CHAPTER 18

The Prisoner

A true master is one who never loses the beginner’s mind.

Passage Four, Eighth Precept of the Combat Codes

You look terrible,” Sol said, looking across the Bythardi board at Cego.

The two had gotten in the habit of sitting on the ledge within the empty training room between classes, the board set up beside the frost-covered shield window that overlooked the Citadel’s eastern front.

“I feel terrible,” Cego agreed as he slid a fist forward to threaten Sol’s neck piece.

“Is it the nightmares again?” Sol asked. She sent one of her foot pieces in a circular motion behind a pair of Cego’s fists. “Are they getting worse?”

“Yeah,” Cego said, hating that he needed to tell another lie to his friends. He wanted to reveal his secret to Sol, to the entire crew. But he feared the blacklight that had infiltrated him would somehow infect the rest. He wanted to keep the Whelps separate from that place he went in his mind, the island where he tortured himself every day.

“Whatever it is, Cego, you need to get some rest,” Sol said, looking at the deep rings beneath his eyes. “To be honest, you’re not performing like normal.”

Sol made a quick move with one of her fists, sliding it beside Cego’s neck piece. She smiled from across the board, and Cego knew what that meant. He evaluated his possible options for escape and realized there were none. She had him.

He knocked his neck down for the third time this session. Sol was a far better player than him. But Cego knew she wasn’t talking about his Bythardi performance. While he’d been training in the onyx, his fight performance outside of that torturous place had suffered.

“I know I haven’t been up to speed,” Cego said as he began to place his pieces back on the circular board.

Yesterday, he’d let one of Dozer’s heavy knees through during clinch practice, and he could still feel the ache in his rib cartilage. He could see all the moves clearer than ever, though. He knew exactly what to do to attack and counter before it happened. He could see the path to victory, but his body couldn’t quite catch up to his mind.

“Perhaps there’s something you can do for a better night’s sleep,” Sol offered. “I remember when my father used to prepare for fights, he’d swear by a plantoid tea. He’d be snoring like a baby after a few sips.”

“Not sure that’d help with what I’ve got going on,” Cego said. He sat back from the board and took stock of how he’d start his game after three consecutive losses. “Don’t worry; I wasn’t myself against Novor. I’ll be ready for the next challenge.”

“I’m not worried about the matches or our scores,” Sol said. “I’m worried about you. I know how much Murray-Ku meant to you. He was my friend, my coach, too.”

Cego was silent. He turned to the shield window and stared out at the forested valley and Kalabasas Hill rising from the mists. It was on that hill where Joba and Murray were both buried.

“I know the anger you’re feeling,” Sol said as she moved the board aside and shifted closer to him.

She did not know how Cego felt, though. Sol didn’t understand what it was to be trapped in her own body. Cego was a hostage to himself—the Cradle of his birth, the programming of the Bit-Minders, and now the onyx, another layer to this darkin’ world.

“You remember how I was in the weeks after we found out about my father,” Sol said as she inched closer and placed her hand on his. “You spoke with me that day, told me that my anger was weighing me down, told me I had to set it free. You saved me, Cego.”

Cego nodded, meeting Sol’s eyes. “I remember.”

Sol’s face was only inches from his. “I’m here for you too. You don’t need to let the rage burn you up.”

Cego’s heart beat rapidly, and the world beyond the window started to spin. He could smell the sweet honeysuckle of Sol’s hair and feel the warmth of her breath. Though the two had been in physical contact so many times, grappling and wrapping themselves around one another, this… this was far different.

“Hey!” A voice broke their reverie. It was Dozer at the entry to the training room. He eyed the two with suspicion for a moment, not saying anything.

“Yeah?” Sol stood with her arms at her hips. “What’s going on, Dozer? Is there a reason you’re interrupting our game?”

“Right… game.” Dozer seemed to remember why he was there in the first place and paced over to his friends.

“You need to come quick; something’s happened.”

“What?” Cego stood in alarm.

“It’s Professor Farstead,” Dozer said. “They’ve locked him up.”

