Anthem's Fall (17 page)

With mustered resolve she turned and jogged down the sidewalk after him. “Professor!”

Professor Vatruvia turned to her and stepped aside to avoid the crowding sidewalk. “Yes?”

Kristen shook her head, fully aware of the significance of her decision. “I’m sorry, professor, but maybe you’ve made a mistake in telling me the truth. If you don’t want to tell the scientific community at the convention about what I just saw, fine. But I want proof that you’ve privately informed regulatory agencies about these mice in the next few weeks. If you don’t, I’m going to resign from my doctorate program and go public with what I just saw. I know how much it means to you, I really do, but this is too immense to be held secret between a few people.”

Professor Vatruvia looked physically stunned, his expression crestfallen. He shook his head with deflation and leaned against the glass of a storefront. “You would jeopardize everything we’ve done? All the things we can still achieve? And for what? So some opportunistic journalist can vilify what we are doing and twist the nature of our work until the self-righteous voice of the naive masses demand us to stop?”

“I—”

“We have a chance to achieve
greatness
here, Kristen, a chance to introduce the world to a future brilliant with innovation.”

Kristen shook her head. “I’m sorry, professor. But this is too big. The world needs to know.”

D
reams, nightmares mostly, emerged and receded like the ebb and flow of a shadowy tide in Vengelis Epsilon’s unconscious mind. Familiar faces cried out in pain, and venerated buildings fell to ruin with excruciating vividness. All the while perilous blue eyes stared unblinking at him through the void, filling his heart with hopelessness and exhaustion. Memories came to life in his tumultuous visions. Vengelis looked through a window into his own distant past.

In his mind he was sixteen again.

Vengelis recalled the day. Frost in his lungs, cold air against his skin, the wind swirled around him and whistled in his ears. It was his first journey to the bitter North, his first glimpse of Mount Karlsbad and Master Tolland. He was up to his knees in snow, a thick coat wrapped him in his own heat and a bag of spare clothes slung over his back. He stood in front of a rundown wooden cabin that was little more than a shed, its walls barely standing upright against the blistering gusts in the late afternoon dimness. Gathering clouds brooded around him, impenetrable against the side of the mountain. A smell of coming snowfall filled his nostrils. Vengelis called out to the cabin, knowing he would soon be enveloped in what the clouds had to offer him.

“Tolland! Master Borneo Tolland!”

After a moment the door to the hovel opened. Vengelis caught a passing glimpse of a fireplace burning within. From inside the cabin, an average-sized man emerged. The hermit looked to be in his early sixties, his features more seasoned than old. He was holding a wide ceramic pot against his chest. Taking no notice of the heir to the Epsilon throne, the graying man turned and trudged through the deep snow toward a lofty snowdrift left by the relentless wind. As Vengelis watched him, flakes of snow began falling silently from the gloom of clouds. They eddied around him, weightless and beautiful. Vengelis pulled his fur hood over his head and took a step toward the man, who seemed entirely unaware of the impending storm or the bone-freezing cold as he brushed loose snow into the pot with an outstretched arm.

Master Tolland then spoke.

“This is perhaps the most crucial chore to living here, because it is the only real necessity. The snow must be boiled down of course—even this northern isolation provides little reprieve from the pollution of Anthem. But among the many other unnecessary chores, creating water is a must.” Master Tolland peered up into the dark drear overhead. He said nothing for some time and seemed to savor the imminence of the blizzard before he lowered his eyes and looked at Vengelis. “But that is ultimately the purpose of living here. Only necessities.”

Vengelis remained silent, taking note of the man’s unkempt condition with disapproval. Behind this man’s disheveled appearance was unmistakable Royal blood. His brow was sharp, cheekbones high, and his hands looked strong and enduring, but it was hard for Vengelis to look past his threadbare impression. He was not impressed.

“Though over time,” Master Tolland smirked, as if he could read Vengelis’s thoughts. “Over time I can’t deny that I have developed an appreciation for the mundane. There is some cathartic value to the structure daily chores provide. It is, after all, our routines that root us in our reality. I take it you are Prince Vengelis Epsilon?”

Vengelis nodded, in disbelief his father had ordered him to this place—to this unsophisticated man.

