Chapter 2 - Prophet’s Guard
No matter where you were in Eredith, the first thing you’d see when stepping outside was the hundred story wall wrapped about the city and the six mighty statues standing vigil upon its towers.
Mathas’ athenaeum was settled near the center of the city, on the southern edge of Loem Park. From the outside, it looked like a miniature basilica with towering glass mosaics that glowed warmly in the evening light and cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the bustling streets below.
The End of Highsun Bash was in full swing by the time Faeron and Auri left the athenaeum, and the driving beat of live music electrified the air. The main road was a one-way river of people pushing towards the source of the music, an amphitheater at the heart of the park. From atop the steps of Mathas’ Athenaeum, Faeron could see that the smaller paths zigzagging across the spacious lawn were twice as crowded.
“No way we’ll make it across that crowd before last call at the colosseum,” said Auri, “we’re gonna have to take a tram... Serris!”
A small orb of white-blue light popped into the air beside them.
“What can I do for you?” asked Serris; the ball of light, known as an index, was Eredith’s citywide assistant.
“How’s traffic tonight?” asked Faeron.
“Parkside stations are closed for the remainder of the night, but I can pick you up over at Roetham and Inner,” said Serris. “Do note, there may be a wait to disembark. We have several locations backed up.”
“Go ahead and order the tram,” said Auri, trotting down the steps with Faeron in tow. “Where’s the closest to the colosseum you can drop us?” She took a right into a wide alley between the athenaeum’s south wing and the Clearstream Cinema next door. The quiet road led away from the bustling park toward the Roetham Academy Tower.
“The east end of the park is roped off, so traffic over by the colosseum is light tonight,” reported Serris, bobbing up and down just over Faeron’s shoulder as she followed along. “I can put you right outside the D-Gate of Bellwillow Market, if that works for you two.”
“Perfect,” said Auri.
“All booked,” reported Serris. “You’ll be looking for tram blue six-eight-two.” At that, the pair set off.
In the distance, Roethram Academy tower cast a wide shadow across the streets below. The tower was topped by the statue of a man with stones of varied metals orbiting each other just above his outstretched palm.
Besides Faeron and Auri, the only other people on the road were an older gentlemen with silver streaked hair and a woman in a heavy-knit sweater, making faces at an infant who giggled gleefully from the autostroller keeping pace beside her.
Halfway to the tower, Faeron and Auri reached a large crossing where their tram was scheduled to arrive. On each corner of the crossing were several transpo-tubes, glassy white cylinders large enough to hold several commuters. Just as Faeron and Auri arrived, one of the smaller tubes turned bright blue, and the number 682 appeared on one side
“Ride’s here,” said Faeron, pointing out the tube to Auri. They cut across the street and approached the glowing cylinder.
As the pair drew near, the blue glass wall split smoothly down the center, shaping into a doorway. They stepped inside, and the tube’s color faded as the wall closed behind them, drowning out the music of the park. In the very center of the tube was a ring-shaped railing, about waist high and fastened securely to the floor by a glassy white pole.
“Please take hold of the railing to begin your descent,” said the pleasant voice of Alannah, the transit AI.
Faeron and Auri grabbed the bannister, and the floor slowly began to drop. They descended into a clean white tram, and when they platform they were riding came to a stop, it melded right into the floor. There were six seats, and Faeron and Auri each found one. Then, the tram began to move.
“Oh, I never told you,” said Auri, settling into her seat. “Last night, at youth group, Andrea had a theory about the new expansion. You know the teaser poster?”
“Of course,” said Faeron. “Twenty years, twenty legends, twenty challenges.” The virtual reality game offered a variety of trials from solving ancient puzzles to all out brawls. No matter what the challenges were, the one thing they all shared was the presence of one of the Hosts, the golden eyed prophets of the Patronage.
“But, did you notice the outside?” asked Auri. “It’s all sandy… which may mean we’ll finally see a Salduni host.”
“Does that mean Sombara?” asked Faeron, thinking through his Patronage history lessons. He wasn’t nearly the expert Auri was, something she never let him live down considering his dad was the current Host. Still, he knew there weren’t more than a handful of hosts from Saldun, the expansive desert in the east.
