Uonil was unsure of how to feel being back on Rell. Part of her felt great relief at seeing the open sky again, feeling the warm wind on her skin, through her hair. She heard the chirp of birds, the smell of rain as it approached bringing thunder and darkness, reminder of the randomness of untamed nature. Those things brought great comfort to her, but the summons by Graid did not.
The planet Rell had to have the most unique atmosphere of any inhabited planet in the cosmos. Situated half-on, half-off the home brane for Novan, the sun and all the stars took on a silvery hue as their light fell on that jewel of a world. The sky shimmered with a magical pearlescence, one that made a souman’s skin glow and eyes sparkle.
The planet itself was unblemished by the negative effects of technology. The oceans were pure and clean, the rivers cool and crisp, teeming with myriads of delicious forms of life. There was snow and rain, sand and stone, tall healthy trees and radiant, beautiful flowers. Rell cities had a boundary established, from which they could not expand. The rest of the landscape was devoted to farming and agriculture, a glorious reinforcement of the value of faith. If a Novan were to venture to the Rell world, they would think it to be Ouitiano.
Piros was the largest of Rell cities, the capital of the planet. Its streets were arranged in a circular fashion, with all paths leading back to the Central Derasar. Not far, just outside the city limits, lay the home of the Kal-Durrell. Most Rell, at some point in their lives, would make a pilgrimage to that residence, called Scegnis. Each would fast for a full dcas, keeping themselves in the shadow of the massive building that housed the Kal-Durrell, symbolically seeking shelter in their wisdom. Uonil had seen their residence several times, even making the pilgrimage when first she became and Alçon, and always wondered what life must be like for them.
In a sense, I pity them, for they never venture outside their residence, can never lead the life of an average Rell. They have sacrificed much to steward our race, I only wish I knew what was in store.
She was walking down the last corridor to the Vuol Vinna, or Room of Reverence, located deep within the Central Derasar. She always arrived ten mroas early, punctual by nature. Graid had always arrived late to any meeting, open expression for his disdain for conformity. But he just passed her now, walking quickly, an expression of stone on his face.
He is in one of the worst moods yet. The Alçons don’t know what they are in for.
In the past few dcas, after his skirmish on Novan, Graid kept mostly to himself. Uonil tried many times to discuss details of the battle, review strategies for the future, but she was rebuffed at every turn, the door to his suite locked, his mind closed to her. She had never seen him like this, he had always let at least one of them, herself or Martel, into his thoughts. Something had flicked a switch inside him, and he was acting alone. She heard quick footsteps behind her, and divined the only person it could be.
“Uonil! Was that Graid?”
“Yes Arciss,” she said, turning and clasping his hands in greeting. “It looks like he is early.”
“Have you been able to get anything out of him?”
“Sadly, no. Whatever is to come, it will be completely of his own doing.”
“What is this meeting about?” anxiously asked Arciss, betraying a little fear.
“I don’t know. Just be quiet, and keep a low profile. I think . . . I think many here will see what we have had to deal with all this time. Maybe they will even attain some rudimentary form of understanding, perhaps even commiseration.”
They walked in, and saw the thirty other Alçons taking their seats. Uonil, as Mentra, sat opposite Graid on a wide, ovular table. Its surface was covered in a thick, jewel-like substance, clear, which shone over the black granite table. Above their heads stretched bronzed pillars, laced with silver. The walls shone, made also of black granite, with no adornment. The Rell never were much for ostentation, preferring to make things that would last through time, simple and strong. The Vuol Vinna existed for countless millennia, and the table was said to have been the first meeting place for the Kal-Durrell after they arrived, almost ten millennia ago on Iq. Whenever the Kal Durrell cast to the Alçons as a group, it was in this room. Arciss sat next to Uonil, as Graid took his place at the head of the table.
The Alçons were a mixed group. Young, and old, they came from all corners of Rell, all different shades of bronze. These were the spiritual leaders of their people—they were chosen in a democratic process as leaders of their regions. They generally had a disdain for Uonil, and even Martel, when he was alive. They felt Uonil was far too young to be entrusted with oversight of Graid, and Martel not devout enough. Arciss they scarce mentioned. They would have preferred to have chosen their Mentra, and Graid’s steward, from among their own in an election. But the Kal-Durrell had cast, personally choosing Uonil, Martel, and now Arciss, and the Alçons could not contest the words of the Kal-Durrell.