Cego ran down the long hall toward the Valkyrie beside Dozer and Sol. Instead of climbing the stairs toward Aon’s classroom as he was used to, they followed Dozer down to the basement below the building.

“Didn’t even realize this place existed before Abel told me,” Dozer huffed as they jogged down the stone steps. “Makes me wonder if the Harmony’s got under-levels too.”

Cego shook his head. “I think it’s locked off on that side.”

“This is near where we took our Trials,” Sol said as they passed through an open portal. A grainy feed of an old fight was switched on beside an empty chair angled to watch the entrance.

The Valkyrie’s lower level was well lit and maintained, unlike the dark and dusty catacombs. A servicer gave them a strange look as he dusted the floor outside of a room. Cego glanced within and saw steel cabinets and granite-slab tables with glass instruments atop them. Those were no Grievar tools.

He remembered the lab he’d infiltrated with the Flux in Karstock. The memory was from another lifetime, stored in the recesses of his mind along with his time in the Cradle.

“What are they doing here?” Sol whispered, meeting Cego’s eyes, clearly thinking the same thing.

“Probably where the upper-levels are coming to get stimmed up,” Dozer said.

Cego heard shouting coming from the end of the hall. It was Abel.

“You must not do this!”

Two large guards were doing their best to restrain Abel. Cego recognized them as High Commander Albright’s personal retinue, the muscle that had visited them in Quarter D. The little Desovian had tears streaming down his face as he strained to push into the room they stood in front of.

“What’s going on?” Cego shouted.

Abel turned and met Cego’s eyes before surging against the guards again. One of them palmed Abel’s face and shoved him backward, causing the Desovian to stumble to the floor.

“Hey!” Dozer was moving before Cego could get in front of him. The big kid threw a heavy cross that caught the guard on the chin, sending him sprawling backward against the stone wall.

The second guard whipped a steel rod from his waistbelt, the weapon immediately glowing blue with charge.

“I’d hold back your friend if I were you,” the man growled.

“Dozer!” Cego held his friend’s shoulder. “We need to see what’s—”

He got a glimpse of the room behind the guard. A green luminescence pulsed from a steel Circle laid on the floor. In the middle of the ring lay Aon Farstead.

“What… Why is Professor Farstead in there?”

“Like I told your little friend,” the guard snarled, “I don’t ask questions; I follow orders.”

“They brought him here just now!” Abel yelled. “I went to Professor Aon’s quarters to care for him and found these men carrying him down the stairs!”

Cego tried to get a better view inside the room, but the guard swung his charged rod to ward him off while his dazed companion slowly stood.

“Cheap-shotted me, you shit.” The man rubbed his jaw, eyeing Dozer. He pulled his weapon. “For that I should make you burn—”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” came a baritone voice from the far end of the corridor. Commander Memnon approached, with Sam by his side.

Cego’s breath caught in his chest at his brother’s appearance.

“Why are your weapons drawn?” Memnon stood squarely in front of the guards. “Put them away.”

“These kids came out of nowhere, asking questions about what we’re doing with the prisoner,” the guard said as he holstered his rod.

“Prisoner?” Sol questioned. “Why would Professor Aon be a prisoner here?”

Memnon shook his head. “These aren’t matters for students to be involved in. It’s time for you all to leave.”

“You knew about this?” Cego growled at Memnon. “How could you let this happen?”

“You don’t understand—” Memnon started.

“Don’t understand that you’ve thrown the oldest and most respected teacher in the Lyceum into a cell?” Cego shouted.

“It wasn’t my choice.” Memnon’s voice softened.

“We always have choice,” Abel said as he wiped the tears from his face. “Professor Aon isn’t in good health; he belongs up in his quarters to be cared for.”

“I would have him back up there too,” Memnon said. “But I don’t make the decisions here anymore.”

“The baby ferrcats like to climb the ironwoods for practice; I’ve seen them do so every morning in the forest,” Sam blurted out.

For a moment, Cego had forgotten Sam was even there, the little boy nearly attached to Memnon’s leg. His brother was staring directly at him.

“Callen ordered this?” Cego asked Memnon, tearing his focus from his brother. “He never liked Professor Aon; is this some sort of sick punishment?”

