Serial
123: Signal2Noise
June 30th, 48 S.D. 20:18 Besnol, Central Plains
Later that night, back in the Shansala’s village, the people were celebrating the return of their loved ones. This reunion was a very solemn one. As the evening ran on, the people stayed within their huts, talking, weeping, whispering, and even singing softly. Beyond their curtains, one could hear them all from the outside as they shared countless stories of their ordeals, swapped prayers and blessings for their families, and thanked fate that they were together again. Though the hours darkened, the Shansala remained awake as they welcomed their lost brethren home.
Near the very perimeter of the village, Losha and Virel sat together near a camp fire. Their horses and supplies were just off to the side as well. The flames crackled and popped as they listened to the sounds of joy from the Shansala. For a long time, neither of them said anything. The two serialists merely observed the people at a distance. However, both of them were smiling all the while. Eventually, Virel broke the silence.
“You did well, Losha.”
“Of course,” the Wolf replied. “It was a simple mission.”
“But you have started us down this path. A path towards a new land, a single unified land.”
“All I did was scare some soldiers,” Losha laughed, waving a hand through the air. “I have been doing that for years, at any rate.”
“Still, the idea is taking root. The first steps have been made.”
Losha leaned back on the grass, kicking her legs out in front while her arms propped herself up. “And we have a lot more steps to take.”
“But starting is what is most important, sometimes. What do you think our next steps will be?” Virel asked.
Losha looked up at the spread of stars covering the sky. The weather was absolutely clear that night, giving them the perfect view of a seemingly infinite heaven.
“What do I really think comes next? Well, after we are done here, I figure we have to do something about the problem at its core. Everyone sees themselves as different in the Central Plains. Clans, both major and minor, are nothing more than identities we all cling to. When these identities - the very definitions of who we are - differ, we clash. I do not think we can get rid of all our identities; it is simply human nature to have them. After all, the two of us identify as serialists.”
“But, here is what I was thinking,” Losha continued. “Perhaps we could give them a new identity, one that surpasses clans? If we all shared one, specific thing, maybe we could make clans obsolete. That thing would have to be far greater than any other factor in the Central Plains. You would think language would be enough to do something like that, but apparently it is not so simple. Take Gandia for example; the east is politically fractured despite having its own common tongue as well. I suppose language only draws people to one another if there are outside threats, but all the strife within the Central Plains and Gandia takes place within the region. A system of beliefs could be one possible route, however, it just seems so fake to establish a religion out of nowhere. Even for the sake of stitching this torn land together, that is not something I want to try my hand at. However, there may be some worth in creating a shared ideology.”
“Ideology?” Virel asked, cocking her head curiously. “What are you talking about exactly?”
“What if we all had the same set of core principles, the same philosophy on life? Something besides having pride in the name you were born with? I think if we had a way to replace the sense of belonging that people associate with their clans with this, we could do away with the sort of tribalism we see today. The issue is defining this grand, new ideology. It has to be more powerful than the forces tearing us apart. But I think we already have a solution...”
“And what might that be?”
Losha moved her hand over the burning pit, casting a series that caused the flames to breath and grow for a moment.
“Serialization. We could use that. Not merely as a tool to stop violence, but as something to connect us all. I know sometimes I talk too much about Palostrol, but I think a society of serialists works differently than others. When you are a serialist, when you can feel another’s seras frequency, it tethers you to them in some way. It is like being able to hear their heartbeat. You recognize them as your fellow human, as a their own soul. Maybe we are all a little like you, Virel, capable of ‘feeling’ those around us.”
Virel laughed a bit. “It would be great if everyone could read others. But, they would need to learn not to read too much, or else some amount of privacy is lost.”
“Eh? Do you ever read too much into people?” Losha wondered.
“Well,” Virel frowned. “As I said before, I just gather emotions and strong thoughts from people nearby. I have no control over what comes to me. It is like passing by a conversation, but being unable to fully close your ears. I can force myself to ignore material sometimes, especially if it is personally sensitive. I suppose I have simply figured out how to not eavesdrop on certain things. Digressing, you honestly think we can pull off this ideology business? I mean, essentially creating an entirely new culture?”