“Likely Cresh,” guessed Auri. “She’s the biggest name in Salduni Hosts. Though, it could be Ylketha, Poporoe, or Nokruvokani as well. What do you think? ”
“All those ancient names blend together,” shrugged Faeron. “I always mix up who’s who.”
“Unbelievable,” sighed Auri, giving him a disappointed glare.
When the tram finally came to a complete stop, a ring of light appeared around the central railing, denoting the elevator out of the tram.
“Please stand in the circle and, for your safety, hold on to the handrail,” said Alannah. Faeron and Auri did as they were instructed, taking hold of the bannister. A hole in the ceiling opened, and the circle at their feet carried them upward. They ascended into another transpo-tube and, as the door shifted open, the park’s driving music seeped back in. Swiftly, Faeron and Auri stepped out into a bustling plaza between two extraordinary buildings.
Bellwillow Market was a huge sandstone slab of a structure, three stories tall and taking up two blocks by itself. There were dozens of shops within the market, from clothes and technology to snacks and knick knacks. Shy of the grocery store, it was the one stop for anything you ever needed in Eredith.
The D-Gate was dead center on the building’s southwest wall and looked like any other entry to the market. Tall, arching bellwillow trees stood on either side of the entry, their golden bell-shaped buds tinkling softly in the slow breeze.
Across from the market was the Astral Colosseum, a structure that truly lived up to its name. The night-black walls of the colosseum were painted with twinkling stars, galaxies, and nebulas. The colosseum was split into two halves, with a regal sandstone bridge connecting them. The left half of the building contained the Court of Fantasy, the city’s largest arcade and home to the Deity lounge, where competitive Deity matches were held. On the right, was the Arches of the Ages, Faeron and Auri’s destination tonight. Joining a small crowd at the arched stone entry, the pair proceeded inside.
Faeron found himself in a wide open room with a swirling black and white mural painted on its vaulted ceiling, three floors overhead. Long terraces wrapped around each floor, and there were dozens of doors on each terrace. The room was lit by staircases of pure golden light that appeared and disappeared, connecting the many doors above. As the stairs came and went, the light in the room kept shifting, giving the space a magical atmosphere.
The ground floor was also lined with doors. Benches filled the open space, and, in the very center of the room, were several large monitors displaying upcoming event times and high scores for various games.
“The eighth hour group tour of Unity era Akai will begin shortly,” said a friendly voice over a loudspeaker. “Please secure your magboots and interaction gloves then find your tour guide near the blue door. Again, the group tour of Unity era Akai will begin shortly.”
Faeron and Auri went to the rental desk, on their right, where a girl about fifteen or sixteen greeted them with a big smile.
“I almost thought you two wouldn’t make it,” said Sarah brightly. She had light blonde hair with a streak of blue in her bangs. There were probably a dozen piercings just in one ear and half that on her bright blue bottom lip. “Last call is in five minutes.”
“They’ve got you working through the concert?” asked Faeron, leaning up against the desk.
“I won’t miss much,” said Sarah. “There’s only two group tours tonight, and Daerian is handling them...” As she said this, she looked over to where a small group of middle aged men and women were gathered around a uniformed tour guide. Faeron recognized the guide from the academy, a ninth year, around Sarah’s age, with dark skin, short frizzy hair, and white tattoo sleeves covering both his arms. Catching Sarah’s gaze, Daerian smiled and waved at her.
“Sorry, the time,” said Sarah, perking up suddenly. “I’ll go grab your boots… A nine-and-a-half and an eleven, no, twelve?”
“That’s it,” said Auri.
Sarah went into a back room and came back a few seconds later with two sets of shoes.
“You’ve got your own gloves, right?” asked Sarah.
“Indeed,” said Faeron, pointing to the bag slung over his shoulder.
“Cool! I take it you’ll want to run the new expansion,” said Sarah, and she made a motion that conjured a projected console behind the desk. “You can check the list of new challenges here if you want to select one.”
“Wait!” cried Auri. “I don’t want to see until I’m in.”
“She likes the surprise,” said Faeron.
