Serial
27: North to freedom
December
20th, 32 S.D. 01:28 Horan
To the far northern reaches of the Continent, the hour of the night was dark and still. Cast in blackness, four figures dimly crossed a mountain trail as they moved through these arctic realms. Layered in heavy dressings, they plodded along, taking deep, slow steps over the encumbering snow. Hooded and wrapped, their heads but exposed tiny slits wide enough for their eyes and noses. Single-file, the group marched forward, steadily climbing towards the peak. To their left, a great facade of stone and rock towered above them, blocking the heavens.
Their leader held a lantern in one hand while the other extended ahead and felt the wall beside them. Occasionally, he glanced back at the rest, as if to ask of their condition. Aside from their own footfalls, however, everything remained bound by silence. He worried about a number of things that could have happened to the three in his care; chief among such concerns was how well they’d handle the altitude. Given their former home they should have been used to it, but... The guide mentally shook off such apprehensions. That was just his paranoia going off again, the same paranoia that had delayed their trip roughly six weeks. At any rate, the important thing was to move, and up until then everything had been smooth.
It took them another hour and a half before they were nearly at the top of this particular range. The evenings here now but lasted some measly three hours; “day” would soon break. Until then, they were able to enjoy a most wondrous display. As they came nearer to the peak, and as the wall beside them gradually shrunk, bits of the sky overhead returned to view. The fine, bold points of so many stars dotted the furthest domains of space, but something else came to light by degrees. Curiously, strange pulses waved in and out like fading streams of color. Since they still only observed the very fringes of the skyline, the three travelers could only see the phenomenon as a great mystery. Their guide, however, had witnessed it plenty of times beforehand.
At last, they came to the height of their path, the top of the ridge. Now the atmosphere was entirely open to their sight. High into the air, dancing and folding, vivid rainbow-like bodies swirled and collapsed in and around themselves. A sea of radiance seemingly flowed from the world above. This animated brilliance continued, constantly changing, eternally shifting, like a show of nature. They paused for a notable length, simply gazing at this work as it ever moved. Without a word, their breaths escaped into white vapor.
“What... is that?” Siersus asked, stepping forward as he touched his glasses.
“Kirei... so bright...” Aline whispered.
“That,” Rikta said as he pulled off his hood. “We call it the aurora.”
“Aurora?” Siersus asked, immediately recalling the common Gandian surname. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Do you know what causes it?”
Rikta looked at him but shook his head. “No, not completely. We have an idea, at least my sister does. We are still trying to confirm it.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Sometimes we cannot see it at all. As far as we can tell, it has no real pattern, but tonight we are all very lucky. We have an exciting palette too; that does not always happen either.”
“Sa, are you not cold, Rikta?” Istan quipped.
“Hmm, about that... I know I have been a bit hesitant these past few weeks, but this close to Horan, it should be safe to serialize.” Without casting any visible light, Rikta spun his hand in several circles as he performed a series. Suddenly it felt as if they were surrounded by a veil of warmth.
“Hey...” Istan began, realizing the change. They soon followed suit and flipped their hoods over. Cradled by a pleasurable shell of heat, their bodies withstood the elements. “I always forget you are such a talented serialist...” Istan admitted.
“To be fair, I have not exactly shown you much if anything since we met. If you would Istan, provide us with some light? On a really good night, the aurora would take care of that, but that is not the case presently.”
“20 hours of daylight and still more light to come. How do you sleep in Horan? Sa, here goes.” Istan went through the three processes of making a series, though it took him some effort to effectively generate his own radiant orb. Still, for a relative beginner who’d been forced to quit for the past month and a half, he serialized quite well. Rikta shut the lamp off and affixed it to his belt beside his hip.
“Splendid work,” he smiled. “We are very close to ‘home’ now. Just a little more to go.”
“Where precisely is Horan?” Siersus questioned as he scanned the horizon, left to right. The light of the aurora helped to outline the scene before them, but nothing really stuck out to him.
“A short hop to be sure. You see that large mountaintop in front of us, the close one?” Rikta asked. The trio ambled closer, staring into the distance.
“Yes, I think I see the one you mean,” Siersus responded.
“Well, that is Horan, my friends.”
“Se...? That must be, like 15 kilometers away...” Istan said.
“I’m afraid I have to disagree with your use of the word ‘close’, Rikta,” Siersus said as he looked down at all of the other various ridges between them and their destination. It’d be several days to traverse on foot, at the least.
“Too far,” Aline simply said.
Rikta said nothing; he merely laughed aloud. “Come now, where is your faith in me?”
