Umbra Posterus - Part II: Radical Idea
Mid-September 437 - Three days after Nosfentor murdered Chancellor DaKaren.
Dot Warner awoke with a start, fear gripping her heart for several long seconds.
Where the devil am I?
She lay practically nude in a silken bed of a most vibrant blue hue, only bandages covered her mocha legs and abdomen. The room around her was marble, tastefully appointed and serene. Listening intently, she heard the gentle sound of waves lapping a nearby shore.
“Hello?” she called out in a scratchy voice. “Is anyone there?”
Moments later, a door to her left opened awkwardly to admit a brown-skinned young woman in a crisp green dress carrying a tray laden with food. “Hi!” she exclaimed happily. “I hope your tummy is hungry!”
“Uhm,” Dot murmured, pulling up the blue sheets to cover her breasts. “Lilandra, right?”
“That’s me!” Lilandra bubbled, bouncing a little. “Here to feed the sicky-wicky Dotty-wotty.” She drew nearer the bed, holding the tray out for Dot.
Dots eyes narrowed sharply at the obnoxious nickname. “I’m not sick,” she stated before realizing she felt better than she had in months. “What’s happened to me?”
A grin spread across Lilandra’s face as she set the tray across Dot’s legs. “Silverbrook happened, silly! Did you think your father was the only mage in Britannia?”
Memories threatened to overwhelm Dot’s mind.
DaKaren! Her heart ached. Tears streamed unbidden down her cheeks, moistening her hands as she covered her eyes.
Lilandra looked dumbstruck, her mouth agape.
“Lil,” came a soft voice from the doorway. “May I speak with our guest, alone please?”
“Aye, ma’am,” Lilandra said, mildly confused. She looked back at Dot with a sad face before placing the tray on a nightstand and ducking past Lady Silverbrook.
With a slight sigh, Silverbrook noiselessly closed the bedroom door. She smoothed her blue skirt and white cincture before crossing the room to sit on the side of the bed next to her weeping guest, another bereaved soul left in her care. Placing a reassuring hand on Dot’s shoulder, she squeezed slightly. Affection didn’t come naturally to the sorceress.
“Lady Warner…Dot,” she began slowly. “I know you have suffered a string of personal losses recently. My heart grieves with thee. The Chancellor will…” she stopped, her eyes lowered sadly. “DaKaren will be missed.”
And our world will suffer greatly, she finished to herself.
“Hh.. how?” Dot stammered through the sobs.
Silverbrook withdrew her hand from Dot’s shoulder to remove her blue whicker kasa, placing it at the foot of the bed. “It was Nosfentor… She possessed Master Wobby just after the destruction of Britain. Ever since the link between DaKaren’s people and the Strangers … er…Crimsons… came to light, the Shadowlords have taken a keen interest in your father’s life.”
“That damned ferret!” Dot hissed angrily, wiping tears from her face. “I knew that haughty posturing had to be hiding something! Where is the little
weasel?”
“Calm, Dot,” Silverbrook soothed. “He was not willingly possessed and is most ashamed at what he was forced to do, I don’t believe that guile and deceit come naturally to him. In fact, he is training the mages here in Dralan methods to combat the daemonic magicks which still haunt the Isle.”
Dot cast her gaze downward as the tears slowed. “But why kill him? Even he was unconvinced his plan would succeed…”
“The Shadowlords could not take the chance,” the sorceress frowned. “The raw magical power possessed by the Children of Dral made the paragons of Hatred, Falsehood and Cowardice pale in comparison. Consider that innate ability coupled with the technology we know the Arcanum possesses. Given their history with this world, the Shadowlords feared losing to them, Nosfentor especially.” Silverbrook sighed once more and shook her head slightly. “Of all… beings… she knew the man the Shadowlords once considered weak and irrelevant might bring about their undoing.”
“So they murdered him,” Dot declared, the tears subsiding. “They will pay. I will see to it…” she finished in an icy tone.
“Perhaps, in time,” Silverbrook conceded with a wan smile. “But for now, my dear, you must rest. I have given you water from a very special oasis on Nujel’m. It has repaired much of the damage you incurred from the explosion and your…encounter…with the wolf.”
Dot stared blankly at the food on the tray prepared for her by Lilandra. “Thank you,” she said after a few moments before looking Silverbrook in the eyes. “DaKaren considered you a good friend. So do I.”
