Dodge: Serial 69

As spring approaches, Tibil and Albolt ponder the future. Losha, meanwhile, contemplates Sansat's mysterious serastone.

Serial 69: Marching Orders

February 28th, 33 S.D.     20:07     Belet, Henron

    “This winter was rough,” Tibil said, standing idly by himself, looking out through a window. “It was harsh, but it seems to be fading quickly. Spring will be here soon enough, and so will the final chapter of our scheme.”

    Across the room, Albolt sat in a chair. Beside the old man, a fire steadily cracked in the open hearth. “Do not say it like that,” the former minister chuckled. “It sounds as if all of our designs end there. We, however, have much more to accomplish, even past the spring. Our ‘scheme’ as you call it is a continuous plan for the future of our people.”

    “Sa, sa...” Tibil said, glancing up at the stars. It was a clear, cloudless night. “Let us consider this to be ‘Phase One’ as they say in Gandian.”

    “That is much more like it!” Albolt smiled. Both remained quiet for a time as Tibil kept his eyes on the heavens.

    “Do you think we are ready for this?” Tibil wondered.

    Albolt could only shake his head. “We have to be. This is the best opportunity we have, and it may be the only chance Henron has at true change. We need to organize a few more men and women to our cause before the 18th, but until Prime Lead Govan leaves for Prevati, we cannot openly sow dissent among the military contingent left in the capital. Our real mission begins on the 15th, when our agents will agitate the soldiers and their opinions. We let that take hold for a few days, then everything culminates on the 18th.”

    Tibil laughed as he turned around and leaned up against the wall. “Well, I did not mean if we were operationally ready. I meant, that is to say, are we ourselves prepared for the task before us?”

    “Sa...” Albolt nodded in understanding. “To be honest, I am quite aged by now. I have nothing to lose. I do this, and in time I shall die. I do nothing, and in time I shall die. I may as well do that which serves a greater purpose.”

    “If only we could all be so fearless; our forces would prove unstoppable.”

    “Or just reckless.” They both laughed for a while.

    “In all seriousness, this is not exactly light business we are undertaking,” Tibil said. “The things we do here will echo for generations when the uprising comes to pass. We will be molding a new era, one that we could easily squander if we are not diligent. When we assume control, we will bear upon ourselves one of the most profound responsibilities any Henron has ever known.”

    “I knew what I was getting into,” Albolt said, rubbing an eye slowly, tilting his head. “Ever since I began plotting, I knew the weight I would carry. Yet even as the days grow short, I can only say that what comes next must come. I have learned over the years that life moves whether you are ready or not. The best thing to do is to keep walking, no matter what. Am I ready for the coming revolution, you ask? To that I question, does it matter? I am going forward regardless.”

    “Sa, now you sound rather like Koter, so headstrong and heedless. Where was that careful tactician I knew?”

    “Tibil, you realize Koter set up so many variables in our favor, correct? He is a man a strategies as much as I am, so I do not frown upon the comparison,” Albolt said with a wink.

    “Sa... I suppose I still cannot help but feel as if that guy is wild and unpredictable at times. But I have to credit him where he is due.”

    “Which is a lot. Now, tell me, Tibil, what say you about yourself? Nervous for the weeks on their way?”

    Tibil bit his lip slightly but shook his head. “Not really. I am not concerned about what happens after we seize the capital and bring a new order to Henron. The initial violence of the upheaval, the chaos of fighting Govan and his ranks, all of that worries me, however. We really need the Wolf, Losha Holvate Sventa. Also, there is the issue of Heigon...” Tibil stood up and began pacing around the room.

    “You know, it is not as if I hate the man. He never wronged me of anything, not once, discounting my would-be execution. I do not have some sort of vengeful purpose, some fundamental outrage against him. But I do not love him either. He treated me as decently as any other person in his court, but that was the problem. To him, I was just some other person, not his son. It was like I was just someone he happened to be acquainted with. He has to abandon his position; that is non-negotiable. However, what will become of him? Death? Exile? Imprisonment? I guess I am trying to sort out my emotions here. Our rebellion may well call for blood. Where will I stand when it comes time for us to judge Heigon? It would be just as out of place for me to appeal for mercy as it would be to demand punishment. Heigon Henron was little more than a stranger to me. Sparing him or killing him just seems like something I am not at all fit to decide.”

