Into the Valley Read online

  Chapter III

  From the marble balcony across the river, Lord Abraham observed the scene unfold below him through a brass ship’s glass. After the Akkahellonian had been dragged away, he admired his realm where the fires caused shadows to writhe on the rocks like smokey souls. His mood changed when he noticed the Lepidian loping away from the copper doors.

  All the others were husks of themselves, broken by their transformations and the passage of time, but not Dr. Iskander who did not act like a beat dog as the others did. Despite the decades in the belly of the earth, he continued to support their battered spirits. Lord Abraham, who saw the untrustworthiness behind the inhuman eyes, was not surprised to find him with the outsider, no doubt plotting, but the machine would take care of his ally. The thought etched a smile into his face.

  With a gleam of anticipation in his eyes, he stepped from the balcony into the passageway behind him, thinking about the forthcoming attuning. As much as he distrusted him, Dr. Iskander’s vitality and connection to the elemental forces of Triton were irreplaceable; whereas, the others provided too little energy, forcing Lord Abraham to spend more and more time in the Rejuvenator each day. However, he could tell even from his distant view that the stranger had enough spirit to sustain him for many years to come.

  The passageways to his apartments were without crack or blemish having been shaped from the stone by elementalists millennia ago, but after walking them for the greater part of three centuries, Lord Abraham no longer noticed. The feat of engineering and mastery of the earth that allowed these halls, and all held within, to survive the dividing of the continent during the Reckoning no longer captured his imagination. Instead, he was preoccupied with the stranger, eager to be in the presence of someone so young for the fossils haunting his valley reminded him that, despite his external youth, he was alive only because of their sacrifices.

  Back in his quarters, Lord Abraham replaced the telescope on a shelf cluttered with other seafaring instruments then toured his living area as if he were a visitor in a museum. The intricate patterns on the Herconian rug under his feet contrasted with the tapestries, in all the colors of tropical birds, shimmering in the light of the fire orbs imbedded into the walls. On the shelves sat an assortment of artifacts and devices from across the isles: silver and brass globes, rocks embedded with crystalline shapes in the color of lavender and lemon, war masks from the early Post-Reckoning years, and pyramidal stones used in the rituals of the ancient Delpins. Books regarding elementalism, warfare, and architecture shared the space with the poems of Egis and the sixteen epic novels of Helgis Arominese.

  He had owned nothing when the fools of the Scientific League had cast him out for wanting to do nothing more than share knowledge to the world. Perhaps it had been for a price, but it was better than hoarding it for themselves under the guise of protecting the people. Yet, he had been there long enough to learn a few of their secrets, one of which were the pockets of technology buried beneath the newly formed mountains and along the seas that had filled the earth when it had cracked.

  They expected him to return to his life before the League, but there would be no return. With nothing to his name, he was forced to work with all manner of the Governate’s criminals, trading knowledge for capital and secrets. In time, he floated to the top of this sea of half-wits and degenerates and formed his own organization.

  When rumors of an archaeological expedition in the southern jungles of the Outer Isle reached him, he set out with minotaur guides and found the site. The expedition had found the Rejuvenator and discovered the power source, an orb ten feet in diameter humming with the electricity contained within; however, they had not activated their discovery intending to inform the Scientists at the League. He knew the Scientists would do nothing more than hide it away, so instead, Lord Abraham kept it for himself.

  It had taken him a little less than a year--and most of the members of the expedition--to determine what the Rejuvenator could do and how to safely control it, but once discovered, these caverns became his home and the center of his organization.

  A knock interrupted his thoughts, and the leader of his guard squeezed through the door to his chambers.

  “Your guest is prepared for the interview, Lordship.”

  Lord Abraham followed Turgor and found the boy manacled feet and hands to a chair bolted against a wall in the Rejuvenating Room. His face was covered with bruises and scrapes, but he maintained an air of defiance. His muscles writhed beneath his shirt as he struggled against the constraints, and Lord Abraham was satisfied with this specimen who rivaled the minotaur. Lord Abraham could not read the script flowing across the right cheek bone, but the triad of dots punctuating the script marked him as one of the Akkahellonian elite.

  From his position, Aurelian was unimpressed by the narrow-framed man in his white coat, which was adorned with an array of ribbons and gold braids the likes Aurelian had not seen on even the chest of the most renowned Akkahellonian general. A saber and pistol were fastened about his waist glinting in the light. The man’s hair was oiled as was the mustache tracing his upper lip, and the color at his cheeks spoiled his corpse-like pallor. He did not carry himself with the poise of a soldier, but strutted about the room clacking the heels of his boots against the floor. Aurelian was reminded of a child wearing his father’s uniform, marching about the house, and ordering the family dog to come to attention.

  “Welcome, sir, to my small realm,” he said, clipping off his words as if he were trying to chew them. “I hope you can forgive me for your rough treatment to this point. Turgor and his folk can be a bit enthusiastic sometimes. I am Lord Abraham, and I am glad to have you as my guest.”

  Lord Abraham clasped his hands behind his back unsure of his guest’s silence, expecting a response of a more explosive sort and not Aurelian’s steady gaze. Unnerved at his inability to gauge him, Lord Abraham cleared his throat and tugged at the bottom of his jacket.

  “Normally this would be where you would introduce yourself, but I see you are reluctant. Keep in mind, however, you are a guest and not a prisoner, and even prisoners are allowed to give their names.”

  After another prolonged silence, Lord Abraham bent at the waist so he was at eye level with Aurelian.