Silverbrook nodded with a polite smile. Rising from the bed, she picked up the kasa and stepped towards the door. Turning back to look at her guest she spoke once more. “Enjoy your brunch, Lady Warner. Lilandra and I will be about if you need us.” She turned back toward the door and exited the room.
Dot studied the food on the tray, suddenly realizing how just hungry she was…
* * *
Silverbrook closed the bedroom door behind her and leaned heavily against it, the last few years had worn heavily on her heart. Her adoptive city had been razed, Britannia had been repeatedly besieged, and far too many old friends had fallen to the Shadowlord’s advance.
It is not supposed to be like this…
She crossed the foyer to an alcove near the stairs, stepping onto the teleport pad she soon found herself in the rooftop garden. The burble of the central fountain did little to quell the sadness in her soul. Striding over to the southern wall, she looked out at the scarred landscape that had once been the prideful city of Magincia.
A refugee shanty town had sprung up around her estate, ragged tents and rubble shacks housing multiple families. The isle had been ignored by the Shadowlords thus far, causing more and more people to seek food, shelter and asylum there. ‘New Magincia’ the citizens had taken to calling it now, the true city of Humility. Even in her own home, the first two floors had been converted into kitchens and healer’s ward for the benefit of the people, leaving only the top two for Lilandra and her. We will have to accommodate Dot and Master Wobby now as well, she thought resignedly.
Continuing to watch the citizens below, a small plume of dust caught her eye in the small open plaza below the villa. As the dust settled she could make out one of the acolytes of the Temple of Mondain by way of his sand-hued robe interposed between an adolescent boy and a small creature. A grey ferret stood with its back arched and tail erect as the human pointed and gesticulated aggressively, a scene that had repeated several times over the last three days.
Another soul blames the ferret for DaKaren’s death, regardless of the truth. The Virtues have suffered as much as the land and its people, I only hope one day we can recover what we have lost.
The acolyte approached the boy and took him by the shoulders and began speaking to him, resisting the boy’s attempts to shake him off. The boy appeared to relax and nodded sullenly at what he was told. Eventually, the boy was released and he wandered off into the camp, lost to the milling crowds. The acolyte bowed deeply to Master Wobby and set off in another direction. Wobby stood there a moment longer before bouncing off towards the old parliament building and the coven of mages in his employ.
Silverbrook shook her head in amazement.
Who would have believed the Temple of Mondain could prove instrumental in the Isle’s survival. Lord Sythiox’s pledge to aid the refugees has held for years, yet..I still feel ill at ease. She cringed inwardly at her thoughts, knowing the Temple claimed to have reformed since the deposing the despotic Mordain those many years ago. However, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something deeper in their motives. She sighed. Simply put, she needed them here.
The people need them.
Looking west, she saw the impossibly tall spire which encased the isle’s moongate. Such structures surrounded every permanent moongate in Britannia. Their construction had been the last great joint effort between the High Council and the Council of Mages to protect the people from the Shadowlords. The spire reached father into the heavens than any previous Britannian building, narrowing to a thin silver rod topped by an unstable gem. The spires drew on the energies of the stable moongates to prevent transit spells in a vast area, forcing ally and enemy alike to use conventional methods of travel.
Rapid transit, once a hallmark of magery, had fallen victim to the war - a sacrifice with which most were content. Only six mages had the power and knowledge to circumvent the towers, of which Silverbrook was one. This had slowed the Shadowlord’s forces considerably, giving the Britannian Armed Forces precious time.
She bowed her head sadly at the flash of light which preceded a ring of energy falling from the gem at the spire’s apex, lazily cascading to the base with a crackle. Any of the Shadowlord’s forces who had foolishly managed to transit the moongate network and arrived inside the spire had just been instantly incinerated.
Eventually, she knew, a massive black ship would appear on the horizon, heralding a siege of New Magincia.
Perhaps… she thought idly,
Perhaps it is time to fully embrace one of DaKaren’s more radical ideas. The Nascent...
“Kal Ort Por,” she intoned, focusing on Dragon Isle far to the south where the dead man’s tower once stood, she forced herself through the thickened ether.
* * *
The Sorceress arrived in a small space hidden within a carefully groomed thicket south of the tower. Such thickets grew unobtrusively in several key locations around Sosaria to allow those few who could still use Recall to do so in secret. She gave silent thanks to the Royal Conservatory of Dracona and the dearly departed Ra’Dian Fl’Gith for their noble endeavors in breeding this unique species of shrubbery for the war effort.
