Serial
111: Escalation
August 16th, 38 S.D. 12:24 Sevia, Sventa
“You want to get rid of my school?” Losha asked; her mouth twisted to the side, incredulous with disgust. “That is absolutely unacceptable and absolutely ridiculous.”
“What is ridiculous, Losha, is how unchecked you and your serialists are,” Lada asserted. “Consider the immense power granted to you and your students. A single person well versed in the art could prove unstoppable, given the right circumstances.”
“Are you insinuating that we would ever do anything to threaten Sventa?” Losha demanded, putting her hands on her hips. “Are you afraid that we would somehow turn against our own people?”
“If you ever believed us to be wrong or unjust, would you?” Lada questioned, drawing an eyebrow up. Losha frowned but did not answer her. “The point is not whether we can or cannot trust you, Wolf, but whether we want serialization itself to go... unregulated.”
“Unregulated?”
“Sa. It is precisely because there were no limits to what you could do that you and Boz felt entitled to simply waltz into Angali. With no restraints upon you, other clans see you as our lapdog, free to do anything as long as it pleases our interests, and further reason why the incident with the mine will ultimately be blamed on us. Not only did the blast look like something only the Wolf of Sventa could do, it would seem to fit into the idea that your leash is very loose.”
“So why ask to close my school?” Losha retorted. “Just pass new laws governing what serialists may and may not do. If you want to hold us accountable, this is the way to do it.”
“This is about serialization itself, Losha,” Lada spoke. “The clan needs to have control over it, meaning who learns it and what they can learn.”
Losha shook her head negatively, gritting her teeth all the while. “No, no, no,” she said. “Serialization is meant for everyone. All have the right to use it. The art comes from your soul, your very existence. Who are any of us to deny something inside every person? What you propose is not unlike saying some people should not be taught to use their arms or legs.”
“And yet, are there certain individuals you will not train, those you suspect will abuse serialization? Have not you yourself already rejected some? Are you already not doing exactly as we are suggesting, deciding who learns it?”
“I am the arbiter of serialization, true, but I deem everyone worthy as a potential student. Whether their heart is in the right determines if they are ready to learn.”
“And we think a more robust system is needed. This government needs to be the authority on serialization, to establish rules for those who can use it, how they can, and what members of our society can wield it. Rest assured, we still want you to teach our people this amazing science, but within the confines of a program dictated by the Tabran.”
“Is that what this is all about then? You want an institution right under your thumb? One that you will be able to have near total say over?”
“Sa, and rightly so, for the good of Sventa. In time, the general population will slowly gain access to the arts, but first we must nurture and guard it amongst a chosen few under our watch. Only after we have mastered it properly in a contained environment can we offer it to others.”
“Ksh! Lada, I can almost literally see the crap dripping from your mouth,” Losha said as she folded her arms again and glared at the woman. Lada’s lips parted into a large “O” as she pressed herself against her seat, placing a hand over her chest.
“Why, I never-”
“Shut your face. All it ever does is spout lies and nonsense. This is stupid. If you want a military project involving serialization, just say it outright. The answer has always been the same. I refuse. I had my misgivings about working with Boz, but apparently that was not enough for you, was it? You just want this opportunity to alter this arrangement, to get what you have always desired: serialized warriors, a unit that answers only to you and the army. I may not be familiar with the inner workings of the Tabran or the political machinations running it, but I can smell bullshit, Lada, and you reek of it.”
A concerned murmur rose among the Select Seven as Lada tightly clenched her jaw, barely keeping her snarling face in check. Harle looked left and right quickly; his eyes worked back and forth apprehensively. Oh no, sister, you really have done it this time, he thought. Quickly, he tried to insert himself to defuse tensions.
“Losha, I know this upsets you greatly, but please follow decorum. We can discuss this rationally and civilly.”
Losha huffed once. “Really, brother? There is nothing to discuss. When I became master of the art of serialization, when I assumed Sambur Eltin’s role as my own, I was also given the exclusive right to teach as I saw necessary, not the likes of this Tabran, and certainly not from the likes of Lada over there.”
“It is that very same insolence that worries your fellow members of the Tabran,” Lada said. “Look how freely you disregard our words, not to mention tossing about insults. Perhaps you would never do anything to impede the functions of this government, but what of the serialists after you? We both agree that this art needs to be taught carefully. Prudence calls for more stringent oversight than what you currently offer. The scope of who may access this skill must be even more limited than what you have thus far been willing to do. An official program under our management would easily see to such issues.”
