Young Writers Society

Hello,

I would like to thank:

- Pingu

- and zankoku_na_tenshi

for their reviews of Segment 1. Hopefully, when I post Segment 3, that list will be a bit longer.

Before reading, make sure that you've read through segment A1A (which can be located here: http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/topic32169.html). Otherwise, it'll make even less sense than it's supposed to.

Cheers, and enjoy.

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Segment A2B:

Aidan remained quiet after that as they began walking towards the stables, sometimes shaking his head at odd moments or glancing off in the distance at something that Sonya couldn’t see. She was more worried about the times when he would pause at an intersection, a dagger suddenly appearing in his hand and then disappearing back up his sleeve. Twice there was someone there, one immediately turning back, walking very quickly, but several other times, the walkway was empty, with not even the fading ring of footsteps to say that there was anyone there but themselves. Sonya concluded that her grandfather had sent someone who was either paranoid, or outright insane. For her part, she just walked behind him, observing his head as it swiveled about, trying to watch everything and succeeding for the most part.

Even though her four years at the university had been anything but pleasant, she couldn’t help but feel a small tinge of nostalgia as she made her way down the gently sloping spiral corridors, unburdened at last by books or thoughts of examinations. Part of her was relieved, the other worried. She had learned everything she needed to survive and do well in life, after all. It hadn’t taken too much time to get the point.

But then, she also realized what was waiting for her, the responsibilities and obligations that had always weighed so heavily on a grandfather she had never felt the need to respect. There would still be rewards for correct answers and success and punishments for failure, but they would no longer be decided by her teachers now, or her peers. Sonya swept away the thoughts and chided herself for her doubt. She would succeed. She would.

They left the dormitories on the higher levels and made their way down to the classroom tiers, the wall hangings shifting immediately and chaotically. Each instructor was responsible for their own decorations. The students had never had any such privilege. The floor tiles remained a constant, steadying pattern of blue and white, the blue faded by hundreds of years of hurrying crowds of students, a stark contrast to the shifting imagery on the walls. Majestic scenes of hawks hunting on an open plain and fish glinting in a mountain stream looked decidedly out of place opposite simple line drawings of a stand of bamboo or a heron wading in the reeds. Some teachers didn’t bother with the hangings at all, leaving blank patches in the fabric. Sonya found herself studying the images with an interest that she hadn’t held for four years, an interest that had faded with time and repetition. Now, Aidan reminded her brusquely to hurry whenever she stopped to study a particularly intriguing or beautiful piece, and only with great reluctance would she move on.

Then too were the times when she passed her old classrooms, where her former teachers would be by now attending their first or second classes. Some of her classmates and friends were there, too, and the urge to say goodbye was stronger than for any piece of art. Even if she knew none of the students in a class, she still paused a second before continuing. She hadn’t loathed all her instructors, only most of them, but she would miss the few she had respect for.

Sielin Kiyandora, the Literature professor, was lecturing to the dedicated few that attended her first class, and the empty desk, near the middle of the semi-circle, glared accusingly at her. She looked away and began studying the floor tiles, and she suddenly realized that she wouldn’t have a chance to finish reading Lessons of the Incognizant. Sielin had recommended and then lent the thick volume to her at the beginning of the year, and Sonya had worked away at it steadily, foundering in the language and the symbolism, so old as to be unrecognizable. When she attempted to return it, Sielin, blue eyes lively behind wire spectacles and lined face in a knowing smile, had scolded her for treating it like a textbook, to be read and outlined and understood.

“Read it like poetry,” she had suggested in her light, feathery voice. “Read it for the sounds and embrace the rhythm, and only then, once you have enjoyed it, search for the meaning. It will not elude you long.” After that, Sonya had finished half the book, close to a thousand worn, yellowed pages, in less than two months. She realized she was trembling before the door, a sorrowful urge stirring from deep within her.

“I know it can be difficult.” Aidan’s tone was much calmer, much more composed than before. “Leaving a place you know as home, even if you do not call it such… I know it can be difficult.” Aidan had waited this time. He still watched the corridors, though, and he hadn’t turned to face her. She could almost feel the muted frustration writhe inside him as his voice grated on.

“Take your time. Speak with your friends, your instructors if you wish. A day more or less will not matter in the end, and it is best that you break these ties cleanly.” He turned, now, eyes fierce and mouth tight, but his voice remained controlled and collected. “You will most likely never see these people again, but you will know their like, and that will sear you. ‘What if,’ you will wonder, ‘What if my life had continued as I thought it would have gone, with my peers to help and support me?’ Say your piece. Your life may be changed, and some doors will be closed forever, some opportunities lost, but it is best that you find peace in your own way. You will have time.”

She considered the offer. It would be nice to have one last talk with Sielin, to hug farewell to Eleanora, to return to her rooms and bring a few of those wonderful books, but she had made up her mind. “No,” she sighed. “We’re leaving.”

What might have been compassion flashed across Aidan’s eyes, and he hesitated just slightly before turning to lead the way again. The rest of their descent was made in silence.

- - - - -

“You realize, of course, the difficulties that we will most likely encounter during this journey,” Aidan stated, adjusting the saddle on his deep-chested black mount, the warhorse absolutely still, exuding the same menacing aura Sonya had come to recognize from its owner. The man had belted on a sword in the stable, and despite knowing absolutely nothing about how such things worked, Sonya decided that he now looked the part of some sort of rogue mercenary, despite his excellent coat.

“The routes we will have to take may not be what you’re used to,” he continued. “We’ll be avoiding the trade roads for the main part, cutting through the Dushanbe Mountains by way of the Astana Narrows and following the river Tabora to until we reach Galcaio. From there, the Galcaio Road will take us to the Shaler.”