“That’s right, silly me,” said Sarah. “What kind of challenges are you looking for then?”
“Combat,” said Auri. “Melee stuff though. No guns.”
“Got just the thing,” said Sarah.
“And a puzzle or two for me,” added Faeron.
“Hmm, oh duh!” said Sarah brightly as she scanned through the list. “This is going to be perfect! You’re all set then, just a couple last things. As per the city’s educational entertainment initiative, you’ll earn five rep per challenge completion and ten for making the leaderboard. Also, there’s no extra metal on either of you today, is there?” asked Sarah.
“Nope,” said Faeron, patting his pockets to be sure.
“Just the hair,” said Auri, holding up a few strands of her bronze plated locks.
“We should have that in the system, but just in case there’s been chipping or anything...” Sarah messed with a panel behind the desk, and a ball of light popped into the air beside Auri, scanning her hair then disappearing. “Don’t want any accidents in the machines… Anyway! You both know the rules. Go kill it in there.”
Faeron grabbed a seat nearby to change his shoes, and Auri joined him. The boots were heavy, thick synthleather with metal plated soles. Faeron reached into his backpack and pulled out a set of sleek leather gloves, lined in metal as well, with a knob and small display on the back. Once they had their magboots and interaction gloves secured, Faeron went to a cubby near the desk and left his shoes and backpack.
“Ready?” Faeron asked Auri as he fiddled with the knob on the back of his glove, twisting until the color indicator turned purple.
Auri shot him a winning grin. The bronze ends of her dark black hair shone spectacularly in the shifting golden light. “Three… Two… One…”
Faeron and Auri pressed in the knobs on their gloves, and two doors lit up, side by side, one purple, one bronze. The doors swung open of their own accord and Faeron rushed inside. There were no lights in the room, and, as the door shut behind Faeron, he was left in complete darkness.
Heat rushed into the small space, carried on a hot dry breeze. Suddenly, the room wasn’t dark anymore, and Faeron was no longer alone. He stood just beside Auri in a desert, atop a tall dune overlooking a riverside fortress. It had tall stone walls, and its hulking wooden gate was shut tight.
“Saldun,” whispered Auri excitedly. “Not the capital of course, but that fort is definitely Salduni, second age by the look of it.” She had always been a big fan of the desert nation’s architecture and designs. Her room was decorated with all sorts of Salduni oddities her father had brought back whenever he passed through the region in his travels.
“Battle’s not over yet, prophets guard!” cried a voice from behind them.
An army of a hundred or more men were marching over the dune towards the fortress. They were led by a woman with tattoos where her hair would be. She was clearly human, and yet she was tall as a capillum and nearly three times as wide. She was the biggest, most muscular person Faeron had ever seen, with powerful golden eyes.
Faeron didn’t need Auri’s help to identify the enormous woman. She was the Warrior Host, Cresh, though her statue atop Cresh Capital Tower did her little justice. Even this illusion of the Warrior Host had a dominating presence. Her only piece of armor was a single shoulder pauldron, which had been smelted around the glassy black Host Stone. Lightly colored vines held the pauldron in place; they wrapped around her torso, wound up her arms, and ran through her fingers.
“Our oldest enemy, Lyle the Deceiver, has kidnapped several young kytra,” barked Cresh as she approached Faeron and Auri. “He’s holding them in the fortress with a sizable force, armed to the teeth and prepared to die for their scheming master.”
“What can we do?” asked Auri excitedly.
“The fortress has a two layered gate, one wooden, one metal,” reported Cresh. “That wood won’t stand long against my fists, but the metal will take too long to break. I need you to sneak inside and get that rear gate open while I break through the front door.”
“But if the gate’s closed, how are we supposed to get in?” asked Faeron.
“There’s a secret portcullis on the eastern wall,” said Cresh, pointing off to the side of the fortress. “Find it and knock five times in quick succession, followed by two slow knocks. Intel says the passage is lightly guarded. Once inside, the gate’s mechanism should be nearby.”
“Get inside, deal with the guards, open the gate. Got it,” said Auri.
