| |
A Refugee in Disguise
––––––––
Rhyparia’s stomach and energy canals were withering away. She and her group had lost track of time long ago. Nobody knew how many months they’d spent traversing Realmular Tunnel, but they had an idea as to how many more days they could last.
That’s right ... days.
She needed to see sunlight—any sign of reaching the other end, anything that’d tell her she wasn’t going to die in this chasm. Even with eight hours of rest every day, her energy still depleted quicker as each day progressed. People weren’t meant to weave for such extended periods of time. A few of her travel partners had questioned what she was accomplishing.
Natural gravity began to push against hers, making the climb up the tunnel’s wall more difficult. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been much to complain about, but with atrophied muscles, the pain was agonizing. Atarax and Kakos had spent the past week on all fours, using their front claws to help push them up the wall. It reminded Rhyparia of what Biaza and Moros had told her a while back, that two of the craftmasters were once Unboundants long ago. Just a month ago, Atarax had confirmed such a claim by outing himself and Kakos.
Rhyparia glanced at Saikatto, the original Adren Jestivan. He had lost most of his muscle mass, but he was still able to carry a sleeping Prakriti over his shoulder. Prakriti looked worse than anyone—skin and bone. Each rib cast its own shadow in his chest from the torchlight, his stomach hollow. His shoulders and elbows looked like knobs, and Moros could have latched onto his collarbone like it was a handle.
Tears were not commonplace with a woman like Rhyparia, not since she was a child. But this journey managed to pry them out of her every couple of days. It had become too much. Musku had sacrificed his life—and decades that he could have dedicated with his family—for nothing. Director Senex and Pilot Ophala, too ... they had risked everything to save Rhyparia’s life.
She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. Over the past few days, it had become hotter than normal. There was no explanation for the sensation, but she knew that everyone felt it. It only made things more difficult.
Hours passed. Rhyparia’s head drooped, her listless gaze on the wall beneath her feet.
“Light!” someone shouted.
Rhyparia looked up. Even through blurred vision, she could see dim light cutting through the branches of dead trees. If it hadn’t been for someone else pointing it out, she would have thought her mind was playing tricks on her.
“Come on, Rhyparia,” Rayne said. “Push a little longer. Get us to the opening.”
Rhyparia nodded and croaked, “I’m trying.”
“Is the opening not in a cave like back in Epinio?” Biaza asked. “You’d think that Dimiourgos would have wanted to hide the entrance so that the Dark Courage King would never find it.”
It was a fair question. Now that Rhyparia thought about it, why had she expected to see sunlight? Was the hole sitting in the middle of the ground, somewhere in the wide open? Paws pressed into her back, pushing her forward. She turned her head to find Atarax guiding her forward. Was her exhaustion that noticeable?
“You astound me, Rhyparia,” the fox said.
Rhyparia couldn’t even muster up a response. Instead, she put all of her effort into weaving. How much longer until the surface?
* * *
Since Illipsia’s arrival to Phesaw, the school’s campus had slowly morphed into something that resembled more of its old self. New cherry blossoms had been planted in Phesaw Park, stone pathways had been scrubbed to white, and the grass and hedges had been manicured. Wreckage from Storshae and Toono’s invasion years back had been cleared, leaving vacant lots strewn across the campus. Progress had been made.
Illipsia strolled around the main school building at dusk, her gaze fixated on its walls. During the day, it served as a combination of facilities for the refugees, but it mostly acted as it had been intended for centuries: a school. Like other refugee children, Illipsia attended class every day, though unlike them, she gained nothing from lessons; her attendance acted only as a façade. Toono had given her ulterior motives.
Her days were spent scouting Phesaw’s main atrium where ceremonies were held. Between classes, she’d walk the lobby that circled it, eyeing every inch of surface. She’d enter the auditorium and linger inside. A few times she’d sit in a random chair in the stands and simply observe her surroundings. But that had to stop as of late. People were becoming suspicious, curious as to why a girl was wandering the auditorium alone for close to an hour every day.
Before Illipsia rounded the Spirit Wing, she closed her eyes, tracking any potential presences in the courtyard. Someone was there, motionless near one of the building’s side entrances. It was likely the man whose job was to keep watch of the building at night. His name was difficult to remember, but he walked with a cane, smoked a pipe, and never looked too friendly.
