Serial
68: A virtue all its own
February 21st, 33 S.D. 11:44 Sevia, Sventa
Denze moved quickly down the hall of the Holvate residence, walking with an almost furious pace. His mind ran preoccupied with detached thoughts and threads. Distracted as such, he paid no attention to any surrounding seras frequencies. As it happened, he inadvertently turned into a room, bumping straight into a member of the household.
“Ugh!” Denze grunted. “Sa, pardon me, Busama,” Denze apologized after colliding against the man’s broad back. Busama seemed unfazed even as Denze rubbed a sore nose.
“Ah, hello there Denze. Looking for something?” he asked, turning around.
“As a matter of fact, I am, a ‘someone’ to be exact. Where is Ver Mavont? I need to speak with him, if I may.”
Busama looked up to the ceiling, recalling a fact that caused him to frown slightly. “I am sorry to say, but this is not one of his better days. It is his ailments, you see. Sometimes they just prove too much for him.”
“What about Ver Lesia? Is she around?”
“Around Sevia, sa. Clan business in the city,” Busama responded. Suddenly a voice approached them from behind.
“Is there any reason in particular you wish to speak with my mother, Denze?” Harle stood there in full uniform.
“Harle!” exclaimed Busama. “Back already? No one sent word of this via air. What a surprise!”
“Sa. I just arrived. The war is slow, so my greater duties to the Tabran take precedence. It was just the same for grandfather and grandmother, except the Tabran had a saner schedule then, even in times of crisis. It has gone from twice yearly to bi-weekly it seems.”
“I think Sventa is starting to warm up to the idea of a more centralized and frequent model of governance,” Busama said, folding his arms and smiling. “You will have to become a permanent politician soon enough.”
“Gah, please, no,” Harle said, shaking his head. “Anyway, what has you searching for father and mother, Denze?”
“Your timing is perfect. I need to join the upcoming battles.”
Both older men widened their eyes for a bit, sharing a glance with one another.
“You want to fight against the Henron?” Harle asked.
“Of course I do,” the young serialist answered. “You cannot tell me I would not be of any help. I may not be as experienced as your sister, but I still know how to fight. I know serialization well enough to take care of myself.”
Harle remained silent for a while before sighing aloud. He put a hand on Denze’s shoulder, looking him directly in the eye. “I know you worry about Losha. We all do. But getting involved in this mess is not going to help her.”
Denze fought to restrain his expressions, barely tempering the anger mixing inside of him. “That was not what I was hoping to hear...” he said, shrugging off Harle’s hand, straining his voice.
“Harle is right though, Denze,” said Busama. “Even if your powers are incredible, unless you manage to somehow strike at the heart of Henron’s forces, Losha’s predicament will remain unchanged, or perhaps it will even worsen.”
“I understand the frustration you hold all too well myself,” Harle continued. “However, this is no way to aid her. We lack any intel about her, save that she was captured and taken somewhere into central Henron. You would face the onslaught of their whole army. Do you think she would be happy if you were gravely injured or killed?”
Denze scowled off to the side. “What would you have me do then? Because I am tired of sitting around here. We have heard nothing for almost of month. Something like that does not just happen, not to serialists, and not to her. It screams all sorts of bad news to me. Maybe I cannot eliminate hordes of foes all at once like she did, but I can still do major damage. I can hit as hard as full squad on my own. Put me out on the front, and I can take on plenty.”
“The answer is no,” Harle said firmly. “I could little stop Losha from doing as she pleased, but she could not be prevented by anyone. You, her friend, her pupil, our guest, I shall not see do battle. You are legally our charge as tenants of the Holvate estate, and we have a duty to see that no harm befalls you. This is a fight between Sventa and Henron; we shall keep it as such.”
Denze looked away for a moment. “I do not need to hear about inter-clan politics; I just know that someone I care for is in heaps of trouble. If I were wherever she is now, I would certainly hope someone would come after me, or at least try something.”
“Denze,” Harle said calmly, evening his tone. “Did not Losha ask you to stay here? I am positive there is a reason she did not take you along from the start.”
“She said she would see this through herself. But it is far too obvious that she cannot do it alone.”