Memnon shook his head again. “There are things bigger than you’d understand going on here.”

“Try us,” Sol said. “And if you’re not the one to make decisions, why are you down here?”

“I came…” Memnon trailed off. “I came to make sure he’s all right. Same as you.”

Cego saw it in the old commander’s contorted face. The man was as broken as they were seeing Professor Aon in this situation.

“Can we see him at least?” Cego asked.

Memnon paused before nodding at the two guards. “Let us pass.”

“High commander says nobody is to get by this threshold without word from him,” one of the guards said warily.

“I don’t know where Callen found you two, likely from Dakar’s discarded PublicJustice squad.” Memnon steeled his eyes on the two men. “But you surely know that nearly every Knight in the Citadel is still loyal to me. And if you ever hope to step foot within these walls again without having to watch your back, you’ll step aside now.”

The two brutes looked at each other before moving to the wall silently. The crew followed behind Memnon’s bulk.

Cego could now see that a translucent wall halved the room, separating Aon from the outside. The man’s frail form lay on the stone floor, surrounded by a pulsing emeralyis Circle.

Abel pressed his hands up against the glass. “We’re here, Professor Aon. We haven’t forgotten you.”

The old man breathed shallowly but otherwise did not show any sign of consciousness.

“Why is he in an emeralyis Circle?” Sol asked.

“Governance ordered it.” Memnon kept his voice low, attempting to keep the guards out of earshot. “You must not speak of this, as much as I know you will want to. I didn’t want this… and if I could do anything about it, I would. But know this: They are within the Citadel’s walls at all hours now. The Enforcers.”

Cego saw Abel shudder, though the little Desovian didn’t pull back from the glass.

“Why?” Cego whispered.

“Because of what’s happening to the Kirothian Empire,” Memnon said. “They are preparing.”

Cego already knew what Governance was preparing for. He’d always known. Silas was coming.

Sam spoke again, as if prompted by some unseen force. “Do you think Silas will bring back a good haul of fish? He’s been out in the water for a long time now, and I’m getting hungry.”

Cego wanted to respond to Sam. Though he knew his little brother’s words seemed gibberish, Cego understood him. He spoke of the island, the place they’d grown up together. Sam only spoke of that place.

But Cego couldn’t bring himself to respond. Since he’d come back to the Lyceum, since he’d seen Sam in this state, he couldn’t bear being near his brother.

“Why are they doing this to him?” Abel shook his head, tears streaming down his face again as he looked at Aon’s withered body behind the glass.

“They think it will help them,” Memnon replied. “I could not tell you more even if I knew it. Only the Daimyo can explain such machinations.”

Cego put his hand on Abel’s shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll figure this out. There’s nothing we can do now.”

Abel slowly backed away from the glass, his shoulders slumped.

Memnon turned from the room and walked out. Murray had trusted this man, had put Sam in Memnon’s care. And so Cego would trust him too.

Memnon spoke loudly as the crew exited the prison room, for the guards to hear this time. “Do not speak of this to anyone or there will be consequences.”

The commander walked away with Sam trailing him.

“We gonna keep this quiet?” Dozer said as he glanced back at the two guards.

“No,” Cego said. “I know exactly who to talk to.”

Cego had been avoiding the sixth floor of the Harmony since he’d returned to the Lyceum.

He needed answers, though, and there was only one man who could possibly help him. Cego slid open the creaky wooden door and entered the greenhouse. It was as he remembered: sticky, warm air and a variety of exotic plants draped from the walls and sprouting from pots.

“Hello, Cego.” A small man was standing on a desk, snipping at a vine hanging overhead. “You might notice that this one, Paranthycus tombili, more commonly known as snake weed, has invaded my greenhouse.”

“Hello, Professor Zyleth,” Cego returned. “Umm, do you need any help?”

“I do realize you could more easily reach this for me,” Zyleth responded as he stood on his toes to snip at a particularly thick part of the vine. “But this plant needs to know that I mean business.”

With a grunt, the Daimyo squeezed his shears and the vine dropped to the desk. “Now, there we go.”