    “To be fair,” Albolt spoke up. “It probably will not be up to you to determine his fate. You can leave that to others. For now, just focus on the task at hand, on rebuilding Henron.”

    “Sa, I suppose you are right,” Tibil said, turning his head to the window. “Hey, what do you think the situation with Sventa will be like when this is all over?”

    “Well,” Albolt started, musing up at the ceiling for a moment. “I would assume they want an end to the war as much as we do. While I am certain a few prominent figures over there would love to see us destroy ourselves in civil conflicts, naturally they would worry about unrest spilling across the border. I doubt they would incite any trouble once we oust Govan and Heigon. As I see it, if they had anything to do with us, it would be to leave us alone, whether or not we create a stable society.”

    “Do you not believe we could forge a close partnership of some sort? If we were not so closed off from our neighbor, that may give us an economic boost, something we are sorely wanting presently.”

    “Ksh. Do you hear yourself? The Sventa will help to topple your father only because it will stop the fighting between our two clans. They would have nothing to do with us afterwards. That is the way of the Central Plains. We keep to ourselves, when we are not beating each other that is.”

    “And do you not think we can change that?” Tibil asked as his gaze returned upon the old man.

    “Not easily, no...”

    “Sa, but not impossible either.” Tibil took a seat on a nearby sofa, speaking animatedly with his hands. “We are about to alter the entire power structure of our clan. Who is to say we cannot do more than just that? Who is to say we cannot establish enduring diplomatic and economic ties with another major clan?”

    “For one thing, precedent,” Albolt pointed out. “What you describe has never been done before. Certainly, some trade happens across these lands, and some clans have infrequent liaisons, but for the most part every clan is a silo unto itself.”

    “So we are to let history dictate our futures? If it was never done before, no one can ever do it? Albolt, if we really are on the cusp of remaking our people, we should take the time to correct some of our biggest failings. To me, it seems perfectly clear that the war with the Sventa was entirely due to how poorly we could speak with them. The Talimer Forest could have offered us plenty if we had asked the Sventa to sell us a portion of its resources. Instead, we launched a war that has proven far more costly than a few coins. Think about it; a model of inter-clan discourse that is truly open, bilateral. You know how much strife and grief we could avoid by simply exchanging goods and words?”

    Albolt sighed slowly as he touched the side of his face. “You must understand; I agree that having such a friendly relationship would be most beneficial. I honestly wish it had always been a reality. But looking at the matter practically, it just appears too bold, too grand, the stuff of dreams.”

    Tibil shifted to the edge of his seat, clasping his fingers in on themselves. “Perhaps it has been thoughts like that that have prevented our two clans from being partners all along. I mean, if neither side ever believed it were doable, then of course it is bound to fail. If war or isolation were the only two options we considered, where is there room for dialog, communication, coexistence? This is it. Now is the time to try something different, something new. If all we do is reorder our politics at home, we have merely thrown nice rugs into an old house; the outside will still look like trash. Henron needs a total revamping, not just how we do business with ourselves, but with everyone else out there on the Continent. It surely will not be quick, nor will it be perfect. But it can be good, and we can start with Sventa.”

    “My, my,” Albolt smiled, nodding up and down several times. “Seems like you have quite the passion for the subject,” he remarked.

    “You think so? Well, I just felt it was an issue that needed more serious attention than anyone has given it lately.”

    “Or at all,” the elder said. “It is possible I am simply too old now.”

    “Nonsense, Albolt. What are you talking about?”

    “I have been fortunate enough to have seen many seasons pass before my eyes. In that period, I have also seen the way our world works, the way in which we live. Violence, tribalism, sectarianism, revenge, distrust, bloodshed: these are the lifestyles we have as Astens. I remember all the wars we waged, ever since I was a small boy. When you experience as much as I did for as long as I have, I guess you fall into the idea that this is just how it all operates. It is a great machine, Tibil. It has power, energy, inertia. Stopping it is not a task that one can do on a whim. It can be done, but after so long, after decades and centuries, the concept just seems so very peculiar.”

    The former minister caught himself staring into the floor as he fell silent. Blinking a bit and clearing his throat, he reared his head up.

    “At any rate, it would take the willingness of both sides to bring anything to fruition. The Henron could be convinced by your persuasion, but you would need the Sventa to cooperate. As I said, closing the war is in their interest, but after we depose the current government, they may as well abandon us. If you are going to tackle this, you are going to have to deal with this essential first step.”

