Serial
4: 30 Day Trial
October
15th, 32 S.D. 08:46 Palostrol, Upper Vestel
In the early morning hours before class, around the time most students were eating breakfast or getting ready for the day, Losha and Siersus stood side-by-side in one of the rooms Master Eltin often reserved for individual tutoring sessions. Both of them has been there plenty of times before, however, they also admitted that the last occasion had been years ago. After students reached a certain level, Master Eltin seemed to think they ought to flourish on their own for a bit. There were still lessons to learn, and he was always open for questions, but he generally left the one-on-one of more advanced students to the mentors. It was actually a clever setup, since the mentors grew through teaching. Neither she nor he would have been there now if they hadn’t progressed so, by aiding their fellow students and reinforcing the art of serialization in themselves.
The other day, Master Eltin had summoned them separately to meet here on the fifteenth before nine ‘o’ clock. Losha knew only that he had an important matter to talk over with her. He’d mentioned nothing about their test of mastery, but ever since he’d announced it weeks ago, that trial had never left the forefront of her thoughts. She found herself somewhat surprised to find Siersus already there, but his presence only confirmed her lurking suspicions. At that time, the master had yet to arrive himself, so they spent the remaining period talking. Apparently Siersus’ notions matched up with her own; this meeting was going to be about their test.
“What do you think about becoming a master?” she asked.
“What do I think?” he said, adjusting his glasses as he spoke. “Well, honestly speaking I think we’re quite young for that role, if we succeed.” He gave a short laugh. “To say I’m ready for it is a little bold. However, I think that’s part of his plan.”
“Hmm? You believe him to have some sort of motive behind this?”
“Not a motive per se, just reasons. This may sound silly and almost contradictory, but I think he wants us to grow into these roles.”
Losha pursed her lips as she gave his comments proper consideration. After a moment, she later began shaking her head in agreement. “Yes, one may well suppose that. I would imagine, after all, that it closely mimics how he himself became master. Being the first serialist, the role of master is something of an evolution, I guess.”
“Moreover, I don’t really think we’ve actually reached his level yet. Nevertheless, he probably want us on that path.”
Losha wasn’t entirely convinced that Siersus harbored the same apprehensions she felt, but she noted that he wasn’t sure if either of them would pass, at least not the first time.
“Depending on what it is, what we’re being tested on, actually passing his assessment might take years,” he said. “Perhaps we won’t be so young when we’re done after all.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t necessarily say that.” Master Eltin said, coming through the door.
“Master,” Losha and Siersus said together.
“You will indeed be older, but not quite that much. Rest assured, I would not give you this test if there weren’t a chance to succeed as you are.” He walked in front of them, looked at the clock, and then began again. “Since we are all here today early, we may as well start now. You may already have little doubt about why I’ve called you both, but allow me to definitely tell you I will discuss the test of mastery. Pardon my delay between informing you of the test and just now administering it. It was no small task formulating precisely what I need test you on, however, I have finally settled on what you must complete.”
He reached around with both hands; each dug into a back pocket. As he pulled them back out, two golden, tubular cases were extracted. The ends were sealed, but they were plainly segmented down the middle. Holding them by their ends, Master Eltin gave one to Losha and one to Siersus. The two of them in kind grabbed them up.
“Inside you will find instructions for a highly advanced series. For the duration of this test, you are to spend the entire time in the Mountain’s Great Temple. I have already put all of the necessary supplies there.”
Losha and Siersus did their best to conceal any reaction on their part, but the truth was that no one but Master Eltin had ever been to the Mountain’s Great Temple. Scarcely any students had even the vaguest idea of what it looked like. The most everyone knew for certain was that it stood further up Mount Anhel. Master Eltin went there every so often, but what he did exactly was a perfect mystery to all. Some had claimed to have seen a gate that blocked off entry to its path, and the popular rumor was that only a complex series could unlock it. Was there something up there that masters and master-candidates alone could see?