“You will need these to reach the gate,” said Cresh, motioning to a pair of soldiers holding a large trunk. They lowered the box to the sand and pried open the lid, revealing all sorts of steel weapons. There were swords, spears, axes, hammers, poles, a bow, and many arrows. “Take your pick,” said the Warrior Host.
Faeron went to the box, his feet sinking into the hot sand with each step. Rummaging through the weapon case, he picked up a longsword first. Though it was merely an illusion, it felt solid as metal thanks to the gloves. The sword had a nice weight in both hands, but it was too heavy to hold in just one, so Faeron set it in the sand and dug back into the box.
“This is more like it,” he whispered as he found a pair of matching metal guard sticks, his go to option for any combat challenge where they were available. They felt natural, like the keeper’s sticks he used for bunball. These didn’t have the magnetic ends for catching high-speed metal balls, but that was less of an issue in Prophet’s Guard.
“Again with the sticks?” said Auri, who was now digging through the box over his shoulder. “I mean, all these options and you pick those? One of these days you’re gonna learn to fight with a real weapon, and you’ll look back on these days with shame.”
“I do just fine with my guard sticks, thank you,” said Faeron stubbornly. “Besides, they were in the box. That makes them real weapons.”
“No,” said Auri, heaving hard. “This is a real weapon.” With both hands she pulled a massive great hammer from the box and threw it over her shoulder. “Now, if you’re set on fighting with those… glorified straws, we should get headed out. Those kytra aren’t gonna save themselves.”
Faeron and Auri trekked across the sand to the wall where Cresh said the portcullis would be. It was a hard walk, even though it wasn’t far. With each step, Faeron felt as though he were sinking into the floor, as if it were actual sand, and the heat was downright oppressive.
The portcullis was easy enough to spot. It looked just like a stone doorway but with no handle or any other way to open it from the outside. Faeron took one of his sticks and rapped it against the wall five times fast. Auri followed with two slow swings from her hammer. Moments later, a guard pushed open the hidden door from the inside. He was about their age, with sandy brown hair peeking out from beneath his open-faced helm. His leather armor covered only his chest, leaving the many tattoos upon his well toned arms fully exposed. He looked from Faeron to Auri, confusion on his brow.
Auri didn’t wait for him to piece things together. She charged forward with her hammer in both hands and ran it straight into the guard’s chest, sending him sprawling.
“Kokorro!” He gasped, scampering backward as Auri pushed inside with two more overhead swings, smacking the floor just shy of his legs. “Ennet’sammun!”
Faeron followed in and saw they weren’t alone. A second guard was pushing down the passage with a twin-pronged lance. He had a gruff grey beard and looked a bit too big around for his tight leather chestpiece.
“En arum Abur,” called the newcomer, his seasoned eyes honed on Auri.
“On your right,” called Faeron.
Auri swung her hammer defensively, just in time to catch the older guard’s lance. Though she wasn’t hit, the weight of his blow knocked her back into the wall.
“Abur, kenkel’samman!” yelled the old fighter. He wore no helmet and his thin greying hair tossed about as he wound up a second attack.
Faeron intercepted and knocked aside the old man’s thrust. Taking advantage of the surprise on the gruff soldier’s face, Faeron got a clean smack against the guardsman’s left ear.
“Paga’samman!” cried a voice behind Faeron.
Out of the corner of his eye, Faeron saw a glint of silver. The younger guard was up on his feet, and his sword was descending on Faeron.
Clang! Auri’s hammer caught the sword mid-swing.
“Kokorro, anduin’sammun!” yelled the sandy-haired guard commandingly as he brought down a shower of blows with his sword. Auri managed to catch his first two swings, but the third sliced through her hip. A bright red light flooded the room.
“Careful,” called Faeron.
“Swap me,” Auri shot back. “This one’s too fast.”
Faeron ducked beneath a sweeping lance blow and spun to face the relentless onslaught of the younger guard, clearly the one in charge. His strikes were fast, but predictable. Deflecting a heavy hit, Faeron countered with a jab to the side.
“Ennem!” howled the guard and held up a steel tower shield, waiting for Faeron’s advance. No matter how Faeron swung he couldn’t get around the wall of metal. Faking to the left, Faeron lurched right at the last second, but the guard parried the hit away, leaving Faeron momentarily exposed. Regaining his footing, Faeron dared a glance at the fight going on behind him.
