Nemecene: The Epoch of Redress (10 page)

"Genius is the word we use here. Mr. Keeto, I presume?" My face flushed as I apologized profusely, to his and Eli's great amusement.

"And this young lady would be…" turning to Eli, he bowed as she answered. His demeanor was rich and his clothing impeccable. A man of few words, "the exhibits do the talking" he would say. Room after room, corridor after corridor, there were artifacts of irreplaceable value, most of which I have never even heard of, despite my meticulous research, but the chamber that stole my breath, at the center of my new world, was a forest of books as far as the eye could see. There were rows upon rows of wooden towers diagonally arranged around an immense circular table, where privileged scholars spent their waking hours absorbed in acquiring ancient wisdom. Eli's only comment was "So where are you going to set up your sleeper?" We all laughed and the curator showed us to my quarters.

In the far reaches of this enormous library, there was a small door which led to the back terrace. At the end of a marble bridge there were nine small stone enclosures forming a circle around a floral centerpiece connected like the spokes of a wheel to the base of each pod. The third unit on the right is where the curator led us, pausing at its entrance and handing me the key, an actual physical key, complete with ring and all. As he bade us a formal farewell, I turned to Eli and beamed. Although the tiny homesteads were clearly reproductions of the museum's unique architectural style, the stone cast faux-marble finish provided a convincing facsimile of family mausoleums, a titillating berth for my overactive imagination, and embodied the perfect atmosphere for you and me to reconnect.

The interior was dim. A narrow slit above a one-meter niche built into the facing wall provided little chance for light to enter. Eli poked her head around the corner, then walked gingerly into the center of the room, closing her eyes and perking her ears. Whatever compelled her to listen attentively is still a mystery, because once she had finished and opened her eyes, she denied ever having taken the stage. I quickly dropped the subject and made a personal oath to observe her more closely in the weeks to come. The air became cold with the fear that drove me here, so I steered the conversation towards the far corner, where my transfer chest lay. I ran a thorough scan to verify the contents and nodded in approval of our trustworthy Gadlin hires. My mission accomplished, we dedicated the rest of the day to getting Eli settled. I filtered through the contents of my satchel spread over the bed and flung the bag over my shoulder as we left for the campus.

On our way back through the archives, the curator stopped us and voiced a concern. "Best reach the complex before dark, just to be safe." There was talk of miscreants about, mutilating bodies in the medical lab at Osler Hall, across from the J tower of Van Billund Hall, the residence complex. They hadn't targeted the living yet, but blocking their path could prove unwise. Impeccable timing, considering my new base is a 16th century tomb. Eli leaned slowly into me, stiffening her stance as she tugged on the sleeve of my linen shirt, drawing my attention to three officials we could see through the marble gate, who were making their way across the Victory Bridge and towards the facility.

What secrets hide behind the cultured facade of the Central Core? We decided to risk the advent of dusk rather than test the influence of Father, who we now knew worked for the URA. We found a barge where we could sample the delicacies of the lowlands, bringing me to the source of my current digestive discomfort. As we patiently waited for the triad of officials to leave, we followed the crest of the sun as it sank into the toxic depths of the tide. With such a harsh reminder of the earth's power, our immediate concerns are insignificant in retrospect.

When I finally managed to coerce the last bit of food into my groaning belly, the vendor was already half-packed, nervously struggling with his controller. There was a certain urgency with which he worked that caused us to sharpen our senses and move towards the ramp. As we reached the railing, he stopped us gently and said, "No, not that way. They are coming. I will take you," and he led the raft through the murky channels towards the oval forest ahead.

I surveyed the wonder before us, with its polished walls glowing slightly as dusk paints the sky, and caught a glimpse of some activity on our original path. Our guide continued in silence, shrewdly scanning the bridge before pressing on past the trees on the right. For a moment, I questioned whether this man could be trusted. And how did he know where we were headed? From what I could tell, we had missed the main entrance of the campus and were held captive on a virulent course. But the air about him was crisp, and as we rounded the park and spotted the back entrance of the complex, the stranger uncovered a large box he had been sitting on, and bowed. It was Eli's chest, in perfect condition. We had intercepted the secret voyage of our precious cargo and concealed our passage in doing so as well. Our Gadlin accomplice has stayed true to the call, once again. Too bad he can't cook.

The perimeter was well protected. A campus security escort promptly appeared as we landed the crate. A curt cordial exchange, and our ferryman drifted back into the shadows, avoiding a challenge from the approaching footsteps. While Eli presented her provisional registration, I leaned against a spiral lamppost and stared into the distance. The site is enormous, looking more like an actual island than a floating stage, for that is what it really is. The water's edge is nothing like the clear blue ocean so eloquently described in the stories you read us, stories where silky soft beaches beckoned the lonely traveler smoothly and safely into her warm salty vastness, which brimmed with life, creatures of all sizes and colors, sharing a perfect world in peace and serenity.

I awoke from my dream with the whistling of stars and the voice of Eli anxiously calling me into the pathway running alongside an ivy covered wall. A storm was coming and we needed to hurry in case the frequency generator controlling the biowall started to drift. We raced to the back gate where the caretaker ushered us promptly into the building just as lights across the city started to flicker. Catching our breath, I was impressed at how easily Eli had dragged her baggage behind her on the cobbled surface. Not only tough in spirit, my temerarious twin. She threw me a snare. Did she hear that?

