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Chapter 3

“Childhood’s End” Rayll, 1st of Shakrynn, Age of the Winds 11,676

The black Crone loomed amidst the stars of the Inverted Pentagram, marking the Night of Darkness and the turning of the year. Logosien loved coming here. The square courtyard embraced the sanctuary with narrow arms, a grass swath lined with palm trees running down the centre of each. Grass and flowers divided the square into four dirt practice areas separated by paths meeting around the central circular fountain. Xondra stood in the middle, barefoot in the loose blue gi a Xen monk, black archmaster’s belt bearing three brown strips signifying fourth degree and three red strips marking her Supreme Prelate. Long black hair in a tight bun, she appeared stately, serene, focused, cupping a white orchid at navel level. A black dragon perched on her left shoulder, tail draped over the right, upraised mouth spewing water. The perfect mother, she filled him with calm, hearing his prayers, providing a home and guiding him through life. He thanked her regularly. But, tomorrow he faced her judgement, perfect in demanding excellence. “Why the heavy face?” This was Logosien’s favourite place for two reasons. First, the temple held nearly five hundred people; the orphans’ dormitory fifty. He was never alone for long, even the in the jakes. Only here was there privacy. Except

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for Azm, but he was the second reason. Logosien couldn’t recall a time without him. “Isn’t it usually daylight? I like the suns.” Logosien shrugged without turning to look at his friend. “This feels better.” “It’s New Year’s Day isn’t it?” Logosien nodded. “It will be.” “Aren’t you looking forward to the party and your gift?” “I guess.” “You don’t sound it. Is something wrong?” “I turn eight.” “So?” Logosien sighed. Azm didn’t get out much. Of course neither did Logosien. Not really. He wished to see the world beyond the temple, but he also dreaded it. He swallowed a lump. “I feel like throwing up.” “Why?” “Because, I might have to leave the temple.” Azm gasped. “Why?” “We ‘Eights’ will be given an extra present.” “That doesn’t sound bad.” “Depends on what’s inside. It could be an iron medallion of the Goddess, a white cloth belt, or a key.” “What do you hope to get?” “The medallion.” “Why?” “Each is a life path. I want to serve the Goddess as a Xen priest, learning to master mind, body, and magic in the search for perfection.” “And the others?” “The belt means that you will become a monk, a warrior-priest dedicated to reaching perfection through the Xen martial art. The key means that you will be apprenticed outside the temple.” “That’s bad?” Logosien nodded.

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“The only place I’ve slept is the dorm. No matter what I get, I’ll have to move to the Eights’ quarters with the others. Two weeks later, we move to quarters for initiates. If I get the key, it means going to live with my new master.” His voice broke, tears brimming in dark brown eyes. “I’ll have to leave home.” He turned and fell into Azm’s long, thin arms, the taller boy embracing his friend through tears and sobs. Under short, straight steel-grey hair, his olive, oval face held sympathy and curiosity, all-blue eyes following his mind’s search for a way to help. Grey eyebrows jumped and he pulled back to meet Logosien’s gaze. “Are you sure you’ll get the key?” Logosien blinked a few times, sniffling. “No. But if the Grand Prelate has anything to say about it I will.” “Are you sure she hates you?” “She must. I can’t please her. I can’t step out of line even a little. She gives me twice as many lashes. She can’t wait to be rid of me.” Azm patted his friend on the shoulders, considering a response. “She’s the head monk, but wouldn’t the Grand Vicar decide who becomes a priest?” “I guess.” “What does he think of you?” “I don’t know, I’ve haven’t been around him much other than the time he had me come into his quarters to ask me about dreams.” “You mean about me.” Logosien nodded. “He wanted to know if I had any unusual or special dreams that happened more than once. So I told them that I’ve always shared my day with you.” “How did they react?”

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“He smiled as if I’d just said something wonderful. Her face never changed. She looks at me like I’m a thing.” “That was when you were four?” “Yep.” “And how has he treated you since?” Logosien shrugged. “I see him in the dining hall. Mostly, he doesn’t seem to notice me.” “And when he does?” “He smiles a little.” “That sounds favourable, even if her opinion is not.” “I guess.” “Then it’s not certain what gift you will receive.” “I guess not.” “Does worrying help?” “Not really.” “It seems a waste of energy to let something that you can’t affect upset you. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sure it will work out for the best.” Logosien sniffed and wiped his eyes with his hand. “You think so?” Before Azm could answer, a raven flew out at Logosien’s face and the courtyard vanished. Daylight dazzled them both. Through squinted eyes they gazed around in astonishment. Rows of grape-laden vines stretched out in all directions. Kaldarians picked into pails, dumping full loads into huge wooden buckets, each containing a person stomping in liquid. A thin young man with a sandy ponytail stomped a few feet away without noticing the boys. Then, he and the others stopped work, pickers sitting down in the grass and stompers on the rims of buckets. Logosien and Azm stepped up and peered over the rim as the surface calmed enough to hold a clear reflection. The young man looked down. His reflection winked.