Losha shook her head. “No doubt. It is an eventuality I will see come to pass. Both of us will. We are going to make this land Aste, an undivided country, a nation of serialization. The art will supplant the old way of life. No more clans, just people who live using our teachings. Serialization will be an equalizer, giving the weak strength, shielding those without defense, and it will become something all Astens can identify with. I should have made this world years ago, but I was too content to educate only a small lot, our school.”
“A nation of serialists...” Virel trailed off. “Sa, I thought you might say that or some such.”
“You think it is the right way to go? That I am not just spouting wishful nonsense?”
“The path we chose is the only one right for us, otherwise, we would not have picked it,” Virel smiled. “Ah, I guess that seems to dodge your question though. I do think this is what is best. Your dream, our goal, has always been to spread serialization across the continent. We have to begin somewhere. What better place than here? The Central Plains may need the art the most.”
“If it does not work, people will just use serialization to attack each other. They already are, in a way, by using the Zeroes as their agents. But, I have always been willing to deal with these consequences, ever since I left the mountains and came home,” Losha sighed a bit aloud. “I knew the greatest test of all would come, when people would have to prove themselves able to handle the might of seras. But, I am ready, and I think so is everyone else. If not, well, we just make them ready.”
Losha summoned a pot sitting beside the fire with a kinetic series. The Shansala had fixed them a lovely stew as a small show of gratitude for the day’s deeds. There was much too much for just the two of them, but the Wolf nevertheless attempted a second helping. With a twirl of her finger, a brief, blue glow surrounded the levitating pot and gave it some more heat.
“You know, I go on about how the art is going to change everything, but in reality, I bet this is how most people are going to use it. For all the little things is life. Cooking, cleaning, working, maybe as a light for late night reading. We call it an art, but it is a science. Science begets technology. Technology breeds innovation. No longer will we have to get up to reach for objects; objects will come to us. Certainly, this is the true mark of progress.”
Both of them laughed heartily while they poured and ate another bowl.
“By the way, Virel,” Losha began. “Did you ever find the one you were looking for? After all, we stopped here on account of that.”
“As a matter of fact, I think I have,” the Sofos said.
“Sa, and who are they? Who here will aid us in our quest to turn the plains upside down?”
“Hmm... Actually, I believe I should not say their name right now.”
“Really?” Losha raised her brows shortly. “And might I ask why?”
“I guess the proper way to explain it is with an analogy. If we imagine we can see an outcome in the future, we actually get a snapshot of certain conditions and circumstances leading up to that. In the case of something mundane, like the price of turnips, we get all these variables: the people’s demand, the supply available, the growing season, the quality of each turnip, and everything down to the moods of sellers and buyers. What if, knowing the future price of turnips, you decided to take advantage of this information?”
“If you wanted to buy them in droves knowing the price will be low, you might accidentally affect one of those variables. You come asking for thousands expecting a low price, but this makes the seller aware that there is more demand than originally thought. He then cites a newer, higher price than the one you saw in your prediction. Or, the day before, what if you told all your friends about the great deal they could get when the seller comes to town? You get to the market late the next day and find out prices have surged thanks to everyone else who went on a shopping spree, so once again, the price is different from what you initially predicted.”
“Umm... Sa. So what you are trying to tell me is that even if I know what could happen, my own actions based on that knowledge might change what will actually happen?”
“Exactly. If you knew who this person is, your actions then might change things. They might not be able to help us make Aste a reality after all. As such, it would be better to proceed without knowing, in case your decisions interfere with the future.”
“But why use turnips? That is an odd analogy...”
“Oh, I heard it from Doctor Welton. Apparently, turnip selling is used for quite a lot of examples and stuff of that nature in Gandia. He said it stems from a popular children’s game. I thought I might try it out,” Virel smiled.
“Sa... I never knew that. Gandians certainly are... unique, I suppose. At any rate, even if you cannot tell me who it is, you are positive they are here and safe?” Losha asked.
“Sa, you have my word.”
“Good, that is enough for me then. If I want to know who it is, all I have to do is hurry up and get to work. They will be by our side in no time.”
As the two of them continued to converse, they noticed a seras frequency approaching from the village. It was Riva. As she walked up to their campsite, she once more carried the red staff decorated with engravings.