Zyleth wiped the sweat from his brow and slid down from the table. Cego noticed a large welt on the man’s forehead. For any other professor at the Lyceum, Cego wouldn’t think twice about an injury, given they were practicing at a combat school. However, Zyleth wasn’t a normal professor and he wasn’t a Grievar.

“Professor, are you okay?” Cego asked.

“Ah, you must be referring to this hematoma I have atop my skull.” Zyleth held his hand to the contusion and winced in pain. “Yes, I did go to the ward yesterday, though they seem far more suited to treat your kind than mine. The lead cleric, Xenalia, was helpful, though, and provided me with an ointment to reduce the swelling.”

“Xenalia’s stitched me up more times than I can count,” Cego said. “But what I meant was… what happened?”

“You mean you did not assume I have taken to Professor Tefo’s Striking lessons?” Zyleth smiled. “Of course, you are right. And unfortunately, this injury did not come from mutual combat of any sort.”

“Someone attacked you?” Cego asked.

Zyleth moved to start shearing one of the thinner vines that had entangled a seat in his classroom. “Cego, you know as well as I that these times are not normal. And, given the current circumstances, being a Daimyo professor at a Grievar combat school has proven to be… difficult.”

“You mean, someone beat you because you’re a Daimyo?”

“Yes,” Zyleth said softly. “Though best not to speak of it outside this room.”

Cego wanted to ask who had attacked him, but Zyleth’s look quieted him.

“Let us focus on the good,” Zyleth said. “And that is, I am very glad to see you. It was in far worse circumstances when we last spoke.”

“Yes,” Cego said. “That’s why I came. I know it’s been too long, and I should have come sooner but… I wanted to thank you for everything you did for me during my trial.”

Zyleth nodded. “I am afraid in the end, I did not do much at all, given you were sentenced to execution by the Goliath.”

“I was,” Cego said. “But if you didn’t represent me and speak in my defense, I wouldn’t have been able to fight like I did. Believe me, things would have turned out differently.”

“That was quite amazing, Cego.” Zyleth raised his eyebrow. “I do not think the chatter about your feat against the Goliath will ever be quieted in these halls.”

Cego sat down in a chair and was silent for a moment. “People here think I’m special. But I’m not… or at least, I don’t want to be.”

“And that is exactly what makes you special,” Zyleth said. “It is what makes you different from your brother, the Slayer.”

“First, we couldn’t speak of him or the Flux,” Cego said. “And now Callen has us recording feeds denouncing the rebellion. What’s going on?”

“I have heard as much.” Zyleth sighed and held his hand back to his injured head. “The same thing is happening that prompted the attack on me. Fear. It drives all animals—Daimyo, Grievar, it does not matter. We fear that which is different, that which will change what we think is our ideal way of life. And now the Citadel fears the Flux. They are preparing to fight, but the first battle is a psychological one, convincing the Grievar and Grunt populace in this nation that the Slayer’s cause is not a worthy one.”

“They are doing more than that, though,” Cego said quietly. “Worse things than having us tell lies. It’s actually another reason I came here to talk to you.”

“Speak freely, and do not worry about unwanted ears in this room,” Zyleth said, walking back to his desk. “I have protective measures in place.”

“I need some information on tech,” Cego said. He could still remember the professor showing the class each sort of spectral weapon over a year before. “I was wondering if you might tell me a bit more about the Circles.”

“Ah, well, I am no Circle scholar. In fact, Professor Larkspur would be the best to ask about Circles or anything related to fighting.” Zyleth rubbed at the bruise on his forehead again.

“I’m not looking for anything about how to fight in Circles, Professor,” Cego said. “I’d like to know more about how the Circles are made.”

Zyleth paused with his hand on his chin, as if he were deciding whether to provide Cego the information or not. “Well, I do know a bit about that, of course. Though in these times, be careful what you are asking for and who you speak to. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Cego nodded.

“As you know, all Circles are composed of some mixture of the prime elemental alloys. When these alloys are harvested from the mines, they are smelted down into the form of a Circle. Most industrialized nations have a few factories set to making them; though, as I am sure you know, nearly half of Kiroth’s factories have been hit by the Flux in the last several months.”