“I assume you intend to get us there by serialization, correct?” Siersus said.
“Sa, in a way...” Rikta received a very curious look from Siersus as the latter peered behind his glasses. “Follow me and you shall see.” Rikta motioned for them to walk after him.
The part of the peak they stood on was more of less even, however, the northern-most edge sharply dropped into a deep abyss. Rikta continued in this direction, heedless of the fall. For a moment, the trio behind him froze, unsure of what Rikta meant with this all. It seemed as if he were going to plummet over the end. Yet, as he came closer to the limit, a loud metal clanging sounded, as if a large lock had broken. The ground trembled every so slightly, rhythmically vibrating over the course of 10 seconds. As suddenly as it had started, it stopped outright. In that same instant, Rikta was about to step forth over the precipice. What looked to be madness soon turned into disbelief. Rikta actually landed on a platform of a sort, one that emerged below from the cliff’s very face. Standing on the outer tip of this extruding surface, Rikta turned around and waved at them.
“What are you doing? Do you want to go to Horan or not?”
Siersus, Istan, and Aline each glanced at one another. Siersus nodded as he adjusted his glasses again and went towards Rikta. His two companions came tailing behind. They boarded the platform as it proceeded to slide right out of the mountain. Though at first they tepidly tip-toed onto it, upon seeing everything was firm beneath their feet, they ventured towards Rikta. As the platform grew, it took the shape of a large disc. After a few moments more, it fully extracted itself from the rocky terrain. Rikta moved back knowingly as a whirring noise all at once played. Railings spontaneously rose up from the platform’s perimeter, shooting up from little crevices. Rikta folded his arms as he looked up into the aurora.
“We will be there shortly, as I said.”
The platform lurched forward, propelling them through their course.
“Impressive,” Siersus said. “I can vaguely sense seras. Is this a work of serialization?”
“Not entirely. Part of its operation is based on serialization, but there is more to it than that. A proper explanation must wait until we arrive at Horan, however. Needless to say, it is thanks to my sister really, and her memory.”
Siersus frowned, slightly perplexed by the cryptic reply. They flew straight towards the point Rikta had earlier indicated. Beneath them, the treacherous tracks of various mountains were easily passed. Istan and Aline walked over to the starboard side and leaned over the railing. They watched as the grounds below clipped along.
“How we soar!” Aline smiled.
“Ba...” Istan moaned. “I would rather keep my feet on the ground,” he said, tightly gripping the rail yet tossing his head over the side nonetheless. He squinted for a moment as he tried to make out something. “Sa, Rikta, what is that?” Istan asked.
“What’s what?” Siersus inquired, coming over to see as well.
“Well, all of that, really.” Istan aimed his index finger downwards at several odd formations that appeared in the landscape. At first, it looked like shapes of some regularity had been affixed to the sides of the mountains. A closer examination revealed that these objects were actually buildings, or rather parts of buildings. Strangely, they were not simply attached to the rocks or placed in enclaves, but instead they were jutting directly from the land itself, as if they’d been encased in earth. It were as if the mountains had absorbed them, fusing with them. Even weirder, the structures were thrown into many extreme angles, seemingly at random. Siersus doubted they were habitable at all.
“Those are the remnants of a world older than ours, the vestiges of what once was,” Rikta said.
“Who built them?” Siersus asked.
“We know not. Yet we have strong suspicions about who destroyed them. At least she does.”
“They look like they are trapped or something. How did that happen?” Istan questioned.
“We are unsure about what exactly took place. Something happened long ago. Something... terrible.” Rikta clapped his hands once, drawing their attention. “Sa! If you keep looking down there, you will miss what is going on above.” He swept his hand to the sky. Past the aurora, white streaks raced against the starry backdrop, arcing along the air before winking out altogether. Dozens appeared, falling across the night, dying short lives. “A meteor shower,” Rikta explained.
They spent but 10 minutes riding the platform before they truly neared Horan. Just then, from the top of the mountain they were going to, a golden pillar of light erupted. Its beam traveled high, up some 1600 meters before it began to fade. It drew them like a signal, beckoning their arrival. Snow gently started to fall, though the aurora remained faintly visible behind the gathering clouds. Other beams of light, smaller ones, burst from the sides of Horan as they continued to approach, as if on cue. Suddenly, with the sound of far off machinery, a great part of the mountain split open, revealing a circular entrance. Its insides glowed with a welcoming ambiance. Closer and closer they came until at last the peak of the mountain overshadowed them. A second later, the platform slipped into the huge gap.
