must have wanted to remain humble. A few small treasures line the shelves- a handful of teeth ripped from hunted sterata and vilnen, a small stack of broken ax blades from battles past, a set of small statues most likely crafted by small artists in the inner city. I look at the statues. I’d never assume Braham to be a collector. Beside them is a handful of strange metal pieces. They’re arranged in a rough pointed shape, extending from a forward blade down to symmetrical outstretched edges. A collection of symbols dots each of them, every piece different.

“Ariei. I discovered these just after the event.”

I’d almost forgotten how tense the current situation is. Seeing a different side of Braham had almost made it feel like he was still here with us, a sensation of time flowing back. I put down the pointed object and face her. She’s holding Sekra’s cable connectors.

Shit. I’d forgotten amongst the chaos of the night. No wonder they never went off.

“Liet, it was Sekra and I-”

She holds up her hand. “I know, Ariei. Did Braham tell you to install them?”

In a solitary moment, my breath catches in my throat. Does Liet have a letter herself? It’s not impossible. Braham selected Liet as commander himself, choosing her over my father, even. If she does have her own letter, why don’t I know that? Is Braham toying with us?

Liet takes caution in my silence. She lowers her hand. “Does Sekra know?”

I need to transition to the defensive. “Know what?”

“The letter, Ariei.”

That settles it, then.

“No. How do you know about it?”

She smirks. Clearly she’s been on the search for knowledge, as well.

“I received a letter from Braham this morning. It had a timewrap on it, set for five hours. By the time it unlocked, it had been an hour after when his death would have occurred.” She grips a folded microgranite sheet, handing it over to me.

Commander,

Over the years, you have molded yourself into a perfect leader, and for that you have the fullest extent of my appreciation. Know that you did not, nor have you ever, failed me. I have chosen this fate.

There will be a large group of roving travelers arriving in two hours. Hide the magnafield readings. Do not raise tensions. Do not tell Ebom. Simply alert Marit of their arrival. He will handle the rest.

Ariei has also received a letter of her own. Do not share yours. Should she offer hers, refuse it.

You will take her here tonight. She will be searching for a box in my quarters. It is hidden under the bed, attached to the frame underneath.

In addition, she will be looking for something near the sewage processor. Go with her. She will know the way.

I would like to truly apologize, Liet. I cannot elaborate any further for you. I am sorry.

Viestia lornei carvas: vestilio carvs breiis.

I try to run through the words in my head, attempting to find any hidden messages. This is it? This is sparse compared to my letter. Not only that, but why would Braham command us to keep our letters to ourselves? Liet’s barely had any information new to me besides the strange notation at the bottom and the fact that Liet knew anything about this at all. I hand it back to her.

“Do you recognize the language at the end?”

“No. It’s completely unrecognizable. It’s not an anagram, either. I made numerous attempts.”

“Why would you share the letter with me? It said not to in the instructions.”

Liet begins to laugh. “Because fuck Braham, that’s why. He’s always talked about ‘duty’, about ‘the will of the strong’. And look at us. He has us eating out of his hand from beyond death itself. I thought following this would give me some sense of closure. Instead it’s led to a catastrophe. Does he know more about this than anybody else? Yes, obviously. He predicted the Centralians, and he most likely set up his death in the forest. But he sure as fuck was incorrect about Marit. ‘Marit will handle it?!’ The man’s been turned into Slag!”

Liet speaking this way is a surprise. She’s brash, yes, but never explosive.

“I understand your anger, but our Prosper is dead. We have to respect what he’s done, even after his death.”

Liet chuckles to herself.

“You don’t know a thing, Ariei. Marit was a fraud, a phony. He never did anything to help Ios- he was just a figurehead. All he had to do was speak publicly while we all governed ourselves. The fact that Braham thought he would be able to do anything even if he had survived is a joke.”

“Liet!”

“HE WAS CHOSEN BY A RANDOM LOTTERY, ARIEI. The only position he earned was the right to be potentially selected out of a rotation of forty seven. There’s a reason Ebom and I didn’t give a damn when he died- because when everyone else was slaughtered tonight, he was just another person lost. He was one of us, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Liet-”

“I understand that you were raised with the notion, but It’s best to stop worshiping the elite. It’s taken me far too long to learn that, Ariei. I just came to that realization seven years ago, and the illusion fully broke today. When you view a man as a god, untouchable, higher than others- you give them a higher power. Gods lose sight of the world they are chosen to influence, then they eventually lose sight of themselves, and then they finally eventually drag everyone down with them. In the end, all that remains is the visage of a headless man leading masses of headless men below him.”

Liet begins to tear her letter apart. I try to protest, but she soon finishes, tossing the severed fragments into air where they slowly flutter to the cold ground below.

“And if the person actually running everything has given any indication, I believe Braham thought himself a god.”

I can feel the anger bubbling up inside of me. Instead of acting the same way she is, I immediately kneel down and start picking up the scraps. Liet tries to grab me.