“Your task is simple. Learn the series described in your documents. The means are up to you. There is only one other condition to pass this test.” He looked at them both, one-by-one. “Starting today, you have 30 days to master this type of serialization.”
October
16th, 32 S.D. 11:12 The Palace of Shais
Somewhere far along the western coast of the Continent, past the badlands of Zevano, just across the treacherous reaches of the formidable Iron Wall mountain range, the Palace of Shais sat. Although the land here was verdant, if very rocky, it was small, confined by the world’s great ocean on one end and insurmountable rock faces on the other. This place had no native people. The Continent’s population gravitated towards the eastern and central domains. The ends of the west, however, had barely been touched by man at all over the course of centuries. In fact, much of the land beyond Zevano was at this time unknown to the world, as few had ever dared to set sights on it.
And yet, here stood the impeccable structure of stone, secluded from the eyes of the Continent, not unlike Palostrol. The Palace of Shais, despite its sheer size of a square kilometer - the building itself as well as the surrounding grounds - only housed a limited number of occupants. There were only ever nine residents in all, plus their patron. However, plans to change that had already been set in motion.
A tall man walked down one of the high-ceiling corridors. Despite his skinny build and low weight, most of him was lean, toned muscle. His cheeks and face were edgy and angular regardless of his youth. Combined with his bright orange eyes and his acute smile, he always seemed to carry an air of confrontation about him, like an animal on its guard. He had a short black ponytail, but he kept a clean shaven face.
“Allon!” he called out, loudly, noisily. “Allon!” he hollered again as his cries echoed upward. As he passed a staircase, he caught the attention of another of the palace’s residents coming from the second floor.
“Einer, what the hell are you yelling for?”
Einer looked pointedly at the man descending the stairs. “The same thing I’ve been shrieking about all of this week and all of last week, Laven. I want to know where Allon is.”
Laven was a well-kept man with sharp attire and impressive grooming. He very obviously had his garments precisely tailored, perhaps by his own hands no less. Often he wore a long, jacket with a fine vest beneath that. His earthy-colored hair today, as on most days, had been expertly brushed back. Laven was also fond of wearing boots for whatever reason, as if he were about to go on some royal hunt.
“Well, don’t get mad at me. I haven’t seen him around either. He’s been busy these past few weeks you know.”
“I’m not mad at anyone,” he snapped. “I’m mad that I haven’t the faintest clue about the next step in our plans.”
Laven shook his head, tisking all the while. “You really need to learn some patience. That or you could learn a thing or two about courage and go ask King himself.”
Einer scowled at him. “Watch that tongue of yours, Laven,” he warned. “I’m only refraining myself right now because I rather like you.”
“He was only suggesting what you’re too weak to do,” said a woman also coming downstairs. She had short auburn hair, dark lipstick, and a ragged, conspicuous scar that slid across her throat from end to end. “You don’t really want to speak with Allon; you want to speak to someone who has spoken with King, because you don’t have the guts to ask him directly.”
Einer curled his lip as he spent all but a moment more in their presence before turning away quickly. “What’s everyone’s problem today? All I want to know is where we take things from here. And to do that, I just need to talk to one measly little guy, the same person that sent me all the way out nowhere to ol’ Mount Anhel.” He shook his head before walking off. “You know, I’d like to think I get along with at least you and Laisa over there. But that doesn’t mean I have to stand around here letting you two piss me off. Besides, this ain’t helping me get nowhere.”
He headed off in the opposite direction for a bit. Laisa looked over at Laven, but all he did was shrug, aloof and apathetic.
“You know,” she started. “We’re as much in the dark as he is. And neither of us has asked King ourselves.”
“Very true, but some of us have not asked him directly because it is no matter to us. When our time comes to act, we shall act.”
As Einer stormed off, a new voice spoke to him from around a corner. “You’re fuming, yet I thought you said you weren’t mad at anyone.” The seemingly elusive Allon appeared, turning from a perpendicular corridor to face Einer’s approach.