“Losha, consider this,” Harle said in an effort to smooth out understandings. “You would continue teaching your present students as you are doing now. Immediately, this proposal does not affect your abilities as an instructor. The building you occupy is yours to use as it has been these past five years. What will change are the conditions under which new candidates are added and what you can teach them. We are not trying to be overbearing; we simply do not want them to learn anything that might prove too violent or destructive. Naturally, we doubt you teach them anything like that already. Essentially, your school becomes a highly selective, state-sponsored academy.”
“But I lose significant say in how to run it,” Losha said quickly, jerking her head to the side. “And furthermore, none of what you said eliminates the problem of military conscription.”
At last, Steval had his turn to talk. He touched his glasses, pushing the rims closer to his eyes. “It is unavoidable. All state facilities, staff, and institutions may be called upon for military service at any time. This code in our laws is decades old and established in every aspect of Sventa society. It has kept us safe all these years in these frequently combative lands. You realize how the Sventa-Henron war would have been for everyone, including you, if these rules were otherwise? Most of the army’s communication was handled by the Sventa post system, for example. Were this academy a part of the state as well, you can hardly expect us to forgo asking serialists to come to our defense, not when we know what powers you hold.”
“So you are saying there is no room for an exception?” Losha asked. “Perhaps I could suffer this foolish idea were it not for that sticking point, or perhaps if such requests were optional and left to WOLFGANG’s discretion, as it is with Boz now. But to force us?”
“Are you saying, Wolf, that you would not defend your own clan willingly?” Lada inquired.
“If our people are endangered, of course I will come to aid them. However, concentrating any amount of control over serialization in the hands of one’s government, and by extension their military, is exactly what temps people to abuse it.”
“But you would be among us,” Steval countered. “You yourself could intervene before any rash decisions are made.”
“That, Ver Steval, is what I am trying to do right now,” Losha sighed. “Serialization must remain independent from the Tabran. How many of you truly understand this art, the sheer responsibility involved with it? Serialization is the ultimate manifestation of our souls. It could raise humanity to a new age of prosperity or obliterate us faster than we could blink. It is a precarious balance, one that requires insight from those who intimately know the art. Would you really care to have your peers in other Torom’s mandate how we should use it, or an expert who has dedicated her life to studying it? Or is my judgment as a master worth less than I thought?”
“Believe me, sister, despite some disagreements, the Tabran has an immense respect for you and your work,” Harle said. “However, as you said, serialization needs great forethought if we are to use the art without destroying ourselves. That is why we want a stricter model in place to specify who can learn it and what they may learn. It is also the very same reason you should be a part of it and give this proposal the consideration it warrants.”
“Ksh!” Losha spat, running a hand over her hair. “Of all the people, Harle, how did you get dragged into believing that kind of shrieking idiocy?”
“W-what?” her brother stumbled. “Do explain yourself,” he said evenly, if a bit slowly.
“What starts out innocuously enough will eventually come to ruin us. You all may think highly of the Tabran, of the way it hands down its decisions, in the wisdom of committees and assemblies, but politics is a fickle thing. One moment, you may have the best intentions, yet tomorrow you could be everyone’s villain. Such was the fate of a certain Henron Prime Lead years ago. Times change, and so do the moods of its leaders, and so do the boundaries of what is right or wrong or necessary. You could all promise me that Sventa and the Tabran would not pursue serialization for selfish or harmful ends perhaps for a few years, but forever? It comes by degrees; you press for greater and greater changes, assert your own authority until you have what you want. And the thing about it is, you all have no idea what you truly want, no idea where it will lead you, and when that happens, once I no longer have any meaningful sway, who will stop you? More importantly, who will save you? The path serialization takes should be left to scholars and serialists, not lawmakers.”
“Frankly, Losha Holvate,” Lada said with a snuff, “the matter has been settled on our end. We have already chosen to go this route. The only remaining part of the equation is you. What happens next is ultimately in your hands.”
Losha growled lowly to herself. “And what if I refuse to go along with this plot of yours?” Losha demanded. “Suppose I quit teaching altogether? With the exceptions of Denze, Mesel a’Banar, Faima, and Virel Sofos, none of my students is advanced enough to fully teach the art to others. Those four would follow my lead, and you would be left with nothing.”
“As would you. In that case,” Lada grinned, “we would be forced to ban the art of serialization entirely.”
