Chapter 6
My schooling days within the XA panged on for weeks – months. The lessons – the teachings – all began to bleed together into one unsightly mess inside my mind, and just like my lessons with Miss Athelon, I could remember certain scenes, and besides that just a general sensation. With her, it was of unease and anger.
It was not all bad, however. I became wiser and more learned. I took what they taught, but I never let myself fall to it – bathe in its apparent wisdom. I remained ever the cautious optimist; as my master, Dante, had taught me to be.
I saw Dante in passing; we were out-scheduled on both sides. As soon as the schooling finished, we would officially be brought together again – to begin my apprenticeship. Yet as with my childhood days, traditional education did not seem to be enough.
I was home-schooled in the hour before my sleep – in the second hour of our evening rest. Dante had devised a way for his wisdom to reach me in the dark period that was my preliminary education; he too disapproved of many lessons the XA taught, whilst reserving praise only for a few.
He would write on the left-hand page of an empty codex, imparting his knowledge and countering the often one-sided teachings that I had received the day before. He would then converse, asking me of my concerns, worries, or appraisals, before leaving the codex locked and in my chamber. In the evening, I would retreat to my bed and open the book, eager to read what had been written. Then when I was ready, I would write on the right-hand side, filling no more than one page at a time, and then I would leave it where I had found it and wait until the next day.
Dante’s codex was such a success, that it continued even into my apprenticeship, where we would regularly write in our pages. Over the next few years, it became more about thought and our shared philosophies than my education. Even now, it remains an invaluable source of knowledge and power – all five billion copies of it.
The art of strategy and diplomacy was left to the weapons master. As I said before, diplomacy was dead in these halls. For the art of union had become stale – a burden. There were easier ways to come to an agreement than from honied words and amiable offerings of trade and kinship. That was not to say that our teacher, Master Narroway, did not occasionally dip his toes into the tricky realm of the diplomat, but still, it did not excuse the fact that he was not a diplomat – not by any means – and that he was teaching a supposed order of diplomats on how to diplomatise. I believe that I learnt much from him and from Dante’s intervention. For mistakes and folly can make for a teacher most prime; it was a natural way of learning; it was tied to my human nature. What not to do!
However, Master Narroway, or Xanarroway as he preferred, made for an excellent combat teacher and his knowledge of warfare was second to none. He did not carry the mindless ramblings of faith as the other masters did; there would be a casual utterance now and then. He still did what he needed to appease the order, but he had little care for such dogma, or even for faith at all. His mind did not even question the wonders of the unknown; not a single attempt was made to understand his existence; he just simply existed!
It was a wonder to me. He was a simpler kind of man, we thought. But was he?
War was on his mind at all times. It was his calling. It was what he knew best.
I later learnt that he had not joined the XA traditionally; he had been recruited. He was a military man before. He did not even have a partner; despite being placed in the Undying Faith. Yet he had not always been in this branch either. It was through his sheer military prowess and careerist flare that he had made his way down to level minus fifty! Teaching us all and waiting quietly for a real chaos to come calling his way again.
“Your sword is a tool of terror. With a turbine’s flight, your metal can shatter bone and slice through flesh in just an instant. Wield it well, and it will bear more than just corpses.”
“Speak always with a purpose – the union of mankind against all foes.”
“The raptids are a despicable ilk. They know not what it means to serve the Communion. They would fight simply to hear us weep; remember that well…”
“The will of the universe will guide both the swing of your sword… and your tongue.”
“M-D rounds – matter-displacement. Enough energy to vaporise any organic material. With an average blast of ten centimetres and fallout twice that. They will dispatch any enemy swiftly… provided you know how to use them.”
We were each issued with a standard revolver; it was to be carried at all times when beyond our designated floor. Our swords we could choose to wear. That would depend on the task at hand, but I did not like to leave the tower without mine.
Our combat practice consisted of endless katas and sparring. It was good. I excelled at it. Master Narroway was one of the few teachers who appreciated me. He disagreed with my many complaints about his diplomacy, but he admired my fighting form and spirit. On a good day, I could lay each of the initiates flat on the cold concrete floor. When paired with Law, we could take on all four at a time, and the others tried desperately over the weeks to best me, but they could not; and they would not!
