The Scion of Abacus, Part 1 Read online

  The boy immediately to my right, second in line, shut his mouth and shook his head with wide eyes as the wise Synth sought to set a drop of the red fluid on his tongue. The Synths were evidently used to this reaction, for the wise Synth did not even sigh. A warrior Synth merely grabbed the boy and forced his mouth open.

  Moments later, he too was vomiting violently at the wise Synth’s feet.

  Then came my turn. Having seen the brutality with which the last boy was treated, I obediently opened my mouth. I must confess that despite my parents’ reassurances that I would be chosen, I received that drop reluctantly. I had seen what rejection looked like in all its grossness, but I had not yet seen one chosen and so had no idea what that would be like.

  As it turned out, it was rather anticlimactic. I received the red drop on my tongue and tasted for the first of many times the slight bitterness of the juice. I swallowed and made a face against the taste, and then looked defiantly into the eyes of the wise Synth. His face was blank, expectant but unenthusiastic. Finally, he nodded.

  “Stand over there,” he said, pointing to a place away to his right, directly opposite those children remaining to be tested.

  I did not move at once, and the warrior Synth who had been waiting to drag me away now thrust me forward in the direction of the waiting area. “Do as you’re told,” he growled.

  I stumbled away, feeling strangely ashamed of being singled out and made to stand in front of the rest. I was later told that this is done so that the other children could look on me as they waited and know that I was their better in every way. It did not feel like that at all to be standing there. I felt like a chastised school boy set before his equals as an example against breaking the rules.

  When I got to the indicated spot, I found the faint outline of a painted square on the ground indicating where I was to wait. I turned around just in time to see Cyn being forced to receive his drop of the hyma. Unlike me, he had had no assurances that he would be chosen, and so like many of our peers he fought with all his might to resist the testing.

  I watched as he too made a face against the taste of the hyma, and then my heart sank as a stone does in a pond when I saw him double over and begin to throw up like all the rejected Eikos before him.

  “Cyn!” I cried out as the warrior Synth grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away.

  “Shut your mouth,” the wise Synth roared at me. “Just because you’re standing there doesn’t mean you can talk.”

  I fell silent, but I knew that I was now alone as I had never been before. Even my parents’ terrible revelation of that morning paled by comparison. Then, I had at least known that although my true family was lost to me, I had a family nonetheless that loved me.

  Now, I was at the mercy of several frightening men, any one of which might kill me in a heartbeat for disobedience, for all that I had been chosen.

  The morning progressed slowly for me. I saw several of the other children looking in my direction with anger or hatred or fear in their eyes. It might not have registered in my mind at the time, but I had been chosen to become part of the system that would continue the subjugation of the Eikos masses. In time, I would no longer be a simple thirteen-year-old like them. I would be a symbol of the tyranny that oppressed them, and the smarter ones in the group knew as much.

  Roughly sixty more children were tested and rejected before another boy joined me in front of the others. He was bigger than I, but for all his size I could see in his eyes that he was little more than a dumb brute, the kind of boy who was likely the bully of others in that courtyard. Even at that age I knew he was destined to be a warrior Synth, the lowest rung on the ladder. But at least he would be on the ladder, and so while he had no brains to speak of and promised to be all muscle, he at least lived out his life among the privileged. Or so I suspect, for I don’t recall ever having seen him again after we arrived at the University of Ilion.

  * * *

  There were no more children chosen from the remainder of the one-hundred-and-forty who had turned out that morning. The two of us who had been chosen were marched indoors where another two wise Synths waited, and we were divided and taken off into separate rooms.

  “What is your name?” the Synth asked me when he’d gotten me alone.

  “Toven Aimis, sir,” I replied dutifully. After the initial shock of being chosen and watching Cyn dragged away, the sense of adventure had slowly begun to return to me, and I was determined to make a good impression on this wise Synth by my politeness and the promptness of answering. I need not have bothered, for most Synths care nothing for the world around them. They are so focused on their station in life, which is in its way as limiting as the Eikos’ lot, and performed their tasks with total mindlessness. The Synth examining me that day cared only about fulfilling his duty to the Dominion and the Hymage. The politeness of one Eikos boy made no difference to him whatsoever.

  The wise Synth failed to acknowledge I’d even spoken, therefore, beyond making several marks on his notepad, and he went about performing a simple physical exam, the only purpose of which being to ascertain whether or not I was dying of some horrible disease picked up in the Eikos slums. Satisfied that I was quite healthy, the wise Synth marched me from the room and back outdoors where I was loaded into a wagon that stood waiting for me.

  Inside were sixteen other thirteen-year-olds from different parts of Ilion, and once the second boy from my precinct had joined us, the wagon trundled away towards the University, stopping once or twice to pick up other chosen but always moving with a single-mindedness that would have frightened me had I been more aware of such things.

  It was dusk by the time our wagon approached the ancient edifices of the University of Ilion. A twenty-foot-high wall of solid stone surrounded the University grounds, making it nearly impossible to see anything of the world outside once we passed into that enclosed space. The first impression that the cold, grey stone, jagged crenellations, hulking gargoyles, and intricately carved statues of the University edifices themselves made on my mind was that we had all been lied to. Such a place could not be home to the finest minds of the Dominion. It was a place of horror and of torture, I was certain.