“You conniving old hag...” Losha hissed. The other members of the Select Seven found themselves taken aback at both women’s words. Once again, the Wolf displayed her harsh tongue, but on the same account it was the first any of them had ever heard of such a prohibition on serialization.
“Ver Lada!” Steval blurted. “That seems quite excessive for the situation.”
“Indeed,” Harle agreed. “It is not proportional at all, and it verges on the extreme. I cannot support such a measure.”
“If serialization cannot be controlled, it must be cast away altogether,” Lada explained. “The same we have done to serastone. The same we shall do to serialization, which is infinitely more powerful, more unpredictable than those black rocks.”
The other four on the Select Seven traded whispers among themselves, and to Harle’s dismay, he saw a lot of heads positively shaking.
“By all rights, Ver Lada, I will not permit such a thing,” he said, turning pointedly to his left.
“You may come from Sventa’s noblest family, Harle, but here I have seniority,” Lada spoke with a sideways sneer.
“Even so, I cannot-”
“Enough!” Losha said loudly, cutting everyone else’s voice short as she turned her back on them. “I have heard enough from all of you. I am taking my leave of this absurd assembly.” She started walking away, waving her hand as she cast a series to open the chamber’s doors quickly. The guards on duty, startled, turned around to see Losha marching past them. Furtively, they peeked inside, wondering what sort of commotion was about.
“She just left,” Steval said to Harle and Lada. “She just left without even telling us her answer. How will we know how to proceed? This is a mess.”
“No, it is not,” Lada said forcefully before standing. “We give her a day or two to consider her options, but by then she will see things our way.”
“They want us to do what?!” Denze exclaimed as he lurched forward and upright in his seat. He blinked his one good eye rapidly.
“Essentially, they want us to give up the school, at least, turn it into an apparatus under their control,” Losha said as she paced about, stroking the back of her neck as she looked towards the ceiling momentarily. She, Mesel, and the rest of WOLFGANG were in her office at the school, discussing the day’s events. “They spoke of making us a governmental academy. Everything from the student vetting process, the curriculum, to when and how the military would require our service would be up to the Tabran to decide.”
“They cannot be serious!” Faima said, slamming her fist atop Losha’s desk. “After all we did, after we lost poor Jun... it still is not enough? Damn those sneaky b******s! Just another ploy to get serialists into the army. That Lada... trying to pretend like this s**t does not stink!”
“It certainly is underhanded,” Mesel groaned, rubbing his chin. “I mean, we are essentially backed into a corner. ‘Damned if you do, damned if you don’t’ as we say in Gandian.”
“Our as we say in Asten, ‘both feet over the edge’,” Denze said. “If we go along with this, it means we will not be able to properly guide the course of serialization. If we reject it, we lose our legitimacy to practice serialization in the eyes of the law...”
“But Losha is part of the Tabran, right?” Mesel wondered. “If she is there, she could fight any attempts to have serialists use the art inappropriately.”
“That is not enough. My brother is Torom too, but a majority opinion from the Tabran will outweigh even the voice of the Holvate. My family is not royalty, after all,” Losha explained. “Besides, I am not going to be Torom for much longer. Per tradition, the right for one to be Torom is restricted to an immediate family. When my uncle died at the onset of the Sventa-Henron war, he left behind his wife, Saima, and two little boys. She alone could not fulfill the duties, so they fell to my father and his family. The cycle will repeat; Father grows older by the day, and soon the Torom will pass to his kin. Generally, the most established one is granted the Torom. Harle is married, and Teiva is pregnant with their first child. The Torom and its burdens will officially shift to them and away from my parents and me. Even if Harle fully supported us, Lada has more influence.”
“D****t,” Faima cursed, tightening her fist. “So what are we going to do? Maybe there is a way to fight them politically. We can bank on your popularity, you know?”
Losha shook her head and continued stepping around the room. For a moment, her eyes fell upon Virel. The little Sofos looked up at the Wolf. Her face said nothing, but even so, Losha could tell the girl was reading her soul at the time, gazing into her thoughts even. If that were the case, perhaps Virel understood the doubts Losha had over the choice she was evaluating. Losha turned to the window and saw the sprawling view of Sevia reddened with dying twilight; time was waning, even now. Lada and the Tabran would be looking to have a response soon. What her heart felt, what her instincts told her... were such bold moves really the best option for everyone? Was she merely being hotheaded in considering this way forward? Most importantly, were these choices she could live with?