Spirit Director Neaneuma probably assigned him to such a position because of the secrets contained within the school. Unlike the Warpfinate, which had its own set of defenses—the limits of one’s mind—the school building was an unbound book, waiting to be opened. Illipsia frowned; she couldn’t risk getting caught by the man with the cane. He’d alert someone important.
The moon and stars hovered above as she returned to her living quarters. She’d choose another night.
* * *
Illipsia moped. Her chin rested atop her forearm, gaze level with the quill that stood in her ink jar. Pressing her finger against the feather, she pushed it around the jar’s rim out of boredom. The professor was rambling on about fractions—something Illipsia had learned when she was three years old. This was just another mind-numbing discourse to attend for the sake of keeping appearances. If she had it her way, she’d be in a class with people twice her age, but that’d only draw attention from others.
“I’ll begin providing tutoring classes at eight o’clock every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night next month,” the professor said, catching Illipsia’s interest. “Sign-up sheet is sitting on the table outside the door. I hope to see most of you there; you definitely need it.” Her lips pursed. “Class dismissed.”
Illipsia gathered her things with a little more haste than normal, excited by the opportunity just presented to her. She wended her way between desks and lingering classmates before exiting the class and turning to see the table. She snatched the quill from a jar nearby and scribbled her name across the blank parchment.
“Awfully excited for some tutorage,” a voice said.
Illipsia looked up to find one of her few friendly acquaintances, Beren. He reached across her and grabbed the quill. As he wrote down his name, Illipsia asked, “Struggling?”
“Math isn’t really my thing,” he said. “I’d stick to a pure weaving curriculum if I could, but that’s not really doable anymore. Mrs. Neaneuma has a different set of rules than Grand Director Poicus did.”
Illipsia stared at him emptily, and Beren raised an eyebrow. “You’re so odd,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder before walking away. “See you tomorrow.”
* * *
Amber rays streaked across dawn’s sky as people descended Telejunction’s hill. Children, adults; some alone, others with families. While most of them wore normal clothes, some donned the familiar silver of the Adren Kingdom. They had arrived in droves over the past month or so, adding a bit more diversity to Phesaw’s melting pot.
Illipsia was leaning against the school building and watching the spectacle when someone approached her. She gazed to her left to see Beren.
“Good morning,” he said.
She stared at him for a moment before looking forward again. She felt different without her long hair, like she couldn’t be herself.
“Strange ... all the Adrenians arriving here out of the blue,” he noted.
Beren might not have understood it, but Illipsia did. Adrenians being transported to a refugee base meant one thing: Yama and Kadlest had been successful in taking hold of the Adren Kingdom’s capital, Katashi. Previously, Archains had been the dominant presence in Phesaw ... not anymore.
Beren’s gaze became grave. “Do you think something bad happened to their kingdom like what happened to ours?”
“Let’s hope not,” Illipsia replied. She meant it. From the bottom of her heart, she hoped that Yama and Kadlest were heeding Toono’s words: Don’t hurt any civilians. “Perhaps it’s a precautionary procedure,” she added.
“Or maybe they were in the Archaic Kingdom and are just now being rescued,” Beren said.
She nodded and muttered, “Maybe ...”
“So the tutoring sessions finally begin tomorrow night. Still going to attend?” Beren asked.
“Of course.”
“You know what would probably help?” he said. “If you’d start paying attention in class. Don’t think it’s not obvious. You’re always distracted by random things.”
She glanced at him once more. “And it seems you have that same issue ... distractions.”
He blushed, then slapped the back of his head. “Touché, Illipsia.” He walked toward Phesaw’s main doors, joining the flood of refugees.
* * *
The following night, Illipsia strolled through the school’s towering main doors with Beren by her side. The strange man with the cane stood near the doorway. As always, he seemed to care little about his duties, taking an occasional puff from his pipe. Illipsia, however, knew not to be fooled by such an aura. Those who carried themselves in such a nonchalant manner usually did so for a reason; they feared no one.
Illipsia, on the other hand, found a lot in life to be frightening. The Devish royal family, the gravitational fluctuations she had experienced in the Archaic Mountains, and seeing her hair massed in long strands across the floor during all of her nightmares.
