An Elegy of Fate Page 6

  The floor quaked underneath me.

  So'yi poked her head up, her ears moving to find the origin of thuds belonging to a pair of gargantuan alloy feet. Smooth metal fingers pried through the collapsed roof, scooping away debris in heaping handfuls. The girl yelped and ducked behind Rollond, hissing and baring her teeth at the huge, shining metal robots.

  "Hey, TIP, glad to have found you. Everything in working order?" asked the man inside the robot.

  "Everything's passed the S-check, unless a Med says otherwise. I don't see reason to grind. I might use a hand, though."

  "Rec'd and ready, sir!"

  Rollond motioned to where he wanted the man to place his robotic palm. The back of the robot's hand had barely touched the floor, when So'yi began growling fiercely at it. She clung to Rollond's shin, bearing her weight back, wanting to stop him from stepping onto the robot's palm.

  "Hey, hey, stop that," he said.

  "But it looks unnatural, it might try to hurt us." She peeked around his leg at the waiting hand.

  "Nonsense," he assured her, and pushed her into the palm of the robot's hand.

  She squealed and clung to its thumb.

  He stepped on and the robot lifted them up from the wreckage setting them down gently on the city's top tier, Highbar. Several humanoid vehicles towered over them, and So'yi gawked up as one of the robots sliced through hunks of metal with its fingertips.

  So'yi tugged on Rollond's pants leg. "What sort of aelyth is that, where a big metal Uunan can break apart things by his bare fingers?"

  He looked at her funny. "Whats an 'Aelyth'?"

  She frowned. "What nothings you do know. Aelyth is the Power of Spirit — what makes you live; what caused, and sustains, our world. It is granted to the Kyusoa to use, but not to Uunani. Because Uunani are not meant to use aelyth." She pointed at the robot. "So what aelyth is this?"

  "It's not aelyth at all," Rollond said. "He's equipped with a precision cutting device in his fingertips, makes cleaving through junk easier."

  So'yi huffed and flattened back her ears. If only Ashenzsi were here, she thought. They would already be at the Soakin Commune by now, but, no, he had to go get captured and stuffed into a tank — the tank. Once more she tugged the amulet from her hair, that distressed look returning to her features. "Ashenzsi," she shouted, tugging on Rollond's clothes. "Please, you must come!"

  She started for the place where she had come from, where she had materialized within the theater. But the whole building had turned to a smoldering heap of rubble, and she stopped, seeing that she could not go back the way she had come. Her shoulders drooped and she flopped her hands down. She sat there, tearfully, not knowing what to do, wondering if she had lost him forever, if he was going to waste away and die as others had done.

  Rollond could not bear the agonizing, wet and glossy look of her low-spirited eyes. He stepped over and plucked the amulet from her listless, open hand. The amulet was the signet of the Forty-Fourth, exactly like the mark on the brow of the tower at Nexus that belonged to the Naelun governing over that tribe.

  As the Prince scooped the girl up off the floor, the Executor-Prefect kept a keen watch on them. Anileon kept wanting to flick his ears at every word Rollond said to the girl.

  "Let's go find your friend," Rollond said.

  "Okay." So'yi sniffed.

  Anileon narrowed his eyes. Since when could a man speak Tswaa'ii? A human's tongue was too broad, short, and fat to produce the undulating movements that Tswaa'ii required. Yet the words flowed out of the Prince's mouth as if he had been born a Kyusoa.

  The office had an eerie chill. The air had not settled since Fylus's resignation and his former office was gloomy and dark, even with the visors open. And the meticulous order Fylus maintained remained in such a way that the dust inherent to an indoor facility did not settle on the desk, the shelves, and furniture.

  As he stepped in, a cold shiver rippled the skin on the back of Rollond's neck and trickled down his spine in icy jabs. Leftover tension permeated the room, making the air thick and palpable as So'yi nipped the amulet out of his stiff grip and bounded up onto the desk, gripping the edges with her feet.

  "Someone filled by malcontent does not leave his den clean," she said.

  The Prince shook his head. "Like I have some idea what that means."

  She smiled up at him, wagging her tail. "Of course you don't." So'yi jumped down from the desk. She scratched at the floor, her nose pressed to the carpet as she sniffed, lifting her head and sorting as she bumped the base of the bookshelf. She climbed up to the third shelf, pulled a book onto the floor, and tensed, expecting the shelf beside her to move and reveal a secret passage into Fylus's secret lair. Or maybe a portal would open, or better yet, they would vanish and appear the den where his preliminary plans were strewn about like discarded candy wrappers.

  But the shelves did not move. Nothing changed, just the book laying on the floor. So'yi glared at the book case. "This is supposed to —" she pushed against the other books. "Mooove!" She growled, and the case still did not budge. She roared and clawed at the books on the shelves, throwing them on the floor. Finally she flopped down on a shelf, crossed her legs and pouted, glaring out the window as the Prince picked through some of the titles on the floor.

