ã€ŠParadise of Pretendersã€‹


 36 - Stratus

    A low-hanging cloud, typically close to the ground in the form of fog

    Skylark looked up at the sky. It was really, really close.[1]</a>

    ¡°We¡¯re in the fucking clouds!¡± yelled Luke, scrambling out of the portal from behind her, and before they knew it they were falling, straight through the white cloud right there at the portal exit and all was white and Skylark felt water in bits and sparkling pieces fly through her face and hair as she fell through the cloud¡ª

    ¡°Jaceus!¡± she screamed, and she caught a glimpse of his feet as she turned, she thought she saw him kneel and put his hands to the cloud but he was becoming a pinpoint high above and she continued to fall through the cloud like water but soon she began to slow down, and the cloud around her started feeling thicker, light, thin ribbons and beams of scarlet were shooting through it, and soon she found herself sinking into it, lying back as if it were an enormous floafa all around her.

    Her heart couldn¡¯t stop thudding; taking several deep breaths, Skylark looked around her, and thought she saw Luke resting similarly some meters away; but through the cloud mix he seemed only a shadow.

    ¡°That was really close,¡± Cerise¡¯s voice came from above as she descended through the cloud around them, her feet creating residues of the same pink and scarlet where she stepped.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Skylark answered. She looked at Cerise, who didn¡¯t look afraid at all. When they were somehow staying still inside a cloud, very, very high up in the air. She took several deep breaths. ¡°What did Jaceus do?¡± Somehow, instinctually, she felt that Cerise would know.

    ¡°Skylark,¡± Cerise said, laughing, ¡°Jaceus may be Emulus, arted, royal and all, but he isn¡¯t his sister. From what I¡¯ve heard.¡±

    ¡°His sister? You mean from¡ªwait, you mean from¡ª?¡±

    ¡°I did it, Skylark. I¡¯m bodiesified, remember?¡± Cerise said, but more quietly. Skylark nodded. She thought that Cerise could only change the colors of objects though, and what Cerise had done was not just add colors to the cloud, but also change the cloud itself somehow, the water inside it. They never learned this kind of thing in school as weather was controlled¡ªoh! She could just ask by receptor. She touched her receptor and accessed¡ªher normal thoughts. She thought¡ªthere was no Thought-feed. Wow. Well, in Sector II¡ªthey were in Sector II¡ªthey might not even have receptors.

    They were in Sector II. Ms. Darth would be shocked.

    She thought about asking right then and there, but she saw that Cerise was looking at her, smiling and putting a finger to her lips. She mouthed something, it looked like water¡ªno, it was later.

    Skylark nodded again, smiling. Cerise had been using her trait far more often than Skylark ever did, she just knew that instinctually, and meanwhile Luke was struggling to get over, picking his way through the cloud-mass like an ancient wanderer of myth, using his hands to gingerly scrub away at the pink puffs.

    ¡°Whatever you did there, Cerise, that was amazing,¡± he said, gesturing all around them; they were completely surrounded by the cloud. Skylark wondered just how tall it was, they had been falling for only a few seconds, but she was glad she never got a glimpse of the empty sky below them.

    Still. They were up in a cloud, far, far below was the land¡­

    ¡°Thank you, Luke,¡± Cerise replied. She seemed to be inspecting the cloud material, thrusting her hand through parts of it, removing her hand and examining her fingers. Skylark started to wonder if Cerise had been to Sector II before¡ªno, Cerise was just really cool.

    ¡°Are you guys okay?¡± came Agate¡¯s voice from above.

    ¡°Yeah! We¡¯re alive! We¡¯re sitting in the cloud!¡± Luke shouted back.

    ¡°Our receptors don¡¯t work,¡± Cerise said. ¡°Which is really interesting, because that means¡ª¡±

    ¡°¡ªwe don¡¯t have the Worldnet here,¡± Luke finished. ¡°But we learned in school that the Worldnet was the whole world¡­¡± He scratched his dirty blonde hair. ¡°That is interesting,¡± he said.

    ¡°Well, no not exactly, Sector II probably has the Worldnet. They just might use it differently,¡± Cerise said, putting her hands behind her head and leaning back on a part of the cloud that she had arranged into something like a floafa, complete with just air below it, and the cloud was slowly re-filling that space.

    ¡°Worldnet, but no receptors,¡± Skylark said.

    ¡°That¡¯s right, Skylark,¡± Cerise said.

    I felt satisfied at answering it correctly; wait, no, she wasn¡¯t in school. Skylark shook her head. She. Was. Sitting. In a cloud. She thought she would be more shocked about it but looking at all the bright red and pink lines running through the material around them, keeping it warm, seeing how comfortable Cerise was, she knew that everything was fine.

    Some small pieces of it were floating down from the ceiling; wow, she was already thinking of it as the ceiling, and a pair of feet showed, and with a wisp of cloud-stuff showering through, Jaceus arrived. He turned quickly and reached up to help someone else down; Mr. T, and lastly, Agate, who was clutching her arms.

    ¡°It¡¯s a little cold,¡± she said.

    Mr. T was shaking his head with delight.

    Jaceus looked around at all of them and nodded. ¡°It¡¯s good we all made it,¡± he said. ¡°Thank you, Cerise.¡±

    Cerise touched her hairpin, pink, and it shot red and back to pink and back a few times.

    ¡°Always fun to color,¡± she said.

    Always fun to color.

    ¡°Now, we are in a new place. Sector II denizens may live on the clouds. We may see some soon,¡± Jaceus said.

    Skylark thought, then remembered that Jaceus said people could fly in Sector II. *

    She tried to make herself comfortable on the cloud-part behind her; it was so strange to be moving it around with her hands.

    ¡°Well, maybe it¡¯s normal in Sector II to be sitting in clouds,¡± Luke proposed. ¡°Now I wish I¡¯d brought my visorface. The people here might look completely different.¡±

    ¡°Jaceus, you told us that they have something called leave, right?¡± Agate asked.

    Jaceus nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t know too much about it. But I believe it enables them to fly. They have portals that I believe are called skyports, atop of clouds. So they must have the technology to walk on them,¡± he said.

    ¡°Incredible,¡± Mr. T said. ¡°We should take a look around, shall we?¡± He thrust his arm through the cloud wall next to him; he felt around a bit, and stuck his head in.

    ¡°HELLLLOOOO?¡± he called. It was muffled, and Skylark laughed. The whole situation was just so miraculous.

    ¡°OK, OK, I¡¯ll go out to look,¡± Cerise said. ¡°Everyone else, stay here,¡± and she disengaged herself from her seat, and fell through!

    ¡°No!¡± Luke exclaimed, and jumped over; Skylark almost bumped into him, she looked down through the gap in the cloud, and saw that Cerise was running on another cloud below, lines of pink streaming by her feet; she sighed with relief and then wonder. Again, she marveled at how confident Cerise was in an entirely different place, and just using her trait to move around in it.

    Mr. T removed his head from the cloud wall. His hair was shot through with wet, making the black almost silver.

    ¡°Now that I haven¡¯t done before,¡± he exclaimed. He reshaped his hair into a large T¡ªSkylark realized that was what his hair had been supposed to look like. For his name, haha. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to tell my students all about it.¡±

    ¡°I feel like even if we returned to the portal, I mean, ¡®skyport,¡¯ we wouldn¡¯t be able to go back,¡± Agate said. ¡°Assuming that people who live in Sector II can¡¯t go to Sector I.¡±

    ¡°An interesting question, Agate, but if that were possible, they¡¯d be well concealed among us,¡± Mr. T answered. ¡°I say we wait for now until Cerise tells us what she finds.¡±

    Agate seemed satisfied with that and set to arranging some cloud-stuff up around her hair like a soft pillow, just as Cerise had done. Mr. T was a teacher, after all. Skylark forgot what he taught, but he¡¯d mentioned it when they¡¯d all gathered together under Jaceus and the Furies. Something about the stars? Or tech.

    So, the five of them continued to wait. Agate had nearly covered herself with the cloud-stuff and appeared to be trying to sleep. Skylark wondered if Agate would be able to have her usual coffee here. Mr. T went to talk with Luke about something; it sounded like he was asking about how Luke came to join the Furies, back when they were.

    Jaceus remained standing.

    It was maybe ten minutes later that he spoke.

    ¡°Something must have happened,¡± he noted. He was very calm.

    No, that can¡¯t be, Skylark thought, and peered back again through the opening Cerise had left through; every minute or so she had parted away at it with her hands, keeping the space open; but by now the pink and red lines had faded on the cloud-surface below, which was still and empty.

    She glanced at Agate; the older girl was fully asleep, her light yellow hair mixed with the cloud shaped around her head. Mr. T¡¯s cheerful smile was halfway to a frown now, and Luke was looking outright concerned.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go look,¡± he offered.

    ¡°No,¡± Jaceus said. ¡°We know practically nothing about this place. Let¡¯s wait ten more minutes.¡±

    No one disagreed, and they waited; Skylark found herself slowly thinking about the students back at Restor, worrying about their midyear tests and the third years now knowing where they were going next year. Their troubles seemed very far away; and the more Skylark thought about it, the more she realized that she was never going back.

    A flash of blue.

    Skylark threw her head through the opening, focusing on the cloud-surface. It had been quick but she¡¯d seen something.

    She knew without a doubt that blue had nothing to do with Cerise.

    ¡°Jaceus, I saw something,¡± she said, pointing down as she came back up, and he walked over. He¡¯d been standing there for almost twenty minutes.

    ¡°What did you see, Skylark?¡± he asked her.

    ¡°Uh, just something blue,¡± she said. ¡°It went by really fast, I couldn¡¯t see it.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. I think Cerise may have encountered their system of protection.¡± He moved over to touch the clouds surrounding Agate, causing them to dissipate into a thin fog, just like that; Agate opened her eyes, and almost slid off as she moved into a standing position, using the cloud to steady herself.

    ¡°We normally can¡¯t access other Sectors,¡± Jaceus said. ¡°But clearly we were able to, and they might have a protection system in place.¡± He seemed as if he was going to say something else on ¡°protection system,¡± but didn¡¯t. ¡°Cerise is quite capable but we really know nothing about the people here, let alone the Scions here.¡±

    Those words seemed to change the atmosphere; Mr. T¡¯s frown became an expression of concentration, Luke became serious, and Agate nodded.

    Skylark knew they were all thinking the same thing.

    ¡°Agents,¡± she said.

    ¡°Or that,¡± Jaceus said. Wait, he wasn¡¯t thinking of that?

    Jaceus looked at them; he then nodded, as if to himself. ¡°But Cerise is one of us. We should all go down after her, and see exactly what Sector II is made of.¡±

    ¡°So far, clouds,¡± Mr. T said, and Luke forced a laugh.

    Jaceus moved to sit over the opening, his legs hanging through.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go first. Don¡¯t worry¡ªI¡¯ll do something so that we can walk on the clouds like Cerise did.¡±

    He glanced at Skylark; she gave what she hoped was a smile, and Jaceus fell through.

    Eleanor Vyaedus Dorr

    Acceptances

    SECTOR UNIVERSITY

    TOPPING MAE RUBI

    U-ZONE DIFFERENCE

    RESTOR INSTITUTE

    UNIVERSITY LACONICA

    Conditional Offers

    None. An alter application.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Rejections

    RAIDER HIGH UNIVERSITY

    PEPPA PEPPA V

    Eleanor sighed with what was almost relief; no, she was sighing with expectation. She knew that she would get into Sector. Topping Mae was somewhat tempting but guaranteed a Governorship¡­ U-Zone was a joke apply but they took her¡­ and she wasn¡¯t interested in v-Art. Never.

    She looked around her and saw that others were similarly satisfied, some trying miserably to conceal their shock, or even yelling and hugging each other. It was always a tiresome day in Blazon.[2]</a> The chairs were going up and down. It was only after each year¡¯s university admissions that third years could change their ranked seat settings by themselves during class. Some were clearly taking advantage of that. Eleanor remembered starting at the front, upon entering the levgion. It had been very brief.

    Sector it was, then. She¡¯d tell Father and Mother and then see how the others did¡ªshe couldn¡¯t tell whether Anderi was tapping her fingers on her desk, still, in the pain of decision or an excited nervousness.

    Entering the Thought-feed for Father she found herself thinking of somebody else who used to occupy that top spot¡ªbut she just couldn¡¯t identify who it had been. Her thoughts didn¡¯t seem to want to linger on the subject.

    Father¡ªI¡¯ve made Sector. Tell Mother. In and out of the Thought-feed.

    She rose from her seat and¡ªshe almost fell, but she held fast to her desk. She¡¯d forgotten to lower herself. Sighing, she Thought to change the settings as more of the others around her began to react.

    Proen iHiela was standing on two seats; they had one foot on one, one foot on the other. ¡°I really don¡¯t know, I really don¡¯t know,¡± they chanted, moving from side to side, somehow staying aloft on the two desks. Eleanor almost¡ªshe struggled not to laugh. As another premier student of Blazon, Giya Igre Bis was likely announcing her achievement across the school Thought-feed, so unpermitted except by Heralds¡ªstudents who had the lead position in at least two separate organizations.

    She didn¡¯t check.

    Finally, she¡¯d reached the floor. Eleanor left her seat and walked over to Klost. He was staring in front of him, not at Jule or Anderi or even Layra, her own chair settling slowly to the floor over by the window; just at an empty wall in front of him, a wall of nothing; Eleanor TM¡¯d Jule.

    He really wanted to get Laconica, didn¡¯t he, she said.

    No immediate response; but then Jule Thought back, with the slightest twange of annoyance: He just really likes mindo. There¡¯s a school for that down in Might.

    Jule wasn¡¯t in this classroom, but Eleanor knew exactly what they meant. Oh, poor Klost¡­ she walked over to block his view of nothingness. There were a few students between her and the holoscreen at the front of the classroom that was beginning to display their year¡¯s admission numbers.

    ¡°Do you know where Jule is going?¡± she said; not talking down to Klost specifically, she was keeping her head turned towards the door; students were already leaving, giddy with their newfound futures.

    ¡°Ha huh, uh, yeah, they¡¯re staying here,¡± he said. Now he was drawing circles across his desk with his fingers, but making no etches into the alter plastic.

    ¡°School isn¡¯t over, really,¡± Eleanor responded.

    ¡°I just want to see the play,¡± Klost replied. ¡°No, Eleanor, Jule¡¯s actually also going to Laconica. Now they have to choose between me¡ªbetween there and Peppa Peppa.¡±

    ¡°v-Art? No.¡± Jule was not becoming a v-Artist. Jule wanted to study food and¡ªno, that was what Klost wanted. Did she even know what they wanted to go to university for? None of them were Giya, but Proen was now singing some High song about living up there with Netbanker-pre, of course they¡¯d get that, and Anderi was also following along. Wow¡ªshe was actually cuing in, making Proen¡¯s ditty a song with her receptor, and Eleanor made a brief Thoughtnote to take it off their study playlist.

    No, she wouldn¡¯t be studying with them next year. She saw instinctively that in her group, only she had made Sector.

    ¡°You can always see them again later,¡± she said.

    Klost gave a weird upwards curve with his mouth. Smiling, or not smiling.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know about that,¡± he said. ¡°Jule¡¯s definitely going to v-Art.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Klost,¡± Eleanor said simply. She thought about doing a holoscreen right there, showing some of Mindolet, to distract them. But Klost wasn¡¯t even in it and Blazon hadn¡¯t put on Mindolet ever since.

    Ever since¡ª

    ¡ªsomething¡ªan idea¡ªno, an image¡ªa picture, of somebody at the front gates. Clinging to them. Or just touching¡ªno, no that wasn¡¯t it. Eleanor shook her head.

    She liked her hair short, as it always had been.

    ¡°Klost, where did you actually get?¡± she asked, seating herself at the nearest chair. It was so low; she¡¯d never sat that low before. Raider High University, she thought, as a joke. To herself¡ªshe wasn¡¯t that sarcastic. Not even to him.

    He gave a withering, almost tragic, sigh.

    ¡°Restor Institute,¡± he said. He turned his eyes to hers. ¡°My only acceptance.¡± It seemed as if he was trying to hold back laughter or a resigned bout of weeping.

    Eleanor laughed out loud. ¡°Klost, Restor INSTITUTE that is an alter application!¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he said. No, he Thought to her. No, in their study feed.

    They have hologram replicas of the Restor siblings, came a Thought, Layra¡¯s.

    I haven¡¯t talked to her yet, Eleanor thought. Are you going? she asked. She looked back over there¡ªLayra was talking and laughing with the surrounding students, her light black hair writhing.

    Yes, came the reply. That was my dream placement. I am alter now.

    Wow, ok Layra, she Thought back.

    They also have¡ªwait, our orientation is starting soon. Later. Layra vanished. Eleanor looked again, and Layra was seated, her face bent towards the window; Restor Institute already beginning to inculcate its future Restor alter imitators.

    Klost would be late, she thought.

    Eleanor got up from her chair and placed a palm on Klost¡¯s desk in front of his sunken eyes. ¡°Sector¡¯s orientation is likely beginning as well,¡± she said, raising her voice just a bit¡ªit was Sector, after all. Arguably the best university in the Sector. She knew this because every Alteryear the schools conducted a meeting led by their First Teachers and decided the full and complete and objective ranking. Every year since its founding Sector University was pure, unadulterated, cynosure number one.

    ¡°Go ahead, Eleanor,¡± Klost said, putting his head down between his arms. ¡°I¡¯m not going to mine,¡± he said, voice muffled.

    Klost always wore those really thick sweaters, the Penguin model. It didn¡¯t matter what the weather was¡ªthe thin material always adjusted per its wearer¡¯s thoughts.

    But Klost will have difficulty adjusting, Eleanor thought to herself.

    As she left the classroom, continuing to observe how the other third years celebrated a decision made not truly by themselves but by the Plent system (modeled after High, as usual), she received a Thought.

    Incoming Invite: Sender, Sector University.

    I Accept, she thought.

    Jaceus spread his arms, thought of the substance within him¡ªmatched to the material outside¡ªand¡ªthere it was. All of Sector I lacked that condition of the world he was so used to in the air, the water, the land, the fire¡ªexcept in the portals¡ªbut here, in the second Sector, here it was.

    As he plunged into the cloud he reached out and took hold of it. It swum through his eye-canals and flickered like fire throughout his tendons. Thinking of home and the Myodor prisms, he sank into the silvery depths, lines running through it, clapped his hands, and with a shout of light green became his ground.

    He¡¯d almost fallen through. His right arm shook out through the mass of green-white; he pulled it back in, and with more effort than he anticipated brought himself up back to the surface of the cloud, which now looked like a great reflection of grass from the cloud above. He looked¡ªSkylark and Luke were peering down. He waved to them. ¡°It¡¯s safe to go on,¡± he said.

    Out of the corner of his eyes he caught a flash of blue.

    ¡°I¡¯m jumping,¡± he heard Skylark say softly, but he focused his attention on the surroundings.

    With a soft puh he felt Skylark land beside him; she laughed but he didn¡¯t see anything on the vast cloud that stretched out from his feet. He saw some gaps in the sky, but almost entirely the full area on all ends, as he turned in a full circle, was cloud, whose surface continued to increase in green.

    He didn¡¯t think Scions knew about material and substance but, based on what she¡¯d said, he felt that Cerise had not said everything on her trait, and could change more than just the colors of things she could touch. What he¡¯d done was simply transform the material within the cloud into what he understood as grass. And so it changed color; which it still was.

    Puh. ¡°Jaceus, you saw something?¡± Luke asked, now on the cloud with them. Jaceus for a second thought their combined weight would push through, but the cloud held.

    ¡°Something blue,¡± he said. ¡°As Skylark saw.¡±

    By now Agate and Sterne had joined them. Still the cloud held.

    ¡°Wow,¡± the teacher uttered. ¡°I don¡¯t see¡ª¡±

    Jaceus attempted to summon his magpotis¡ªbut faster than his failure¡ªa shoot of blue struck Sterne in the chest, and he collapsed onto the cloud surface. Jaceus whipped around¡ªand now, standing at the far end but just barely visible, was a figure. Blue and green¡ªholding something¡ªor something was just next to it.

    Even at that distance, he could tell that the person¡¯s eyes were one blue, the other green.

    He saw Agate almost instinctively attend to Sterne; Luke joined Jaceus, standing closest to the faraway figure. ¡°That¡¯s what you mean,¡± he said. Jaceus nodded; although, of course, he didn¡¯t know. ¡°Shit,¡± Luke muttered, pulling his hands through his shaky blonde hair.

    ¡°Oh alter he¡¯s still alive,¡± Skylark was saying, ¡°that wasn¡¯t magic.¡±

    She was right. It wasn¡¯t magic but something told Jaceus that he had to be careful. Perhaps not a Porter or an Agent but something else.

    The figure came closer.

    Like her eyes, she seemed to be wearing a thick, deep jacket that went down over her knees, with the bottom portion of it separated into turquoise tufts or strands; above the separation, exactly one side of the jacket was a solid green and the other was a solid blue.

    Her hair jutted out in one solid direction over her head like a flag. It was just blue.

    ¡°You¡¯re disturbing the clens,¡± she said. ¡°Contrail, I don¡¯t want you here.¡± The thing that Jaceus had seen beside her was gone. The girl¡¯s eyes shot over their group; the eyes moved separately.

    Instinctively Jaceus made the gesture of the N?tr. Maybe the girl would know about his people, like Qumulo did.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means, but I also don¡¯t know who any of you are,¡± the girl said instead. ¡°Let¡¯s start by giving names. My name by droplet is Cloud Ciruela de Velvet. But my sky name is Ultramarine.[3]</a>¡±

    ¡°Okay, Ultramarine,¡± Jaceus answered. Without a doubt, they had already trespassed, disturbing the ¡°clens,¡± and Sterne was merely unconscious.

    ¡°My name is Jaceus,¡± he said. ¡°These are all my companions.¡±

    ¡°Agate Lide,¡± he said, passing his arm across them; ¡°Sterne, Skylark li Agle, and Luke.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a good cover. You all came by skyport. I heard Sector I doesn¡¯t let you fly.¡±

    Jaceus slowly nodded. So Sector II knew.

    ¡°I can¡¯t fly either,¡± Ultramarine said. ¡°But you¡¯re disturbing the clens, and you¡¯re on my eva.¡±

    ¡°Eva?¡± Agate asked; Sterne had awoken, helped up by her.

    ¡°Contrail, yes, you don¡¯t know the lyrics. I run it with Calamus.¡±

    Jaceus was taken back to the first months on Earth, or rather in Sector I; studying their language called Neo English, with all of its technological modifiers. He kept these new words in mind. By droplet, sky name. Eva, contrail. Clouds; ¡°Is Eva abbreviated from ¡®evaporate¡¯?¡± he asked.

    ¡°You¡¯re flurried,¡± Ultramarine replied. ¡°Yes. I made sure to put my eva close to this waterstrip, our Porter likes this one. She has one of the greatest binds in the Sector¡ªhere, I¡¯ll show you mine.¡±

    She knelt. She put her fingers into the cloud; and with a poosh of water, a slim staff emerged, rising vertically; but it wasn¡¯t quite a staff as it had tapered, blue-feathered wings across the hilt Ultramarine took, three pairs of wings, increasing in size; the wings gently quavered.

    ¡°I had to test him,¡± she said. ¡°Sorry. I was aiming for you, Jaceus.¡±

    Sterne came forward; he was peering closer at the winged weapon. ¡°I give tests to people your age,¡± he said, his voice firm. Maybe he hadn¡¯t actually been harmed.

    ¡°Not you. My bind.¡± Ultramarine tossed the ¡°bind¡± up; it hovered, all six of its wings waving.

    It sang a single, clear note.

    ¡°Yes, they¡¯re not dangerous,¡± its holder said to it; or hummed. Ultramarine was humming softly; in sync with the bind.

    ¡°On every eva we grow many binds,¡± she said.

    ¡°Wow,¡± Jaceus said in reply. The others were in like shock or fear. For the people here grew their weapons.

    ¡°Oh, there¡¯s Calamus,¡± Ultramarine said.

    The bind returned to the cloud; and suddenly, the one named Calamus was there with them, coming over¡ªhe had tousled brown hair, a steep nose, and was tall. Taller even than Jaceus, although not by much. Unlike his companion he was wearing very simple clothing¡ªhis only marked design a clear, silver circle drawn across his shirt.

    Jaceus realized that the people here had a clarity to their features; a sense of vivacity and lightness that looked different in its own way. Like the water visible through the glass of a cup.

    ¡°You must be the alter people,¡± Calamus said, his voice a slurred, nonchalant chant; he stood, his arms hanging at his sides in a manner that was a heavy mix of indolence and confidence. ¡°I was born by droplet Topos Gallant Plume. My sky name¡ªis Calamus Onekind.[4]</a> I forgot where my bind is. She¡¯s somewhere down below.¡±

    ¡°Which means it¡¯s dead,¡± Ultramarine said.

    ¡°No,¡± came the reply. ¡°Alter people. Porter Qumulo told us you¡¯d be coming¡ªtold me you¡¯d be coming. You see, Qumulo talks more to me than to Ciruela over here,¡± he said, laughing. ¡°Before anyone jumps off let me just tell you, it is true that you alter people normally can¡¯t come up here but Qumulo told us. She said you¡¯d be coming.¡±

    ¡°You said that twice,¡± Skylark said. ¡°Did you guys see somebody named Cerise Rain? She might have pink hair.¡±

    Calamus glanced at Ultramarine; she nodded, and her green eye glinted.

    ¡°You all are together, then,¡± Calamus said.

    Jaceus nodded.

    ¡°That¡¯s wet,¡± Calamus exclaimed. He clapped his hands on his knees. Straightening back up, he grinned broadly and his eyes seemed to flutter. ¡°She was really interesting. So that¡¯s how you all aren¡¯t falling. Wet and heavy. You must be Descended.¡±

    When nobody said a response, Calamus kept smiling. ¡°You must call it something else. You know, when somebody has a skein, and they can do things because of the special kind they were Descended from?¡±

    Different words for Scion and trait. ¡°The Agents of our Sector call us Descendants,¡± Jaceus said.

    ¡°Oh, we don¡¯t have those, Agents, I mean,¡± Calamus replied. ¡°We just have Qumulo.¡±

    Skylark¡¯s eyes widened.

    It was astounding news¡­ Jaceus remembered even more strongly the fact that Qumulo had not unsheathed her bind. The Porter Perry had not been too troublesome, but perhaps they had their own hierarchy. There always was¡­

    ¡°It¡¯s refrain. So, you must be Descendants, come to journey.¡±

    Ultramarine began humming again.

    Jaceus immediately kept in mind that Qumulo must not have informed the two that he was Emulus in full. He also recognized what had to be done next.

    He ran his eyes across his followers, making sure they met his eye. ¡°Yes. All the Porters know of us and our purpose¡ªcan you take us to our sixth member?

    ¡°We are the Powers. We here¡ª¡± Jaceus imbued his self with a touch of dayform¡ªjust a touch, not the full affect¡ªand he knew that he shone to them.

    He shone. ¡°We represent the power of the sky. We represent the endless energy. We represent the stars. We represent the naming of weapons. We represent the different colors. We represent the forming of shapes.¡±

    ¡°You are proud,¡± Calamus said instead. ¡°But it sounds to me like you know your song.¡± He grinned and stretched his arms into the sky. ¡°Here. We¡¯ll take you to our house.¡±

    Jaceus nodded and beckoned for the others to walk after him. They stepped forward on the cloud; it continued to hold, swimming through with green flickers.

    [1]</a> Skylark¡¯s theme: keudae¡¯s piano cover of Porter Robinson¡¯s ¡°Look at the Sky,¡± released on YouTube on January 30, 2021.

    [2]</a> Eleanor¡¯s theme for POP: ¡°Give Me The Light¡± by uju, released on her 2017 Sunday Seoul Ep.1

    [3]</a> THEME OF ULTRAMARINE: the Seven Lions Remix of Velvetine¡¯s ¡°The Great Divide,¡± released as a single in 2012

    [4]</a> THEME OF CALAMUS: Patricia Taxxon¡¯s Traveller released 2018; NewJeans¡¯ Side B to ¡°Ditto¡± released December 19, 2022; Navarone Boo¡¯s February 25, 2021 ¡°Late Night Anime Piano Livestream¡±; ¡°HYPNOTIK¡± by Ken Arai, from the soundtrack to Kiseijuu: Sei no Kakuritsu

 37 - Cumulus

    A low-level cloud found by itself or part of a larger formation

    Savior created phoenixes in their own image, and in the image of a phoenix they created them. They created the fire that burned them. They made of the sky their palette, and fire streaked through it.

    Savior went on through the clouds of the second Sector with a smile on their face. Without knowing, their face kept changing; at once that of a burner, or second a wandering boy, third the face of Hector who was smiling. The spirit that remained within this vessel, the blue of Hector, remained unknowing but happy, as they flew together over the strata.

    The cloud strata themselves remained indifferent. The clens that swam through them, keeping them buoyant for human stride, screamed in their own way as the foot of fire walked over them.

    The clens kept screaming.

    Savior refused and rejected the Harmonizers and Toners and Mordants. They sent their named weapons against Savior and Savior sent them down to the charred earth. The sky became rent by illusory flame as the evas above were shocked with races of red and orange and a searing identity. The sky was hot.

    At some time, the Paradisiac named K Jeong came through a rent in the sky. K Jeong came through that opening, tiny horn-wings erupted from the head like antlers or sea anemone, dancing through the emptiness of cloud, creating colors in the contrail that gave the clens caesura in their screaming. They stopped to stare and their screams became sibilant, soothing awes and O¡¯s and for the three Mordants that survived this fiery display, it was not the fire they remembered, it was not the cupidinous cherub that dripped delight through the sky, it was the heavenly chorus of the clens within the warm watershed dens of the evas. They nearly purred.

    K Jeong drifted down.

    ¡°I know you¡¯ll use your power to take back anything,¡± K Jeong said. ¡°You can fly. Very few even of H¡®trae can do that. But rue the day you go back too far.¡±

    Savior listened and made one last image; they watched the last Harmonizer, its note following it as a separate trail of orange; the two trails eventually joined into a final tear burning down through the clouds.

    They paused on the cloud-surface, their taloned feet creating tiny crisps of miasmas on the eva, keeping them afloat. They turned to the Paradisiac named K Jeong.

    ¡°These are the guardians of this Sector,¡± K Jeong said. ¡°Those who choose a tone, grow a weapon from a single clen, and choose a key. None of them are Scions, or Descended as they call them here.¡±

    ¡°All of them are orange,¡± Savior said in response. ¡°We made shapes.¡±

    K Jeong¡¯s pink-turpentine curls shook in laughter. ¡°Emphasizing the word doesn¡¯t make it endowed. Everything is a shape, but not everything¡ª¡± and here the Paradisiac put a hand forward, and it glowed¡ª¡°is a shape,¡± shay said, hseir true pronouns briefly piercing the existence, and K Jeong relaxed the right hand, which had been very near to creating a world. But of course ¡®world¡¯ not in the way you might understand; but ¡®world¡¯ as a demeanor of understanding.

    Savior flapped.

    Savior flapped, returning to the present; they squawked in surprise.

    ¡°You can stop me,¡± they uttered.

    ¡°I may praise Meraki and Sappho per diem. But I have been practicing the colors beyond the eighth rainbow. Remember, Savior. Remember the past, which is your future. ¡®Memory forgotten, even for a moment, is still a color of time.¡¯

    ¡°He is still here!¡±

    K Jeong laughed, trying to reference the last panel in One Piece; Savior sadly did not get the joke.

    ¡°You can continue creating your own image, Savior. But it is not yours. Merely drafts. The sky is your atelier. Shapes. Colors. <u>Feelings</u>. Gather this all together, and Art. But it¡¯s so hard! And you can grow!¡±

    Savior nodded.

    ¡°When can we stop listening?¡± they asked instead.

    ¡°I know, it¡¯s all been diegetic,¡± K Jeong replied. ¡°Just don¡¯t kill too many. In fact, the porter Qumulo might arrive anytime soon. You should not meet her in your current state; I think you would die. Her bind will eat anything.¡±

    Savior tried to think of their future; of creating power systems with K Jeong in Sector II. Of understanding further the shape of this world.

    But they could not. They could only go back to the past.

    ¡°We have to leave,¡± they said instead.

    ¡°Where will you three go?¡± K Jeong inquired.

    The first, Rev¨¦, said:

    Hector smiled blue.

    Reify screamed.

    Speed 5 Mobility 4 Range 3 Weight 2 Gyro 1. This should work. I launch the APB up and about. Siara comes from two launchpads away, matching my sets to her 5-dot. She flips and rolls the APB up and about herself, floating it through the air as she keeps the ball within her circ.

    All while not making physical contact. These professional players have a wonderful way with the ball. Fazzid¡¯s insistence on saying ¡°alter plastic ball¡± every time, physically or TM. My small holoscreen shows the pass number at 1. I swerve by the launchpads and spring my own. Go around the round corner to meet 2 of the oncoming players, trying to block me from receiving Siara¡¯s next pass which curls up and over their heads and caught by Gulla.

    High above us all is Bodi Ayer, standing as he usually does on a launchpad inverted on its side. Watching the game below. He does it every game or at least the ones he plays. I do not think he knows how disturbed I am by it.

    ¡°I¡¯m preparing us for Governor¡¯s Arena,¡± he always says.

    ¡°I¡¯m on Dayten,¡± I announce to Gulla as she nods and feints, twice, her mid-length brown hair nearly brushing the players¡¯ on her, before summoning, jumping off a launchpad, tipping the ball up with the side of her racket, and practically in the same turn dashing it back to me. ¡°Not yet,¡± she responds with that knowing smile. She¡¯s only slightly annoying, but still very much more experienced at this than I.

    And she¡¯s nowhere near their best player.

    I try doing what Gulla just did but Dayten takes it, using the handle of his racket, spinning off his palm to then bounce it off into the sky. Alter, he¡¯s good for someone in Preuni! He snickers as he uses his free hand to point down, I look but there¡¯s nothing there, we¡¯re falling to the ground, time is slowing down, I glance back up but the ball is gone.

    There¡ªand it is spirited away by a full trio of tryout players, moving the small flash of white among them, either they are vying for the highest passes or pure domination of the APB. One of them, I forget their name but they had been at the coffee with their teammates a month¡ªno, two¡ªago, swerves and swivels, their feet a hazy cacophony of flashing ankle and shoe, and Gulla besides me shakes her head.