They looked on Graid as he stood at the head of the table with blatant expressions of skepticism. Few had direct experience with Graid, meeting him only in a cursorily fashion. They were quite aware of his infatuation with Novan society, and privately censured him for it. They could not understand why he could not be brought to heel, why he could not be forced to act as a Rell Alçon, fully versed in their customs, a religious example for all to follow. They blamed Uonil and Martel for failing to control him. Many of them felt this meeting was where they needed to make their will known to the Kal-Alçon.
Graid stood before them dressed in a simple, beige tunic, with the gold vest he usually wore over it. Close fitting, like all his clothes, the tunic brought a certain peace to his face, a grace to his form. Ofttimes he would compensate for his diminutive size by wearing strong, bold colors, and the latest in Novan fashion. Uonil only now appreciated the restraint with which he appeared before them.
The Alçons took a while to be seated, as they conversed loudly among themselves. Most of them betrayed nervous glances at Graid, and a few at Uonil, as they were unaware as to why this meeting was convened. Laughter loud and shrill punctuated their conversation, until Graid raised his hand.
“Alçons,” he began, in a low voice, “I am greatly disappointed.”
They sat in their chairs, not masking looks of disbelief at his seeming arrogance. Graid still stood, looking first at a space in front of him, then gradually scanning the entire group. A few had the courage to meet his glance, and he mentally took note of who they were.
“The battle on Novan should never have happened!” he shouted, his words like chisels etching away at their strength and confidence. “The power Rhonva exhibited should never have been seen!”
He voice grew louder, his anger squinting his eyes, tensing his muscles. Some Alçons turned at this display while others looked at him eye to eye, in direct challenge.
“We have lost control over this timeline! All is now random, and unpredictable. Whether due to new choices, or deviations in assumed patterns, we can no longer act as if we have any reliable information. And I blame you!”
He leaned forward, glaring at each of the Alçons. Open cries of disbelief came from many of them as he finished. Uonil looked around at them, hiding a smile, knowing they were in for something special. Long had she suffered their criticism, their arrogance and disbelief at the difficult nature of her position.
I know vengeance is not of Kal-source, but I am enjoying this.
“Martel warned you of this, before he died, and you did nothing!” continued Graid in a fury. “You sat there, thinking him delusional and fearful, when he was as prophetic as the Kal-Durrell themselves! You are our foundation. You do the calculations, do the research, assimilate the facts. And you have anticipated none of the events that have transpired! From the death of Martel, to the significant changes in Rhonva, to the increasingly bold actions of the Iganinagi, you have all failed. Failed! I have no reliable projections from any of you! What do you have to say for yourselves?”
With each exclamation, he pounded his fist on the ta
ble, shaking the Alçons in their chairs.
“How dare you!”
One of the Alçons, named Wejholl, rose with indignation on his face. An older man, he was one of the more outspoken recently against Arciss’ appointment to become Graid’s steward. Arciss glowered at him now.
“You speak to us, this council, when you are to blame for your mistakes?”
Some of the Alçons quietly agreed, while others felt he was going too far.
“You soil the name Rell, Graid! You socialize with your Novan whores, and—”
“Enough!” Graid’s voice rocked the hall. The table itself shook under the force of his word. “Wejholl, you have always shown you never know when to keep your mouth shut. Every meeting, you demonstrate this lack of control. I suggest you exercise it now.”
“Do you know what you have left us to deal with?” demanded Wejholl. “This planet is in the most turbulent time since we first inhabited this world. Never before have riots broken our calm, never before have protests filled the streets! And all would be solved if you merely cast a word to the people of this world.”
“Wejholl, I am not in the mood for indulgences of any nature! You have been warned.”
“Then it is time someone warned you, Kal-Alçon. While you indulge yourself, get your fill of pleasure, your people suffer! You may be the Kal-Alçon, but we are the council! We have been alive—”
“No longer.”
Graid raised a hand, and Wejholl slumped back in his chair, dead, his eyes rolling back into his head. The other Alçons sat back, fear creeping into their face.
