Serial
18: Prep talk
November
24th, 32 S.D. 12:07 Sevia, Central Plains
“Unacceptable,” Mavont Holvate Sventa said. “Simply unacceptable.” Losha’s father was getting on in his years. His beard was already fringed with gray, and his hair had already begun to whiten. His face bore the many creases of stress and strife a lifetime endures. Worn and wrinkled, her father seemed to have aged greatly in her absence, at least she didn’t remember him looking old at all in her memories. But the fact of the matter was that he no more held the vigor of youth, and the better half of his life had already passed. None of this was helped by the chronic illness he suffered. He had become debilitated in just about every one of his physical faculties. He could move very little without summoning pain upon his body. That he gestured - cutting his arm swiftly across the air - only demonstrated the depths of his disapproval.
“Do you hear yourself, Losha?” he asked, standing up. Though his words were firm, his voice trembled ever so slightly; his legs, she noticed, buckled at times behind his desk. Though he was 57, he had not initially donned the title of Torom from his father. Instead, his younger brother, her uncle, had taken up the role. Her father, as Losha understood it, had had health problems even then, so he could not aid in Holvate’s leadership. But now there was no choice since his brother’s death. The weight of responsibility only added to his ails, though Harle and Lesia had gone to lengths to assume their share of duty and burden. In her heart, Losha felt shame for having placed yet more upon his plate of worries. Yet it was a matter that could not be avoided.
“Why would you even contemplate such an idea, my sweet child? And so shortly after your return?” He frowned deeply as he shook his head. “No, this is beyond all things reasonable. I shall not stand for it.”
Harle popped into the large room. “Father, what has you so bothered?”
“It is your sister,” Mavont said, clasping his hands behind his back.
“Sa?” Harle asked, stepping closer to the two of them. “So whatever is the issue?” He looked at both for a moment. Losha said nothing at first, but her father spoke anyway.
“She wants to participate in the war against Henron.”
“What now?” Harle’s brow furrowed for an instant. He turned to Losha shortly thereafter. “Losha, might you explain yourself?”
She folded her arms as she spoke. “It is as father has said. I desire to join our fighters against Henron.”
“Sa, that much is clear,” her brother said. “But why?”
“I believe I can help put a stop to this conflict, quickly.”
“Fair enough, sister. Yet in what do you place your confidence in?”
“My soul.”
Silence descended upon their meeting for a time. Mavont briefly opened his mouth, blinking with downcast eyes. Harle gave only a slight frown at her words.
“I am afraid I do not understand. Needless to say, our sharpshoots and marksfolk will make short work of the enemy. There is no need for you even consider risking your life or safety in this affair.”
“That is exactly what I fear, that we will cut down the enemy.”
“What do you-” Harle began, halting altogether, remembering their exchange a few days ago. “Losha, some battles cannot be evaded. Some people are going to die, or rather have to. It is admirable of you to wish for the least amount of casualties - I wish as much myself - but realistically speaking, what can you do?”
Losha started to answer, but the proper words could scarcely leave her lips. “I- I can... I can bring about a close to this pointless war. I have the skills to do so...”
“And,” Harle said. “What of your proficiency with the sword?”
“Excuse me?” Losha asked to some degree of surprise.
“How well do you handle a blade? A shield? A bow? A gun?”
Losha frowned for a moment, yet she answered honestly. “I am poorly versed in all of those areas.”
“Then how do you intend to help? An ill-prepped soldier is a danger to all but the enemy. There hardly remains any time to train you, and you would only put those around you at risk, along with yourself.”
“Yet I am prepared to face any challenge that comes my way, brother. I have vast knowledge of a certain art, though it is not martial in nature.”
“What exactly do you mean?”
“Perhaps it would be best to show-”
“Whether you are ready for battle or not, Losha,” their father interrupted. “The matter changes not. I strictly forbid you from participating in the hostilities between Sventa and Henron. That is the final say any of us shall have.”
“Ksh!” Losha interjected, quickly tossing her head away, looking down.
