Serial
41: Final future
January
12th, 33 S.D. 09:39 Talimer Forest, Sventa
“My future?” Losha breathed.
“Sa,” Suvla said, lifting a quaking hand toward Losha. She grabbed it and held it firmly in her own. Suvla closed her eyes for a moment as she exhaled. After this, she opened them once more, yet now it seemed as if a glow emanated from their cores. At that time, Losha felt a surge in Suvla’s seras frequency, though it had no obvious explanation. She wasn’t serializing, yet somehow her soul had become very active. Losha merely looked down at Suvla in wonder as the prophecy neared its revelation.
“Mark these words upon your heart,” Suvla said, taking in a sudden gasp. “Here lies what shall come, the order of actions yet committed. In this, I see the balance of the Continent, the choices of fate, both for you and for all. It seems our world and you are inextricably linked... Please, heed my sight,” she begged.
“I am listening,” Losha said, squeezing Suvla’s hand. The clairvoyant woman swallowed once before delivering her great message. All the while she spoke, she never once blinked, nor did her gaze falter, as if beyond the murky fog of the forest the answers resided above ever so clearly.
“With the likes of pens and paper, swords and shields shall fall, and our conflict will be nevermore. Yet do not count these years of peace.” Out of nowhere, Suvla’s mouth began to twitch uncontrollably as she switched to another language, one that was entirely unknown to Losha. She’d never quite heard anything like it, however, Suvla didn’t appear to have any command over her speech. Whatever guided her looked as if it also dictated how she told the vision. At any rate, Losha clung to every utterance, locking their sounds to memory; perhaps she’d learn their meaning one day. A few brief statements later and Suvla switched to Gandian.
“... and you shall give birth to a burning son, heralding the end of Aste. Generations are passed and lost amongst the waste in the dawn of the next half-world. Legacies that sleep must then rise. A fresh light blooms from the west as she restores what we have all missed.”
None of it made any sense to Losha, but nevertheless, she paid careful attention. Despite the cryptic words, Losha truly felt that Suvla was seeing something, and whatever it was had deep implications. She continued, returning to her native Asten.
“From the origin of the earth, the living tower takes its cruel form again. It reaches for Nabel’s machination, the device responsible for the new world. But its hand is stayed by ‘her’. Darkness resides as the land is calmed. Do not count these years of peace. Nabel returns to reform the world’s finality. Across war, across the threshold of sand and battle, there you and all shall meet him upon the throne of the abyss. A series is cast, a series to make one into none, a series to end all beginnings. And then there is nothing, just wind and grass.” Suvla paused for a bit; a strange stillness pervaded.
“I am afraid I do not understand, but rest assured, I heard everything.”
“I... do not know what it all means either...” Suvla moaned. “I have never seen that far ahead. Everything is opaque, distant, surreal almost. But it is not over yet. There is more, yes, something immediate...”
She sucked in air again as her words fluttered out rapidly. It was that mysterious tongue she’d spoken in earlier. Though the message behind these sentences was secret, the impression it left seemed to affect Losha. She could not say for certain, but it were as if her heart suddenly felt a sharp, saddening pang. For whatever reason, grief raced up into her chest as her lips parted; her eyes fell downward. It was a most curious feeling to say the least. Like a cycle, Suvla returned to Gandian.
“A time will come for you to kill; a time will come for you to partake in the very acts you despise. Between two shadows you stand, and through them your blade is forced. And then you will know when wolves cry.” Her voice carried on the final parts in Asten. “But through you we will be raised as our people, as our nation. Serialization shapes the course of history as it always has and will. Though the struggle has yet to come to a close, though King watches and waits, our souls will grow to be such beautiful things. These are not the years of peace, but they are a prelude.” Suvla closed her eyes and panted, as if exhausted.
“That is all I have to share,” she said. A single tear streaked over her face in a swift arc. Her words choked and cracked. “I... I have seen lifetimes of despair before me. Losha, the world is going to suffer if Nabel Viska ever puts his ideas into action. I fear already too much has been lost to that man.”