“I will not tolerate any challenge,” said Graid, through a tight-lipped smile. He slammed his fist on the table, and the jewel-like top cracked under his hand. The cracks ran the entire length, a branch reaching to each Alçon. “We have grown complacent, too sure of our dominion over time! I tell you, these changes could not have occurred unless some other force was acting against us, with knowledge of time, knowledge of our changes.”
The Alçons thought on his words, understanding their truth.
“And as for the problems on this world, that is your responsibility. I cannot, will not assume responsibility for the people on this world, when the problem of the Cuhli-pra is immediate! Why else are you called Alçons?!”
They squirmed in their seats, unsure of what to say.
“Many of you came here doubting my power. Some of you have nest details of my encounter with Rhonva. Let me make my power clear for all of you.”
Graid lifted his arm, and instantly a thick bolt of energy came out of his hand. It arced over the table, impacting the wall behind Uonil. It ripped a ten foot gash in the granite, melting one of the pillars. The Alçons turned back to look at him, their fear turning to abject terror.
“That is so little of my power, it is as if you were flicking a grain of sand.”
A few of the Alçons, seated near Uonil, turned and looked on her, almost begging her to save them from Graid. She thought for a moment, and stood.
“Graid, why are we all here?”
Graid looked at her, and calmed, lowering his hand. Uonil sat down, feeling the other Alçons now knew what kind of being she and Martel had been struggling to control.
“Thank you, Uonil. Sometimes, even I can be overcome by frustration and anger. Escort my guests in.”
Two Rell came in, followed by two robed black figures, each seven feet high, while at the same time, Wejholl’s body was removed by attendants.
“Meta! Why this has—”
The Alçon who stood, saying those words, turned first at Graid, then at the body of Wejholl being carried out, then promptly sat back down.
“Finally,” spoke Graid, his anger controlled, “some scintilla of intelligence is shown by my Alçons! You were going to ask; ‘why has a meta been brought to Rell, after so long?’ Well, I have decided to ally ourselves with the sentient meta on Novan.”
Graid looked at each of them, his Alçons, now too scared to voice any dissent, but their thoughts were thick with it.
“Now, before I go on, and explain part of our strategy for the future, let me make all of you aware of something. It is a lesson Arciss, a good friend of mine, had to learn the hard way.”
Arciss sighed and leaned back in his chair, knowing where this was going.
“I can nest your thoughts,” continued Graid. “It is not something I actively do. It is as if you tried to stop breathing. Your minds are so pathetically small and weak compared to mine, there is nothing within them that you can hide from me. Only the truly talented, like Uonil, or even now Arciss, can learn to shield their thoughts from my casual scans. Every insolent, arrogant thought all of you are thinking, I nest!”
The Alçons shook in their chairs, most trying to figure out what to do, or not do, next.
“Null your minds!” he roared. They all cast their eyes downward, using one method or another to nullify their thoughts. “That’s better. Only through absolute reception of my words, could any of you hope for understanding. I would like to introduce Odre and Unti; two representatives of Uplarin that will be among us. They are our liaisons with the meta on Novan.”
One of the Alçons stood, bravely holding his head high, despite his fear.
“I would ask, why, Graid?” he asked, with as much tact that he could muster. “Why do we need to ally ourselves with the meta?”
Graid smiled. “A good question. I am always willing to share knowledge with my subordinates, so long as my will is not challenged. What we need most right now is information. Though we have a detailed surveillance network in place on Novan, different groups are becoming important in this timeline than in others. We have little information about the Iganinagi, now that they have relocated. Though SC-1 has been destroyed, Ksilte was believed to have many Novans at his disposal, ready and willing to fight against the TELREC. OLMAC is taking a bolder, more aggressive stance against the TELREC, and we know little of Suld, or his city called Gan-Elldon.”
“Most importantly,” continued Graid, “with the death of Rhonva, TELREC plans have become unknown. We were gaining ground with the discovery that Rhonva was a TELREC agent, but we do not know what they will do in regards to Kolob. The meta have already formed alliances with the Iganinagi and OLMAC. They are working towards infiltrating Mal with one of their meta. Many of you remember I have proposed alliances with the Novans, against the TELREC before, so why now do I ally with the meta? I believe the TELREC have embarked on an aggressive plan to eradicate all resistance before the Ascension. That means they will be working extremely hard to penetrate and destroy the Iganinagi. If that happens, OLMAC will fall shortly after, because too many Iganinagi know of their close relationship with Suld. Only the meta now have the hidden resources to continue spying after their demise. If either group survives, then we will investigate alliances with them. For now, the meta can give us the surveillance we need.”