“So you do not trust her words then?” Harle asked. Denze looked up at the officer, his mouth tugging down to one side.
“I never said that... But if she is in danger I-”
“So you do doubt her after all,” Harle mused, rubbing his chin for a moment.
“No, I do not... I just-”
“Listen, Denze. When father and I first heard about Losha’s willingness to fight the war, we dismissed her. We underestimated her capabilities.”
“To be fair,” Busama interjected. “She kept it all a secret, her powers I mean.”
“Even so, we did not believe in her, and that was our mistake. This is no time to repeat such errors and lose faith in her. Henron would have surely gloated of her demise by now; it would be a devastating blow to our morale. The fact that they have not speaks volumes. She is alive, Denze, just missing in action. That is what her file reads and it is what we have to accept. In time, however, I know she will give Henron a surprise or two. As someone who has been close to her, I am sure you can understand.”
Denze frowned as he hung his head. “Sa...” he said slowly. Harle walked on by down the hall, talking as he left.
“Sometimes the most difficult tasks in training, be it warfare or serialization, is simply having patience. It is just something we all have to master sooner or later. Your teacher may not be around, but you still could learn a valuable lesson meanwhile.” Harle disappeared, leaving Denze and Busama alone.
“I... I will be outside,” the serialist said.
“Do try not to run away. It will only be a mess for everyone, Losha included.”
“I am staying here,” Denze said, heading towards the entrance. “But... I have to practice my art. I have to improve. The next time she decides to fight, she will not be leaving me behind.” Denze gripped the handle of the door tightly as he whispered to himself. “Just try and do some reckless gung-ho crap again...”
As Denze swung the door open and close, Busama could but laugh and shake his head at the lad. He couldn’t blame him for being so impetuous and hasty. Losha’s situation remained concerning for everyone of the Holvate Torom, but Harle was right. The only thing they were reasonably in a position to do was bide their time. The rest of the matter was Losha’s to handle. Until further notice, they had to have confidence in her.
Harle wandered down to a large room he shared with Teiva. The residence was as spacious as any Gandian mansion, so it wasn’t exactly easy to locate someone right away. What better place to find his wife than their greatest place of intimacy? As it turned out, his guess was spot on. Teiva sat on the right of their bed, her back towards Harle as he entered. She hunched over, looking down into her lap, unaware of Harle’s return.
“Sa, what have we here? Reading more Gandian novels?” Harle asked, announcing himself to her with a smile. Immediately her spine sprang up as she turned around.
“Harle?!” she cried, twisting around at the hip. “W-whenever did you return?”
“Just now. You did not hear my conversation earlier with Denze?”
“No, not particularly...” she admitted, setting aside her literature and going over to embrace him.
“Ah, it must have been a good story you were into,” he teased, kissing her on the cheek.
“Oh, Harle! Not more captivating than you. I could only lose myself in a tale for an hour or so. You, however, I could lose a lifetime with.” They cradled one another in their arms, swooning back and forth for a bit.
“I am so glad to see you back and safe. It has been too many months!” Teiva sighed. “And to think some go far longer waiting that I have.”
“Well, you know what it means when they send me back in the midst of a war. Torom business.”
“Do not look so glum, meche. Lesia has been allowing me to help manage clan affairs. After all, we are going to assume the official reins of the Torom from your parents. We will have to start sharing obligations soon enough.”
“True,” Harle said.
The Torom passed on to the next most able family of the Holvate. For now, it included Mavont, Lesia, Harle, and Losha. Eventually, once his parents could no longer uphold their duties, the burden shifted to one of the children. Only he or Losha would be Torom, along with their spouses and offspring. Since Losha had yet to even marry, the Torom would likely fall to Harle next.
“But it pains me to see you getting involved with all of these things. The war has really pushed Sventa’s government. Busama was joking about it, but it does look like the Tabran is set to become a full-time institution. Twice a year meetings will be outdated in place of something monthly, weekly even. We will be busier than ever.”
Teiva laughed as she tossed her head slightly. “Sa, I knew what I was getting into when I fell for you. Remember who my aunt is. I would have been the next Lady of Sofos, so either way I would have been handling clan affairs.”
“Well, the Sofos are a lot more manageable than the Sventa...”