“I’m not a complete stranger to this kind of thing, you know,” Sonya replied bitterly. By the gods, the man thought she was a complete ignorant! Then she realized that she didn’t recognize half the geography he had mentioned, and smoothed her tone hurriedly. “My father used to take me camping. I know what it’s like, and I’ll survive.”

She must have sounded offended nonetheless, because Aidan shook his head, shoulders moving in silent mirth. Or frustration. “I was not referring to the living conditions, my Lady.” He had finished, tying the last knot on a series of cinches and holds that looked like it could hold back a charging bull. Aidan glanced at her mare askance. “Do you want me to ready your horse for you?” The simple double knot holding the saddle, she admitted, looked like it could fall apart at any time. When she failed to say anything, only colored slightly, he sighed very lightly, took a few loops of cord from the stable wall and walked over. “As I was saying, our problems lie in another direction.

“The trade roads would be the easiest way, but they’ll take us out of our way by a fair margin, the way they’re situated. The course I’ve plotted is as close as it gets to a direct route, but…” Sonya watched with no little admiration as he knotted the cords with a deft hand, seemingly without paying any attention whatsoever. The students had been required to learn how to ride somewhat proficiently, and while she had enjoyed it, she hated doing the preparatory work. The patterns would never come together correctly, and she’d be stuck with a useless tangle of knots, once almost strangling the horse. What a mess that had been.

“… so while it may be slightly –“ he grimaced, “You weren’t listening, were you?” Aidan moved to throw down his work in disgust, then finished the last few knots with a bit more force than necessary. Heartstone flicked her tail at him and snorted, and Sonya almost wished she could do the same.

“I was saying they, the mountain passes, yes, they can be traveled, but it can be, for small groups, dangerous.” Sonya noticed some tightness to his voice, and that he seemed to be concealing an accent, halting yet lyrical, beneath his normally functional but emotionless speech. “Normally, for me, alone, it would be no matter, but with you, you will make for problems,” he continued, walking back to his horse and mounting it skillfully, a single, flowing motion. “Some brigands, bandits, criminals, they move from the Dushanbe Mountains to attack, pinpricks, then flee. They can never be rooted out; no, the mountains, they are too rough for most armies. So, instead, the towns set a strong watch, protecting themselves, and the raiders are tolerated and ignored. The mayors, they think that time, time will wear down the criminals, but it never does; no. For the lawbreaker, the risks, they are few, and the rewards too great.” Abruptly, he noticed that he had lapsed and corrected himself without effort, the rough voice re-appearing. What was it hiding? She had never heard anyone speak that way before. “They’ll see you as a particularly weak target, especially if we’re spotted close to their camps. I would be reassured if you told me that you can defend yourself.”

Sonya frowned. Maybe not any normal rogue mercenary. “Well,” she began, trying not to sound impatient, “isn’t that what you’re here for?” She realized rather quickly that her response could have been just a bit better.

“’There are many layers of defense. When words will do, they are a much better weapon the strongest steel. If they will not, best to use a bow. When your arrows run out, charge with lance. When the lance breaks, or the horse falters, unsheathe your sword, and when your sword snaps, resort to your hands. Even when one line seems impenetrable, it always best to have another behind it,’” he answered, and Sonya knew he was quoting. Aidan didn’t seem much the type for such thoughts. “That was said by Pasi Sivula, Lord General of the Aesyrrian Legion, one of the finest commanders alive. I had the high honor of studying under him, many years ago.”

“Aesyrria?” Sonya asked, doubt strong. “What, no, how did you have anything to with them?” The stories said that the northern Theocracy had the highest level of culture in the world, and that its priests could wield the forces of Kel Manos, the Divine Hand. Despite all of that, no one seemed to know anything about them. Certainly, other than the missionaries and the rare ambassador, as well as the not-so-rare army, Sonya had never seen anyone who had actually lived in the land.

Aidan frowned, eyes for a brief second unfocused. “Later. For now, we must be on our way, my Lady. The sun is climbing, and it would do us well to reach the Manzibar Forests before noon.” Waiting impatiently for Sonya to mount with much less skill than he had showed, Aidan heeled the black to a walk, speeding to a brisk trot as they reached the main road of the university, winding languorously through lushly maintained grounds rich with small ponds and groves of vegetation, still colorful even under the late summer sun.

Sonya wished she had another moment to reminisce – much of her best time had been spent here, not in any of the classrooms. Before she could smile over a fond memory or shake her head at an unpleasant reminder, Aidan had picked up the pace again, and she had no choice but to follow, past the lake where she had accidentally dropped her mother’s ring boating, past the small stand of pines where she used to spend hours at a time, reading or daydreaming. The first situation had necessitated going through her friends until she found someone willing to dive to the sandy bottom and find it, the second had been an escape from a discouraging day of classes, an argument with a teacher, a friend. Determined not to change her mind and regret this, she focused on the road ahead, paved with the names of the school’s graduates. She wondered idly if future students would ever see her name there on the long path, and decided that it was probably unlikely. She glanced upwards at the sky instead, pleasantly sunny with enough clouds to keep the heat low. Not a bad day to be leaving, really. Not a bad idea at all.

Too soon, they arrived at the gates, tall in wrought iron, covered in vines both green and gray. When she had first gazed upon the entrance, she had been treated to a chasm of doubt and fear. Somehow, she had survived the intervening years without a major crisis, but she realized now, from the inside looking out, that nothing had changed.

* * *

His target time was approaching, and Kassad’s patience was waning, though he fought to keep it disguised it on the outside, stifling the fatigue and the annoyances. This would be difficult enough under the best of circumstances, without his supposed allies disagreeing with him at every turn. Without his own reasoning predicting failure. It would be worth the risk, he told himself firmly. More than worth the risk.