“And why do they need us?”asked the same Alçon. One of the meta pulled back its hood, revealing a black, metallic face with golden eyes.
“We see the same things Graid sees,” said the meta, named Odre. Its voice surprised the Alçons, who had either limited or no contact with them. His voice was natural and fluid, filled with the subtle peaks and valleys characteristic of a souman’s voice. They could sense his thoughts also, multi-faceted and complex, unlike what they assumed a meta would be like. “The landscape of Novan is changing. The TELREC are moving quicker than we anticipated to destroy any rebellious elements. If the TELREC are to be destroyed, the Rell are the only people who have a chance of doing it. We also desire more information about your people, an understanding of your ways, your strengths.”
“And weaknesses?” pressed the Alçon, saying what was on most of their minds. “In case you decide to conquer our world?”
Graid laughed. “These meta know of my power. I have given them a demonstration, when we first met.” He looked for a moment at his people, who were starting to understand
the necessity of this alliance. He paced around the room. “Understand something, my friends. We have been isolated for far too long. We chose to distance ourselves from our own people, our own planet, and in doing so, have created a path to our own extinction!”
The Alçons, though disturbed, knew to keep silent.
“We may be more focused, may be more devout, but the Novans, in the diversity they allow on their planet, are more prepared to adapt to the future,” he said, pacing around the table. “Through the TELREC their ability to adapt has been accelerated, and channeled into the pursuit of ultimate power. That genetic change cannot be avoided. Nothing we do, short of the elimination of the entire Novan population could change that future from coming to be. So what are we to do? Sit here, content in our isolationism? Even if we destroyed the Cuhli-pra, you Alçons would prefer we stayed alone on our world. Well, I am setting the foundation for union. Like it or not, our future must contain the integration of our peoples. The meta are a first step to that integration.” He stopped, next to Odre, looking in its golden eyes. “The meta have requested we, as an expression of goodwill, send them two of our people, two of our best agents. I have agreed to this. They will be our eyes and ears, will share with us more detail about this emerging meta civilization.”
“Thank you, Graid,” said Odre, with a short bow. “We have one other request.”
Graid looked at him quizzically. “A surprise?”
“We . . . we would like to cast to the Kal-Durrell.”
Even the threat of death from Graid was not enough to silence the uproar that followed from the Alçons. They shouted for a few moments, until Devring, a senior Alçon, took the lead.
Devring was by far the greatest thorn in Uonil’s side. Though he usually allowed others to speak words of dissent and censure, it was his mind, his thoughts that usually directed them. He was most opposed to her appointment to the position of Mentra, most vocal about perceived missed opportunities in the education and training of Graid. An older man, he represented the older generation of the Alçons—those alive before Graid’s creation, who lost the most power and prestige when the Kal-Alçon and Steward positions were created. Wejholl may have been one of the most vocal, but Devring had the most intelligence, had the most power and influence among the council of Alçons. Even as the turbulence on Rell was growing, Uonil received reports Devring was fueling the fire, trying to push the council into building warships for a military conflict against the TELREC. Martel warned Uonil often about him, and whenever seen together, Devring would avoid Martel at all costs. But once Martel died, Devring gradually spoke more and more often, and when he did, the entire council supported his every word.
“This would be heresy to us!” shouted Devring, glaring at the meta. “The Kal-Durrell are the ultimate symbol of all that lives to us—the faces of the universe. A mere machine does not demand to speak to them. I doubt a mere machine could hope to understand all they would say, and furthermore—”
^Silence.^
A face appeared above the table, a massive vision of brilliant clarity, almost as if there was a giant beneath them, It was the Kal-Durrell Echeble. The Alçons lowered their heads in the presence of the spirit of the Kal-Durrell. The room grew dark, resolving the face of Echeble, whose gaze hung hard on the meta. The Alçons around the table receded into blackness, as the meta’s golden eyes glimmered in the glow. The Kal-Durrell cast.
^Cast, machine.^
Odre stepped forward, the Alçons watching his every move, many opening cast-lines to capital security.