“Good evening, Ver Riva,” Virel said cheerfully, waving at her. “What brings you here to us at this hour?”
“Please, if Losha insists on dropping formalities, I think we all ought to. Simply Riva is fine. I have come to properly thank you.” She stopped across the fire and bowed deeply at the waist. “From my deepest depths, I cannot express my gratefulness for your courage and bravery. It was by your hands that we were saved and that we have another chance to live. We are truly honored to have you in our presence. We owe you-”
“Absolutely nothing,” Losha interjected. Riva looked up, stunned and partially confused. “Debts are what threatened the Shansala in the first place. There is no need to repay us any kindness, although this stew is delicious... Anyway, do not think of our acts as a gift or service. We are just being decent people. With powers like ours, we are obliged to take care of others.”
“Thank you,” was all Riva could say.
“How is your brother doing?” the Wolf questioned.
“Much better, thanks to Virel.”
The Sofos had taken it upon herself to treat all of the Shansala when Losha had arrived. By simply exposing them to her raw seras, Virel healed them. The human body used this energy as nourishment and repaired itself. Though she was no doctor, all Virel had to do was guide her seras to the patient, and the rest would take care automatically. The entire process was remarkable in its success. Losha had once helped a Range Lead completely recover from severe burns during the Sventa-Henron war. Virel had been able to help all of the ailments inflicted upon the Shansala.
“Lori is doing well. I do not think he has the strength to move around much, but he appears fine. He can see now too. He has not tried to walk yet.”
“We will give him another round of seras in the morning,” Losha decided.
“Are you two alright out here?” Riva asked. “We have plenty of space, and you both are more than welcome among us.”
“It is fine, Riva,” Losha assured her. “Let the Shansala enjoy themselves tonight. I am sure they have dearly missed their families. We will stay here and keep watch for any trouble. I doubt Besnol will try anything foolish, but you can never tell with fools.”
“We appreciate that very much. Your esteem is our eyes is immeasurable.”
“I am sorry I could not find all of your people at Farfel... I believe the Besnol took them away. Lori tried to tell me this, but he was weak, and I made him save his strength. Had I been aware of what happened, I would have interrogated the soldiers thoroughly.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Riva insisted. “The Besnol took them away from Farfel; the fault is theirs.”
“I could go back and ask. They really cannot refuse me an answer. I could get them back in an instant if I knew their location, including your uncle.”
“I have talked to the others who were taken, Wolf. It seems Uncle Alst and the rest were moved out of the clan’s territory. Even if you asked, their trail could be long gone,” Riva sighed.
“So, you intend to give up on ever seeing them again?”
“No, not at all!” Riva said. “However, we have immediate problems that jeopardize our entire village. After what happened today, we... we cannot stay here in this land. We will not be safe. That is why I also came here to tell you that we will go to your place, this Talostol in the Sieg Lowlands.”
“I do not suppose it was an easy decision,” Virel said. “The Shansala have spent ages living here. To leave is a choice not lightly made.”
“There is little choice in the matter,” Riva shook her head. “We either go, or we die. Those are the only two possibilities that await us. I would like to think another way exists, but this is life.”
“Well, try not to fret too much about it in the end. Every one of us in Talostol has left their original homes,” Losha said. “Some of us have lost our previous homes more than once. But, home really is not a place, after all. You will do fine with us.”
“I thank you both again. The move will be difficult for us, so I must prepare ourselves. Good night, Losha, Virel. Let us know if there is anything we can do to accommodate you. I must take my leave for tonight.” Riva bowed once more, this time only slightly. As she turned and headed back to the village, Losha called out to her.
“We will find them, Riva, the ones still missing. I have plans for the Central Plains. We are going to be all over the place. We will find your uncle and the others.”
Riva stopped for a moment. “Thank you, Wolf. You truly are a hero for our times.” Soon she was out of sight, leaving the two women by themselves.
“Sounds like human trafficking...” Losha frowned. “What a nasty affair. I thought that was only a problem up north in the Lower Vestel. But it seems like things are getting worse over here too. Shrieks, what with clan alliances, major-to-minor clan conflicts, and the Zeroes, we sure have things laid out for us.”