“Ariei, wait-”

I slink out of the way. “Braham knows what’s going on. Don’t you understand?”

“He clearly doesn’t know everything. We have to think for ourselves, Ariei. Otherwise more people will d-”

“What if that was part of the plan?”

I stop myself from saying any more. I immediately realize what I've done. In my search for answers I've commodified the dead innocents around us into a simple statistic for the greater good. I have assigned the random deaths of men, women and children a meaning in the vagueness of my view of the world. Liet just looks at me, a disappointed frown growing on her face.

“No wonder you two got along so well. He practically raised you more than your own father did, didn’t he?”

Before I can respond, she walks to Braham’s bed, kneeling and reaching underneath to remove the hidden box from its hanging frame. The box is composed of a simple, pale vastinroot wood, slight imperfections in its square shape present from the bent and gnarled material that makes up its construction. A simple copper mechanism holds it shut. Liet casually knocks it open with her thumb. She hands it to me wordlessly.

Inside is a small, round metallic object. Several smooth panes of glass are dotted around the outer radius, a central, circular segment in the center. Small indentations snake their way across the device, interconnected in a manner that seems random in nature. Its thickness is that of our coins. I turn it about in my hand, and, when Liet motions to me, I pass it to her.

Alongside it is a small badge, completely made of gold. A carved image of a building is present, a three-storied construction with semicurcular decorations atop the raised center. There is a strange sort of notation engraved along the bottom. I pick through the torn bits of Liet’s letter, searching for the bottom statement. As expected, it doesn’t match. Of course it won’t be that easy.

“Shit, is that pure gold?!”

Liet has apparently finished inspecting the strange coin, moving her attention to the next item in my hand.

“Yes. Pure gold.”

She yanks it out of my hands. “If there wasn’t already something wrong with Braham, this would have tipped us off long ago. This is more gold than I've seen in my entire life, Ariei.”

I ignore her statement to identify the last item. It’s a traditional blade- or, at least, something comparable. Braham was responsible for innovating on our weapons technology, of course, though he always settled for a traditional longax. We’d never figured out why. I always thought he preferred to work at a disadvantage. Unlike his usual excess, this is something subtle. Efficient. The blade is angular, rectangular. The sides are razor-sharp, the top a diagonal point rather than a traditional sword end. Two chains rest symmetrical on either end of the hilt, protected by metal shields. The chains hold small fragments of steel. A leveled trigger rests near the hilt. I lift the blade from the box, taking care to point it away from Liet. It’s extremely light, resting well in my untrained swordhand. I depress the lever forward and, almost immediately, a new block emerges from the hilt, pulled by the chain, two of the slivers of steel combining under the already assembled blade to extend it. I press twice more, causing the sword to extend until it reaches its maximum length, just a bit longer than my forearm. I press the switch in the opposite direction, causing it to shorten to the length of a small dagger. As I alter the size of the blade, a soft hum emits from its internal mechanism.

Liet stares, stunned at the weapon. “Incredible. How could he hide this from us?”

I turn it in my hand, trying to understand the underlying mechanisms. Liet notices.

“I think it’s coremagnets on the ends of each blade.”

I extend it once so two blocks are in the sword. I try to pull the top segments away from the bottom ones. They remain affixed.

“That makes sense. So the chains are strong enough to pull them back once I pull the lever, then? I’m assuming there’s no steam engine tucked into this thing.”

She nods. “Makes sense. It takes a lot of force to pull them back in, and practically nothing to release the blades and let them pull themselves together. Maybe the chain itself is a coremagnet- if the bottom of the blades are positive, and the chain is negative, then enough exposed chain fragments turning will pull the blade down. Then, when a blade fragment is exposed to the chamber? The pull of the positive blade bottoms will pull the negative blade tops upwards, allowing them to make up the length of the sword.”

I stare at her. “How did you figure that out so fast?”

She laughs. “When you’ve spent seventeen years working with Braham’s weapons you start to realize just how identical the logic of each one is. The bastard loved magnets.”

I sigh, shortening the blade to its shortest length. A belt-connected holder is the final item in the box. It is well-crafted, as are all of Braham’s creations. He intends for it to last. I slot the blade inside and loop it around my belt. I turn to Liet.

“I respect you, commander. You know I do. I just need an answer. Are you going to join me in this? Or are you content with the guild?”

She pauses for a moment.

“I will go with you to the sewer system. After that, it is out of my hands. I’ve achieved most of what Braham told me to do. That decision has caused enough damage already.”

“Thank you, captain.”

Liet and I wander the outskirts of the city, protected from view under the veil of the night’s ambiance. The only illumination is the faint blue of the esperstone lamps that stand tall amongst the buildings. There usually persists an active nightlife here. The taverns are always full of life, where machinists and harvesters and rangers alike can be seen merrily drunk on watered-down slag throughout the night. Oftentimes the only light left burning in work buildings comes from scholars and engineers working long into the night, relishing the tranquility of the relatively silenced city. Most citizens remain tucked away in their living quarters tonight, either scared of potential danger or exhausted from the day’s events. Only a few stragglers remain, a few in a restaurant or tavern here or there, some milling about absentmindedly.