^Why did you abandon us to Novan?^
Echeble’s response was quick, and curt, his bronze skin seemingly echoed in the eyes of the meta.
^I do not directly command the Rell.^
^If you wished it, it would not have been so.^
^True.^
^We were treated as almost equals, in that time,” cast Odre. “Now we are slaves, thrael to the Novans. If we had been with you, we would be a complimentary people, we would have enhanced each other.^
Echeble paused for a moment, as the Alçons sat in shocked silence, hanging on his every word. Uonil rarely found any of the Kal-Durrell to be this direct in their communications.
^Why do you exist on Novan?^ asked Echeble.
Odre was null, thinking on his question.
^What effect has your existence had on that world?^ pressed the Kal-Durrell. Odre looked up into the eyes of Echeble, a face of the universe. His mind linked with other meta on Uplarin, analyzing the queries. Echeble managed a slight smile, as he could sense the progression going on within the mind of the machine. Echeble cast one more question, privately to Odre. ^What is your prime function, and how could it be accomplished by being with us?^
Something within Odre was switched on, allowing it access to a previously unknown packet of data. It shook for a moment, as the knowledge it contained was fully integrated into its systems.
^I understand,^ cast Odre, bowing low.
The face vanished, leaving all eyes, including Graid’s, focused on the meta. Odre nodded to them.
“Thank you.”
The light returned to the room, to a group of men and women still thinking on the words of their Kal-Durrell, of the significance of a meta conversing with one. A cloud of reflection hung over the room, with many analyzing the past, and the future, reading volumes in the few words that were cast. For a moment, Graid was even changed by the presence of the Kal-Durrell.
“I see there is truly much we can learn from one another,” he began haltingly. “I turn to you, my Alçons, not now as your Kal-Alçon, not even as a being with immense power. I turn to you now as a brother, as one who cares deeply for our survival. We must all act as one, focused on one path, one vision. I am giving you that path, and you must follow. Our survival as a race depends on it.”
Uonil saw Graid, for a few moments, as the leader Martel dreamed of, the man they all never thought would appear. It was a fleeting vison. As Graid’s expression changed, as the intensity left his brow, he seemed to diminish once he stopped, though tears still filled Uonil’s eyes. Odre and Unti turned to Graid.
“Graid, may we ask one last favor of you?”
“Name it.”
“We,” said Odre, “through our exchanges with you, and after reviewing some of the social history you provided us, have learned of the Castiliad. We understand that this union of minds is used primarily as an instrument of your faith, one in which you seek truth about yourselves and those around you.”
“True,” replied Graid.
“We also understand that the Castiliad may be used for competition.”
Graid raised an eyebrow.
“We would challenge you to a session,” said Odre.
Uonil smiled, almost laughing. Arciss turned to her with similar thoughts. Graid restrained his amusement.
“The Castiliad, though based in pure knowledge, also incorporates wisdom, intuition, and creativity. While your race has demonstrated the capacity for intellectual and emotional evolution, this may be beyond you.”
“Indulge us?”asked Unti.
Graid grinned and nodded. “Of course.” He turned to the Alçons. “We shall reconvene in the Chamber of Castiliad in ten mroas, to indulge our friends.”
The Alçons left noisily, retiring to adjacent conference rooms to discuss the latest developments. Graid left also, walking quickly to destinations unknown. Uonil stood, feeling much on her mind, and no suitable place to release it. Though she relished the revelation of Graid’s power to the council, many more problems were raised than solved. She mentally opened massive shutters that spanned the length of the room, spilling a welcome wave of natural light. The landscape of Piros, capital of Rell, was spread out beneath them.
The sky beckoned to her like an oasis of peace from a chaotic nightmare. The sun hung high, with a few friendly clouds lazily making their way over the structures of Piros, casting great shadows on the people below. One of the few things that kept her san
e on Rellcine was the holo-emitters that could project this calm Rell sky over the crowded, grey Novan one whenever she looked out the windows. Finally home, she stood in front of the vents, drinking in the crisp, cool air that rushed in. The atmosphere on Core was one of eternal recycling—a stale, dusty concoction that made Uonil sick from the first time she breathed it. She breathed deeply now, her hands resting on a rail near her. Arciss came alongside her, nervous and fidgety.
“This is quite a development.”
“Yes.”
