Serial
17: For war
November
20th, 32 S.D. 06:20 Sevia, Central Plains
Though it had been years since her departure, Losha’s family had made it a point to keep her old room unoccupied. Although the furnishings had been updated - the bed was no more a child’s, and a desk and bookcase were new additions - nothing much had changed. Her old clothes, no longer fitting however, had been donated more than a decade ago to other family members. Her childhood toys were neatly stored in the closet. Yet other than that, her quarters retained the same personal sense of space she had left an age ago. As she thought about it, this all was probably only possible because she’d left so few things behind that could meaningfully change.
Her mother had taken great care to make Losha feel at home by seeing that her needs were met. She’d only returned a full week, and Lesia practically doted on her daughter. That much was evident as Losha looked over at her desk that morning, noting the three candles that had been placed there overnight. She knew it had been but no one else and could only wonder when her mother had slipped in. Lesia had always done little things like that for her as a child. Losha smiled to herself at her mother’s kindness as love, but she pondered how it would look when the candles went unused.
Losha could serialize a ball of light far more luminous than any flame, obviating the need for wicks and wax. Yet her mother knew not the powers she had attained on Mount Anhel. No one did. Upon their arrival, neither Losha, Mesel, nor Denze had openly displayed serialization. She had revealed little about the exact nature of her studies to her family. Instead, most of the time she had spent in conversation had been to catch up on other matters that happened during her long leave. However, it was a subject that could not be avoided indefinitely. At some point, she would have to reveal the art she had learned. That fact remained all the more true given the fate she held.
Though King had said she could choose not to spread serialization, Losha knew ultimately her path would not follow that direction. She had sacrificed time, family, and even friends to be as knowledgeable as she was now. Serialization was pivotal to her being, ingrained in her existence. To abandon the art would have been the culmination of the tragedies she had only recently endured.
In the early hours of her wakening, Losha got out of bed and walked over to the desk. Though the sun would rise shortly, she could little wait now that her slumber was over. She grabbed the dark brown book filled with her writings, opening its pages to the place she had last left. In an instant, she spun a series that produced an orb of light before her. As she put pen and ink to empty paper, Losha knew that she would go on to teach the art to others. Her motivation now was doubtless, unwavering.
The world, as she saw it, could indeed use serialization without ruining itself. Even if it weren’t ready, she’d see to it that one day it would be. By all means, she would serve Nabel Viska a rebuke so strong, his very ideology and presumptions would lie shattered. Though leading the world to serialization might not be enough in and of itself. She might have to kill Nabel Viska. She’d sworn to do as much... But her first order of business was yet complete, and many more steps remained ahead.
That afternoon, Brigitte, Stephen, and Barv were set to depart Sevia, Sventa, and eventually the Central Plains altogether. Having sold the entirety of their wares over the course of a week, they had little reason to stay. They were merchants after all, and even they had a semi-strict schedule to adhere to. Though the three had chiefly stayed in Sevia proper most of the time, they came up to the Holvate residences once more before leaving. At the observance of an approaching vehicle, Busama had stepped inside to inform Teiva, however, it was Losha who overheard this exchange and took it upon herself to greet them. Their wagon rolled up to a stop on the driveway. Without its load, it practically glided along the road.
“Satsa,” Brigitte said, tipping her had back and smiling at Losha. “I think I’m gettin’ the hang of your language, hon. Gotta learn quick; it’s the language of business these days.”
Losha chuckled and shook her head. “Well, one must begin somewhere. ‘Hello’ seems easy enough, yes?”
Stephen smirked wryly though. “Unfortunately, that’s about the extent of her Asten communication skills.”
“Aw, you can hush up,” Brigitte said. “I don’t see you tryin’ any harder than I am.”
“Tell me, what brings you three here today. I have not seen you since four days ago.”
“Well, sugah, we’re right fit to leave about now.”
“Sa?” Losha expressed surprise in her voice, given that she had been utterly unaware of their plans. “Do you go to the Western Corridor as you called it?”
“Yup, but before we do that, we had to come here.”
“Come to say ‘valanya’ to me?” Losha asked.
“Well, in a way, yes. Though we officially need to see your brother.”