    ¡°Lacon. They¡¯re pretty good,¡± she says in clear admiration. She hadn¡¯t shown it that day I stormed their practice by launchpad; she still isn¡¯t showing it now. Two months and I¡¯m still just as unpracticed as I was the day I threw my set into a Lowers river and watched it swim with the piranhas. Gulla slaps me on the back with her racket and heads off towards Lacon; true, I¡¯d been at the Beacon¡¯s every practice since that day, but it¡¯s been over thirty days. Dayten¡¯s spintop, that only moderately troubling High hairstyle consisting of only the surfaces of various High delicacies, formed in their shapes, on the top of the head. I see it now. I¡¯m rushing forward, feeling an energy in my legs keening forth, as I mount launchpad to launchpad and move across. Dayten sees me, and right before I summon a launchpad to block him¡ª

    He tosses his racket.

    My eyes urge to follow but I won¡¯t fall for it. Dayten spins smoothly off to his right to avoid the circle of gold tossed in front of him. He spins again to avoid¡ªnothing but I¡¯d been considering another¡ªand falling into his grip is the racket, and suddenly the ball hurtles out of the sky again and he nets it. The lightspin.

    Dayten laughs. ¡°Yeah, that was easy,¡± he says as he nearly, automatically, immediately, casts the ball away. My racket sheens through the space that arc had just left.

    I chance a glance. Dayten¡¯s right index and middle fingers. They¡¯re trembling.

    Thought¡ªpassing¡ªDayten 45 / Melea 14. Low. This is¡ª

    Go faster. Bodi Ayer. Team Thought-feed but addressed to all. Addressed to the tyros. Addressed only to d¡¯Voris.

    Born Melea. Changed to Malae. Slightly older sister went to Sector and then almost immediately went straight to rank five in the First Bureau. Climbed steadily to rank three. With Agent Harriet¡¯s promotion to rank two. At the same time the slightly younger d¡¯Voris said goodbye to their parents and after meeting Valha¡¯ya Glorae joined the Furies. After three days of challenging Nodari and three nights with Valha¡¯ya could not partner either of them. Two years later she rejected partnership with Lucas Kotaro, and in his immense dismay he so shortly left. Five years after that the Furies pulled apart by Jaceus.

    I¡¯m accelerating now.

    The players before me are jumping back and forth. They¡¯re springing off the launchpads like the ancient springbok or, with wings on their nonexistent helmets they¡¯d be Valkyrie. Rackets flash in the midnight sun. Our heavy auditorium above us imposes. Heavy ramparts and seating surrounds. A beat begins to ring in the team-feed. No, it was always beating. A heart made of metal. Full metal. I¡¯m feeling it in my legs.

    I jump forward.

    ¡°FASTER, TYROS!¡± comes Siara¡¯s shout, and we jerk forward. Dayten. Lacon. Melea. Sinder. Tori¡¯e. Via. Bodi¡¯s clear, mellow laugh rings above. A shutter of golden rings coalesces in the distance. Three: I find myself ignoring the runs to the Beacon players and approaching the Golden Seats trinity. They¡¯re high and clear as the sun, overbright, over-illuminating the emptiness of space whence they came.

    Via comes to a stop, using three successive launchpads to whittle down to land on the steel grass. Bouncing lightly off their blades she stares firmly. She¡¯s the only one with me; the others are vying their rackets. Trying to get on the team. But, apparently my relative is a Governor and that¡¯s the only reason I¡¯m still here. It wasn¡¯t the legs at all or the additional training that I¡¯d taken individually with each of the Beacon players. That¡¯s only because if I don¡¯t join I¡¯d have to seek my sister out.

    A former Fury joining the Agents¡­ Laudable.

    The first Golden Seat, some below the two others, emits golden shoes¡ªthey appear upwards as holograms. They¡¯re tipped in silver and a filament of jade. It¡¯s hair; and soon the rest forms upwards the Governor, her hair reaching down to her left shoe in green in one streamlined braid; her eyes likewise are encircled in a green-black and she looks at me with what seems to be a passing interest. It¡¯s a hologram suit, although the clothes remind me of what they wear in Lowers and call high-waist jeans; I can feel those eyes.

    The other two have envisioned into presence. Second Governor is a tree. I didn¡¯t ask if it was. But it is.

    Governor three smiles, and let¡¯s leave it at that. Wait, who am I talking to?

    I yank off my receptor and look at Via; she¡¯s trying to break her racket, slapping it again and again on the hard blades of steel grass.

    I pull her shoulder to stop her; she does, and a color seems to return to her eyes when they meet mine.

    Plick. A thud and slight pain; I instinctively grab what just hit me, turn, see Bodi, some twenty meters off, balancing his racket on his palm. It is turning. He waves with his other and beckons for us to come over; as soon as I halve the distance, I launch the ball back at him, and he dodges easily.

    I glance back; the three Governors are rising, and only their launchpad bottoms are visible as they crest the space that defines the arena. They¡¯re very near the top.

    ¡°Bodi Ayer, what was that,¡± I ask.

    Whatever it is he¡¯s doing with the racket and the ball, I¡¯m ignoring it. He doesn¡¯t impress me anymore.

    ¡°You can¡¯t go near them,¡± he says. He¡¯s looking at Via. Via is shaking her head, trying to look up at the lights, squinting and shading her eyes with her hand. ¡°That¡¯s why they have to come by launchpad. Golden Rules 2 and 4.¡±

    The first time that a Governor comes to a Beacons practice and the first time that anyone is saying anything to this. I shake my head. This is different.

    ¡°They have hologram suits. They¡¯re wearing them right now,¡± I say.

    ¡°It¡¯s different when you go to them,¡± he says. ¡°When it¡¯s not sanctioned. I keep saying this. They don¡¯t teach the Golden Rules right in preuni, not even here in High.¡±

    Having not gone to university I cannot disagree with him.

    ¡°I see,¡± I respond. ¡°Vie, are you ok?¡± I ask her.

    She nods. ¡°I only saw the girl. Long green hair. You?¡±

    ¡°Her and the tree. I didn¡¯t ask if it was a tree. But it was.¡±

    ¡°Is it?¡±

    ¡°I think so.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    The three of us stand there for a few seconds.

    ¡°Hologram suits, right.¡± Vie laughs shakily. I laugh alongside. But I really did see a tree, even though I¡¯d never asked. It was a tree and there wasn¡¯t anything offbeat. No face drawn or even cyber branches. Just a tree. But it had been devouring me, my appearance, the individual auburn flakes that used to be my hair.

    I touch it. It¡¯s still there. Nearly black.

    Passing¡ªrank. Melea 5 with 14. Oh, the lob at Bodi hadn¡¯t counted; of course, as he hadn¡¯t caught it. I shake my head. I leave my thoughts and leave the two other raider players behind on the hard field of jade. I conjure up a storm of heavy APBs and send them flying at the other players. Because it is Governor¡¯s Arena and by Golden Line, I can bring new alter plastic balls into an ongoing game. I summon a group, a meandering ocean¡¯s surface, of circle launchpads. I step onto them as I go. As I pass underneath Bodi¡¯s launchpad from the sky I glance up and see it empty. The shriveling parcels of light fan out from my footsteps. My feet ring with a newfound knowledge, impenetrable but not equally untrue. Because I had just seen my oldest sister, Majine La¡¯go Vora?son, and I can feel the golden ichor running in my knees. I am a Governor by gene.

    I awoke to the sound of birds. They were singing outside my window. It was a pleasant, noninvasive tone with its own lilts and changes, even though I had heard it every morning I awoke in the Agency. Something told me I¡¯d awoken in a different place, many times before; and the memory of Vander, having reviewed it, could only come to the one conclusion that, assuming his words had been correct, had founded the Agency, and known Van since its beginning. These implications were not some I chose to illuminate to my fellow Agents, especially after our debacle with C. P., mistakenly accused, they were not Scion. N¡¯ziet refused to believe the connection and while it was true that a non-Scion could still infiltrate the Agency with antagonistic purposes, the possibility was slight, and so Vander and the rest of us agreed to leave C. P. in the ranks, on the condition that they would not continue to challenge higher-ranked Agents. I knew that N¡¯ziet had been eager to face them, already disappointed with his mistaken assumptions of C. P.¡¯s philosophical inclinations, but Felton has been happy training Bola, and so the Philosopher was now adhered to a new trainee, or subordinate, however one saw it.

    And so we had not found the person(s) behind the death of Dube Dube, but Lind and even Istria had been adamant, and further inquiry would only bereave us of efforts spent towards our shared cause. There was still of course the final illumination, one I was still pondering each morning I arose, the new memory, of being in the purification chamber myself, and presumably the purified Gene in the chamber besides me, of my being Scion.

    I moved my feet up and down onto the floor. Today was the seventh day since the inception of these thoughts and still I repeated them as often as I heard the birds. I knew that as I stood and walked over to the window, this routine too was the same. I opened the window with my hands and attempted to replicate the avian call, but to no avail, and the singing stopped, and I closed the window.

    I now put on my receptor, from the desk beside my bed. I was still not accustomed to wearing one, and communicating with it, and as I wore it a slew of words threw me into a wordless daze, some from N¡¯ziet bemoaning his position, nearly begging me to talk to the Director to allow C. P. to challenge him, for he could not challenge a lower-ranked Agent, words from Felton in the manner of bark, words from C. P. wishing me a good morning. That was a greeting we still used. I took my time responding to them all.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Dressing into the uniform, bearing my epithet in the Agency¡¯s font, as it has in the past seven days, taken significantly less time. While I had not decided to begin using body-maintenance prescriptions like the rest, I now permitted airnanos to betide my hair, whose red locks made fair combat with their miniature buzzing as they amplified, repaired, and ultimately coerced it into shape.

    I now looked at myself in the long mirror that stood where Rocket¡¯s bed had been. I used to refer to him by ¡®Hector¡¯ to the others, but, Sara in particular had decided to neglect conversation towards that prancing memory, and this new name had appeared in mine along with the others after the name of orange rippled into its fabric.

    I appeared suitable for the day¡¯s work. I once recited poems sua sponte.

    Opening my door and heading into the hallway, I found several Agents walking through. William was just emerging from her chambers, her own airnanos competing as she simultaneously inspected receptors through her V-locker floating beside her, putting one back in, taking one back out. Agent Xeric sidled along the far wall, where the hallway adjoined the east exit to the grounds, his snow-white hair sparkling in the lay of sunlight. Tay was knocking on the doors of the lower-ranked Agents, passing them by tumultuous after tumultuous knock. All three First Agents were awake.

    Tay and I reached each other. ¡°Good morning, Sir Ni¡¯rial,¡± he said, pausing outside a door, its occupant opening it and greeting their superior. ¡°You know, I can¡¯t stop calling you that. You should¡¯ve told us, that you had a second name all along.¡±

    ¡°Agent Mance is yours,¡± I said.

    ¡°Right! My family is all Governors, but I chose this path. By the way¡ªcould you ask Mik¡¯vael if I could borrow her aegis again? I¡¯ve already asked Artok and Danara. That leaves Mik¡¯vael for longest weapon.¡±

    ¡°Of course, First Agent. I will ask her after she returns from the field.¡±

    Tay had finished the doors, and a few half-awake Agents puddled together in the hallway, some in their nightly attire and some in flynder. However, none showed discontentment to the First and Third Agents of their respective Bureaus. ¡°Thank you, I know I didn¡¯t use it that well at Alteryear, but I¡¯m sure I can learn,¡± he said. He slapped my forearm to indicate his departure.

    But I motioned for him to stop.

    ¡°Wait, First Agent. I can ask the Second Agent now.¡± I entered the Thought-feed inside the receptor and found Second Agent, Mik¡¯vael Vora?son. I sent her briefly Agent Tay requests use of your aegis and opened my eyes to find Tay smiling. The pillars of his mouth shone. ¡°Took you long enough, Raegoth,¡± he said. ¡°You know we¡¯ve been using those since the 2100s.¡± His own receptor, pale white, hung over his right ear. I supposed he always had it. But only now, or rather only in the past seven days, I noticed. ¡°But you¡¯ve been here far less than that.¡±

    I decided not to enlighten the First Agent on where that statement fell. ¡°Shall we go to eat.¡±

    ¡°Of course, I¡¯m busy. So after finishing up our orientation of the new unranked members¡ª¡±

    Tay paused mid-step and did a complete swivel to face me.

    ¡°Raegoth, did you just offer to eat? On your own?¡±

    ¡°I believe I did. I have to eat, and you have not?¡± I returned.

    Tay stared at me. Then he smiled again. Then he laughed, a clear rumble that sounded of lightning, the kind that the clouds used to conceal within their overhanging frames.

    The First Agent threw back his head and gave a whoop. ¡°Years! Everyone! Raegoth is eating with us!¡± He returned to the doors, and swiftly executed a dance-rhythm hitting the doors along the hallway running past them. This time, the Agents who emerged were in uniform; and I recognized Agents Istria, Kay, and Artok, with Lind following behind them, transporting Artok¡¯s Weapon between his legs. ¡°It¡¯s too early, Tay,¡± he was saying.

    But not too early for philosophy, I thought. Surely the TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME would join us, their new epithet, composed of N¡¯ziet, Felton, and Bola. However, that Agency¡¯s name only united when all three wore each a third of the same uniform. Or Sara, who still hadn¡¯t joined me on assignment, saying she still was unprepared. She likely danced in the pouring Glass at this moment. I greeted the Second, Fourth, Tenth, and Seventh Agents of the Second Bureau, shaking each of their hands with rigor. Artok¡¯s were still glistening with sweat.

    ¡°Let¡¯s gooo,¡± Istria said; she paused and put a finger on her lips. ¡°Wait. Let me get my V-locker,¡± she said. ¡°I left it inside.¡±

    ¡°And I thought Raegoth was the only obtuse one,¡± Lind replied. His superior glanced at him; he changed his pace to walk behind me. ¡°I meant, he is the only one, of course, you were joking, Second Agent,¡± he said.

    ¡°I was, haha,¡± she said, putting an arm around his shoulders. ¡°C¡¯mon, Seventh isn¡¯t too far away.¡± She edged him forward until the two of them met again at the front of our group.

    I turned to my right. Artok walked, their sibilant legs making smooth pavement; not carrying their Weapon of twenty feet, they carried more distance, I felt.

    ¡°You seem to have slept well,¡± I offered.

    Artok¡¯s cheeks twitched. ¡°Thanks, Raegoth.¡± They moved to join Istria and Lind, taking Lind by the arm. An informal wrestling match ensued. I found myself rooting soon for the one in the middle, his arms being wrested like a toddler tousled between playland stuffed mascots. Or more specifically, R3-MD and Felton. I laughed.

    The three paused in their judo, and Tay threw up an arm, indicating all of us to stop.

    Lind sighed with relief. ¡°I need binelan,¡± he said.

    ¡°Raegoth laughed. It¡¯s time to purify him,¡± Tay said, and now Istria was laughing, joined by Kay and even Artok. Kay, walking to my left, glanced at me and, seeing what nonplussed look endued, shook her head. ¡°Tay, we¡¯re almost there,¡± she said, and it was true, the hallway had ceased to run, and we were rounding the far corner and entering the Agency commissary.

    Agents were everywhere. An ordinary sight. Tay located an empty table, one of the round ones with summoning seats and a wide, smooth surface. Istria had paused the wrestling match for now, ruffling Lind¡¯s maroon hair before choosing a spot and bringing a seat up from the Agency nexus tubes that formed, their own domain beneath the edifice.

    Lind moved away from his superior, summoning his own seat besides Artok¡¯s. Only then did he pull Artok¡¯s Weapon out from beneath his legs, leaning it against the table. Seemingly in sync, the two summoned slats of coffee from their V-lockers, and the rest of us paused for a few seconds in our musical chairs (with seats for everybody) to watch the vases fill with the same, full red.

    We sat down. ¡°So as I was saying, there¡¯s no need to try the coffee rotators, we can guarantee red, here,¡± Artok told their companion. Lind was already halfway through his vase but nodded. ¡°Remind me tonight,¡± he said, causing Artok to choke on their coffee, spilling it into the air, into the still-open V-locker; a splash of red remained there, hanging like a floating petal, and Tay¡¯s lightning chortle emanated again; Istria smiled and, sitting to my right, quickly reached over and with her fingers dabbed up all of the liquid; well, nearly. She licked it off her fingers.

    By now everyone had summoned a drink, a dish, or both. I watched as the exon over my flavola pander, which prior to the Agency¡¯s founding might have been called a false tuna salad sandwich, slipped off. The shining pink of the pander glistened, and as I watched my hands placed it into my mouth, enabling mastication. The front molars and incisors collaborated to digest.

    ¡°It¡¯s pretty good, I think,¡± Kay remarked. ¡°I normally take binelan cut or forster, but I¡¯ll get flavola today, Raegoth.¡± She looked down to the nexus tube besides her, between us; quickly the pink and tan item shot up, and she took it. Her own chewing fairly mimicked my own; but before I could remark, my peripheral vision caught several more.

    Agents N¡¯ziet and C. P. themselves came low over the table, designating seats. The table kept its shape; but somehow, there were more chairs available.

    ¡°I am not, I told you several times,¡± the latter said, moving to sit between Tay and Istria. ¡°I was once interested in the current thought. But names are all that matter.¡±

    ¡°With yours, I¡¯m sure,¡± Tay said, placing an arm out onto the table; his fingers twitched, in the direction of Z Equals X Squared Plus Y Squared, laid out in its full length of a dark green.

    N¡¯ziet shook his head.

    C. P. did not guard their device, and Tay¡¯s fingers encroached. Soon the green and greener lay intertwined between the knuckles, playing a soft duet of forest, and a thin, woven image ¨C like the hunter concealed among the grasses, peering through their gaps ¨C peered into my mind once more, that of a man aged, white hair that trembled into silver, taking down thoughts in a weather-worn notebook; sitting by a river, the light that rimmed down from the sky showing his wide-brimmed hat and the smile, the arms that once knew industry, now experiencing liberation.

    He looked up; seeing me, he waved the hand not holding a pencil, for me to come and see his progress.

    ¡°Henry,¡± I said, as I walked over. The grass was hardy, and smooth.

    ¡°Tay, your, your hand is doubled, you have ten fingers on it,¡± Kay was saying, laughing as she almost spurted out the confection of a thousand ingredients. I closed off the image, and witnessed Tay holding a five-pieced weapon, one piece in between each pair of fingers, with the fifth dangling off of the thumb. There were no strings attached; C. P. was merely looking on. Their black eyes did not gleam.

    ¡°This is why I use large weapons only,¡± Tay said. He held his hand out to the Eighth Agent; who with a single, successive motion of their left hand, removed and reconnected the letters. Or, the pieces. I was sure that the name had changed.

    Agent Lind gave a long, flat sigh that was rather like the elephant¡¯s. Another ancient memory dared to resurge, but I quelled it by focusing on the Seventh Agent¡¯s thin, but tightly fixed, maroon hair strands.

    ¡°It feels very weird,¡± he said; he was now on his third vase. ¡°It feels like I¡¯m in a dream. All these Agents, sitting here gathered together, and Raegoth the alter one is sitting here with us.

    ¡°It¡¯s never happened,¡± he said. He reached into his V-locker and the invisible space between it and his waiting palm became inundated with binelan shards.

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I said. ¡°Even when I first joined, I would only ever sit with my subordinate, or my superior; until I became the Fourth Agent, under Mik¡¯vael.¡±

    Artok shook their head vertically. ¡°I made your Censorships back then,¡± they said. ¡°Lots and lots and lots of books you¡¯d throw around. You didn¡¯t need them.¡±

    Because I¡¯d read them all.

    ¡°Because they were empty,¡± I said in response. ¡°Tenth Agent, you never gave me an actual book.¡±

    I looked to N¡¯ziet the Philosopher, who had been seemingly trying to count the number of hairs on his subordinate¡¯s head, now planted his eyes on Artok¡¯s.

    ¡°Agreed, Raegoth,¡± he said. ¡°A book is not a book until it¡¯s read.¡±

    A book is not a book unless it¡¯s written, was what I had been expecting; but, I supposed, books without words, only pages, were neither.

    ¡°I hate reading,¡± Tay said.

    Istria¡¯s plate was bare. ¡°That wasn¡¯t bad,¡± she said, nudging Kay¡¯s shoulder; the Fourth Agent shook her head horizontally, but was smiling the same. ¡°Agent Tay, you don¡¯t like any of the forms,¡± she told him, ¡°but maybe you¡¯d like visionices, they¡¯re kind of interesting,¡± she said.

    ¡°I hate reading,¡± Tay said. ¡°Raegoth, it was wonderful, truly! To see you eat with us.¡±

    ¡°That was one good sandwich,¡± I said.

    I looked around at them all and saw their smiles; well, in the majority, as C. P. rarely did, and Artok was continuing their discussion on books with N¡¯ziet via receptor. Christmas lights.

    ¡°Mik¡¯vael should¡¯ve come,¡± Kay said. ¡°But, we¡¯re all so busy.¡± She gave the First Agent a glance; he gave a quick nod. ¡°We have to debrief our own subordinates,¡± she said, and moved around me to exchange a few words more with Istria.

    ¡°Amazing binelan,¡± Lind said, his maroon curls deeply ruffled by many hands; he gave me a wink, and N¡¯ziet, coughing and harrumphing, was getting up and leaving; he hadn¡¯t eaten, other than spate of libertine discussion. Artok laid a hand briefly on Lind¡¯s shoulder. Istria steered Lind away, poking his back; and then, I was alone. I watched Tay stride away, greeting other Agents, for a while; I sat there at the white table, and sometimes admired its lines of pearl. There were so many of them. And yet, while the surface of the table remained pure from afar, only by looking up close could I truly admire it.

    I turned my head and looked around the Agency.

    As she walked over the clouds, Skylark felt something nearly shudder beneath her feet; it felt like the cloud was shaking, and as they walked further along, she saw that the green swirls were becoming less frequent, and at some point Jaceus told them all to pause, and knelt to put his hands into the cloud again, and the green swirls returned. Like before, she paid as close attention as she could, to his hands and to his face¡ªbut she didn¡¯t see that glow she¡¯d seen back at his house, just his hands put into the foamy mixture, and maybe she thought she saw water slaking off his hands, but the cloud-stuff around them received the green material once more, and he stood again. She was slightly disappointed.

    She also thought she heard something whenever Jaceus did that, but maybe it was her imagination.

    ¡°The clens think you¡¯re interesting,¡± the guy named Calamus said, striding in front; Skylark now began to make out what looked like a series of launchpads like they used in raider games, almost hidden by the thin air, each of them containing a portal on it; six of them in all.

    ¡°Clens must be in the clouds,¡± Mr. T said; the girl named Ultramarine nodded. ¡°Your clouds might even have them too, if not as developed,¡± she said back, kicking up poofs of cloud with her feet as she walked. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right,¡± she said to her weapon, which hummed. ¡°They came from weather control. It would take more than five songs to explain their biology, especially to Sector I folk who don¡¯t have names by droplet.¡±

    ¡°What is a name by droplet?¡± Skylark asked. She tried to keep up; but it was taking all of her effort to keep telling herself that it was just walking on grass, walking on those small green bioterra shards, as if she was walking in the sky on a giant Exhibit just for them¡­ oh! It was hard, but she kept her eyes focused on the back of Jaceus, who was walking with confidence.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡ª¡± Ultramarine began to say, but Calamus reached back with his own weapon, now it was in his hand, and put one of its wings to Ultramarine¡¯s mouth; she stopped. ¡°I don¡¯t know I think we should keep it simple,¡± he told Skylark, giving a half-wide grin that looked more like a sneer. ¡°Sorry, Ultra,¡± he told his companion, taking off the wing, and then the weapon was gone from his hand again. Just like that.

    Wait.

    ¡°I thought yours was ¡®below,¡¯¡± Skylark said. Behind her, she felt Luke and Agate stop walking.

    ¡°I lied,¡± Calamus said.

    Skylark stopped; okay, so he still had his weapon, and they were weapons after all. Ultramarine was still in front of her; motionless, except for her hair which swung in the wind.

    ¡°Well, I did say ¡®somewhere down below,¡¯ and that was true. You alter people wouldn¡¯t know what ¡®below¡¯ really means. Ha, ha, Jaceus, we¡¯re not going to use our binds against you,¡± Calamus continued saying. But Skylark saw that Jaceus¡¯ shoulders were tensing, his long golden hair also moving slowly.

    ¡°Topos, you¡¯re making them all caesura,¡± Ultramarine told him, throwing her arms out; almost as if she was shielding Skylark from the guy with the silver circle on his shirt. ¡°Jaceus, don¡¯t do anything, we¡¯ve already disturbed the clens,¡± she said.

    At that moment, the small sound was emanating again from the cloud beneath her feet; Skylark realized that it sounded like screaming¡­ or cheering.

    ¡°Only them,¡± Topos said; ¡°don¡¯t call me by my name by droplet,¡± he said to his companion, and he put his arms around Ultramarine. But it wasn¡¯t quite a hug. It felt like the opposite, or they did hugs differently in Sector II, they were almost to where they were keeping Cerise. Skylark thought they really didn¡¯t know anything about a full, entire other Sector. It was different. No wonder the Government didn¡¯t allow citizens to go here.

    Ultramarine and Calamus remained like that for a full minute. Skylark watched them, and Luke walked up to stand beside her.

    ¡°What are they doing,¡± he whispered to her, and she nodded. Ultramarine seemed okay, but Calamus was a little different.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she whispered back.

    ¡°This would be a pretty good time for me to show you some of my Plans,¡± Luke continued, ¡°but I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea.¡± He seemed to be looking at Jaceus¡¯ back also, waiting for something. He then waved over for Agate to come over; she did, holding her arms around herself; it was still somewhat chilly.

    The two in front of them finally stepped away from each other, Ultramarine adjusting her flag-shaped hair back into a flat rectangle and Calamus grinning easily.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, you alter people, there¡¯s your Rain,¡± he said, gesturing forth with his right arm; Skylark looked, and suddenly, somehow, all of them were much closer to the launchpads. And the one second from the right was pulsing, a strong purple glow surrounding it, and Skylark saw a face.

    It was Cerise¡¯s; it was just hers, nearly floating within the circle of light cast by the launchpad. Like a hologram on top of a self-scanner. Her eyes were closed, and if the circumstances were not what they were, Skylark would¡¯ve sworn that the Scion was merely thinking about¡ª

    Mr. Sterne took the front again, and waved for Jaceus to step back; surprisingly, he did, and Mr. T began waving his arms angrily. ¡°That¡¯s not right,¡± he said; ¡°she¡¯s, she¡¯s not in a hologram, is she? Jaceus, do something,¡± he urged, but Skylark saw that Jaceus was peering closer at the circle, and Skylark found herself walking up to join him¡ªup close, she could tell¡ªor at least she thought¡ªit wasn¡¯t Cerise¡¯s real face, it was a projection like a hologram, but not.

    ¡°Well, that was colorful,¡± came Cerise¡¯s voice, and Cerise herself stepped out from somewhere.

    The girl had changed everything she was wearing into a light, nearly sky-color blue. Skylark quickly checked the circle¡ªbut the face was gone, and now a low hum was coming out of it, with a purple symbol now filling the circle.

    Like an Alterface, she thought.

    ¡°Were you scared, Luke?¡± Cerise asked, and Luke shook his head, but Skylark could tell that he was holding himself in front of Ultramarine, Calamus, Jaceus, and Cerise Rain.

    ¡°You, uh, you scared me for a second there, Calamus,¡± he then said, but the tall stranger was inspecting the sign, ignoring him. ¡°I thought Jaceus was your leader,¡± he said, pointing down with one finger, and Ultramarine joined him by the hologram-scanner-circle. ¡°Musical boundary,¡± she said.

    I got it.

    ¡°It¡¯s music,¡± Skylark said. ¡°Everything here is related.¡±

    Cerise smiled.

    Agate shook her head, coming over. ¡°That¡¯s what I was thinking. But I couldn¡¯t say it until you just did, Skylark.¡±

    ¡°I as well,¡± Jaceus said. He turned to Cerise. ¡°What happened here?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been to other Sectors, so I¡¯ve seen something similar,¡± she said.

    Jaceus waited; so did the others.

    I¡¯m hungry, Skylark thought.

    Cerise touched the bottom strands of her hair on both sides, and a vivid pink shot up through it, her eyes matching with a darker shade of it. ¡°But I¡¯m clouded trying to explain.

    ¡°Was that right?¡± she said, turning to Calamus.

    He gave again his nonchalant grin, and flicked the circle on his shirt.

    ¡°Like that refrain, yeah,¡± he answered. ¡°You guys are hungry, right?¡±

    ¡°For food and explanation,¡± Sterne replied.

    Calamus nodded, and held out his arm; a few seconds later, his winged-weapon returned, a book attached to it by three rings. Calamus gently pried the rings through the book¡¯s body, and seemingly without reference, found a page, which he flipped open. He beckoned for them to come closer.

    Table of Language Styles

    Calamus/Ultramarine ver.

    weather (central) 1

    acrobatics 5

    cheeses (generally) 7

    music 15

    quarterbacks (Old Earth) 22

    raisin brands (Old Earth) 56

    stegosaurus rex baby names 57

    Calamus closed the book. ¡°We only do it for visitors from other Sectors. Hope you enjoyed it,¡± he said, giving Ultramarine a truly amicable nudge on the shoulder, making her smile blue; and just like that, Skylark felt the tension that had been with the group ever since Cerise disappeared, dissipate.

    Or evaporate.

    Skylark laughed, and noticed that Luke still looked wildly confused. The sight made her laugh even harder.

 38 - Stratocumulus

    Lower clouds grouped together that typically produce no rain

    Agent Kokoe smiled as he pressed closed the eyelids.[1]</a> The Agents observing, none of whom I knew by name, at least at that moment, verified the process via Thoughtnote as their receptors blinked, or rather confirmed it, the verification itself had not yet begun.

    They were likely unranked; not that the Agents ranked marked themselves, as unranked or otherwise, we each bore our chosen epithet on our uniforms. But I could discern; for they would know the process otherwise.

    The person who was dead, eyelids closed, began to move downward, and I noticed, as the others did in suit, that he was moving into the ground; like a hologram shimmering back into its nonexistence, and the body was the image.

    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± Agent Kokoe murmured, pushing the hair out of his eyes, and it was black. ¡°Agent Kleo, come here,¡± he urged, and the one named Kleo walked over, his suit far too long for his pants, which were not of the right flynder, only fabric, as Kleo held out his hand.

    Kokoe deposited a thin, single strand of his hair onto it, and Kleo stored it in his breast pocket. ¡°Thank you,¡± ranked said, and the unranked subordinate nodded, saying, ¡°One.¡±

    Agent Kokoe turned to me.

    ¡°That¡¯s my first verification of the year,¡± he said. ¡°Thank you for coming, Raegoth.¡±

    I nodded. The members of society so rarely lost their lives.

    The Third Agent of the Second Bureau turned back to the body that was not there, and faced the one who had killed him. The Scion looked back, clearly overpowered by the sight of seven Agents who had somehow arrived moments after the untimely death. People so rarely died, and yet one had found a reason to kill.

    ¡°You will be verified now,¡± Agent Kokoe told the Scion, who seemed to be measuring their options; soon enough, they summoned a holoscreen, it was bright and flashing and there were moving images and sounds on it, but the distraction was useless, as a second watching unranked Agent swept in underneath the image, clocked the Scion about the head with an andante, it was Agent Shaen whom I recognized now from the Alteryear celebration, and the Scion fell, eyes closed.

    I remembered what Agent Istria had said, that only she and Agent Tay knew how the process worked. But then what was Agent Kokoe doing? He was only Third.

    Speaking of, he seemed to be taking the sweat off his brow.

    ¡°And it is done,¡± he said, and the scene was clear, the Scion was being handed a clear card by Agent Shaen, they were now walking away, and the three other Agents continued taking notes.

    ¡°It is done,¡± I repeated, and Agent Kokoe smiled softly. As he stood, I came over to him and extended my hand.

    He took it. ¡°I expect you in my office in the morning for a briefing,¡± he said.

    ¡°A good jest, but I¡¯ll remain in the First Bureau,¡± I replied.

    ¡°Good, you guys get more work,¡± he said. After checking his things, the Third Agent swept away, followed closely by Kleon, Shaen, and the others.

    I found in myself an urge to follow; another memory surged then, but I quelled it, and headed separately to a more distant portal for my return.

    Upon arrival and entrance, I Thought for the Third Bureau.

    Upon opening my eyes again, I found in my view the Fourth Agent Senra of the Third Bureau, pulling out a V-book from the library aisle, and replacing it with another one.

    Noticing me at once, startled, they nearly dropped the second book; but I caught it, and handed it back to them.

    ¡°Here you go,¡± I said, to which Senra smiled, before pushing the V-book back into place; the shelf gave a soft glow of acceptance. It was the right book.

    The V-book now in their hands they handed to me.

    I looked at it; like the others on the shelf, it bore no title, but my receptor said to me its name. I indeed had not read it.

    ¡°For you to read,¡± Senra said. ¡°Also, I did not know that that empty space on the wall was a portal, but I know now.¡±

    I looked back. Indeed the space was clear, from which I had just emerged; I too had not known it was a portal, and I knew that the library was not the Third Bureau¡¯s prime locale, but rather taking me to the nearest member of its echelon.

    ¡°Thank you, Senra,¡± I told them. I opened my V-port and inserted the V-book inside. Glow, then disappear.

    ¡°So you haven¡¯t read it,¡± they said, seeming to confirm something to themselves.

    ¡°No. Can you take me to the main residence of your Bureau?¡±

    Senra stared at me askance, then nodded. ¡°You really don¡¯t know, for someone who¡¯s been here a while,¡± but which I¡¯d heard as the longest, ¡°it¡¯s right here, in these nooks, in the Agency library. William is just up there, in the coffee venue we have,¡± they said, gesturing upwards, and lo and behold, for the first time, I beheld indeed their coffee place, the familiar tropical bird-endeavored dispensary rotating, colors alternating, routes shifting, powers altering.

    I cleared my head.

    ¡°That will not be necessary, you suffice, Fourth Agent.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± they replied. At that, they beckoned, and so I followed.

    Senra led me out of the aisle past a wide chamber I had not seen before, one containing several large, glass spheres, but there was a holoscreen showing description, and my eyes caught NOT READY - VISIONICES AISLE, but already we were ascending the smooth, alter titanium steps, serrated just so that we would not slip, and with my hand on the railing, I beheld the Agents of the Third Bureau.