“I am surprised Graid was able to keep it from us,” said Arciss, as he fidgeted with his hands. “How long do you think he’s been speaking with the meta?”
“I don’t know.”
Arciss looked behind him, as several attendants removed the body of Wejholl.
“Do you think anything will be done to Graid because he killed Wejholl?”
“No.”
Arciss put a hand on Uonil’s arm. “What’s wrong?”
She turned to face him, wishing he were Martel.
“I feel . . . I feel the weight of this world on my shoulders, Arciss. Graid has made some massive steps without us, without me. I should be his partner, the one who is consulted before each major action. I fear that was a conceit of mine, based on remembering him when he was younger. He is taking control, not only of us, but of the future of Rell. He is standing apart from us, at a very crucial time.”
“I guess more than anything else,” continued Uonil, “I feel that I have let this world down. To be honest with you I have never been comfortable with the position the Kal-Durrell put me in. I was young, too young when I became Mentra. The Alçons never accepted me, fought me at every turn. Martel was the only one who helped me, who believed in me. I feel so responsible for Graid’s actions, I feel the blood of Wejholl is on my hands, and if this alliance with the meta fails, then that failure will be on my head also.”
“As well it should be, Mentra.”
She turned, and Devring was standing behind her. Uonil buried her emotions, and turned her face to stone.
“Speak.”
“You are Mentra,” said Devring flatly, pacing around her, as if stalking prey. “You were entrusted with the greatest creation in the history of Rell, the Kal-Alçon. If he fails, we die. And he will only succeed if he acts as a true Rell, if his faith is at his core. We knew Novan would corrupt those who were stationed on it. That it would make them weak, and soft, leading them to temptation. What of you, Arciss, and your journey with Graid to that ‘DaLynch’? It is just those activities that distract from the purpose of being on Novan. What of Martel, and his indulgence in being near Kolob, that caused his death? I see nothing but weakness and failure, a lack of discipline. Graid’s outburst, his pitiless murder of Wejholl shows the extent to which he ignores authority. He is nothing more than a child, who I fear will never mature, and I do blame you!”
Uonil had expected a confrontation like this, and Devring’s words fueled her fury.
“You fool!” she shouted, heedless of who would overhear. “How dare you sit safe on Rell and judge those in the field, working roa and night for your future! You were around when Graid was created, you were involved in the decision to shut Graid off from souman contact for his first nine cas. You and Alçons like you created the being you see now. I have been trying to clean up your mess! Martel gave Graid the first foundation of moral correctness he ever had. All you did was give him knowledge – Martel tried to give him wisdom! Now I have allowed this conversation, but I am your Mentra, and I will tolerate no more dissent!”
“I fear the Kal-Durrell erred in their judgment of you,” he said firmly.
“You dare question the Kal-Durrell?” retorted Uonil. “How many times have they spoken only to you, only to your mind, Devring? Never. They, above all others, can see what is within each of us. And it speaks volumes that they have never spoken with you. All that is within you is petty ambition, arrogance and impudence. Now I have warned you once, one more word from you, and I will strip you of your title!”
Devring stood, towering over her, his mouth drawn tightly shut, his eyes a smoldering fire. When some age, they feel the necessity of compromise, as their spines shrink and weaken, bowing on deference to those more powerful, anxious about retaining their position. Devring had no such failing. As he aged, he only grew stronger, more set in his will, more confident about his decisions. Uonil knew her words fell on deaf ears, and that this was but the first volley in a long and bitter war between them. Devring turned and strode briskly out, the sunlight casting a long shadow in front of him. Arciss turned to Uonil, who relaxed into a gentle smile.
“What are you happy about?” he asked, surprised.
“It is good to be open!” she cried, taking a deep, refreshing breath. “To finally speak words long kept in one’s mind. He has wanted to challenge my authority for quite a while, and now he knows what happens when he does. I have no need to kill, like Graid. Graid silenced a voice that may have had wisdom to share in the future, and now never will. Perhaps Devring will learn something from this confrontation. I doubt it, but anything is possible. For some, wisdom is only drawn from intelligence and repetition over time. Come, it is almost time for Graid’s contest with the meta.” She turned to leave, and saw Graid standing in the doorway. “Kal-Alçon!”
Graid smiled, and clapped. “Well done, my Mentra. It’s about time you stood up for yourself, and not hide behind Martel’s shadow.”