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The worker leaned closer. Logosien and Azm jumped back as the reflection rose from the red juice, flowing head-first into the young man’s chest until gone. The young man smiled, raising hairs on Logosien’s necks and arms. Their gazes met, ice filling Logosien’s veins. Emptiness lurked beyond those mirror eyes. “We know where you are, Champion,” the man shouted in many voices. He leapt at Logosien as bells sounded. Logosien woke gasping, heart racing. Quiet breathing and city bells announcing dawn welcomed his return to the dorm’s darkness. His left hand had dug its way, again, through a small hole in the cover of his straw-filled mattress. Withdrawing it, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing, centering like the monks taught, as he did every morning. His heartbeat and breath slowed. It was just a nightmare. Once calm, he leapt down from his bunk, silent on bare feet. Grabbing tunic and breeches from a nail in the post of his bunk bed, he was careful not to disturb six-year old Maria on the lower bunk while donning them in the dark, bound with rope. Then he felt under the bed for his sandals and tied them on. Despite worrying, he felt excited. There was nothing like waking up on New Year’s Day. On the Night of Light lovers danced until dawn. The masks, tricks, and treats of the Festival of Faces made the Night of Shadow much more fun. Everyone feared the Night of Darkness, but New Year’s was everyone’s Naming Day, shaming the other festivals with presents and a massive feast. Celebrating survival, it was the happiest day of the year. With practiced steps, he crept to the other end of the dormitory, right hand locating tables running down the middle and the sliding panel door. Cracking it open he

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slipped through into the broad central hallway running around the entire temple. Closing the door, he blinked against the brightness of light globes positioned along the long western hallway and the shorter one leading north to the gatehouse. On a rush of energy, Logosien dashed north, past doors to the rooms of novices, then west down a narrower passage to a room with stairs leading up. Spinning around, he took the stairs two at a time, jumping to a stop at the top. An iron portcullis almost bisected the gatehouse’s width, signal gong standing beyond. Opposite, three monks and a priest played cards around a table near four barred windows. Beyond them a staircase beside a door led down. “Good morning, Logosien,” said the woman priest. “Good morning, Vicar Dara and Adepts Seth, Rexien, and Talius.” He bowed his head to each in order. Grinning fondly, the four Kaldarians responded in kind. Logosien walked to the door, opened it and broke into a run, ignoring doors to rooms occupied by sleeping adepts. Approaching the northeast corner of the temple, he slowed. Opening a panel door in the north wall, he entered the latrine. A long shelf stretched along the right wall, two shallow metal basins in its middle flanked by stacks of cloths. The jakes ran along the left wall. A five-inch diameter metal mirror hung on the wall above the basins, three buckets of water sat below. Logosien relieved himself and made ablutions, sharing the room with an adept monk named Fargas until driven from the room holding his nose, chased by chuckles. He jogged to the gatehouse, downstairs, and back to the southeast corner.

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Trying to ignore the door to the Eights’ room, he ran west, pouring on speed, panel doors flashing by along with a hallway to the courtyard. Approaching the temple’s southwest corner, he slowed to a walk. Two bishops and three grandmaster monks appeared around the corner, opened the door in the southern wall and entered the dining hall. Logosien stopped one door away, sliding the panel open enough to slip through and closing it behind him. The warmth of three fireplaces enclosed him with aromas of porridge and fresh bread. Three novice priests and two novice monks went about cooking duties under the sharp hazel eyes of Vicar Octavia, Master of Supplies. Her tight bun of long, grey-streaked black hair gave her a severe look, but at the right angle she reminded him of Xondra. She smiled when she noticed him standing by the door and he bowed his head. “Good morning, young Logosien.” She winked. “I sliced your bread and cheese a little thicker. You have a big day ahead.” “Thanks.” He tried to smile despite the butterflies. She gave a small frown. “Is something wrong?” Logosien shrugged and then shook his head. “No. I guess not.” He blew out a breath. “A big day.” Octavia’s expression turned sympathetic, with hints of amusement and nostalgia lost on the boy. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see. Try to enjoy the day. The future will bring what it brings. There’s no use in worrying.” “You’re the second to say that.” She ruffled his short black hair. “Then maybe you should take the advice. It’ll make your life less taxing.” She spotted one of the young monks, a girl from Murcia, about to add something to the porridge pot.