“You have not even been with us a fortnight, my dear child, and now you want your family - those who have been so long without you - to face the possibility of yet again losing you? We could not suffer your permanent absence. Please Losha, understand our love for you. We did not send you off so many years ago to have you fight a war.”
Though she heard her father’s words, Losha quickly spun around, aiming for the door. “I know well your compassion, father, clearly,” she said, pausing only for a moment before leaving. Harle and Mavont stood together in the room in silence for a time. At last, Mavont sighed, quakingly easing his body back into his chair. Harle rubbed his chin.
“Beyond all wonder,” he murmured. “Tell me father, what made her come to you with such a bold request?”
“Request?” he echoed, looking up at his son. “It was an announcement. She merely stated that she would involve herself with the war efforts.”
“Sa?” Harle glanced at the door and into the hallway. “I think she has forgotten the way the Central Plains really are. It must be quite a shock, living so long elsewhere without all the hatred and violence we have here. To experience the world at peace, and then to suddenly find one such as ours, she must be really frustrated with everything...”
Mavont sat with his hands on his knees; he shook his head slowly. “And she may be rightfully angry.”
“Father?”
“Tell me this, my son, do you not think it is wrong, the way we live? The way all Astens live? Eternal bloodshed and whatnot?”
Harle turned to his father with a conflicted face. “Whether I approve of it or not, it is the truth of our existence, pitiable as that may be.”
“It is the truth of how we live now, sa, yet is it the truth of how we could live? One wonders if we could ever escape our brutal culture.”
“The course history has provided us, that is not something people can easily change. We are what we are because of what past lies behind us. The events before you and I, they still hold inertia. The things our clan and others have done all of these years decide what choices we have at hand. Not that I like it...”
“Indeed, Harle, at times it seems we are bound by things that precede our time. To break the flow and cycle of it all would require power greater than all the ages of our people.”
“Which is something Losha could do well to try to understand,” Harle said as he shook his head hopelessly. He moved towards the door, but before he could fully exit, Mavont spoke out to him.
“Do not be too harsh with your sister’s rashness. She may believe she has truthfully found a way to end the war.”
“Sa? What is it you are trying to say?” Harle asked, casting a backwards glance as his hand rested upon the door frame.
“Do you know the exact nature of your sister’s studies abroad? Have you any clue as to the arts she speaks of?”
Harle paused before twisting around; his forehead knotted up. “No, not precisely. She mentioned very little about her time away. You and mother sent her off; was she to specialize in something?”
Mavont nodded affirmatively. “Sa, she was to learn of a curious yet wondrous new art.”
“What was it though?”
“That I cannot say. I know not the words to describe it. I can only tell you that the man that became her teacher showed it to Lesia and I before we decided she should learn it, albeit so far away from us. It is something truly marvelous, something with great power and potential. It must be seen to be understood, however.”
“I am afraid I do not follow. If she believes what she has learned will be useful, she should have shown us before coming to you like that.”
“She may yet demonstrate her gifts, at least she wants to do so, on the battlefield. I care not if she has the strength to change the face of the entire Continent. I will not allow her to fall into any harm, and neither shall you. She is expressively prohibited from any and all facets of our wartime operations.”
“I understand, father,” Harle said, departing at last.
A day later, Losha, Mesel, and Denze were practicing serialization together, something they actually hadn’t done frequently since the incident in Palostrol. In the privacy of the Holvate guest house, the trio sat on the floor. Losha, at the head of them with Mesel at one side and Denze on another, rested cross-legged with her eyes closed. Mesel and Denze each had several sheets of paper in front of them filled with notes and diagrams. Denze held up one such sheet to his eye as he leaned back, propped against his other arm.
“I don’t get it,” he sighed, tossing the paper away. As it whimsically floated to the ground, Mesel raised both of his fists; only his index fingers pointed out. The pale yellow glow of his seras appeared between his two fingers, hovering like two spots. Suddenly they were bonded by a great spark, a continuous stream of electricity.
“What?! Shrieks, you already got the hang of it?” Denze said, slightly slapping himself with the palm of his hand across his left, clothed eye. “Sa...” he groaned, looking back down at the paper he’d thrown.