The one pair was Sar and Jes; they were nice enough, but away with the XA, as I would so often say. Then there were Kane and Krisper; they were vile, abhorrent, quite despicable. I could see why they passed their trials, but they did not deserve to be here. Later I realised how similar their masters were to them.
I remember one day; it was a cold day. The Capitol’s pipes were leaking and thus a terrible frost had swept over our sector and the tower. The doors were malfunctioning and we received an order from the Committee to stay on our level. Yet our masters were off-world – both Grassus and Dante – and the others masters were all helping with the frost. Even our teachers were mostly indisposed. It was a truly strange day – quiet – unruly. Law had gone to read a book on the history of Centarion, and I had decided to go to the training hall – to punch the bags. I was quite frustrated. I did not know why! Perhaps it was because I felt like a swine stuck in a pen, on a farm, on a live-stock planet… There was no release – no escape.
I felt the lab-grown leather hard upon my fist. It hurt. But it spared me the pain of my mind. I was almost beginning to enjoy myself before they showed up – two identical smiles – snarling half-breath rivals. I did not care; they did! All they wanted was to be better than me, but they could never be; all they could do was pretend.
So, the two of them pressed around both sides of the bag. I kept on punching, until Kane, the boy, caught it in mid-swing; it almost knocked him to the ground. Krisper let out her lifeless laugh and then lurched towards me. I backed away, and Kane followed. They toyed with their revolvers and smiled. I had left mine and my smile in the locker room.
“Oh, Orpheus… how scared you seem!” Krisper said in a revolting giggle. Kane flicked his eyes to her like a dog and then growled in agreement.
In truth, I was not scared at all… I was deep in thought. The fools were savouring their moment of power – time enough for me to think well and hard.
It was at that moment that I decided – and this was my thought exactly – that I could not wait for them to attack. I would not let them defeat me in such a way. But if I beat them now, they would know their place, well and true. I would take any consequence but I would not be lost to ridicule here.
It was when Kane whispered, “I think he’s scared. I think he wants his master, Dante—” that I silently surged forwards and hit him with all the weight of my caged anger. His neck was a soft thing compared to the bag. He fell to the ground and began to choke, before swiftly passing out.
Krisper gasped, and then, out of instinct, threw a weak and flailing arm my way. I caught it with both of mine and then twisted her until her bones parted. It was a horrible sound – her bones – but it was the best thing I could have done the entire term. They did not bother me after that – only with their hateful glares. Glares that their masters soon began to share with Dante and Grassus.
It went without saying that when Dante and Grassus returned the following week, they supported me in every way. There were cameras everywhere, and although we initiates had still not been given our chips, the XA knew exactly what had happened.
Kane and Krisper were allowed to remain. For in-fighting seemed to be far more commonplace than one would have liked to believe for the leading institute of peacekeeping.
Yet my two friends would eventually be cut short; they did not learn their lesson the first time… They should have; they were given all the opportunity to. I remember how Master Narroway had replayed the security footage in front of us all. His face was a mangled mess of two torn halves – one of jubilant pride – the other of embarrassment and shame. He spent an entire lesson on studying my actions and chastising the others for their ill intent firstly, and then for their morbidly poor use of both time and each other. He openly said how pathetic it was for them to believe that two made a difference against one; it was about who, or what, and you! For you could certainly wear the robes of comfort, and confidence, and numbers – wear them with pride – but they could offer no real protection against a real threat. He used that moment to make sure we all understood not to fight with our ego or even our faith…
The end of Kane and Krisper was a shocking one. It happened towards the end of our preliminary education. I remember the events as if they were the cool air of yester-morn; they stuck in my head clear, cold. Yet as the morn lasts only till noon, the actual impact of the events seemed to be forgotten, or rather pushed to the side-lines of our minds – an unpleasant thought that danced in the distance. We chose to ignore it… All of us did – even the masters. I do not know what happened to her in the end… after the tragedy that was her partner, Kane!