“Harle?” Losha said aloud. She turned to the house and saw Busama and Harle exiting at that moment. Busama left to tend to his own matters while Harle marched straight towards them. Losha wondered what sort of reason they had for wanting to speak with Harle, a man they had scarcely known until days ago. As she frequently had to remind herself though, they were now the Torom of Holvate, some of the most important officials in Sventa. Did they mean to speak of something concerning the clan? Before she could ask such a question, Losha found her brother standing in their presence.
“Greetings, Miss Kölman,” Harle said. “I see Losha here has been to meet you before I could. I cannot thank you enough for bringing her back to us.” He gave a slight bow. Harle spoke in admirable, well-paced Gandian. Though he spoke with a hint of an Asten accent, his words were clean and precise. As Losha remembered, he had learned it far earlier than she had. Even so, they shared the same slightly formal way of speaking. Brigitte, however, was anything but formal.
“It wasn’t nothin’. We figured it was best for her and no trouble to us,” she said, completely leaving out the money that had changed hands.
“And I cannot thank you all enough for your products. No doubt they will serve us well in these dangerous times.”
“Products?” Losha asked, suddenly very puzzled about what they meant to discuss here. “Harle, do you mean to say we purchased those rifles?”
Harle turned to his sister and nodded affirmatively. “Yes. I suppose you would not know given that you do not involve yourself greatly with matters of the Sventa, yet. We have purchased the remainder of their stock as an advantage for our fighters against Henron. We have acquired some 250 new weapons with a supply of some 8000 rounds of ammunition. After a demonstration of the efficiency with which this new technology is capable of, the Tabran moved to make the use of these rifles central to how we shall engage the enemy.”
Losha could but frown at hearing his words.
“Is something wrong sister?”
She moved to speak, but her feelings came out laboriously. “It is just... I never imagined that... Are we truly going to wage a war? Are we really going to allow ourselves to spill yet more blood on these lands? The Central Plains surely has seen enough, has it not?”
Harle glanced for a moment to the merchants before sighing and looking his sister earnestly in the eye. “It is a situation that cannot be helped. This is the way we are. I know you have been away for quite some time Losha, but things here are different from outside the the lands. People die here; that is the reality we cannot escape.”
Losha suddenly stiffened. “I have seen death enough in my leave, brother,” she said tersely.
“Forgive me, I did not mean it that way,” Harle replied, sensing her indignation beneath the surface. “Regardless, these are the circumstances of our lives. We can no more reject it than we can reject ourselves. There are at times no alternatives left to us but fighting.”
Losha looked down and away, but Harle persisted, if not to persuade her, then to reassure her.
“Imagine if other clans had obtained their stock. Would you have members of our clan, our family, slain by them? Could you trust them to restrain the use of these rifles for defensive purposes like ourselves? This new weaponry will bring about a quick end to the brewing conflict. That means less deaths for both sides.”
“I would rather have no one die.”
“As would I, Losha. Yet none of us has the power to make things so. If I knew of such a way, I would pursue it by all means. However, we are only human, and these are the conditions we find ourselves in.”
All the while, Brigitte and Stephen looked forwards, as if trying to avoid answering some of the questions themselves. They hadn't meant to perpetuate a war, but then again, what else would happen when one sold guns, no less to those who bore grudges centuries old? Perhaps they told themselves much the same as Harle had said. Those were just the circumstances. They were supposed to be merchants, not moralists, and they had fulfilled their obligations as employees of the Haus Trading Company. Even so, a slight frown momentarily tugged at the corner of Brigitte’s mouth.
“At any rate, about what they came to see me,” Harle said. He pulled aside one line of his coat and dug deeply into a pocket. Seconds later, he extracted an envelope that bore the wax seal of the Tabran.
“Here is the next order we would like to have. I believe we have already discussed the relevant matters of the deal. The only new thing of note is that the quantities have since been finalized.”
“Thank you very much Ver Holvate,” Brigitte said, taking the document in hand. It wasn’t like her to refer to Harle by his esteemed rank, but she was probably getting used to Asten, if only in bits and pieces.