“No one but you,” he retorted. “Where the hell have you been?”
Allon was very average looking, a typical Gandian. His most apparent trait, aside from his short stature, was his stone-faced, partially monotonous manner of speaking. His eyes appeared ever so slightly closed, as if he were bored of what he saw. Einer always took it as a sign of a condescending mind, supposing that Allon always felt superior because of his status as King’s right-hand man. That wasn’t necessarily the case, but Einer found his judgment hard to shake nonetheless.
“I’ve been attending to the duties set forth for me.”
“And does that take all of two weeks?”
“More or less.”
Einer snuffed down at him. “As if,” he said. Allon began to walk past him.
“You can think whatever you want. However, your concerns over what we shall do next are overblown to say the least. We haven’t forgotten your report. Rather, King wants to take his time on this matter. You know as well as I do that this is only the beginning of many actions we must take from now on. Such a preliminary move must not be misjudged.”
Einer turned around and caught up with Allon after a couple of quick steps. “Yeah, yeah, I get that part. King’s got to take a while with something this important, but can we at least have a hint as to where we’re heading?”
Allon took a few more paces before abruptly stopping and pivoting to Einer’s face beside him.
“Listen well, Einer,” he began. “Your haste is as much a fault as King’s perceived hesitancy.”
Einer flushed as he bit back with swift low words. “I... never said he was hesitant,” he nearly hissed. Allon pulled back his head a bit, as if in observance.
“And yet, how you think it.”
Einer’s words stifled as his throat swelled with anger. “What’s your shrieking problem?” was all he managed to say.
“I have none,” Allon said simply, again walking on his way. “Unlike you, King calculates. When the time is right, we will go, and not a moment sooner. Until then, do well to keep yourself patient.” After a few seconds, Allon was once more gone. Einer frowned and furrowed as he was left with naught but discontent.
“Tch. That guy really gets on my nerves. Him, I don’t like.” He was about to turn around and stamp off back to where he’d originally come from, but suddenly Laven and Laisa came up from behind him.
“That can’t be helped. If it’s true what some Gandians say, you really can’t please everyone. By that same token, you really can’t like everyone either,” Laven said. “Laisa and I were just about to go have ourselves a match. Care to join?”
Einer spoke not a word, as his brewing frustration had yet to subside.
“Come on. You can go against the victor.”
“By that, he means me,” Laisa said.
“She’s probably correct,” he sighed. “But we can all use the practice, agreed?” Einer’s mood persisted for an instant or so before he relented just a bit.
“Alright,” he said. “Just be warned, I ain’t feeling upbeat right now. I may like the two of you, but I’m not going to go soft on either of you.”
Early the next morning, in the pre-dawn hours of the day, the head of the Palace of Shais had long since been up. His chambers were by any standards quite grand. Where four ordinary rooms would have sat, his suite easily occupied that same space. It was an open apartment without physical divisions, yet each area clearly segregated itself based on function. The first half was dedicated to no less that four sofas of various sizes and arrangements, two on each each side. A few tables rested in-between, ornamented with lamps, flowers, or perhaps littered with expensive parchments. The quarter in the back on the left-hand side held an enormous bed fit for three people. The right-most quarter had two short steps that led to a desk surrounded by enough bookshelves and literature to account for a small library.
Many items of origins far and wide resided in this room. A fisherman’s sail from the Eastern Isles hung just left of the entrance. New and emerging instruments of science lined a particular shelf near a window, his favorite being a glass tube that displayed what the Gandians called cathode rays. A litany of articles from the Central Plains adorned various nooks, but he especially displayed the one meter by 40 centimeter cloth banner of one of the currently strongest and most influential clans, the Sventa.