  And in many ways, it would prove to be so.

  -II-

  We were not to be given any time to settle in to our new home. As with all things pertaining to the Dominion, we were thrust directly into our studies without preamble.

  In all, roughly two-hundred-and-thirty children had been chosen on Midsummer’s Day to move out of the Eikos precincts into the wonderfully privileged life we were destined to live as Synths. We were roused from our sleep at dawn, marched down winding corridors that would take us many days to memorize, and filed into a fitting area where we were measured and given our very first cassocks.

  As I have said, color is important to the caste structure of the Aarian Dominion, and we little boys and girls, newly plucked from the Eikos slums, were dressed in simple brown cassocks, the robes serving at once as symbols of our rising status in the world even while reminding us of our origins.

  Thus appareled, we were then directed through further corridors to the mess area, where we were fed a simple breakfast consisting of rolled oats, bread, and water. As all things were to be in our daily lives for the next nine years, there was little variety in our food day to day, and the Synths told us this was because such monotony built discipline and character. Having too much choice from a young age spoiled a person.

  Finally, at about midmorning, all the newly chosen were led into another hall and lined up alphabetically by surname. At this point, a wise Synth in his blue cassock strode down the line counting in cycles of five, dividing us into our class groups for the next five years. The groups of forty-five or so students were then separated and taken into our individual classrooms where we would be receiving the instruction that would result in us becoming good and loyal servants of the Dominion.

  Such were the beginnings of my career in the University.
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br />   * * *

  That was the day I met Hero. She is the next principle character in the sad tragedy that has been my life, but on that day I had no idea that I was meeting one of the few people who would leave an indelible imprint on my soul.

  My class was taken to a room fitted with rows of wooden desks so old the names of students dead five-hundred years could be read where those same students had carved them into the timber. I took my seat near the front of the room, and Hero filed in next to me. It was rather by luck than anything else that we ended up together, for the surname I bore at the time, Aimis, was nowhere near her own, Landri. And yet we had somehow become muddled after the alphabetical neatness of the previous room, and so rather than being seated next to children with surnames beginning with a or b, I found myself next to Hero Landri.

  She was a dainty creature with marvelous black hair and perfectly symmetrical features. Not that I paid much attention to such things at the time.

  As we waited for our teacher to arrive, having been thrust into the room by a rather sour-looking wise Synth, Hero turned to me smiling and asked, “What is your name?”

  “Toven,” I replied.

  “I’m Hero,” she said. “What precinct did you come from?”

  “Seventy-third,” I answered.

  She scrunched her face. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  I shook my head.

  It wasn’t shyness that sewed my lips shut that day. It was rather a general weariness that had finally begun to settle on me once the adventure of being chosen started to wear off. I missed Cyn and my parents. The stone halls of the University were not so welcoming as they might have been, and to a boy’s mind, such things can be a great source of terror. I did not feel like I could trust anyone, for despite having been chosen to become a Synth myself, I still bore that inbred hatred for the system that is the lot of all Eikos. In time, that hatred would turn to acceptance and finally to pride, but on that first morning in that classroom next to Hero, I disliked who she was, even though I was one and the same.

  Hero, however, seemed determined to break my silence, for she interpreted it merely as shyness. “Well, I’m from the thirteenth precinct,” she said, “ and there we are not accustomed to rude boys.”

  The thirteenth was, as far as Eikos slums go, a pretty prosperous place to live. The squalor there was less evident than in many other precincts, as those Eikos bore a certain pride in themselves that facilitated the cleaning of streets and homes. But such pride was a dangerous thing, and it was no accident that most of the malcontent in the Dominion had its roots in places like the thirteenth precinct, where Eikos dared to believe they were better than animals.

  I said nothing in reply to Hero’s statement, but I did smile lightly nonetheless. She frowned and said, “Is something funny, Toven?”

  “No.” I shook my head defensively, losing the grin at once.

  Hero looked at me a moment longer and then turned away to talk to the boy sitting on the other side of her. I was thankful for the respite from her inquisitiveness, and she did not have long to bother the boy before our professor swept into the classroom at last.

  * * *

  Feril Animis was a terrifying man to behold. He wore the white cassock of a Hymanni caste member, and it was clear by his face that he was merely teaching a group of thirteen-year-olds as a step onto someplace grander.

  He had shoulder-length blond hair and sharp, hawkish features. His chiseled jaw line was accentuated by a small goatee waxed to a point. The white cassock did nothing to liven the pinkness of his skin; instead, its paleness appeared milky and sickly. I shuddered when I saw him, and his eyes locked on me for a moment, as though he sensed my revulsion. But his gaze did not linger, and it soon passed on to inspect the rest of his forty-five new students.