“You are not properly converting your seras, Denze,” Losha said without looking up. “You must focus your seras more carefully.”
“I know, it’s just... I don’t really get what electricity is. I know heat is an accumulation of kinetic energy, but about turning my body into a lightning rod?”
“On a basic level, you must use seras to force the air to ionize. Applying enough seras and controlling that output effectively grants one the ability to convert seras into electricity.”
Denze looked over to her with a slight befuddled frown. “Ionization?”
“It is written in your notes.”
Denze turned to his side and swiped up another piece of paper, glaring at its contents.
“Here now, give me your hand,” she said.
“Huh?” Denze asked. He cast a hesitant eye at her extended hand, considering what her motive could be. He reached over and put their hands together. At first, nothing whatsoever occurred. Then, all at once, a surging series of needles burned his skin. He saw a brief flash as the air popped. In a yelp, Denze tore his hand away from hers as quickly as possible.
“Shrieks!” he exclaimed. “What was that for?” he asked as he nursed his wound.
Losha opened her eyes and smiled slightly, uncharacteristically mischievously. “Sa, now you have dealt with electricity firsthand. You should better understand it now.”
Denze shook his hand up and down in the air. “Thanks... I guess. But say, what were you doing over there sleeping all this time? You ought to be doing... something.”
“I was not sleeping. I was contemplating.”
“Gone all stoic-like now that you’re a master, huh?”
“Not exactly,” Losha sat forward; her elbows braced against her knees as her fingers interlocked themselves creating a platform for her chin as she opened her eyes. She carried a serious and pensive
face; her gaze fell not on Mesel or Denze, but the wall ahead.
“Denze,” she said. “Try using body-based aggregation.”
“What?” he asked. “Why? I can aggregate seras just fine. I just can’t convert it.”
“Then you failed to read over last night’s section,” Losha declared.
“S-sa... but, you know, it was a short segment...”
“All the more reason why you should have read it. At any rate, allow me to explain. Since your body - the vessel of the soul - can be said to act as a conductor of seras, body-based aggregation naturally yields more control over the process of conversion. Using your arm as a gathering point for seras rather than some random point in the air will grant you finer overall control of the series. While body-based aggregation is chiefly used to teach beginners the basics of pulling seras from the soul, it can also greatly improve one’s ability to learn new, complex series until it they can fully be mastered.”
“Oh...” Denze said. “Thanks, master.”
“Denze, just ‘Losha’. There is no need for that title between the three of us, either in jest or in seriousness. We will all be masters someday, so let us drop any formalities.”
“Sa, that’s no fun. Besides, it makes me feel like we’re back in school.”
They continued their studies until the afternoon had grown quite late. Though they devoted significantly less time now than they used to for serialization, they tried to maintain the same level of discipline that had structured their lives in Palostrol. The length of their studies may have shortened, bu their focus had not wavered. Under Losha’s guidance, they had reconstructed a semblance their former habits. However the day waned, and Losha was about to end their session.
“Will you be joining us for dinner tonight, or are you two eating by yourselves?” she asked as she gathered the reading materials for their work.
“Sa, we’ll eat at your house. You know I can barely fix anything decent. What I can make... it’s like survivalist food.”
Losha laughed at Denze’s own candid assessment. “Is this so?”
“Definitely. Mesel doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he hates it.”
“Very well then. For his sake, do come over with me as I leave. It is late enough that we will not have very long to wait.”
“That sounds good.”
“Denze, before we go, I have a favor to ask of you.” From her bag, she extracted a small, jingling pouch and a folded slip of paper.”
“What’s this?” he asked as she set these items on the table. “I need you to go into Sevia sometime soon and make a few purchases.”
“Errands?”
“Of a sort,” she answered. “I do not want to raise any suspicions amongst my family or those who might recognize who I am. You would go on unnoticed for the most part, at least few yet know who you are. The money in the pouch should be sufficient. When you buy the things on the list, however, I need you to store them near the stream outback. You will find a growth of reeds near the first southern bend; that will make a fine place to put them. I shall pick them up at a later time.”