For several minutes she listened intently for signs that her arrival had been detected. Satisfied she was safe, Silverbrook pricked her right index finger on a nearby thorn and allowed several drops of blood to fall onto a single overly large leaf in front of her. The leaf curled in on itself, absorbing the blood offering.
In silence, a section of the briar plant separated to form a narrow passage. Stepping quickly down the length of the two meter path, she emerged in front of ancient stone ruins. Following a crumbling wall east led her to what remained of an archway. She spied a weather-worn symbol, etched when the wall had been new. This symbol was what had inspired DaKaren to build a home here. A stylized sun and ankh motif.
“Reminds me of home,” he had said casually once, long ago.
Below the symbol began a scroll of mostly unrecognizable characters, only the word translating as ‘flame’ was at all legible.
So few beings left who can read Dralan, she thought sadly.
I wonder if he ever excavated here in Felucca…
She continued northwards toward a far newer ruin. The once tall, dark stone walls had collapsed inwards, forming a large pile of rubble and debris. Scraps of smashed furniture and sundries littered the edges. Quickly glancing around, the enchantress gathered her cloak around herself, whispered “An Ylem Quas,” and stepped directly into a large chunk of slanted wall – vanishing.
The illusion concealing the still-intact tower had been a late addition to the Chancellor’s plan, designed to give the resistance a safe place to hide. The overlapping layers of magic which comprised the illusory camouflage would persist in the minds of any interloper who strayed into the fictional pile of debris. Only the most powerful of mystically attuned entities might potentially sense the deception. Silverbrook knew that Grand Marshal Polynikes had ordered it activated when he learned of DaKaren’s death. “Better to make our losses appear greater than they are,” he had reasoned.
Silverbrook removed a small crystal key from a hidden pocket in her cloak and inserted it into the lock on the tower’s door. “
Patefacio,” she whispered and the lock clicked open. She quickly entered the building, closing and locking the door behind her. “
Claudo,” she said in a normal voice, reactivating the door’s wards.
The main floor of the tower had been hastily packed full of the supplies of war. Crates of weapons, grains and reagents had been stacked to the ceiling, leaving only one route to the teleporters. Her destination was the living quarters on the third floor, but she chose to get there by way of the roof instead of going through the charred second floor laboratory. Stepping onto the pad instantly brought her to the reciprocal rooftop pad where she found the number of cannons had tripled.
Creating a fortress, I see, Grand Marshal. Wise.
After crossing the roof and using its second teleporter, she arrived in the common room between the tower’s kitchen and DaKaren’s private quarters. She went straight to a potted tree next to the kitchen archway alongside a painting of a woman in a mauve dress. “Uus Hur Por,” she invoked a little-known spell, causing the tree to levitate. A gentle tap sent it floating to the opposite side of the archway and a moment later it landed gently in the center of a slate paver.
The tile on which the tree had originally sat was different from those surrounding it. Silverbrook smirked slightly at its pinkish hue and recessed symbol before she confidently strode onto the tile and disappeared in a flash of light.
She reappeared on an identical paver in a room full of dust covered crates and barrels.
More war supplies, she mused darkly.
Hiding them where no one would bother to look. She had arrived in DaKaren’s Feluccan tower far to the north of Vesper.
The end of her journey near, she ascended the stairs to the second floor and approached a decorative display of four ornamental swords next to a long unused small forge. She crossed the three left most swords’ foibles and then pulled downwards on the fourth’s hilt.
With a grinding noise the tower shuddered slightly as a single stone in the wall next to the forge fell free and vanished to reveal a large, shiny black rectangular panel in the wall.
Blackrock?
Frowning slightly, Silverbrook placed the palm of her left hand onto the panel. A brief flash of light from the device caused a slight tingle to creep up her arm.
“Animus Silverbrook acknowledged. Access granted per Nascent Contingency Theta,” said a cold, disembodied female voice.
“Lock disengaged, pad energizing.”
With a loud click, the forge began to scrape across the floor away from the swords. In its place, a flat metal-encased octagon rose to just above floor level. Several multicolored strips slowly began to pulse with light until a steady wash of prismatic color reached a brilliantly luminous blue gem.