We had just passed the fighter simulations; we had been training on them since we began at the XA. It was the day we had all been waiting for – the day we would really fly. Oh, how we would soar above the tower, through the skybreakers, under the great moon of Centar’don. It was the first time that I had managed to speak to Kane without there being an infernal glint in his eyes and a nasal snarl in his voice. I even can see him now, bounding up and down the halls, shaking with anticipation; he had lost his ego; he had become a child again. It was pleasant to see; for we had all become sterner in our time here, even Law… and Law, for all he had been through, ever remained something of a child.
Our masters had wished us well in the morning – the morning that saw great amber plumes of steam rise from the undercity pipes. It was a cold morning, and the Capitol was churning hard to reach a warmer midday. So, we staved off the chill and each scurried to the priority elevator. The nerves we had were terrible. Our hands were shaking. We could barely stand! Could we even fly?
My ears popped for the one-thousandth time. We arrived on the flight deck, and we jovially passed the simulators. Then we jovially found the fighters.
Sleek ships they were, yet rugged also. Rough and dull metal, hammered into the most aquiline pose. They were called Nymphs, and they were breath-taking – beautiful. One could easily forgo their roughness and see only their charm. They stood two men tall, and ten men long. They had wings too; for they were designed to carve up the air. They could outmanoeuvre any lumbering spacecraft in the sky and they could fly in the void also – into the dark reaches of space. They could even pass into interspace with a refined technology, reserved only for the XA. So too, were they armed with a variety of rounds and missiles. They were deadly – they were to be feared.
I had heard these fighters called by many names. They were nymphs, jets, planes; they were the champions of the apocalypse; for their design had survived many, many years.
Then from behind these steel birds, came another. In a nightmarish trance, we stared at the creature. Two sets of metal legs scraped across the deck; they were talon tipped and had knees that bent the wrong way. A robe of feathers it wore along with charms of hollow bones.
A raptid!
A raptid on Centarion… In the tower of the XA… I felt the hairs on the back of my neck shiver into microscopic spines. I stared at its face… It had a pale beak that narrowed into a point as a dagger would. Its facial skin was a rash of red bumps and lumps with speckles of dark blue. Its eyes looked at us. They were wholly dark. They did not seem to connect to our souls; I thought that at the time. It was the way I had been primed to think even by my own master, Dante. There was almost something inescapable about fearing the unknown – the different. That which could become a real danger…
But the raptids… After what we did to them – after what they did to them – it was just inexcusable. Sometimes one needs only to look within and wealth of horrors they will find. Humans conquered the death drive indeed; they learnt how to kill – how to eradicate – and how to do it without even thinking.
Now, our so-called diplomacy had taught us that the raptids were a deceitful people, not to be trusted at all. The only reason we had one in the fighter deck, was because he had his feathers full with our silver and riches, and because he could fly – he could fly better than anyone here!
He spread his two scrawny arms out wide, and his withered pair of wings followed weakly along as if held by puppet strings alone. I shivered when I saw them. They were mostly featherless appendages – a sunburnt red. They looked like arms, but they were wrapped in loose skin that would tighten and then ease. I saw them quiver with a sorrow – unlike any I had seen before. They wanted to feel the touch of the sky again, to fly as they once would have done. It was in this species’ blood to wish for the sky, but they had sold their wings long ago – traded them in for steel ones which could fly faster, and higher, and further than before. They forgot what they had and longed only for more. An entire species damned to the irrevocable evolution mechanica. With new wings, they had no need to fly for themselves. With no need to fly, their bones became heavy – too heavy to learn to fly again… and thus, all that remains of their former pride and glory is that vestigial insult – to many humans, a vile and disgusting, useless pair of wings.
During the war, the Communion even made propaganda about the very issue – a wealth of cartoons and media which depicted the birds’ folly. It turned their wings into a symbol of ridicule; for it was a natural route for prejudice to take – a slope in the land for which the rains would flood. Yet in such a flood, one could so easily get swept away – carried away. Kane learnt that lesson the hard way; although his enlightenment was short-lived!