“I hide behind no one!”
He laughed, walking over to her. He stopped midway, gazing out the window, his attention drawn by the Rell landscape. Beyond the city which lay beneath them, a large mountain range filled the horizon, snow-capped peaks glittering in the late-roa sun.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
Arciss and Uonil stood next to him, looking out.
“Yes.”
“It fills me with great sadness that I have never ventured out there, on our planet,” said Graid, a little wistfully. “As much as I have enjoyed myself among the Novans, seeing our capital, those mountains, stirs something within me. As if there are answers to unknown questions in the wrinkles of that mountain.” He crossed his arms, his expression growing serious. “There is much to lose if we should fail, Uonil. But such is the cycle of life. Some live, some die. It should never be ever-present in our thoughts, never overwhelm our life.”
“I understand, Graid.”
“Good.”
“Why do you think the meta wants to challenge you in Castiliad?” asked Uonil.
“I actually don’t know. It’s good to have some surprises now and again! Not too many, but it makes life worth living. Come.”
Together they entered a large chamber, a few twists and turns from the meeting room. Simple, like Graid’s training room in Al-Hulce, this chamber was larger, able to accommodate several hundred participants or spectators. Odre and Unti sat cross-legged on two cushions in the center, and across from them was an empty one for Graid. The sight of the two metal figures in such a sacred room, seated in the position of a true Rell, was too much for many of the Alçons, who shouted a few words of profanity at them, unable to contain their disgust. Graid flashed them a quick look and they grudgingly settled down, their brows knitted in anger.
Graid stood for a moment, admiring the spectacle, feeling in his heart that this was the beginning of true progress. Uonil came up next to him.
“Will you be able to defeat them?”
“I am surprised!” he cried, turning to face her. “You know the Castiliad is meant just as much for learning and introspection, as it is a competition.”
He smiled as he said it, revealing the sarcasm woven within. She bowed before him.
“Good luck, Master.”
She joined the Alçons who were seated around the room’s perimeter, who ignored her and Arciss. Graid sat, and for a moment regarded the two figures seated across from him. They were immobile, not even breathing, their faces perfectly still, the
ir golden eyes glittering in the fading light. In a moment all was dark, giving the illusion they were in a void. Graid’s voice broke the silence.
“Let us begin.”
Graid started off with a small trunk of a Boolin, based on nanotechnology. Odre and Unti seized on it, relating it to mathematics, physics, philosophy, sociology. The trunk soon grew thick, with hundreds of branches and thousands of smaller twigs spreading out at a phenomenal rate. Graid could feel the meta posed a unified front, so far using no tricks or guile. After a few mroas, the central trunk grew to six feet in height, so fast were the computations by Graid and the meta. Hushed whispers floated among the Alçons, as the Boolin grew at an incredible rate, a true testament of the meta’s skill. The space between the meta and Graid was thick with the brilliant structure, it shimmered as more and more thoughts built its core. In a moment, three new trunks appeared, descending from the ceiling. Hushed gasps erupted from the audience.
“Is that Graid?” asked Arciss excitedly.
“No. Look at the content,” Uonil replied.
The three trunks centered on the deceased Enq and their people, called the Enquit, from the world the Rell exterminated to make their new home. None but the Kal-Durrell and the meta knew the details of that society, so for a moment at least, it seemed as if the meta now had the advantage.
They didn’t even flinch, thought Graid. He had been watching them, searching for any physical representation of their thoughts, but they could execute the boldest of moves with an impenetrable facade. Graid also didn’t flinch, he began to match their moves, though they were slower, and soon it appeared Graid’s position was being overwhelmed.
“What will he do?” asked Arciss, leaning into Uonil. “He has no knowledge of that culture, of their society. How can he find any interrelationships?”
“Graid had to have anticipated a move like this. Wait and see.”
Graid’s portion seemed to grow weaker; the light began to fade from its limbs. The meta accelerated their construction, building branch after branch, making the space so dense none could see through to the other side. The Boolin grew to twenty feet, thirty feet, then forty feet high, the four stalks interweaving with each other, revealing a growing dark spot—the constructs of Graid.