    All of the ranked were there, with Senra completing the ten. As they positioned themselves behind the circle, nay, a constellation, voices lulled as we entered. Ulyngorinoceros patiently taking decanter after decanter from the rotary. And I saw the First Agent, nodding to me in her usually laconic way, seated on a holocushion, and at her right and left seated two ranked Agents I did not know, they met my glances and acknowledged me with their eyes, and then my memory jogged, coming along the stone path, and there I saw the Second Agent, held aloft by the near-invisible wind-strings in its air-chamber, and another Agent, a child, younger than Xeric, staring intently at the rock, or rather the petrified, or purified rather, verified as such, and so rarefied, Second Agent whose still soma spun silently. Further minnowing its way through the legs hanging over their holocushions was an alter manker, its eyes never leaving mine, but it too was wearing the flynder uniform, bearing the words 10TH AGENT, PLEASE PLAY, and yonder the Third Agent Danara was crying in a corner, and another Agent, back to me, in the form of a hologram¡ªwhich for the Agency, meant the highest resemblance to the real¡ªexcept the form this took had distinctly pointed ears, larger than a human¡¯s, and was wearing the cloak of a forgotten age, red and yellow and a searing gold.[2]</a>

    All of them were wearing receptors, and by verity, it was a dizzying cacophony of silent, blinking, flashing receptors, and soon I saw sometimes the colors matched, syncopated and spun, until the young girl came tugging at my pant leg, and truly, I did not know they had manufactured the Agency set for one so young. For her flynder bore the shifting designs, all woven together, of extraterrestrials across their centuries of depiction.

    ¡°Hello,¡± I said. ¡°What is your name, Agent of the Third Bureau?¡±

    ¡°Enter Third Agent of the First Bureau,¡± she spoke softly, as if she were reciting from her heart, ¡°Raegoth is his name, and he greets the 9<sup>th</sup> Agent More Barry. More Barry tugs at his pant leg.¡±

    ¡°Oh NO why is she going FIRST?¡± came a hideous shriek, and Danara, somehow over here now, throwing the child over his shoulders, retreated behind a faraway aisle just as quick as he come, and I witnessed the girl pounding her fists against his back, but to no avail, soon, they are both gone.

    Agent William nodded. ¡°There goes Danara,¡± said the Agent sitting to her right, wondrously wearing dark black sunglasses, which made the contrast all night to his inordinately light lavender flynder topsuit, ¡°Agent Cato, but please call me Agent Ari Cato,¡± he intoned, and the Agent sitting to William¡¯s left nodded, a look somewhere distant, without gravity, but not overbearing, filling their face replete. ¡°Call me Liebeslied,¡± they said; ¡°call me Liebeslied.¡± They were all in grey, but their mien indicated a deeper sense of the shade.

    I nodded. ¡°I will,¡± and for some reason, formerly, I had the urge to request to know their respective ranks, but a gaze from William stopped mine, and I shook each of their hands, introducing myself, but I was sure they knew my name before I knew theirs.

    And I had been here longer than any of them.

    I believe I nearly found myself sighing; but, seeing that the lights and revolving colors slowed in frequency, indicating a lull in the meeting, I seated myself properly on the floating holocushion before me, arranging it such that I now sat between the golden hologram and now Danara, coming back in to sit on his designated, a white one shot through with purple veins.

    ¡°Raegoth, Raegoth, you¡¯re here,¡± he said, his eyes bespoke laughter, but he was not, certainly not laughing. His body was tense; tight, his legs shining through their pants, just baggy enough in the purest design.

    ¡°We have¡­ books for you,¡± Liebeslied said, pulling out another V-book from her V-port, and like the one from Senra, bearing no title, but again my receptor told me the name, and I did not know it at this time. I took it and opened my V-port, and with the lightest flurry of movement, inserted the tome. Ari Cato nodded sprightly, reaching into his own, pulling one out, I took, inserted, and closed, but oh, Liebeslied had said ¡°we,¡± and so, with Agent More Barry running out from beyond the far corner aisle, her brown shoes slapping on the alter hydronium, its clearest blue tint giving only the lightest glint, holding a V-book of her own in her outstretched arms, extending them for me, and I took them, observing that her chosen epithet was scratched onto her mock coveralls, but with the name reversed. I did the same for the V-book extended to me by Please Play, a Thought-message from one Agent Alabaster Sheldon indicated full access to visionice from it, I looked, and saw no change in the miniature bust¡¯s features; Danara sliding a dated, non-V book under the now-summoned nexus tube in between us, and the one in golden form opening their hands, and out emerged a V-holobook, the smallest of humanoid forms running across its sylvan setting, and now Agent William was handing me a book, one titled How to Use Receptors ¨C by William The Silver, and lastly Ulyngorinoceros spilling a liquid of the deepest blue upon all these floating and fluttering pages, V or not, and in the eyes that held me I seemed to see the liquid falling in the motion stilled, but I was not Istria, not quick with my fingers, and so the books fell, their pages bled, and the blood of water was blue, a car shimmering out of the veil, and an unseen, hidden form of forms was rising out of the gaze. I once knew his name but I had forgotten, but in my head and for my eyes they knew what I saw, and before I knew what my fingers, my limbs beckoned, reaching into V-port for the V-book from Senra, I accessed via Thought Enter write, and so begun.

    It was a dreamlike and snowy night,

    And I caught their eyes leaving mine, and while I witnessed some persons, some silent hands, or their command of the self-cleaning repertoire of these technologies, brushing away the blue, I had to turn back, and return my gaze to the page in searing white, with these seven now empty words before me, and the path was only one, to continue¡ªSimple. Pure. Without an enemy and yet a clear path.

    I had to write¡ªfor my memory to find its true color.

    I looked up at the ceiling, dimly illuminated, but enough to show my face.

    The Raegoth I thought I knew, the R¡¯aegoth of at least eight years, the R¡¯aegoth Ni¡¯rial of even longer, the¡ªthe R name of an untold multitude of time. He looked back at me, his thoughts an open sea, what he remembered awash in flame!

    The shadows therein refused to speak. So I continued to add words¡ªand they flowed across the page, lines in real time.

    ¦¤

    A streaming filled her mind, bright and soft feelings of color but she wasn¡¯t actually seeing it. She was seeing shapes. All around her in vibrant lines like those in a portal at the moment of travel, welcoming, resolving into large rectangles and roads that branched off into tributaries of light. Coming closer to them she saw that she was one among them, one light among many others, and that they were all close to it. Close to the massive shapes that eventually spelled out letters.

    S E C T O R

    U N I V E R S I T Y

    The space around her was vast and silver. Feeling herself pulled into the wide vowels she formed a thought, having read to herself what those letters meant. A name; and she soon saw with more specificity the other pinpoints of light, dots and pricks that lined the horizon in one significant line.

    They were students.

    It was orientation. Eleanor saw some behind her and some by her side. The line did not seem to have a beginning or an end. The space they were all standing on was empty and barren. As Eleanor made eye contact with the others in the line, she saw a wave of exclamation, surprise, and astonishment as they all realized the same thing. It was like v-World but enhanced. Eleanor knew that she still wasn¡¯t physically present there, but something about her presence felt that way. And she knew without a doubt that the others felt similarly.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    They seemed to wait; and then, after some further waiting, as the long line of students seemed to increase, endlessly, a sound, like a deep and soft breathing, and the smell of silver, although how she knew that she couldn¡¯t explain, they watched, as the air above them seemed to pass over, bringing their eyes to a formation in the flat landscape. It was long and smooth and wet. It was a body of water. It was dark, with bulges and swells to indicate the ideas underneath. Colors that glimmered under the surface, forming shapes, becoming images. They all swirled through it as Eleanor saw the memories of a high school year traverse the land.

    Eleanor was strangely self-conscious of her lack of something, it was something she knew she couldn¡¯t explain at that moment, but something that each of the others was struggling to experience, each in their own, single, variant, multifaceted and myriad way.

    But without a moment of doubt in her mind, framed as it was with its own, unoriginal thoughts as she stood in the land, Eleanor felt that something important¡ªperhaps not alter, but¡ªimportant¡ªwas happening right now, in this instant, for her and for everyone else around them. Around her.

    She had been in a classroom¡­

    Suddenly, as the line of students seemed to cease, up ahead, beyond the plain-like space they all stood upon and the deep river surging past, a series of silver spouts emerged from the air. To Eleanor they appeared as the spouts from an enormous fountain. But they all pointed up, curved and bent to a vaselike cylindrical structure, each pointing true. Seven silver spouts. The silver fountain emerged, and created its own space.

    To Eleanor, they appeared as seven silver portals. And they soon showed seven individuals, standing or sitting in various positions inside them. To the previous silver scent it was now the scent of the sky. But not the sky Eleanor saw above, the sky created by the space containing the fountain of portals.

    And before speech, before any words were heard in that space, Eleanor realized that these seven were also students. No words were made to those in the line, and as this was some kind of V-movie space, those fountains were real enough to touch. Eleanor saw the light beginning to clear, their outlines illuminated, and the seven students representing Sector University stepped out.

    They were each wearing clothing in the High style, and Eleanor expected this, but what she did not expect necessarily was a various play on the insignia of Sector, what had to be that distinct triangle, with its lower side curved; like an inverted V, a cone; sometimes, she remembered, that particularly annoying servant would wear, as part of his tricorn hat. On one student it was exactly that, but as he stared straight ahead of him and not meeting any of the gazes from the line, she realized that it wasn¡¯t hair at all, it wasn¡¯t part of his clothing¡ªhis head was shaped that way. Two of them were wearing hologram suits, showing their Governor genes; so one could be a Governor while University. As she stepped closer she saw the fifth in the group, stage left, opening her eyes, coming out of sleep, blinking several times, stretching her arms forth. Her eyes were clear and cyan, or clear turquoise, Eleanor could not be certain. The girl¡¯s hair was likewise faded, of a sheer beige, falling over her head like water overflowing from a cup. She was staring at the six students standing, sitting, or reclining besides her.[3]</a>

    ¡°Wait¡­ I made it? I got into Sector? What¡ªyes! I got into Sector! Pillars of rosan, teko nara!¡± she exclaimed, the last few words those were words that Eleanor didn¡¯t understand but it was High English, most likely. The girl whooped a few more times, pumping the air with her arms, kneeling down to the floor, or ground, that they were standing on, and inspecting it briefly. She seemed just as curious about where exactly they were, as Eleanor and the others in the long, long line were.

    She was happy¡­ [4]</a>

    The other six did not share the same reaction, although one of the Governors was smiling, and the one with the tricorn head was now talking to the new Sector student, and she was shaking her head. Her clothing was entirely in a different shade of blue than her eyes, darker, but also more vibrant; something was altogether different about it than the style of High clothes the others had, and those of the High students in the line.

    Eleanor felt for the first time uncomfortable in the Plent garb she had on, it was her Kiwi top and Ibis pantalons, equipped as well with the Ostrich mock iststarkes. They¡¯d been alter enough next to Klost.

    The others in the line were murmuring. Eleanor did not envy them; in that space, all of their world was an empty plane, and they were merely students. Going to college was one thing; but being oriented to Sector University was a wholly different lot.

    But¡­

    In a line; were they ordered? Eleanor looked across; it was truly never-ending. It hadn¡¯t been surprising to her that Sector hadn¡¯t informed them of anything other than acceptance; and she had acceded. It was a line! And they were ordered, she realized that now, and she saw that she was somewhere in the upper third, if the silver fountain was the seven embodying their class. But the girl who had been sleeping was also admitted; the others were current. That she knew. How, she did not know; and by eavesdropping on those near her in the line, she deduced that they¡¯d felt the same. She was only in the top third; yes, she¡¯d come from Plent, and High sourced its own line. But only third.

    One of them was moving now. One of the seven, a dazon with goldenrod hair cut in High¡¯s tabula rasa style, very close to the head on the surface with just enough material to give it fluff, was dancing.[5]</a>

    They were good. Eleanor rarely saw physical performance anymore, it was a rare art, having been fitfully subsumed into the others ever since the Lost Generation of v-World. But this one moved their way through the land around them with a vividness to their movements and a play to their expression that birthed a simultaneous reaction on the mouths and lips of their six peers, the two Governors nodding in step, and the girl of beige hair dancing her own, lilt-like rhythm. Yet another of them, a girl wearing glasses, taking them off, and joining the dancer as they paraded the soft, thin surface that gradually gained the spread of white tinged with points of yellow.

    In watching¡­ Eleanor felt her tide of disappointment wash and die away, fading out. She did not deserve to stand among them. She did not deserve to stand among them!

    She felt a single tear fall down her cheek.

    The portal stood before Tristan and he couldn¡¯t see inside. Its clear transparent walls remained their uncolored pink, and he couldn¡¯t walk inside. He looked at the portal and stood before it.

    White and brown glittered. Tristan¡¯s father appeared, his hands hanging at his sides. Fists unclenched. Head raised¡ªas if Meliodas was lying in its reflective glow.

    He walked out. Greeting Tristan. Asking about the status on Pops¡¯ next idea. So finely formed. What piece of work.

    ¡°I¡¯m not done yet,¡± I said.

    ¡°Tomorrow,¡± Pops replied. His father swept past him, crossing through the blades of bioterra and off to the GAT center holdings where he would greet his fellow techists and techist fathers.

    Tristan remained standing. He set a Thought-reminder for two minutes. He waited until his father left his window of sight. Then he re-entered the portal and Thought for the home of his father.

    He arrived in a glimmering of light. The portal remained empty where he left it, and Tristan found himself standing outside the icy gate. He Thought for the house-system and walked through it. He Thought for the front entrance and walked through it. He walked step by step, over the thin paladin stone. He imagined himself striding through the archway, his feet moving on sandals and encased in a wide, sunflower-yellow cloth; and here his retainer greeted him, holding out the washbasin filled with rose water, and the knight threw the liquid onto his face, cleansing it of the sins of the enemy. Blood fell off in drops.

    Two minutes. Tristan yanked off his receptor and it made a clank when it struck the alter platinum flooring of his house. He¡¯d gotten the imagery wrong; there were different kinds of paladins, some religiously motivated; and he had to pick the correct century. It was so many centuries ago.[6]</a>

    He supposed that the closest thing to knights that the Sector had were the Agents. But there was no armor or protection in their clothing, they didn¡¯t require it, and there wasn¡¯t a king. But many Governors, and¡­ wait. Tristan came to remember the title History of the Protection from Restor¡¯s library, and pulling it back up again in his Thought-feed, found Visigothic Kingdom.

    So it was some similar to Governors if they combined Governors with Agents. Tristan took some steps back. He left the entrance to the house, and returned to the gate and stood before the steel bars.

    <hr>

    Tristan imagined a rush of light falling over him, encasing him in its reflective glow. The gate was still gleaming in the sunlight that still pierced the clouds above. Light; sky; ground. He held his head bent towards the ground; he raised it as his retainer came up to him, holding out a rough towel, one of those horsehair ones that were only preferable after battle, as they easily absorbed all the dirt and grime.

    He was tired; it had been a long battle. Tristan thanked the boy and wiped off the drying blood. Handing over Macotta¡¯s reins, he walked over the stone steps and into the chamberlain¡¯s household. It was not the best of days to tell of Charlemagne, and Tristan thought oft of the other counts; but the chamberlain shared stables with Louis, and sometimes he wanted to be placed with the Comes Stabulorum; but Tristan knew his duty and followed it.

    Soon the smell of the stables reached him; it had been the count Erudius¡¯ notion to combine the two Comes together. Tristan passed by some other counts and some of the lower paladins, resting their feet and conversing on the dearth of enemies. Since the conquest. But that had been nigh a century ago.

    Tristan shook his head and walked on. He didn¡¯t join the Comes to fight; but to give his horse ample exercise, carrying his master into the battlefield day and day again.

    Tristan soon beheld the stables where the horses were kept. June and Brid, his favorite and least preferred, neighed and stomped when they saw him. Tristan nodded to the stableboy, who nodded to him as he continued sweeping the horses¡¯ hay tidily and refilling their water troughs. Sand and coarse dirt sprayed in tufts. Flies flew overhead, their small buzzing just soft enough for Tristan to ignore it. He came here every morning, after all. He moved his hands over June¡¯s mane and shoulder; he wished he had a brown apple with him, she only liked them brown and not ripe. Perhaps he had left it with the retainer. He would go back. June nuzzled his forearm, even though he was still wearing his greaves; the movement pricked the dun charger, causing her to whiffle and snort. Tristan laughed. She was good. She was used to the flies and the whizzing by of steel-tipped arrows and the mud filling those small puddles of water she drank from.

    ¡°An apple?¡± asked a voice.

    Tristan shook his head and accepted the soft red apple the stableboy offered him. He considered offering in turn to the horse, but she¡¯d already turned away, neighing softly; he wasn¡¯t her master. Only a friend; and he came here often. He never saw June¡¯s actual master around. Maybe he was dead.

    She continued to chew her hay. Tristan nodded one more time to the stableboy, who seemed interested; he worked and slept here, after all. Tristan nodded once more as he left the stable, and soon beheld the portmanteau where they kept the old and rusted swords from the enemy. Tristan walked over to it and, with a grunt, heaved the lid open.

    The swords and grey spears, arrows with brown and black feathers, their original bright colors long gone, shone dimly. Tristan reached inside and moved the fading steel around; slowly and carefully, such that he wouldn¡¯t cut or prick his arm as it moved through it. He put his other arm in and continued. Bits and pieces of red, fading orange, other darkening hues spirited from his touch as he searched. And then deep down, below a crossbow broken along its middle, he found it. It ached in his palm even though he couldn¡¯t see it, the crossing bends of steel betwixt his eyes and what his hand was holding. Retracing his movements, carefully maneuvering the steel as he lifted his arm up, using his other hand to shake them out of the way, Tristan lifted the small object in his palm.

    Now in some illumination received through the cracks in the wooden shingles above him on the floor of the Comes, Tristan saw that his arm was cut. Thin lines of red began to appear on his forearms. His arm started to tremble, as with his other hand he retracted his fingers around the object. A glint of green shone through. It was a gem. A jade. Tristan turned it slowly in his palm, watching the light refract. As he turned, he saw an even smaller object contained within; or rather a shape caused by the light, a miniature spearhead, in the rough V shape he had come to know so well. Tristan held it.

    He stared into the jade depths.

    As he did so, a catch of light flashed in his eyes. From the side¡ªTristan turned and saw that the sun outside was falling. In its slow descent he saw the time. It was nearing dusk; soon he would sleep, and rise with the other counts to hear of new tidings. Things only changed with battle.

    Things only changed with battle¡­

    He came to, standing just outside his room. It wasn¡¯t the Comes Stabulorum; there were no counts or paladins. No horses or retainers or stableboys offering apples. Only his room. Designs filled it. Failures and mistakes. Perpetual motions. An array of alter darts, all white. A green V-bow.

    Tristan moved his feet. Pops¡¯ latest design stood before him, in his receptor. He Thought to open its holoscreen. A blink of light before the scattered image that threw order into disarray. He saw it. He understood it and saw Father¡¯s notes. He moved his feet further. The floor was barren. It only received light from the holoscreen, pricking the thin alter plastic surface. Points and dots. No clear outlines.

    Tristan tried sitting down, attempting to bend his feet, and opened a new holoscreen. He thought about the initial image; he thought about creating it. He thought about the shapes and wholly unified colors that would characterize it. He thought and saw the intricacies of Father¡¯s work. He tried putting them on but his Thoughts trembled. Stopped. Stopped before anything. The screen before him lay empty and unresolved. Tristan stared at it and tried again, but his feet and legs were anchored; he couldn¡¯t move them. He stared at the image. The ideas failed to move. He stared; as the light from the holoscreen remained bright. He stared.

    After what seemed like a full hour of broken thought¡­ he shook. He couldn¡¯t do it. He couldn¡¯t do it. He couldn¡¯t do it. He just couldn¡¯t do it again.

    <hr>

    It seemed like hours. Kept together in that space, the line of students had over time gradually deformed, deconstructed, broken up into a scattered spread that widened over the long flat plane that made Eleanor feel singly, entirely, brutally alone.

    The goldenrod dazon had stopped; or rather, they had just stopped dancing. This feeling of solitude¡­ she wasn¡¯t sure exactly what it meant here, as nearly brushing her shoulders was another student from the line, or maybe they¡¯d been of the original seven, still, breathing heavily, nearly pushing her aside. She moved over just a bit, nearly avoiding another who¡¯d been sleeping completely spread-eagled on the floor. If it even was a floor. She overstepped, nearly making a leap, as she jumped over the fallen student and managed not to hit the other guy, then she was clear.

    Standing alone, in a relatively empty spot; the fountain was still, just right there; by now some from the seven had intermingled with the rest of them, which of course had included Governors, so soon she had lost sight of which was which, who was who in the great crowd that threatened to fill the horizon. All she knew and saw was that she, Eleanor Dorr, was still, not dancing; she remembered having moved a bit, earlier; but only glimpses. Almost as if she had been observing herself, from the side, just outside of her; a moving haze, a figure among the many silhouettes, dancing, figure or an outline in orange.

    A glint, a flash of light. She moved her eyes toward there, and saw a single, no, a multitude, of thin pinpoints of silver coruscating upon the spouts of the fountain¡ªand she had to turn her eyes away. It was too bright. She moved. She moved away, and suddenly the slightest of oranges, made hazy by the all too silver, rumpled her vision, threw her eyes out, tossed and furled and conflated them. It was too bright! There were too many¡­

    Eleanor came to, and saw the line was smaller; holding her hand up in front of her eyes, she squinted towards the horizon, and saw that students were filling it, dots and points and miniature lines. She found her feet, saw her hands that connected to her arms, and recognized the clothing still on her body. She was Eleanor, and she was at the orientation, or part of it, for Sector; the school officials had spoken, and everything was assigned. She¡¯d continue and complete the classes she had here at Blazon. The horizon dimmed, fading into a line, and the whole of her space billowed out and broken, she opened her eyes again, and she was sitting at her desk, in Blazon. She spread her arms, she stretched¡ªshe reached out, looking at her hands, opening and closing her fingers, all ten of them. Normal, ten human fingers, finely formed, and she could feel the nanos swimming through them, keeping them perfect. She looked across at the others; the few that were still here were similarly still, staring straight ahead of them, or recently emerged from their respective orientations. Those in Lowers would be going there personally, of course¡­ she didn¡¯t care about them though. She was going to Sector, receiving the perfect education here, or rather up in High; and she¡¯d do it again, see where she stood among the many. She didn¡¯t see them here; she stood, moving around and between the desks, not seeing any of the group still in the classroom. She moved out into the hallway. It was long and empty, save for some students running through it, proclaiming their victories and their failures. It was a tiresome¡ªno, it wasn¡¯t tiring at all. She stretched her legs and kept walking. Next was the gathering of Blazon students who¡¯d also been in orientation. She hadn¡¯t seen them but, Giya Igre Bis, and probably Proen iHiela, and a few others. She¡¯d see them.

    Eleanor kept walking, and felt an expression come upon her face.

    <hr>

    [1]</a> Theme of Kokoe: DEAN¡¯s ¡°Sometimes i hear Howlin¡¯ in my head,¡± released on YouTube, differently from the original recording Howlin¡¯ 404, which is the theme of Koko

    [2]</a> Official theme of the Third Bureau of Rarification ¨C CHVRCHES¡¯ 2015 album Every Open Eye (Special Edition)

    [3]</a> Theme of Adventa Rosan - Lucia¡¯s 2020 single Lunar phase : A side

    [4]</a> additionally ¨C NAQT VANE¡¯s Beautiful Mess released in August 2023

    [5]</a> theme of Seiya Agapi Defu: ¡°Lose You¡± by Sam Smith on their 2023 coming of age album Gloria

    [6]</a> Tristan¡¯s theme for the first three folios ¨C ¡°Awaken¡± by Yutaka Yamada, from his original soundtrack to Wit Studio¡¯s adaptation of Vinland Saga by Makoto Yukimura.

 39 - Cumulonimbus

    Stormcloud capable of great vertical depth

    Scene 8

    He¡¯d thought he¡¯d be known here.

    Tr¡¯aedis tried sitting down on air, and kept stumbling.

    He kept sitting normally, like the kind of being that he was back in the Sector¡ªperhaps in Sector II, they could do this¡ªchildren, some appearing as if they¡¯d only yesterday emerged from birthport, yes, some were stumbling but he was over ten years older, surely. The children were floating.

    Some of them were wrapped partially in thin but nearly opalescent coverings that swept upwards from the soft, pliant floor he sat on. The last thing he could remember, that reminded him of it, was the water that¡¯d swept up with the whales. But this wasn¡¯t water, or at least not in the way he¡¯d understood of the whales, and perhaps closer to the ¡®water¡¯ that he¡¯d stepped into when coming here. It was thin but also dense. Practically see-through, but only showing a silhouette of a baby, neatly roiling in its half-covering. It reminded him severally of other images, back in the world he himself had been born in. But soon he forgot them, as he wondered why he didn¡¯t have such a covering of his own, and was merely sitting on an empty space laid out for him on the soft, pliant floor.

    Tr¡¯aedis watched the babies and very young children for a time.

    Soon, one of the portal-like windows through which they had first floated or crawled through opened. It was rough, but circular; he could distinguish it as a circle, and not a square like the window on the right, or the diamond on the left. An older person walked through. His head nearly brushed the ceiling of the circle, and as the babies and young children saw him they nearly jumped or cocooned out of their holders, emitting various squeals, shrieks, and susurrations. Tr¡¯aedis only then realized that the babies showed no distinctive markings, designs, or colors between them as the adults in the food-place had; they were, essentially, all the same.

    He felt the clothing he had; he touched his skin again. He remembered the beautiful water that they had given him for washing; Laconica had nothing to it.

    The newcomer reached down with his hands, which were so long that they almost brushed the floor, and very grey, gnarled, and smooth at the edges. The children reached for his long fingers. He seemed to behold Tr¡¯aedis, from twin green eyes that emerged from deepset sockets. They stared.

    Tr¡¯aedis expected him to say something, once again in the lines he didn¡¯t know. While the babies continued to mutter indecipherable lines, the individual spoke back to them, but not in the heavily connected speech he did not know, but in deep, raspy reiterations of what came out of the children¡¯s mouths. He seemed to be attempting to speak in their baby-speak; but babies didn¡¯t speak, he couldn¡¯t be saying anything. But the babies seemed to understand him, and their incoherent squeals seemed to gain the confidence of adult speech, some more intonation, tighter tones, tinctures even in the tongues that on occasion lolled out of their small lips. None of the babies paid Tr¡¯aedis any attention; the old man noticed this, and continued staring at him sharply with those deep, jade eyes.

    This again continued on for a time; but not too long, as the man with the gnarled arms and hands came over to him, and as the babies floated and crawled back to their containers, Tr¡¯aedis now saw that what had been before a cloak or jacket all in grey, was striped in a multitude of colors, and Tr¡¯aedis found himself reaching out. But the individual brushed his arm away, and his cloak returned quickly to its grey canvas. The individual pulled his arm across the front of his cloak¡ªand as his arm moved across, his hand came to open his fist and hold out a small grey tassel. He held it out.

    Tr¡¯aedis, his arm still hanging in mid-motion, felt the tassel fall into his palm.

    He looked at it.

    It was soft, and felt like flynder. With his other hand, he reached over and pulled; it could stretch, and, his movements nearly unconscious, he found himself tying it back into his hair, making it sort of a knot or ponytail, the grey tassel hanging out. It was just long enough that he could see it hanging by his peripheral. He shook his head and saw it swing.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, meeting those green eyes, and the individual nodded, turned, and left the room from the same circle, and Tr¡¯aedis watched him go. He now saw that what the babies had in common was grey on their clothing, and so were the containers holding them. Some of the babies now turned towards him, and so the grey in their eyes flickered, although in one¡¯s he saw blue, in another¡¯s yellow, and some seemed to acknowledge him, speaking in their way, and he nodded his head in some way. He sat back down and watched; he waited, until the door shaped like a diamond opened¡ª

    ¡ªAnd another individual entered, stepping through carefully, using his hands to steady himself on the sides of the wall surrounding the entrance. His hair was long and wet, of a brown so dark it crept into black, water tickling off and dripping into his shirt, his teal blue eyes glimmered. The children all said the same word, or perhaps a name, ¡°Koko!¡± and Koko gave an uncertain but very clear smile; he had his own spray of tassels tied into his hair, three of them, all yellow, and he saw Tr¡¯aedis and his smile faded, but he quickly concealed his dismay, but Tr¡¯aedis noticed, he was not supposed to be here.

    He reached up to his hair and held out the tassel. Koko saw, and as Koko sat himself down, seeming to concentrate for two seconds, began to float off the ground like the others around them; giving Tr¡¯aedis one of the wing-gestures, a hand waved over the breast, and Koko began to address the babies and young children.

    ¡°Charis. Nex Koko,¡± he said, but speaking slowly, slowly enough that, finally, Tr¡¯aedis could comprehend within the listener in his mind. ¡°CHAR-ree. NO-esh KOH-ko,¡± providing emphasis on the first syllables, keeping light eye contact with the young listeners, now all still and rapt, only their feet moving slowly within their wrappings.

    ¡°Charis! Dyen, Koko!¡± they then replied, in perfect unison, likewise articulating the first word CHAR-ree, and the second Dee-YAH, or Dee-YAHN, KOH-ko.

    If only he had his receptor!

    Oh, he did still have it¡ªit was still cupped around his left ear.

    Well, he recalled his days of memorization, back in mediary, each of the members of the play gathered in a circle, reciting everyone¡¯s lines between them so they could all remember. Each part was connected to the part before, the part after. But here: he didn¡¯t know the words, he could only surmise¡­ CHAR-ree had to be a greeting, Koko was the greeter, No-esh was I am, My name is or something similar. But then what was Dee-yahn?

    Silence before him¡­ they were waiting¡­

    ¡°Charis, nex Tr¡¯aedis,¡± he enunciated slowly.

    Koko beamed, a movement that effaced him, causing the tassels to shake.

    ¡°Trix! Dyen, Tr¡¯aedis!¡± he said. It almost sounded like his name. Then Koko turned his attention back to his quiet and attentive audience, and he continued speaking. ¡°Tr¡¯aedis torr tr¡¯aenim!¡± he enunciated, and the listeners echoed, and Tr¡¯aedis felt that he had been given an epithet, as the one true newcomer here.

    Back home, back at school, he didn¡¯t have to learn languages. All he had to do was act. But here, they seemed to lack any fast reference to his own; and here he was, learning with the ones who chose, or did not choose, their names. The one named Koko continued speaking, looking his way and pointing to various parts of himself, holding the tassels tied to his hair, making the children laugh. Tr¡¯aedis soon found himself forgetting again, as the words connected and slurred together, forming interconnected words of laughter and innocent teasing, he was sure, from the ones born here.

    He soon lost himself in the slur of syllables and names.

    Ahead of him, the others laughed, led by Koko, who didn¡¯t appear older than he was.

    <hr>

    Skylark, sitting on the piece of cloud, watched her feet hanging over the edge. It still felt so surreal.

    And whatever it was she was eating. It was so good. Again, not for the first time, she envied all the people who lived up here. All her doubts had washed away like the rain.

    ¡°It¡¯s good, isn¡¯t it!¡± said the young girl sitting two pieces of cloud away.

    I just thought that, Skylark thought. ¡°Yes, it is,¡± she said.

    The girl smiled, her food spread on her chin. Clinging there, it was like a small mountain, with the clean, they called it, but pronounced ¡°clan,¡± made of clens, being the misty cloud just in front of it.

    ¡°Thanks and clear! I made it just before you alter people came!¡±

    Skylark nodded, noticing that the clean-stuff that had plopped into her hands just a few minutes before was all gone, and she couldn¡¯t help herself, and licked the few sprinkles left off her fingers.

    ¡°It¡¯s so good,¡± she said again. She couldn¡¯t describe the taste.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± came a voice, and she turned around, it was Ultramarine. The girl with way too much blue and green on her was holding a bowl. Skylark slowly brought herself to her feet. Soft inside, she asked herself why she wasn¡¯t screaming, she could fall just like that, and neither Cerise nor Jaceus was there to catch or slow her. But she stood up and turned, extending her arms. Ultramarine deposited the bowl, it was quite big, and it was full of the clean.

    ¡°All for me?¡± Skylark asked. She wanted to ask for more¡­

    ¡°No. As we take from them, we must return,¡± Ultramarine responded. ¡°For the rain, please empty it over there.¡± She gestured to where Skylark had been sitting; where the other girl still sat, watching them.

    Skylark nodded. She walked back to the tip of cloud; slowly, turning the bowl over on its side, she poured the wet, silver clean, as she peered over; the stream of white and silver soon trickled into a fine aura of dust as it touched the cloud below. But at that point she couldn¡¯t see it make contact.

    So it rains from here, she thought. Another came about the clens, and how the weather control here was probably different, and what their Government was, or the schools, did they teach kids to grow these binds on evas, and was the entire Sector on the clouds?

    She turned back to Ultramarine. Behind the green and blue girl, a vast swathe of blue and the clearest, most silver extremes of white, streaked by long bands of cloud, lay beneath the reaches of the sky far above; she looked up, and even though she knew that she herself was standing on one, looked up and couldn¡¯t see the end of it all. It was a very high sky, blue that kept going up and up and up¡ªand all she had to mark any kind of distance were the clouds that followed it, and while a part of her expected them to grow thinner as the sky ascended, they grew wider¡ªit just¡ªit just didn¡¯t end.

    She brought her eyes back down to earth. Or, well, the cloud they were standing on. Ultramarine was looking back at her with what could have been a knowing smile.

    ¡°The higher up you go, the closer to our government,¡± she said.

    ¡°Oh,¡± was all Skylark could make out in reply. Think¡ªwhat does this remind me of? She thought back to v-Worlds. Many of the ones with magic had those civilizations where farmers were the lowest, like they¡¯d be in Lowers, and here it was Ultramarine and Calamus (and probably many others) who grew their binds, but didn¡¯t go below, so¡­ they were farmers. Sky farmers. So it made sense that, if their evas were the lowest of the clouds, that their version of High would be way, way higher. Higher than she could see.

    ¡°How do I go up there?¡± she then asked. I found myself asking.

    ¡°You¡¯re really flurried,¡± came the reply. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve only lived on two residuals. The one we¡¯re on¡ªeverything we see at this level¡ª¡± Ultramarine said, making a sweeping gesture with her arm, her hair flapping over to match direction¡ª¡°and the one just above, where you all dropped down from.¡±

    Skylark reflected that she¡¯d only seen three people so far. Ultramarine, Calamus, and the girl who¡¯d made their food. If they used birthport or something else, or maybe they didn¡¯t even have parents¡ªor siblings¡ªshe was up here, surrounded by very strange folk wielding large flying keys, and in reflecting she began to accept what she¡¯d been denying, that there was something about Cerise she wasn¡¯t telling them, maybe ever since that day showing their traits, it was Cerise who stopped them from falling, but Jaceus was able to make them walk on it, and Mr. T had been instantly stunned by a bind, and she liked Agate and Luke but wasn¡¯t sure they could be really helpful. She was standing on a cloud.