The raptid’s name was Grewna’sek; he had told us in a terrifying tongue. It was terrifying because he did not speak; he did not mould his words like us. He knew our language, and so he mimicked our words, cobbling them together like a malfunctioning android. Yet all the while, as he spoke, I began to develop a slow creeping and inescapable feeling. I felt his intelligence; and it was overwhelming. He exuded it. Yet the others could not see it. They mistook him for a fool… or an animal. Kane whispered something about him and the others snarked, all apart from Law and myself. For both Grassus and Dante had warned us of the herd – how it could draw anyone in, even the best of us… We saw it now – Kane and Krisper; they started jesting quietly about the wings, but their jests grew louder and louder. It was as if they wanted to be caught, and then the other two began to extend upon the jokes, and then Grewna’sek heard!
His hollows for ears had been listening all along, and I remember seeing such a tragic sorrow cast about his eyes, even though they were just two dark orbs. Yet as I was looking into them, once where there had been no connection at all, suddenly I felt him; I felt him boil up inside. That a child may insult him so. That these people believe themselves to be all that is just and fair. That they may yet discriminate and scourge. My blood began to boil too, and I became unsure as to whether I felt the raptid’s feelings, or if I had simply been looking for a reason to rip apart my own species…
Grewna’sek silenced them with one shrill cry. It was all he said. And it was all he needed to say to put the fear of the universe into our hearts. “Law first. Orpheus. Sar. Jes. Krisper… Kane…! Kane will fly last…”
I remember Law climbing into the cockpit, bringing down the glass, taking hold of the controls. He looked so small in the mighty metal bird. The raptid waved to the control tower, and a large steel pike rose from the deck and into the nymph. Another wave, and an abyssal hiss assaulted us, and then a forceful wind that knocked our gazes to the ground… We looked back and the nymph was gone.
It was already in the sky, gliding shortly. I watched in terror as it began to fall slightly, but then I saw the bright blue flare, and I heard it burn the sky down. Law was away, and he was soaring now. I then watched as the raptid’s wings limbered into a weak flapping motion. His beak was apart and tilted into a smile; his black eyes glistened with a peculiar brightness, and his throat relaxed with a deep guttural coo. When Law landed in the opposing hangar deck, separated by a small hallway, Grewna’sek welcomed him out of the machine and produced a small token – a pair of golden wings.
When it was my turn, I remember feeling ecstatic – alive. I was fully engrossed in the present moment; it all happened like the workings of a clock. My name was called. I walked up to my nymph. The ladder was brought over. I climbed into the cockpit, pulled down on the glass, put on my headset. No safety checks, a voice told me; it was already done. I saw the eager bird wave to the tower. I felt the ground vibrate and then something spearing into my craft. I gripped onto the controls. My heart began to drum. The light at the end of the deck, but a hot white, burnt carelessly into my eyes.
Then my mind turned black; my body grew heavy. All the life had been knocked out of me… and then when I awoke… I saw the ground. A thousand metal ships, littered about the vast circular plane. Scores of white specks walking around.
My life flashed before my eyes. I felt every feeling that I had ever felt; a tear fell from my left eye. I could have just let myself fall. For at that time, a great burden was rising… I felt it in my every breath, heavy in my chest, protruding into my throat… I should have let myself fall. Yet I could not. My hands scrambled to the controls. I brought the metal beast into a glide; I felt her sudden weight upon the air. It was a considerably terrifying yet beautiful feeling to fly with nothing but the air. I savoured the moment; I could almost feel the raptid watching me and sharing my sudden peace as if a mystic force had been tethered between us and this ship. Then I slowly brought the nymph to life, and she roared, screaming with all vitality and power; she became a bestial thing, yet no less beautiful.
I flew for what felt like hours – but mere minutes at most. I reached the nearest sky breaker and raced it to the edge of space. The sky grew darker and eventually I passed through the clouds and saw the final reach of the building, and then I saw each of the Capitol’s skybreakers piercing through the white cloud sea. They glittered with golden fire, nestled beneath Centarion’s amber corona. Then I looked above and saw the moon, Centar’don, coming around, and then also the pale moon with patches of blue sea and dustings of green forests. I could almost touch them both. It was incredible, and at that moment with such mobility at my hand and such a vista to behold – all to myself – alone with the universe – at that moment, I truly felt happiness and peace, interconnected with all things living and dead… At that moment I felt the crux of faith vanish entirely… for this is what it really was… and there was more… more than the constructs we hold dear… more than the XA and their beloved Communion.