Auri was having more luck than Faeron. She swung wildly overhead crashing down on the grizzled knight’s lance, never giving him a second’s break. With a final sweeping strike she brought her hammer through his defenses, knocking his lance from his hand. He was completely vulnerable, but Auri’s overpowered and clumsy swing had left her unbalanced too. The guard scrambled for his weapon while Auri struggled to right herself.
With a clear shot, Faeron spun around Auri, slamming his metal rod against the gruff man’s skull just before he reached his weapon. The larger of the two guards went out cold.
“Kokorro!” howled the younger guard desperately. All of a sudden, the world turned bright red again. Faeron turned back to find the tattooed guard standing over Auri, his sword stabbed through her shoulder.
“Watch it! You left me wide open,” shouted Auri spinning around. “One more of those and I’m out.”
“I know,” said Faeron, circling their remaining adversary. Parrying a sword strike with one stick, he managed a clean blow to the guard’s shoulder with the other. The guard howled as he dropped his shield and swung with all his weight overhead. Crossing his sticks defensively, Faeron caught the attack, locking himself and the guard in a stalemate. Now free from her fight, Auri used the opening. She had just enough room for a sweeping uppercut with her great hammer that slammed the man’s jaw. His unconscious body flew back and fell slumped against the wall.
Faeron took a moment to breathe and gather his surroundings. There were identical looking doors on either end of the hall, and it took Faeron a moment to orient himself. “The front gate was this way,” he said, leaping over the guard and taking the hallway to a square room at the end. The room had a couple barrels, some racks with bows, and a window looking down on Cresh’s army. Just beside the window was a large iron lever.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Auri grabbed the lever, and Faeron took a glance out at the gate. On the bridge was Cresh, alone. The army stood a distance back, bows drawn should their captain need the support, but it was very evident she didn’t need the help. Her fists were encased in massive boulders, which she swung like wrecking balls against the gate, splintered and ready to fall.
“Forgetting something?” said Auri, and Faeron turned to see her hoist the lever.
Outside, the metal gate groaned as it slowly began to rise, just in time for Cresh to smash through the wooden front door.
“Killer,” said Faeron.
“And that’s why she gets her own tower,” said Auri, joining him at the window.
Lyle’s troops poured out over the bridge where Cresh was waiting. With her boulder fists, she knocked away anyone who came close. Some troops managed to connect a sword swing or stray arrow, but the blows bounced right off Cresh’s skin, as if her whole body were made of stone.
“Imagine,” said Auri, “that’ll be us someday, shaping just like the Hosts... I want to be just like her.”
“You’re going to need about five-thousand percent more muscle,” Faeron chuckled. “But don’t worry, you’ve already got the barbarian look down.”
Auri shot him a cold eye and turned her attention back to the Host. “She was more than a warrior, even though that’s how everyone remembers her. For every battle Cresh fought, she stopped another ten from ever taking place. She was a diplomat first, and only when words failed would she become—”
“LYLE!” roared Cresh from the bridge below. Faeron watched as she tore a door straight off its hinges and stormed inside. Suddenly, a bright purple glow cast over the room. The door they had come in through was now filled with swirling violet light.
“Come on,” said Auri, trotting off toward the portal, “let’s not keep Sarah waiting.”
Faeron stepped into the light and found himself back in the Arches of the Ages. There were only a couple people left in the spacious room, most putting their shoes back on or wrapping up at the cubbies. Auri was already at the scoreboard in the center of the lobby, scanning for their names.
“There,” said Auri, as Faeron joined her. She pointed to a screen in the top left reading: Salduni Combat Challenge. “Second place, not bad.”
“Of course, Saitum took the top spot” said Faeron, seeing the lone name above theirs. She had more than double their score.
“You know,” said Auri with a mischievous smile, “you’d think with her as your teacher, you’d start doing better eventually.”
“Hey, I didn’t take any hits,” shrugged Faeron. “So, what’s next? Try to find Quinn out at the concert?”