“You are a lunatic for even thinking of this, Kassad,” Rajad grumbled, shifting his feet and keeping an eye on the door, as if they could be tracked and attacked in a Dajari safe house. “I have no idea how you managed to convince your father to support you, never mind secure a plurality in the Assembly, no matter how slim. And so quickly! Did you get any sleep at all?” The older man certainly hadn’t – they hadn’t changed their clothes, either, and signs of dirt and wear were beginning to show through the solid weaving. The senior officer’s voice roughened further, and both his eyes locked on the younger man. “One of these days, you will have to explain many things to me, Kassad, not least of which what really happened this morning. Not a single part of me believes what was said in the Assembly Halls today.”

Kassad laughed softly, eyes scanning over the dossier on the table. There were no windows, of course, but three lamps provided adequate lighting. “I did not tell you any lies, old friend. It was as simple as I told you. I convinced my father using logical lines of reasoning, and together we visited several party leaders in the early morning. The same argument prevailed once more, of course, and they then passed down this information to their adherents. The information spread very quickly, as you can imagine, and we mustered enough support to pass the necessary legislation. As simple as that.” What a wonderful thing their government of representation was.

Well, there had been a few slips along the way, but those were perfectly understandable, and besides, not even the best-laid plan could be expected to be flawless in its execution. Better to aim towards the next best outcome. “And, of course, they all agreed that I would be the one to go. No one else has the necessary skills and expertise, and, well, I’m sure there are quite a few who want me out of the capitol for a few months.” Especially those who had been so vocal in their support of him earlier. “I can only say that I won’t be missing them. Don’t expect me to write back to Father with any regularity either.”

“If the wrong person recognizes you, it’s all over. It could be nothing more than bad luck that compromises this entire plan. What if you encounter one of the Sel Farah? I’m quite sure you would put up a fair fight, even against them, but it would be such a waste of talent. After all, from what I’ve pieced together, you’ve just carried out the most complete manipulation of national politics since the overthrow of Cerus the Just.” At Kassad’s surprised look, he snapped, “No excuses from you. I know when I’m being lied to, even when it’s coming from someone like you. Regardless, the historians would be at a loss if you died too soon, without leaving a detailed set of memoirs.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected to fool you.” For long, at least. It wasn’t really that pressing of a concern, but if Rajad had seen through the screens, who else had? Who else had the sense to see the inconsistencies and keep quiet about it? No matter. If they thought they could move to snare him somehow, they would be painfully mistaken. He had laid more than his share of traps in his path. “I have to leave soon to make my appointment. Do you have any more wonderfully applicable advice to add, Rajad?” Memoirs, indeed!

He shrugged and began walking out the door. He would take a tunnel that led two miles into another safe house, riding on his way back to the capitol in an hour. “I know you will reveal your plan in its time, Kassad, and I won’t press the issue now. But take care. I will not let myself die blind.” With that, he shut the door with a soft click, leaving Kassad with the documents.

Casually crumpling them and placing the wads in the lamps, the younger man pulled another, much smaller map from his coat pocket, unrolling it onto the table. The distances had to be perfect, and the timing as well. He knew Rajad had people to take note of when he left, so he committed the map to memory quickly, then doused the lamps and left, leaving the smoldering ashes of the grand scheme presented to the Assembly of the Dajari Republic of Mashakir. A few days from now, he would see just how suicidal his real intentions were. Kassad didn’t think that he would be disappointed.

* * *

“Lady Ihrene, we will make our camp here.” Dismounting easily, he took her reins without a second thought, and certainly without consulting her. Not quite falling off, Sonya leaned on a mossy oak and studied the clearing. The man, no matter his background, had chosen a good campsite, she admitted. Just below the Dushanbe Mountains, light forests and meadows had flourished for hundreds of years, fed by the fierce rivers that rushed down from the peaks every spring. A massive oak had collapsed over one such stream, the water low, but still cool despite the summer heat. The mess of gnarled limbs created an awning of sorts over a line of cracked boulders, and the roofing had been added to by generations of travelers.

“This is a well-known stop for wayfarers,” Aidan explained. “It’s good to know, that ahead of you there is shelter, and food for the needy. The ancient rule of the journeyer, you could say. They who stayed last will have left supplies for us, just as we will do for the next to come along.” It had been a long afternoon of riding after a short time to rest at noon, but the man seemed full of reserved energy, never taking time to rest as he checked about the shelter, just in case. Of what, Sonya didn’t quite know.

Brushing aside branches, he peered into a knot, a small hole in the tree, then shook his head. “Irritating…” he muttered, replacing the branches. “I’ve been by this way many times, and there have always been supplies. I was counting on that.” Taking off his riding gloves, he slung them onto a loop on his saddle and walked to the stream. “We’ll have to fish for our dinner, then. The supplies we brought will have to be conserved as much as possible.”

Sonya followed him to the stream, watching with curiosity as Aidan lay on the grass beside the water, putting his hands under the surface. His coat would stain, but he didn’t seem to mind. “No fishing rod?” she asked, remembering all those wasted hours spent trying to catch fish with her hands. Something about it just never seemed to work, but she had kept at it anyways. And ended up wasting more time.

“Fishing rods are too bulky, and the fish here aren’t quite so smart. They don’t know to flee at a stranger, but move in closer. Silly of them,” he chuckled dryly, continuing, “The most important thing is the timing, my Lady. As soon as you move, they’ll scare off, so you must be patient for a larger fish.” Even as he spoke, a small school of silverbacks darted through the stream. Aidan’s hands never twitched.

Settling down on a small boulder, Sonya watched as the silence settled, and every so often, with a single, slashing motion, Aidan would snatch a wriggling hand-long fish from the river and place it into a small rock pool by the water’s edge. Every so often she would feel the urge to comment, but it just never seemed right.