It was a feeling that I would never shake; it was a feeling that would eventually damn me to failure in the eyes of the world but not the universe; it was a feeling that would follow me beyond the grave. That there was more than this!
A voice sounded in my ear. “C.C.Niner. Copy?”
“Copy…”
“It’s time to come back home!”
Yet when I landed, the feelings of eternal peace slowly began to ebb away and leech back into the universe from which it came. I sunk my head. I breathed in low. There was but the memory, and it was beautiful, and I would do anything – anything – to feel it once again. No, not just to feel it but to live in it – eternally.
I got my wings that day, but I was changed also – changed for the better – changed irrevocably. However, that feeling – it was no longer present; I had left it in the sky, and I had come back to the great construct – this oh so mighty tower with all of its dogma, and contradictions, and blindness for me to see. The sudden loss of that revelatory feeling left in me a void, and it was a black void… and it would consume every hint of evil until no more light could be seen – until I would become no different from what I despised.
This void did not make me hate the XA. It did not make me see its dark heart, but it made me susceptible, open to damage. I allowed myself to be mishandled; my loathing spurred it on. I needed the pain to confirm my theories. My disbelief in their goodness meant that there was none to me – none at all.
It was myself who made life in the XA inhospitable. It was myself who decided to oppose them – as a fire to a flame – and all for what? To fill the void left by such fleeting enlightenment. It was a grand waste! No one should ever find peace or enlightenment by ripping down what’s already there – like a tree picking at its own roots. I should have just let myself be – rise to the top of the forest naturally – eventually gaze true upon the sun. But I burnt it down; I became addicted to fanning the flames, and by my actions the world followed.
At the time of my telling this tale, I am in the midst of the worst turmoil imaginable – and I do not know what comes next. And that begins my story – my tragedy. It starts here, not on Goldenfel, not in the mindless lessons of the XA, or in the rivalries that I had; it begins with a misplaced remedy to find myself after gazing upon the face of all-things – to fill that void – to fill my own dark-heart with purpose and reason.
I have felt the light in times since, in many more ways than one; the universe dances around me as I take a careless flame to the social-pyre, a hammer to the workings of the world. I can feel my faith churn; I can feel it scream.
In the years to come, I would digress even below the XA and the Communion, and yet the universe would always be beside me – within me – a deep energy that I felt well and true, shifting uncomfortably with every bitter emotion, but never – not once – not once abandoning me. It was still waiting for me now as I recall these events. In fact, I can feel it calling me – calling me from this second war – and from his grasp…
And as for Kane?
Well, Kane crashed into the ground in a ball of fire. Something malfunctioned in his fighter! Yet I saw the raptid; I saw him breathe… sigh… relax… as the sound of the explosion ricocheted towards us, meeting us each grim and dear – each of us, save for that bird, who silently clapped his beak together.
Krisper was thus released from the Undying Faith. With no partner, she was of no further use – a bright and bitter reality. We never heard of her again… The matter was as curt as this recollection and its resolution as irregular as the event itself. It was my first true terror! To see the bountiful love that the XA had for the individual – the loss, the mourning, the grief? But they had lost nothing – nothing more than a good nymph and a number of class three ships on the ground. Kane was forgotten, and Grewna’sek walked free until the coming war would meet us again – in the battle-din and our fate of fire.
Our preliminary education finished soon after that, and to mark the beginning of our apprenticeships, we were each gifted with a token of the XA’s gratitude – a tracking implant that would turn our bones to dust were we to tamper with it.
I remember after the ceremony, how I stole away into the undercity dark, clutching and crying at the amber abomination of my right arm. Glowing bright and glowing proud, bright enough to light up this undercity dark. It may turn one’s bones to dust, but it made my blood boil and it turned my tears to steam.
My baleful scream returned to me a thousand times. The beggar watched me from aside; his eyes were trained well to my white robes – trained eyes, testimony to the sufferings of a soul. For long had he lived here and many had he seen! The comings and goings of the white robes, the sound of their metal ships crashing down, up above, coldly onto the metal sky. We were loud and he listened. He heard much news from the tower, that towered below as it did above.