    She looked at Ultramarine¡¯s eyes.

    One green, one in blue. Whenever she looked at Jaceus¡¯s eyes she marveled at what they could have seen before coming here¡ªto Sector I. But looking at the eyes of Ultramarine, Skylark felt rapidly uncertain. She bit her lip. She looked up again, up past the girl¡ªat the many slow-moving clouds, concealing what more strange people and governments.

    Washed away like the rain¡ªand it was all coming back. Like a window, the one outside her room, with the water falling down it from the rain, and just as quickly absorbed for the house-system. She would be staring out the windows of school, past Falara¡¯s drooping hair, at the raider players running by. She¡¯d be staring at the shrouded sky, high above and into the unknown.

    What am I doing here?

    She opened her mouth¡­ but then¡ªa flash, no a streak, of blue¡ªher eyes seized upon it¡ªand it was gone. Just behind that cloud.

    She closed her mouth. She reopened it¡ªand remembered what Jaceus had said back in his house¡ª

    ¡°Do people fly here?¡± she asked.

    The two eyes, not touching but distant, reflected back at hers.

    Ultramarine nodded. ¡°You saw. Keep looking Skylark.¡±

    Skylark nodded, keeping her eyes focused on that exact spot of sky. Between the cloud on the left, shaped like a nexus tube, tall and surrounded, she now noticed, by much smaller, level clouds; and the one on the right, one that she was almost certain was moving in a ring, over and over again, so at that distance, it was very fast¡ªand in between them, suddenly darting a group of similar flashes of blue, pushing through the smaller clouds in a passing wisp, and avoiding the one spinning in a disc. And then they were gone.

    People. Those were people¡ªand they were flying.

    Without traits.

    Beneath her feet, without her noticing, the clens began amassing in delight as the feet left them, without the use of leave.

    Scene 9

    ¡°Noht Tr¡¯aedis,¡± he said, although of course what came out to him sounded like ¡°Nyaw Tr¡¯aedis,¡± as if he were heralding to Fayar Gaebus¡¯ Crystal Sundance V-movie series, and the man standing before him was not a man who roared white light, but the Light Rider, light filling his face, unseen to all. But it was Pur?.

    Pur?, moving his hands over his empty head, shook his head.

    ¡°N?t Tr¡¯aedis,¡± he said. Then, moving his hand down over to his breast, he made as if to make the wing symbol; but smoothly changed it to his index and middle finger, pointing to himself.

    ¡°Nex Pur?,¡± he said. I am Pur?, he must be saying. Just as Koko had. Tr¡¯aedis thought also to the gathering of Myodors, where Herceus and Apolluceus had used nex before their names, followed by tae Myodor. Nex, then, indicated the first name, and tae the second.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Tr¡¯aedis nodded. ¡°Nex Tr¡¯aedis,¡± he said, pointing to himself.

    Pur? released his hand and smiled. ¡°Mo?ret, lvvo tr¡¯aenim.¡±

    Tr¡¯aedis, not for the first time, wished he had his receptor. He¡¯d left it in his bedchamber. He could easily Thoughtnote all these new words, record for later study. Of course, it hadn¡¯t worked at first. In the Sector, only Neo English was spoken, and all other languages were translated into it. And as far as he knew that was true for the other four Sectors as well.

    But he could not do that here. All he could do was remember the lines.

    Tr¡¯aedis was good at that, at least. But memorization was rote for any actor. And he could deliberate over each and every word Pur? told him. Ask for a sturdy Lowers¡ªno, Earth¡ªstyle notebook, paper or whichever material they had, and writing implement, and at least write the words out as they sounded. Elementary practice.

    So, for now¡ªall he could do was act.

    Alter acting, he thought. As Pur? stood silent, waiting. Tr¡¯aedis remembered the Performance classes at Blazon, to act is to alter yourself, imagine the subsequent changes you¡¯d make by Alterface to reach, become the character, and keeping his eyes focused on the character before him, he Thought¡ªno, thought¡ªfor Face first, and he noted how the lines across the sides of the nose were sharp enough to accentuate the upper portion of the cheekbones, which stood out as he looked, but stood out not enough so as to destroy their contour down, down to where the chin tapered, which he hadn¡¯t noticed before, but he did now. Face¡ªCONTOURS¡ªNOSE¡ªLENGTH¡ªthere wasn¡¯t an option for those precise angles of skin, only COLOR, SHAPE, and OTHER, so he chose that, and thought for shallower cut besides cheekbones.

    One year.

    Tr¡¯aedis imagined the change, his body-maintenance prescriptions working overnight in the year 2238, his cheekbones, or the upper portion, now accented by the sharper cut. 2239¡ªhe looked to the chin turned, only slightly upwards, of Pur?.

    It was¡ª

    Alter beautiful crescent came to his mind.

    ¡°Wa,¡± he uttered.

    Pur? was¡ªhe was smiling, Tr¡¯aedis thought, or nodding.

    The chin¡ªso close¡ªtoo.

    Tr¡¯aedis closed the Thought-feed, no, there was no Thought-feed, or Alterface, or anything, but he let the thoughts slip away like water. Slip away¡ªfall. Plummet; dry. Shatter; wet. Sync of nothing.

    Thoughts ended¡­

    And so he, Tr¡¯aedis, seemed to stand there, still, as the water closed.

    Pur? watched him, with both a curiosity and a pitying sort of humor, until the people he had called by dipping his semblance into the madrigal, came about, through the viaducts of the sky, passing through the Element¡¯r vareau, until Tr¡¯aedis, finished and returned to the world, opened his eyes, and looked up.

    Tr¡¯aedis looked up and saw a break in the clouds.

    Two figures came through it; they were high up, so Tr¡¯aedis couldn¡¯t see them clearly¡ªbut one of them had wings like those far-off winged figures he had seen upon entering this place, and the other seemed to be falling.

    They were moving around each other as they descended.

    Tr¡¯aedis chanced a glance below, and the clouds there were already parting. They didn¡¯t change color, but he felt a wave of something, warm, emanate out of the column of air, and though there was no sound besides the rushing of wind, the way it rushed past his ears felt like music¡ª

    And in a vivid, convoluted and mixed conflagration of sound and vibrant lines they passed by him, turbulence of laughter and the air filled with luster, joy and pearls and enshrined moments, moments that bring two together. Two people, together, and Tr¡¯aedis had been alone before the Dorrs brought their daughter, and Eleanor had taken months to try out his house, too and, and¡ªand then the clouds began sifting back, back to their present, unruly demeanor, and the two beings arose to hover in the air around him.

    As he watched, the one without wings bent her head slightly, to kiss the other¡¯s exposed neck¡ªthe lines of silver sky that ran through it, markings that went everywhere through his body, and a damp, tireless light emanating from it. In turn he stroked her hair, concentric waves of scarlet and black, that made the garments she wore grey in contrast as they billowed softly in the air, gradually begun to still.

    Pur? was, Tr¡¯aedis dimly saw, crossing his arms close to his chest and bending forward slightly. The two in front of them ceased their contact and as Pur? pulled Tr¡¯aedis aside, moved onto the grassy cliff to face them. The lines on the winged one¡¯s skin faded and merged with the rest. The color left the other¡¯s hair or rather seemed to drip down into her light robe.

    She turned to Tr¡¯aedis and, her eyes slowly widening, used her fingers to make her mouth into a smile; one broad enough that when Tr¡¯aedis moved to imitate it, he found that he¡¯d already been making that expression.

    ¡°Trix, vela d?r,¡± she uttered, her face, both pale and dim, nearly contorting in a burst of laughter (and a feigned, but wholly real, seriousness). ¡°Vela, nex Emeli. Dyen, riel ri,¡± she said to him, and he recognized that she had said her name, it sounded like ¡°you melee.¡±

    The one besides her, his wings still fully extended. Seeing them this close. Tr¡¯aedis made out blue-cerulean swirls along their¡ªthey weren¡¯t feathers, they were¡ªhe couldn¡¯t understand what they were¡ªthe winged one extended a hand, palm upwards, and as Tr¡¯aedis placed his own upon it, the skin of the other¡¯s felt a touch serrated, not like really anything he knew other than some of the items in that Lowers bakery, rough but also smooth. Just rough in comparison to everything else.

    ¡°Nex Avien, tae di Wae,¡± he said softly, making it sound like a question, even though he¡¯d said also his name, but it was harder to catch. Tr¡¯aedis again wished he could see their script.

    But in¡ªin everything else, their demeanor, their nods to Pur?, he knew them as he knew Ila ce, and ¡°Havie¡± had wings, he was a winged individual, with rough hands and clouds instead of feathers. He had just come down to earth. He and You-melee had been descending a cloud-shaft together and they were basking in the afterglow.

    Tr¡¯aedis stumbled, and dropped himself to the grass. He sat; he limited himself to staring at the newcomers¡¯ legs, Havie¡¯s which were thankfully clothed in some thin material, Youmelee¡¯s in some kind of extended sock. Arching lines of red, or ochre, vibrated along hers, as she curled her toes.

    He faintly heard them talking amongst themselves. He stopped trying to piece together words he¡¯d only been remembering ¡°niche-a¡±. He closed his eyes and touched grass. Just the grass. It felt like bioterra. The three above him, they generally seemed polite and familiar with one another but for all he knew, they could have been arguing, in the most fervent of debates, and¡ª

    A hand touched his shoulder.

    Tr¡¯aedis looked up, and the one named Havie suddenly cupped his chin, Tr¡¯aedis¡¯s chin, with two of his enscaled fingers¡ªhis thumb and index. Up close, the silver and white bands that dominated his hair were so interconnected they seemed like a new color or a mix or a chiaroscuro. Havie still holding his chin leaned in close and before Tr¡¯aedis could react moved just short of kissing him, his lips further away.

    Havie stayed there, and mouthed something in their language but it was too soft for Tr¡¯aedis to hear. Havie let go and stood and shook his head, turning away to walk to the edge and look down below past the cliff-face.

    Tr¡¯aedis felt warm, he felt a glow, a glow was surrounding him. A glow instantaneous surrounded him. Blue and bulbous. Large and vast. Uninhibited. Colourous, colorific, colorized, 2237 ver.

    Youmelee and Pur? stood by. They did not query him, they were not lambasting at all his inability to understand. But he felt, he still felt solitude, this lingering, wavering jade, crescent-shaped miasma that piqued his entire being. But he still, tremblingly, felt that bright gray tassel above his hair, that didn¡¯t really belong there, and yet, he felt inhibited without it, were he to take it off, throw it down onto the awaiting grass. He felt lost without it. He felt lost wearing it. He felt lost.

    Lost¡­ there was too much color. So much, in this world before him¡­ if all the world was a stage, and all its people merely players, then where was the color, in this strange, eventful history? Where was the color, in life¡¯s walking shadow, or the world bereft of its chrysolite? There was too much! Too much here.

    But he wanted¡ª

    ¡ªRecognition[1]</a>.

    Tr¡¯aedis put his fingers up onto his chin¡ªhis index and ring finger on each hand¡ªand moved them upwards.

    Satisfaction.

    <hr>

    Savior was confused, more confused than they had ever been; their three minds were at war. Or maybe it was a mind, a face and a body; or the soul, the spirit, and the flesh. Or three parts trinity, corporation subsidiary startup, factory car commercial. They were a car, they were a vehicle, they were Savior.

    Hector kept whimpering, like a poor dog forced to read the canon of Joyce from the Paris candlelit conventions, or the ongoing visionices adaptation of Hunter x Hunter¡¯s Dark Continent arc, ridiculing itself with the rewrites by a likewise poor editor, especially after Ging Freecss revealed his Nen ability. But Savior wasn¡¯t here for mere abilities, they were here for¡ªPOWER?

    Reify kept laughing, like the antagonist conglomerate of the sixth saga of the MCU, based on a basement strip exploring the Stan Lee Universe, especially when Larry Bird became its founder, throwing dry canisters of sandpaper paint alabaster onto the walls of the basketball court. But Savior wasn¡¯t here for basketball, a sport that died out to the raider revolutions of the 2190s, about the same time that a certain Scion began to wreak¡ªPOWER?

    Rev¡ª

    Power UP! Like the car engine. Like that bodiesified Long. Like that old fic, that one with the cute white mouse in pajamas who voiced the movement and the car moved, or the motorcycle, or the medicine. Dragon Up. Reification. Hectoring the process of existence. #TrustTheProcess. We sit here dillydallying, but really we¡¯re all confused

    Get in the fucking car. You¡¯re not a boy weeping over imaginary wings.

    <hr>

    Time, like

    Its soulless passage, unbound

    Container for arts.

    <hr>

    The phoenix-cuckoo-basilisk-cockatrice-clown-memerager-dowager imagetics¡ªIt squawked.

    Something in the draft Inmortalis¡¯ mind shattered,

    And now he could see. Unification. The glory but orange. Post raum, or post-r.

    Savior flew, and he came upon the fiery kingdom, that known as the M¨¤HA, and settling his wings alit upon a porch. It was a hot wood but his talons were burner, and he came to know it. He looked upon the pillars of fire that stalked the land, distant and tall, keeping his bulbous eyes open, clear and distinct. They made out some children. The children were playing with fire.

    They were far below him but from this distance, the orbs and spinning wheels they tossed at each other made fringent contact with them, hitting their skin and the strange clothes that covered nearly all of it. The parts that burned burned, and the children yelped but it was not with pain. Savior wanted to join them, but he was much reduced in size. The perch he had was comfortable.

    Sitting there observing, after a few seconds, he lost interest. No master of an art was there to bring him deeper into the miasma of unknowledge. Only the children. Only the children played. And Savior found himself chirping along.

    Eventually Savior realized that the tall winds surrounding the enclosure were falling apart; some soft hands were pulling them away, letting in air. The children ceased their tossing of fire and clamored. The hands, which were far larger than the children in their bright uniforms, sprinkled shards, which the children lapped up, using their winged forearms to crane open their protruding beaks to deposit them, down through the crop. Savior looking on from his tree, saw something flashy, and felt a bulge in his neck ripple. He was hungry. He opened his beak and squawked.

    Scene 10

    Tr¡¯aedis walked after Emeli, watching her tread. She walked slowly and with care, as if she were marking a design upon the ground, even if no colors or shapes swam the soil that they walked. The soil simply let her feet, bare, touch it, and Tr¡¯aedis felt that his bare toes were rough and only adulterating the path that they were creating.

    In the distance, as few times Tr¡¯aedis looked behind them, the students named Namdoe and Zhenu, whose violet tassels¡ªtucked into Namdoe¡¯s shirtneck and a series of bracelets on Zhenu¡¯s left arm¡ªgleamed as they walked, not approaching but staying just in sight. Tr¡¯aedis had not been able to speak with them after the event where Ila ce spoke; she had spoken and left, just like that, Triomphe further demonstrated to the crowd¡¯s emotion and a myriad strangers approaching Tr¡¯aedis and talking to him, making numerous, different motions with their hands: there were so many. While everyone in the world¡ªwell, until now¡ªspoke Neo English, as he was taught, Tr¡¯aedis hadn¡¯t heard of anyone communicating so frequently with their hands. Not since the various nations¡¯ sign languages lost their purpose after the River Styx Ennoblement act just before¡ªjust before the Edicts. He could wave or motion back but was afraid of making mistakes. Most of them were the slightest variation of the palm, with the wrist directing it.

    Barely catching himself, he almost walked into Emeli. She raised a hand¡ªjust her index finger, pointing up, and then bending forward¡ªand Tr¡¯aedis looked and saw a face in the sky.

    It was vast and shining. It wasn¡¯t just a face¡ªit was an entire body, full and below the large face glowing with golden hues, showing limbs and a wide torso, but it was significant enough in size that Tr¡¯aedis realized it was still distant, sitting with the clouds, and Emeli had stopped at the right point for them to envision it at a comfortable horizontal gaze. It was, he thought, like a constellation, but of clouds instead of stars. He recognized the face as belonging to the one back inside the green prism, the one they had pointed out to him as Jaceus, the one whose name everyone had been saying to him this entire duration.

    And below it, some faraway smaller figures were visible. But now Emeli resumed walking, and behind him he heard the steps of the ones following, and soon they were just beneath the vision, and before Tr¡¯aedis could take in the descriptions of those below it, he had to look up and see the image.

    It was too bright. It was too close.

    He looked back down, and saw a sudden grouping of color, dizzying tints of the various colors of the rainbow, spread out, singly, on the hands and arms, legs, necks and wrists, tucked into so many styles of hair, and he¡¯d seen this back in the amphitheater-like space but there were far fewer here, and up close, he could see that some were clearly older than others, some younger, some really young, the oldest appearing older than he, but it became harder to distinguish.

    One of them, a young teenager with flowing hair of silver-gold¡ªthat was the only way he could describe it¡ªa thin green band almost invisible in some knots on the back of his head¡ªhad his palm out; as Emeli beckoned, Tr¡¯aedis stepped closer, and he saw inscribed on the hand an array of flickering dots. They were emitting light. And standing above him was a young teenager, with golden hair as well but all the bangs tipped in jade, moving her right and left hand in and out of something invisible in the air, above the hand, and Tr¡¯aedis saw that she was focused, not noticing him, and that, as he brought his gaze up, the two were creating or conjuring the image of Jaceus high above, and that the others with various tassels or markers on their bodies were, like him, just observing.

    ¡°Gaudie, fri,¡± urged the one below, his green band glinting.

    ¡°Mayre,¡± the one above replied, grimacing, as she moved her hands faster; there was sweat on her forehead. This was the first time Tr¡¯aedis had seen any of the kind here¡­

    Emeli smiled and nodded as she watched, her frill of hair, was it hair? As it swayed. She was, he realized, not wearing or showing a distinctive single-color marking like the others. He fingered his own grey tassel; they were distinguished from each other that way, and she did not need that distinction. She was now staring up at the vision above, seeming to track its creation from the palm, up through the two hands, and up, up, up, to the sky.

    Jaceus must have been as well-known as Charles Restor¡­

    ¡°Aeros,¡± came a voice, one of the students watching, and she came to stand somewhat near Namdoe and Zhenu. She had hair so bright that Tr¡¯aedis almost thought it was white. But it was still yellow, almost silver, like a far lighter shade of the student creating the pinpoints of light. Tr¡¯aedis looked instinctively for her color identifier and he found it, purple insignia imprinted onto her hands and wrists.

    Then he realized that it extended past that¡­ glowing faintly throughout the part of her skin that showed, but then he couldn¡¯t tell which was skin or clothing or something in between, as he hadn¡¯t for Pur?. There were those here who wore clothing. There were those here who bore markings. And perhaps ¡®clothing¡¯ itself wasn¡¯t known in quite the way he knew it on the Sector; but he knew that, without a doubt, he himself was wearing clothing, which included the grey tassel.

    The student holding his hand out gritted his teeth. ¡°Jaceus aeros! Emeli-turen, noht vent, stym-li,¡± he struggled to get out, and Emeli clapped her hands. ¡°Pletmayr, pletmayr,¡± she replied, laughing, and Tr¡¯aedis wasn¡¯t sure if she was teasing, instructing, or genuinely responding to¡­ the joke that was made.

    ¡°Taenim-hol Eik¨­! Pletmayr,¡± came the response. The students marked by purple nodded. The girl moving her hands shook her head, taking a glance up: something seemed to change in her expression. Tr¡¯aedis had no idea. She nodded, and then steadied, slowed, stopped moving her hands. Whispering something to the somewhat frenetic one below, she moved her hands away, and moved her arms towards Emeli, palms out.

    Emeli inspected them.

    ¡°Mayre,¡± she said, without giving any clear emotion. She walked over¡ªshe took a step to her left, and beckoned for the other to hold his palms out.

    Flustered still, he turned his head away, or rather somewhat lowered to the ground; Tr¡¯aedis couldn¡¯t see his expression. But he raised his palms, and Emeli took his hands by the wrists, bending her face over his palms, and though Tr¡¯aedis could discern nothing different about them from the other¡¯s, something, perhaps the briefest flash, or the barest of a flicker, passed across Emeli¡¯s eyes, and she took her hands away.

    ¡°Nohmayr.¡±

    Tr¡¯aedis couldn¡¯t help hearing the emphasis on the second syllable, the ¡°maer.¡±

    The one with the silver-gold hair, green band, looked quickly at his evaluator, but looked away nearly as quickly. He muttered a few indecipherable words to himself, and his partner of the image they had been creating, who had received ¡°Maer,¡± simply nodded.

    Emeli looked up once. In that one moment she seemed to study the conjured picture of Jaceus with all the time available in the world. Her eyes appeared to create a formless depth in them, barely reflecting the pinpoints of light.

    Then, she looked back down, at her two upraised palms¡ª

    ¡ªwithout saying anything, her left glowed the slightest silver,

    ¡ªand her right became the boundless plateau for many lights.

    They were thin and very small. As before they had been on the student¡¯s hand, but Emeli put her right palm over her left, and closing her eyes slightly, her lips pursed, she slowly retracted her right hand. Upwards¡ªand as she did, a field of thin strings, or drawn-out lines of the light, followed her palm, and with a brush-like movement, then a single sweeping back of her right arm, threw her hand out, and a series of lights exploded into color flew over the sky, now empty, now not, and the vision of Jaceus became anew.

    Tr¡¯aedis followed it. This version of Jaceus was clearer, had more depth, felt closer to the original, even though he knew he¡¯d never seen it. The Jaceus in the sky, his golden hair shimmering, seemed to sit down on some surface, leaning back on something comfortable, staring off into the distance¡ªbut soon another figure entered the horizon, equally as large, one with no hair of any color, but with eyes that shone equally bright¡ªand undoubtedly, it was Pur?. The other students watching seemed to gasp with shock¡ªno, it was laughter, and Emeli watched them. Now her expression had changed, Tr¡¯aedis thought, changed because of the image she had created, and maybe Jaceus wasn¡¯t Charles Restor to them after all.

    But he wasn¡¯t Charles Restor nor Jaceus, and Tr¡¯aedis realized once more that, here, in the new world, he could start over, and as he watched, the students conversing among themselves, the vast image above glinting away, their various colors made out to him¡ªhe looked beyond them¡ªand imagined himself, long afar, without the pallid nervousness that he¡¯d been clandestinely propping below his pretend performance, without the lines that he¡¯d call from a poet from another world, another time, but with perhaps something of his own, his own¡ªand he realized it now, what he had really been seeing all this time¡ªwas magic¡ªwords.

    ¡°Mayr,¡± Emeli said, and he nodded.

    ¡°Nex.¡± I am.

    <hr>

    [1]</a> Tr¡¯aedis¡¯s theme, one day, shall be Hiroyuki Sawano and Yosh from SURVIVE SAID THE PROPHET¡¯s ¡°BELONG,¡± released on the 2014 BEST OF VOCAL WORKS [nZk] 2 -Side SawanoHiroyuki[nZk]-

 40 - Nimbostratus

    Low to high precipitating clouds that do not give lightning

    Eleanor smiled as she set the table; which for her, of course, meant placing the plates of nexus-filled readies over their tubes. She made sure to do so physically. It could all have been done by receptor. It could have been ordered the day before, or even the week before, per their house¡¯s scheduled influx from the government. In fact, it didn¡¯t matter what she ordered, the tubes would sprout their designated nourishing investitures, and she was just doing the motions.

    The table was set. The walls betiding the sacrosanct pictures of her family stood in their multicoated flavor of green and orange behind it. She saw the water slowly absorb into the kitchen¡¯s countertop from the pretense of cooking. Eleanor placed herself over her designated chair, right beside Father, in between the Fire Man and her mother.

    Tupil was handling his fork and spoon perfectly fine. His back was straight, she knew his feet were well situated below the falling false plastic (alter hydrocarbon-flynder surrogate) tablecloth linens, and the airnanos had done excellent work on his hair, pulled back, a burnished but clean red-orange. His T-shirt, a light green, nearly aquamarine, but very light, with colorations of a seagull white tickled all over, was new and Eleanor hadn¡¯t seen it before. She¡¯d been trying not to look at him too closely each time they were in the same room. But it was a very nice shirt, and there were actual seagulls, and a spray of sea-foam over black rocks and even a long winding beach. It was a Lowers shirt, that much was immediately clear. But Eleanor greatly preferred it to the prior act.

    Delano was talking to the Fire Man. It was rare for Tupil to eat dinner with them, especially on these high-backed chairs. Very straight. He must have finally gone to a proper restoration center; there was only one in each district, but so easy to get to by portal. Alter straight. Better posture than even his hologram. No, I¡¯m just so busy, with the upcoming tuitions of the next year¡¯s university admittees. It¡¯s all over the Net. They¡¯re vying for the best ratios. Oh, what¡¯s that? Yes, some universities have clandestine ratios they choose for hair and eye color. It¡¯s only for their orientation spaces and other gatherings of all the students. But sometimes when there¡¯s enough of a certain shade, it¡¯s noticeable.

    Ulera Dorr, physically present as well, was asking her about orientation.

    ¡°It was good,¡± Eleanor said. ¡°There were many alter students.¡± The memory was, even after so many tossing and turnings before sleep, trying to recapture those moments, hazy and bright.

    She was sure though that the seven students brought up by that silver fountain were the most alter. But she couldn¡¯t think on that for too much longer. Sector would be difficult, maybe, but she¡¯d still try to do well, no, she¡¯d do well of course.

    ¡°That¡¯s good, Eleanor. Alter you.¡±

    Alter alter alter. Didn¡¯t mean much to her anymore. Eleanor stared at the binelan fork held in each of her parents¡¯ hands. Six binelan ladles in all.

    She¡¯d done it again. While Tupil had technically emerged, fully in fire, from her father, that didn¡¯t make him her second father. Or original father. She didn¡¯t know. Tupil had explained as best as he could. ¡°Transfused Being.¡± She still didn¡¯t understand. Ever since she¡¯d laid her hands on the silver gates. Black turning into orange. With the dusk and back again. There was only so much she knew, which was very little, about how it all even worked. She was born with immunity to it. She didn¡¯t know how much, and recently it seemed she could create it.

    Or, there was the other, more lingering possibility¡ª

    ¡ªback in the bakery, that day with¡ªwell, with the Furies, before the government had quashed them¡ªtheir leader, after she¡¯d shown them her trait. He¡¯d said there were two possibilities, but what was the one besides immunity to it? She couldn¡¯t remember.

    But she also didn¡¯t want to remember, necessarily.

    ¡°Tupil, what pure hands you have,¡± her mother told him, reaching out. Tupil extended in return. Ulera took his left arm by the wrist, and with her other hand, ran her fingers across his knuckles. Tupil, catching Eleanor¡¯s eye, gave a brief, but clearly hoarse, chuckle and retracted his hand. Delano cleared his throat; he was seemingly not comfortable with two people who for so long had not been inside the threshold, both now sitting here, and only, of course, because Eleanor had invited the gardener to the house of the rose.

    Tupil raised the binelan fork to his mouth. The flavon entered, and the smallest, miniature wisps of flame surged up from beneath his tongue. Like in the ancient stories Eleanor used to hear so much about. A dark cavern; no, a steel funnel, awaiting the soldiers; no, a dragon¡¯s mouth. No, she was only imagining it. Tupil placed a tip of floret, and a dab of gravitas, onto the awaiting drawbridge.

    She could ask Father to contact the theater troupe again. They had the answers, beckoned to them somehow, from their various Scion traits¡­ but that reminded her of the Thought-session she had coming up in 8 minutes with Layra and Jule. University discussion. What was there to discuss? They wanted to know all about her Sector orientation. She did not want to hear about all the Restor sibling holos, and Jule, where was Jule going again? She¡¯d already told them all how it went.

    You will become a Governor. And again, she thought that she was missing something, something significant. It was like an urge in the back of her throat, one she couldn¡¯t get rid of. But it wasn¡¯t a twange.

    Come to think of it¡ªshe hadn¡¯t felt that, or anything like that, around him. Not now, not then, not ever. Which meant he wasn¡¯t Scion; only transfused being. Which had to mean that her own father was not.

    She glanced at Delano; he was, she saw, not quite looking at the Fire Man either. He was someone who, like her, had been Scion Element¡¯r, had been born with the power of fire. But unlike her¡ªbut unlike her, he had somehow disgorged his own, and Tupil had walked out.

    That was as far as she understood it.

    A sharp, abrupt image, like the memory of a hologram, burst across her mind.

    A shadowy, unclear image of orange, something like a version of herself, seamlessly, sifting out from, through, her body, and stumbling onto the grass. The girl of fire seemed to turn¡ª

    ¡°Eleanor, your flavon.¡±

    Eleanor looked down at the plate before her; what had previously been the flavon drip, thin and cylindrical, had spread outward, nearly grasping the edges of the plate. It¡¯d melted. She was still holding her binelan fork; its prongs were touching the binelan, and, in the reflection off the silvery material, she caught a wisp of face, her own, and turning it she lifted it out. She looked up; Tupil had noticed, and Delano was murmuring appreciatively. ¡°You might work at Laconica,¡± he said, jokingly, but she wondered what he saw.

    Again she¡¯d subconsciously used her trait. Just like the bars. Just like her hair; and the leaves from Tupil¡¯s greenhouse. None of those times were truly conscious. Even back when that Fury had thrown fire over and around her¡ªit was possible that she had controlled it. She felt, she thought, strangely indifferent to this.

    Eleanor scooped up the rest of the flavon, wrapping it within the tines of the binelan fork. Her parents resumed their careless conversation. She put the rest of the flavon into her mouth and swallowed.

    Well, it wasn¡¯t really a part of her. And clearly, everyone who saw forgot.

    She drank some water from the clear vase.

    Thought-message from Layra: Accept. I don¡¯t think these Restor holos are as amazing as they touted them to be, said Layra. They¡¯re of people from a hundred years ago, Eleanor Thought back. It doesn¡¯t really matter. She Thought for Sector University and slid the options aside until she found Next steps. Layra continued bantering. Eleanor reread what she had been rereading ever since the orientation:

    All SECTOR incoming students to first choose COLOR LINE (focusing on it, she saw a short bar of seven colors) before being assigned summer assignments. Redundant, she thought, not for the first time. Your Color Guide, one of your representatives, will TM you with further steps between March 4-7, 2237.

    Still over two weeks away. Orange, was the obvious color; and again, it didn¡¯t really matter. All of the universities in Plent and High did this. The more pertinent question was which of the seven students she¡¯d be getting, that they hadn¡¯t announced, and while there were ways to find out, she didn¡¯t feel like trying. Some would be guessing the two Governors¡¯ colors; but, it was entirely possible that the seven themselves didn¡¯t choose their colors. And even what they had been wearing from orientation, in terms of color, did very little to indicate.

    Unless¡­ no, that could only be true if they made sure to select seven students who¡¯d all chosen a different color. And again, it didn¡¯t really matter. Sector¡¯s own Thoughtlab had already proven two years ago that students often intentionally chose their least favorite color, picked one at random, or asked a friend to pick. It also didn¡¯t really affect housing or roommate assignments, and she knew that whoever she got, wherever she got¡ªshe¡¯d be fine.

    ¡°Eleanor,¡± her mother was saying. Eleanor saw below that she had finished her plate. Clean; perfect.

    ¡°Yes?¡± she said in response.

    ¡°What are the next steps?¡± Ulera asked her.

    Eleanor responded; after the color assignments, presumably over their summer assignments, they¡¯d work on selecting a temporary what Sector called ¡®Shape of You,¡¯ where they¡¯d go with their studies generally, into one of the designated fibers of society. But for she, of course, it was ostensibly that of a Governor; even though she didn¡¯t want it. Only a prognostication.

    My dads keep asking if they can join v-Art¡¯s orientation, Jule said. But I keep telling them that parents aren¡¯t allowed.

    Was yours also in an orientation V-space? Eleanor asked. ¡°V-space¡± was the word going around.

    They sent a v-Art student to my house, Jule responded. Started changing the house settings and such.

    Her parents would have taken great chagrin¡­ Eleanor imagined the Dorr palace, its halls ringing with the slaps and bells of a rudimentary v-Artist giving it new colors and shapes. Ulera Dorr would tell them to leave, they had enough triangles already.

    ¡°Tupil, your shirt has some binelan paste on it.¡±

    The Fire Man attempted to dab away at the soft yellow paste with¡ªwell, there were no napkins in their house. A Lowers item; but Tupil simply smiled, sheepishly, and touched it with his index finger. A slow circle spread out in black as he burnt the part of his shirt away. A part of a seagull, some sky behind it, faded. Eleanor caught his eye again; a fiery dab of orange appeared in it.

    It suddenly reminded her of one day in the greenhouse. Tupil had just finished showing Eleanor his array of tea mugs, one for each color of the rainbow. Or at least his version: they were all shades of orange. This had been after she¡¯d started at Blazon, and he had been asking her to pick one. Eleanor had found first the one for autumn, and later the one for her nudd trees. One for the color of sunset, which was sometimes tinged with gold. One for the flavon panela they¡¯d started to serve in the cafeteria, which they didn¡¯t have in mediary. Another for a certain kind of fruit, she forgot which, but that Tupil had plastic ones tied to his older nudd trees. One for the color of amber. The seventh was one she couldn¡¯t put an object to, which Tupil had said, ¡°You¡¯ll know when you¡¯re a bit older.¡±

    He was right; Eleanor thought, in six months or so, I¡¯ll be off to university; I won¡¯t be able to attend his natural, life-giving greenhouse; to see, reflected in his eyes as he worked, brewing his tea; a color that she couldn¡¯t really describe in any other way. It was the color of fire.

    Eleanor finished eating, and stood, pushing her chair back in.

    ¡°Good flavon, Eleanor,¡± her father said.

    Eleanor nodded to the Fire Man and walked out of the dining room, to the front yard, where the greenhouse was. Layra and Jule kept talking, about college and other things; meanwhile, she chose orange, and looked up at the hazy, burnished sky. A soft wind tickled her light Flamingo vest. There was still time. She had to wait for Sector to assign their representative for this color, but in the meantime, she¡¯d wait.

    Sighing, she let her eyes trace the glass corners of the greenhouse atrium¡­ she couldn¡¯t wait to leave.

    two years ago

    Triomphe clapped his shoulder, Pur? giving him a hard gaze; Jaceus also sighted Emeli and Avien, the rest of his siblings, and besides those in front¡ªthe Tribunal¡ªhe saw others that he did not recognize. They were not wearing the colors of Taenim Laev, nor the mark of the Route of Color. Who were they?