Briefly, Losha felt herself taken aback. What had Suvla really seen? What could have brought the woman who’d tried to kill her to such sorrow?
“You need not tell me,” Losha frowned.
“But I do,” Suvla insisted. “You have to be ready to kill. Do you understand me? If you lack the will, Nabel succeeds. If you do not have it in you to end a life, you can bring no end to Nabel.”
Losha sighed for a moment of two. “I do not wish to use serialization in such a manner. It does not matter if it were Nabel or any other soul; I oppose it.” Her mind turned to the night in Palostrol that had set off everything. Though she had claimed a desire to kill King, that was but an instant of anguish. She doubted she could strike him dead. Even if her prowess as a serialist matched his, she could not abandon her values. Serialization had no place in war or in death.
“I shall not violate my beliefs. I will merely have to find some other way to stop him.”
Suvla shook her head as she let go of Losha’s hand and opened her eyes. “It will not be enough...”
“You opinion, or the future?” Losha asked.
“That remains to be seen...”
“Then we will see. Until then, I will not turn my back on the path I already walk.” Losha stood up slowly, looking down at Suvla. “I am going to create a world where all are free: free to learn the art of serialization in peace and for peace, free from the strife of fighting, free to choose a better life. The Central Plains of today will be nothing more than a memory. I have had enough of people thinking the way we live is somehow unchangeable. Serialization need not be abused, and we Astens need not forever shed our blood. It shall not be an easy journey, but it is one I am willing to make.”
Suvla chuckled to herself. “You sound just like your father, talking about making worlds. But I rather like yours, as opposed to his,” she said indistinctly.
“What was that?”
Suvla turned her head and seemingly glanced up at Losha. “You know, I never really was going to kill you. I could not. Not because of sentiment, not because of morality, rather, I simply could not do it. Every vision I had of this day, every version of our battle, out of all the possible futures, I always saw myself losing to you. I guess that is fate. You were just the better fighter...”
“Then why did we fight? Like the rest of this conflict, I can only deem it as being pointless.”
“I wanted to... I wanted to make sure you could finish an opponent, and if you failed, I wanted you to know this vision. It seems you remain obstinate, however. Quite the adamant heroine,” she cracked a smile, but thereafter, her face grew tired. “But, I will forewarn you. Regret will follow you if you truly are unable to claim another’s life. It is not a question of if you will ever have to make this decision, but when. You need to be ready. Which would you choose: your principles or thousands of lives? Could you sacrifice one if it meant saving many? What is more valuable: protecting people or protecting the words you live by?”
It was much the same question Losha had posed to her brother last month. She never imagined it would turn around to face her in such a way. Nevertheless, Losha remained rooted in her reasoning.
“If it ever comes to that, sa, I suppose I might have to stain my hands.” She brought up her hand in front of her, looking deeply into her palm. “However, I shall not allow such a circumstance the faintest chance to ever occur.” She then folded her fingers in on themselves.
“With serialization, we have a power greater than anything before it, power to overcome our bloody history, our violence, our selfish ways. We have the strength to decide our own future. You said a time will come for me to kill, but in that moment, the choice will be mine. I believe I have the ability to realize peace without murder.”
“Well said, Wolf of Sventa. I think... I think I am satisfied with your answer.” Suvla swiveled her head upright again, peering longingly up into the forest. “I think I can go now.”
“Go now?” Losha asked. “Go where? You probably will not be able to move for a while, and you certainly will not di-” Her sentence ground to a halt as Suvla worked the zipper on the front of her black suit.
“I had them make this as well,” Suvla said. As the zipper slid across her body, running over her throat and splitting between her breasts, she revealed her bare body in addition to a peculiar device. “A new type of explosive, chemically stable in extreme heat, cold, and even electricity.” By all accounts, it looked like nothing more than a gray slab with a few metal rods running through it. However, it was something far beyond a mere, thin block.
“Once it becomes saturated with a catalyst, it will explode, but only when the correct agent is applied. The resulting blast should be at least 15 times as strong as the arrows I used.”