“Even here, rumors have reached my ears of your deeds,” Master Tolland said. “Very impressive to be declared the greatest warrior of Anthem at your age. Especially considering your lack of formal training.”

“I have received formal training.”

“Is that so?”

“I worked with the most prestigious coaches of the Imperial First Class for many years. They awarded me their highest rank when I was thirteen. Their lessons were marginal at best.” Vengelis’s tone was indifferent. “Now I teach them.”

“Hmm.” Master Tolland raised his eyebrows. “Tell me, Vengelis, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to disregard my tutelage as easily?”

“Yes,” Vengelis said at once.

“Perhaps you will.”

“I read about you before I left Sejeroreich,” Vengelis said. “You used to be quite a warrior. Used to be. I have to say, you’re older than I was expecting.”

Master Tolland chuckled in a genial, confident manner. “It seems as though we are experiencing similar disappointment in our first impressions. You are shorter than I had envisioned.”

“Bold of you to insult an Epsilon. I’ll give you that at the very least,” Vengelis said. “You are the last of the Tolland family line as I understand it?”

“I am.”

“And you have no heir?”

“My Sejero bloodline will die with me, if that is what you are getting at.”

“Waste,” Vengelis said with genuine anger. “It’s against the law for a Royal son to have no heir. Though I’m sure you already know that.”

“I do not consider myself a member of your father’s empire, in case you couldn’t tell.” Master Tolland raised a hand, indicating their thousand-mile harsh isolation on all sides. “As such, I am not obliged to follow anything but my own will.”

Vengelis nodded skeptically.

“You are here by the mandate of your father?” Master Tolland said after a prolonged silence.

“Yes.”

“Welcome to Mount Karlsbad. Here you are a guest. Here you are the student, and I the teacher. Such superficial notions as lineage and heredity are irrelevant here.”

Vengelis smiled smugly as he looked at the veritable beggar standing before him. He tossed the bag of spare clothes his servants had packed for him into the snow, and he began to limber up. “All right, I’ve had enough. I’d like to get back to Sejeroreich by sundown, and it’s cold as hell out here. I came here to appease my father, but this is becoming ridiculous. I really don’t want to inadvertently kill you, old man. If you submit and walk back into your . . .” Vengelis eyed Master Tolland’s shack. “
House.
I won’t tell anyone. I can lie and say you put up a surprising fight for a guy your age.”

“I suppose this is one way to do it.” Master Tolland placed his pot in the snow beside his front door. He also began to limber himself, stretching with a flexibility that surprised Vengelis for a man his age. “If you can defeat me, I will allow you to leave for home immediately. I will write a personal letter to your father, Emperor Faris, stating that I have nothing of worth to teach you. Does that sound fair?”

Without the slightest word or nod of agreement, Vengelis erupted forward, throwing his right fist at the man’s nose. Master Tolland easily sidestepped, and Vengelis’s arm crashed through the door of his cabin. Warmth and the fragrance of simmering stew wafted through the doorframe.

“Your first task will be to build me a new door.”

Vengelis laughed and launched another wild swing. Then something happened he did not entirely understand. He registered Master Tolland moving very quickly, and then within an instant, his back was buried in the snow. The old man had tripped him. Vengelis tried to jump to his feet, but Master Tolland had a strange hold on his right arm. He was pushed shoulder first into the snow once more, and Vengelis realized with a shock of pain in his elbow that he was caught in a submission lock.

He seethed. He screamed. He threatened.

“What are your thoughts on discipline, young Prince?” Master Tolland asked from behind his shoulder, his voice as calm as it had been a minute previous.

Vengelis was covered in snow. It melted on his fuming and trembling cheeks.

“I . . . don’t . . . have . . . thoughts . . . on . . . discipline!” Vengelis screamed, his eyes nearly bursting out of his sockets with rage. The pain in his arm was beyond anything he had ever felt, beyond anything he could have imagined.

“
How
?” Vengelis gasped.

Master Tolland released him and Vengelis rolled over and sprawled his limbs through the snow as he gasped for breath, steam pouring off his body from the exertion.