By the time the sun’s light, washing through the leaves in wavering strands, had begun to wane, Aidan gathered up the fish, a small pile wriggling against his shirtfront, and strode back to the campsite, where he took a small knife from his saddlebags and began to scale and clean the catch.

“Why so many?” Sonya asked, “We don’t need half of that for both of us.”

Aidan glanced up from his task, his hands continuing to work, a mound of small scales growing with every quick, precise movement. “No, my Lady, but we will take some for the days to come, and leave others for the next to come here. Though those before us were unkind, we will be more gracious.” He finished quickly, wiping the knife before sheathing it and placing it back into his bags. Reaching for something in his coat, he stiffened.

Wary, he turned to face Sonya. “You know I trained in Aesyrria. Have you any understanding of the rossem?” He pronounced the last word strangely, his voice reverting to the odd tones he had used earlier.

“I know it translates roughly to… something like ‘magnifying glass.’” Aidan quirked an eyebrow at her, and she grimaced. History and ancient languages hadn’t been her favorite subjects. “What does that have to do with Aesyrria? What do philosophers and priests have to do with a children’s toy?”

Aidan’s expression darkened. “Well, my Lady, you put it rather interestingly, and your translation is fairly accurate. I will try to explain this, though as an outsider, I’m not sure how much you’ll understand.

“The rossem are indeed something similar to a magnifying glass, with one important difference. Where the toy focuses sunlight, the rossem focuses the mind.” Sonya opened her mouth to protest, but Aidan cut her off with a glance. “As ancient legends tell, the world of old was inhabited by both men and gods, far more powerful than you or I could imagine. There were cities that would make Sudzeyar look like a farming village, as well as a level of peace and prosperity that we can only dream of and wish for today. But most importantly, the gods that walked the earth had minds so strong they could shape and mold the fabric of reality itself.

“The rossem were forged then, using skills and secrets lost to us today. As the legends say, they were common-place, used by the gods to further enhance their powers for the benefit of all. There was never shortage or sadness, only an eternal happiness. And all of this was made possible by the rossem.”

Sonya had been listening with a mix of awe and disbelief, but finally reason shone through. “That’s impossible, a morality play, a plea to nationalism! Everyone knows about the eternal peace, and how evil, greedy men betrayed the gods into giving them their power.” The indignity in her voice rose. “How the men realized they couldn’t control the power, destroying all that they had wrought together, leaving the survivors huddled in the ruins of their former glory. It’s taught to every child in every school. It’s a lie.”

Aidan’s eyes had edged further, sharp enough to cut. “You are correct. That is not the truth. It is a lie used to prod man into humility and acceptance. The priests dispense what you rightly call morality plays and do it for the greater good. But we know the truth. The truth is this. The gods could not disobey men, but neither could they allow them to shatter the world.

“Instead, they together agreed on their final action. They would use the rossem to erase themselves from reality, to leave the world to humanity. They knew that if they remained much longer, it would result in a disaster. Again, it was all in the common good, but with one fatal mistake. Plans are made with prior knowledge, you see. The gods miscalculated the amount of power necessary to remove themselves. They used all of the rossem ever crafted, and the sheer intensity of the resultant distortion threatened to unfetter the strands of reality in its entirety. They shattered the world, not humanity, and forever corrupted the rossem through their passing.”

Sonya shook her head slowly. “I don’t understand… it’s an interesting story, but I don’t see how it ties into any of this, especially not Aesyrria.”

“Think, my Lady. In Aesyrria, the followers of Kel Manos have reclaimed the rossem, corrupted as they are, and have trained themselves in their use, just as the worshippers of the Dajari faith have done in Mashakir. A master can seize the weaves of reality itself and shape them to the rhythm of his will. They, not the so-called ‘gods,’ are the source of the miracles of the priests.”

“That’s impossible! How are they used? You did train with them, right?” It was the only possible way that any of this was remotely true. And Sonya didn’t think the man was lying. Insane, maybe, but not lying.

“Indeed, my Lady. Few today have the minds capable of handling the rossem. Those that do, and are born in Aesyrria, are trained from childhood in special academies. In the end, it is merely a matter of focusing and concentration, but the amount of mental strength required is immense. Very few students graduate from those classes. Those that do can tap rossem with ease. One would simply focus their mind through the rossem and then use their imagination to envision and fix the change they sought. It is very dangerous, though… one tiny mistake, any small lack of control and detail, and you are dead. And that is ignoring the impurities…

“When the gods erased themselves, they used far more force than the rossem were made to handle. The result is that now, every focus stone is impure. They can still be used, but it is very dangerous. One must concentrate only through the pure areas and avoid the corruptions at all cost. The barest touch results in insanity or death.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Sonya interjected frantically. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Aidan grimaced. “The problems you will face when you return to Tyrorrea will be complex, and you will be forced to defuse impossible situations that cannot possibly end well. You may not understand it yet, my Lady, but the people of the Shaler will depend on you and trust you for guidance, and you will have to accept whatever happens due to your judgment.” He withdrew from his coat a small, tarnished amulet set with a cracked jewel, and dark flames rose from the kindling in the fire pit. Even though he had just told her about the rossem, she still flinched. “For the sake of all those people, I want you to make the best choices you can, Lady Ihrene. And that means that you must be aware of the forces at play. You must realize that you will be manipulated, no matter what you do, by forces ancient and more powerful than you can easily grasp. It is against this that I must prepare you. Do you understand, my Lady?”

Sonya shook her head, slowly. “You’re right. I don’t know how to deal with problems like this.” She paused, and her tone turned wry. “Why don’t the people who know what they’re talking about make the decisions? My grandfather has plenty of ministers who have much more knowledge and experience. Why me?”