“Pad energized,” said the voice again.
“Teleport when ready.”
Cautiously, Silverbrook stepped onto the platform. Nothing happened. She stood there several minutes waiting for something to happen before turning towards the black rectangle and cautiously tapping on it. “Miss? I am ready.”
“
Teleport when ready.”
Suddenly, it dawned on her that the voice was being literal. “Rel Por,” she said and was engulfed in prismatic light before the world broke apart before her eyes. Just as suddenly, she found herself standing in a cold, dark chamber that smelled like the open ocean.
How did he stand that thing? she thought to herself.
Stepping off a duplicate octagonal pad, she slowly climbed a short flight of metal stairs which she could barely see in the dim light. She found a metal box with several subtly glowing gem-like controls attached to the railing of a walkway at the top of the stairs. She tapped a white gem twice which caused several balls of light to flare into existence above her, illuminating a truly immense abyssal cavern.
Though Silverbrook has been in DaKaren’s underground lair before, each visit was unnerving. The vista before her seemed to have no bottom, no ceiling. The effect was that of utter vertigo. The Sorceress had to clutch the catwalk railing to regain her sense of balance. Once the dizziness had passed, she centered herself and gazed out into the vast space. Gigantic mesas rose from the depths, as if huge stalagmites had been leveled off to form platforms. On top of many of these were boxes and crates of various sizes interspersed with odd and unidentifiable contraptions, possible remnants of over four centuries worth of the late Chancellor’s projects.
The most arresting feature of the cavern, aside from its size, was the wall of ocean water which formed the far wall of the cavern. The frigid northern sea was held back by an unknown force, or at least not one for which DaKaren had shared the source. This had always given Silverbrook pause.
Across a span of open pit in front of her, lay the oddly mottled pieces of Master Wobby’s conveyance on an elevated stage, a vessel which had once dwarfed even the Shadowlord’s massive black warship. Silverbrook had seen it mostly intact just after it had crashed into the southeast slope of Dragonhame Mountain. She had felt the living craft die shortly thereafter.
She remembered the ferocity DaKaren had shown in protecting the craft and its sole inhabitant. Even after the craft had perished, he had insisted that every piece of it be collected, no matter how small. How he had managed to transport the largest pieces was still a mystery to those who had helped.
Only three beings alive knew the hopes he had placed on the wreckage, only to see them dashed when so very little of the technology would function without the sentient mind that had once controlled it. Fortunately, he had managed to salvage enough to advance several projects.
Turning away from the…grave…she headed down a metal catwalk towards a cluster of machinery. It surrounded what she had come there to retrieve. She passed a recessed display of several ancient specimens of pre-Shattering era armor and weapons, recognizing several blasters, three phazors, four light swords and several pieces of vacuum and reflect armor. It disturbed her slightly that there were several pieces conspicuously missing from the collection when compared to memories of her previous visits.
Continuing down the catwalk, she came upon an alcove set into the uneven natural stone wall and shuddered. In the alcove stood a tall metal cylinder with a glass front, within which stood an ashen-skinned man with long blond hair and sunken eyes. He was modestly clad in a form fitting iridescent black leather-like material. A plaque set into the glass identified the occupant:
Geoff Dobbo
Species: Homo sapiens sanguines (Haemovore)
Stasis – Active
The second object in the alcove was a bulky and oddly proportioned suit of silver and iridescent black armor, a creation she knew was reminiscent of the Shadowlord’s monstrous Iron Knight. Upon further inspection, she recognized components of the missing specimens from the earlier display in their new home. As she tarried, a beam of blue light emitted from a black panel set into the alcove and washed over her.
“Animus Silverbrook acknowledged. Access denied, Nascent Contingency Theta in effect,” said the disembodied voice.
“Proceed thirteen meters due west.”
Rolling her eyes, she continued down the walkway to a brightly lit metal dais. Climbing up three steps she approached a tall luminescent crystal cylinder on a metal base festooned with blinking lights and several black panels which displayed moving chunks of Dralan text amid diagrams of the tiny human contained within.
“Kestal,” Silverbrook breathed.
My daughter.
“Animus Silverbrook acknowledged.” said the voice.
“Access granted, Nascent Contingency Theta in effect. Do you wish to activate Nascent?”
Bristling slightly at the term ‘activate,’ she paused. Finally, she spoke, “Aye. Activate…Nascent.”