“What do you think you are doing?! Are you still trying to defeat me?”
“No,” Suvla said. “I told you I knew I could not do so. I am leaving Losha.”
“Wait!” Losha called out as she quickly stooped down, reaching for the bomb, but with surprising speed and might, Suvla grabbed Losha’s arm. “Are you mad? You are about to blow yourself up!”
“That is the plan.”
“Seriously? What for?”
“My time here is finished. I have played my role in the scheme of things. I may not have passed away in the midst of combat, but today is the end of the Olta Fox.”
“Why...” Losha whispered. “Is it because you lost? Because you did not fulfill your mission?”
“My mission, I suppose, was never about Sventa or Henron; it was about you. I have no place in the future. Were I to live after today, I would only serve as an impediment to what must come, what you are to do. I have told you all I have to tell. I am done.”
“No, I cannot allow you to-”
“This device runs on a timer you know, and I predicted just the right delay,” Suvla said, throwing away Losha’s hand. “You have about four seconds to leave now. Do what you must Losha. And be sure to run.”
There was no time to do anything to save her. Even if Losha could have serialized a solution, what would it be, how quickly could she perform it? With a speed-step, she launched herself backwards some 25 meters in a single, high bound. As she soared through the air, a massive fireball erupted in a blinding flash. Instantly, her ears rung. Her face was covered in an ardent wave of heat as the energy quickly rippled away from the detonation. Shielding herself with her forearms, she turned her head away from the chaotic light as bits of debris hit her. When she landed, she lost her footing and stumbled onto her rear. However, as soon as she could, she lowered her limbs and stared ahead at the incendiary scene.
The fire rushed upwards, spewing into a blazing pillar. At its height, it billowed outwards into a sort of burning cloud. Strangely however, as Losha gazed into the flames, she thought she saw something. It was Suvla, rising up through the column, upright as if she were halfway between standing and reclining. Ascending, as though she were being drawn, she spread her arms out at an angle; her palms were open. Her head rolled back at an arc, pointed towards the misty sky. Losha squinted and blinked, swiftly pulling herself from the ground. Yet, as she came to her feet, it appeared that Suvla turned her head slightly in her direction. Her mouth moved, but the words were muted. Suvla returned her eyes to the heavens and continued to climb. As she left, her image began to waver, vanishing among the mirage brought on by the inferno below.
Losha could not move for a while; she could but hold her place, transfixed by what had just happened. Had she still been under the effects of that woman’s hallucinogens? Or had she truly just seen a ghost? As things settled, as embers spread and marked the fringe of the blast’s territory, only a blackened landscape remained. Reduced to ash, the earth was but a charred husk of its former shape. Losha could scarcely distinguish any of the area’s previous landmarks. Just as well, not a speck of Suvla was visible; her seras frequency had abruptly vanished. Even as the explosion dissipated, nearby trees collapsed inwards, groaning and snapping from their damage. Falling here and there, they threw up dark dust upon impact. Thankfully, it didn’t appear as if the entire forest would catch fire.
“D****t...” Losha swore to herself as she hung her head. What had Suvla meant that she had no place in the future? Had she killed herself believing that her very life impeded a greater course of actions? Even though the Henron officer was no more, Losha still found herself at odds with her. She didn’t have to die... Suvla’s convictions, however, echoed within Losha as she raised her head up.
“One must live...” she said, looking into the plume of smoke trailing above her. By now the fog was beginning to clear; above the trees, bits of blue broke through. The forest seemingly lost its warmth from before. Her breath reappeared, articulating itself into fleeting, white wisp. Their objective, as she figured it, was nearly complete. With the enemy beaten, she only had to make sure the Sholat River could not be crossed for the rest of winter. They’d done their duty, however, Losha but felt unease and emptiness after all of this.