“You’re the one they trust. Whatever you say and do, they will follow. Bear that in your mind and heart, and heed.” He settled back against a stone, and began lecturing in a serious, straightforward tone. Somehow, Sonya found herself listening.

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Below is verion A2A, prior to BigBadBear's comments.

[spoiler]Segment A2A:

Aidan remained quiet after that as they began walking towards the stables, sometimes shaking his head at odd moments or glancing off in the distance at something that Sonya couldn’t see. She was more worried about the times when he would pause at an intersection, a dagger suddenly appearing in his hand and then disappearing back up his sleeve. Twice there was someone there, one immediately turning back, walking very quickly, but several other times, the walkway was empty, with not even the fading ring of footsteps to say that there was anyone there but themselves. Sonya concluded that her grandfather had sent someone who was either paranoid, or outright insane. For her part, she just walked behind him, observing his head as it swiveled about, trying to watch everything and succeeding for the most part.

Even though her four years at the university had been anything but pleasant, she couldn’t help but feel a small tinge of nostalgia as she made her way down the gently sloping spiral corridors, unburdened at last by books or thoughts of examinations. Part of her was relieved, the other worried. She had learned everything she needed to survive and do well in life, after all. It hadn’t taken too much time to get the point.

But then, she also realized what was waiting for her, the responsibilities and obligations that had always weighed so heavily on a grandfather she had never felt the need to respect. There would still be rewards for correct answers and success and punishments for failure, but they would no longer be decided by her teachers now, or her peers. Sonya swept away the thoughts and chided herself for her doubt. She would succeed. She would.

They left the dormitories on the higher levels and made their way down to the classroom tiers, the wall hangings shifting immediately and chaotically. Each instructor was responsible for their own decorations. The students had never had any such privilege. The floor tiles remained a constant, steadying pattern of blue and white, the blue faded by hundreds of years of hurrying crowds of students, a stark contrast to the shifting imagery on the walls. Majestic scenes of hawks hunting on an open plain and fish glinting in a mountain stream looked decidedly out of place opposite simple line drawings of a stand of bamboo or a heron wading in the reeds. Some teachers didn’t bother with the hangings at all, leaving blank patches in the fabric. Sonya found herself studying the images with an interest that she hadn’t held for four years, an interest that had faded with time and repetition. Now, Aidan reminded her brusquely to hurry whenever she stopped to study a particularly intriguing or beautiful piece, and only with great reluctance would she move on.

Then too were the times when she passed her old classrooms, where her former teachers would be by now attending their first or second classes. Some of her classmates and friends were there, too, and the urge to say goodbye was stronger than for any piece of art. Even if she knew none of the students in a class, she still paused a second before continuing. She hadn’t loathed all her instructors, only most of them, but she would miss the few she had respect for.

Sielin Kiyandora, the Literature professor, was lecturing to the dedicated few that attended her first class, and the empty desk, near the middle of the semi-circle, glared accusingly at her. She looked away and began studying the floor tiles, and she suddenly realized that she wouldn’t have a chance to finish reading Lessons of the Incognizant. Sielin had recommended and then lent the thick volume to her at the beginning of the year, and Sonya had worked away at it steadily, foundering in the language and the symbolism, so old as to be unrecognizable. When she attempted to return it, Sielin, blue eyes lively behind wire spectacles and lined face in a knowing smile, had scolded her for treating it like a textbook, to be read and outlined and understood.

“Read it like poetry,” she had suggested in her light, feathery voice. “Read it for the sounds and embrace the rhythm, and only then, once you have enjoyed it, search for the meaning. It will not elude you long.” After that, Sonya had finished half the book, close to a thousand worn, yellowed pages, in less than two months. She realized she was trembling before the door, a sorrowful urge stirring from deep within her.

“I know it can be difficult.” Aidan’s tone was much calmer, much more composed than before. “Leaving a place you know as home, even if you do not call it such… I know it can be difficult.” Aidan had waited this time. He still watched the corridors, though, and he hadn’t turned to face her. She could almost feel the muted frustration writhe inside him as his voice grated on.

“Take your time. Speak with your friends, your instructors if you wish. A day more or less will not matter in the end, and it is best that you break these ties cleanly.” He turned, now, eyes fierce and mouth tight, but his voice remained controlled and collected. “You will most likely never see these people again, but you will know their like, and that will sear you. ‘What if,’ you will wonder, ‘What if my life had continued as I thought it would have gone, with my peers to help and support me?’ Say your piece. Your life may be changed, and some doors will be closed forever, some opportunities lost, but it is best that you find peace in your own way. You will have time.”

She considered the offer. It would be nice to have one last talk with Sielin, to hug farewell to Eleanora, to return to her rooms and bring a few of those wonderful books, but she had made up her mind. “No,” she sighed. “We’re leaving.”

What might have been compassion flashed across Aidan’s eyes, and he hesitated just slightly before turning to lead the way again. The rest of their descent was made in silence.

- - - - -

“You realize, of course, the difficulties that we will most likely encounter during this journey,” Aidan stated, adjusting the saddle on his deep-chested black mount, the warhorse absolutely still, exuding the same menacing aura Sonya had come to recognize from its owner. The man had belted on a sword in the stable, and despite knowing absolutely nothing about how such things worked, Sonya decided that he now looked the part of some sort of rogue mercenary, despite his excellent coat.

“The routes we will have to take may not be what you’re used to,” he continued. “We’ll be avoiding the trade roads for the main part, cutting through the Dushanbe Mountains by way of the Astana Narrows and following the river Tabora to until we reach Galcaio. From there, the Galcaio Road will take us to the Shaler.”

“I’m not a complete stranger to this kind of thing, you know,” Sonya replied bitterly. By the gods, the man thought she was a complete ignorant! Then she realized that she didn’t recognize half the geography he had mentioned, and smoothed her tone hurriedly. “My father used to take me camping. I know what it’s like, and I’ll survive.”