“Physical activation protocol required per Nascent Contingency Theta.”
Another shiny black panel materialized to float the air before of her. Sighing, she placed her left hand on the panel which dissolved at her touch.
“Activating Nascent final stage, initiating simulacra.”
A flash of light to her right caused a pang of anxiety as a life-sized image of DaKaren flared into existence. He wore his usual white robe and cloak, his long white hair splayed around his shoulders.
“Silverbrook, welcome.” the image stated, smiling. “As the Theta aspect of Nascent Contingency has been activated, something has gone terribly wrong with the plan. Please state the nature of the change.”
Blinking several times to regain her composure, the image continued to smile at her. “Uhm…” she stalled. “Well, you…DaKaren died.”
The image stopped smiling shifted position slightly. “Most unfortunate.”
“In…Indeed.” She found talking to the image unsettling. “What are you, exactly?”
The image presented another charming smile. “I am a non-sentient, ephemeral simulacra based on an offline Gyre persona and a stellar-class six thousand and eighty second hundredth generation higher synaptic matrix.”
Silverbrook’s force of will kept her from rolling her eyes. “You’re a machine then, aye? Why appear as DaKaren?”
The image strangely appeared to look pained. “I am more than a machine, but less than a living being. I was salvaged from the expired
cubile vita of the Arcanum scout ship
Carpe Verum and redesigned to act as an interface for the technorganomystic systems in this edifice.” It pointed at various odd contraptions with blinking lights and black panes of diagrams, then at several disturbing fibrous pods to which they were connected that dangled from the high ceiling. “I am appearing to you as DaKaren per Nascent Contingency Beta through Theta protocols as activated. However, I can appear as other forms, would you like to select another avatar?”
She shook her head, “No, this will suffice, I believe. It will just take a bit of getting used to. Do you have a name?”
“I am simply titled as ‘Interface,’ please feel free to use that designation,” it smiled again. “Apologies that this was not the desired outcome for the plan as outlined, but it was accounted for.” The image nodded. “Fortunately, this will not adversely affect the Nascent’s projected development.”
“She will be without a father,” Silverbrook stated, stepping closer.
The image nodded slowly. “Presently, there was no contingency devised to remedy that, I’m…sorry. DaKaren trusted in you to raise her well, though he wasn’t sure Sosaria could tolerate another ‘stoic sorceress.’”
The sorceress blinked again. “How can you joke about this?”
“Apologies,” the image appeared contrite. “Terminating humor algorithms. Processing, one moment please. Contingency Iota extrapolated.” The image changed again to appear earnest. “As sole caretaker, you must not tell her of her father. It may bring undue attention.”
Silverbrook thought carefully before speaking, “Rob her of part of her identity, is that wise?”
“Wise, no,” the image shook its head. “It is prudent. Her safety is paramount, more so than knowing of her father. Were she to impart such datum to an unscrupulous being, the Shadowlords would have cause to hunt her.”
“Very well,” she sighed. “How should…we…proceed?”
The image turned toward the crystal. “The birthing process has already begun. I have given her all the knowledge that can be imparted safely, thus she will need very little formal schooling. She will, however, need practical tutelage in magic and the martial arts.”
“I will see to it. What of her…physically?”
“She will appear a mix of human and elven heritage typical of a modern Britannian. As far as specific characteristics are concerned, as was agreed prior to conception, none were predetermined. Once birthed, she will grow at an accelerated rate until she is on the cusp of adolescence.” The image appeared to pause a moment. “It should be noted that it is theoretically possible that she may develop Dral characteristics during puberty, though to what extent those may be due to the lack of the Light of Dralath is unknown. It is also possible she may exhibit traits of your species…” it paused, looking at her oddly. “However, the datum required to accurately predict this is unavailable to me.”
A fine spiderweb of cracks suddenly raced up the side of the crystal cylinder as the light within began to pulse rhythmically. “Limited block transfer calculations complete,” said the Interface cryptically. “Infant biorhythms stable, labor has commenced.”
Silverbrook watched silently as the crystal continued to fracture and begin to fall away. Slowly a fragile form was revealed, floating within a shaft of warm radiance. A female human with bronze skin and wisps of dark hair warily opened her piercing pale blue eyes before releasing an earsplitting wail.
“You may claim the child, mother Silverbrook,” Interface said over the noise, a beaming smile on the image’s face.