    He took Pur?¡¯s arm; ignoring some of their glances. ¡°I thought only family and friends of the court were coming,¡± he whispered. Were allowed to come. This was the Bearing, after all, and one of the Myodor royal line.

    Pur? smiled. ¡°They¡¯re of Mine Tiara Dirn,¡± he said.

    Jaceus felt his mouth go slack; there was that exception. ¡°Understanding What Makes Us Breathe,¡± the most esteemed, but controversially the least understood, enigmatic, clandestine group of individuals who all strove for Mageart. From what he himself knew, while he¡¯d never talked with any of them, admission into their meetings was open to the N?tr, but they often traveled to neighboring kingdoms which made finding them even more difficult.

    He saw that one of the members, a Zarr¡¯a with striking velvet blue skin, had her eyes on him¡ªbut then, her gaze shifted, and Jaceus looked behind him¡ªit was Ila ce.

    Now, she had everyone¡¯s gaze upon her, and she gave her usual smile.

    He shook his head; no, they were both about to do this, and he still had a chance. In front of Triomphe, in front of Pur?, in front of Apolloceus and Etr ce and even Mine Tiara Dirn. He¡¯d practiced for this. He¡¯d gone to the Pillars every morning since leaving Taenim. He¡¯d¡ª

    ¡°Good luck,¡± Pur? told him, squeezing his arm, and Jaceus shivered.

    Yes, he could do this. He had to.

    He took a deep breath; forming the substance, ready to be shaped.

    . . . Exhale. He opened his eyes; the Tribunal, their eyes peerless, silent, and still, saw straight through him, and Jaceus approached his sister.

    ¡°Do well,¡± he told her, and Ila ce gave him her real smile; the one she only gave to family and friends. ¡°Same to you, Jaceus,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯ve practiced hard.¡± And with that, she walked over to where their two eldest siblings stood, and it was time. Jaceus took another deep breath, and, his stomach tight, walked up onto the Platform.

    He looked up at the ceiling; like the doors to the Tribunal, it was woven out of light, and what here appeared to be greenburn maple. As he expected, most of the design showed Ramona, Firebird, her arms and shoulders draped in flame, depicted wearing the traditional togaki of the Kadokawa order in the early years post-Moment, long before she founded their kingdom. He took a glance back; Ila ce also was gazing up at the depiction. Emeli as well, probably imagining it redrawn as skylight; Avien appeared to be meditating, his eyes closed.

    Jaceus looked again. There was a panoply of other minor figures, he counted ten of them; each occupying their own, similarly beautiful space. Besides Ramona, who lived before the designation was made, these were the other Magearts across the nearly eight centuries of the N?tr.

    There was one empty space: the twelfth Mageart. But Jaceus knew that some considered Even of the N?tr their current Mageart, even if he hadn¡¯t recognized himself to be. That was the dereliction to the title; it had to be self-recognized. He had also heard, through Triomphe mostly, of l¡¯Mae of the M¨¤ha who created their current-day chick dispensaries, who with her retinue would be visiting the N?tr for the next Riel eta. Then there was of course all of Palette, a country Ila ce spoke of often, and was often the subject of their stories as children: where the Magy¡¯calae ruled themselves, and only themselves.

    But those were stories¡­ and he, Jaceus, was a prince of the N?tr, and he would take the Bearing and form his shape.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    He cast his eyes down past the Tribunal.

    He looked down on the floor of the Platform. Made entirely of Mags¡¯ape.

    He closed his eyes, and looked into himself.

    Substance.

    the part of himself¡ªthe breathing whole¡ªeverything that really mattered¡ª

    He found it. Breathing in, he felt for the inner space, the untold chamber, that gateway within his heart.

    It opened.

    Like a raging flower

    Or an evening river,

    rushing past

    twin suns.

    Material.

    He reached out, embracing the material sky of gold

    and the Mags¡¯ape beckoned, its golden surface

    glowing, changing, reflecting

    green.

    Shape.

    The form of the image in his mind

    As he dipped his substance

    into the waiting gold.

    Allowing it to crest, hot

    feeling like a rising surge

    of magcreat, blue and crystalline

    ?

    He opened his eyes, and looked down at the surface of the Mags¡¯ape.

    Underneath its golden pallor coming to cool, he saw it: the shape of his shape, what would be his Magpotis. His ¡°possession of magic.¡± A sizeable, rectangular prism lying just beneath the wet surface, covered in gold still; with two handles emerging from it, one from the face of the top, one from the bottom. He knelt. Jaceus plunged his arms into the pond of gold and, taking his possession by the handles, one in each arm, he pulled it out.

    None of the original Mags¡¯ape material dripped or slaked off; he held his Bearing in his arms. It was of a born chartreuse, and he knew without thinking that the handles could extend, the box in its center the true hilt: it was warm. He looked along its edges and the smoothness of its handles¡¯ cylinders. He imagined himself using it, striking the cylinders against the Magpotis of others, of Pur?¡ª

    But then he remembered. Pur? was only t?hel ri, friend of the court, and thus couldn¡¯t do the Bearing. Jaceus looked at Pur?. Pur? was gazing right back at him. He was hugging himself, holding his arms tightly against his breast. His eyes of gold were hard, and his lips were curved in pride and approval. Jaceus felt his heart rise.

    ¡°You may go,¡± the Tribunal said, and Jaceus almost stumbled as he came off the podium. But he held on to his Magpotis tightly, and met the congratulations of Ila ce and Triomphe, Emeli and Avien, giving him their people¡¯s expression of praise to one¡¯s close group, the Avo, the wrist extended with the palm turned. Apolluceus and Etr ce were beaming; even Herceus, who normally had to make a joke, was telling him truth.

    ¡°Thank you, thank you,¡± he kept saying. But then he remembered, it was now Ila ce¡¯s turn, his twin but only a few moments older. He looked: she was already walking up to the Mags¡¯ape, its surface back to its original ambience, scaling its steps. Wait. There weren¡¯t steps. There hadn¡¯t been steps for him¡ªshe was creating them, and now she was ready on the Platform, now, like him, looking up at the Magearts in their wide depiction.

    Jaceus then realized that the three members of Mine Tiara Dirn hadn¡¯t approached him, their attention was riveted on Ila ce. Well, she deserved it as well. He settled his Magpotis in a more comfortable position in his grip, and watched.

    Tristan looked ahead in front of him and he saw Director Vektor talking very loudly in muted tones. President Amenda seemed to be giving her approval of his proclamations by merely blinking with each iteration of ¡®techist¡¯. Tiers Director Lile Scint, running through the final holoscreens, closed it before turning to face the rest of them, sitting on their various cubes.

    Some, like Tristan, were standing. Some didn¡¯t want to be there.

    ¡°There, all techists from Restor calculated,¡± Lile said. She spoke precisely.

    First was the same name. Two; one syllable per, six letters total. Tristan pronounced it to himself five times over before Lile had finished saying the last syllable.

    Amenda nodded. ¡°Next, Lile,¡± she said.

    ¡°As you all know, only four from Restor for Midyear,¡± Lile said. The large blue holoscreen, percolated through by a grid of four profiles, showed Cel on the top left, Tristan on¡ª

    Tristan on¡ªnot the top right. Not the bottom left. Not the bottom right.

    His unaltered brown hair avatar was absent from the grid.

    ¡°¡­ which makes our third student,¡± as Lile gestured to the bottom left, ¡°Starboy,¡± and the named offender stood, his brown curls giving Tristan a spark of anger, which quickly simmered down as he saw that the student, a young techist he hadn¡¯t noticed until that very moment, dressed in the brightest of conflating colors, all primary, all disorienting.

    Starboy stood and sat back down.

    ¡°And our fourth,¡± before the name had enunciated, a girl whom Tristan recognized to be one of the few third years still pledged to RTA, her flimsy black hair nearly windblown, getting up to point distinctly to her avatar on the bottom right, before sitting back down. ¡°Visi Trimat,¡± she said quietly.

    ¡°Thanks, Visi,¡± Lile said. ¡°That¡¯s our four for this year. Thanks,¡± and she returned to her cube alongside the others who coordinated the Exhibits here. But Tristan didn¡¯t see Cel among them; ¡°I¡¯ll see you all at the Midyear Exhibit,¡± and he truly hadn¡¯t come back to Restor since then. Cel could override. Cel could change the other names.

    Tristan looked again at the four avatars hovering blue.

    CEL RIN¡ªAlter Boy for the 2<sup>nd</sup> consecutive year, Rin family¡¯s patron of their ¡®true robot¡¯ sequence, already said to be in discussion for the GATE.

    LILE OMEGA SCINT¡ªTiers Director of RTA, known for her ¡®v-parodies¡¯ of other works, made at Exhibits via regenerator.

    STARBOY¡ª1<sup>st</sup> year at Restor, insists on only using the primary colors.[1]</a>

    VISI TRIMAT¡ª3<sup>rd</sup> year at Restor, former RTA president, has not appeared in an Exhibit since mediary as has ostensibly been working on the same project since.[2]</a>

    Tristan looked again but the four faces floated in space. Try as he might, he couldn¡¯t imagine over them. He wasn¡¯t going to Midyear. Pops would be furious. The first Exhibit unqualified for. The first Exhibit he didn¡¯t attend while in school ever since the early days handling cubes in mediary. The first Exhibit he wouldn¡¯t have to suffer the thousand fluid dynamic shocks the One Body was heir to.

    What a dream¡­

    Murmurs; Tristan realized that Amenda, who might¡¯ve stared at him concernedly, was now surprised, as his expression was not one of dismay, but of a tangibly feeble relief. He¡¯d forgotten. He¡¯d forgotten that it was not Meliodas who dictated his going to an Exhibit, but the Techist student-run organization of the school, and it was Cel, Cel Rin, whose arrival and defeat of Tristan had lowered the occasion.

    Lowered the drawbridge, and the <u>steel man</u> galloping over it. ¡°Come, Tristan!¡± the dark knight yelled, but for the first time, Tristan¡¯s reins weren¡¯t pulled forward just as quickly, as the intangible wraps of leather weren¡¯t there. They weren¡¯t there; and Tristan saw, as Starboy and Visi Trimat began talking with Vektor, that the drawbridge wasn¡¯t lowering all the way, and the dark steed was attempting to clamber over it, but the tint of the steel hooves gleamed as it fell. Tristan wanted to laugh but he didn¡¯t know what to do. So he sat on the nearest unoccupied cube and watched the RTA organizers continue to plan the Midyear Exhibit, and the other schools in the Sector that were arriving¡­ Cel would be Alter Boy yet again¡­

    And soon, the presentation was over, and the rest of RTA, those who had not been chosen, left the space to go over their own cubes and holoscreens. Tristan waited, but a few seemed to want to stay there, talking. Their receptors blinked and fuzzed. Tristan saw that he had multiple Thought-messages from Y¡¯sazant, one from Restor itself, offering its condolences for his not representing at the Midyear. One from Meliodas.

    He counted the number of cubes in the room. Eight, twelve, seventeen¡­ there were twenty-three cubes.

    ¡°So you¡¯re Tristan Mott,¡± he heard.

    Tristan looked. One of his combatant rivals, his bright yellow jacket gleaming against the red collar and sleeve ends, it was Starboy. His slight brown curls. Starboy grinned and nodded. ¡°I knew it, I can¡¯t believe I took your place.¡±

    I didn¡¯t know you existed until today, Tristan thought.

    ¡°Alter name,¡± he said.

    ¡°I thought you should¡¯ve won the latest Exhibit,¡± Starboy said instead.

    Tristan a superancient name, Mott from the derelict state pre-Sector II of Germany, ¡®Starboy¡¯ a relic of science fiction films, but then he heard again, and Tristan shook his head.

    ¡°Cel Rin true origin of the body, the body is the image, the one Cel, his and only his body,¡± he said.

    ¡°Only black and white,¡± came again Starboy. ¡°At least you chose green and white.¡±

    ¡°But for you, green is not a creative color,¡± Tristan responded.

    ¡°It¡¯s blue and yellow.¡± Starboy was beckoning over for another techist; Tristan didn¡¯t know their name, and he really alter didn¡¯t care¡ª

    ¡°Tiko Toko,¡± the dazon said, somewhat hastily. ¡°I¡¯m a first-year. I joined yesterday. Starboy told me you were one of our best.¡±

    One of our best. Tristan found those words, large and resounding, standing monolithically in the crevasses of dark. One of our best. Next to Cel?

    But before Cel. Before Cel, he had been alter.

    ¡°I just¡ªI just like alter darts, their shapes.¡±

    I also like portals and just standing in them without making a Thought to go anywhere. I like making coffee by hand and secretly hoping Father doesn¡¯t drink it so I can. I like returning to my room without having had to talk to Father between his return from GAT and too late to talk before sleep. But, he didn¡¯t say that.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I want to make! But President Sheen said that if you¡¯re not going to Exhibit, you have to show the new members your techistry.¡±

    Starboy nodded. ¡°Visi will help. She was president before Amenda.¡±

    And suddenly there were two others, yet another student whose name Tristan had forgotten, and indeed Visi Trimat. Her eyes had that appearance of perpetual melancholy. But Tristan could tell by the way she held her shoulders, as he knew he did the same, that she was taut. She, too, had skill. From Thought to holoscreen to material to image. All the way there and back again.

    ¡°Hi, Tristan.¡± Visi Trimat¡¯s hair, he saw, wasn¡¯t entirely black; there were tight, thin lines of silver running through it¡ªthe product of one or two Alteryears. ¡°It isn¡¯t hard; techists only starting out just need three things.¡±

    ¡°Red, blue, and yellow?¡± Starboy offered.

    ¡°Substance, material, and image,¡± Tristan said. One of the founding principles of techistry as laid out by William Restor. OK, at least he wouldn¡¯t have to respond to Father. He got off his cube and sat down on the floor, pulling the cube over to just in front of him.

    Tiko Toko followed, doing the same with theirs. Starboy just watched, eager . Visi looking on fixedly, and the fourth who hadn¡¯t given her name and Tristan didn¡¯t ask, wasn¡¯t saying anything.

    Tristan realized that he hadn¡¯t done this in a long time. Not since starting out¡­

    ¡°The cube is yellow,¡± Starboy said. It was¡ªI thought you should¡¯ve won the latest Exhibit. But Cel.

    But Cel wasn¡¯t here.

    He pointed first to his head. ¡°This is the substance. You first think of the techniques and methods you want to use.¡± He placed his hands on the cube. Its yellow surface stared back at him¡ªlike one of William Restor¡¯s noted holopapers that he used to plan the first Exhibits. Its edges, which began to curve as he shaped them, reminded him of Anne Restor¡¯s first portals, pure cylinders; not the thin and hard but beautiful rectangular prisms they were now. ¡°For the One Body, all I used was a bit of differential equations, balanced out by some fluid dynamics, but not using Vel¡¯atta¡¯s Resistance,¡± he said. He noted that all three, not including Visi Trimat who only looked on, were paying him vaunted attention. The yellow cylinder, wide and oblique, beckoned him¡ªlike one of Elizabeth Restor¡¯s first V-banks, carrying entire levgion¡¯ economies within their silver, infinite depths¡ªas he continued, ¡°And the material of course, is the object you apply these methods to, so that it attains a shape,¡± and as Starboy gazed on in visible rapture, Tiko Toko nodding rapidly, Tristan tried not to smile. ¡°I had to arrange the alter darts in three levels, all very close together, but not so touching¡ªso that, all three would float, with the windstrings balanced out by the air flowing through the spaces and differences in weight (even if it¡¯s very light), keeping it all above the grass, floor, or any kind of podium.¡± Except water, he thought. ¡°And so, the image is last. What it finally looks like, as close as you want it to be, to the image you had in the beginning. Straight and true and alter.¡±

    Taking a deep breath, he looked at the torqued prism¡ªsomehow, it had become far wider than its original breadth, like a span of mindo during preparation, or Mary Restor¡¯s celebrated Seurat line; closer to a circle than a cylinder, but with just enough height to make it the latter.

    ¡°Wow,¡± Tiko Toko uttered, their fluttery orange hair seeming to shake.

    ¡°Tristan, you¡¯re a star,¡± Starboy said. He made a strange symbol with his hands, interlocking the fingers: it was a three-pointed star. Or three v¡¯s.

    ¡°Pretty good explanation,¡± Visi said. Coming to kneel, she placed her hands on the flat surface of the low cylinder; it spread even more, becoming a complete circle laid out on the floor. ¡°The degree to which we select the image at first, or allow the techniques and methods to form it, varies per techist. And techist families tend to have themes they always use.¡±

    ¡°I know about that,¡± Starboy interjected. ¡°The Rin family uses black and white.¡±

    ¡°Themes, not colors,¡± Visi said.

    ¡°But themes can be colors,¡± Tristan responded. In his mind, the Mott family¡¯s was green. Or Tristan¡¯s was. Not his father¡¯s. Not Meliodas¡¯.

    He tore his eyes away from the rest¡ªdid he¡ªdid he just¡ª

    Y¡¯sazant¡¯s hair was also green. Jade. Tristan shook his head, silently, and waited for the reprimand. His chocolate bob unraveling. His brow darkening.

    ¡­ None came. Opening his eyes again, he saw Visi Trimat continuing to explain, that colors were invariably a part of themes, but that put into shapes, they acquired their true form. Something that, in her opinion, Cel Rin understood greatly of course, especially in departing from Anima Rin¡¯s original ideas about placing the body upon the image, as opposed to putting the image before the body. But at this point, the three first-years (not Tristan, who understood everything) were irrepressibly confused, and so the third-year had to start over.

    Start over she did; and as she talked, Tristan found himself staring at the empty space just besides her, drawing an outline in air, like the upgrade to V-locker, V-port, that High had begun to use, an outline forming the shape of a tall, black-haired ponytail, rainbow cube stellar imagery, that of the immutable, immeasurable Cel Rin, an outline of art.

    He knew what he had to do next.

    Nothing is real.

    Or as real as I want it to be.

    It¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve had to see a depiction of Ramona, but here she is now, dressed in fire and her arms outspread. She¡¯s not holding anything; she doesn¡¯t need to. But I have to do this, as my parents took the Route of Color, Apolluceus following, Etr ce desiring the library. All noble paths.

    What is mine¡­

    It¡¯s all a picture of the thing. I spread out my arms, I let the material of the mags¡¯ape seep and fill into me. Feel my soul¡¯s music, the calm and unrushed waves of my mind¡¯s ocean. Gathering in tufts and flakes. A mental roar, beseeching an entirety of my mind. Threatening to overflow. I breathe.

    It¡¯s just a dream.

    A warm, crepuscular drop of gold. A thin but savory prunestick. An envelope of sun.

    I feel these objects. They have weight; and as I open my eyes, I almost have to close them, it¡¯s so bright, my eyes are sloshed in the gold, my feet are encased in it. I can somewhat see my magpotis imprinted in the air around me: the small circle, the cylinder as long as my arm, and a broad, heavy globe I have to feel my hands around to ascertain that it is a sphere. It¡¯s still very bright; I put the circle into one of my clocca¡¯s pockets, tug the prunestick in between my arm and side, and hear the clang as the larger sphere falls on its side.

    It¡¯s all yellow still. It¡¯s all the same as the Mags¡¯ape was originally, but as the gold begins to fall away from my eyelids, I detect a variance.

    The stick is golden yellow; the small circle, peeking out from my pocket, is honey gold. The sphere¡ªwhich couldn¡¯t have fallen onto its side, it fell from the air¡ªis the color of the sun. It¡¯s actually shining, I turn away from it, but the surface below my feet is steady again. I can stand.

    Beyond me, the sound is silent. I look: they are all looking upon these three things. Or maybe they only really see the prunestick and sunstone, not the mineral, but as it¡¯s an embodiment of the sun. The Bearing; each to our own shapes. It¡¯s said that we cannot dispel them; once manifested, the magpotis remains, unimpeachable as its maker. Most who pass the Bearing keep it in their home or some faraway hill, deep under the ground.

    Clapping. Now they are applauding, Jaceus has dropped his own shape, to clap avidly; I even see that Mine Tiara Dirn has all made the Avo. But it¡¯s not real; it was only a controlled, plenary setting, and not what I would have done had I been alone, without the Tribunal in their facet gazes, using all of the material, and creating the sun.

    But, before I step off, I at least roll the sphere down the¡ªquickly making them a slide¡ªoff the Platform, and meet my family and friends. They are all happy; happier, it seems, than they were for Jaceus. He¡¯s more in shock, which was expected but is still kind of sad to see. He really did try.

    A grating sound. We all turn to see the Tribunal, their plastered wings tied back to the rock, struggling to depart and take flight. They rarely move, it is said. But they are moving now, and with a voice as one, say:

    ¡°SUNBIRD.¡±

    And then they go still.

    <hr>

    [1]</a> Starboy¡¯s theme: Desmond Dennis¡¯s R&B Remix of ¡°Wheels on the Bus," released on YouTube in 2018

    [2]</a> Visi¡¯s theme: Toko Miura¡¯s ANTI-ANTI GENERATION TOUR 2019 live performance of ¡°Grand Escape¡± by RADWIMPS, from Makoto Shinkai¡¯s Weathering With You

 41 - Altocumulus

    Many-grouped high clouds that signal change in precipitation

    <hr>

    [Enter] ??, mouth open.

    ??

    Two households, both alike in dignity,

    In fair Verona, where we lay our scene.[1]</a>

    I.14 Enter Claude, racking hands through hair,

    CLAUDE Sum e, tuera, Voi. Voi !

    Enter Alauda, blue-winged, feet to floor:

    ALAUDA Neo English. For our readers.

    CLAUDE Era. And all, blue-skied. Skylark, unclear!

    ALAUDA Speak clear, and we can talk all blue.

    That Scion¡¯s path is yet to sky.

    CLAUDE Vera. {Her eyes glow, deeper}

    Have not believed, but Cerise showed.

    The bird¡¯s about to fly.

    ALAUDA We¡¯ll see. Come time. {Hesitates, before:}

    She¡¯s far from winged. {Her wings, broad en blue, move freely.}

    {?? is silent, but nods.}

    Enter Sappho.

    SAPPHO Hey guys!!! XD it¡¯s been so long :)

    She throws her arms around Claude, who reacts like a statue in a fountain.

    She then goes over to Alauda, and Alauda tucks her wings in.

    I¡¯m so sorry ??, I¡¯ve been so busy! u know work and things

    {?? is silent, but nods and smiles.}

    Verona¡¯s so nice. Alauda alauda congrats on Savior! Gonna be a hard one.

    ALAUDA For sure. They¡¯re why we¡¯re here today.

    K Jeong has said that they¡¯re in¡ª

    Enter Dante A., resplendent emerging.

    DANTE A My friends, come now, to fair¡ª

    SAPPHO HAHA you¡¯re late jun already opened. But ya Verona one of my favorite hangout spots

    DANTE A SAPPHO! Too long! Our hues told not your grace.

    SAPPHO Your hues huh

    DANTE A {Laughs}

    CLAUDE Hey hey, Dante.

    DANTE A Hey hey! {Promptly executes their dizzyingly rapid exchange of hand-wing-emblem signs with Claude.}

    ALAUDA Dante, as I had said to her, Savior¡¯s now burned, in M¨¤ha gone.

    They¡¯re feeding chicks.

    {Silence from all.}

    CLAUDE Mierda.

    SAPPHO *they¡¯re being fed

    ALAUDA That¡¯s what I said.

    SAPPHO no no but thats ok :D

    ALAUDA Iambic begs the curve. Of all syntax.

    SAPPHO You¡¯re doing great. But for y¡¯all¡¯s concern, it¡¯s no concern, Savior is over there but for now they, (or back to he now) is being fed. That¡¯s K Jeong¡¯s problem not mine

    DANTE A Concern. {He/they glances, instantaneously briefly, at ??, who is looking very concerned.}

    CLAUDE Work, you said. What work?

    ALAUDA We¡¯re not¡ª

    SAPPHO It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ve been secretly helping Nhine with his Scion Revolution. K Jeong¡¯s been over there but just taking notes. Power system studies lol

    DANTE A Ha! For all, the strength to be. A system needs its ends.

    CLAUDE Cerise the wonder girl. She can¡¯t v-Art, she can¡¯t perform.

    SAPPHO Stop worrying haha, u can finish for her

    CLAUDE {She unfurls her hair. Bright, convalescent sparks run through it.}

    I can¡¯t. We¡¯re still abide. Cerise will stay with her, in Movement Blue.

    SAPPHO hmm ok, that¡¯s fine, have y¡¯all started yet? Its ok if u didn¡¯t

    DANTE A We¡¯re done, it¡¯s all to go. Worlds to be, lands to run.

    ALAUDA {Lets go a tinge.} The songs are draft, the sheets a-ply. Some winds for III¡¯s mchemraba.

    SAPPHO Nice nice, ok. Sounds good. Claude, Cerise can just make of the Movement Blue her continued place. Great place for Skylark. I do think we use II a piacere but Qumulo took the host. All works out :O

    ALAUDA Thank you

    SAPPHO ofc ala. My little bird, you used to be caged. Isn¡¯t it great to be free?

    {They all smile and emote, in different ways.}

    SAPPHO As for Meraki¡ª

    LOL its fine its fine its FINE. Idk what to do with him tbh

    DANTE A It¡¯s true, that he¡¯s not come since I.7.

    SAPPHO We¡¯ll go to II after performance.

    (II for us, Sector we¡¯ll do it there obviously)

    CLAUDE You¡¯re clear.

    {She jerks, white ticks glinting from her eyelids.} Cerise wants out. By Gene, I¡¯ll leave. Leave, allegro. {She gives a rather forced smile to Sappho.}

    SAPPHO wait wait your progress

    CLAUDE Ad libitum. Semper

    SAPPHO I know, jk. Now go! Haven¡¯t seen your wings in sooo long

    CLAUDE {The masked vermilion border wrinkles in time, and Claude smiles. She unfurls completely, her droplet-haze-runny longitudinal feathers unraveling. And deep, concert blue strokes highlight the shadows beneath the river depicted along its primaries. The river shines, but only to the keen viewer; in truth, it was barely light, all dim, but brewing underneath with unadulterated, fervent feathers that shook slightly, and bits of night seemed to fall from them, and in comparison her face and eyes shone[2]</a>. She shook them out one more time, drawing a sigh from her director.}

    SAPPHO Pulchritudinous. Can¡¯t use that word v often :3

    {Claude leaves before they can see her expression.}

    ¡°I want to go up higher,¡± she said.

    She watched them for their reactions. Only two really mattered. But she was still with them for now.

    Cerise, who¡¯d been staring off into space during Agate¡¯s turn, was now facing her way, eyes open; one pink, the other blue. But Skylark thought she saw the pink one, briefly, much darker, like a vivid purple¡ªjust as Cerise had turned her head. But maybe she was imagining it.

    ¡°That¡¯s a good idea,¡± Cerise said.

    Jaceus was nodding. They¡¯d been here just two hours, but he¡¯d already arranged his cloud-chair here, as they all sat on the empty, wide, flat, open surface of cloud, into something like a throne out of Knights v-World. ¡°If that¡¯s truly where their governments are, then they¡¯d know,¡± he said.

    ¡°So you really want to find a way home,¡± Luke said.

    No, Skylark thought. That wasn¡¯t why she was going up. Behind them, Ultramarine had also stopped to listen; but she noticed Skylark¡¯s gaze, and continued tossing her bind back and forth along the residual behind them with Calamus.

    They led such pleasant lives here. All they did was grow weapons.

    Skylark saw Jaceus nodding firmly. So Luke was asking him, and not her.

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s why you¡¯re all here,¡± Jaceus answered.

    Agate seemed, for a moment to start to shake her head. But she didn¡¯t. Skylark thought, she¡ªSkylark¡ªshe might be the only one who wanted to go up.

    Because Jaceus definitely did not have a plan.

    And Agate, Mr. T, Luke¡ªthey¡¯d all just follow, without really looking up. Cerise really might be here for her own reasons¡­

    Skylark shook her head. Maybe she could go with Cerise and discover what those were. She felt that Ultramarine wouldn¡¯t leave her residual. She could ask Calamus, but she got this feeling that he wouldn¡¯t leave his bind. The binds could be locked to their residual; oh, so neither would leave. Maybe they couldn¡¯t even fly.

    She had to figure out how to reach the next residual. A brief, fleeting image of Calamus grinning when she asked how, and lying again; a flash of Ultramarine, her blue rectangle hair sticking out, pointing directly to it, but talking again about the importance of not disturbing the clens. The clens, the clens. Skylark didn¡¯t care about the clens. Another image cropped into her mind. It was blue with light, but very clear, cerulean blue, standing on the edge of a cloud. She was very high up. She looked up and there was simply sky. She looked down and the next residual was many meters off. She looked forward, into the masses of emptiness just beckoning for her, and stepped.

    ¡°Whichever way we go up, we can¡¯t keep staying here,¡± came Agate¡¯s voice. ¡°I also have a feeling that the society above is militant.¡±

    ¡°Militant?¡± Luke. Skylark also didn¡¯t know what that word meant.

    ¡°Sector I hasn¡¯t been since AIV, but that may not have been the case with Sector II. They grow weapons. Assuming that these two only use one each and aren¡¯t growing just for themselves, they must grow them for people above.¡±

    Skylark thought of that one scene from Miss Gravity where the main character arrived in the Bowl of Hypotaxis, bringing the captured Fury to lay by the Minister of Flight¡¯s feet, her face all blue from the excitement.

    Chill, and tinted by the frost of having upended icebergs.

    ¡°As long as they have Scions,¡± Luke said. ¡°By what Calamus said, they definitely have them.¡±

    ¡°Descended.¡±

    ¡°If they don¡¯t have Agents, then maybe they don¡¯t even purify Descended,¡± Luke continued. ¡°So I¡¯ll just follow you, Skylark. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll still have some fighting to do.¡±

    Skylark nodded automatically. She tried not to think about it. She¡¯d nearly forgotten¡­ Luke had to mention it. She hadn¡¯t been able to hold the Porter up there forever. That was all she could do, for now¡­

    ¡°Or you could join Movement Blue,¡± came a voice, she did not know.

    Skylark looked to the speaker.

    They were not that tall, with brown eyes tinged with black, and very short hair, similarly hued; they seemed to be wearing a uniform of some kind, all in varying shades¡ªall in blue¡ªand running downwards across it, right from the dazon¡¯s cloud-white collar spelling out an M down to the very thin-looking, but very dark blue, nearly black, left shoe, E, to spell MOVEMENT BLUE.

    The front of their uniform had what looked like a crescent moon¡ªno, the letter C.

    ¡°When did you get here?¡± Luke asked, on his feet; similarly, Mr. T looked concerned again; but the others seemed fine. Not that Skylark herself had noticed this person come in¡­

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± the dazon replied. ¡°I see that Ultramarine and Calamus have waived your sky privilege, and I heard you want to go up?¡± they asked, but to Skylark directly.

    Skylark thought, if only their eyes were blue as well, then the colors would fit.

    ¡°Hold on, do you also have a sky name?¡± Agate asked.

    ¡°Well my name by droplet used to be¡ª¡±

    ¡°What is Movement Blue?¡± Skylark asked. To her they clearly came from above. And while she didn¡¯t see one of those binds on them, it could very well be within the folds of that coat. They¡¯d just entered, just like that¡­ and from above. What way to fly. Her heart jumped. She knew she could go like that, if she tried. All she had to do was keep trying¡ªshe¡¯d never tried on herself¡ª

    ¡°You¡¯re asking several questions. My sky name is Tammarin Le. Movement Blue is our concert. Your two luthiers here aren¡¯t really our best, but I¡¯m here for their regular. Movement Blue is the command structure of our Sector; your fermata here¡ª¡± they nodded in Agate¡¯s direction¡ª¡°is right. Sector I must be really uninteresting. But I need more than uncultured binds, I need some new reasons to go above, for the whole sopra is becoming so difficult. You¡¯re all descended, Calamus told me.¡±

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    They like Calamus and Ultramarine were using unfamiliar words, but Skylark knew they were also related to music. She nodded.

    ¡°Beat, that¡¯s good. Well, do you need anything? If not, we can go now.¡±

    ¡°Wait.¡± Luke was pointing down to his clothes. Skylark thought they looked ordinary. ¡°Your blue coat reminds me of the Agents of our Sector. They¡¯d plaster their Agent names across their uniforms. Also, also¡ªI¡¯m a Scion, but don¡¯t have my trait anymore. But I¡¯m still pretty good at hand-to-hand. If you guys have something like v-World up there, that¡¯s how I really got good¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ad libitum. I¡¯m doing things a bit differently from here. I¡¯m going to put it very clear. Your organizational structure is missing, usually the only alter people who come here are that one porter with his¡ªyou know, I don¡¯t even know what those are¡ªand Descended. Like you. Once in a mode, some descended come here ad libitum, d¨¦tach¨¦. By accident, on their own. Our skyports don¡¯t go to you. But you came as a group. That¡¯s, what do I say, drammatico. I¡¯m only a C Major. And I¡¯ll be very clear with you, I¡¯ve wanted my own cloud quintet for a long time.¡±

    Tammarin looked around at them all; they frowned.

    ¡°Oh, there¡¯s six of you. Septet, then.¡±

    Skylark laughed. ¡°I didn¡¯t understand a lot of that, but I want to go up the residuals. And you can take us there.¡± She tried to keep from smiling again as she saw Jaceus¡¯ face somewhat stirred in disarray.

    ¡°You are flurried. They were right. Yes. All six of you?¡±

    Skylark looked to the others. Agate was beginning to look concerned, but her brain never got tired. If there was anyone following all of these musical terms, it was her. On the other hand, Luke¡¯s face was torn even stronger than Jaceus¡¯, but he didn¡¯t look like he knew what else to say. Jaceus was halfway out of his seat, making these twitching movements as if he kept standing up, and forcing himself to sit back down and appear confident.

    Cerise was nodding, looking as calm as she¡¯d been this entire time. She winked at Skylark when they made eye contact.

    ¡°You know, I did tell my students my theories on what happened to the other Sectors, after AIV,¡± Mr. T said. He was smiling very broadly. ¡°Sm. Le, I¡¯ve always wanted a break from it all. The Government knows everything! Some schools are taught by Agents, after all. Skylark, if you¡¯re truly going up¡ªthen I¡¯m with you. But I agree with Luke, your cloak is really quite radiant!¡±

    Tammarin nodded. ¡°Again, your sky privilege is waived, and you must have had a really good reason for coming here. I understand that your Descended are treated differently?¡± Skylark nodded. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s what I thought. Things move differently up here¡ªjust don¡¯t go down. But sans rigueur. We will go freely, as we can.

    ¡°Skylark, was that your name?¡± they asked her.