She must have sounded offended nonetheless, because Aidan shook his head, shoulders moving in silent mirth. Or frustration. “I was not referring to the living conditions, my Lady.” He had finished, tying the last knot on a series of cinches and holds that looked like it could hold back a charging bull. Aidan glanced at her mare askance. “Do you want me to ready your horse for you?” The simple double knot holding the saddle, she admitted, looked like it could fall apart at any time. When she failed to say anything, only colored slightly, he sighed very lightly, took a few loops of cord from the stable wall and walked over. “As I was saying, our problems lie in another direction.

“The trade roads would be the easiest way, but they’ll take us out of our way by a fair margin, the way they’re situated. The course I’ve plotted is as close as it gets to a direct route, but…” Sonya watched with no little admiration as he knotted the cords with a deft hand, seemingly without paying any attention whatsoever. The students had been required to learn how to ride somewhat proficiently, and while she had enjoyed it, she hated doing the preparatory work. The patterns would never come together correctly, and she’d be stuck with a useless tangle of knots, once almost strangling the horse. What a mess that had been.

“… so while it may be slightly –“ he grimaced, “You weren’t listening, were you?” Aidan moved to throw down his work in disgust, then finished the last few knots with a bit more force than necessary. Heartstone flicked her tail at him and snorted, and Sonya almost wished she could do the same.

“I was saying they, the mountain passes, yes, they can be traveled, but it can be, for small groups, dangerous.” Sonya noticed some tightness to his voice, and that he seemed to be concealing an accent, halting yet lyrical, beneath his normally functional but emotionless speech. “Normally, for me, alone, it would be no matter, but with you, you will make for problems,” he continued, walking back to his horse and mounting it skillfully, a single, flowing motion. “Some brigands, bandits, criminals, they move from the Dushanbe Mountains to attack, pinpricks, then flee. They can never be rooted out; no, the mountains, they are too rough for most armies. So, instead, the towns set a strong watch, protecting themselves, and the raiders are tolerated and ignored. The mayors, they think that time, time will wear down the criminals, but it never does; no. For the lawbreaker, the risks, they are few, and the rewards too great.” Abruptly, he noticed that he had lapsed and corrected himself without effort, the rough voice re-appearing. What was it hiding? She had never heard anyone speak that way before. “They’ll see you as a particularly weak target, especially if we’re spotted close to their camps. I would be reassured if you told me that you can defend yourself.”

Sonya frowned. Maybe not any normal rogue mercenary. “Well,” she began, trying not to sound impatient, “isn’t that what you’re here for?” She realized rather quickly that her response could have been just a bit better.

“’There are many layers of defense. When words will do, they are a much better weapon the strongest steel. If they will not, best to use a bow. When your arrows run out, charge with lance. When the lance breaks, or the horse falters, unsheathe your sword, and when your sword snaps, resort to your hands. Even when one line seems impenetrable, it always best to have another behind it,’” he answered, and Sonya knew he was quoting. Aidan didn’t seem much the type for such thoughts. “That was said by Pasi Sivula, Lord General of the Aesyrrian Legion, one of the finest commanders alive. I had the high honor of studying under him, many years ago.”

“Aesyrria?” Sonya asked, doubt strong. “What, no, how did you have anything to with them?” The stories said that the northern Theocracy had the highest level of culture in the world, and that its priests could wield the forces of Kel Manos, the Divine Hand. Despite all of that, no one seemed to know anything about them. Certainly, other than the missionaries and the rare ambassador, as well as the not-so-rare army, Sonya had never seen anyone who had actually lived in the land.

Aidan frowned, eyes for a brief second unfocused. “Later. For now, we must be on our way, my Lady. The sun is climbing, and it would do us well to reach the Manzibar Forests before noon.” Waiting impatiently for Sonya to mount with much less skill than he had showed, Aidan heeled the black to a walk, speeding to a brisk trot as they reached the main road of the university, winding languorously through lushly maintained grounds rich with small ponds and groves of vegetation, still colorful even under the late summer sun.

Sonya wished she had another moment to reminisce – much of her best time had been spent here, not in any of the classrooms. Before she could smile over a fond memory or shake her head at an unpleasant reminder, Aidan had picked up the pace again, and she had no choice but to follow, past the lake where she had accidentally dropped her mother’s ring boating, past the small stand of pines where she used to spend hours at a time, reading or daydreaming. The first situation had necessitated going through her friends until she found someone willing to dive to the sandy bottom and find it, the second had been an escape from a discouraging day of classes, an argument with a teacher, a friend. Determined not to change her mind and regret this, she focused on the road ahead, paved with the names of the school’s graduates. She wondered idly if future students would ever see her name there on the long path, and decided that it was probably unlikely. She glanced upwards at the sky instead, pleasantly sunny with enough clouds to keep the heat low. Not a bad day to be leaving, really. Not a bad idea at all.

Too soon, they arrived at the gates, tall in wrought iron, covered in vines both green and gray. When she had first gazed upon the entrance, she had been treated to a chasm of doubt and fear. Somehow, she had survived the intervening years without a major crisis, but she realized now, from the inside looking out, that nothing had changed.

* * *

His target time was approaching, and Kassad’s patience was waning, though he fought to keep it disguised it on the outside, stifling the fatigue and the annoyances. This would be difficult enough under the best of circumstances, without his supposed allies disagreeing with him at every turn. Without his own reasoning predicting failure. It would be worth the risk, he told himself firmly. More than worth the risk.