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“No, Adelina,” Octavia called sharply, startling the chestnut-haired adolescent, nearly making her drop a spice bottle into the bubbling pot. Her voice mellowed. “Too much salt will ruin it. Taste before adding.” She turned to Logosien. “I have to get back to work.” She smiled. “Enjoy your breakfast and kata.” Then she gathered her assistants for instruction. Logosien grabbed bread, cheese, and a clay mug of water from the shelf by the door to the dining hall. Juggling them as he slid open the panel, he went in chewing. Nine monks in black belts sat at the long tables at the far end of the hall, talking quietly as they ate. Archbishops would arrive in a about a half hour, after praying and preparing spells for the day. Logosien plopped down on the bench nearest the kitchen and ate in silence. The Grand Prelate sat among her subordinates, listening, not speaking unless addressed. Logosien looked away and then glanced back, his gaze aligning with her hard green eyes. He felt his spirit wither. She looked at him like he was a dangerous insect. Or she was. Looking down, he finished breakfast and then took his mug back to the kitchen, washing it in a small cauldron before hanging it with the others. Trying not to think of the Grand Prelate, he thanked Octavia and went out into the hallway. Turning left, he rounded the corner, past two doors on his left into a narrow hallway on his right, step quickening past opposing doors to the one at its end. Sliding it open, he stepped through and closed it. Eyes closed, Logosien took a long, deep breath of the courtyard fragrances. The cool breeze raised gooseflesh on his arms and rustled palm fronds. Bird songs greeted the suns.

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He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. He stood five feet above ground in the south-western corner of a wooden gallery running around the courtyard, including the sanctuary stretching eastward more than a hundred feet. Logosien descended the nearest steps to the gravel path and along the arm’s perimeter to the courtyard proper. He stopped behind two rows of grandmasters in the nearest of the practice areas. Moving through the kata, the group performed ritual movements of the Xen martial art; eyes focused inward, timing perfect. Having earned a place with his earnest, intense efforts, Logosien fell into his simplified version of their movements, copied since he was five. Although appearing slow and simple, the advanced kata demanded more strength, agility, control, and nuance than his young body and mind could produce. But, he was getting better, a by-product of joy. Nothing else made him feel like this. Xondra expected him to reach for perfection in all that he did, following the Xen Path of physical and mental self-control by practicing the Way of discipline, meditation, and ritual. Although they didn’t really help control the emotions that so often got him lashed, they did give him this refuge. Today, he didn’t study those around him. He fell into the combination of techniques he had picked up from the different ranks. The familiar movements and regular, measured breathing allowed deeper meditation than he could achieve sitting. Worries floated on breath, bubbling up to be released to the universe as he focused on flowing through the kata. The world faded, replaced by controlled movement and breath. His heartbeat slowed. The suns rose. The morning warmed.

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Lower ranks replaced higher with greater numbers, noted peripherally; Logosien’s sight a million miles ahead. Exhaling anxiety and inhaling calm, mind the still centre of meditative dance, his sense of self relaxed until there was only motion. A soft touch on his arm jarred him back to reality, arms trembling and legs burning. “Come on, Logosien. It’s time for class.” The city bells rang the eighth time. He turned toward a girl with eyes like the sky in a freckled face framed by gold. She smiled and headed for the north side of the courtyard. “Coming, Eevi.” Logosien ignored his protesting legs to catch up. Eevi was the Eight most likely become a priest. The most astute in class, she often stumped instructors. She excelled at everything, except katas, her movement rigid memorization, mind more flexible than body. He dreamed of a priest’s life, studying and working with Eevi. She made him laugh and helped him understand the meaning hidden in myths, legends, and scriptures. He tried to help her with katas without much success. He wasn’t a good teacher. “You were really into that kata,” she said as he slowed to a walk at her side. He shrugged. “I guess I got carried away.” He rubbed his arms. “I’ll feel it tomorrow.” “I wish I could do that. I can’t even manage a walking meditation. I have to sit still. The patterns seem wrong to me somehow.” Logosien tried to think of something smart to say. In silence, they walked up wide steps, through double panels, down the central hallway to the temple’s northeast corner. Classroom door open, the familiar bustle and laughter of children began their day.