Another protector checked Eli's permissions and directed us to the reflective shaft in the center of the tower, where a porter waited to shuttle us up the lift. He shook his head as he struggled with Eli's effects. "It's the shoes," I explained, rubbing my shin with my foot and suffering another one of those l
... ...ooks
. Sorry for the scribble. Her fault. So...she's finished unpacking. "What? No shoes?" Ah, I was bracing for that slam. I lifted my pen just in time.

Eli now seems ready for our adventure. But am I?

Day 25: Dawn

E
ager for rebirth in the golden source, her serene silhouette stands perfectly still against the evolving Eadonberg skyline. Shimmering ripples in the distance announce the sun's arrival, cleaving darkness from its path and eclipsing the dissolving stars. With her breath arrested and her gaze transfixed, Nathruyu remains statuesque as the rays assail the coastal lands, looming unprotected behind her, and trigger the onset of another potentially volatile cycle. The last three weeks had been pleasantly uneventful, allowing her to observe Elize adapting to new surroundings and affording her the luxury of introspection. Her recent homecoming has heightened
their
awareness, which she must ultimately turn to her favor, for tonight will challenge the soundness of her plan and expose previous sacrifices to harsh judgment from all who bear witness.

As the pressure builds over the water, the mesmerizing sparkles dance eastward across the orchard and fill her lungs with the morning's first deep draw. The freshly ionized air reanimates her momentarily halted heart, gradually re-inviting her blood to the surface and feeding it, as it seeks the heat. As usual, her senses marvel at the exquisite artistry of Osler Hall, the medical lab and the pinnacle of Gadlin design, which dominates the campus oval and now lies in stark contrast to the morbid enterprises within.

The contortion of shadows between the two outer towers, coiling around the center one like a wide-based double-helix cylindrical pair, each thread piercing an enormous stepladder of twenty-seven distinct crystal disk-shaped floors, greets dawn with a mosaic of textures. The third shaft follows a straight axis up from the ground, tunneling every third tier of the middle sinusoid structure of twenty-seven smaller overlapping pods, and fuses seamlessly into the other two, an open mouth swallowing the sun.

Sliding her eyes south past the citrus grove and then west towards the brim of the city, she sees a flicker inside the J branch of Van Billund Hall. There is activity. Elize is frantically gathering her materials for the day. She springs from the building predictably flustered, disappears quickly under the floral covered walk, and reemerges, half-dressed, short-winded and still grappling with her trailing jacket. This morning, however, from the clarity of her rooftop perch, Nathruyu notices a slight change in Elize's daily routine, for she delays a little longer than expected in front of the Victory Bridge. She knows. Swiftly retreating behind the terrace stairwell, Nathruyu cautiously peeks one eye around the corner, as the mitered edge of her coattail flutters in the converging draft. It is too early to reveal herself.

The pulse through her veins distracts her and incites a gust of flailing silk which lures Elize's unease up to her. The evanescent impression of a presence sends Elize scurrying into the oncoming fog. As the powdery wall rolls across the maze of pathways and channels, cloaking the objects en route in a dense white cloud, Nathruyu resumes her watchful stance and releases her fears to the drifting mist. Elize has clearly changed her agenda and the habitual jaunt to the Snack Shack, prior to her lectures, is forfeit. Urgency commands her to the task. If she and he are to be as one, this evening will unfold as foreseen, regardless of this late indiscretion, or even a certain trepidation penetrating her thoughts. She has long coveted him from afar, forbidden to thrust him onto her aching breast until her obligations have been met. She must constantly weigh her loyalties against a relentless desire.

A solitary tear struggles to make its way to the decorative tiles of the roof, but her quivering lips divert its stream, leaving it broken and vulnerable, as her tongue seizes it to quench her drying thirst. Only the tripartite spire of the twisted towers remains visible above the thickening brume and casts a pointy finger in the direction of their abandoned home, as if reminding Nathruyu of her priorities. As the foggy film interferes with her spying, the gruesome incidents preceding the twins' voyage replay in her mind and taint the atmosphere with the blood of the innocent. She calls out to the shadows, but the dead have no ears, and as much as she would welcome absolution, her part in the whole binds the guilt to her soul. Nathruyu is whisked back to the eve of their arrival in Eadonberg, twenty-five days ago.

Some students have arrived, but most are at home, collecting the bits of nostalgia they will be relying on for comfort during the demanding training ahead. The twins are no exception. Keeto has planned their departure for tomorrow night, but their lives are fated to a different schedule, one which Nathruyu is skillfully able to accelerate by virtue of her fortunate discovery.

She has managed to impair the sensors at the east wing entrance of Osler Hall and infiltrate the access tube, unbeknownst to the blinded sentinels. She has also deactivated the movement mechanism to ensure a private escapade up the spiral chute. The inner surface has no protrusions nor depressions of any kind, not even a single crack in the polished concave lining to slide a razor along, forcing her to manually de-tune the entry panels at each pod as she breaches them, and then to leverage the transient thin apertures they present in order to transmit her momentum up the levels. After a dozen or so surges, her slender fingertips freeze, tenuously curled around the slit on the southernmost floor, with the point of her boots barely clinging to what little friction her weight can produce. There are murmurs at the cusp of the next curve, blocking her ascent.