  At last, he breathed out deeply, and said, “You are my subjects now, and for five years more. I will be as Hymage Quillan to you, speaking in absolute authority. If you disobey me, you will be punished. If you interrupt me, you will be punished. If you fail me, you will be punished. You are my responsibility until your abilities begin to properly manifest themselves, at which point you will be separated further to train under masters dedicated to your talents. Any questions?”

  Somebody behind me raised a hand, and I could see by our professor’s glare that he was not pleased by this development. He gave a single curt nod, and a girl asked, “Sir, what is your name?”

  “My name is Feril Animis. That is all you need know about me, and you will address me exclusively as professor in the future. I am not your friend. I am not your equal. You are scarcely better than the Eikos filth from which you’ve been taken, and it is my task to turn you into something worthy of the name Synth. A few of you may be lucky enough to become Hymanni. Only when that is the case will I permit you to address me by name as an equal.”

  Professor Animis took up his place behind a lectern set at the front of the class. His hands were clasped behind his back, which was straight and rigid as a board. He stared down his nose at us, his disdain for so many Eikos children clearly evident.

  “The first two years of your study will be dedicated entirely to teaching you to read and write. Those dumps where you grew up are little better than rat holes, and if you want to be true men, then you must be literate. I will accept no failure. You will be reading and writing in two year’s time, and then we can begin to train your minds for the positions in life to which you have been called.”

  He paused, gauging our reactions to his vitriolic speech, and seemed satisfied that we were all too terrified to argue. The professor continued, “I want you all to memorize what I am about to say. Today begins the rest of your lives, and as future Synths you are to put aside all the Eikos foolishness you have been wont to cling to in the past. Therefore, repeat after me.” I held my breath, and sensed Hero beside me hanging on Feril Animis’ every word.

  “There is no God but Aaria, my mother and my father, my sister and my brother, my creator and my destroyer. I will serve her with all my heart, with all my soul, with all my strength, all the days of my life.”

  We repeated his words several times until he was satisfied that even the stupidest among us had them memorized. For the next five years under his tutelage, we repeated them five times every morning at the start of class. I had grown up believing in God, as my parents had taught me, but like most in that room on that day, I soon forsook that faith as the monotony of repetition drove a new truth into my mind.

  A new truth prescribed to us by the Hymage that we might become his perfect subjects.

  * * *

  The first two years under Professor Animis’ tutelage were a dark age, a time devoid of mirth for many of us. Our professor drove us on with reckless purpose, so much so that I would wake in the middle of the night to practice my handwriting because of the irrational fear that it would fail me the following day.

  Punishment for failure was indeed brutal. One boy had the fingers of his writing hand systematically broken by the professor for perceived slovenliness. His bones were reset in the infirmary, and when he returned to us days later, he was forced to learn the forms with his left hand—and he nearly lost those fingers too when they proved understandably clumsy.

  I escaped such awful retribution, fortunately, but neither did I win any sort of approval for the work I turned in. I was a fast learner, a trait that would serve me well in those ancient halls, but it was just enough to get me by with only five or six beatings from the stalwart professor, whose standards of excellence were simply unattainable.

  Hero proved herself the most skilled in our class with a pen, and her reading level outstripped everyone’s after only a couple of months. I did not get to know her that well in those early years, for there was little time to be spent cultivating friendships, certainly not if one wanted to retain the use of his fingers in the course of Professor Animis’ lectures.

  But like all times of fear and terror, those days eventually passed, and while
the professor treated us as poorly as ever, he slowly transitioned us from the monotonous daily routines of reading and writing into lessons on the history of the Aarian Dominion.

  * * *

  I shall now endeavor to recall, as accurately as I can, one of those first lessons we received from the mouth of Feril Animis. This, like so much of what I record in these confessions, is written for the sake of posterity, for in the near future I believe the lies we were fed in that classroom as fifteen-year-olds will be swept away and replaced with the truth I helped uncover. Not all I did in life was an evil, and if the rediscovery of Aaria’s true history is the only good I am remembered for amidst all my ill, then I shall lie in my grave a happy man.

  As I recall it, these lessons were actually spread over a few days, but such is the nature of distant memory that they all fade into one. I do remember quite clearly that Hero and I were at last on some sort of speaking terms. It has always taken me time to warm up to strangers, and as the fear of our professor’s ire began to lessen, Hero seemed determined to break my reticent silence and so sat beside me everywhere we went.

  My dear Hero always was a rather bold spirit.

  Professor Animis had promised us he would recount the entire history of the Aarian Dominion, and I think it was on the morning that those lessons began that Hero and I were talking about the most heretical idea of all. We were talking about God.

  Of course, after two years of study, it was expected by even the most pessimistic of Synths that we Eikos children would have abandoned our ridiculous beliefs in a creator outside of the control of the Dominion and the Hymage. The daily recitation of our professor’s mantra that “there is no God but Aaria” was designed to accomplish that feat quickly.

  But there were some of us, for whatever reasons, who bought into the many lies of the Hymanni elite much slower than the rest. I was one of these.

  “Of course there is a God,” I hissed at her beside me as we waited for our teacher to arrive for lessons. “Do you think all of this world just showed up one day out of the blue?”