“Indeed,” Virel agreed. Losha was about to say something else when a strange noise suddenly interrupted her thoughts. Buzzing and whirring at various pitches, something crackled to life near them, muffled faintly. Instantly, Losha looked around sharply, halfway pushing herself off the ground.
“What is that?” she asked quickly, whipping her eyes back and forth. Virel, on the other hand, appeared relatively unalarmed.
“Sa, it must be working now!” she declared excitedly. She hopped up and headed over to her pack by the horses. After unlatching one part, Virel dug deep into its reaches, eventually pulling out a large, long, block-like object. It had buttons of several colors that lit up, a few dials on its face, and a tall antenna at the top. The thing had two circles on it, one at the top and bottom; both were covered with thin, mesh-like metal and the top one seemed to be making the sounds. Virel spun it around her hands, trying to make sense of what exactly she was supposed to do. Losha got up and walked over as her brow knitted up and down to the devices many clicks, chirps, and beeps.
“It is called a ‘radio’, if I remember correctly,” Virel explained, using the Gandian term as she spoke.
“Radio?” Losha repeated. She’d never heard the word before.
“Sa, it is a form of long distance wireless communication. Like a telephone but without all the cables.”
“And why do you have something like this?”
“I took it before I left to find you. I think it should be working. However...” Virel held up a finger swiftly before she started adjusting the dials slowly. Bursts of static followed as the radio angrily blared. For a while, nothing came through, just random noise. But then, to Losha’s surprise, a voice, or at least a fraction of one, slipped by.
“Sa, a few more moments,” Virel said as she further fiddled with it. At last, she pushed one of the buttons, and from the radio, they distinctly heard someone, another woman talking in Gandian.
“... there? Hello, is... kssssh! Can y’all hear us bzzzzt! from over in boooop!”
“Oh dear,” Virel said. “The signal is not clean enough... This is the right channel, but...”
“Let me see that,” Losha said, holding out her hand. Virel gave it to the Wolf, only to see her shake the radio up and down.
“Ah! Losha, that is a delicate machine.” Virel was poised to take it back, but all at once, the radio became crystal clear.
“I repeat, this here is a test, y’all. Can anyone hear us?”
“Who is this?” Losha asked.
“Losha, you must hold down this button to speak, then release when finished,” Virel instructed. She did accordingly and reiterated her query.
“We can hear you just fine. Who is this?”
“Well, I’ll be! We’re finally in workin’ order, boys and girls!” the other woman cheered.
“Who is calling us? What is going on?” Losha demanded.
“I don’t believe it, hon. Is that really you I’m talkin’ to right now?”
Losha remained confused for a time; was this woman mistaking her for someone else? But... her voice seemed familiar. That thick, western drawl, she’d only heard it once before.
“Brigitte... Kölman?” Losha asked aloud, garnering laughter from the other end.
“Hey, so you do remember, sugar? Ain’t seen you in 16 years, girl! Still ain’t seen you, technically. All the same, these days they call me Missus Brigitte Kölman Schmidt, being happily married and whatnot,” she said to more laughter.
“It has been ages... but, I do not understand. What is going on? How precisely did we end up talking like this after so many years?”
“Ah, shrieks, Losha, that there’s a gosh darn long story. Too long and too late tell it all to you. Find out when you get back home. Anyway, there’s someone hollerin’ over here that wants a word with you.”
A brief silence came. Losha looked at Virel, but she just smiled. All at once, a new voice came online.
“Losha?” It was Denze. “Losha, are you there?”
“Sa, I am.”
“I do not believe it finally works. It only took the better part of last week to install... Losha, we need to talk. We need you back in Talostol.”
“We were on our way. We took a day’s detour in Besnol.”
“Besnol? Why there? No, never mind, just get back to us ASAP.”
“I would like an explanation about what is happening Denze. This ‘radio’ thing and old acquaintances: it feels like I am missing something important.”
“You could say we have been very busy back here.”
“Doing what?”
“Getting ready for the coming challenges. Losha, this is not something we will let you do alone. We will not be left behind in this effort. We are going to be a part of this struggle, whether you agree or not. So come on home, Wolf, we have a great deal to discuss.”
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Subscribe
Flag Writing