The Scion of Abacus, Part 1 Read online

  “There is no God but Aaria,” Hero said to me smugly.

  “Yes, but the world had to start somewhere. Somebody built this University, so doesn’t it make sense that somebody, a god, built the world?”

  “My mother and my father, my brother and my sister, my creator and my destroyer,” Hero recited.

  Such was the pattern of many of our discussions to the very end of my life, but we did not always clash on issues of ideology. However, Hero was nothing if not a good student of the Dominion, and she made a fine Hymanni in time, no doubt due in part to her willingness to swallow every pill the hierarchy handed her.

  Anyhow, the belief in God, as I have said, was mostly confined to the Eikos caste, who were permitted such belief by the Synths as a sort of crutch to make their miserable existences more bearable. Let them blame some made-up creature in the skies for their troubles, the Synth reasoning went, rather than us, their masters, and so dream up rebellion in their hearts.

  What I have just said, of course, was not relayed to us in class that particular day, but it is a lie very much linked to what Feril Animis did teach us of Aarian history, and so I repeat it here.

  So it was that on the morning Hero and I engaged in our first of many arguments, and one which was by no means the most trivial of our squabbles over the years, Professor Animis swept into the classroom, appearing suddenly like an apparition from the shadows as though he had been there listening to our conversations all along. His habit for arriving unannounced and often unlooked for was enough, generally, to make us all watch our mouths, for there are many dangerous things that can be forgiven a thirteen-year-old on his third or fourth day at the University that would condemn him to horrible punishments if uttered later in his life.

  He bade us rise from our benches and repeat his great guiding proverb before the lesson:

  “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.”

  That settled, and we students into our seats once more as well, our professor looked on us with a baleful stare.

  “Let it not be thought by any of you,” he said, “that you are better than you are. There is the Hymage only and then there are the rest of us. The Eikos do not exist to you anymore. They are dogs to be kicked only. How is it then that you lot have arrived at such a place in life that you sit here, dressed in decent clothes, belly filled from your breakfasts, in a building that keeps out the rains of summer and the snows of winter?”

  It was a rhetorical question, and though we were not newly come to the University, not all of us had learnt yet that such questions do not require answers. One unfortunate boy to the rear of the class evidently raised his hand, for Feril Animis’ frown grew deeper.

  “Yes, Master Gervis,” he said.

  The boy then made the near fatal error of ascribing the order of things to what we had been told was a fairy tale. “God made it like this,” he answered our professor.

  I did not think it possible for a man to frown so deeply. It seemed to me that the corners of the professor’s lips were touching his chin. “Gervis, come here, boy,” he ordered.

  The lad approached the front of the room, and Feril Animis looked down on him with undisguised loathing. “I would strike you for that comment, Gervis, as it is plain you have not yet taken to heart our recitations each morning. But, as I am Hymanni and so filled with rage just now, were I to strike you a blow it would kill you in an instant, spraying your guts all over your classmates!”

  Gervis’ classmates gasped dutifully at this pronouncement.

  “Therefore,” Professor Animis continued, ignoring the rest of us, “you shall take this chalk and stand behind me, before the chalk board, and write out our mantra until no free space remains. You will be repeating it in your sleep tonight, so much so that your bunkmates will complain tomorrow that you kept them up. Is that clear?”

  Gervis nodded that it was, retrieved the piece of chalk, and set about copying out There is no God but Aaria, and all the rest of it, until his fingers began to bleed.

  As for Feril Animis, he forgot about Gervis almost as soon as the boy moved from his line of sight and returned promptly to the lesson he had begun.

  “Things are the way they are for a very curious historical reason,” he said to us. “Roughly one thousand years ago, there were no such things as Synths and Hymanni. Everyone was as everyone else. We were all of us Eikos.” He sneered. “But there had been a time when there were mages in the world, and they were the rulers of men. Now, as you will learn in the course of your lessons under me, there is a great difference between the power of the mages and the power of the Synths and Hymanni.

  “It is the hyma that gives us our power. It is a creation of the last mages, for theirs was a race in decline, and one-thousand-years ago they had all but died out. There were six mages alive then, and all of them were old men in the twilight of their lives. Our forefathers, they were, and just as the Hymage sacrifices so much for you all on a daily basis, so those six men sacrificed much for the descendents they would never see.

  “So that magic would not die out of the earth entirely, they formed a plan that would ensure there were always mages around to take their rightful place at the head of the human race. They created the hymaberry bush. Five of the mages were to die in the plant’s creation. One, and that one chosen by lot, was needed to perform the spell. In short, the blood of the last mages was infused in the bush that was to become the parent of all hymaberry bushes, which is the reason for the bloody color of the plant’s leaves and fruit.”

  He left off speaking temporarily, and all we could hear was the ceaseless scratching of chalk on the board. The boy Gervis grew embarrassed at the sudden silence and so stopped writing. Feril Animis did not speak to him, did not so much as turn about to reprimand him for pausing, but by a short, sharp twitch of his neck he let the lad know that he had best get back to work.