“Yes, I know.” Cego’s mind flashed to his brother. The plan to hit the factories had been nearly as important as the mining operations and stim labs. “Can you tell me of emeralyis, though?”

“Your line of questioning is very specific, Cego,” Zyleth said. “I am sure you already know the effect emeralyis has on a Grievar fighting within it. Heightened creativity, almost euphoria to explore new techniques. But what are you actually asking?”

Cego breathed deeply. “Could emeralyis be used to… imprison someone?”

Zyleth’s mouth became a hard line, and he observed Cego with his wide black eyes. The Daimyo then reached into his desk and retrieved a small rectangular box. He opened it and a green glow emerged from the object’s interior.

“Is that emeralyis?” Cego asked, unable to pull his gaze from the greenlight.

“Yes,” Zyleth said, shutting the box. “Highly concentrated in this device, more than you’d ever see in any normal Circle.”

“Why do you have it?”

“This little transmitter is the reason I am not worried anyone is listening in to our conversation,” Zyleth explained. “Emeralyis, when highly focused, can serve to disrupt transmission from Observer spectrals.”

“Like… the spectral that Xenalia uses at the medward?” Cego thought about the little crimson wisp that often helped his cleric friend conduct her medical examinations.

“Similar in nature,” Zyleth said. “Though many Observer spectrals are unseen. They are formed by the blacklight.”

Cego shook his head. Everything always came back to the blacklight, the dark energy emitted from the onyx.

“Certain Daimyo researchers have claimed to have some grasp of how to harness the power of onyx and utilize it for various purposes,” Zyleth said. “But they are dabbling. There have been a variety of failed experiments with onyx over the years, some with disastrous effects. The only ones who truly understand the blacklight are the Bit-Minders.”

Cego felt a chill run through his body, even conjuring the image of a Bit-Minder. The last one he’d seen was the judge presiding over his trial, one that had sentenced him to execution.

“So, the Bit-Minders can watch us through the blacklight spectrals?” Cego unconsciously looked around the room, as if he’d be able to see one of the dark voids hanging in the air.

“They are almost always watching, gathering information, I suspect.” Zyleth tapped the box in his hand. “Which is why this little device gives me peace of mind.”

Cego’s mind flitted back to Old Aon, encircled with the greenlight of emeralyis in his prison. He needed to tell Zyleth. He trusted him.

“Yesterday, we saw Callen’s men bring Professor Aon Farstead down to the under-levels beneath the Valkyrie,” Cego blurted out. “They placed him in a prison, within a Circle of bright emeralyis.”

“That does not make any sense.” Zyleth shook his head. “There would be no reason for Governance to do that… unless…”

“Unless what?” Cego’s voice broke.

“Unless… they think that Aon is transmitting information to the outside.”

“How could that be true?” Cego asked. “Professor Aon hasn’t even been conscious for the past year, and before that he was babbling, not making any sense.”

“There is some secret being kept purposefully hidden here,” Zyleth said. “Aon has always been a friend to the Minders. He even sent Murray Pearson to their Codex to inquire about you at one point.”

Cego vividly remembered when Murray had come back from the Codex, when he’d come to tell him of the Cradle he’d been created in.

“But it still doesn’t make sense,” Cego said. “Even if Aon was communicating with the Bit-Minders, why would that matter? As you said yourself, they are always watching us anyway.”

“Your line of thinking is correct, Cego,” Zyleth said. “For Governance to take this action, it must be something of greater gravity. Not only must they believe Aon to be communicating with the Minders, they must believe that the Minders are… helping the opposition.”

“Why would the Minders help the Flux?” Cego asked.

“As I said before, the Minders are a mystery even to my kin,” Zyleth said. “We know they are a networked breed, though. They are each individually part of a greater whole, like a swarm of insects communicating, working in unison for some greater purpose.”

“What is their purpose?” Cego asked.

“No one knows,” Zyleth said. “But then again, the same could be said of you or me. All we do know is that for Governance to decide to imprison Aon, throw him within an emeralyis Circle, they must believe that he is a threat.”