    She hadn¡¯t told them; but Calamus and Ultramarine must¡¯ve. She smiled.

    ¡°Skylark li Agle. All of us are going!¡± Her heart¡ªit felt light. A place where Scions¡ªdescended¡ªcould use their traits freely. She thought quickly for a musical term¡ªeven though it was all made via tech in Sector I¡ªand said, ¡°We¡¯re in a chord.¡±

    Tammarin stared for a second; but then they, too laughed, looking away just a bit. ¡°That¡¯s pretty funny,¡± they said quietly to themselves, but of course Skylark heard. ¡°OK, it doesn¡¯t look like you all brought anything here anyway, besides your clothes, and your skeins. I¡¯ll get the rest of your names on the way.¡± They turned briskly, and like the passing of a rare, cold note of wind, was standing outside, on the cloud, some few meters away. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± they shouted.

    Skylark was the first out the door.

    ¡°GAME ON!¡±

    Siara screams as we careen down the track, her red and green stripes causing a blur; my memories of my second older sister telling me that she, too didn¡¯t know we both had an older sister that she was Governor. Fazzid Mi¡¯er¡¯s scarlet-ochre tights shrieking in sky as he whips past me, Mik¡¯vael asking how¡¯d I know, when I knew, just by looking, and I knew without knowing that her name was Majine. It¡¯s Governor power, they might have their own that¡¯s not Scion traits but something else entirely. The implications feel cold against my skin as Lacon already uses what they¡¯ve named the Pinwheel, but on the second flop they drop both their racket and the APB, which is swept up and stolen off by the Raider High University player, immediately smacking it back to her teammate.

    This means that even had the Furies somehow eventually taken down all ten ranked Agents, the Governors could come in, and ask us if we¡¯re a tree. No, a copse.

    I try to feel once again that simmering gold I¡¯d felt before in my knees¡ªbut it¡¯s gone.

    ¡°What the alter are you doing, Melea,¡± comes the voice of Vie, and I reactively dodge but no APB comes. She¡¯s not gone off with the rest; I¡¯ve stopped, and the other three are off far away, their rackets glinting.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your last name?¡± I ask.

    Vie, her feet just about to pivot off, slaps her paddle across her left forearm. She does this frequently. ¡°iHiela,¡± she says before leaping off. The ibef, I note, another descendant of a noted family line. That and the many apostrophes on this team.

    None of it concerns me. Unless they are also related to Governors. Perhaps Bodi Ayer¡­

    Out of chance a ball sails my way; I stop thinking and, with a few steps overtake it just before it hits the grass. Who¡¯s nearest¡ª

    It¡¯s Siara. She extends her racket, and I pop the APB over. She nods and flips it to Lacon, who before attempting another Pinwheel is rammed by a launchpad inverted sideways. They seem to hover in midair, before keeling over like a Lowers coffee slat filled with too much water, dangled in the air by Agate before emptying into the sink. Lacon wilts, but like everyone on this team, has the best BMP¡¯s and doesn¡¯t spill blood.

    The APB spirals forward; I catch it.

    As I run with it, I send a Thought-message to Agate again. Your sending failed. So she really is in Sector II. Running on air, whatever she¡¯s doing. Jaceus Myodor. Your sending failed. Pass by to Lacon, barely pincing it on the tip of their racket. But teeted away just after by one on the other team. I¡¯ll try it.

    Majine La¡¯go Vora?son.

    I summon a launchpad to jump off my right foot, doing a near split to avoid one summoned by a disgruntled auditioner. Only one offensive launchpad per digit. She leaps away.

    Hello, younger. A voice that sounds completely disenchanted. But it¡¯s her. Golden filament, Lowers jeans, green-black eyes. A real Governor.

    This is d¡¯Voris. Then I realize that Governors normally can only be met via hologram appointments. But now I¡¯m related to one¡ªmust be another ¡°Golden Rule.¡±

    We appreciate your disbanding the Furies. ¡ªShe knows. She¡¯s a Governor. They know everything¡ªHave you acquainted the Paradisiac Company? Who are they? Another group of Scions? I¡¯m not that surprised there were others organized, as we were disorganized¡ªI suppose not. They are no threats to our existence. They lack the knowledge. Our?

    Governors are known, I respond.

    A sound¡ªbut not the Thoughts made by the person on the other side, or the feelings that come through. An actual, silvery sound, like the crinkling of foil or the butcher paper surrounding Agate¡¯s pastries.

    ¡°Melea!¡± a voice outside of me calls softly. The crinkling sound subsides but I somehow know what it was. It was the sound of laughter.

    Portal directly upon the next Governor seat of the one who asks you if you are a tree. It is one of our board. Shareholder¡¯s meeting of the Group of Ten[3]</a>. Play your raiders. You have both Governor¡¯s and Magy¡¯cal Gene; you will see the time that comes.

    The crinkling, wrapping foil reappears. I barely hear my name.

    It was not I who called you. Only an Ordinal.

    ¡°d¡¯Voris.¡±

    Foil. Sharp. Jaceus Myodor made a skyport with his own shape. With your trait we can proceed with our quarterly projections.

    Majine leaves the Thought-feed.

    ¡°MELEA¡ª¡± I turn towards the voice, and catch a flash of gold before black takes over me.

    Scene 22

    ¡°Nex Traedis.¡± My name is Tr¡¯aedis. He wasn¡¯t saying his name any differently; but from the week¡¯s span he¡¯d spent here so far, none of the N?tr had the apostrophe. It helped to think of his own the same.

    ¡°Dyen, felot,¡± came the first. Welcome, stranger, tightening the green knots at the back of his head. Wos, fourth year, and hence why he¡¯d been working on the light-in-the-sky with Emeli, their teacher, of also his ready companion, whose jade-tipped hair also indicated Wos. ¡°Nex Gaudie,¡± she said. ¡°Faet ri, Eik¨­,¡± sticking her finger into Eik¨­¡¯s left cheek. My name is Gaudie. My friend, Eik¨­. Eik¨­ smiled uncomfortably. This was only the third time he¡¯d seen them, especially now as the fourth-years were all busy with their creations. But Tr¡¯aedis was still trying to figure out the exact nature of their friendship.

    He looked ahead, beyond them; the line was still increasing, predominantly Wos, each with their green identifiers, all trying to avoid their creation duties. Tr¡¯aedis, at this point, still failed to comprehend just why he was so popular with them; he¡¯d understood at first, with Pur? guiding him, and his being their only potential link to Jaceus, their lost sibling. But he¡¯d seen soon enough. As missed as Jaceus might be to his family¡ªPur? and Ila ce especially¡ªhe wasn¡¯t, not really, to anyone else, and so that wasn¡¯t the reason.

    ¡°Nex Traedis,¡± he said to the next student, and so it kept going. The most likely reason, maybe, was so far his lack of show of magic¡ªif back in Sector I it was technology or anything Alter, feats in raider or techistry or whatnot, that defined you, here, it was entirely magic. He hadn¡¯t been the best at Technology. But after about a week here, there was no other explanation. Unless all of them had something embedded in their bodies that interacted with, well, the air, he really was in Tempest¡¯s world. But all of them.

    Tr¡¯aedis didn¡¯t quite know how to treat that understanding.

    But from what he could gather of their language, as they did not have Neo English, they didn¡¯t necessarily think he couldn¡¯t use magic.

    Only that he didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Nex Tr¡¯aedis,¡± he said. I am pretending, he thought. I am the wizard without the staff. I am the wizard without his cloak and stars. His faint memories of v-World bore no resemblance now to anything he saw here, the colors and world he knew here were, just, so vibrantly different. It was real.

    So far, they weren¡¯t displaying their magic in front of him; they all seemed fairly comfortable naming themselves.

    ¡°Da, Koko!¡± said the next, and Tr¡¯aedis recognized her as the one with skin of burnished scarlet, back there in the seated crowd; she was moving past him and getting to her knees on the grass, and embracing a child in grey. Koko came behind, leading a group of them; he noted Tr¡¯aedis and gave him a look, and Tr¡¯aedis thought but couldn¡¯t say back, I want to be with students my age. But he stepped away from the girl, now standing with the child over her shoulder, and joined Koko and the rest of the children.

    Quickly, he saw Zhenu and Namdoe, sudden tints of purple, appearing from amidst the crowd; and the other Wos, being two years below, moved to let them pass. The three Nam, three including Uerora carrying the child, were always together, and as far as Tr¡¯aedis could tell occupied a certain space of authority, and Nam were often present at the Wos¡¯ creations with their teachers. However, and while those teachers, like Emeli and Avien, Triomphe and a few others he¡¯d noticed being called -turen, carried the most presence at the school, there hadn¡¯t seemed to be a principal or any clear guidelines, and not only for that, but also for assignments, schedules, texts, and student organizations. Well, there were probably those, but every time students gathered together in what seemed to be not merely friends, they were mostly if not all of the same color-year¡ªso those could just be classes. Further, many of the students resided here, whether they were the toddlers in grey or the seventh years, the uncolored Crea¡ªthe smallest class, as far as he could discern.

    One of the toddlers grabbed his hand¡ªit was time for class. Tr¡¯aedis nearly gave a wave to the older students, before stopping himself¡ªit probably meant anything. He sighed and followed the slow-moving group, led by Koko, as they rounded the tree in the center of the courtyard, Tr¡¯aedis still holding the toddler¡¯s hand. He tried not looking at the toddler¡¯s feet, because he knew they weren¡¯t touching the ground. This one was silent, but the others were emitting small sounds that he really couldn¡¯t tell between language and sound. Even a week into living in this world¡­

    Today they were learning the words for nature. Koko was in turns pointing to various parts of the tree, and saying different words. The children repeated after him. Tr¡¯aedis stared at the parts of the tree; he¡¯d thought it was fully natural, not a cyber tree by any means; so the words would correspond to the ones he knew. He listened and matched; toverhe for ¡®bark¡¯ or ¡®tree¡¯, [toe-vyer], if the trees were themselves frozen toes of giants. (A brief thought, whether this world had those.) Tot for the leaves, which were yellow, but they were so bright that Tr¡¯aedis felt, meant in the peak of health, and not of autumn; tov for the branches. [Toh] and [Toevh]. All toes.

    Tr¡¯aedis felt his stomach rumble. He stepped back in surprise, letting go of the toddler¡¯s hand. It was the first time he¡¯d become hungry, as he knew his body-maintenance prescriptions had addressed that. Until now.

    Koko¡¯s laugh. ¡°Nort Traedise,¡± he said; nort sounding somewhat familiar to Tr¡¯aedis, a word he felt he¡¯d heard many times before and only about him. ¡°Nort Traedis!¡± echoed the toddlers.

    They may not have BMP¡¯s, but they have something else that doesn¡¯t make them hungry, he realized. One significant difference between the school here and Blazon (and every other Sector I school, most likely) was that there was no designated eating period. The only times he saw anyone eat was when it was manufactured on the spot.

    A glow of the brightest yellow splintered into his view¡ªbut he looked, and saw that Koko was tearing one of the leaves in two. The toddlers all had their hands over their eyes; and Koko, his eyes opened and focused, fully gold, handed him one golden half. Koko motioned for Tr¡¯aedis to put it into his mouth. Tr¡¯aedis did; and he chewed.

    Habelsam floret. Just like what¡ªbefore his parents were changed¡ªFather and Mother would give him habelsam floret for breakfast on acting days. Sitting in the brightly lit dinner-chamber. Golden triangles dappled behind their blurred faces.

    Licking off the cream.

    ¡°Oh, my, sweet triceratops,¡± he ejected, as that bright memory became overwhelmed by a feeling of something being broken inside, like a host of butterflies all inside his limbs and watery organs being smothered by a warm, thick gold. The warmth began in separated spouts but then spread together and connected. A baker spreading butter on open slices. The warmth colonnaded and crystallized. Lowers toaster turning white bread into black death. Tr¡¯aedis felt the butterflies leave, and, feeling all their eyes upon him, vomited onto the grass.

    A somewhat silver, but now so dulled it was grey, object that looked suspiciously like his receptor was wet and covered with the rest of what he had last eaten. His body-maintenance prescriptions. All gathered into one. Out of his body for the first time since the operation at birthport¡­ How would he change? He waited with a growing, weightless uncertainty¡ªa pain soon began trickling out of his temples, and as the toddlers made noises of delight, the taste of light still heavy throughout his body, he felt his hair fall out. Wisp by wisp. Slight reams of his blonde hair, his default color only sometimes enhanced with Alteryear, falling onto his palm¡ªand it stopped. Why did it stop? Tr¡¯aedis felt for the hair still on his head¡ªsome was still there, left centrally on his head past bare skin¡ªand what remained felt like¡ªit felt like¡ªit felt the same.

    A glint.

    One of the hairs on his palm was gold.

    I ROSE, the sun¡¯s meandering striking my cheek, my holopillow struggling to make face about my head as I turned, opening my skin toward the beams, resisting the call to wakefulness, for the world meant return, to the unfit palace for anything truly imaginary.

    I turned my head. Somewhat, for as the holopillow continued its soft piece de resistance, beckoning my presence back to that clearer world, a realization surged through my limbs, filling my feet, turning my toes as I leapt, left the bed, fully awake ¡ªFor there was something that so filled the world I once knew, a golden scent, better than binelan, for there was something kept a pace with my walking, wondering thoughts. Before I was changed to the Agency day-form topsuit, engraved with the R, I was already looking upon the world with a measure of its inhabitants. For they could all appear, they could all appear within the limitless space of the V-book, and it was a world, it was a realm, it was a universe. And in it I now saw the reflection of the one I knew.

    I had to write!

    Laughing, I took it upon myself to leap back into the bed. I had to redo it. Reenact it. I closed my eyes, and feigned sleep; for soon, forsooth, the sun would rise, and my companion would enter¡ª!

    I looked, and the door remained hung, ajar; ¡ªsilence, and as I opened my eyes, tossing aside the holopillow, changing once more into the uniform, I looked out the hallway, and only the usual Agents walking their way, no hectoring companion in view.

    But I was awake. I was awake, and the sun was afar!

    Summoning my V-port, the V-pages of my V-book softly tousling the air, I stepped out, and proceeded to continue. Where was I? Seeing them in my mind, I felt.

    The boy was high in the sky. He was wearing a silk shirt, with yellow fringes and tassels. It matched the golden lining of the bird beneath him, a great bird, with wings of the strongest blue. The sun was bright beneath them.

    What was next¡ªthat was the question. It always remained now, at the forefront of my mind, for these past twelve hours. The other V-books from the Third Bureau lay hidden beyond their crepuscle lit by the V-port, only the slightest circle of light let in as my V-book¡¯s cylinder appeared into view. I only had to put forth Thought, and the pages would fill. An innovation so beseeched by society.

    I had to tell N¡¯ziet.

    Closing the V-port, the circle became a line, I Thought for N¡¯ziet rik Drie.

    I waited outside my door; leaning against the incline that the right side made against the hallway. After a few moments a Thought reentered that space we called the Thought-feed, and it was the Philosopher. Joined, quickly now by his inseparable subordinate, whom I¡¯d have liked to continue referring to as ¡®Rexy,¡¯ but exceeding me in vote, the rest of the First Bureau had elected to name them Anagram.

    Good morning, Third Agent, came Rexy¡¯s voice¡ªwell, not an actual voice of course, but one so smooth I heard as such.

    I wish you a good morning, I replied.

    We never wish other emotions or qualities, said N¡¯ziet. But you¡¯re having breakfast. And food is always good.

    Soon enough, I came to witness him, standing at the head of the hallway, just before the branch¡¯s departure down to the cafeteria. His familiar phoenix tattoo rippled across his shoulders and back.

    I crossed that distance. I went so quickly¡ªnearly striking Agent Istria, who¡¯d just emerged from her own headquarters; but she avoided my step easily, as she headed off to wish her own gud mornynge to a fellow Agent. But I didn¡¯t look¡ªN¡¯ziet slapped my raised hand, in the greeting that we¡¯d begun. ¡°Where¡¯s C. P.?¡± I asked, but N¡¯ziet merely pointed with an arm, and Rexy was there.

    This time, they wore their weapon in pieces, enough of them to fit a rather large neck-bracelet, all in green with the pieces barely separated. They were wearing their true uniform for the first time (in my viewing): the same flynder, and simply the letters A N A G R A M emblazoned across the center of the topsuit. Like their eyes, only these letters were black; the rest from the top down was slate.

    ¡°I think you have something to say, Raegoth,¡± they said.

    I nodded, and we began the walk down.

    ¡°The V-book is a remarkable form,¡± I said, to both of them. N¡¯ziet nodded; Rexy, as I turned my head to look, was frowning. Why? I¡¯d only said a technological platitude.

    ¡°Senra was telling me you walked past the visionices aisle,¡± C. P. said. ¡°When you visited their Bureau.¡±

    ¡°I got so many books,¡± I said. Some Agents passed us; we smiled and waved and exchanged further platitudes.

    ¡°In essence, it is the same,¡± C. P. continued. ¡°The V-book is still words, albeit formed and presented differently, on a page.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°But as an image of what we understand as the book, it is the same,¡± they said. ¡°And that¡¯s all that really counts, right &Z?¡±

    ¡°&Z¡± was considering, his brow furrowed. By now we¡¯d already reached the lay of the tables; I looked for my subordinate.

    ¡°But as you say, the presentation is important,¡± N¡¯ziet only said.

    I found her; Sara was seated at an otherwise empty table, or rather seated on the table, waiting in her uniform, all black with the exception of a large silver-white microphone drawn across it diagonally. That very microphone, twice as large as its predecessor, was strapped to her back.[1]</a>

    The sight reminded me of a certain¡­ people, and while I couldn¡¯t exactly recall at this moment, I knew without further inquiry not from this Sector.

    ¡°Let¡¯s eat,¡± I told them all, and as N¡¯ziet nodded, putting a leg over one of the chairs, Sara keeled him off of it with one of her own.

    ¡°¡®Too early for philosophy,¡¯¡± N¡¯ziet simply said, grinning.

    ¡°I¡¯m challenging you, Raegoth, for Third Agent,¡± Sara said to me, unstrapping her large microphone with the sound that middle-school Velcro made when society above Lowers still used backpacks.

    I at first believed her to be jesting; at second, she had indeed called me for breakfast, for esteemably this very purpose; but at third, she still hadn¡¯t left the Glass for a mission with her superior, and until now, and so at home, it seemed, she¡¯d decided to do so only as my superior, and not the opposite.

    Rexy sat down, ducking Sara¡¯s other leg. A white flash.

    ¡°You are jesting,¡± I told Sara, noting the growing number of bodies in the vicinity. Even a mere kick¡­ even that had raised a swell of times past, times long before I stepped into the Agency¡­ I took a step forward, and made a quick feint (for her weapon).

    She avoided it, and, for the sake of our audience, I proceeded to do a barrage of feints, grabbing for her mike, the strap, a bang of her hair, Rexy¡¯s weapon¡ªthey too evaded¡ªand soon, N¡¯ziet watching from his seat at the table, we were a panoply of swinging arms and legs, myself making Sara play defense, swinging at all the balls and strikes, and the crowd steadily grew. A flash of white.

    ¡°I sleep nine hours a day,¡± Mizuhara-san translated, as Sho-kun dipped his head sheepishly, giving his angelic smile. ¡°Ore mo,¡± I said. Some of the Japanese I could command. ¡°But I will never be as good as you,¡± and Mizuhara-san murmured the proper words to Sho-kun, who¡ª

    Alter steel out of nowhere barraged me, and I stumbled, briefly touching my forehead: it wasn¡¯t wet. It hadn¡¯t hurt me; but the crowd¡¯s roar abated, for I had been touched, one who never knew defeat, which was not true, for there was that one Emulus, who with his shape had¡ª

    Wait, what are these words coming into my head? I looked at Agent Sara; she was four feet away, her oversized mike #2 held by her right hand; C. P. was back at the table, calling N¡¯ziet¡¯s bet¡ªsome cards arrayed in front of them, they were betting on me, me, Raegoth, who was grave, gentle, and glorious¡ª

    Sara¡¯s mike came forward¡ªa feint, noted¡ªI moved around in the Porter¡¯s imitation mode of the N?tr enhancement, swung, and knocked the unwieldy thing up.

    Splinter. A gap in the ceiling; just wide enough to carry Sara¡¯s thing, stuck.

    I turned back to Sara.

    ¡°You are a fool,¡± I said, quoting my memory. A day of snow and books¡­ the white tables, Sara¡¯s microphone, that part of her uniform, N¡¯ziet¡¯s perfect teeth as he grinned¡­ it was coming back, the Fury leader before me in the library, wielding something that spoke, and it spoke to me. It spoke to me in fire. A sacrosanct sword of name, one that in history came out of me, like Pendragon¡¯s inheritance, or the v-World Guilty Crown. A named blade¡ª

    ¡°Reify,¡± I whispered, only to myself; and I felt a tug of flame, but nothing further. As the crowd applauded around me, the white tables mesmerizing, I thought. I remembered. A boy in the sky, riding a great bird with golden blue. I remembered a dance; a dance my spirit claimed, one of an ancient god. A name undeserved then.

    It came to me now¡­

    HORUS.

    <hr>

    [1]</a> Theme of Sara Planner: Jennifer Lopez¡¯s ¡°Let¡¯s Get Loud,¡± the Mike & Me edit, released in 2022

    <hr>

    [1]</a> Romeo and Juliet, Prologue 1-2.

    [2]</a> Theme of Claude M. Tone ¨C Marrzaan Remix of Hikaru Utada¡¯s ¡°Sanctuary¡±, released in 2018 on YouTube.

    [3]</a> The first they are mentioned; choose a piano, preferably out of tune. Play middle C.

    <hr>

 42 - Cirrus

    High clouds releasing ice to dissipate before the earth

    <hr>

    Something tight in his mind.

    Tristan felt for his receptor and Thought, Y¡¯sazant.

    After a few moments, the Thought-feed swung open, letting in a flash of jade: Hey, Tristan. Y¡¯sazant sounded just slightly somber; well, he couldn¡¯t blame them or put any stigma. Maybe they were getting tired of seeing Tristan at every Exhibit; seeing the same idea, shifted differently, as per the whim of Father.

    For Tristan was no true techist. And Cel Rin was.

    You know I¡¯m not going to Midyear.

    I think you¡¯ve told me about 3.2 times.

    Tristan forced a feeling of laughter into the Thought-feed. Pi rounded is 3.1.

    3.14, then. Does this time count? Syz at least knew. The dark knight did. And Tristan felt alone and harried, waiting for the drawbridge to fall. I told you directly, so 3.14 + 1 would equal 4.14. We¡¯re above pi now. Above the dark water¡­

    Where are you right now? Y¡¯sazant asked. They were probably at the raider game, if Tristan remembered right, it was Restor¡¯s last one as they¡¯d been eliminated by some Plent school.

    I¡¯m at school. Where it was dark, lit every hallway, the torches blazing¡­ Tristan struggled to see through the darkness. The hallway was lit by the soft glow emanating from the ceiling, a soft green, a massive sheet of rectangular green laid on top of everything.

    Really? Tristan, your dad¡ªdid he make you stay? Some light concern.

    Meliodas would never make him stay at school. Where he couldn¡¯t be watched.

    Yes, he did. I have to finish this draft piece by 11. Incoming Thought-message from Father.

    Reject.

    11? You¡¯ve been there since classes ended?

    I¡¯ve always been here, Tristan thought, and replied, Yeah. Six hours¡­ Meliodas would be furious.

    With that thought, he checked again.

    Thought-Message from Father. 10:42 PM.

    Thought-Message from Father. 10:39 PM.

    Thought-Message from Father. 10:36 PM.

    Thought-Message from Father. 10:33 PM.

    Thought-Message from Father. 10:30 PM.

    Earliest after classes ended, he Thought, and the Thought-scroll shimmered down in an instant to Thought-Message from Father: 3:14 PM. ¡°Accept,¡± he thought, separately, not Thought: and the long column of unaccepted TM¡¯s stood there, like long, impenetrable, silver columns set at the end of the paladins¡¯ journey¡­

    Paladins, knights, gates. None of it would do anything to help him finish this piece. Which he didn¡¯t have to. But at 11:00 PM, he promised to himself, he¡¯d open the Thought-Message, and leave the school, and head home.

    Just 13 minutes left.

    Thought-Message from Syz. 10:47 PM. Accept.

    I¡¯m gonna think really hard, and give you my most brilliant idea, Syz said.

    Tristan found himself smiling in the dark.

    Neither he nor Y¡¯sazant could solve this problem, and there was no problem. Tristan was staying at school of his own accord. I have one, he said. And there in the dark, he envisioned a piece. A piece of the image. A piece of Cel.

    Hanging. Silhouette in the dark.

    He wished receptors were technologically able to have their bearers send their images directly. Tristan instead described his idea to Y¡¯sazant, piece by piece, Cel by Cel. Thought-Message from Father. 10:52 PM. The Cel in his vision, wholly black, stared sightlessly from where it hung. Tristan noted Syz¡¯s surprise. He noted Syz¡¯s shock. Cel¡¯s piece hung in the dark. Syz¡¯s skepticism. Thought-Message from Father. 10:56 PM.

    Hanging.

    Syz sighed in the Thought-feed.

    What was your other idea?

    Tristan almost let his surge of shock seep into the Thought-feed. I know, I know it¡¯s alter strange. It won¡¯t work. Y¡¯sazant, even Mr. Hegel, Y¡¯sazant would¡¯ve been the only one to approve of this idea.

    Tristan, faet ri, I¡¯m joking. You weren¡¯t actually going to Midyear anyway. A moment. Hanging in the dark. My idea was a joke. You¡¯re serious about doing this? To the Alter Boy?

    Is your dad going to the Exhibit?

    Yes¡ªyes¡ªyes, Tristan Thought.

    11:00 PM.

    Walking out the doors of Blazon, Eleanor never felt better about leaving the place just an hour early. There was still some sunlight falling onto the square¡ªno, that wasn¡¯t the right shape, it was wider than its incline. But the school didn¡¯t have steps, just a trapezoidal ramp, with the six ready portals guarding it, one on each side, allowing those who didn¡¯t care to walk through those grand hallways to merely accelerate to the main auditorium, the cafeteria, the center rotary spinning off to each and every classroom; or the raider¡¯s arena, the technology concourse, and the various rooms of the faculty.

    She always walked, of course. Whether she did so with a friend or alone.

    Oh, there she was¡ªGiya. Eleanor had found it one of the few things she could do now while at Blazon, now that she¡¯d made it to Sector¡ªget an eye out on her fellow incoming class. Her grades were still well above 90, that wasn¡¯t a concern¡ªbut whether to make it 98 or 99 versus an alter 100 felt like saving grace for an imaginary, lonesome globe, far off in the distance, one that she could never hold or put to use. They were just numbers now¡­

    Giya Igre Bis, her spots of silver-white glinting amongst the rest of her black hair, was otherwise dun; she was wearing her Form Governing mock hologram suit, portraying a feline creature of some kind. Eleanor knew the name of it; it was at the tip of her tongue; it was either the lion or the tiger. Giya Igre Bis, leaving her face and head not covered by the mock, imitate fur, was growling at the students who were trying to go into the portals. She was actually growling at them. She waved her mock claws and attempted jumping over, Eleanor forgot the word for it, but Giya¡¯s green-and-black stripes flashed in the February afternoon sun. Wait¡ªwas Giya Igre Bis, one of their most alter students, also leaving early?

    Eleanor stepped smoothly around the jade-ebony, shimmering tail¡ªit was only an illusion, but she still dodged¡ªand quickly stepped behind a pair of first-years. (She didn¡¯t actually know if they were first-years, and who could tell nowadays, with body-maintenance prescriptions? Only a few students were identifiable.)

    Giya Igre Bis growled at the pair just in front of her. Eleanor thought back to when she¡¯d first entered Blazon¡ªhappy to leave mediary, thoughts bent on finding something to focus on (that alter 100), her shadow bearing the fingers of someone she¡¯d known for unfortunately just enough years to bother her, someone following in her wake, someone annoying¡­ she¡¯d forgotten. She¡¯d gone to Sector without them.

    Well, she hadn¡¯t gone to Sector just yet, had she? Eleanor put on her first-year face, like a reverse Alterface of two years¡ªwhatever that even meant¡ªas Giya Igre Bis, her black-green collar¡¯s tufts of fur gleaming, stepped into the light.

    That bright February sun. Government made. Eleanor stepped back in shock.

    ¡°Aaah,¡± she uttered.

    ¡°School doesn¡¯t matter!¡± growled the older student. (She was getting a bit too much into character, Eleanor thought.) ¡°If you want to matter, be a panther.¡± (Oh! That was the animal.) ¡°Or a¡ªwait.¡±

    Giya Igre Bis stared at her. Her irises were brown, struck through by sharp green pupils. Not many people used their Alteryears to look like cats, Eleanor thought.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a first year. You¡¯re Eleanor Dorr.¡± And just like that, the incredibly plastic alto Giya Igre Bis had been using was now a low tenor. Her Form Governor¡¯s voice. Her Blazon Student Governor¡¯s voice.

    One actor to another¡­

    ¡°Giya Igre Bis,¡± she replied. ¡°We¡¯ll be classmates next year.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not at Blazon High next year, Eleanor!¡± Giya Igre Bis said to her. Back to the panther. Waving her tail lightly at the still-passing-by other students, verily terrified. ¡°Did you pick your color yet?¡±

    Giya Igre Bis truly was a presence, she thought. ¡°Orange,¡± she said. ¡°For the color of my hair.¡±

    Giya waved the last remaining first-year away; by now, it was only them two, and some other emboldened third-years leaving the school early. A pair of raiders, laughing. A silver point of light leaving the last portal¡¯s use showing an afterimage, Eleanor thought, of two students returning to the school. Only February. For them, the three months that mattered.

    The panther in front of her frowned.

    ¡°I¡¯m also orange,¡± she said. ¡°Are you following me around?¡± Giya Igre Bis asked, raising her paws.

    Eleanor pretended to be terrified. ¡°Not really,¡± she said, laughing. ¡°So far you¡¯re far more fun to be around than Proen iHiela.¡±

    Giya crinkled her nose. ¡°Oh, them. They were always going to go.

    ¡°Who else is going, do you know?¡± she asked, and Eleanor thought.

    Her, Giya Igre Bis, Proen¡­

    ¡°I think there¡¯s probably one more,¡± Eleanor said. ¡°Just from what I¡¯ve heard.¡±

    Giya beckoned for her to follow, and she did. They began walking directly away from the ramp. Eleanor noticed immediately that as they kept going in the sun, matching Giya¡¯s spots, the president of both Blazon¡¯s Governor-oriented clubs shed her imitation topsuit, its colors and radiance of jade slipping away into dashing motes. Just like a real hologram topsuit, leaving¡ª

    Wait. It was a real hologram, for as Eleanor watched, the spots and stripes had transformed into the black and jade diamonds of Giya Igre Bis¡¯s Form Governors uniform, top and bottom. Only the informal hood at the collar stayed. Maybe it was the Heron model? Or the Pelican.

    ¡°What, you didn¡¯t know? I only got this yesterday. Parents¡¯ gift for making Sector. I asked for a Stork.¡± Giya Igre Bis shrugged. ¡°What did you think it was?¡± she asked Eleanor.

    ¡°Where are we going?¡± Eleanor said instead.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, it¡¯s really up to you,¡± came the reply. ¡°I was just showing off the real thing. You were following me.

    ¡°Ha! An actual panther, going after some helpless little cat. I don¡¯t have any place I¡¯m going. Besides Sector, and our shared orange.¡±

    Eleanor laughed. ¡°It¡¯s Sector University. Probably the best in the Sector.¡±

    And where, she thought, she could go for that globe.

    Giya skirted a cyber tree, flicking one of its overhanging leaves; a dot of light ran from where she hit it, rippling across the rest of the foliage. This Eleanor knew just before it happened: unlike a real tree, the cyber tree wouldn¡¯t shake¡ªinstead this one replicated the point of light across its boughs and bark, as if the sun were passing over it from above. Similar lights, or spots, to those in Giya¡¯s hair.[1]</a>

    Giya Igre Bis stopped before the second cyber tree.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, but it¡¯s not the best in the world.¡±

    Blazon High, District F, Sector I, World.

    ¡°We can¡¯t go to other Sectors. So this one practically is our world,¡± Eleanor said. This conversation felt familiar¡­

    Giya began scaling the tree.

    Eleanor stepped forward¡ªbut it was too late, the Blazon prima donna, herald student, highly ranked; Giya Igre Bis, one who was given not a Stork but a similar bird with that ugly beak, future Governor, was here in a real, hologram suit dressed as a panther, climbing a cyber tree.

    She was alter strange! And they would be doing the rest of orientation together.

    ¡°Did you go to orientation like that?¡± she asked. She would¡¯ve remembered a panther on all fours¡­

    ¡°Growl,¡± came Giya¡¯s response. ¡°No, obviously. Governors were there. I want to be one, that¡¯s why I¡¯m going.¡±

    Obviously, Eleanor thought.

    ¡°But Governors have privileges. Golden Rules. I could be wrong, but Governors could be able to see the other Sectors.

    ¡°But, I could be right¡­¡± Giya reached across a branch with her paw¡ªand with a swipe, she snagged a cyber apple. Eleanor watched. ¡°And if I¡¯m right, the real best university in the world would teach its students about all the Sectors. Like they did in the past.¡±

    ¡°So why did you pick orange?¡± Eleanor asked.

    ¡°Because I got a Prognostication from a Governor, and the Governor told me to. That that was how I¡¯d become Governor.¡±

    You will become a Governor.

    Eleanor stared for a few seconds at the branch, a fairly sizeable one, just below the dappling of the fur.

    Eleanor sighed, and leaned her back against the other cyber tree. It was hard.

    ¡°I got one too,¡± she said.

    ¡°You¡¯re unreal,¡± Giya Igre Bis said, leaping off the tree¡ªand landing on her two feet. Hologram off. ¡°I¡¯m going to go back to Blazon and make sure Proen also didn¡¯t pick orange. What did yours say?¡±

    Eleanor did feel somewhat out looking at those irises; but she was the one who told herself every year what her particular shade of orange stood for.

    ¡°You will become a Governor,¡± she said.

    Green blink. Brown gauze.[2]</a>

    ¡°Jade alter, Eleanor,¡± Giya Igre Bis said. ¡°Are you a Governor?¡±

    ¡°No, no, that¡¯s what the Governor told me. That I would be a Governor.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re joking. You are a Governor, and my Prognostication was right,¡± Giya Igre Bis said. ¡°You must¡¯ve been one of the two from the fountain. I missed it, these entire three years¡­¡± She was looking perplexed, but Eleanor at that moment didn¡¯t feel like correcting her even further. Giya really did want to become a Governor.