“Mother,” the sorceress said, trying the word as she cautiously approached the floating child. She reached out and took her from the column of light, ignoring the luminous tendrils which continued to support the babe till she had been firmly clutched to Silverbrook’s chest. The wailing ceased quickly as the child bit into one of Silverbrook’s pearly braids and began to suck it. “Hello Kestal, my sweet. Welcome to the world,” she whispered in the child’s ear before kissing her forehead lightly.
A drawer silently opened near the base of the machinery on which the crystal had set, a luxurious fuzzy white blanket with a metallic silver boarder lay folded within. “Compliments of Dot,” Interface cooed, coming closer to the child. “She wished for her sister to have a childhood as content as her own. In fact, I do believe there are several stuffies stored in the tower above intended for her as well.”
Kneeling down to swaddle Kestal in the blanket, the Sorceress briefly looked up to regard Interface. “What of feeding her? She appears to be beyond an infant’s need for suckling.”
“Kestal may eat any nutritionally adequate foods readily available, though I suggest limiting exposure to strongly flavored foods for several weeks.” Interface waved a hand along the side of the child as she was being wrapped. “My analyzer suite confirms that she is in optimal health for a child of approximately one heliocycle in age, and should remain so due to supplementary biohelic and nutritional serums applied during birthing.”
“I’ll take your word for it, thank you,” Silverbrook said dryly. “I have…” she started before being stopped by tiny hands pulling one of her braids back to Kestal’s smiling mouth. She returned the child’s smile. “I have much to relearn. It has been several…centuries…since I had any prolonged exposure to children.” She looked back at Kestal, “This will be an adventure for both of us!” she said while playfully touching the child’s nose, which caused the child’s eyes to cross along with a peal of hair-muffled laughter.
“Contingency Iota has an allowance for inadequate parental knowledge…” the Interface stopped short at her raised eyebrow, mimicking DaKaren’s expression of bemusement. “Apologies. However, my matrix contains such information and I can make it, and myself, available to you should you require aid.”
Silverbrook stood and cradled the swaddled Kestal before her, gently swaying back and forth as the child continued to suck the end of her braid. “I can hardly return here every time I need help. I cannot leave my Isle unprotected each time a problem arises.”
“Apologies. Abandoning contingency language protocols in favor of free-form exchange.” Interface bowed slightly then pointed to a drawer opening from low worktable across the room. “Contingency Zeta made allowance for this device to be presented for the defense of the Magincian Isle during Kestal’s formative years. Unfortunately, the device is of limited power but should emit a defensive barrier for a continual duration of six point three local heliocycles, or an intermittent barrier for considerably more.”
Silverbrook walked slowly toward the drawer, swaying slightly to sooth Kestal. She saw a stubby silver cylinder irregularly dotted with transparent bubbles. “DaKaren had the ability to shield an island, and you are just revealing this now?” she said in a semi-sing song voice, trying to keep the child from sensing any anger.
“Appologies. This is the only working unit on this planet and was only finished four days ago, it took an additional two days to attain maximum power. DaKaren did not wish to raise hopes falsely, thus its concealment. He did attempt to fabricate the required components from Sosarian materials, but the output was dangerously erratic.” The image frowned. “It is still possible this unit may malfunction, however, my analyzer suite indicates an even energy flow. I suggest you place it in a central location to ensure maximum coverage.”
“Thank you,” she sighed, balancing Kestal in one arm as she awkwardly tucked the cylinder under the strap of her cincture where it would be concealed by her cloak.
“There is something more,” began Interface, as yet another drawer opened from a desk-like structure across the dais. Silverbrook strode over, swaying as she went, and looked into the drawer. Small transparent orbs filled three of eight small pockets around a palm-sized translucent crystal veined with a silver metal. Several lights appeared to pulsate dimly from within. “Please take one of the remaining transceivers, this will allow you to communicate with me at your leisure.”
Silverbrook chose the closest sphere and plucked it from the drawer. Bringing it up to her face she thought it resembled nothing more than a glass ball, until it pulsed a light blue.
There, she heard in her mind.
It has synched with your neural patterns…both of them. Only you will be able to communicate with me, simply hold the sphere to do so.
She placed the sphere into a hidden pocket, preferring to speak aloud. “Will Kestal be able to use it as well, when she’s older?”