“Actually,” said Auri, “there’s something I need to talk to you about. It’s important.”
“Balcony talk?” asked Faeron and Auri nodded. Balcony talks were a cornerstone of their friendship, code for a conversation that simply couldn’t wait.
They went to the cubbies to collect their things, dropped their boots off at the desk, and caught a tram at the same corner where they’d arrived.
Inside the tram, Faeron watched a holographic city map projected above the central railing. A dot representing their tram raced toward the residential towers in the East, and, when it reached the wall, the map transitioned from a flat view of the city into an upright model of the Twinfire Towers where Faeron and Auri lived. Both of the residential towers were covered in rows of crescent balconies and were connected by a walking bridge near the top. Standing atop the bridge was the largest of all the city’s statues, Glavius Adaeus, the Archpatron and spirit of humanity. His hands were held open above the two towers, and in each palm, he held a flame, one crimson, one violet, whose light bathed down through each of the towers’ glass ceilings into the hundred ringed floors below. The tram’s marker moved up the tower on the right, with the violet flame above it, stopping at the sixty-second floor. This time, the tram’s wall slid open, allowing them to walk right out.
The common area of the sixty-second floor was a carpeted ring, with a hollow center looking down on the lobby dozens of floors below. A bronze railing ran all the way around the hole, and comfortable chairs were scattered in groups of three and four all around the ring.
Tonight, the commons was quiet but for Merreum Linhall, their next door neighbor, singing to her young daughter.
“Hifyd, Hikel,
Hipae, Hyend,
Days we work and then we sleep,
Lofyk, Lokel,
Lopae, Lowend,
Days we rest and play and feast”
As Faeron and Auri walked past, she looked up from her song and waved warmly. “Hello dears,” she said. “Say hi to Faeron and Auri, Molly.”
“Hi Faern, hi Ree” said the toddler, running out to greet them.
“Hello miss Molly!” said Auri, dropping to one knee and putting her arms out to hug the girl.
“You kids not down at the Bash tonight?” asked Merreum, her straight blonde hair tied back in a bun.
“Other plans, I’m afraid,” said Auri, playing hand games with Molly.
“Ooh, Kytra stuff I’d imagine,” said their neighbor excitedly. “You know, Molly is almost old enough to join the youth group. Ever since I told her you help out around there, she hasn’t stopped pestering me. ‘Momma can I go now? Momma am I big now?’”
“Is that true?” asked Auri fondly, and the girl gave a big nod.
“Alright now, Molly,” said Merreum, “you let Faeron and Auri be about their business. It’s just about bedtime anyway.”
“No no! Eee!” protested Molly, hugging Auri tight.
“Go on miss Molly,” said Auri sweetly. “You know, big girls listen to their mommy when it’s bedtime.”
Molly’s face lit up bright, “I’m big! I can go to yoosh groop!” Releasing Auri, the little girl ran back to her mother.
“Goodnight kids,” called Merreum.
“Goodnight,” said Faeron and Auri both.
The pair continued on to door 6282, and Faeron pressed his hand to a small square panel, unlocking the door. The apartment that Faeron and Auri shared was quite nice. The front door led into a large foyer, with a kitchen in one corner and a sliding glass door on the far wall, exiting to a wide balcony. There were four doors in the room: two bedrooms, a public bathroom, and an index room opposite the kitchen.
Faeron’s room was on the right. He went straight inside and tore off his street clothes. His legs breathed a sigh of relief as he stripped off his tight black pants and pulled on a pair of comfortable shorts. His room was a mess of clothes strewn across his floor and old homework from last semester still piled upon his desk. One wall was a window, floor to ceiling, and the other three were covered in canvases of fantasy landscapes he’d bought over the years. As soon as he had changed, Faeron went out to the balcony. Auri was already there.
Auri sat in a cozy reclining chair, hunched over mettling with an ornate bronze incense censer. She loaded the hanging burner with a ground herb called Nylkshave, and set it alight. The censer rocked lazily, releasing plumes of sweetly scented smoke into the air.