“Do you need to reexamine the routes we showed you? You will be able to cross territories that are either neutral to us or unwilling to anger Sventa. You should be safe along your journey.”
Brigitte shook her head though. “Much appreciated, but we’ve updated our merchant’s map since we last spoke. We ought to be alright.”
“As long as you say so. Would you care to enjoy yourselves inside a while before you go?” This was a very significant gesture of hospitality, for the Torom of Holvate to extend such generosity to Gandians of their sort. The weapons, as Losha understood, must have given the three merchants and their company quite the standing with her brother. Though to be fair, they’d already been inside when Losha had returned. Still, it was an honor Brigitte and her team passed for now.
“I’m afraid we haven’t got the time. Things are kinda close enough tryin’ to make good on new shipments. The faster we get back there, the sooner we can get back here. Next time though, we’ll plan ahead and make real sure to stay in town a while longer.”
“Excellent,” Harle said, nodding at them. “In that case, I bid you all farewell. I look forward to our next encounter. Travel safely.”
“Valanya, Ver Holvate, Losha.” Brigitte said with a final tip of her hat as she started up her horses and began traveling down the long roads of the Central Plains.
Though they didn’t look alike, Mesel and Denze were often mistaken for brothers since they’d arrived in Sevia. Though Denze had grown up in the Central Plains, Mesel had come from the western reaches of Zevano, the austere badlands of the Continent. At least, that was as much as Master Eltin had ever revealed about the boy. Denze had heard about the nomads that lived out there, people who survived the harshest of environments, but he only knew passing details about them.
Their misclassification as siblings stemmed from the fact that they were scarcely seen apart these days. In truth though, Denze felt less and less like a brother ever since that dreadful night in Palostrol. Denze could still talk to him and joke around like they used to, but Mesel himself remain unresponsive, uncommunicative. It was a matter that was concerning him by the day, and he meant to bring it up with Losha soon. Added to that, the two boys knew nothing of each others’ past. Mesel had grown up almost entirely within the confines of the school, but what little history he had before that time was a mystery. Perhaps Mesel himself simply didn’t know. Denze, on the other hand, had only shared generalities about his life prior to Palostrol. Neither Losha nor Mesel knew yet of his own surname nor the clan he heralded from. In a sense, the two lads were strangers despite the years they had spent together.
As Losha’s students, they were treated as guests, albeit ones to stay indefinitely. It was not an uncommon practice, however, for large clans such as the Sventa to set aside accommodations specifically for family or clan members that may have to live with others for a while. The house of Holvate, in fact, had at least two houses dedicated just for that; the two had been placed in one of them. Denze and Mesel were largely left to themselves at night and in the morning, but they spent a great deal of time with Losha and her family, that was, whenever she was available. After being so long removed from the closest of her relatives, it was only natural that she’d engross herself in their company. Denze respected her and her situation, so he didn’t interrupt the moments she spent basically reacquainting herself with loved ones.
Yet, Losha nevertheless shared much of her time with her students daily. Though she had more family than she could ever ask for around her, Mesel and Denze were her only friends that remained. Together they’d made it through the events that had upended their lives. She couldn’t ignore them even for a day; such was their affinity. That day, like usual, she came over. They met in the family room of the guest house; they all sat down on separate pieces of furniture.
“The merchants have just left,” Losha said, leaning back.
“Oh really?” Denze asked. “And here we never even got to say goodbye.”
“That has been the case with too many of those we know recently,” Losha said with a frown.
“Sa...” Denze said. Behind a sofa pillow, out of view, his fist clenched for a moment.
“Brother says we have bought the rest of their rifles. He believes they can change the tide in our favor and quickly put an end to hostilities.”
“Hmm...” Denze rubbed his face for a bit. “Makes sense. Those were some pretty sharp guns. It’s a given that Sventa would win any fight with Henron, no contest. But having those ‘canonical” bullets or whatever would make things go along that much faster.”
Losha sighed and reclined even deeper into the back of the couch.
“Something on your mind?” Denze asked, as if the past month hadn’t given her all the thought in the world to deal with.
“I simply... do not approve of this war. Do you know what it is over? A mere land dispute, over the Talimer Forest.”