  “It does not affect your future whether you speak or not, my Akkahellonian friend, for the result is going to be the same either way. I do not get out much, and visitors are so rare, so when I meet someone new, I like to find out about the world. Gossip. News. Cataclysmic world events perhaps.”

  Aurelian shrugged and stated his name, which Lord Abraham perceived as progress.

  “I am here to make a bargain, Lieutenant Aurelian,” Lord Abraham went on. “At first, you will not find it a fair exchange, but in time, I expect, you will as did your fellow guests.”

  “I have heard of your bargain, and though it will not change the outcome, as you have said, I will not easily submit.”

  “Brave to the last,” Lord Abraham said, clucking his tongue and opening his arms in the fashion of a ringmaster. “Look about you.”

  The room was filled with machines of which Aurelian had no understanding: banks of man-sized boxes lined the wall opposite him each with a console covered in knobs, lights--some of which were flashing--and dials with wavering arms. Cables extended from the tops of the boxes and exited the room through holes in the walls near the ceiling while other cables ran across the floor to a pair of tables in the center of the room. Atop each table were sarcophagus-shaped objects with inert panel lights and meters.

  “This is the Rejuvenator,” said Lord Abraham after a few seconds. “I have no idea what its creators actually called it, but that is my title for this remarkable device. A gift of Old Science.”

  “An abomination.”

  The force of the condemnation matched Lord Abraham’s expectations, but it did not reconcile with Aurelian’s outer calm.

  “You are as I have read about your people,” sa
id Lord Abraham, spreading his palms on the body of one of the sarcophagi. “Science did not bring about the Reckoning and neither did elementalism. The people who wielded them did. By denying this one fact, you close your mind to a whole world of possibilities like immortality.”

  Lord Abraham pressed a button on the console causing a whisper of air to escape the device, and then the lid, which had a window where a face would be, raised revealing an interior lined with cushions. Lord Abraham interpreted Aurelian’s silence as interest and so continued.

  “Akkahellonia is built on superstition and discipline thus creating a nation of fanatics. You enslave the very people who should be leading your country: the scientists and the elementalists.”

  Aurelian’s eyes flicked from the open cover of the white box to Lord Abraham.

  “But you know that on a personal level, don’t you?” he mused as he studied Aurelian’s countenance. “Don’t get me wrong, my young lieutenant, I have no love for the Governate or their self-righteous Scientific League. None of this matters, of course. What does matter is that the machine exists and it is mine.”

  Aurelian regained self-control and expressed indifference. Lord Abraham opened the second sarcophagus then circled around to stand in front of him.

  “In this bargain, you get the freedom of never having to work or struggle for existence. Free from wars and free from the clock. A life of leisure to be had. At first, you will not see this as a gift. I understand completely, but the sooner you accept your new life then the easier it will be.

  “See, the wonderful thing about people is that they are adaptable and will accept anything as normal, no matter how horrible it seems in the beginning. Look at how people accepted and changed to fit their new existence after the Reckoning. Of course for you, because of the rigidity of your culture, it may take a bit longer, but it can be a good life.”

  “What do you know of my people? You’re mad.”

  “Not mad. Blissful. Now,” Lord Abraham said clapping his hands, indicating the conversation was over, “as they say: ‘a young man with time is like a fool with gold,’ so let me give you a first-hand demonstration of this machine.”

  Lord Abraham ordered one of the minotaur guard to pull a lever on the machinery against the wall and the room filled with a thrumming sound. The guard loosened Aurelian’s bonds and delivered a blow to stop his struggling and grant them time to seal him inside the sarcophagus. Lord Abraham peered through the window, his lips were moving, but Aurelian could hear nothing above the growing hum of the device.

  Hysteria threatened to break his composed veneer as the tightness about Aurelian’s body and the proximity of the glass to his face overwhelmed his senses. He thrashed about to no effect then took deep breaths and closed his eyes. Nothing changed for some time then the humming grew louder, and he had the sensation of insects crawling over his flesh. His face burned, and although he was coated with sweat, shivers racked his body. The sound of the machine began pulsating to the beat of his heart, building in intensity. Muscles and joints ached and knots of pain roiled through his belly. Then the noise ceased and with it all the ill effects. Aurelian lay in the metal coffin, his breath fogging the window and pulse swirling in his ears. Several seconds passed before the lid hissed open and allowed fresh air to rush around his body.

  Aurelian steadied himself on the edge of the box waiting for his vision to clear before examining his body, noting the swollen joints of his liver-spotted hands and the tracks of swollen blue veins. The hair on the back of his hands and arms were gray, and his stomach was a paunch leaning over his belt and thumping like a gourd when he patted it. Aurelian frowned while trying to fathom the transformation but found his thoughts a jumble.

  “It is not the same is it? Theory versus practice. Until you experience something yourself, it is but words. Don’t you agree?”

  Lord Abraham perched at the edge of the other sarcophagus taking his jacket and weapons from Turgor. He dressed and approached Aurelian, a grin spreading like a flame across a piece of paper and curling away the facade of gentility. Aurelian’s arthritic fist exploded upwards against his taunter’s nose snuffing out the smile, and drops of scarlet arced outwards as Lord Abraham’s head shot back.

  A second blow never landed as the guards cast Aurelian to the ground where he crumpled against the bank of machines. Blood streamed from between Lord Abraham’s fingers smearing his face, and through a stained grimace Lord Abraham shouted an order and rushed from the room letting the minotaur to deliver his wrath.