“All except for little Virel,” Teiva said, walking over to their wardrobe. She opened one of its draws, searching for a light coat. “Ah, I should have told Busama to add more fire an hour ago. It has gotten chilly since then. Are you not cold, Harle?”
He patted the sides of his uniform. “Not in the least. These things make a man more than just dashing; they keep him nice and warm as well,” he grinned. “But what about your little cousin? Is Virel becoming a handful? I suppose she is of that age...”
“Becoming?” Teiva asked, whirling around with clothing in hand. “She has always been ‘of that age’, my meche. Marila is busy as well thanks to the conflict, so she somewhat relies on us to watch over the child. She can certainly be a handful at times, more so thanks to the weird things she says. I suppose she has grown calmer recently. I think it is that boy she pesters, Mesel. She seems utterly fascinated with Losha’s students, Mesel to a greater extent because of their age. He seems distant at times, but he entertains her nonetheless. She is teaching him Asten and hopes in return he will teach her serialization.”
“Can he do that?” Harle wondered as he folded his arms.
“Sa, I will not pretend to know the answer, but I think it is cute. At any rate, Virel seems like she simply cannot wait for Losha to return.”
“She is not alone in that regard.” Harle looked up in time to see a green flash illuminate the snow outside. The source of the light was beyond the window, but as he quickly figured out, it was probably Denze using serialization.
“Sa...” Teiva said, her voice trailing off. “Is... is there any news about her then?”
Harle rubbed his lips together, side-to-side, shaking his head. “Not a peep. But do not worry. The Wolf of Sventa is stronger than any of us can imagine. She will be fine as long as we give her time.”
Denze put his hand to the ground, pressing in into the snow. An emerald aura surrounded his fingers as his brow narrowed.
“This should work now,” he mumbled to himself as his eyes trained upon the glow. All at once, a spire of ice shot up from the earth, rushing quickly overhead. The column was thin, however, and grew weak as it continued to climb. Eventually, it collapsed in on itself, toppling off to the side. A shower of frozen particles pelted Denze as he shielded himself from the fallout. Once his series had come to an end, he thrust his hands into his pockets.
“Ksh. Better, but still not close.”
He’d heard all of the exciting details of Losha’s adventures via military reports sent directly to the Torom of Holvate. Such sensitive, high-level information was usually restricted, but Lesia frequently read Losha’s exploits aloud to all in the house, as if it were a nighttime story. Denze knew of the gigantic ice formations Losha had crafted during the war: from the makeshift fortress near Lake Lada to the towers erected in Totul that captured the catapults’ projectiles mid-flight.
How easily she seemed to perform her tasks, how fluidly and freely she serialized. She was, after all, his mentor, his master. Eltin had decided her worthy of the title, or at least he’d chosen to test her. Still, every time he looked at where they were, he felt as if she were a genius of a sort. Though he recognized she’d been a serialist four times longer than he’d been, he couldn’t help but sense an almost impassible gap between their skills. How could he want to help if he could offer so little? Denze didn’t have the answers at the moment. All he could do was sharpen up his serialization.
Eventually, Denze noticed Mesel was approaching, along with Virel. He didn’t stop, however; he kept trying to make a stable pillar. Using a kinetic series to melt the snow, then freeze that liquid into a new structure proved harder than he’d anticipated. When Mesel and Virel arrived, the ground was littered with icy fragments as well as several stumps where the pillars had broken off.
“What kind of mess are you making now?” Mesel asked, crunching various pieces underfoot. “You sure are serializing a lot...”
“I am practicing,” Denze said, not bothering to look up at the pair.
“If you aim to dirty up the yard with this... stuff, you are quite the expert.”
Denze ignored him as he punched his fist straight down. He pumped a larger amount of seras into the series this time, intensifying the green radiance enveloping his hand. Another pillar rose up, however it was bigger and faster than Denze had originally expected. It raced skywards, striking him in the face as it sped past.
“Gmmph!” Denze growled as he fell on is back. He flinched for a moment, rubbing the side of a sore cheek. When he looked at his work again though, he saw he’d finally accomplished what he’d desired. A roughly five meter tall cylinder of ice stood before him with a width of one full meter.