    “I do not see why Losha cannot work things on her end. From what I have heard, she is from one of the most influential parts of Sventa society. Her family currently holds particular power at the moment. Furthermore, she is their champion; they will listen to her. Was she not one of those who approached Liveta at the Ganglan Pass? She knows we can change the way we live, that there can be peace.”

    “Peace is not the same as the friendship you have laid out for Henron and Sventa. However, skeptical as I am, you have my support when the time comes.”

    “Thank you Albolt. I appreciate that.”

    “Hmm...” the old man said, stroking his chin. “Although such a future sounds distant, I do hope I get to see it in my lifetime.”

    Tibil laughed, shaking his head a bit. “Do not worry, my friend. I will take care of it, I promise.”



    The following morning, deep within the cells of Navaran, Losha rose up from her bed. Automatically, as soon as she’d awakened, she moved towards the wall on her left. She bent down, picking up a rock, dragging its edge across the blocks before her. Here she engraved another mark, counting down the days. A mere two an a half weeks remained, but her goal never got any farther away.

    Ever since she’d left Palostrol, she’d missed the sense of routine scholarship had established in her life. As a result now, Losha found herself adhering to a schedule of her own while incarcerated. Per this regimen, she woke up early, long before Alant or Liveta ever stirred. After dealing with her little calendar, Losha plopped her backside on the bed and began to exercise. Although physical activity had been instilled in all the students of Palostrol, she had never invested much interest in the area. Circumstances had changed, however.

    She began with situps, doing three sets of 50. Switching gears, she pedaled her feet in the air for about five minutes. After that, she performed a host of various stretches and calisthenics on her limbs. Lastly, she performed 40 pushups. In such a confined space and with her wrists tied together, working out was by no means simple. She had to develop her own movements to fit the limits imposed on her. Still, she managed to train her body despite being in a prison like Navaran. She’d need both her soul and body prepared, after all.

    Usually, while the others yet slept, Losha had a while to meditate. Crossing her legs over one another, she closed her eyes and let her thoughts flow as they would. In the past few days, her mind kept returning to the doctor she’d had the displeasure of meeting earlier that month. Over and over again, Losha wondered at the words he’d spoken to her. Sansat had claimed he would learn the art of serialization for himself. Quite curiously, he’d held up a rock and said it was the key to everything.

    Serialization was a thoroughly complex subject, something that took years of training to master even a handful of primitives. It wasn’t a study anyone could suddenly comprehend out of the blue one day, much less discover it by themselves. Yet, Nabel had figured out the rules and ways of serialization on his own; he was the original serialist, the father of all who followed after him. If he could uncover such mysteries without anyone’s help or knowledge, how could Losha say someone else couldn’t independently “invent” the art as well?

    At any rate, there was something particularly bothersome about the black rock. During the ill-fated interrogation, she’d kept quiet regarding how odd the stone was to her; she didn’t want to provide Sansat with any information he could use. As she considered the past though, maybe she should have asked Sansat what exactly he’d been holding. Surely that man would have loved to gloat; he would have told her without fail. However, back then Losha believed she’d heard enough of his blather, so she’d taken him down. In hindsight, she wished she’d gotten some solid intel out of him.

    The longer she pondered, the more perplexing the stone became. There was one very unusual property it possessed that she came to her distinctly. She felt as if that little pebble in fact had seras inside of it. She knew this because she had detected its seras frequency. Although it had been extremely faint, Losha remained positive she had sensed a sort of pulse. It had been surprisingly low, fluctuating and “ticking” only 10 times all throughout the interview. Nevertheless, there was no doubt in her opinion; whatever she’d observed was seratic in nature.

    What did that truly mean? Assuming the stone contained seras - a phenomenon she’d never heard of or seen before - how did that happen? Seras flowed from the soul to the body to the outside world, so it could temporarily reside in some materials. Yet, once the source shut down, the energy dissipated. If certain objects could trap or retain seras, it would seem reasonable for bits of the stored seras to leak away. Not even the soul could keep all of its seras from spilling; why would something physical prove any better? A seras frequency was the rate at which this energy radiated, but so far the theory had only been applied to humans.