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Because it was New Year’s Day, religion, math, and reading lessons were abbreviated; meditation breaks, crafts classes, and physical training skipped. After noon luncheon, everyone participated in preparations for the evening feast that would start the party. Assigned to the kitchen, Logosien washed, peeled, chopped and swept. Then Octavia passed him a steaming bowl of the previous evening’s stew with a wooden spoon in it. “Take this to the dungeons.” “Just the one?” “There’s only one wretch down there at the moment. Apparently, he became violent a few days ago and had to be restrained.” She touched his hand as he took the bowl. “Be careful when you give it to him.” Logosien nodded and left the kitchen, slow so as to not slosh. The hallway was crowded with people fetching and carrying and cleaning. He wove his way through, around the corner, past the hallway to the courtyard, to the main stairs. Descending ten feet, he turned right and then down another twenty feet to the cellar. Light globes threw deep shadow among rows of high shelving and the air had a dank odour. He hated coming down here. The dungeons were where they sent children who couldn’t control themselves and monks and priests who broke Xondra’s laws. Some died. At least that’s what the novices said. Titus, the youngest of the Eights, had sworn last year that he saw a ghost while fetching supplies, a boy in rags begging for food. Listening for strange noises and watching for movement, he made his way down the nearest aisle to the room’s far wall. Turning left, he walked to the door in the north-eastern corner. As he approached, he could hear laughter. He knocked on the thick wood.

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The laughter stopped. A small panel, eye level for an adult, slid open. “Who goes there?” said a rough male voice. “Logosien, with food for the prisoner.” The panel shut and he heard a bar being removed from its brackets, keys jangled and there was a loud click. The heavy door swung inward. “Come in, boy,” said Casus, small tusks making him slurp a bit. A half-ogre master monk, he filled the doorway until he stepped back to the right, head and shoulders bowed to avoid the eight-foot ceiling. Logosien hurried in, spilling stew on his thumb and hissing at the pain. Casus chuckled. “Try not to cook yourself.” Five other monks sat around a table in the centre of the long, narrow room. Logosien had to slide along the wall to get to the metal door in the opposite corner. Hammering came from beyond. Antonius, a young Kaldarian man, got up and walked over to the door. “Here, let me get that for you.” Pulling out a ring of keys, he unlocked the door and opened it. A wooden door faced them, scarcely muffling the ringing of hammering metal, and a passage led off to the left. Antonius gestured with a hand. “Right behind you.” Logosien headed for the metal door at the passage’s end, each step increasing dread. Antonius jingled the keys as he walked. “Vibius went berserk the other night and attacked the priest on duty with him; attacked the cell bars until he wore out. Been pretty calm since, but babbles constantly. Our priests couldn’t cure him, so it’s up to Apollo once the temple sends a healer.” Antonius unlocked and opened the door. The room was empty except for a table to one side with six chairs.

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Antonius strode across, unlocked and opened the next door, Logosien reluctantly behind. Beyond was a large rectangular chamber. Logosien kept his gaze on the metal door in the opposite wall, avoiding the horrible instruments, chains, and devices, built into and lining the side walls. Close on Antonius’s heels, he couldn’t avoid the lingering stench of fear and pain. Antonius removed the bar from the door’s brackets and then unlocked it. Opened, it revealed a long passageway, walls broken by opposing five-foot wide stretches of vertical metal bars, horizontal bars marking narrow doors. He pointed to the nearest one. “The wretch is in there. Be quick and don’t mind his babbling.” Logosien approached the cell. A man in a dirty blue gi huddled in the back corner, rocking and mumbling, face hidden in hands. Nearer, Logosien could make out the words. “They’re coming. They’re coming for us. They’re coming. They’re coming for us.” Logosien placed the bowl of stew on the floor to slide it through the feeding slot. “They’re coming. They’re coming for us.” Logosien jump back when Vibius scuttled to the bars, gaze bouncing between boy and bowl. “They’re coming. They’re coming for us.” Logosien stepped closer and leaned forward. “They’re coming.” He pushed the bowl under the door with a finger. “They’re coming –” Vibius darted forward and, grabbing for the bowl, closed his strong hand around the boy’s, squeezing. Vibius screamed as if burned and scrambled back on hands and feet, eyes wide. “For you,” he whispered.