Perhaps the most extravagant aspect - if not the most audacious one - was the massive chair that stood at the rear of the room. Although it had many hard, angular edges, it had cushions along its back, seat, and arms. Immaculate, sheer white, the chair had golden notches to give it secondary color. Its base was solid, thus it was without true legs. Given its massive bulk and size, the chair indeed commanded the very image of a throne. Perhaps he had subconsciously fashioned it that way, but the truth was he simply like to read with his back to the natural sunlight that came in from the balcony, especially during sunsets. The chair actually stood in the middle right where two ceiling-high glass doors met. It also aimed straight down towards the very entrance of his room, so that one might see him sitting in it as he or she stepped in.
Among the people he had assembled in his palace, he had come to be known simply as King. It was a matter his residents had come up with for themselves, and so it had stuck. Such a brand was a misnomer at best. No ounce of blood within him was deemed royal, but the matter of his lifestyle had probably inspired that name. He had no objections to it. He could have made himself a kingdom if so were his ambitions; he certainly possessed that power. However, he felt no interest whatsoever in the plight of politics nor could he tolerate the methods of monarchs. Rather, he considered himself as one with a clear point of view, someone with a vision.
He was going to change the world in a way greater than any sovereign had in the past thousand years. States and nations would rise and fall, each according to its place in history. King’s goals, however, would alter history itself from here unto humans were no more. Everything had to begin somewhere at sometime, and now he seemed to be on the cusp of initializing his grand ideals upon the Continent.
Today, as the sun crept over the Iron Wall so many kilometers away, was a day of decision. He sat on his apparent throne before breakfast, caressing a book in one hand while he leaned for support against the other. He was a dark-skinned man, tall and well built. A handsome fellow, not a single crease or bruise blemished his smooth face. He never shaved, for he never showed signs of a beard or mustache in the least. His hair most peculiarly, was pure white and straight. It was full and vibrant, however, not brittle with age. King wore it long enough to dust his shoulders, but not a millimeter more; the ends were impeccably evened and level. He also made it a point to never let his hair obstruct the view of his gleaming azure eyes.
In truth, he had already set his mind on their course, yet it was worth declaring his intentions to everyone in the palace. It was only proper that they learn of it soon, for although King had taken careful pains to deliberate, his actions thereafter would be swift. He had expressly summoned Allon then so that he might communicate the path they were to tread.
The trusty young man knocked twice sharply, although this act was more perfunctionary than anything else. King knew exactly who would come to him and when they would. It was possibly Allon’s way of expressing respect, however. By now though, familiar as he was with these proceedings, Allon required no further beckoning, thus without delay he entered the room.
“King,” he said, closing the door behind him. “You called me,” he stated.
“Indeed,” King said, his eyes still trained upon the book he held. There persisted several moments of silence in their conversation. Allon stood rooted at the front of the room, neither daring to step further into King’s quarters nor supposing it prudent to interrupt his reading.
“The others grow restless, do they not?”
“Yes,” Allon began. “There exists a certain level of ‘anticipation’ among them. Some more than others.” It was rare for any of Allon’s comments to hold emphasis. Upon hearing his words, King ever so slightly raised his eyebrows for but a passing second. Still, he did not glance up from his book.
“Einer has been the most profound case. He does not know how to check his impatience, unfortunately. Nonetheless, everyone feels more than ready for action and rather expectant of it.”
“Even you?” King asked. For a brief time, Allon made no answer to this. “You said everyone,” King said. Yet Allon carefully measured every statement that he made, and the closest he ever came to displaying embarrassment were these minor delays in his speech.
“Yes King, to an extent,” he clarified.
“That is well,” King responded, turning a page in his book. “Have you seen to the tasks I assigned to you?”
“They have been tended to completely. Nothing remains to be done.”
“Excellent,” King mused. For a minute or so, he continued reading until suddenly he snapped the book shut in the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes as he began speaking, smiling.
“My mind has been set for these past few days, however, I can feel the proper time has finally approached. Our plans are as of this moment cast into action. You may alert the others that we leave tonight. The finer details will be discussed en route.”
“Yes King.”
King’s eyes whipped open as he smiled ever more contentedly. “We will go to Palostrol and then begin the true age of serialization.”
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Subscribe
Flag Writing