  "I thought we replaced these old codices," he said, and blew the dust off the cover. He opened it and the pages were yellowed with a fine line of dark brown on the edge. He had just turned the title page, when he noticed a hole where a word belonged. The hole ran deep, stopping a number of pages in, and as he thumbed through the book, he noticed that the holes were irregularly shaped, and there were lots of them within the book. He checked a second, and then a third. Not every book had holes in the pages, but he lay the ones that did on the desk.

  So'yi jumped down. "What do you think this means?" She asked as she pushed her nose to the pages.

  "I'm not sure," he said. "But I'm certain I can find out." He glanced at her and motioned for her to come with him, tucking five books under his arm.

  She jumped up onto him and gripped his shoulder with her feet.

  When he came to the conference room, Rollond bit down on his tongue to keep his smug grin from showing. He knew the look on Anileon's face was going to be priceless, as he stepped in. He was over two hours late when he arrived, and the forty-three attending Naeluns exchanged gestures, glancing at him as the Executor-Prefect painstakingly rose.

  "Protocol," Anileon said.

  "Emergency," Rollond replied.

  "No," Anileon said, slamming his palms on the glossy surface of the table's holographic panel. "We are in a meeting. You will not deliberately make yourself tardy and then just barge in like the sharr's paw of individuals."

  "Emergency," Rollond said again. "The meeting can wait." He split the books down the middle and lay them on the panel, flicking through the light around them. The whole conference table went dark, except for some hovering words:

  Initiating Oral Recognition mode — please state a command.

  "Analyze," Rollond said, and like an image scanner a strip of lights on the table's surface became bright.

  "Abort," Anileon said, calmly, and the lights dimmed.

  "What are you doing?" Rollond looked at Anileon with furrowed brows.

  The Executor-Prefect motioned towards the doors.

  Rollond grunted."Analyze," he commanded and the lights started again.

  "Abort," Anileon said. The lights died, he motioned towards the door again. "Rollond, leave."

  "What part of an emergency don't you understand —"

  "Protocol," Anileon said. "Now get out."

  "I damn well know how this kingdom runs, and the state of urgency overrides standard procedure," Rollond snapped.

  "Not for personal crisis," Anileon said, unaffected.

  Rollond narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders, menacingly regarding Anileon. "This is my domain," he said. "I am the Head here —"

  "Not yet you're not,
Prince." Anileon's composure cleaved through Rollond. "I am the presiding Officer in Power on behalf of Mylisto Alekzandyr. You will by no means override me. Now leave with dignity, before I disembowel your ego like the young Swankard you are."

  Rollond's knuckles crackled. He kept his fists by his side, though he wanted to punch Anileon's head clean off of his shoulders. The Executor-Prefect's ballsy air made his skin ripple, and his temples pound. He knew a stupid idea when found one. "Alright," he growled, backing out of the room.

  He paced just outside the doors, head bowed, teeth gritted, scowling, as he repeatedly popped his knuckles. The girl watched him, her tail swishing in the other direction when he reached the exact spot where he turned the first time, and started another rut to the other end.

  "What's the matter?" So'yi asked.

  Finally he sat down and held his crown between his thumb and first finger. "I want this to be over with," he said. "I want to go back to being..." He whirled his hand in the air. It was difficult for him to express his thoughts, because it made no sense. He gave his mother and Anileon so much hassle that it was clear what he wanted. And yet, as compelled by some unseen force, he seemed to accept being dragged towards what he saw as inevitable.

  Or else, where would he go? Where could he go? And do what while he was there? There was no escape from Alekzandrya, no matter how hard he wished he wasn't Rollond Alekzandyr, he was fated to take the throne.

  "I want to be normal," he sighed.

  So'yi perked her ears. "Normal?"

  Rollond nodded. "Normal people are free. They do what they want, go where they please — they don't have this looming shadow of expectation constantly over them. Like, because I was born I have to fill the shoes of my father." He grimaced and furrowed his brows. "Because I was born, So'yi! I was born!"

  "Normal people are born, too," she said, grinning at him. "No one has a choice over who they're born to, it's something even I can't help." She paused, as he mulled over what she said.

  He parted his lips to speak, but So'yi raised her hand and silenced him.

  "I will tell you a secret," she said, as she pushed her head under his arm, plopped down in his lap and laced her toes together, holding her feet near her hips. "The events that happen to us, make us; so do the things we do when these events happen. You are the grand sum of your choices, and not what 'fate' tells you to be."

  He leaned forward, transfixed by her milky gaze.

  "You understand?"

  "Yeah." Rollond nodded.

  "Good." She showed him her teeth by a broad smile, and hopped down from his lap at the sound of the doors opening.

  Anileon's gaze was tired, yet cold as he stood in the door frame looking down at Rollond. "You may return to your matters," he said, stepping aside and motioning for the Prince come.

  The system did not take long to analyze the holes in the book. One by one they hovered in midair, and the pages flipped faster than Rollond could watch. Within seconds the whole process finished, and the system compiled a cubic image of the position and the shape the holes made in each book.

  Rollond rubbed his chin, staring into the amoeban shapes.

  "This is your emergency," Anileon said. "Business can wait for some blobs that possess no thread of sense."