    They were just going to Sector¡­

    It was just college, right?

    Tristan saw a great many people in the line in front of him; they were mingling. Changing positions, all eager to get into the great, silver dome that marked the Exhibit. This one was probably inspired by that one building on the Agency campus. Both had the telltale markings, which in ancient times were called the frieze, run about its face but were so deeply inset that you could only make out the various animals and creatures if you were looking at the hologram version.

    Tristan didn¡¯t have the hologram version. But he could see it clearly within his mind.

    ¡°Tristan, I may have forgotten to bring it.¡±

    He whirled, sizing up Y¡¯sazant in one glance¡ªno, they were jesting, the reconstructed V-bow was slung neatly behind their back. He sighed softly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t joke like that.¡± He turned his attention back to the line; it¡¯d barely changed. ¡°It¡¯s not the real thing, remember.¡±

    ¡°OK, OK, I didn¡¯t forget. We¡¯re not actually using the piece you so famously failed with at the last Exhibit. Lile Scint is the one who renders parodies on the day, not Tristan Mott, the latest techist prodigy in a long, green generation. You¡¯re original.¡±

    Of course, I am. I am original. Tristan thought; so the image. ¡°Thanks for coming, Syz.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to miss the Alter Boy being so rudely attacked! I must say, that is the best idea you or your dad ever made.¡± Tristan whirled again; but Y¡¯sazant was winking, flicking their jade bangs over one ear. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s not going to work; these Exhibitists will be all over you soon enough.¡± They shifted the V-bow. It stuck out; Tristan was sure that everyone was staring, no one wore backpacks or even carried their pieces in anymore, just sent them in via portal or Upload.

    But his friend was standing out; and Tristan wasn¡¯t. So far going by the plan.

    At this point they¡¯d talked enough that they were finally within earshot of the Exhibitist, standing patiently by the self-scanner. The Exhibitist, one Tristan did not recognize, immediately when they saw them, put a hand to his receptor and it flashed: Tristan was recognized. Tristan Mott was here, not as a techist but as an observer, someone unimportant, someone who would only contribute to the determination of Alter Boy 2.0.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The Exhibitist gestured to the V-bow behind Tristan¡¯s back; Y¡¯sazant was behind him.

    ¡°Is that piece registered, Tristan Mott, correct?¡± he was asked.

    Y¡¯sazant pushed forward. ¡°It¡¯s my piece. Tristan isn¡¯t participating in this Exhibit.¡±

    The Exhibitist showed no recognition. Y¡¯sazant, after all, wasn¡¯t a techist of a known family. Or even a techist at all. Only a dilettante. Tristan began feeling a burn or clenching rise up in his throat. Y¡¯sazant stepped up onto the self-scanner. It was then Tristan noticed that his friend¡¯s receptor flash, his friend turn and give him a wide grin, and the Exhibitist nodded to them both.

    ¡°Don De Mai,¡± he said to Y¡¯sazant, who nodded. ¡°I¡¯m their latest member, this is my first Exhibit. This V-bow took me five months to make.¡± They nodded again, seriously. ¡°Tristan is showing me around.¡±

    Before Tristan could react fully, Y¡¯sazant pushed him forward and they started walking into the Exhibit, passing under an aperture that expanded in swells as people continued filing into it. The flooring was cool and soft but also hard¡ªalter titanium. The people inside were many, and Tristan immediately saw the true De Mai family¡¯s piece at the northeast corner, identifiable by the overwhelmingly bright piece of alter titanium hanging over them, like the ancient turtle, or the broadest leaf on one of his plants. They were far away and practically invisible under the silver light cast, but Tristan counted two, neither of whom was Don De Mai, who didn¡¯t exist. ¡°The De Mai¡ª¡± he began saying, and then shifted over to his Thought-feed, Syz you could have asked me for which techist to pretend to be. There are three active members of the De Mais and none of them are named ¡®Don.¡¯

    There¡¯s a family member no one¡¯s seen yet, and that¡¯s named Don. I¡¯m Don. Let¡¯s just not talk to my actual family, or the actual De Mais, not my actual family Tristan you know what I mean. I get to be a techist for a day.

    Tristan forced himself to smile. But he turned Y¡¯sazant away from that direction and made them walk towards the west corner. I¡¯ll tell you what the De Mais might know. He didn¡¯t mention how Y¡¯sazant would be wearing a GAT badge, properly, how sometimes the De Mais wore Lowers clothing, and especially how the De Mais did not speak with the High accent, but didn¡¯t say anything, verbally or by Thought, and stopped steering his friend¡¯s shoulder as they stopped before a silver globe, fairly large, just up to Y¡¯sazant¡¯s height and while its surface was dim, a child was sitting inside, pressing her hands to the inside concave walls, seemingly trying to get out, but Tristan saw the GAT badge tinted silver; checked his Thought-feed for Techist and saw that it was Leia Chibio. The youngest active member known of the Chibio family, and he saw in the description that she was only pretending to try to escape, or rather that she was pretending she was in v-World, but the silver sphere was an imitation or replica of visionices.

    ¡°Death Star. That sounds relatively familiar,¡± Y¡¯sazant noted, walking around the sphere and Chibio, inspecting it, peering this way and that. Tristan, you haven¡¯t asked how I was able to get in with the self-scanner. ¡°Marvelous,¡± they said. Some other onlookers nodded in agreement. Tristan just thought that it was a sphere of alter titanium, modified opalescence value, and Leia Chibio to his recollection had never won at Exhibits. You bought a new receptor, and registered it under ¡®Don De Mai.¡¯ Which Tristan had been thinking about, and expected Y¡¯sazant to pull out their actual receptor from their pockets.

    The Chibio child appeared to be screaming, but no sounds were emitted past the sphere. Tristan suddenly realized it was a callback to a series of physical movies that were popular around the world before Sectors, but that after WWIII and colonization of the moon (prior to AIV, when Eo cor Domini uninstalled it) ceased being made. But the v-World Star Wars had been popular in the Sector for a few years during that generation.

    Y¡¯sazant was leaving; Tristan hurried to follow. Syz¡¯s green bangs swayed in a pendular motion, back and forth, back and forth. Was he wrong? Syz did know a lot about techists; and it didn¡¯t matter whether the Exhibitist knew what the De Mais looked like, their current esthetic, as the receptor had recognized Syz as Don De Mai.

    What if Y¡¯sazant had found the real Don De Mai, and taken their receptor? The clenching returned in his throat, but somewhat colder, but he asked in their Thought-feed: You¡¯re actually Don De Mai¡ª

    Syz stopped. The pendulum stopped. Without looking back at him, Y¡¯sazant¡¯s shoulders began to shake, and as those green bangs began flicking up and down in the other direction, slipped to the side, fell against the adjoining wall and struggled to remain standing up against it, laughing.

    I was wrong all 3 times, Tristan said. He now couldn¡¯t help but feel an actual smile take over. How did you do it. He actually wanted to know. He touched his own receptor. Every self-scanner would recognize it as Tristan Mott, son of Meliodas Mott. Receptors were registered to their bearers when they¡ª

    He saw that Syz was now staring at him, holding back more laughter, the V-bow in their hands. Tristan looked at it. It was so meticulously crafted. A regenerator using parts from the prior regenerated piece had made it superior to the original regeneration. Trace on, the words came unbidden to his mind.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ªI should have told you¡ª¡±

    Tristan tried not to look at the others walking around them. The V-bow held in Y¡¯sazant¡¯s hands, the current iteration of the superancient image, shrouded in steel, a green knight.[3]</a>

    Y¡¯sazant hadn¡¯t told him¡ªY¡¯sazant was a techist¡ªY¡¯sazant knew Cel Rin¡ª

    Y¡¯sazant put a hand on Tristan¡¯s shoulder. Very few people know you can do this. But when I registered for my first receptor, I put Don De Mai as my name. But the name on my receptor doesn¡¯t have to be the name you see when I TM you, or when you TM me, and neither has to be the name I actually have.

    It¡¯s helped me to go to a lot of Exhibits. Y¡¯sazant lifted the V-bow over their shoulder. Faet ris, I¡¯m still Syz, I¡¯m not a techist haha. I¡¯m also not an archer but let¡¯s find the Alter Boy and fulfill this quest. They threw an arm around Tristan¡¯s shoulder. You can start smiling now.

    Tristan was smiling, and as they resumed walking, the kaleidoscopic titanium causing rifts and rays around them, their feet steeped in light, a row of robots in silhouettes became visible around the corner. The Rins.

    As Tammarin ran ahead of them, Skylark looked behind; she was already leaving them in the dust¡ªwell, no, the clens¡ªJaceus was second¡ªas she tried to follow the way Tammarin¡¯s cloak flashed different bouts of blue by the bright sky above.

    No, they were in the sky! Skylark laughed.

    ¡°You¡¯re having fun,¡± Luke¡¯s voice came as he caught up to her; it was now them chasing the blue. ¡°I agree, when you don¡¯t think about it, it¡¯s just running on binelan. I bet¡ª¡± he said as he huffed¡ª"some people in High do this,¡± but Skylark wasn¡¯t really listening because when looked at a certain way, the cloak read like a cloud itself¡ªshimmering over the cloud-surface as they ran across.

    ¡°We¡¯re in a wonderful place,¡± she said back. ¡°And I¡¯m not in school.¡±

    ¡°You got that alter right,¡± Luke said. ¡°Jaceus, don¡¯t make it easy on us!¡± he shouted, as Jaceus, Skylark glanced back, was just two meters behind them, the fourth in line, as Tammarin continued moving along ahead.

    The cloud was blue.

    Wait it wasn¡¯t green¡ªor pink¡ªwho was keeping them up on it? Running? Without falling¡ªSkylark ran faster; could it be¡ªa light, clear blue ran over, as she started breathing harder. She should¡¯ve brought a sweater¡ªno, it was too late¡ªthey were going to fall¡ªbut the clouds felt steady beneath her feet. They were blue.

    She kept running; she didn¡¯t know what binelan was but it felt, with each quick step, like a pulse of something coming up just beneath her feet, each one, just as they hit the surface.

    ¡°It must be the clens,¡± Jaceus¡¯ voice said. He had overcome Luke; she was not surprised, but then Tammarin¡¯s hands, no, their fingers she saw, were flickering, moving rapidly as they swung by the long blue cloak. She kept them in view as she glanced back at the pulse-steps her feet made. With Tammarin¡¯s finger movements, certain shades of blue swung into view beneath her feet, beneath the surface of the cloud. It was Tammarin. They were a Scion!

    ¡°They¡¯re Descended,¡± she said, but Jaceus was shaking his head.

    ¡°Not necessarily,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not sensing any magic.¡±

    She¡¯d forgotten. He could sense magic being used.

    ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± Tammarin called, and Skylark made herself run faster¡ªJaceus was getting closer to them, and before she realized it Mr. T and Agate were also there, and Cerise, and they were slowing down.

    Skylark put her hands on her knees; body-maintenance prescriptions could only do so much. And it was somewhat cold. She glanced at the others¡ªLuke and Mr. T were breathing heavily, but Agate, Cerise, and Jaceus didn¡¯t look at all fazed.

    Wait¡ªshe thought that only Agate¡¯s mind couldn¡¯t get tired. But, then she thought, exactly because of that, Agate probably trained her body on those fancy robos up in Plent. Or she ran. Like they just did.

    ¡°Just wait, rest,¡± Tammarin was saying. ¡°It should be here soon.¡±

    Skylark soon felt something hum beneath her feet, in addition to the pulse. Then, she heard Mr. T gasp, and Agate say, ¡°Wow¡­¡±

    She looked. Tammarin was standing at the edge of the cloud, and above them, coming deep out of the cloud above, was¡ªwas something white and long and nearly silver. She couldn¡¯t exactly make it out¡ªit seemed to be partly outlined by the sky surrounding it, but also concealed by it. Like¡ªlike on a Lowers painting. The clouds around it were the frame. But the thing itself was merely the, what was it called? Watercolor? Watercolor white, meandering down out of the cloud. Like it was being dripped down, slowly, in its upperside white paint, by the hidden painter living in the clouds above.

    The swathe of paint came down to rest.

    Lingering there, on the surface of the cloud they were on. Skylark waited for the brush. But Tammarin settled their hand upon it, and was touching it lightly with their fingers; tapping gently, in certain rhythms, upon it. Playing music upon a long white keyboard.[4]</a>

    ¡°OK. It¡¯s OK. They¡¯re not here to kill you.¡±

    What? It could be killed? It was real?

    Skylark stepped back; the clens humming beneath her feet. So this thing before them was a sort of elongated, enlarged version of them and the binds. She couldn¡¯t help but think back to a class in World History where, Mr. Abur, his robot clock chirping loudly, yawned and tried explaining once again how every animal was related, before the Government released mankers into the public¡­

    So it was the same here. She imagined it as it might appear in V-book: Clens ¨¤ Binds¨¤ Whatever this thing was. She rubbed her eyes; the thing was slipping in and out of sight. But now Tammarin was climbing onto it, like they were Fayar Gaebus on a hologram horse in the Westworld v-World. Or was it a flesh horse?

    ¡°Come to the chart, my septet,¡± Tammarin said, raising a hand; the fingers waved, and Skylark felt a push beneath her feet; she had to step forward, and all of them were being pushed forward. Cerise was the first now to walk directly up to the thing and plant herself right behind Tammarin; no, there was still some space there. In between them. For her. Skylark walked forward.

    As she approached the cloud-horse (she couldn¡¯t think of anything else, even though it looked nothing like a horse¡ªor maybe a chorse) she could make it out a bit clearer.

    She wasn¡¯t looking at a horse at all. There was no head. There were no legs, none of that long hair on the horse¡¯s back, none of it. Only a slightly discernible outline of silver where Tammarin sat in front, Cerise behind them; and what looked like long white (or a subtle dark form of silver) stripes sliding down on the side of the chorse facing her. The front of it was, she thought, what a cloud close-up might appear, and the rest of the body snaked up, up, up back into the cloud above them; some hazy tufts floated up near where it penetrated the mass of white.

    ¡°That is one giant worm,¡± Luke said from behind. ¡°What does that eat?¡± he asked, but before Tammarin could respond with more words from a different language and music terms, Mr. T interjected, ¡°Is it even alive, I wonder.¡±

    Is it even alive. Skylark hadn¡¯t thought of that. But Tammarin had said¡ª

    Were the clens alive?

    Could something be not alive, but still die when it was killed?

    ¡°C¡¯mon, it¡¯s a lot easier to sit on than it looks,¡± Cerise said, motioning for them all to join her. Skylark let Luke sit first; he plopped himself right behind Cerise, and it took him a second to steady. Skylark expected him to almost bounce, or wobble from side to side on the thing; but it looked firm. She moved up onto its clean white surface, shimmied herself such that she had one leg on either side; she didn¡¯t bounce. It was very comfortable; like sitting on a floafa¡ªthat wasn¡¯t really floating. Agate and Mr. T came right behind her, Agate asking if she could hold onto Skylark from behind (she said yes), Mr. T doing the same for Agate (she said yes), and then it was just Jaceus, standing there alone, his long golden hair seeming to sparkle in the sky.

    So we¡¯re doing this. They were going up. They were going higher.

    Jaceus remembered his first meeting with a Vay¡¯rte. One with wings. (¡®One who attains into the sky¡¯ to be exact. It muddled the jade chambers of his thoughts and memory, as he thought more in Neo English now than he did in Nox.)

    She¡¯d been invited by Triomphe. During their favored Class of Vay¡¯rte each year, when their Silver Eagle would invite as many Vay¡¯rte as he could to the Taenim Laev. When they¡¯d all come in from the sky, cleaving the vareau in so many ways, landing on the grass on their feet. Wings of all hues. Some in feathers like the birds, others in scales or shafts or what other materials their bearers imagined. And then she came, walking over the grass and issuing its calm, just as he had now seen the non-Scion Tammarin walk over and move the clouds. Not magic; but a more innate understanding. But she had come and walked over it, bare foot; and those four components shaking off her shoulders, if they could be called ¡®wings¡¯ were, but there were four distinct parts, coming off them in the bluest forms of light. Sacre del¡¯ Ement, part of Mine Tiara Dirn as he later discovered, and the one who had shown Triomphe the matrix of shapes and substance, how to cast your own. And she had flown there, her face shrouded in blue, Jaceus and the other Crea all doubting their own shapes that they had imagined themselves to create someday; Sacre introducing them all to Avien di Wae, who could only nod shyly to himself even though he, too had wings of blue, and Avien would join the teachers of the Taenim; Jaceus braving himself and asking, could anyone create wings for themselves, and Sacre del¡¯ Ement merely smiling ambiguously, as if it were some fundamental secret. Later Pur?, as he showed Jaceus the markings of wings he¡¯d been developing on his outer skin, confiding that only those with wings in H¡¯trae flew, and those who flew in H¡¯trae without wings were unborne. It wasn¡¯t natural. It wasn¡¯t ¡®attained.¡¯

    And now, he saw, Skylark and Cerise and the others were about to fly themselves, and as he tried convincing himself that it was only moving through the clouds like the Element¡¯r shaping the vareau in the days before the Greenhouse that Enshaped the World was created, and not truly flying with the unbound freedom that Vay¡¯rte had, he also knew that Skylark would see it as flying, vicariously; and to her magic was magic, ability unbound was freedom. He could not fly so with them. He looked up; the cloud was only five or so meters above. And the cloud-serpent¡¯s body was still trailing back up into it.

    ¡°Our leader of shapes and colors, are you coming,¡± Cerise called, and Jaceus decided. Before any of them could say anything, he swept up, and walked up the serpent¡¯s form, and almost immediately found himself on the new surface; his feet were descending; but as he reactively threw his arms out, grasping at the solid silver tufts for something to transform back into something solid jade green he could hold onto, hands touched his own, and lifted him up.

    He almost expected more clen-beings to appear before him. Their faces shrouded in white and silver.

    ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there, Peridot. Uuggh, always fermata,¡± said the girl with curls of dark green, her eyes of brown turned silver, and her entire body save her head covered in what looked like one gigantic cerulean iststarke; there weren¡¯t any shoes or feet on the bottom. She scanned Jaceus up and down. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯ll cover the charts,¡± she said, but Jaceus didn¡¯t see anybody else; he almost expected to then see another massive cloud-serpent emerge from the surface of cloud behind her.

    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± said another voice, and there was no cloud-serpent rising out of the tuft, but the voice was right there, and a second giant green iststarke jumped off to the side, from behind the girl; a boy, who looked half her age, but of the same height, with pearly green eyes and hair of the lightest green shade he¡¯d ever seen. ¡°Rest, Oliviet, there¡¯s still time. Tamm wanted more than just a trio, right?¡± he said.

    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t see them,¡± Oliviet said, peering past Jaceus; he turned, and saw that the end of the cloud-serpent was still hanging underneath the cloud through which he¡¯d come. ¡°With us four, that¡¯s a quartet, at least.¡± She patted Jaceus¡¯s arm. He recoiled automatically; while her hand was likewise encased entirely in the green material, the touch was cold, significantly more so than it¡¯d been on the cloud below.

    ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it,¡± she whispered, and patted him again. Cold. ¡°When Tammy returns we¡¯ll get you a tuba.¡±

    Tuba: that one outdoor structure in the Taenim. An ancient physical instrument used by the human beings.

    Here: he made a guess, that the green hopping-suits were tubas, but they didn¡¯t use them for music, but for warmth.

    Shaking; the cloud beneath his feet was moving. Jaceus saw that the cloud-serpent was moving backwards¡ªor maybe it was forwards¡ªand the vivid pink of Cerise¡¯s hair shot up in a flash above the cloud.

    ¡°Go, go hippocampus!¡± she shouted, letting out a whoop as they descended, undulating back down to rest on the cloud. The hippocampus seemed to let out a soft murmur as it poofed down to land, and Jaceus saw the others all rise and fall with its movement. Oliviet and Peridot bounced out of the way.

    ¡°Wow!¡± Skylark and Luke seemed to say in unison.

    ¡°All right. So what exactly is this serpent named?¡± Jaceus asked Tammarin, who was doing their tapping-rhythm once more on its back, or what resembled one.

    ¡°Affannato, that¡¯s what this chart is right now, because of you sky people,¡± they responded. ¡°It¡¯s a chart. Which should be a word in your Sector.¡±

    Chart, Jaceus thought. A map or other table showing information. A memory, a blur¡ªEmeli making skylight once showing all the known kingdoms of H¡¯trae, with a line drawn in ochre for how she¡¯d traveled through them. Ila ce asking how fastest to reach Palette. Emeli responding, again, Ila ce, (as she laughed) you can¡¯t go to Palette. You must be invited. Ever since that dayform Celbrian, one of those who came in between worlds, brought one Magy¡¯cal child from Palette into the world of the Celbrians, and (laughing again) that probably had unidentifiable consequences! for the world without material.

    He knew now, though that it did¡ªat least contained in the portals. And, he felt, the Porter Qumulo likely did as well.

    Wait. Qumulo had spoken Nox. Qumulo, presumably, was human. Dayform Celbrian, one of those who came between worlds.

    He had to find her. And to find her¡ªhe had to go up.

    ¡°It is a beautiful creature,¡± he told Tammarin.

    The sky-wanderer smiled, slowly; but he noticed. Jaceus extended a hand to help Mr. T down; but the teacher promptly fell forward, landing face-forward in the cloud. Poof.

    ¡°Ymm-m mhaeve tm-melp mm-mm!¡± came the muffled response.

    ¡°And you two absolute bouncers are?¡± Cerise asked Oliviet and Peridot, who were shuffling their way, somehow, over to where the chart lay, heaving Jaceus thought, on its side from ferrying over so many people. How many sky people did it usually see (or did it even see?) on its days, almost idyllic it seemed, or perhaps this society truly was ¡®militant.¡¯

    ¡°So I¡¯m Oliviet, it¡¯s pronounced Olive-y like the fruit. My fellow bouncer is Peridot. I guess it has Pear in it.¡± She nodded, the movement causing herself to move up and down, slightly. ¡°Are you not a bouncer, as you sky people don¡¯t fly, the most you can do is, you know, leap and jump, bounce and lift?¡±

    Peridot let out what sounded like a cackle. Jaceus was glad he looked away; the sound did not well match that hair that was just so, so light green.

    ¡°Are you guys also part of Tammarin¡¯s¡­ musical group?¡± Skylark was asking. It was a good question. Tammarin had seemed to not include these two, as jovial as they were, in their initial estimation.

    ¡°We¡¯re, uh, helping,¡± said Peridot. ¡°Tam, I think we should start introducing the sky people to the chord.¡±

    ¡°I agree,¡± Tammarin said. They did another quick flurry of taps on the chart¡¯s head; the chart, without making another sound, seamlessly, slipped off backwards¡ªor forwards¡ªoff the cloud. It was then Jaceus realized that they were not alone.

    Hoarse, visionlike green shapes, emergent in the mist that had been clouding their view on the cloud-surface, were becoming visible. More bouncers. Agate was shepherding their group further onto the cloud they stood on, away from its edge; Mr. T was talking quite excitedly with the two bouncers among them, and Skylark was asking Tammarin questions. Cerise had changed her entire outfit to green, short of her hairpin which she kept sky-blue; and Luke, gesturing distinctly, was asking him¡ª

    ¡°Jaceus. I¡¯m ready when you are. You¡¯re not keeping us up, are you.¡±

    He was not. And neither was Cerise; they were all standing, unsupported, except by the cloud-surface itself. He glanced at Tammarin; they were emitting more musical terms, to Skylark¡¯s eager nodding¡ªshe was certainly keeping up.

    But, instinctively, he did not get to his knees to touch the cloud¡ªit was entirely possible that the cloud here, and he realized that he¡¯d been feeling this for some time on both the cloud here and the one below, that walking and standing on it felt like standing on a cliff-face, or rather a soft version of one¡ªthat it was keeping them up on its own. Or it was the clens. And then he heard a soft humming, all joined in a single note, emanating from the group of bouncers similarly garbed in green to Oliviet and Peridot, as they became more visible, their various hair-colors and eyes, heights, becoming clear. Some of them were holding binds. And the binds¡¯ wings were fluttering in the cool wind that seemed to wash over them.

    Jaceus counted nine of them. He almost expected them to begin singing.

    ¡°Caesura,¡± Tammarin said, and Jaceus did catch it this time¡ªa nearly instantaneous tap of the right foot, without moving the heel¡ªjust before the nine bouncers ceased their humming, something pushed from below and Jaceus caught himself before falling¡ªnow it was Agate who tripped, falling face-forward, Skylark catching her by the arm¡ªand now Jaceus saw, on the faces of these nine additional bouncers, varying expressions of neutrality, surprise, displeasure, and bemusement. Their entire group was now eighteen in number. Tammarin was the leader here, and Jaceus felt compelled to step forward.

    ¡°I¡ª¡± he began saying.

    ¡°We¡¯re here to go up,¡± Skylark said. She was forming a shape, invisible, in her hands; as if she was holding something. ¡°Do we all need binds for that?¡±

    ¡°Ha, you need binds,¡± Peridot said, laughing, but stopped abruptly when Oliviet bumped him on the shoulder. ¡°Okay, okay,¡± he said. Oliviet, seeming to drag him along behind her as they bounced forward to join the other nine, was silent. Tammarin seemed to be staring intently at Skylark¡¯s feet; she wasn¡¯t floating. But it was at that moment that Jaceus felt a strong inkling, like a sense of air or pressure being formed between them, by someone with wings. Holding a bind which had its own was entirely not the same. But to Skylark, again, there probably wasn¡¯t a difference if it meant going up.

    ¡°The chord is disrupted,¡± the now eleven bouncers said in unison. Their eyes and green suits seemed to shimmer in the mist, although as it continued to clear, Jaceus saw that, in the near distance behind them, stood a structure of some size, hazy, white, hanging silently like its own miniature cloud; it was larger than the chart, unmoving, and wind seemed to chorus through it, forming thin slivers of sound.

    ¡°And that is the chord,¡± Skylark said, softly; she was staring forward, her silver eyes seeming to glow, as they were illuminated by the auras of green around them in the cool mist. Surrounded as they were by these bouncers, Jaceus felt that they weren¡¯t yet able to pay attention to the distinctly colder air. And the chorusing wind, sleeting through the chord ahead, seemed to speak to them.

    Jaceus couldn¡¯t understand it.

    Tammarin stepped up; making a double pinching motion, one with each hand. They were now making clear, distinct, and rapid steps, their quick and unbroken, smooth and shot by blue movements causing wakes of cloud and white to unfurl from the surface. The bouncers en masse bounced out of the way. The way ahead to the chord was now empty. Tammarin stepped forward into the mist and, continuing to dance with only their feet, seemed to be moving forward, closer to the massive thing which was continuing to usher in an unidentifiable sound.

    No, Jaceus realized that Tammarin was bringing it in closer to them; and that, as they all observed, there were binds protruding along two skeins of its surface, apparent only by their handles, or hilts; and the bouncers, the Powers, all kept watching.

    Tammarin extended both hands.

    ¡°Encore,¡± they said. The chord ceased its language; and, still embracing the creature of cloud before them, distinct and great and formidable, Tammarin said¡ª

    ¡°It is time to test.¡±

    <hr>

    [1]</a> Giya Igre Bis¡¯s first theme song: Mashiro Ayano¡¯s ¡°ideal white,¡± from her 2016 album WHITE PLACE

    [2]</a> Giya Igre Bis¡¯s second theme song: ¡°jade tower¡± by FlowerBoyDeMii, from his 2022 EP New Game +

    [3]</a> theme of Y¡¯sazant Syzer: ¡°drowned¡± by midxna, from their 2023 album control is an illusion

    [4]</a> theme of Tammarin Le: ¡°Lingus¡± by Snarky Puppy, recorded and performed in 2014 at Kytopia Studios at Utrecht, the Netherlands; part of their studio album We Like It Here

 42.8 - Memories, part V

    I rise. The open window beckons. It seems to be a warm day; the birds are outside, and I look through the glass to see on the stone path below two of our horses. They are grazing. The lilies beside their cloven hooves shudder gently. They are clothed in the lightest gold.

    A light snore to my left indicates that Octavia still rests. Making sure not to wake her, I carefully move my legs over the side, plant them on the floor, and move off the blanket.

    I stand; I look through the window again, and see that the horses continue to graze. The stone path bears some fallen leaves; it needs sweeping. The birds continue to chirp, and I make out some larks perched on the branch hanging over the path. Their blue feathers glow.

    It¡¯s my imagination; larks cannot produce such light, especially in the early morning. I open my mouth; I cannot reproduce their call, but I produce soft whispers as the larks continue to sing.

    One of them ruffles its wings and leaps off. The movement causes a flash of blue.

    It¡¯s morning. Ianuarius the first, of the new century¡ª1400. It has been over thirty years since I reunited with my wife, the partner spun of my soul. I catch another glance; her hair, grey as the stone, shifts gently on the pillow as she breathes. I grasp a strand of my hair; still as burnished, still red, as the day I became fully human. I am still as young, in body alone; but my soul, my mind, has never once stopped to continue along the unbroken path. Hard and lined with grass. Sometimes great, majestic beasts graze alongside. I hear them neigh¡­

    Meanwhile, alone in Fontainebleau, Charles the Mad rages¡­

    I carefully step around the corners of the bed, and, still walking softly, slowly swing open the door, and, closing it behind me, leave the bedchamber, Octavia¡¯s light snores continuing to sound.

    I enter the hallway, still the same after all these years¡­ it is not great, but ample enough space for us, especially after Premi finished his studies at the University. Only two doors remain; the one to his former room is closed, but the other remains open, and Deuxi runs out, her dark red hair, nearly black, flying.

    ¡°Father, Father! I finished my first folio!¡±

    ¡°I just awoke, but good, Deuxi!¡± I answer, and as she nearly runs into me, pick her up; but, as she was yesterday, she¡¯s heavy, and I gently return her to the ground. She¡¯s been writing; a play, no less, but, to my eternal gratitude, not in Latin as they so prevalently seem to be.

    ¡°What is the plot?¡± I query.

    ¡°Father, you know¡­¡± she sulks, but I laugh and nuzzle her hair. ¡°I know, I know; I jest, Deuxi. So you finally figured out how to not have Prince Oiseau live?¡± I walk forward, and we walk together down the hall; and turning the stairway, down those soft steps.

    ¡°It was difficult, but I decided to have him live and die, both,¡± she quips.

    Oh, she is a master.

    ¡°A good solution, do tell,¡± I continue, and we reach the first floor, and head into the main room. I feel my stomach rumble slightly, but not so loudly as to quell Deuxi¡¯s clear and unrestrained excitement.

    She runs over to the cabinet and pulls out a fork and a spoon. Taking them, one in each hand, she has them strike each other; ring. Not true silver; but, her trait is certainly handy in these moments.

    ¡°The fork is Oiseau, the prince, alive,¡± she says. She¡¯s speaking more quickly, her breath hushed, as if she¡¯s about to reveal a great mystery; one told in the deepest confidence, and behind closed curtains of royal red. ¡°The spoon is the prince, dead in body and soul.¡±

    ¡°But?¡±

    ¡°But they are the same utensil!¡± she exclaims, rushing back to the wooden cabinet and nearly hitting her head as she places them back on the napkin next to the others. She closes the cabinet, and turns to me. ¡°A fork and a spoon can be the same, they are both for eating.¡± She reaches into one of the many pockets of her trousers and pulls out¡ªa utensil, I think, but I have never seen it before. It¡¯s still the same color; nearly silver, but rather than have just the tines of a fork, the part for eating is shaped, curved, like a spoon; and it still has the three tines, just attached.

    It is both a fork and a spoon.

    ¡°And that is Prince Oiseau,¡± I say, pointing vaguely to the new silver implement. ¡°What do you call it?¡±

    ¡°A fpork,¡± she utters excitedly. ¡°I know it¡¯s something only French can say, but it¡¯s not bork. That¡¯s something else.¡±

    She¡¯s making up words, now. ¡°So you brought together the alive body, and the dead body, into the same body,¡± I propose.

    ¡°No, no, no, Father, were you listening? This is a fpork. He is both alive and dead. Everyone thinks so. And everyone chooses whether so. He is both!¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m afraid I¡¯m still confused.¡± I walk over to the break-fast table and pull out some napkins from the small wooden container on its middle. ¡°You cannot be both dead and alive.¡±

    ¡°But everyone thinks he is.¡± Deuxi comes around to the other side of the table, and drops her fpork onto a napkin; it clangs somewhat loudly for its size. ¡°It¡¯s a play. So that¡¯s all that matters.¡± She looks at me, her eyes searching; I am still bewildered, for even if the audience thinks the prince is dead, or alive, he is either one or the other; but I smile and nod.

    ¡°A wonderful answer to your greatest problem. When can I read it?¡±

    ¡°Premi¡¯s got it first,¡± she says. ¡°He¡¯s already asked.¡± She doesn¡¯t look happy; but her eyes are firm, because Premi hasn¡¯t come home in years, and no word. From him or any of the Medicis. So of course, he hadn¡¯t asked, but I nod, for Deuxi is only ten.

    ¡°When he¡¯s done, surely, I am next,¡± I respond. Octavia doesn¡¯t read; but on occasion, she does act in our daughter¡¯s canon. But it has been some time, ever since her knees lost their movement.

    I take a glance back at our bedroom; the door is still closed. It moves me still how a pre-Moment, not in nightform, Emulus would have maintained much the same body throughout the most of their life; and how a post-Moment, always the corpus of humans, Emulus has various aches and pains¡­

    Only I alone have no suffering.

    ¡°Father, I know you¡¯ll figure it out,¡± Deuxi says, as she takes the fpork and wraps it within the napkin; like a human corpse, or a dish of some meat inside a foil of bread, or the inner part of an organ but no blood. ¡°Someday when you¡¯re older!¡±

    ¡°Yes, Deuxi.¡± I take the napkin and fpork into my fingers; unwrapping the soft material, I see that it is now a separated fork and spoon.

    I am older; I think it is to Deuxi¡¯s brilliant mind that she has somehow not yet questioned how her father¡¯s hair is still as burnished red aside her mother¡¯s grey. Aubert the librarian asked me about it the day before last, and just four years ago when Premi last stood in this house, we shared the same height, the same fervor in our hair coloring, the timbre of our voices.

    I sigh.

    ¡°Are we having breakfast?¡± Deuxi asks. ¡°We don¡¯t have to use the fporks.¡± She reaches into the pockets of her trousers again. ¡°Here, I have some normal ones!¡± She lays them on the table in front of her. I can see her gazing. She¡¯s itching to do it again. I think again of my son, of her brother, of the words he¡¯d said.