“In all fairness,” Denze began. “The forest is an abundant natural resource, namely timber and food.”
“So people are to die for a few sticks and a rabbit or two?”
Denze winced at the way she phrased the predicament. “Astens have killed for less. That’s just-”
“The way we are?” She looked at him, her arms folded. “That is what you said to me before we left Palostrol. That is what brother said to me today.”
“And?” Denze asked, gesturing up into the air with his hand. “That just means it’s all the more true.”
“Yet hardly all the more right,” she replied. “Is it just an excuse to leave things as they are, to continue instead of changing? What does it matter how we are if how we are is wrong? What does it matter how we are if we can be better, exceed?”
Denze shook his head before speaking himself. “It’s not like I don’t understand what you’re saying, Losha. We’ve changed ourselves. Just look at how well we get along. Even your family has accepted me, even though they knew I am Asten, but they know not what clan I hail from. But, it’s something else to ask the Central Plains to do so.”
“Is it really?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Come on,” Denze said, tossing his head back and rolling it around. “We’re only human you know, human kids at that.” Suddenly though, a pillow smacked Denze across the face, blindsiding him completely. He fell on his side, stunned, looking around. It was only a second later that he saw the blue glow of her seras softly outlining the pillow.
“Hey!” he cried, realizing what she’d done.
“Perhaps it is time we actually started thinking about just what it is a human can do,” Losha said. She waved her hand, and her seras wrapped around another pillow, propelling it towards Denze with a rush of kinetic energy. He swiped it away in mid-flight before it could hit him. By the time he had looked up though, he saw Losha standing before them.
“I am serious, Denze,” she said as she began walking back and forth. “Why did you learn serialization? Why did you follow Master Eltin all the way to Upper Vestel?”
Denze blinked up at her. He then glanced down as he scratched the back of his neck. “Why?” he asked. “It sure seemed more exciting than what I was doing back then.”
“But what did you hope to achieve with the abilities you had gained?”
“I dunno. I guess I’d just keep getting better, you know, then get closer to a master’s level, then teach others.”
“And that is all?” Losha asked.
Denze frowned. “Sa, I suppose...”
She suddenly stopped pacing about, turned to a wall, facing away from them. “I used to think more or less the same,” she breathed. “I would become a master myself and aid others in their study of serialization. But after that night, I realized something. What I wanted was not the purpose of serialization.”
“Purpose?”
She turned and looked at Mesel and Denze. “The purpose of serialization, as I see it, is to do. To simply learn is a waste of its potential. Denze, we are serialists. In our hands, we hold tremendous power. We can do deeds greater than any before us. The limitations of what was humanly possible do not apply to us. At the very least, we can redefine them.”
Denze chuckled a bit and shook his head. “When did you suddenly become so idealistic?”
Losha gave him a slight glare from the corner of her eyes, but she soon remembered that she still hadn’t revealed to them the task King had placed upon her. They didn’t know what he was expecting her to do, nor that she desired to prove him wrong. Her tone, as she continued, was still very staid.
“Ever since that night,” she answered truthfully. “I believe serialization has the power to let us change, and I believe we can be the ones to show people that. I do not accept that our lands have to be of death and blood. We can alter all of that.”
“Well spoken,” Denze said. “But how do you intend to do any of those actions? What about specifics? The might of serialization makes us not merely human, true, but you’re still only one human. Let me ask you this: how would you put an end to this conflict between Sventa and Henron? Would you throw pillows at them until they surrendered?”
She turned her head swiftly at Denze and looked directly at him for some time, however, she said nothing for a while.
“You do not have faith in me as a master then?” she asked at last.
“That’s not what I’m saying. I just mean-”
Losha pulled out the book she had been writing from a bag she had brought along. With a quick motion of her wrist, she flung it at Denze.
“What’s this?” he asked, catching it out of the air.
“Study its contents well. The beginning sections are remedial for your level, but there are several topics you and Mesel have yet to perfect.” She picked up the bag and made as if to leave. “That should occupy your time while I prepare myself.”
“Prepare yourself? For what?”
“What else?” Losha said, heading around to the door. “War.”
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