  "It's not the blobs," Rollond said. He enlarged the blots and flicked up a map of the city. He superimposed the images, where the Grand Hall used to be was a large red spot on the three dimensional map, and it turned purple when one of the large blue blots melded into it. "It's Fylus."

  "I have to agree that he must be taken into custody after his recent display of idiocy," Anileon snorted. "Though what this has to do with anything —"

  Rollond zoomed out from the city. He aligned the corners of the images over the domain of Alekzandrya. A small splotch in a cluster within the capital turned purple, precisely where the Grand Hall used to be. Several others collected in major cities, spread out among the forty-four states, except for Westkads.

  Rollond glanced at Anileon, and noticed that his eye twitched. "How did you know to…"

  He shrugged. "I didn't. I just wanted to play with the conference table."

  The hot, humid atmosphere hardened the salty dunes, and on the gnarly crests perched several beasts. Fylus gritted his teeth as he leaned on the console of his facility, observing them. The distressing shriek of the Tyiha sounded every five minutes, and he made sure that the computer varied the pitch, tone, and frequency of the cry. Yet the beasts sat there, heads swaying, jaws chattering, as if the daunting squeal of their mates meant little to them.

  His men were laying low in the shadows between the dunes, armed with electromagnetic netting rods, waiting, like Fylus, for one of the beasts to come down and investigate. He ground his fingers together, pushing harder with each passing second, until he finally slammed his fist down on the com button, and let his frustration seep across the wireless network.

  "Get them!" he seethed.

  "But, sir," said one of his hired hands, "those are Trap-jaws up there."

  He flicked about the console and zoomed the camera up onto the heads of the beasts. It was like staring into the visage of a tyrannosaurus rex. Their teeth were as long as Fylus's hand from his wrist to the end of his middle finger, socketed into awe-inspiring jaws that, he was certain, could shred the back end of a tank in a single snap. "So what if they're Trap-jaws? They're animals. Stupid, filthy, beasts, and they're up against a slew of competent men. There's really nothing to be worried about, they're more afraid of you than you are of them. Now go get one before my aelyth supply goes completely dead on me!"

  He watched them stand, clutching the poles that glowed cool cyan-white at the far ends. His men edged three steps forward and the Trap-jaws stopped being so social, rocking forward onto their forelegs and standing, the muscles of their thick, long necks rippling as they cocked their heads and glanced at Fylus's men with glossy, keen eyes. And his henchmen started to creep back towards the facility, unaware of the hole that had opened in the shifting sand behind them.

  It was when the bottom jaw of a Sandwyrk opened at its split and its vicegrip mandibles clamped around one of Fylus's men that they realized they were easy pickings in a trap. More holes opened like gaping mouthes, as if the desert itself were trying to swallow them whole. His men stumbled backwards as a Sandwyrk shot up from the opening. Its mandibles snapped around the waists of Fylus's men so hard, they were nearly cut in two. Then, thrashing and screaming, the great, serpentine beast dragged them down into the hole.

  "Incompetent fools," Fylus muttered. He pushed the emergency lock-down switch, and tautonium plates ascended, hugging the exterior walls of the facility, blocking the exits. Smuggest grin light up his face, despite the shrill screams of his men as the long, bony blades of the Sandwyrks cut through them as if they were made of water.

  In the midst of his observance the peculiar tone of his phone went off. Fylus fished it out of his vest and squinted at the number. Unknown Sender, it said. He answered it anyway. "Hello?"

  "Fylus," a cool, smooth and detached voice said. "Fylus Medduin Yisliad?"

  "Who wants to know," Fylus snapped.

  "Oh. Sorry. Yes, Mokallai, that's who inquires," he said.

  "So what do you want?"

  "Interesting that you should ask that," Mokallai said. "There is something of dire importance to me that is currently in your possession, and I wanted to ask if you would be so kind as to release it."

  "Something I have?"

  "The contents of tank two-six-four-nine."

  Fylus thumbed through the inventory holograph. Two thousand six hundred forty-nine contained the heartiest Kyuosa he had. "Why is this one so important?"

  "The question you should be asking is: why is this one critical to your survival."

  "Is that a threat?" Fylus said, his pitch rising, unable to believe what he heard.

  "Perhaps," Mokallai said. "The Prince is coming, looking specifically for that shojen. It is in your best i
nterest, in the long run, that you release him now."

  Fylus scoffed. "And how in the hell would Rollond know about one specific animal wedged in a tank?"

  "He shares a bond with that one."

  Fylus paused, his eye twitched.

  "A very special bond," Mokallai said, starting to sound distant. "Almost as if he were, possibly, this one and that. Yes, I know a lot about Rollond, and the creature you keep in the tank. You see, Fylus, the nature of this world requires that you take nothing for its face value."

  He paused, uncertain if Mokallai was a wisecrack cynic or outright crazy. "What if I refuse to do as you say?" Fylus's solemn tone revealed earnest consideration of the possibilities. Every muscle in his body tensed as he waited, nothing but inert silence occupying his ears.