  The scratching continued at once.

  “Now, the mages had so long held the mastery of the human race that they knew what was best for us all, even all those years ago. They built into the hymaberry a safeguard against too many having access to its power. To all but a select few, those who would be chosen by fate to carry on in the footsteps of the mages, the hymaberry bush would be poisonous to the very touch. As soon as the last mage Abacus, whose name I am sure you all know by now, had demonstrated to the world the bush’s ability to grant power and instituted the test for determining who was worthy to partake of its fruit, he committed suicide, giving the last of the mages’ blood to the earth.

  “One day I shall take you all to Abacus’ tower, but not today. It is no place for fifteen-year-olds. But the walls of that tower, and the birthplace of the hymaberry bush within its confines, is the oldest of the buildings on the campus grounds of the University. Many scholars through the years have devoted themselves to the study of its secrets, and perhaps one of you shall find yourself drawn to that ancient place as well.”

  There was a glint in his eye as he said this, and even in those days I was aware enough of people’s expressions to know when they often said less with their lips than they felt in their hearts. Such was the expression on the professor’s face. It was a look of longing, as though having one of his students so drawn to that tower would be the greatest of honors in his career.

  But then the expression faded, and he returned to himself, continuing the lesson. “It did not take long for two truths to become evident: Firstly, the raw fruit of the hymaberry is poisonous to all without exception, even Synths. The last mage Abacus demonstrated the process by which the berries were to be juiced in order to make it safe for consumption. This was another safeguard constructed by the last mages, for it prevented any wily Eikos getting his hand on a bush and testing himself outside of the oversight of the Dominion’s hierarchy. It is a lengthy process to extract the juice, purify it, and m
ake it safe for drinking, and that process is safely guarded in the best minds of the Hymanni throughout Aaria.

  “The second truth was that the power of the mages was gone forever. The working of magic is complex, and we shall discuss it all in time, but it serves, I think, to describe it in brief here so you may know the difference. All magic, both that of the mages and that of the Synths and Hymanni, is based on the five ethereal elements of the world. All things on this earth are composed of at least one of those elements. Only humans, though, are made up of all five. The beasts, fowl, and fish are made up of four of the five. Can any of you name the elements?”

  I was uncertain whether this was one of his rhetorical questions, but as his face did not fall when Hero raised her hand, I suppose he was making a serious enquiry into the depths of our general knowledge. “Yes, Miss Landri, what are they?”

  “From the lowest to the highest,” she replied, “earth, water, air, fire, ether.”

  He nodded, the only indication of approval he ever gave, and said, “Ether is the chief of the five, and only humans possess it in their composition. Ether is often spoken of by Eikos as spirit, as that link between humans and their fabled God. Based on what I have thus far told you of the true history of our race, you can no doubt deduce that ether is nothing like God, for there is no God. Ether is simply a means.

  “Now, in the magic of the mages of old, one would connect his ether to any of the elements, and depending on the strength of the mage himself, he could manipulate those elements to a greater or lesser degree. Let us take, for example, the benches on which you sit. The mages of old could link their ether to the earthy element that is the primary composition of wood, and in so doing could make that bench rise off the floor even though he stood twenty yards away. This principle of mage magic extended to every object and living creature on this earth. The old mages could, for example, grab a hold of another man’s muscles, that part of him composed of earth, and stop all motion; or of his blood, the watery element, and boil it in his veins; or of his mind, composed of fire, and drive him mad or turn him into a puppet. As you can see, the old mages had tremendous power at their disposal.”

  Here, for the first time, I witnessed Feril Animis’ face grow almost wan with sorrow. “Alas, but that extensive power failed with the last mage, Abacus, for the berry is not able to pass on all this ability. The men able to handle their ether as though it were a third arm and hand were rare indeed. This ability the hyma has partly passed on to us, but something was lost in the transmission. The Synths and Hymanni cannot link their ether to anything outside of themselves. I could not, though my abilities are extensive, lift that bench beneath you, nor boil the blood in your veins. But my threat to Master Gervis here was true in that one strike of my fist would be enough to blast his young body to shreds. For in linking my own ether to the earth of my muscles, I can multiply the natural strength of my arms and legs many times.

  “It is the juice of the hymaberry that allows me to do this. Without the juice, I would be as useless and pathetic as any Eikos.” He sneered again. “But with the juice, I am Hymanni.

  “Now, as we begin to wrap up this little lesson, I will conclude with two items of import. Firstly, not all who can imbibe the hyma juice are blest with the same abilities. You know the terms Synth and Hymanni quite well by now, and they symbolize the distinction between abilities. The Synth gets his name from the simple fact that his body can synthesize the berry’s juice. All Hymanni, therefore, are Synths; but not all Synths are Hymanni. A Synth gains the ability to link his ether to only one of the four other elements that compose his flesh. Those we call warrior Synths can manipulate only earth or water, the baser elements that make up the physical composition of all things, making themselves physically stronger, quicker, or more enduring. The wise Synths can influence air or fire, which govern man’s ability to speak and to think. A wise Synth of air, for example, may be a great orator, though his brains will be filled with utter rot. A wise Synth of fire, however, will be able to solve the most complex of mathematical algorithms easily, but should he open his mouth you would think him by his speech to be as plain as any man.