By the time Illipsia decided to initiate her plan, they had traveled deep into the Knowledge Wing. She doubled over, clutching at her stomach with one hand and propping herself against the wall with the other. As she groaned, Beren grabbed her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Letting her shoulder hit the wall, she pressed her hand against her forehead, trying to hide that she was straining her face to make it turn red. “I’m not feeling good,” she said. “I think I’m going to head back. I’ll make it to the next one.”
“Let me walk you out and take you to the medical ward,” he said, trying to help her the other way.
She shook herself free. “No, go. Tell the professor I couldn’t make it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, please.”
He stared at her, obviously dealing with the dilemma internally. Ultimately, he nodded and headed in their original direction. “If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’m hunting you down.”
Illipsia trudged the other way. It wasn’t until she cleared a corner and put distance between her and Beren that she finally straightened up again. Feigning sickness had been a rather unimaginative tactic, but she had yet to master certain weaving skills with her Dev Energy that could have better served as a diversion. That, however, didn’t mean she wasn’t training. She spent every night learning to manipulate her Dev chains in new ways, hoping to achieve new abilities. She would need to if it meant accomplishing Toono’s lofty goals.
She raced to the main lobby, keeping to the northeastern side of the ring; the man with the cane was still at the main entrance. She made frequent use of her clairvoyance to scout surrounding areas. Once she was sure there were no disturbances present, she reached for a door that led to the auditorium. She twisted the knob, but it didn’t budge. Of course it was locked.
Pressing a finger against the keyhole, she mentally prepared herself for the intricate weaving of Dev chains required to pick a lock. For her to telekinetically and simultaneously manipulate all of the tiny pins contained within was a tall task itself, but to then determine the correct amount of pressure to put on each one made it nearly impossible. She’d have to try thousands of different combinations before hitting the right one. Luckily for a girl like Illipsia, she could weave intricate algorithms in seconds.
Finally, there was a click. She twisted the handle, opened the door, and stepped through, closing it behind her. Before moving on to the next order of business, she made a mental image of the key she had woven with her Dev chains. This way, next time she wouldn’t have to fuss with the lock.
Scanning her surroundings, she descended the steps to the main floor where the circular stage sat. This was the first time she had seen the auditorium empty. There had always been adults keeping an eye out during the day, when classes were active. While refugees might have been able to pass through the auditorium as a shortcut, rope always surrounded the stage. It wasn’t much of a defense, but that’s because it served as more of a symbolical presence ... a Do Not Cross sign. The rope was still there, even at a time like this, but Illipsia didn’t mind stepping under it if there weren’t watchful eyes around.
So, she did exactly that. She ducked under the rope and climbed onto the stage. Five lecterns that had once served the Energy Directors during ceremonies stood at the stage’s edge. But it was the podium that stood at the stage’s center that garnered Illipsia’s attention. Shaped like a ring, the Grand Director used to stand within it. One could question the practicality of such a structure. As Illipsia circled it, she found no doorway.
When she had attended Phesaw for one year as a spy, she made friends with a young boy named Simon. He had explained to her the marvel of this stage, how the directors would rise from beneath it on platforms, or how the Jestivan sunk below it when they were formed years ago. Only the Jestivan and Energy Directors knew of what was below the school, but Simon had bragged that Bryson had told him what they saw down there: Thusia’s coffin.
That limited piece of information told Illipsia all she needed to know. She didn’t care about Thusia’s resting place. The Jestivan hadn’t been exposed to all of Phesaw’s truths. While what was down there might not have been as old or mystical as what could be found in the Warpfinate’s depths, it was still useful to Toono—something that could allow him to achieve a maneuver that’d surprise True Light.
Hopping onto the podium, she slipped off and fell into the hole at its center. She crouched, hidden to the auditorium around her. And that’s when she saw it—a closed compartment with five locks bolted into the small door. Inside was likely a lever or button that’d control the platforms. She pressed her finger against the keyhole of one lock to get a feel of its intricacies. Curious, she pressed the finger of her other hand against the second lock.
The locking mechanisms were more complex than any she had tried to pick in her life. This would take some time—more time than she had in that moment. And something told her that there was likely an order in which they had to be unlocked. She leaned back and exhaled forcefully. For now, she’d leave it be.
But soon, she’d descend beneath Phesaw in search of one of Mendac’s accidental gifts.