He shifted from the shadows of an old shopfront and into the warmth of an older yet xenon sign. My pity cry stopped, and I looked. Worn and haggard was his face – tired but at peace. His dark robes hung from him, perhaps brighter once, yet now stained from decades of oil rain and ash-winds.
His figure stood tall, leaning side on towards me; he did not speak, but I heard his every breath, each one slow, near unending – as if the entire universe was set inside his lungs. He looked to my vile limb – my burning right arm. He eyed it sadly… I looked to him and to his arm, yet it was covered by his robes. He released it, and my tears burnt quickly away. He did not have an arm, or at least it was a metal one. Fingertips splayed, then clenched; I could hear the sound of the steel pieces warring with this dark and grit-strewn slum.
Then the man reached out to me, delicately – as if I were a skittish creature not to be spooked. The metal thing cut through the xenon rays; its fingers wormed through this underworld, towards me. I felt compelled to follow. I lifted my estranged arm, its freshly plastered wound, its silhouette of a thousand blood vessels, its parasite – a square shape of pure, bright, and unyielding light – the parasite that could turn my entire skeleton to dust… in the blink of an eye… In the blink of an eye, it could end my existence!
My fingers writhed away, quivering, arm shaking. He reached down to me, and I reached up – as if reaching out to the hand of a loving god. Our fingers met.
At first, I felt nothing but a cold and lifeless sensation. I looked into the man’s eyes; I was burdened with fear and worry and dread, and now I was asking him why? His eyes spoke nothing, but they told me everything – everything, with no words. For he did not answer my wild emotions. He did not answer my unsaid questions. Yet there was, in his eyes, something incredible, implausible, impossible. There was peace. There was a lightness. There was good – a purity, unbound, unfettered, unchained… And yet beneath it all was the memory of dread, fear, and worry, and hatred. He had lived through them all, and he had defeated them, and his was the faith that would sit in the back of my mind – quietly until I stirred for it again – and within, it would always be found.
Even now – even now, in the height of the second war, long since I stood in the undercity with him, I was calling out again for the strength that I once saw in his eyes. I felt it… Something terrible was about to happen!
Yet my younger self had not seen the true face of suffering, and even now, after everything, I still do not know if I have. But that boy, that young boy, he was so deeply afraid; for this life was all that he knew so far.
He stared up to the man with searching eyes, and the man, who must have seen the better of his fiftieth year, gently spoke, “Go now – go now to your tower with a fleet of angels, steady at your heels, and as you step forth into the fires of misfortune, make war not with fate; for it will come all the same. You will make mistakes, but do not be afraid to make them. Their cost will be obscene, but their reparations will be extraordinary. Know only, that as you see me now, there will be peace in the end. And over every wound, you will be healed.”
I remember how the man brought his good arm up to his robes; he cast a tattered black hood over his face, shielding him from the bright xenon light. I slowly retrieved my glowing hand from his reach and it fell to my side, burning and numb. The man stepped forwards and set a gentle fist into my chest. I felt my heart light up with a deep and lofty energy. The man breathed lowly and I felt this energy swirl and twirl and dance in the space between us. I heard his voice once again, “You will be pained, and you will cause pain. Great change will come from you. For better or worse? That is not for you to decide – but for posterity. Yet you will come to know a single force more mystical than any other – and it will come to know you. It will come to know you well, and now it wants you to know this, Orpheus!”
I struggled to breathe. I awaited his next words that he was withholding with an untold desperation…
“You are a good man.”
The remarkable stranger left me there. I remember watching him walk into the darkness of an ancient alleyway until he was no more than a shadow. I remember hearing his steps until they too drifted into the dark silence of this ever-night.
I returned to the tower as if walking in a dream. Everything felt so surreal. The looks from my elders, the sudden warmth of my room, the ecstatic voice of Law, the beating of my own heart, still bridled with such energy. Nothing felt real, and yet everything felt as it should be – in the right place – and I could do little more than fall asleep in my bed – the safest place in the universe.
When I awoke, I was in the XA.