“You are a lunatic for even thinking of this, Kassad,” Rajad grumbled, shifting his feet and keeping an eye on the door, as if they could be tracked and attacked in a Dajari safe house. “I have no idea how you managed to convince your father to support you, never mind secure a plurality in the Assembly, no matter how slim. And so quickly! Did you get any sleep at all?” The older man certainly hadn’t – they hadn’t changed their clothes, either, and signs of dirt and wear were beginning to show through the solid weaving. The senior officer’s voice roughened further, and both his eyes locked on the younger man. “One of these days, you will have to explain many things to me, Kassad, not least of which what really happened this morning. Not a single part of me believes what was said in the Assembly Halls today.”

Kassad laughed softly, eyes scanning over the dossier on the table. There were no windows, of course, but three lamps provided adequate lighting. “I did not tell you any lies, old friend. It was as simple as I told you. I convinced my father using logical lines of reasoning, and together we visited several party leaders in the early morning. The same argument prevailed once more, of course, and they then passed down this information to their adherents. The information spread very quickly, as you can imagine, and we mustered enough support to pass the necessary legislation. As simple as that.” What a wonderful thing their government of representation was.

Well, there had been a few slips along the way, but those were perfectly understandable, and besides, not even the best-laid plan could be expected to be flawless in its execution. Better to aim towards the next best outcome. “And, of course, they all agreed that I would be the one to go. No one else has the necessary skills and expertise, and, well, I’m sure there are quite a few who want me out of the capital for a few months.” Especially those who had been so vocal in their support of him earlier. “I can only say that I won’t be missing them. Don’t expect me to write back to Father with any regularity either.”

“If the wrong person recognizes you, it’s all over. It could be nothing more than bad luck that compromises this entire plan. What if you encounter one of the Sel Farah? I’m quite sure you would put up a fair fight, even against them, but it would be such a waste of talent. After all, from what I’ve pieced together, you’ve just carried out the most complete manipulation of national politics since the overthrow of Cerus the Just.” At Kassad’s surprised look, he snapped, “No excuses from you. I know when I’m being lied to, even when it’s coming from someone like you. Regardless, the historians would be at a loss if you died too soon, without leaving a detailed set of memoirs.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected to fool you.” For long, at least. It wasn’t really that pressing of a concern, but if Rajad had seen through the screens, who else had? Who else had the sense to see the inconsistencies and keep quiet about it? No matter. If they thought they could move to snare him somehow, they would be painfully mistaken. He had laid more than his share of traps in his path. “I have to leave soon to make my appointment. Do you have any more wonderfully applicable advice to add, Rajad?” Memoirs, indeed!

He shrugged and began walking out the door. He would take a tunnel that led two miles into another safe house, riding on his way back to the capital in an hour. “I know you will reveal your plan in its time, Kassad, and I won’t press the issue now. But take care. I will not let myself die blind.” With that, he shut the door with a soft click, leaving Kassad with the documents.

Casually crumpling them and placing the wads in the lamps, the younger man pulled another, much smaller map from his coat pocket, unrolling it onto the table. The distances had to be perfect, and the timing as well. He knew Rajad had people to take note of when he left, so he committed the map to memory quickly, then doused the lamps and left, leaving the smoldering ashes of the grand scheme presented to the Assembly of the Dajari Republic of Mashakir. A few days from now, he would see just how suicidal his real intentions were. Kassad didn’t think that he would be disappointed.

* * *

“Lady Ihrene, we will make our camp here.” Dismounting easily, he took her reins without a second thought, and certainly without consulting her. Not quite falling off, Sonya leaned on a mossy oak and studied the clearing. The man, no matter his background, had chosen a good campsite, she admitted. Just below the Dushanbe Mountains, light forests and meadows had flourished for hundreds of years, fed by the fierce rivers that rushed down from the peaks every spring. A massive oak had collapsed over one such stream, the water low, but still cool despite the summer heat. The mess of gnarled limbs created an awning of sorts over a line of cracked boulders, and the roofing had been added to by generations of travelers.

“This is a well-known stop for wayfarers,” Aidan explained. “It’s good to know, that ahead of you there is shelter, and food for the needy. The ancient rule of the journeyer, you could say. They who stayed last will have left supplies for us, just as we will do for the next to come along.” It had been a long afternoon of riding after a short time to rest at noon, but the man seemed full of reserved energy, never taking time to rest as he checked about the shelter, just in case. Of what, Sonya didn’t quite know.

Brushing aside branches, he peered into a knot, a small hole in the tree, then shook his head. “Irritating…” he muttered, replacing the branches. “I’ve been by this way many times, and there have always been supplies. I was counting on that.” Taking off his riding gloves, he slung them onto a loop on his saddle and walked to the stream. “We’ll have to fish for our dinner, then. The supplies we brought will have to be conserved as much as possible.”

Sonya followed him to the stream, watching with curiosity as Aidan lay on the grass beside the water, putting his hands under the surface. His coat would stain, but he didn’t seem to mind. “No fishing rod?” she asked, remembering all those wasted hours spent trying to catch fish with her hands. Something about it just never seemed to work, but she had kept at it anyways. And ended up wasting more time.

“Fishing rods are too bulky, and the fish here aren’t quite so smart. They don’t know to flee at a stranger, but move in closer. Silly of them,” he chuckled dryly, continuing, “The most important thing is the timing, my Lady. As soon as you move, they’ll scare off, so you must be patient for a larger fish.” Even as he spoke, a small school of silverbacks darted through the stream. Aidan’s hands never twitched.

Settling down on a small boulder, Sonya watched as the silence settled, and every so often, with a single, slashing motion, Aidan would snatch a wriggling hand-long fish from the river and place it into a small rock pool by the water’s edge. Every so often she would feel the urge to comment, but it just never seemed right.

By the time the sun’s light, washing through the leaves in wavering strands, had begun to wane, Aidan gathered up the fish, a small pile wriggling against his shirtfront, and strode back to the campsite, where he took a small knife from his saddlebags and began to scale and clean the catch.