“This is Horan,” Rikta said. “Our sanctuary, long beyond the reach of Nabel.”
Inside, they were transported into an expansive chamber, a docking area of a sort. Everything here was crafted of a polished, light-gray material of indeterminate origin. The ceiling contained rows and rows of strips of light; they weren’t electric or gas either. Siersus guessed seras was behind it all. He could feel various amounts of seras moving to and fro around him. As such, he could only assume seras had accomplished many of the feats they’d encountered, yet he saw nary a series in action. He couldn’t fathom how everything was working.
The platform sailed over to an elevated station. Their speed decreased until they gingerly tapped the very edge of the station's wide end. A circular portion was cut away so their platform could cleanly fit. The young trio noted that the opening in the mountainside started to close up; their eyes were drawn behind them as yet another metallic clang rang out. What sounded like great churning gears echoed prominently for a time. The railings retracted as Rikta began walking onto the station. Turning around, they followed after him, heading down a ramp that led to a door. Rikta slightly waited for them, but he gestured for them to hurry. This door had no discernible way to open it for neither handle nor hinge were present. Yet, to their surprise, it opened automatically as Rikta made his approach, seemingly recessing into its own frame. Beyond this portal, they wandered into a stretching hallway, one that went on for many meters. Along the walls, strong rays of light illuminated the way, pouring up from slanted shafts.
“You will like it here in Horan. You can stay with us for as long as you please.”
“Why must we stay anyway?” Istan asked.
“Well, sa, okay, you really cannot leave right away. Until things settle down, I cannot permit you to go. Nabel Viska is liable to find you sooner or later if you do not lie low. But you are free to live here indefinitely, even after it is safe to move on.”
“I still do not understand what happened that night in Palostrol,” Istan sighed.
“I understand not as well.” Aline added. Siersus glanced back at them with a slight expression of discomfort; he quickly turned to Rikta.
“I will go over the matter again, but just know that a very dangerous man almost got a hold of you,” Rikta said. “But, here you will find everything you need. We have rooms for each of you, plenty of food and drink, books, instruments, art supplies. We are short on toys or other such diversions - we are hundred year-old adults after all - but I can fashion anything that comes to mind. Naturally, we can also help you carry on in your study of the art of serialization. Be warned, however, that you would actually be our first students,” Rikta laughed.
“By ‘we’,” Siersus said. “You’re referring to you and your sister, correct?”
“Sa, Katra and I are Horan’s only residents, or were the only ones now that you are here. We built this place shortly after Nabel left the Central Plains. We have largely lived here in isolation for over a century, though we obviously keep tabs on the world at large and over his activities.”
“You guys are over 100?” Istan said, shaking his head. “Shrieks. You barely look 30 to me.”
“You see,” Rikta explained. “Serialization has numerous effects on the body. Aging gracefully, or not at all, is entirely possible.” Though Rikta had detailed much to Siersus, he’d only told Aline and Istan so much. Conversely, there was only so much they could understand given their status as newcomers to serialization. All the things that had happened in the last hour were no doubt mysterious and baffling occurrences to them, from the ride to their arrival inside Horan. Siersus didn’t appear to be too bothered by the technologies involved, perhaps reasoning that he’d come to comprehend them later.
“Siersus, you were one of Eltin’s top students. You will find plenty of things to preoccupy your mind, or your soul, if you prefer. I can even offer you some assistance in helping you pass the final test that was left to you. Fancy still becoming a master?”
The very thought Rikta brought up had escaped Siersus over all the weeks since Palostrol. In all of that time, he had never considered in depth how he would pick up where he had left off.
“Becoming a purist? Mastering ‘raw’ seras?”
“Sa,” Rikta nodded.
Siersus pulled his glasses back as he spoke. “Yes, well, it is probably the most appropriate thing to do.”
“Excellent,” Rikta said.
They soon approached the final stretch of this corridor. Another door stood there, but as they neared, it slid into the wall and granted them passage. Here the group encountered a large, rounded room. A mixed scheme of pearl, silver, and gold prevailed. The ceiling, high above their heads, held a great fixture of some sort, like a glazed lens that emitted an embracing brilliance. Below on the floor, an assortment of furniture sat along with several potted plants. Ahead of them, two curving ramps ran against the far wall, each meeting the other at the sides of a balcony that stood over this living space. Behind the balcony, yet more rooms could be seen. By all accounts, nothing looked as if it were inside the likes of a mountain.
“So, this is your home, correct?” Siersus asked. “You really built it yourself?”
“It was not hard, given our expertise as serialists,” Rikta replied.