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Pointing at Logosien he cried, “The empty ones are coming for you.” Logosien’s heart skipped a beat at the mental image of the mirror-eyed man. Turning, he bolted past Antonius, through torture chamber and guardroom, back to the closed door to the dungeon guardroom, banging with both fists to be heard over the smithy. A few moments later, Antonius caught up and pounded once. The door opened and Logosien fell through, scrambling around guards and furniture to the cellar door. “What the?” said Casus. “Our guest startled the boy.” The guards all looked at the pale boy, shifting foot to foot in front of the exit. Casus chuckled and rose from his seat to open the door. “There you go, boy. Go get some fresh air.” Logosien gave a perfunctory bow of his head and hurried through the door into the cellar shadows. Laughter broke out behind him. He raced down the aisles, up the stairs, back to the comforting heat and commotion of the kitchen. Shutting the panel behind him, he leaned back with a relieved breath. Octavia cocked an eyebrow at his pallor. “Scared you, did he?” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I told you to be careful.” She offered a towel. “Come on. Get back to work. It’ll take your mind off the poor man’s babbling.” Grateful for the understanding and lack of lashes, Logosien dove into preparing the evening feast, focusing upon each action for its own sake, yet fully aware of his environment and appreciating the experience.

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Moving mindfully from task to task, he didn’t notice time passing. Then a novice monk passed him a platter of culinary selections to take to the courtyard. Under the first stars of New Year’s Eve, paper lanterns hung from all four galleries, ribbons and bunting strung between, no two the same shade. Monks and priests of all ranks milled about talking and laughing while children played. Logosien wove his way through the shifting crowd to long tables lining the foot of the sanctuary steps, loaded with food, clay bowls and plates, and wooden utensils. He placed his platter in an empty spot and then joined the other children. When all off-duty were present, the Grand Vicar climbed the sanctuary steps, turned and clapped his hands above his head. Silence fell as every head turned. “Congratulations my friends, we’ve survived another year.” His voice carried without shouting. “In Xondra’s name I invite everyone to help themselves to the bounty that is Perfection’s blessing. Let the celebration begin.” The children cheered and rushed to the tables, followed by their elders. No one pushed, argued, or cut line, everyone filling plates or bowls and then taking a seat on a step, path, or the manicured grass, and digging in. Logosien looked forward to this all year. Eight months couldn’t pass fast enough. It was the one time a year that he felt part of a family. After eating, everyone piled dishes on the tables and the evening’s entertainments began. There were games, stories, and contests of mind and body. A handful of adults retrieved musical instruments from their quarters, playing with the accompaniment of the entire crowd. Even the Grand Vicar and Grand Prelate danced. At ten bells, the adults untied small sacks from their belts. Everyone except children contributed a gift to the

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Birthday Pile, masters and higher contributing more. Then, beginning with the children, each person took one, keeping it or giving it to whomever they wished. Many adults brought extra for personal exchange. The children gathered to open the ribbons on their sacks. Logosien pulled out a wooden carving of Xondra meditating in lotus position. A common gift, it sent a chill along his spine. Soon, he faced judgement. He was dimly aware of his friends talking and showing items. There was a sharp tug on his sleeve. Eevi looked at him expectantly. “What?” “They just called the Eights to the sanctuary steps. Are you coming? Or do you want to stay here staring at that?” Logosien didn’t know, but he smiled weakly and followed her across the courtyard, up the stone steps to the sanctuary doors where the temple leaders faced a line of five eight-year olds. Joining the end of the line, Logosien fixed his gaze upon a low wooden pedestal between the two groups. Its square, flat top held seven small sacks, each tied with a different colour ribbon. One held his future His grip tightened on the figurine. Xondra’s decision was made, but that didn’t keep him from praying. He was sixth to be called forward by the Grand Vicar. Stepping forward, he bowed from the waste. “Take the purple,” said Nicodemos. Struggling to hide trembling, Logosien took the bag and returned to his place. Eevi took the red. “Open your sack,” said the Grand Prelate, gaze sweeping the line then returning with intensity to Logosien.