“Why so many?” Sonya asked, “We don’t need half of that for both of us.”

Aidan glanced up from his task, his hands continuing to work, a mound of small scales growing with every quick, precise movement. “No, my Lady, but we will take some for the days to come, and leave others for the next to come here. Though those before us were unkind, we will be more gracious.” He finished quickly, wiping the knife before sheathing it and placing it back into his bags. Reaching for something in his coat, he stiffened.

Wary, he turned to face Sonya. “You know I trained in Aesyrria. Have you any understanding of the rossem?” He pronounced the last word strangely, his voice reverting to the odd tones he had used earlier.

“I know it translates roughly to… something like ‘magnifying glass.’” Aidan quirked an eyebrow at her, and she grimaced. History and ancient languages hadn’t been her favorite subjects. “What does that have to do with Aesyrria? What do philosophers and priests have to do with a children’s toy?”

Aidan’s expression darkened. “Well, my Lady, you put it rather interestingly, and your translation is fairly accurate. I will try to explain this, though as an outsider, I’m not sure how much you’ll understand.

“The rossem are indeed something similar to a magnifying glass, with one important difference. Where toys focus sunlight, the rossem focus the mind.” Sonya opened her mouth to protest, but Aidan cut her off with a glance. “As ancient legends tell, the world of old was inhabited by both men and gods, far more powerful than you or I could imagine. There were cities that would make Sudzeyar look like a farming village, as well as a level of peace and prosperity that we can only dream of and wish for today. But most importantly, the gods that walked the earth had minds so strong they could shape and mold the fabric of reality itself.

“The rossem were forged then, using skills and secrets lost to us today. As the legends say, they were common-place, used by the gods to further enhance their powers for the benefit of all. There was never shortage or sadness, only an eternal happiness. And all of this was made possible by the rossem.”

Sonya had been listening with a mix of awe and disbelief, but finally reason shone through. “That’s impossible, a morality play, a plea to nationalism! Everyone knows about the eternal peace, and how evil, greedy men betrayed the gods into giving them their power.” The indignity in her voice rose. “How the men realized they couldn’t control the power, destroying all that they had wrought together, leaving the survivors huddled in the ruins of their former glory. It’s taught to every child in every school. It’s a lie.”

Aidan’s eyes had edged further, sharp enough to cut. “You are correct. That is not the truth. It is a lie used to prod man into humility and acceptance. The priests dispense what you rightly call morality plays and do it for the greater good. But we know the truth. The truth is this. The gods could not disobey men, but neither could they allow them to shatter the world.

“Instead, they together agreed on their final action. They would use the rossem to erase themselves from reality, to leave the world to humanity. They knew that if they remained much longer, it would result in a disaster. Again, it was all in the common good, but with one fatal mistake. Plans are made with prior knowledge, you see. The gods miscalculated the amount of power necessary to remove themselves. They used all of the rossem ever crafted, and the sheer intensity of the resultant distortion threatened to unfetter the strands of reality in its entirety. They shattered the world, not humanity, and forever corrupted the rossem through their passing.”

Sonya shook her head slowly. “I don’t understand… it’s an interesting story, but I don’t see how it ties into any of this, especially not Aesyrria.”

“Think, my Lady. In Aesyrria, the followers of Kel Manos have reclaimed the rossem, corrupted as they are, and have trained themselves in their use, just as the worshippers of the Dajari faith have done in Mashakir. A master can seize the weaves of reality itself and shape them to the rhythm of his will. They, not the so-called ‘gods,’ are the source of the miracles of the priests.”

“That’s impossible! How are they used? You did train with them, right?” It was the only possible way that any of this was remotely true. And Sonya didn’t think the man was lying. Insane, maybe, but not lying.

“Indeed, my Lady. Few today have the minds capable of handling the rossem. Those that do, and are born in Aesyrria, are trained from childhood in special academies. In the end, it is merely a matter of focusing and concentration, but the amount of mental strength required is immense. Very few students graduate from those classes. Those that do can tap rossem with ease. One would simply focus their mind through the rossem and then use their imagination to envision and fix the change they sought. It is very dangerous, though… one tiny mistake, any small lack of control and detail, and you are dead. And that is ignoring the impurities…

“When the gods erased themselves, they used far more force than the rossem were made to handle. The result is that now, every focus stone is impure. They can still be used, but it is very dangerous. One must concentrate only through the pure areas and avoid the corruptions at all cost. The barest touch results in insanity or death.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Sonya interjected frantically. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Aidan grimaced. “The problems you will face when you return to Tyrorrea will be complex, and you will be forced to defuse impossible situations that cannot possibly end well. You may not understand it yet, my Lady, but the people of the Shaler will depend on you and trust you for guidance, and you will have to accept whatever happens due to your judgment.” He withdrew from his coat a small, tarnished amulet set with a cracked jewel, and dark flames rose from the kindling in the fire pit. Even though he had just told her about the rossem, she still flinched. “For the sake of all those people, I want you to make the best choices you can, Lady Ihrene. And that means that you must be aware of the forces at play. You must realize that you will be manipulated, no matter what you do, by forces ancient and more powerful than you can easily grasp. It is against this that I must prepare you. Do you understand, my Lady?”

Sonya shook her head, slowly. “You’re right. I don’t know how to deal with problems like this.” She paused, and her tone turned wry. “Why don’t the people who know what they’re talking about make the decisions? My grandfather has plenty of ministers who have much more knowledge and experience. Why me?”

“You’re the one they trust. Whatever you say and do, they will follow. Bear that in your mind and heart, and heed.” He settled back against a stone, and began lecturing in a serious, straightforward tone. Somehow, Sonya found herself listening.[/spoiler]