Frowning to herself, she contemplated the future Suvla had described. She’d said that the war between Henron and Sventa would cease. The dispute couldn’t last forever at any rate, but the bit about paper and pens confused her. At least there would be an end. Yet Suvla had also said the times after the war would not be of peace. Did that mean different wars were on the horizon, or perhaps simply the persistence of battle? In a grander view of things, the Central Plains would remain a dangerous land, even if Sventa and Henron stopped their conflict. Real peace would not happen; there were still 12 other major clans with their own intertwining rivalries. In reality, her efforts here were but small compared to everything else that happened daily outside of her clan. Succeeding this once wouldn’t alter centuries of tribalism, however, it would be one part of the solution, a prelude as Suvla had put it.
If only she could use serialization somehow to tear down the barriers that separated the Central Plains... That alone would go a long ways to proving Nabel’s theory incorrect, that the art he had created could be used wisely without harming people. He had threatened to rid the world of it if Losha failed to demonstrate otherwise. However, Suvla’s vision made it sound as if eventually she’d have to fight Nabel. Would she be unable to prevent any serious abuse of serialization? What exactly did he plan to do? Suvla had been gravely concerned about what King was capable of; she’d even gotten emotional at one point. Losha could only wonder what sort of threat that man would become.
She found herself tending to far more questions than answers; perhaps not having heard her fortune would have been the better option. Things didn’t particularly seem any clearer now that she had learned of Suvla’s foresight. If this rather mystical experience indeed had any value, it was all probably too soon to realize it. In later days she might have a use for the visions, but currently they remained a mystery in and of themselves. She exhaled deeply as her eyes continued to wander about the forest. Suddenly, behind her, she heard the sharp neighing of a horse. Losha spun around to see her steed walking towards her. His white form emerged from the receding fog as if materializing from the very air. He clipped along, dipping his head ever so slightly as he strained one leg.
“Izel!” Losha said as she smiled. His ears perked up and flickered as she called his name “There you are. I was afraid you would have gotten lost. However did you get down here?”
Izel could hardly account for himself, so whatever adventures he’d taken would remain untold. They stepped towards each other, but Izel began to somewhat forcefully nuzzle her with his face.
“Well now,” Losha laughed. “Are you that grateful to see me?” she asked as she stroked the back of his head. As if he meant to reply, he gave a low, trilling grunt as his tail swung. It could have simply been her own fanciful imagination, but she couldn’t help believing that her horse had grown rather attached to her, even given the short amount of time they’d actually spent together.
“There, there, I am alright,” she said. That really wasn’t the case, medically speaking, but for some reason she was feeling better already despite her extensive injuries. “Now you, my friend... It looks like the fall was not kind on you.” Losha squatted to examine Izel’s front right leg. Halfway between the hoof and its knee, a gash had opened.
“Shrieks, that will get infected,” she murmured to herself. She really didn’t carry any supplies on her person; she hadn’t even brought her sword with her. Losha had simply assumed she could just use serialization for all of her needs. Biting her lip, she tried to conceive of some way to aid the animal. Carefully, she cast a miniature kinetic force-field tightly around Izel’s leg. It pushed in on him, wrapping around like a bandage while also giving the creature some support and stability. It would also serve to keep most contaminants away, at least until it could receive proper attention.
“Great, looks like you still have your saddle as well.” She mounted Izel slowly so as to make sure she did not put undue stress on his wound. In reality, Losha weighed an insignificant amount, so her horse showed no signs of pain as she adjusted herself. With a slight tug of the reins, they began to trot off in the direction of WOLFWIND and the others. By now the fog had drifted away, removing its haze from the land. Sunlight overhead filtered through the parting clouds in slanted rays. The eerie atmosphere that had once so strongly dominated this place began to fade away, like a dream, or perhaps like an apparition. Gradually, greater and greater parts of the path ahead become distinct and recognizable. As they left that neck of the woods behind them, the snow returned. Losha took a single, wistful look back before turning forward.
“Sa, Izel,” she said. “Do you know what the future holds for us?” It was an idle question, but as if conversing with her, Izel puttered briefly. “I did not think so,” Losha continued.
“I am not sure myself, but I know we will find out in time. We will get there, one step after the next.” And thus they rode deep into the depths of the Talimer Forest.
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