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She can’t wait to see me kicked out, he thought as the others pulled their ribbons and reached into sacks. Taking a deep breath, he did the same. A lump formed in his throat when his fingers failed to find a medallion. Going numb, an image filled his mind: inner doors sealing him in the dark of the temple’s tunnel as the outer doors opened upon the unknown. He looked at his hand. A white cloth belt dangled from his fist. Emotions rose and fell simultaneously. Tears blurred his vision as tense muscles relaxed. He looked up from his hand at the temple leaders, expecting them to say it was a mistake. The Grand Vicar smiled with pride. The Grand Prelate continued her intense measuring study. He was hers now. He smiled at her as a tear rolled down each cheek. He didn’t have to leave home. The next day, the Eights moved quarters and began two weeks of unstructured time, after which they would become initiates on their way toward full noviciates. They took advantage of every moment, playing while children went to class. They were on the way to adulthood.

∞∞ Maryll was dedicated to worshipping the gods. The first Maryll of the year everyone travelled to temple to give thanks for the past year’s blessings and make required sacrifices. The Temple District filled with rivers of people, most of the population of Aldyryc’s largest city flowing through at some point. Beginning before dawn, activity lasted until the following dawn; the crowds festive, but reverent, worshippers of opposing religions doing their best to avoid one another.

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The air was crisp for this near the sub-tropics, keeping people from lingering in shade. The midday suns, the larger named after Ra and the smaller his son, Apollo, shone in a sky dotted by fast moving puffs of white, driven by wind from the eastern Rocs’ Roost Mountains. Those from realms near the Dark North scoffed at the idea that this was cold, but for Arcanica this was deep winter at what should be its start. Normally, wind brought warmth and storms from the south. The wind died, warmth turning the crowd flow more leisurely. Thick mist rose over the harbour, flowing up the Racing River in a bank three feet high. Reaching Reversing Falls, it climbed the Terraces without pause, over the ridge into Uptown. Steam erupted down the sides of both volcanoes, merging with vapour from the sea. Within minutes the entire city was covered in thick murk three thousand feet high. The temperature plummeted. Ice formed on the river for the first time in recorded history. People stopped, able to make out only dark shapes at more than a couple of paces. A hush fell over the Imperial Capital. People muttered prayers for protection. Closed to outsiders for eight years, the temple of Xondra had set up a shrine for worshippers near the outer gates. Guards on the towers strained to see even that far. Cries rang out from the western side of the temple as hysteria swept down the crowded street. People screamed, lashed out at the nearest shape, ran blind through the fog, inflicted injuries upon themselves in various manners, or stood babbling, switching actions moment to moment. The riot spread along the north of the temple. Guards on the western towers reached for alarms.

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City bells rang loud echoes, joining the cacophony as pandemonium broke out on the south then front. People smashed against the fence. A mob of over fifty, most in rags, some finery, wild eyed and babbling, charged the gates as a flesh battering ram. The earth heaved and shook, opening cracks in streets as buildings crumbled. Screaming people and animals disappeared into crevasses and sinkholes, some landing in the sewers, others disappearing into Undercity or Underworld; many crushed when cracks closed. The temple’s metal gates twisted and sprang open. Chanting, “They’re coming,” without harmony, the mob surged through, some along the fence while others charged over the bucking bridge to the main gates, many pitching into the moat. Hands from the fog pulled guards from towers. In the gatehouse, the priest called over the commotion to sound the alarm gong. The floor twisted and rolled as four monks tried to obey, falling over each other until a young woman got close enough to punch the huge metal disk each time it swung toward her. Inside the temple, people rushed in every direction, adults shepherding children and Eights back to their rooms. Fog filled the courtyard and hallways filled with monks and priests trying to follow emergency procedure.

∞∞ In the dungeons, Vibius curled into a foetal ball in the middle of his cell. “They’re coming, they’re coming, they’re coming, they’re coming, they’re –” A man in a grey robe appeared outside the cell. A blue nimbus surrounded him. He smiled as if tickled and it vanished. The man looked at Vibius who rose to his feet, the two swaying with the floor as he walked to the bars.

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The man smiled and then flowed between the bars, head-first into Vibius’s chest. Vibius smiled and vanished.

∞∞ Appreciating his old mattress on top of his new bunk bed, Logosien could barely hold on when the quake transformed it into a raging bull. Four of the six beds, including his, crashed to the floor. He landed on his back under his mattress with another bed on top. Something hard sticking out of his mattress dug into his stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. Everything grew hazy and dim. There were familiar, scared voices. His hand closed around the cool hard object, immediately comfortable. Breath filled his lungs. Eevi screamed.