“Apologies. Only the neural patterns present in you, Animus Silverbrook, may activate the sphere. This is a security measure devised for Contingency Iota.” The image folded his hands before him, and nodded towards Kestal. “Motherhood suits you.”
Distracted by the misdirection, Silverbrook looked down at her child. Kestal had fallen asleep from the gentle swaying, her mother’s braid and a trickle of drool escaping her mouth. Thoughts of the Interface and its technobabble fled her mind as she beheld a joyous tranquility unlike any other she had previously experienced, her peacefully sleeping daughter.
After several minutes of watching her child sleep, she looked up at the Interface. “I should be getting back to the Isle. No one knows that I can still teleport and my absence will eventually be noticed. Do you have any further…devices…for me, Interface?”
The image shook its head. “Not at this time, though it is possible I may be able to fabricate something in the future. Perhaps with Dot’s assistance.”
“She has suffered a great loss and will need time to come to terms with that,” Silverbrook’s face darkened. “I am afraid that the void she feels may compel her to act rashly. And this…” she gestured at the cavern around her, “might just prove too tempting an outlet for her anger.”
Interface nodded sagely. “I understand. While pre-existing protocols prevent me from barring her admittance to this cavern, I shall attempt to minimize access to dangerous datum and materiel until such time as she is emotionally stable.”
Silverbrook tried not to laugh at the Interface, but she had doubted anyone had ever used the phrase ‘emotionally stable’ in reference to Dot Warner. While the woman was mentally sound, and actually quite sharp, she had a fiery temper and a reputation for assertively speaking her mind. For Interface’s benefit, she merely nodded. “Thank you.”
“Have a safe journey back to your isle, Animus Silverbrook,” the image bowed deeply. “Initiating low-power mode.” The image smiled and winked out.
Silverbrook turned and began walking towards the catwalk and the teleporter alcove on the far end of the cavern with her child. Mindful of not waking her, she began to softly sing an ancient Nujel’m nursery rhyme. “
Hal anti ‘arafa al tiflah samaa, tiflah sama’ hal walda ‘ayn…”
* * *
Kestal and Silverbrook appeared in a thicket on a small prominence on the northeastern edge of the isle near the beach. With so many refugees clustered nearby, the Sorceress would draw attention to the unusual plant should she be seen appearing from within. Fortunately, she had become quite adept at teleporting across greater than normal distances and should be able to aim herself through an open window on the third floor of her villa.
Peering through the twisting vines of the briar, she found that all of the gleaming windows on her villa facing her were shut. She pinched her eyes closed in mild frustration,
Of all the times for Lilandra to clean. Kestal began to stir in her arms, sensing the change in her environment.
Out of options, Silverbrook again pricked her right index finger on a thorn and allowed her blood to fall onto the single overly large leaf present in the small briar enclosure. As the leaf hungrily curled in on itself, a section of briar to the east separated revealing the standard path.
Cautiously she crept down the path, hesitant to create a flurry of motion which might attract notice.
Hopefully, it will just seem to any watching that I just appeared near the cliff’s edge and it will only add to my mystery. Gingerly she stepped out of the thicket, sensing it close quickly behind her. Fortunately, she found the prominence deserted.
Kestal, now fully awake, burbled happily to herself as her mother trekked carefully down the path to the camps. As they reached the trail’s head, the child looked up at the sky for the first time. Her little eyes widened at the cerulean expanse as she reached up both hands as if to grasp the delicate clouds floating overhead as her own.
Noticing her daughter’s expression of wonder, Silverbrook smiled in an atypically broad, genuine manner. “One day, my child, one day.” She kissed Kestal between the eyes, instigating a fit of giggles her child.
“Ah, m’Lady Silverbrook,” said a heavily Umbran-accented voice off her left side. “Just who I was looking for. The young mistress Lilandra said I might find you out here… Might I have a moment of thy time?”
Silverbrook involuntarily froze before turning toward the speaker. “Gracious, Lord Sythiox, you startled me. Not a wise thing to do to a woman carrying a small child…”
“My humblest apologies, m’Lady,” he bowed formally. He straightened his sand-toned surcoat over his ever-present coal-hued leather armor. “I didn’t intend to startle you, or endanger thy charge…” He cocked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know ye had taken a personal interest in the isle’s children.”