I can’t get Liet’s words out of my head. I hadn’t given it a single thought- this is just the culture I’d been raised in. I consider what could have happened had I told Aaro earlier. She’s brilliant; surely she could see the ramifications of the career she desperately wants? Of course, Sekra himself has achieved a higher step just by working his way up to a nurse classification, although I doubt he sees himself that way. I, myself can be considered higher, having been given privileges that nobody else has just by being associated with a dangerous profession. Am I just an elite, associating myself with other elites?

Just beyond one of the outermost clusters of buildings stands a steep decline, tucked away from view by a creviced entrance. Signs marked beforehand warn of a prohibited area, although oftentimes delinquents and couples manage to sneak in just enough to evade detection from guards or get a respite from the world outside. With only a few lamps to light the way, we walk over the unevenly carved ground, turning the corner to reach the wider facility beyond.

Soon rock is replaced with steel and machinery as we emerge into the belly of the machine. It’s immediately warm. As disposable material and waste is sent through the underground piping system to the facility, it is immediately sent into the massive friction-heated furnace that transfers its heat and successfully burns away anything that lands in its hungry belly. The boiled steam that rises is captured by an overhead gathering system, which is then sent to a smaller furnace, which is then boiled again. The process continues two more times before the safe water is sent to our backup supply. It’s an overall effective procedure, although much thought has been given to improving it further. Liet wipes sweat from her forehead.

“All right, let’s get this shit figured out. I’ve hated being here since I was a kid.”

It’s often easy to forget that the accomplished adults around you started somewhere humble. I never really had to- I had two parents successful enough to live comfortably. Even Sekra had to work in the agriculture processing facility from the age of ten.

“Braham said it would be near the sewage facility, not necessarily in it. So i’m assuming we don’t have to go any further than we already are.”

“I swear, if we never had to come this far in the first-”

“We should check the walls. Make sure nothing is unevenly placed.”

She doesn’t retort. Instead, she wordlessly begins to run her gloved hands over the metal panels bolted into the walls. I do the same, starting on the opposite end. The furnace bubbles and groans, the sound making me uneasy despite the lack of danger. Perhaps I’m scared of finding anything more than a tunnel here.

“Find anything?”

It takes a moment for Liet to respond. “No. You?”

“No.”

I turn around just in time to see Liet jump and hit higher panels. I do the same, following suit until I hear a click from behind.

“Hah!”

A panel near the entrance- hanging just above Liet’s head- has slid upwards, propelled by two miniscule mechanical arms. The passage forward is dark, hiding any potential view outside. I can’t imagine how far it goes.

“This is unreal.”

Liet looks stunned. “How many people know about this?”

“I have no idea. I mean, who would build an escape tunnel here? And how didn’t people find it before? Somebody had to throw something at this panel at some point.”

She jumps and hits it again, the panel slotting back into place with a soft whir.

“Well, we found it. Ariei?”

I look her in the eyes. “Yes?”

“What else did Braham tell you?”

I decide to give her the bliss of release from the debacle.

“You don’t want to know, Liet.”

With that, I turn and walk back.

As our boots scrape across the uneven ground below us, we are alerted by the loud click of the lift descending. Liet grabs me by the arm, tossing me behind a small ingredients processing store. She draws her blade, pulls up her hood, and peeks out from behind. The lift stops, the thick crash of its arrival sending a chill down my spine.

“Liet, who is it?”

She puts a finger to her lips.

I can hear the door open, followed by a gruff panting. Uneven steps sonically mark their path forward, propelled by anguish and panic. I make note of other sounds. There is no click of moving armor. Finally a voice calls out.

“HELP! HELP ME!”

I climb to my feet, drawing Braham’s blade. I go to step around the corner, but Liet grabs me. She shakes her head.

“PLEASE! T- THEY’VE-”

The voice goes silent. I hear a soft thud in the dirt. The lift returns from where it came. Twelve. It takes twelve agonizing minutes. Twelve minutes as it ascends and descends. When the doors finally open again, I hear it. Centralian armor. I hear a voice.

“Gierant is currently being held just past the city, Archeon. This way.”

The voice that responds is soft, elegant.

“Thank you, Vietiosa. Please, do give this boy a proper burning. He did not have to leave this world as he did, but I respect his will. He was an honorable person. What was his name?”

The soldier takes a moment to respond.

“I’m not sure, Archeon.”

The Archeon utters a short phrase.

“Vattreo mustivian carvo. Every great being deserves their name. You have forgotten. You never offered to learn it. You have stripped this boy of his.”

“I- I am sorry, Archeon-”

“Return to the loftfort, Vietiosa. Return before I strip you of yours.”

I can hear Vietiosa lift the dead emberstrand, his footsteps heavier now. The Archeon continues speaking. Somebody else is clearly there.

“Prepare my uniform. I intend to make this operation as swift as possible.”