“Damn. All this s**t happens, and we have not even given Jun a proper funeral,” Faima said.
“You think the Tabran will give us a few days?” Mesel asked. “Maybe we could figure something out in the meantime, some sort of solution to this whole dilemma.”
“We will not need that long,” Losha said as she sat on the edge of her desk, blowing air out of her mouth for a second. “I know what we are going to do, at least this is what I choose. I leave it to you to pick what happens next for yourselves.”
“What are you talking about, Losha?” Denze asked, shifting in his chair.
“I will absolutely not give in to their demands. If they are intent on manipulating us like this, I will simply leave Sventa as well as this school.”
Virel looked at Losha; a flash of concern briefly marked her features, but she eventually smiled to herself, as if in relief.
“Hey, whoa whoa,” Denze said, holding out his hand. “Are you being serious? Is that not... a bit drastic?”
“And what else may I do?” the Wolf questioned in return. “Our maneuverability in this is limited. The Tabran gave us binary options: live with their control, or quit serialization. Yet, we do have a third way; we simply leave this place altogether. This is what I will do. I shall not force your hands; you can join me or leave me or do whatever you see fit. The same applies to our student body. If they want to dissolve the school, they will get what they asked for, but I shall not tolerate the rest of these demands.”
“Ksh!” Faima said, looking all around her, as if glancing at the school itself. “This was your dream, sa, Losha? Shame that once it finally becomes a reality, those b******s decide to shrieking tear it away from us... S**t! F**k those guys. Sorry, Losh, I do not care if he is your brother, but f**k Harle too!”
Losha frowned slightly, knowing fully that Faima’s temper and tongue were not totally out of line. While Harle had tried to defend her in some ways, she herself was still very cross with him.
“But... to just abandon this place...” Mesel said.
“We have done it before,” Denze pointed out. “When we left Palostrol. We can do it again. We keep doing it until we find a place that is right.”
“Ksh! Sventa was never my home to begin with,” Faima said. “Guess I overstayed my welcome anyway. Denze, Mesel, both of you are not from here either. We owe this clan nothing.”
“So, will you three follow me then?” Losha asked.
“We promised to go wherever you went when you became a master, and we promised to follow your path after the war. We intend to uphold those oaths. Not just as students or fellow serialists, but as your friends,” Denze said.
“I mean, it sounds quite sudden and all, but I trust your judgments here as much as I always have,” Mesel responded.
Losha nodded at them but hesitated to turn to Virel. The girl’s situation was a bit more complicated than the rest of them. While Losha, Denze, Mesel, and Faima could sever themselves from Sventa, leaving the Sofos was another matter. Virel was to be the next head of the Sofos clan, taking her mother’s place as matriarch. To suddenly remove herself from her people would put Virel in a very awkward position. It would greatly displease her family, probably even disgracing her among the Sofos. Her departure would be viewed as an abdication by most. Losha could only imagine the emotional rift that would engulf the bonds Virel once held. To choose serialization would be to choose pain. The Wolf frowned again; this wasn’t the type of thing a 15-year old should have to figure out.
“Virel,” Losha began, but she made it no further than that.
“I know what you want to say. I have been watching you all this time. I am leaving as well.”
“You know, you can wait a while. Not just a day or two, but years if that is what you need. Once we start over again, there will always be an opening for you. You can come whenever you are ready.”
“I am ready now.”
“Hey, this is big,” Denze warned. “Be certain about it.”
“I am,” Virel insisted. “I believe serialization is going to change our world. I can feel it; we are right on the cusp of it. Before that time, however, I foresee a great deal of trials on the way. This is but one, one that I shall gladly endure with you all. I am aware of the consequences, but those are short-termed. The age of serialization draws nearer. Besides, we will come back to Sventa, eventually. I guarantee it,” she smiled. Mesel laughed a bit.
“Sa, is that one of your prophecies?”
With Virel’s knowledge of reading the changes in other people’s seras frequencies, she often ended up predicting what other would do by understanding their souls. Everyone joked from time to time that she could somehow see grand visions of the future. Losha chuckled herself whenever this was brought up, but the Wolf never forgot about Suvla. Perhaps some people truly could gaze into what would come...
“We will see, one day,” Virel said cheerfully.
“Then the matter is finished. We just need to tell our students... They will need time themselves to think things out,” Losha nodded. “There is yet much to discuss, but let us think first and get some rest.”
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