“There are so many techniques that I’ve never seen before. There is seras everywhere, and you seem to have harnessed it for mechanical purposes. This is a level no one’s ever done before.” Siersus reminded himself of the gate he and Losha had passed on their way to the Great Mountain Temple, but that was minor compared to what he observed now. “The two of you must have advanced serialization by decades to achieve this all.”
Suddenly, a voice emanated from the balcony. “I would not say we have technically advanced the art,” said a woman. She appeared before them then, wearing a long, draping dress that flowed past her knees, underneath which she wore thin leggings. It looked to be an older variation of Asten winter wear. The woman wore her dark hair in two long, thick braids that fell in front of each shoulder. She strolled to the balcony’s edge as she waved at them.
“It is fair to say Nabel himself has long since created much more than what you see here, though he does not take advantage of it as we do, whatever his reasons may be. We were not the first, but we are some of the few who know how far serialization is capable of going.” She clasped her hands as she walked down the curling ramp. “Sa, Rikta! I was beginning to worry about you. It has been three months since you left.”
“Everyone, this is my sister, Katra Besnol,” Rikta introduced. “Sister, this one is Siersus Votal. Here we have Istan Prevati. This little lady is Aline Hatchifa.” They all greeted her in their own manner.
“How wonderful it is to see you all so well. I bid you welcome to our home. Consider it yours. I imagine you must have suffered many ordeals. Knowing Nabel, he... There can only be much difficulty in things whenever he is a factor. Rikta, why did you take so long though? I am still unaware of what transpired. You came in one piece; certainly the danger was not that great.”
“Sa, not once we left Palostrol, but...”
“Indeed,” Katra sighed. “That stubborn hesitation of yours. Ha,” she laughed affably. “At least you came before the year’s end. But honestly were it my job, I would have been back in half the time.”
“What? You are terrible at hiding your seras frequency...”
“Hmm... Enough of our banter. I am sure our new friends are tired and eager to relax.”
“Sa, I want a good bed for a change...” Istan said, remembering the rough weeks spent in the cabin.
“My, my,” Katra smiled. “Whatever has my brother put you through? Come, come; I shall show you your arrangements.”
Later that morning, while the others were asleep, Rikta and Katra spoke in private.
“Shrieks,” Katra said, putting down a cup of tea on the table. Both of them sat across from the other. “Nabel, you go too far,” she said as she exhaled deeply. “He really did all of that?” she asked her brother. He shook his head affirmatively. Rikta had just recounted the circumstances of his long journey. Katra sighed heavily as she closed her eyes.
“So, he did that to one of his own former students. And you could not convince Sambur to go into hiding?”
Rikta pushed his emptied cup to the side. “No. He was adamant about opposing Nabel,” he said, leaning back, folding his arms and crossing his legs. “And for that, he paid a price.”
“Yet in that sense, he was nobler than you or I have been. Here we are, living in isolation, ever in fear of one we had once called our friend. He was your brother and my lover. How divorced we all are from each other now...”
Rikta frowned. “He was the one who changed,” he pointed out.
“Sa, but perhaps this change was long ago, before we ever met him...”
“More of your memories?” Rikta asked.
“As I said, perhaps.” Katra leaned forward on the table, propping her elbows up and weaving her fingers together in contemplation. “What do his actions portend though? What does he mean to do? Striking Sambur down was expected, but why take the children? Why give this Losha the task of spreading serialization? A sort of test for the world, yes, but why her? Siersus had just as much potential; Nabel could have easily snatched Siersus before you even had the chance to take him yourself.”
“He said as much himself; the students of Palostrol were going to form a core group of serialists dedicated to preventing the abuse of serialization, in other words a force meant to stop Losha by ending the art should it ever get out of hand. I cannot say why he chose Losha specifically, but he did call her his ‘inheritor’. It was their first encounter, but he seemed to know her quite well. Only one of his followers ever watched Palostrol, and that was but for the briefest of instants to determine Sambur’s location, so I am at a loss to explain how Nabel knew Losha.”
“Hmm...” Katra demurred, her eyes cast down into the murky waters of her tea. “These facts do not add up though. Nabel does not need an army; you and I know he is plenty strong already. He does not even really need those nine followers of his, let alone 200 more. What concerns me most is his plan to ‘wipe’ serialization away should the girl fail. Acting like he has now... something is in his plans, something we are not currently seeing...”
“Any clues?” Rikta asked.
“No,” she said, pushing herself up and away from the table, cup in hand. “Maybe I just need to try a little harder to remember.”
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Subscribe
Flag Writing