Faeron leaned out over the balcony, listening to the echoes of the concert below. Loem Park looked like a hive of ants swarming the amphitheater, as if the stage were a sandwich dropped in the grass. The park spread from the center of the city all the way to the Nylk Gate on the west wall, the only way in or out of Eredith. From his balcony, Faeron could see all six towers along the city’s massive walls. Like the Roethram Academy Tower, the others were each topped with a wondrous statue: Cresh the Warrior Host with her fists of stone, Ibanu the healer, and Sombara with her crops that changed with the seasons. They were many of the greatest Hosts ever to serve the Patronage.
“So,” said Fearon, reclining into a chair beside Auri, “what is it you wanted to tell me?”
Auri sighed, and her eyes saddened. “You have to promise not to tell anyone, absolutely nobody.”
“Of course,” said Faeron as the floral scent of Nylkshave filled his lungs and tingled his mind.
“I cheated,” admitted Auri sourly.
“In Prophet’s Guard?” asked Faeron, popping up in his seat a bit.
“No, in my eval,” said Auri. “When I was doing my deep meditations, I could only hold it a couple seconds before…” she trailed off as if she were going to finish her sentence but suddenly changed her mind. “Well, I can still only hold it for a second without nylkshave, I’ve told you.”
“So how did you cheat?” asked Faeron.
“I was struggling to hold the meditation even before Mathas told me to open my eyes,” said Auri. “When he did, I panicked. I didn’t want to get held back, so I tried to mimic that amazed look you always get when doing the waking meditation. Mathas acted like he couldn’t tell, but I think he could.”
“If he knew you were pretending then why did he pass you?” asked Faeron, watching Auri through smoke.
“I don’t know,” admitted Auri. “But I need your help. The meditations have always come naturally to you. Will you practice with me, outside of class. If I can’t master the waking meditation before we start shaping, Mathas will pick up on it quick. He’ll send me back to meditations with Quinn. I can’t do that, Faeron.”
“We’ll figure it out,” said Faeron. “I’ll help anyway I can, I promise. No one’s giving up on you.”
“You mean it?” asked Auri hopefully.
“Of course,” said Faeron. “We’ll practice every night, and if you need anything at all, just ask.”
“Good,” smiled Auri. “Then let’s start right now.”
Faeron laid back in his seat and closed his eyes, letting the faint music fill his mind. It didn’t take long for the nylkshave to do its job, and the pearlescent light of Peridom pulsed through his head in time with the music. Faeron followed the current through a mossy cave in a streak of emerald green, past a brilliant star in a gleam of royal purple. He followed the current until his connection to the light was suddenly broken.
“Damnit!” yelled Auri, springing up from her seat. “I forgot the youth group’s play was tonight. I need to be down at Erkwright Theater in... Serris, what time is it?”
A ball of light popped onto their balcony. “It’s ten minutes to nine,” said Serris, matter of factly.
“Ten minutes to get down there,” said Auri.
“The youth group’s putting on a play?” asked Faeron, skeptical of the acting caliber.
“For the younger students who can’t attend the Concert,” said Auri. “It’s all about how Glavius survived the purging of the Old Scholars. I promised them I’d come watch. You in?”
“Nah, you know how they get when I come around,” said Faeron. “They all treat me so weird, like I’m Glavius reborn.”
“Because, to them, that’s exactly what you are,” said Auri. “Eamon hasn’t performed a miracle since the city was built, and, now, the Hoststone is shattered. The last trace of it lives on in your dreams. You aren’t just any Kytra, Faeron. We all know, you’re the one that will free us from these walls. Like it or not, it’s a safe bet that you’ll be Host one day.”
“Stop it, I’m no Host-to-be,” said Faeron. “I want to save the world, just as much as you do, but if my dream really held those answers, then why did my mom leave? As far as I know, my dreams have nothing to do with the plague. Glavius has never spoken to me, never guided me. I’m just another kytra, learning to shape because I want answers about my mom. Once I know she’s safe, we can figure out how to fix this world together. Host or no Host, dreams or no dreams.”
“Well then,” said Auri, rising from her chair. “I see you’ve made up your mind. If I don’t see you before bed, tell Jakob I said hello.”
“Would if I could.”