  “By contrast with the Synths, the Hymanni possess the ability to link their ether to any of the four elements in our bodies, which makes us every way the Synths’ superiors. We wear white to symbolize the purity of our power. So small are the chances of being Hymanni that of a class this size, I doubt that more than three or four of you will be so fortunate.”

  Feril Animis left off speaking, and I felt greatly relieved at it, for his long speech had begun to make me dizzy. The respite proved to be a false dawn—or maybe, as I said, this is the symptom of memory and a day really did pass at this time, for I do not recall Gervis scratching at the black board as this lesson continued—for he spoke next of the formation of the Dominion.

  “It did not take long for the first Synths after the death of Abacus to realize their calling to the governance of the rest of humanity. Abacus and the mages lived during what is often called the Age of Kingdoms, for the continent of Aaria was divided into numerous realms governed by hierarchies of mages, who were kings. Perhaps because the invention of the hymaberry bush was here in Ilion, the first place in Aaria to reorganize under a Synth protectorate after Abacus’ death was our own city, which slowly spread its dominion outward to encompass all of Aaria. Each new city conquered was introduced to the hyma, and its synthesizers initiated into the ever-growing Aarian Dominion.

  “So far as anyone can tell, the office of Hymage has been there from the very beginning of the modern age, initiating with the first man to take charge of Ilion directly from the hands of Abacus. The Hymage, our great father, rules for life, and at his death one of the Consuls, who are the Hymanni that govern the various cities of Aaria, ascends to his place to continue the benevolent governance of all life.”

  At that point, Feril Animis really did stop speaking, and we quietly filed out of the classroom and into three more years of study at his feet.

  -III-

  The next three years passed slowly, with daily lectures continuing in much the same vein from Feril Animis. Of Aarian history, our knowledge became more fully developed. We learnt, for example, of the Eikos Rebellions of Dominion Years 478 and 722, both of which were quashed almost as soon as they had begun. It seemed to me, though I kept my mouth shut in all class discussions, that the fundamental problem with those rebellions, and others like them, was that the Eikos had no fire of their own with which to fight the fires of the Dominion. They did not even possess a water to attempt dousing the Dominion’s ever-burning flames. Theirs were hopeless and desperate attempts doomed from the beginning. I began to wonder early on what might happen should even one Synth—a Hymanni would probably be more necessary—have joined with the rebels.

  It was all moot and hypothetical, of course, for it had never happened and there was no reason to ever think it would.

  Our discussions on magic, specifically on the uses of the hyma, continued apace, though they remained entirely in the realm of theory. Synths, we were told very early on, were not considered able to control the power of their ether until at least their eighteenth years, which was the reason for the University’s habit of dividing nine years of study in the way it did.

  Why eighteen? I still have no real idea, and it seems an arbitrary number, though the Dominion never did anything without strong reason. It is linked, I believe, with the physical development of the young adult, and the mental maturity required to control one’s ether is not acquired until after years of guidance and training. As to why the Dominion did not begin this training earlier than the thirteenth year of a child’s life, I can only answer that the maturity is absent and—this is a darker thought still—by pulling a person from the Eikos slums after he has had something of a life there, the Dominion fosters in its recruits a sense of gratitude and a willingness to serve wholeheartedly.

  By the time we entered the summer of my eighteenth year, several of
our class had claimed to sense their ether lurking within as a sort of shadowy substance on the edge of their conscience. This was largely for show, as the hyma is required in order to awaken the slumbering ether, but many of my classmates were nonetheless impressed by such professions.

  Hero and I talked often, growing quite close over those years and becoming as inseparable as Cyn and I had been in my childhood. Indeed, I rarely thought about my brother or my family once our schooling got well and truly under way. There was simply too much else occupying my mind, and the constant brainwashing we received from Feril Animis was enough to ensure that the great love for my family was slowly transformed into a love for the Dominion and the Hymage.

  That was not entirely true, though, for the love of friendship I bore Hero trumped both of those other loves. I do believe there are kindred spirits in this world, two people who are so exactly like each other that they are like two halves of a sphere.

  But Hero and I were not like this at all.

  Rather, we were like two beasts of burden pulling together. Alone, we could bear so much, and could be admired for that. But together, we became more than the sum of our parts and inspired each other to bear ever greater loads than before. Synergy, I believe is the word for it. We did not exactly complete each other. We simply made each other better.

  * * *

  But enough of that for now. I have said that some claimed they could sense their wakening ether. I never could, though this is not true in the strictest sense. However, without revealing too much out of place, I shall simply say that while I did not feel my ether in the manner others claimed, I nevertheless perceived a change in that part of me which could only be called my spirit, my ether, though it was quite a different sensation than others in my class described when embellishing their tales of latent power. Mine, as you shall learn in time, was a true sensation.