The Sorceress let a neutral façade slip over her features. “We all must do what we can in these trying times, Lord Sythiox,” she nodded toward the child. “Now, you wanted a moment?”
The Mondainite smiled, revealing crooked teeth under his somewhat bulbous nose. “Indeed, m’Lady. We are running out of suitable space to accommodate all the refugees. Should many more arrive, we need to begin turning away future ships.”
This was a legitimate concern, she conceded. The thought of denying anyone seeking a life outside the Shadowlord’s dominion rankled her, but the isle was quickly reaching capacity. “Master Wobby is attempting to dispel the daemonic taint which prevents us from building anything substantial. Should he succeed, we can rebuild the isle.”
“Aye, ‘Fortress Humility,’” Sythiox nodded. “I have seen the plans. Most ambitious,” he turned to the side slightly, bringing his left hand to his chin thoughtfully. “And yet, would this not make us a target, m’Lady? Surely the Shadowlords wouldn’t allow a fortified city to oppose them. Think of what happened to Trinsic, to Serpent’s Hold…”
Silverbrook shuddered. In one day five blackrock weapons had been detonated, the cites of Trinsic and Serpent’s Hold had been decimated. Both the Lycaeum and Empath Abbey turned to piles of slag. And then there was the Grove… Compassion Grove, that last bit of uncorrupted Britannian government had been destroyed, along with the life of one of her dearest friends, Ra’Dian Fl’Gith.
“No, Lord Sythiox, that will not happen here. It must not,” she stated sternly. Raising her voice slightly, she continued. “The despicable actions taken by Casca and his enforcers will never be allowed to be repeated here. New Magincia will be a beacon of hope to all Sosaria!” The refugees nearby shouted their agreement, spreading Silverbrook’s words of solidarity across the camps.
The Mondainite bowed deferentially to Silverbrook, playing for the crowd. “Indeed, m’lady. The Temple of Mondain wholeheartedly agrees with your sage words. Virtues,” he seemed to choke slightly, “be praised.”
Nodding curtly, Silverbrook turned to continue on to her villa with Kestal, considering the ‘moment’ over.
“Ah, but one more tiny thing, m’Lady,” he said, stopping her departure. He then pointed up the trail at the thicket at the top of the prominence. “That nasty hedge, the one by the cliff you were just at… Aye, that one,” he nodded as she looked up. “Were we to raze it, we should be able to squeeze in another few tents on the promontory.”
He knows! she thought in horror, careful not to let it show. “Perhaps,” she began with mock solemnity, as a moment of inspiration struck. “However, without a sturdy wall at the cliff face it would pose a danger to those quartered there. Besides, I believe the area is favored by those seeking a private respite for…uh…amorous intentions. I would feel remiss if I allowed one of only a few such…luxuries to be denied the people.”
The crowd laughed as both Sythiox’s eyebrows vaulted to his hairline. “In…Indeed, m’lady,” he managed to stammer.
“Good day, Lord Sythiox, may the Virtues’ light bless you,” she turned and strode away with her daughter, a wry smile playing at the edges of her mouth.
“And may Mondain’s will provide you peace, m’lady Silverbrook!” the Mondainite called out to her through gritted teeth.
Striding through the camps purposefully, Silverbrook was mindful of the greetings of those she passed by. She stopped briefly at several tents as their residents voiced concerns, or cooed at the child in her arms. As she neared the small plaza in front of her villa, she heard a small voice speak from just behind her.
“Well played, mum,” it said conspiratorially. “That smarmy snake didn’t see that one coming!”
Silverbrook laughed at the remark, continuing to move forward. “To be sure, Master Wobby. He did seem particularly obsequious today, did he not?”
The ferret made a dooking sound for laughter as he hopped along beside her. “Most, mum. That the Nascent, then is it?”
She stopped at the steps leading into the villa, glancing to make sure no one was paying attention before nodding subtlety. She kneeled down and picked up the ferret and placed him with the child. “May I introduce you to Kestal, Master Wobby, my daughter.”
Master Wobby dooked again several times, marveling at the child. “An Ilythiiri word? Clever, mum, clever! Means ‘hope,’ aye?”
Silverbrook genuinely smiled at her daughter again. “Aye, Master Wobby. Hope for a world ensnared in darkness.”
“He would be proud, mum,” the ferret spoke of DaKaren. “She will bring honor to both your houses…”
To be continued…