    For a moment, her heart stumbled upon a terrifying idea. What if that stone was in truth a soul itself? This dark thought caused her to open her eyes. Breathing sharply, she wrenched herself upright. The body of a person acted as a vessel for the soul; could the vessel then change in appearance and shape? While at first this morbid reasoning explained the seras inside the stone, Losha realized that it didn’t add up ultimately. People, their seras frequencies were quite high, far above what she’d seen in the stone. If that had been an actual soul, she suspected it really would have shown; it would have felt like there’d been another person inside that room. She sighed tiredly, having jumped to conclusions before vetting things in her mind.

    Even so, if the stone had a seras frequency, it mean two scenarios were likely at play. If the stone indeed kept hold of seras exceptionally well, then the low frequency was understandable. It only ever lost a little, slowly, by slight degrees. The second premise was that it was low on seras, hence the relatively small amounts it periodically released. Either case could have been plausible. She had no means of determining which one was more likely than the other, especially not while locked in a cell.

    Losha had many clues about Sansat’s stone; still, some of the most important details eluded her. What exactly did the doctor intend to do with it? How would that grant him the power of serialization? Was he going to use the stone teach himself? Even if he had access to seras via the black rock, that didn’t mean he’d be able to do anything with it. Just having the soul’s energy hardly put one any closer to mastering the art. Though seras was pivotal, serialization required vast amounts of knowledge about how seras could be manipulated and controlled. Without the rest of the equation, one such as Sansat would only go so far. She hoped that nothing would become of that man’s plans. He was a fool first and foremost, but fools were often the ones bringing the most harm on others. Worrying about him now, however, was not going to solve the problem.

    After a while, Liveta began to move around.

    “Sleep well?” Losha asked as the Core Lead yawned.

    “No better than usual. It is a shame I cannot sleep for days without end. That would make all of this go by much quicker.”

    “There is no rushing this sort of thing.”

    “Whatever you say, Wolf.”

    “Not much longer,” Losha said. “Today is significant nonetheless.”

    “How so?” Liveta wondered, rubbing her eyes.

    “Henron soldiers are moving. Thousands of them from the east. They just started hours before daylight. The march of war resumes.”

    “What? Really? How on the Continent can you tell just by sitting there?”

    “You remember how I went off to find Ano, how we serialists can tell when other people are nearby? We can sense the seras of the soul. Depending on how sensitive one is, a serialist can easily ‘spot’ someone even kilometers away. At my current skill level, I estimate my own range to be a dozen klicks or so. However, the more people occupying the same space, the greater their presence is collectively, as a group. This many souls on the move is something even I can pick up, some 30-plus klicks away.”

    “So you mean to tell me Henron is launching another offensive?”

    “Exactly, and why not? They no longer have to deal with me after all.”

    “Shrieks, Govan,” Liveta said, sighing as she ran a hand through her hair. “Are you really still listening to Heigon? You could have made a difference like you always wanted to...”

    “Se? What was that, Liveta? You are mumbling again...”

    “It was nothing.”

    Losha looked at her but said no more on the topic. “The gears are almost done winding up. Soon our move will come next. Be ready and follow my lead. I will show you what I am truly capable of.”

Author's Note

In the reaches of Aste, deep within the grasslands of the Central Plains, 14 warring clans mount constant warfare against one another. Through endless bloodshed, the people are forever rooted in a cycle of conflict. Returning to the place she once called home, Losha leaves Palostrol to go back to her family. Yet in their embrace she finds a world teetering on the brink of devestation. As King's words echo through her mind, she must decide if serialization holds the answers to peace. But are the consequences of failure are worth it? The path of the Continent's greatest struggle has only just begun. The Age of Serialization starts now.

The next installment comes May 6th, 2015. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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* Only one more serial remains in the "Prison" sub-arc. After that, the final battle of the Sventa-Henron war begins.

* The title is a slight pun on the fact that the war not only continues, but here we also see the transition to a new month, March.

* As readers can see, the constant violence of the Central Plains is a reoccuring theme. Like Harle and a few other characters, Albolt feels as if the way they are is how they'll always be as Astens. However, with Losha and Tibil acting against the tide, how long will that hold true?

* Spoiler, serastone really isn't made from human souls (rocks being human souls? where have I seen that before? *cough*fullmetalalchemist*cough*) but they do hold a most disturbing origin. Expect Duke to reveal more later, perhaps.

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Any feedback is welcome. Just writing because I like it. Always wanted to make a weekly series, so I'm doing it.