∞∞ In the courtyard, Frieda was leading the grandmasters’ martial art class when fog and temperature descended. The class stopped, everyone gazing around. “I just had a bad feeling,” Nicodemos whispered in her ear from the grandmaster class he was conducting in the north-western corner of the third floor. Damn magicians. “It’s a soup out here,” she whispered knowing the spell would carry it to him. The outer alarms began to ring. The earthquake struck. The gatehouse gong sounded. “We’re under attack,” Frieda yelled, swaying with the ground. “The boy.” Nicodemos’s whisper spoke her thought. “On my way.”

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People poured from the building, staggering onto rippling galleries, snapping boards sending occupants over, and through, railings. Monks flipped through the air, landings spoiled by the ground’s shifting height, still hitting with less force than plummeting priests. “Ezra. Petra.” Frieda shouted at the grandmasters through rumbles, snaps, bongs, bells, and screams. “Organize the defence of the main gates and a courtyard reserve.” She ran toward the south-eastern corner of the courtyard leaping fallen priests and stairs, intuitive grace and power enhanced by focused qi. The door panel hung from its twisted frame. She plunged past into the crowded hall.

∞∞ Eevi stumbled into the Eights’ quarters just ahead of Talia and Josephus, propelled by Vicar Sepricus’s pushing. “Stay here until someone comes for you,” the Kaldarian said. “The temple has survived worse.” Eevi got the impression that the man’s words were for himself. Leaving, he slid the door shut, but it slid open, showing a hallway of monks and priests bouncing wall to wall in open terror. She backed away, down a path free of debris along the middle of the room, stopping when her calves contacted the side of a buried mattress. Blue eyes wide with fear, Talia stopped a handful of feet away. “What is this?” Her waving arms indicated everything. The question focused Eevi. “Earthquake,” she yelled. “This is an earthquake?” Talia fell to her rump on the floor and stared at the ceiling. Cracks spread through the plaster and chips rained down. “I don’t like earthquakes,” she screamed.

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“I do,” Josephus called with excitement from the other end of the room. Riding the floor, he twisted around to flash them a smile. A wild-eyed man, blue qi filthy, appeared in the doorway moving in such perfect timing with the quake that he appeared to be standing still. Eevi recognized Vibius. The glee on his face and emptiness in his eyes gave her chills. Seeing her expression, Josephus untwisted to face the doorway. Vibius leapt forward, stretching lengthwise and shrinking as he flowed into the boy’s chest. Josephus staggered back and spun to face the girls, eyes empty and leering. Eevi screamed.

∞∞ Vicar Xavier leaned against the corner. Vicar Athena closed the panel after pushing a dozen children through and then headed north, Xavier nodding at the harried look she flashed in passing. Gripping the wall, he looked around the corner toward the Eights’ room. Vibius appeared in the doorway. His mouth fell open when Vibius flowed into the boy’s chest. The boy spun and laughed, high-pitched with hysteria, as a girl screamed. Xavier could see two children at the end of the debris-filled room. Without thinking, he threw himself across the hallway and jammed his tall, lean frame against the doorway. The master magician pulled several gems from his component pouch and grasped his divine symbol while voicing the triggering sounds of his most powerful spell. As he extended his closed fist, red light came

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through fingers and skin revealing bones. He threw open his hand, a thin red ray streaking five feet to his target. The light disappeared between the boy’s shoulder blades before exploding from every pore, revealing skeleton through clothes. Instead of being consumed as expected, the boy’s body melted and grew into that of an adult male dressed in grey robes with arcane symbols on sleeves and hood, facing Xavier. Barking a sound while thrusting fanned hands sprayed the end of the room with acid. Screaming and clawing at his smoking, melting face as holes opened in clothes and hands, Xavier fell back into the hallway over another priest and two children writhing on the floor from the blast.

∞∞ Eevi’s scream threw Logosien into a frenzy, the boy pulling and pushing with every part of every limb, including the thing in his hand, as he wriggled his way head-first toward the edge of the heavy mattress. It seemed forever before his head and then torso popped free. The thing in his hand snagged as he spotted Eevi standing a short distance away. He yanked it free, curled his legs and then thrust the rest of his body from under the mattress.

∞∞ Moving against the crowd, Frieda broke free in time to see liquid spray through the doorway of the Eights’ quarters, over two five year-olds and a young priest. All three fell screaming to the floor as another priest fell out of the doorway. Frieda launched down and across the hallway, springing off the north wall, over screaming people, through the doorway. Somersaulting across the floor she came up feet-first, striking the strange man in the chest.