“Woah,” Denze said. “This is all so very clandestine. You aren’t about to commit some sorta bizarre crime are you? I don’t want to be implicated in that.”
“Far from it. In some sense, you could say I am preventing a crime or a tragedy at least.”
Denze picked up the piece of paper she had set down and gave it a passing look over.
“Shrieks,” he said, setting it back down. “If I get you these things, whatever it is you do with them, promise me you’ll be careful.”
“You need not worry about me.”
“It’s too late for that.”
Some time later, during the darkest hours of the night, Losha sat on the floor of her room, panting slowly, evenly. Her body, damp with sweat, shook with minute tremors. She slumped to the side, almost falling over. Above her, an orb of light shone, pulsating erratically. Its glow illuminated all in fits and starts rather than in one steady continuous stream. The premise of such a series had been deceptively simple. She’d serialized countless balls of radiance without the least bit of trouble, but this case was decidedly different.
It was the first series she had ever successfully performed with the use of so-called raw seras. The process of conversion had been skipped outright, and instead of using some other energy made from seras, she was now in control of the soul’s energy itself. Raw seras: that had been what Master Eltin wanted Siersus and her to learn at the Great Mountain Temple, to prove they both had the necessary knowledge to move onto greater things.
That was to have been their final test, the culmination of so many years of careful study. There would have been a grand ceremony, as she imagined it, a great assembly for their prestigious consecration as masters in their own right. It would have been the defining highlight of that year, a tremendous event come just before the winter recess. Yet how far had the situation eroded. Here she sat, moist, grimy, in her nightly garments, alone in the dimness of her quarters. Out of breath, starved of energy and sleep, Losha felt distant from the sense of triumph she’d envisioned she would attain back when Master Eltin had administered the test.
She was, if anything, somewhat disappointed. A part of her really wanted to have finished the test within the original 30-day time limit, but Losha knew that wasn’t of any importance. She’d gained the ability to cast a simple, albeit stable series using seras alone, not heat, or kinetic force, or electricity; that was what truly mattered. It wasn’t about becoming a master or being recognized for her achievement. It was about going forward.
Losha had to gain this proficiency with raw seras as a matter of course for her goals. Notably, she needed to ever improve her abilities as a serialist to lead others. The better she became, the more she could counter Nabel Viska’s faulty views regarding serialization. More urgently however, there was an immediate war to fight, although the two aims went hand-in-hand. To prove that serialization could bring peace rather than ruin, Losha would quell the fires of malice that burned her very lands, all by the aid of her unique powers.
Through the entire night, she had driven herself to her limits. Though she had read somewhere once that depleting the soul of its seras could lead to extreme fatigue of both one’s spirit and body, she had never experienced anything like this. She was drained of all strength, her heart pumped rapidly, and her body seared with a fierce fever. This was quite possibly the brink of collapse for her. The orb kept fading in and out as its power source grew thin by the moment. At last, she had no more usable seras; the series could not continue. The light died, and suddenly blackness covered all things.
Yet there was the moon tonight, full and vibrant. From her window, just across the bed, these nocturnal rays streamed into her room. With much effort, Losha tilted her head back and saw the celestial object fixed far away. Though her eyes were heavy and nearly closed, she continued to examine the sky for some time. Then she smiled. It was a rare, earnest smile, on that had been scarce since Palostrol. A thought of utter confidence flashed across her mind. Perhaps it were simply one of the vast effects of a tired brain, but at that moment, Losha felt completely reassured that everything would fall into place. Her only basis for such an assessment was her intuition. The war with Henron would draw to a close soon. The world would receive the blessings of serialization. Peace would eventually settle the Central Plains.
Though Losha was by no means a prophet, her instant of hope was actually curiously precise. However, there would be many events - and in some cases years - in between these points. Some were even centuries separated... Yet she had no way of knowing anything at that time aside from the gripping sense of sleep that overwhelmed her. Unable to withstand the surging tides of unconsciousness, she finally succumbed. Losha fell over to her side, her limbs splayed limply across the floor. Her training was now complete, and her preparations nearly done. Soon she could fight, after a while a rest, of course.
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