“Well, that is one way to get it done,” Denze smirked to himself, coming to his feet.
“You are going to use all of the good snow at this rate,” Mesel said, crossing his arms. “What are you trying so hard for anyway? I have not seen you serialize this much lately.”
“I am not going to sit around forever. When trouble and crises spring up, I am going to be ready. I cannot do that unless I become a better serialist. Standing aside while Losha takes all of the burden is not something I ever want to find myself accepting. So, the solution seems pretty simple to me.”
Mesel and Virel gazed up at Denze’s ice. “You know, you probably would have had an easier time of it if you had started small,” Mesel said, grabbing a ball of snow, tightly packing it in his hands. “You remember, sa? What we were taught in Palostrol? You cannot learn all of anything right away, so you take it piece by piece.”
Clasping the snow in both palms, Mesel cast a series upon it, briefly displaying a red flash as his seras surged. A moment later, he removed his top hand, uncovering the result. The snowball had transformed into a miniature statue, a playful depiction of a bear balancing on a ball. The creature reared upright on two legs, one of which stuck out.
“Sa, sa! It is most beautiful, Mesel!” Virel said, clapping.
“Hey! How the hell is that small?! Look at all those details!” Denze exclaimed. He snatched it away from Mesel, holding it close to his good eye.
“Honestly, it is not much. It is a simple kinetic series applied in a-”
“Shrieks, you even textured the fur...” Denze interrupted.
“That is beside the point, Denze,” Mesel said. “You have to do things on a lesser scale before you can move on, especially if you want to match Losha’s level.”
“I suppose you have a point...” Denze sighed, throwing a glance behind him at the huge pile of ice he’d summoned.
“You worried about cousin Losha?” Virel asked, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, her hands held behind her back.
“Well, of course,” Denze said. Had anyone explained the situation to the girl? “No one has heard from her in weeks. We do not know where she is or what happened to her.”
Virel frowned. “Well I know.”
Both serialists looked at her. “Care to share?” Mesel asked.
“Hmm.... She has been in some place dark, kind of dirty and smelly. She has not gone anywhere in a while. She talks a lot, but she is waiting for the spring. Then she plans to jump out!”
“Jump out? Out of where?” Denze questioned.
“Sa... first her bed, then from the building...”
“A building?” Mesel said curiously.
“Sa, sa!” Virel explained excitedly. “It is big and full of rooms. Lots of people stay there too.”
“And how do you know all of this?” Denze wondered, scratching the side of his face.
“I have good ears. I have good eyes,” Virel smiled.
“What you have,” Denze corrected, “is a good imagination.”
Virel stamped her foot. “No. What I told you is true,” she protested.
“You probably misinterpreted one of those reports from earlier,” Mesel suggested, but the young Sofos was not having any of it.
“Just my imagination, sa? Then how come I know what you two keep saying? ‘Is that where Losha is? Where could that be? If I just had more clues...’ That is what you are saying, Denze.”
“H-huh?” Denze sputtered. “I never said any of that!”
“And you,” Virel said, turning on Mesel. “You keep saying things like ‘I wish Virel would stop going on like this. Quite embarrassing really. I just want to go back to that board-game I wanted to show her.’”
Mesel averted his eyes for a while. “I... I have no clue what you mean.”
“What do you mean we keep saying things like that?” Denze asked nervously. “We have said nothing like that ever since you have been here.”
“I told you,” she said firmly, tapping her temple with one finger. “I have good senses. It is not always the mouth that speaks.”
“Okay... that was kind of creepy.” Denze admitted. It were as if the kid had plucked the very words weighing on his soul, as if she could read him somehow. The way Mesel avoided her just then was a telling sign she’d hit on something with him as well. The fact of the matter was that Mesel had never mentioned anything about a board-game to her, but she’d known about it at any rate. Could she tune into something neither Mesel or Denze were aware of?
“Sa... really creepy, so let us just say you are right, Virel,” Denze said, holding his hands up as if to appease her. “I am going inside to the guest house. Come get me for lunch.”
He walked away, not without involuntarily shivering. Though he was more than a little disturbed by Virel’s uncanny ability, if she indeed had spoken the truth about Losha...
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Subscribe
Flag Writing