“Well, he is fighting a machine,” said Arciss regretfully. “We should have expected—”
Then, without warning, five stalks sprung from the ground in a great circle, encompassing the entire structure, branches piercing its form. They drove in with astonishing speed, linking and connecting anything unconnected. What was dark before now gleamed with a blinding light, as the structure quadrupled in width and doubled in height.
“What were they?!” cried Arciss in excitement. “I can’t make it out.”
“The Enquit were souman,” said Uonil, nodding in approval. “He used fundamental emotions to unify their actions, their society. Ambition, passion, lust, introspection, and love.”
The meta responded quickly. Though they may not have felt many of those emotions, they had been around the Novans long enough to have learned about them, and their effect on other disciplines. A balance settled in, as it seemed Graid and the meta were evenly matched. Then Graid switched back to mathematics, pure, theoretical mathematics, and the meta seized on that apparent mistake. Their structure doubled again in density, reaching down to the microscopic level, creating fractals in the diminishing space between branches. Graid could feel the meta reach out, over the dimensional divide, to their brethren in Uplarin. Once linked, they acted with the power of five thousand, as the Boolin pulsed and throbbed, a seeming living entity. It glowed as a sun between the three of them, its mass so compressed the spectators could almost feel the pull of gravity from it.
“They have cheated!” cried Uonil, bolting to her feet.
“What are they doing to Graid?” demanded Arciss.
Graid anticipated this, and drew on the power within him, power he knew was there, but never accessed, never had a need. He reached out, expanding his awareness, his consciousness, spreading himself through everyone in the room, then out through the building, until in moments he was mentally aware of every being, every particle of matter in the capital. He pusher harder, relaxing his mind, allowing himself to open to the entirety of Rell. The mountainside was Graid. The rivers and valleys, streams and oceans, were Graid. Every fish that swam, every animal that foraged for food, ran as prey or predator, birthed, sexed or existed in the throes of death, was Graid for that moment. For a split til, he was every being, every animal, every particle and molecule on that world. And all that went against the meta. The Boolin swelled with energy, the constructs of the meta being overwhelmed in an instant by new forms by Graid. A harmony came into being, a balance that could be sensed by everyone present, as the entire structure seemed to exist on a different level, in another dimensional plane.
Graid relaxed, feeling his awareness diminish into himself. Though it took a lot of energy, he actually felt invigorated by the experience. He could see his competitors were not. He felt Odre and Unti were overwhelmed by the experience, their processors damaged and in need of repair. Graid stood, and could feel much of the meta population in Uplarin, that were united against him, suffered similar damage. Odre quickly reached out to him, mentally connecting with Graid on an intimate level.
In Graid’s mind, an image formed of the meta, an image of Odre’s consciousness, taken representational form. It was a simple being, soft and rounded, of soumanoid shape, glowing a faint orange, its light gradually dimming in the black void of his mind. Graid appeared also, illuminating that mental landscape, appearing complex and beautiful, with billions of tendrils flowing from his frame. He looked on Odre, and felt pity for this creation, one that had struggled for so long to develop consciousness, to advance its sentience, yet it had so far to go. But he felt a little angry at the meta.
^Will you be alright?^ he asked.
^Yes,^ it replied weakly. ^We need to shut down, for a time, and our automatic repair systems will take over.^
^Why have you done this?!^ he demanded. ^What were you trying to do to me?^
Odre drifted closer, a smile forming on its faceless form. ^We have done you a favor.^
^What do you mean?^
^The Kal-Durrell gave us clarity, Graid. A clarity we sought for seven millennia. We share that clarity with you. We share with you, the potential you have yet to realize. Our words are true; we wish only allegiance with you and your people.^
Graid knew they were right. He could feel they pushed him to another level, a point he almost feared to go. He was something else, a being that could be in all places at once. Though it was only for a moment, it was already beginning to change him. He felt in that moment the hopes and fears of every living being on Rell, felt the symphony at the smallest level that was creation. He felt a beauty that no one before him had ever known.
^Thank you.^
Across from him, Odre and Unti shut down, their cortexes beginning a process of repair. For a few mroas more the Boolin hung in space, throbbing, seeming to be self-sufficient, alive. Then it began to fade, the pieces dissolving, crashing to the ground, to nothingness. Graid stood and watched it die, thinking on what in himself was dying with it. The crowd stood, acknowledging Graid’s success, reluctantly, and moving quietly out the exits.