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With a loud crack, the man sailed through the air to land on his rump near Talia. Talia screamed. The man grinned, made a shushing gesture and then pointed the finger at her. Her burst heart fountained blood from mouth, nostrils, and ears. “Bastard,” shouted Frieda. The man planted his hands by his sides, curled his legs and sprang to his feet. Then he shushed the Grand Prelate. Logosien leaned on the curved, crystal sword as he scrambled to his feet. Grabbing its hilt two-handed Logosien charged the man as he pointed at Frieda. Frieda sent a flying kick at the man’s head. The man dodged toward Logosien as Logosien swung. <Yes,> Azm’s ecstatic voice hollered in Logosien’s head as the weapon’s tip tore through the man’s robes, etching a short, shallow red line in his side. The man froze, screamed in many fluctuating voices, and vanished. Logosien slipped in Talia’s blood, tripped, and disappeared head-first into the debris along the northern wall. Frieda’s kick carried her over the debris to the west wall. Feet together, she bent her legs to absorb the impact and sprang into a backflip, landing facing the stunned Eevi. The earthquake stopped. The screams of the four people in the hall did not. Eevi ran to Frieda, wrapped her arms around the woman and cried, Frieda resisting the urge to scrape her off. Groaning, Logosien rose from the debris, weapon in hand. He examined the three-foot sword with wonder. It

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was lighter than it looked and comfortable, like it had been made for him. <I was,> Azm said in his head. He nearly dropped the weapon. <Azm?> Logosien thought, partially aware of more monks and priests arriving in the room and the screams in the hallway stopping. <Actually, my name is Axiom. You had trouble pronouncing it when you were a baby. You are the Champion for whom I was made.> Confused, Logosien looked up from the weapon at Talia’s body, then Frieda and Eevi, then Nicodemos as he entered the increasingly crowded room. “What’s going on?” His trembling voice cut through the commotion, drawing everyone’s gazes. “Who was that? What did he want?” A soft golden glow filled the room and the rakshiri, Orycl, appeared beside Logosien, hovering above the floor. Logosien jumped, staring open-mouthed at the robed, leonine anthropoid with silver flame eyes. “That was an S’Skahahn.” The rumbling voice filled Logosien with pleasant, warm tingles. “They are well-known to elves.” “Did I kill it?” “No. Your blade is not yet capable of that, it can only banish the S’Skahahn, forcing them to find a new reflection in order to return to this world.” “Why was it here?” “To kill you or steal your soul.” Logosien paled. “Why me?” The rakshiri looked to Frieda, then Nicodemos, and back to the boy. Crossing then spreading arms brought the four of them into Nicodemos’s sitting room. “Take a seat,” said Orycl. “It is time you learned your identity and destiny.”

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The three humans sat down facing the floating rakshiri. “Your blade and birthright, Axiom, was created and named by the Order Faction of the Council of Powers. Shaped by Vulcan and Xondra, it holds the blessings of Athena, Sirsyr, Anubis, Kali-Set, Satantael, and Horus, to be revealed in time. You and the sword will grow together. “You were chosen before birth. Because you are the enemy of Chaos, a demon killed your maternal grandmother and father before a guardian angel flew your mother to this temple. The demon poisoned your mother with dark qi.” The Grand Vicar nodded. “We tried to save her but her body had been through too much.” The rakshiri continued. “You were born to be the Faction's Champion, acting for them in the Final Existential War, Armageddon, which your birth began. I have been chosen as your patron, your representative with the Faction. There will be times when I may be of assistance to you, within the rules set out by the Armageddon Accords. “You have met your mortal enemies, the S’Skahahn, ‘People of the Mirror’. They come from the Maelstrom. Without form, they must take those of anthropoid races by absorbing body and soul. They will not rest until you are dead and reality undone. “Fortunately they can only enter the Material Plane from the Dream Worlds by stealing a reflection of at least six inches in diameter and taking its source’s form. This means chance plays a large role in their efforts to come after you. Also, they aren't very good at organized thought, minds changing form to form. But, many and one, each is part of a collective mind with the Grey King at its centre. He is the closest thing to a Champion that Chaos possesses.

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“You and Axiom must prepare to face him. Armageddon has been divided into two parts. The first is the Foundations War between Order and Chaos. The second is the Ethics War, between Good and Evil. If you lose the first, there will be no second.” “Why me?” Logosien's voice sounded as small and afraid as he felt. “Because your spirit was willing and the Faction deemed you worthy. The gods rarely explain themselves. But, they believe in you, as one day so will you.” Orycl vanished. Logosien sat shivering in deep silence long after. He wished he could wake up.