“Then that is your first lesson on the subject,” Master Tolland said. “The subject of discipline, that is. I suspect it will be the first of many.”

“I don’t . . .” Vengelis coughed as newly falling snow landed on his face. “I don’t understand.”

Master Tolland looked at the young man through the veil of snowfall. “I take on one student at a time. My last pupil recently completed his training. I would not normally take on someone your age as a student. However with him gone, and your unusual circumstances—being heir to the throne—I will accept you. If you wish to possess the kind of abilities I have just showcased, then I encourage you to stay with me here in this northern desolation. I will teach you how to unlock the true potential of the Sejero blood that resides within you. Your training will be complete the day you are able to best me. You will learn technique and theory of the physical arts, as well as the philosophies of power.” Master Tolland crouched down to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “There is more to Sejero power, in all of its infinite glory and peril, than the blunt strength and foolish arm wrestling contests of the Imperial First Class and the Grand Arena. I hope one day you will come to see that.”

Pitch-blackness descended over Vengelis’s memory. His dream began to shift and dissipate: thin rays of light penetrating into his chasm of darkness. Even in the diminishing oblivion, hopelessness dominated. Real vision began to come into focus, and with it came excruciating pain.

Vengelis jolted upright with a rattling gasp for air. His eyes burst open in panic and darted across his surrounds. He was in a bed in the middle of a small room. Pure white walls stared back at him on all sides. Beside him a number of monitors and meters beeped and blinked mechanically. Vengelis’s lips quivered wordlessly as he looked down at his body. Hospital garments were draped across his shoulders. He shook the heavy snow of his dreamy recollection from his mind and strained to recall his memory, but he found himself unable to hold a thought. Everything was blurry, and a horrible fatigue weighed down his mind.

Throwing his legs over the bed, he attempted to stand but was forced to lean heavily against the wall. His knees wobbled, his arms felt depleted. Dizziness and nausea struck as a rush of blood hit his head from standing so quickly. He hastily pulled off the many life support wires that clung to his body and made his way with slow unsteady steps toward the door. He rubbed cold sweat from his fevered forehead with clammy palms. Where was he? What happened?

A mirror was mounted against the door. As Vengelis approached the narrow reflection and looked upon himself, his chest deflated in shock. His face was barely recognizable. His nose was grotesquely inflamed. A black bruise rounded with deep purple edges extended from the bridge of his nose outward across both cheekbones. Each eye socket was bloated and distended, deep blue black and swollen nearly shut. He painstakingly moved his chin from side to side and attempted to open his mouth. A spasm of pain shot through his jaw past his ears, traveling to the back of his head. One prominent laceration extended deeply across his cheek. It was held together with heavy sutures.

Vengelis averted his eyes from his beaten face. The knuckles and fingers on his right hand were black and scraped. His left hand—

Every nerve in his body went ice cold.

The Blood Ring, his father’s ring, was still on his hand. The gleaming crimson diamond shined brilliantly, and at once a tidal wave of agonizing recollections flooded his mind. His battered face contorted, and his fists clenched with blind rage. Vengelis raised his head and let out an agonized scream as he thrashed at his reflection in the mirror. It shattered loudly. The door behind it splintered in two, sundering backward and revealing a white hallway beyond.

He was alive.

Vengelis squeezed his eyelids shut and prayed desperately to be dead. He could not take living—even for a moment—with the torturous memories that now stormed his mind.

The sentiments taking hold of him felt equally foreign to him as the pain in his body. Vengelis had not lost a fight since he was a child, not since Master Tolland bested him on that snowy eve. His first true loss had been to the ruin of all. He reached up to his bruised and tender neck, now remembering all too clearly what had happened to him.

Vengelis’s entire body shuddered as he recalled his last moment of consciousness.

The Royal Transport carrying Eve and his mother distinct against the smoke scattered skies beyond. The man-machine that followed in the ship’s wake. The schism that tore the craft in two and the plume of bright flames as the ship crashed into the palace. His family was dead and Sejeroreich had been razed to the ground under his watch. Everything massacred by the machines that looked so much like Primus. Vengelis thought for a moment, unable to remember their name. For a long time he stood with his eyes closed, trying to remember.