After Auri left, Faeron stayed out on the balcony a good while longer, continuing his meditations. Whether it was ten minutes or an hour, he couldn’t say, as the light of peridom danced against his closed eyelids and twisted through his thoughts.
Faeron dwelt mostly on the upcoming semester. For the first time in a long time he was excited about starting classes. Not because of any academy courses like mathematics, global politics, or patronage history, but it was his classes with Mathas that had him itching to learn.
Faeron opened his eyes. Rising from his chair, he went to the balcony’s edge, looking out over the city of Eredith. A light breeze rustled his messy hair as he watched the lights from the concert in the park. Every cloud and star in the city’s sky, every rainstorm and snowfall, sunny or cloudy day was meant to emulate the world outside the walls, at least the world before the plague. There was something just a touch off about it though; the breeze, for example, felt correct as it brushed a long lock of dark hair down over Faeron’s eyes, but it was missing the smell, the salt near the ocean, the fresh cut grass in Newsun. That was the sort of thing only Jakob got to experience, but that could change soon enough.
For the first time in centuries, if not millenia, there were more known kytra than Faeron could count on one hand. If just half of his classmates could learn to shape, even if they were only a fraction as powerful as the great hosts on the towers, what chance would the plague stand? Learning to shape meant everything to Faeron. Learning to shape was how he would conquer his dreams. Learning to shape was how he would find his mother. Learning to shape was how the kytra of Eredith would reclaim their world.
Faeron laughed at the thought; it sounded like something Auri would say, only she'd try to convince him that it would all end in him becoming the Host, like his father.
“Serris,” said Faeron, tapping a finger against his balcony railing in time with the muddled beat of the music.
Serris popped into the air just beyond the balcony. “How can I help?” asked Serris.
“Is dad free?” asked Faeron. “I’d like to tell him about today.”
“Your timing is very good, I think the Korvan ambassador just left his office,” reported Serris. “One moment please.” For several seconds, Serris pulsed between blue and white. “Okay,” she said suddenly. “Connecting you now.”
The index flew to an open spot of balcony near Faeron, and then it began to morph. It grew tall, shaping itself into a perfect resemblance of Faeron’s father. Eamon stood, leaning against the balcony just beside Faeron. He had more wrinkles around his golden eyes these days, and his hair was turning grey, except for the top of his crown, which seemed insistent on balding instead.
“Surprise surprise,” said Eamon cheerfully. “How’d the eval go?”
“That’s actually why I called,” said Faeron with pride. “Mathas is going to reopen the workshop for us. We’re going to start shaping this semester.”
“Hey, that’s awesome,” said Eamon, beaming brightly at his son. “I’m proud of you. You’ve worked hard for this... And you know what?”
“What?” asked Faeron.
“This’ll make you, officially, a better kytra than me,” joked Eamon. “For all I know about these fancy artifacts in my office, I can’t do a thing with them.”
“Well, last time I tried it didn’t go so hot,” said Faeron, his cheeks feeling hot from the praise.
“That’s why you’ve got Mathas,” said Eamon. “I wouldn’t be surprised if a year from now you were curing the plague like Host Ibanu.”
“Or finding mom,” said Faeron, more seriously. His dad met his eyes with sympathy.
“Faeron,” said Eamon. “You know what happened to her isn’t on you—” Eamon turned, suddenly attentive to something behind him. “Yes, just one moment, ambassador.” He turned back to Faeron. “Hey bud, I have to take care of something real quick. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, alright?”
“Okay,” said Faeron. “Night dad.”
“Love you.”
Eamon disappeared, leaving Fearon alone on the balcony once more. It was dark now, but the night was still young. The concert would go on for another couple hours, and Auri wouldn’t be back until close to then. Despite the early hour, Faeron was properly exhausted. He twisted a vial on the brass censer, suffocating the embers, then headed inside to get ready for bed.
Once in his pajamas, Faeron climbed into bed and closed his eyes. The effect of the Nylkshave had nearly worn off now, leaving Faeron’s mind numb and tired. Some nights, sleep was an uphill battle, but, tonight, the light of peridom took hold of Faeron quickly, and his body and mind melted away like butter in the warmth of his sheets.