    ¡°Deuxi. You¡¯re not using your trait in front of others, right?¡±

    She pouts. ¡°That doesn¡¯t answer my question. No! I don¡¯t show what I¡¯ve written to others. Only to family.¡±

    She is really too clever. ¡°Not to Estienne the butcher?¡± She really liked his hams. I didn¡¯t¡­ ¡°Or to Pernelle, the fisherwoman down by the harbor?¡± She always gave Deuxi the smallest fish, the ones others wouldn¡¯t purchase. All Deuxi had to do was take a fish, look at its eyes, and turn them into those of a dove¡­

    Deuxi shakes her head, shakes her head. ¡°No, father¡­¡± Her stomach growls. ¡°I can¡ª¡±

    A knock. We look at each other. Rays of hope seem to stream out from my daughter¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°Premi,¡± she says in a whisper. Utensils clattering, she runs.

    I pull out a wooden chair, and sit down. It is likely Aubert; here to pick up some court-romances, and deliver the next books of hours. I rather liked those illustrations¡­ I hear Deuxi¡¯s steps making rapid thuds as she approaches the door. Neighs coming from the horses. They do like Aubert, he always gives them apples from the trees around the cathedral, just on the way¡­

    A soft creak as the door opens. I¡¯ll offer Aubert some of our bread in thanks. I pull back the chair¡ª

    ¡°Brother!¡± comes a distant scream. But I heard it clearly. Clear as the day. Deuxi¡¯s thuds seem to repeat in my chest. I see the bread, coarse grain, delineated against the bark-brown, sitting in its basket¡­ up on that stool¡­ I just need to go take a loaf, but I need to fully stand, and not midway between sitting and standing¡ª

    ¡°Deu, you¡¯ve grown,¡± he says, and I sit back down. More voices appear. They are distant¡ªlike voices coming out of a distant memory, rings of a bell¡ªthe horses are happily neighing away¡ªseveral voices. Ranging from a young boy or girl¡¯s to some other adults, female and male. Deuxi¡¯s among them is a cacophony of hoarse cries and shouts of greeting, tells of recognition and remembrance. Oh, Octavia will awake¡ªit is far too loud, this early¡ªa game of forks and spoons, no, sporks and foons¡ªa curtain falling, a shower of red, as the prince is revealed alive.

    I¡¯m still sitting as he turns the corner and enters our small room for eating. It is not quite a room; there are no doors separating it from the rest of the house. His hair is brown, with streaks of red, and he is wearing a red-and-gold tunic, a yellow tapering hat, and a tall, tan wooden flute emerging from the traveling pouch hung over his shoulder. A traveling musician. No, a minstrel.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Hello, father,¡± he says. He must not be quite thirty, he looks full of strength. Before I can respond or stand, Deuxi whirls out from behind him, and some others appear, and they are all similarly dressed, as minstrels, troubadours, traveling players. Like the distant faces out of the sea of memory I see them. And before they name themselves, even by the color of their hair, and the way their eyes move and change, I see them.

    Coming to stand just next to Premi is Orion Medici. Still with the same silver locks, albeit a bit burnished, like his sister Carina, coming in to put a hand on his shoulder; hers are still dark. Orion is wearing a mock, kingly crown, has a full beard, and is dressed the part, in full robe of scarlet, a trailing cape, high shoes, and a book held in the crook of his left arm. Carina is carrying a large, concealed object over her back, a basket under her left arm, in dappled green-and-blue traveling cloak; as she says her name I see more, one even taller¡ªhair that had back then been silver and ochre, now a vivid green, tinged with silver, Dorado, an instrument with both strings and pipe strung across his chest, a tunic of fading blue. Crux is next, leaning herself against the corner of the wall just adjoining the cabinets, hers now a burning orange crossing into red, fox-fur pelts draped over her shoulders and various animal designs sewn into the fabric of her tunic. And last, Lacerta, a youth somewhere between boy and girl, with long trails of green, red, and silver falling across their shoulders. A bit taller than Deuxi, he or she was dressed simply in brown traveling cloak and chausses.

    And among them, Deuxi, her red-black hair seeming to float as she prances in excitement.

    And then, I stand. I do not know what to say¡­

    ¡°It¡¯s been¡ªsix, seven years?¡± Carina says. ¡°And yet, Monseigneur, you look not a day changed.¡±

    Now, they appear my age, is the thought I know, and that I hope they do not say. Octavia should be waking soon¡­ the last they saw Deuxi, she was but four winters, and four springs¡­

    ¡°But you know why, Carina,¡± I respond. The reason being the cause of their departure, or rather, why I had stayed here, especially after Deuxi was born. ¡°You all do.¡±

    A scene comes, distantly, to the forefront of my mind¡ªof Octavia coming to me with her first gray hair, of the shock that came with realizing one was now fully human. And the strength, the birds¡¯ call, I kept on hearing with the morning.

    Every morning. Every single morning!

    Deuxi was besides herself. She didn¡¯t know. Orion Medici, if you tell her¡ª

    ¡°I wrote a play,¡± she said to her brother, who was far too old to be playing her parts¡­ He smiles and tousles her hair. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t come back earlier. I had to finish what we started, with Father.¡± He looks to me and the memories, certain ones where I revisited the Medici home, talk of finding others, other scions. How difficult it was, for unlike the Medicis who came time and time again just chary of revealing their abilities to the world, other scions there were, seemed to prefer a life separate and distant from the Magy¡¯cal, who was now just a name, one I used when Deuxi was even younger to scare her to sleep.

    I hadn¡¯t seen one in thirty years.

    ¡°Wait. What do you mean by finished?¡±

    Orion is smiling very broadly, approaching, and indicating for the siblings to sit at the table. A thought of serving bread. No, something to cool their throats. Orion sits and gestures to the book that, as he remains standing in front of me, Premi is holding by his chest.

    ¡°That, Monseigneur. Our book of traits.¡±

    I stare for some seconds before it comes to me. Orion had convinced Premi to leave the University with the rest of the Medicis on that quest. This, I had not even told Deuxi, and the dance in Orion¡¯s eyes, as he told my son of his dream, of finding others descended from the original races¡ªof finding their traits¡ªall those various elements, and shapes, and colors¡ªanother memory¡ªmeeting Octavia in The King¡¯s Parley, with a triptych she had done, of a Zarr warrior, a Ligaeryen priestess, a wandering Ab¡¯maluk.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it.¡±

    I hold out my hand, and Premi places the book in my palm. With both hands I take it, and turning it over lay it on the table.

    The cover is plain. It bears no title.

    Without looking I see that the Medicis and Deuxi are peering at my movements with fixity, as if I were opening the king¡¯s own copy of the scriptures. I pull back the cover, feeling the sheepskin parchment, coarse but permitting, through the pages as I look to the first page.

    CHILDREN OF THE MEDICI

    Book of Traits

    Sign¨¦

    Orion ¨C Hunter

    Premi ¨C Firstborn

    Carina ¨C Traveler

    Crux ¨C Bearer

    Dorado ¨C Swordfish

    Lacerta ¨C Little Dragon

    ¡°Keep turning, keep turning,¡± Deuxi urges.

    And I turn.

    The first page bears a phrase. Scions of the Dragon.

    I look below. The first word is ¡®continued.¡¯ Ah¡ªof course¡ªthe Medicis are all already. Below are some names, shadowy fringes, as I cannot forebear any longer, as I look at them.

    Jehan ¨C Sheets of the sky

    Guillaume ¨C Candlelight flickering

    Agnes ¨C Fire-painting

    Richard ¨C Fire on the water

    Martinho ¨C Navigation in storms

    Eleanor ¨C Fire-cloaked

    And there were just those six names. I scanned the rest of the parchment page¡ªthere were no more, just those six, and I spread and brushed my fingers across it, and yet could not find more. Just these six. Just these six scions. But all six scions of the dragon.

    ¡°What¡ªhow¡ªwhere¡ª¡± comes out of my mouth, my throat feeling warm, and my fingers unconsciously reaching for the bottom right corner of the parchment, feeling for the turn, for to turn was to seek, and to seek was to find¡­

    ¡°Here in France, Milan, Portugal, and England,¡± Orion answers. ¡°Our quest has brought us many fruits.¡±

    I turn to see him. He is, standing there, like a king.

    My throat is warm. ¡°But¡ªwhen¡ªhow¡ªall of these¡ª¡±

    ¡°All of these,¡± he says. ¡°We have met them. They are of an age with us, and your daughter. We find them, and we write their names. We seek them, and write their traits.¡±

    ¡°Traits,¡± I can only say for now.

    ¡°Yes, father,¡± Premi says. He has his hands out on the table, palms pressed to it. ¡°As you can see, these six, and ourselves, have traits of fire. ¡®Traits¡¯ is how we call them.¡±

    Traits of fire.

    I remember that Premi is a Scion.

    ¡°But you¡ª¡± Are a Scion of the phoenix and the elf. Playing with cards. Changing their faces.

    Has he¡ª

    I think of marriage. Premi and Orion. An unthinkable thing. Not unimaginable, given such societies as the Spartans and China going back centuries; but unthinkable. Orion has surely tangled my son in his dreams.

    I can feel the next page, but it seems unwilling to turn.

    I can feel Premi¡¯s light breathing. Some attention that I am sure Orion pays.

    I take my other hand, wrest my right hand away; and close the book.

    ¡°And these are for the seven races,¡± I say instead. Premi is long his own person; he decided long ago to join upon this fair quest, with rumbling consequences.

    ¡°No, Monseigneur,¡± Crux now says, adjusting her fox-pelts as they almost touch the table. ¡°That first page is just traits of fire. Common explanations of dragons only concern fire. But we have found Scions of the dragon with traits of fire, water, of the air, stone, and a few in others, like flora, one in wax, and steel.¡±

    She raises her left arm beneath a pelt, and gestures towards the book.

    There¡¯s more pages there, she is saying, and I know, and I know. There are so many Scions they have found; about half a finger in height, is this book, and I think of the races they have found¡ª

    Children of the dragon.

    Children of the light-wielders. Of the elves, like Octavia. Of the Undying, of the thoughtless who walk in chiaroscuro, and¡ª

    Of the phoenix. Of the wizard.

    Premi is looking at his father, and he opens his mouth.

    ¡°No, father, there are no Scions of the phoenix that we have found, besides myself, and¡ª¡± He looks to Deuxi, my wisp of a daughter, bright and proud already, the fair genius of the folio¡ª¡°Deuxi, just us two.¡±

    That leaves the wizards.

    A thought of a castle, shrouded in mist, of a legendary stone¡­

    ¡°And them, them too,¡± now says Lacerta, her or his fingers interlocked in their hair-strands of green and red and silver. ¡°The Magy¡¯cal. They¡¯re at the end, and their traits are the greatest.¡±

    Lacerta, who used to be just a baby. He, or she, or they, are now putting their hands inside the folds of their cloak. I hadn¡¯t seen. I hadn¡¯t seen the glimpse of green on the bottom side of their fingers.

    I turn my eyes to Deuxi. She is staring back at me. And I can see her question, the riveting desire to go forward, not only with her folio to show her older brother, but also to join him on this quest.

    The Magy¡¯cal also had children with the people who walk this earth¡­

    Octavia. She has not yet woken. I push back my chair, and make to stand.

    ¡°There¡¯s no need, Monseigneur,¡± Carina says¡ªshe has her fingers, of her right hand, on the table in front of her¡ªthey are splayed out, and her fingers partly clench, forming a heart¡ªa hand the size of a heart. Inside the space, seen between the interstices, clutches a spot of warmth, a bulbous soft red, swelling and pulsing.

    Inside me I feel her, understanding and true, returning from the tavern with cards pressed against her chest¡ªshe has come home, and without speaking we press ourselves upon one another, all sense from the day gone, my hair still strewn with the dust of old shelves. I only feel the single moment of being together.

    ¡°Mother,¡± my daughter breathes, and she pushes back her chair, and runs out, runs out to the bedroom¡ªjust less than a decade before, I had felt her, even then noisy with excitement inside Octavia, and I¡ª

    ¡ªI see the elf, splayed out on the wet floor, still among my friends.

    I take the book of traits, running my fingers over its spine, thinking of all of its contents, all of the Scions found, a romance of its own, but one real, one very real, and soon I hear my daughter¡¯s voice loud, coming from the bedroom, drowning out the chirps of the blue birds, asking her to wake up, urges soon becoming pleas, and I take the pages of the book and turn, and I keep turning, until I find a page that is white, with no names. I flex my fingers unconsciously. They need a quill. I look at my hand and see its appendages, supple and carrying the memories of my years. They yearn and grasp until Lacerta deposits a quill into them, and I take to the page, find its top center, and write Who Once Were.

    It is rather simple. It is just a name. I can turn memory and touch into meaning and truth. I write the name of the one who woke me.

    I stop my hand then, but I think of writing more, of delving within the remaining pages for more. I clutch my fingers but they are shaking. With my other I close my left ear; the urges that have become pleas are now hoarse cries demanding that the person in front of her is one way, and not the other.

    For an instant I think to the spoon, and to Deuxi touching her mother, raising her¡­

    A movement of the table; Premi, my son who is silent, is clutching the leg in front of him with his arms, and is turned halfway, peering at the wall, there is nothing there, and the rest are quiet. They are no longer speaking about their journey. A hunter and traveler amongst them, with tales to pry, and they are quiet! Why, is there no story to tell?

    Deuxi weeps.

    I look again at the book in front of me, and close my eyes.

 42.6 - Hiltons 4th Problem: Degrees of Separation [UNSOLVED]

    WE SOLVIN MATH PROBLEMS WITH THIS ONE [fire fire fire fire fire]

    I hate numbers. They indicate to me the unending architecture of my place of employment, and the last time I dared to count all the floors, after stopping at the last prime, I gave up, told Continental to destroy the floors above it (all the composite floors only as he refused to believe it was the last), and further ranted to Aunt Nishi of this endless, unforgiving, unlasting place we call home.

    But for me it¡¯s always work, and work for the Family indicates a need for assistants. And I don¡¯t need them! I drop the card.

    I don¡¯t know if Continental ever actually destroyed those floors. But it wouldn¡¯t have changed anything, or left even an iota on the canvas of my dreams. My palace unending.

    The truth. Always, it lies above. Above the last floor.

    It doesn¡¯t exist, Hilton, Marriott would say. Of course, he would. If it did, we could retire to the third dimension, and you could finally read. But as such, the Floors were endless, unending, unforgiving in the walk required of them. If only an assistant would leave me, unable to take them.

    But they were only concrete; and concrete, as they say, is hard.

    ¡°Ms. Hilton, Ms. Hilton,¡± Rafflesia urges, tugging on my sleeve. I gracefully stop myself from colliding with the door ¨C just standing there, brown, mired in dust ¨C intricate designs of the ancient ¨C no frame, just standing there. I execute a quick half-step, into en garde, but it¡¯s just a door, I was quick to be influenced by Raffle¡¯s raider racket, it¡¯s just a door. Wide, tall, and the thoroughfare of many destinations, empty in rhetoric.

    Raffle, my fledgling assistant, is still tugging.

    ¡°Why,¡± I say, and then, as I step to the side, to move around it, I see tall, heavy, and black, a suit concealing weapons, polished ebony shoes. A face that nods to his Hotelier, calls me by my first name. For the most instantaneous of iota I think with a gasp, Marriott, but no, he has just stood, a book in hand, pierced through, the smell of sand brimming from it ¨C he is Continental.

    ¡°Continental,¡± I greet him, as is proper. He nods again, and, closing the book, faded linear photos showing glimpses of unbred time, broken statues, docked boats ¨C Not a book, not a book, I can see ¨C sits. A chair materializes beneath him. And then I see his guest, or rather one of the guests on this floor, the Mode ¨C a peering face, flecks of orange, questioning eyes ¨C the early riser, the astute observer, Ben Faulk.

    He is looking past me. He¡¯s having one of his own dreams.

    ¡°Mo-g¡¯morning, Con-Continental,¡± Raffle quaffs, executing poorly a right-angle bow, instead doing an Olympic somersault. Continental merely nods. He seems to be watching Ben, and the rest of the hall is empty. Rightly terrified by our most terrifying Assistant. Said to be the sole responsible for Wyndham¡¯s grievances¡­

    ¡°We are moving down to the foyer,¡± I tell him. ¡°To greet the new Assistant.¡±

    Continental nods. Ben continues to look, his lips moving.

    Well, the Mode is an interesting floor, but I must move on ¨C

    Chirp, chirp. A bird. The bird. Now, I can¡¯t help but stay. I find another chair, and sit upon it. I turn my head. Yes ¨C this floor, rare for it, has a Window. And while the window does not look out beyond, into what lies there, I see the bird, fluttering her grey wings, tapping on the glass. Our most esteemed (well, for me) guest, Clarissa, today a morning dove, able to fly, directing me, I see, to a shard of mirror just below her window, on the floor. Two figures, father and son, pass through it.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Yes, I understand,¡± Continental tells Ben. Ben is nodding, his feet doing square, lost in time.

    I don¡¯t, the bird seems to say. I just see. I keep staring at the two figures. They, too are lost, in an endless step ¨C they are still passing through it.

    ¡°How is the moon?¡± Continental asks, his voice the light that falls upon the ivory. I think of Luna, brushing her keys, doing the duty for all of us ¨C and I adjust the lapel on my breast that reads, Chief Hotelier.

    ¡°The daughter is saccharine,¡± I respond. I ¨C for a second ¨C imagine the two, Continental keeping his weapons steady, as he twirls Luna around, her glasses reflecting. A series of notes, going through them as they laugh.

    Continental nods. He is still looking ahead, at Ben. ¡°And who is this assistant? Are they not coming up, to meet their hotelier?¡±

    A sense of affirmation fills the room ¨C from Ben Faulk, filling the room with his understanding and the different way he sees. He lives in a world that treats its assistants not like the ruler of his domain.

    Well, not the chief ruler. There are still words to go by that the original Matriarch, the Trivago, still polishes glass pieces in some far-off place, a reflection, or a floor I have yet to visit¡­

    ¡°I will attend,¡± Continental says. ¡°I have word from your brother.¡±

    ¡°Marriott?¡± I nearly choke, on my nonexistent liquid of Faunus. Raffle makes horrifying scratching noises on their racket. Luna, back on the piano, must have struck the soft pedal too hard. If Marriott sends word then perhaps I do have a job to do here. I let myself laugh, just a bit¡­

    Continental in a sightless gesture rearranges his weapons. There are five of them, I think ¨C at least within the torso. ¡°No, your brother does not send word. But he has visited the Sciences and Chosen Adventure, and after his passing, some guests have left their rooms to go up.¡±

    ¡°Up? Up where?¡± We decide their rooms, we the staff, their ordained overseers, their regal retainers. With cards to play, coffee to sip, or curtains to pull back. A guest leaving their room is something to do. Sighing, I give my assistant ¨C Rafflesia, who is not my equal ¨C a profound tap on their shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s time to go. Which floors?¡±

    Pray, do tell, he does not say, the Memory Comes, for that floor is haunted, with the laughing of children. But surely, my new assistant can wait a day.

    ¡°Those two, Hilton. As well as Fahrenheit and Regalia.¡±

    ¡°I sent H. F. D. to Regalia, with dessert samples.¡± Continental hates H. F. D., which is why I always send the dogged assistant on errands to floors far above the Foyer. At least two hundred above. Or was it two thousand? Where is Regalia again? Bones and surreal dales.

    ¡°I believe H. F. D. is their guide. He¡¯s well familiar now, with all of the deliveries you¡¯ve given him.¡±

    Ben Faulk is now whispering, but of course I can¡¯t hear it, I¡¯m straining to listen to this new scheme of my eldest, dear brother who just cannot tolerate ¡°Hilly¡± having this new position, Aunt Nishi trying her best to calm us, as we welp and scream with gnashing of teeth.

    But it¡¯s Continental. And I gave him a mission.

    ¡°Continental, but the floors above the last prime were destroyed. With your armament. Your armoire.¡± I beckon rather diligently to his shoes, which know I contain, at least two separate and dignified pieces from two different continents and two separate worlds.

    ¡°I¡¯ve come from up there, Hilton. There is a new prime. Marriott is giving the guests an idea. To go up to the top floor.¡±

    ¡°There is no top floor.¡± I say it because I know it to be true. I do not say it because I know it to be real.

    Rafflesia whines, and Faulk has retreated to his room, pulling the door (a clock hung from the knob) shut.

    Continental stands. He looks at the intricate door, embossed beyond his understanding. Drawn, some of the guests say beneath their blankets sewn of comets, beneath their shrouded stars, from the same material of the Mural. He looks at the door and knows where it leads.

    ¡°Marriott is expanding the hotel. A guest that spends the night, requires a room.¡± And with that dour sentence, the once assistant of Hyatt, going under a different name then, opens the door and walks through, crossing the threshold of grey.

    ¡°Your brother is giving them¡­ inspiration,¡± he says as he descends. His bowler, dim in the dark, lights the way. I do see the doors that open behind me, for some others are awake, calling one another by their names and the references they received to come, to arrive upon the Foyer, but I am thinking deeply, now, and it¡¯s not because I¡¯m yearning for the coffee they serve on the Menu, but it is because there are still so many floors to go, and Rafflesia besides me just wants to play raider.

    Or that earlier sport that mocked a certain member of the gourd family.

    ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± I ask them, and as the guests call for their hotelier, asking where¡¯s the windows or can you show me to the spa, Raffle holds the door open for me, faded angels and sour states seeming to crowd the filigree, and I walk through.

    ¡°Comicon.¡±

 42.87 - RAMONAs first step

    I go into the chambers every day to tear the flowers apart. It¡¯s not because I want to, but because I have to. They are not real flowers of our order. The flowers of the Kadokawa wilt and the flowers that line the edges of the forest bloom. They begin red and thin out in the mist-summer, turning a quiet silver-blue before freezing. I always go out in the morning to check on them. I like looking at them just as they begin the transformation. The priests say that the flower-color cannot change so dramatically; it has to find the state in between. But they do not understand as there is no in between, the petals and stem and even the leaves, as it all begins as red in earthspring and stays red over the spring of lightning. And as soon as the sun begins to steal some light from the moon and mist-summer casts off its frozen cloak, all of the miniature guardians that protect the forest, in a single moment, turn silver-blue. And that night they freeze. I pick up the petals that break off. And I return them to the chambers of the Kadokawa where I rinse and cast heat. The flowers of the Kadokawa though, always wilt. They do not have the glory of sudden change. Wilting takes courage.

    The Kadokawa bud in front of me refuses to do so. I¡¯ve been staring at it, waiting as I held the basket of silver-blue shards; now I¡¯m sitting, waiting for this single Kadokawa to do its single responsibility. It is not one I share. I am only a single Kado. I have many responsibilities. I know the freshly cleaned beyhara is awaiting my glass touch in the next chamber. But I can only change my place once this single Kado bursts open, giving one last effort at beauty. Before dying. Or perhaps it was already dead.

    I¡¯ll think about that later. This bud is just like the others. It¡¯s an indifferent pink. It¡¯s nearly red at this point. Or ochre. Or mahogany. It¡¯s not the color of my hair, which is red. Red is simple. Red is elegant, when looked at a certain way. When perused with simple eyes. But red meets the others just as equally, there are so many, and finally, the burst of petal, opening up and shriveling. The chamber is just dark enough for me to see this happening. Or maybe it is truly dark, and I can see it happening because I have witnessed Kado-petals dying so many times that all of my thoughts right now are ones I have made before. But what are thoughts if not repetitions of the body, as sounds our minds have no choice but to make, unless we lend them different instruments.

    It is time to clean the beyhara. Or dour; it depends on whether I am cleaning first or second. I leave the petals on the pedestal as I stand and wipe off the dust. There is so much stone-dust in this chamber. In every chamber. It is up to the priests to discern a place for that in my responsibilities. I move into the dancing-chamber up ahead and deposit the shards upon the first empty cube I find. They sit there by themselves, dim but visible.

    I step out again and go into the other chamber. The beyhara lies on the moonstone, its orange beak nearly iridescent in the light falling through the window above; it is likely entering the halls of its parents as I say a few minute words before moving to stand over it. I might have said the actual words of the Kadokawa, or even those of the other orders that make use of the forest. I place my hands over its still beak and think of when I joined this order or when the order gave me my responsibilities. Either way, it is a still memory. It¡¯s still the priest climbing up the tree and taking me down from it, and I waved to the tree and the squirrels as I saw the other priests climb other trees in their cloaks of a deepest red, even back then. I think we were all abandoned by people who created us but I have said the words and seen this hazy recollection so many times.

    By now enough heat has gathered within the body of the beyhara. Enough to separate its liver from the heart, intestines and lungs into divisible parts. I watch as the same orange as the beak appears as a reflection within the body, shimmering just beneath the stout black feathers. The beyhara gives one last croak as it joins its ancestors in the halls of winter, back in the time of the four seasons.

    ¡°Ramona, we do not imitate the movements of our brethren. It is unseemly, and goes against our tenets.¡±

    I close my mouth, and the beyhara is dead. The priest is not smiling; he is not frowning, he is emotionless and stoic and uptight and not even demure but most typically laconic and demanding. As of this moment, he is most likely one of those.

    I dip my head and wave my arm over the beyhara¡¯s chest, showing the burning insides. It is doured.

    ¡°It is doured. It will now enter its Night Passage, and join the rest of its flock up the silver stairs.¡± The priest¡¯s voice is as pure and unrefined as it was the first time I heard it, calling me to let go of the branch.

    ¡°Up the silver stairs.¡±

    ¡°Good, Ramona. Now, Eridis is expecting you, you must go.¡±

    I nod twice and move out of the priest¡¯s way, around the beyhara¡¯s limp tail feathers and out of the moon-chamber.

    ¡°Ramona, are you listening?¡± Slap across my elbows; it doesn¡¯t really hurt. But the wall of alabaster and stone I had been building crumbles to the ground, as I enter into a prostrate position with my arms laid out on the hard floor.

    ¡°Up the silver stairs.¡±

    I think of the basilica being constructed by the Dwang¨­. It is distant from here, beyond the forest and past the silver guardians. But the pendentives of the Kadokawa already do not receive so much attention from my eyes. So I stay here, and follow our tenets.

    My arms are now aisles. I dare not look up, at the domed ceiling.

    Two raps on my forearms; one on each, just hard enough for me to recoil and return to a sitting position. It is not hard enough for me to feel pain. Pain is something small and temporary, a flickering fire, not something to feel in these chambers.

    Eridis and Tien return their attention to the priest. The priest is drawing circles within the stone-dust, his lighthair nearly following his fingers¡¯ clasp of the matsu stick. They are overlapping, intersecting¡­ so they cannot quite be the drums to form a dome.

    I am not looking up.

    ¡°Faraka feels more inclined to capture the rabbar,¡± the priest says. ¡°As before, none of their kind has been seen below the High Mountains since the Moment itself. As such, we cannot capture any rabbar.¡±

    ¡°But what of rabbar taken? By Ab¡¯maluk?¡± Faraka asks. ¡°That would explain their heightened intelligence and avoidance of capture.¡±

    ¡°In the elepi grasses,¡± Eridis says. ¡°They are already difficult enough to wade.¡±

    ¡°The Sacred Creatures Codex does not list the rabbar as extinct,¡± Faraka says, she is winding her brown hair into the thinnest of braids, far thinner than the wide and smooth stalks of elepi that stand between the forest and the High Mountains, between me and the Dwang¨­.

    Tien draws a single line in the stone-dust in front of her. ¡°We only know how to practice with beyhara and kitsune,¡± she says. ¡°This temple requires only beyhara.¡±

    Beyhara. I had just come from douring one, but the great bird itself comes before me in the dark, thin but strong, with black-tipped wings. Five sturdy legs. Pale silver eyes around a short, orange beak. And the tail, long and triple-forked in a resplendent display of pink, blue and white.

    But the beyhara was simply paltry in comparison to the finished work, when the priests had given it the Night Passage, and I along with the other Kado of our order wash, bath, dour, and finally rent it over with the Ikenob¨­ to give it that sweet, ebony luster that only a beyhara can achieve.

    ¡°Ab¡¯maluk cannot stay in the host forever,¡± Faraka says. ¡°At some point, they will have to leave, even if for a moment, to clean itself. There are waters between our temple and the High Mountains, and none beyond. By the most recent maps drawn.¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    I think that at this point, Eridis and Tien shake their heads, and say something about our order¡¯s last foray up beyond the forest. It had not succeeded. Forays into the forest bring back beyhara, and sometimes kitsune, when they volunteer themselves and their companionship, only to be cleaned and doured like the rest.

    While they speak, I begin to rebuild.

    First, the arms. They are thin, but not quite flaky; as befits the Zarr, as befits all of us Zarr¡¯a here in the Kadokawa; but they are still not rough enough. I rub my fingers across my forearms. Not rough enough. My skin tickles, perhaps needing some peeling, like we do sometimes the remains of molted feathers, but such an act reserves for the beyhara. So I lay my arms in my lap, across my stole; my left atop my right, two simple layers of alabaster or stone, like the quarries far beyond, and just below, the High Mountains. Light flakes and some particles of their stone-dust meander off as I sit straight. Retrieved in those wide baskets, held beneath the arms, as the Dw¨±n sprinkle in natron and water, as they mix it, with their arms and fingers, sunk deep in the baskets. They greet each other as the rest arrive, slowly, up the steep, tanned by the sun, trapezoidal ramp; they shade their eyes with their occasional free hand.

    My eyes are bright. But something clouds them, and I feel the hard stone beneath me, not the soft smooth stone of the ramp beneath my sandals. It is not the scratching caress of the elepi grasses nor is it the petals of the hibana that cling to the younger trees in the forest. It is the stone, mired in dust, waiting for me to leave it.

    And so I leave. Dusting off my sandals and palms, I make to stand.

    A rap on the side of my head tilts me. I nearly keel over, but arms take mine and still me. Much harder than mine, but no less flaky. Draped in the same black-and-gold lines of her tunic sleeve, that do not conceal the strength of years having labored in those quarries.

    Heleta, her long black braids resting across her stole, reminds me with words, that I am not contributing to these ideas as the beyhara are becoming aware of our frequent forays, and she is patient, or she is kind, or she is enacting her own responsibilities, and she nearly drags me down by the foot of my tunic, back down, hard, to the stone-dust floor as Eridis and Tien and Faraka, while the priest listening and drawing stone-dust spheres, or circles, or points, continue their spate. Heleta straightens her tunic sleeve as she returns to a position of listening, her chin in her hands. Her sleeves fall a bare finger¡¯s length down.

    Her lines are black and gold. I think it matches well with her hair, but it doesn¡¯t quite have the same symmetry as it does the light streaming in through that crack in the ceiling, I¡¯m not looking at it but it disintegrates as it lands across the tokami style of Adonii. She is Zarr with the rest of us but she does not restore her skin or her soles when walking across the shards, she does something to the light, she does something to the light when it touches her hair.

    Adonii is listening. I think the priest is now saying something relating to concern, or pity, or apathy to something Faraka says, her voice raised. Faraka has raised concerns with touching and cleaning the beyhara. Faraka finds that they are indeed growing wary. They are not necessarily communicating with the kitsune, and Tien nods. She likes the kitsune. But I do not much rather like hearing their pitiful whines as they realize that their stories are right, that what their matrons tell their little ones in the dark is true, that the taller ones with the strange faces who grow and cut the flowers at the edges of the forest, are those who take our fathers and mothers.

    But I don¡¯t speak to the kitsune. Sometimes.

    ¡°Kitsune have families,¡± comes another, and it is Lilli, her faded-gold in braids but cut short; just so that they do not come to rest on her shoulders. ¡°They have myth and storytelling. Drawings around the boughs that lack hibana.¡±

    ¡°The fur of a kit is fine douring,¡± says Eridis. ¡°Has a special quality in the moonlight.¡±

    ¡°We, too, have myth and story,¡± the priest says. He ceases to make his outlines. ¡°And yet, in the years and decades since the Moment, we have struggled to find foothold. The kitsune understand this. And the beyhara¡­¡±

    Tien makes a clucking sound, and Faraka balks, looking up at the ceiling. I am not. But she is, thinking to the beyhara and our nightly rituals. We have a place to be in this order. We have responsibilities. We wear tunics, and complete our tenets to produce fine black luster for preservation, to take them up the silver stairs. We do not have families.

    Scritch. It is Ituma, and she is finished with her crude drawing of one such bird, in the area of stone in front of her.

    I see them through the falling arches. They are only arches. They do not themselves create the feeling of passing through, or opening to a certain place. I see two other Kado, Eridis and Faraka, they are moving what seems to be a beyhara, limp and lost, its colors off-skein and feathers dangling, separating through the air in front of them and between them as they pass through the arch.

    Some water cascades over it, the white streams enfolding and the serpa grass clinging to it allowing the water to move up and over the fading black stone. But none of it falls upon Eridis and Faraka. They pass through it. Eridis has a look of golden expression, she is feeling the light of the sun when it lands upon a broken sky giving it inspiration. Faraka is dour; a rabbar, or two, their horned tails rasping, would be far lighter and she treads the juvenile elepi in serrated steps.

    They are still a ways from Ramona, I am the lone Kado, thinking these thoughts away from the chambers.

    They see me. Faraka lets go of the three-pronged tail, letting it fall to the grass-strands. Eridis is looking past me, still holding the head, her arms clutched around the thick black neck. I turn my head. Indeed we are just outside the chambers, at least this entrance arch, of grey-black stone and surrounded by Kanta, they are only imitations, only red pretense, just emulations that open out to the guardians of the forest. We are still far enough away from them. I do not feel the light touch on my shoulder that remarks of mist-summer; the flowers are our only indication.

    But Eridis has different eyes. She is not directing her orange pupils below, to the Kanta around and on the stone steps, asking to be let in so that they can taint. They cling to the juvenile elepi. Eridis¡¯ orange emblems are facing something above them. She looks at the low vault, of the same grey-black stone, that encases the chambers and stretches toward the sky. It is supported by Ionic columns. But those columns are so hidden by the streams of stone-dust that plague the interior. Is it still an Ionic column if it is so obscured? Perhaps then it is Doric, or Corinthian. We do not know. We do not know.

    I do. But I am not certain as to whether Eridis and Faraka bear the same look towards these parts.

    ¡°Why do we have the dome?¡± she asks. ¡°We don¡¯t use the upper space in the chamber.¡± She is referring to the specific chambers beneath the dome. It is there the silver stairs begin.

    For the beyhara. And not yet for the Kado.

    Faraka reaches over, and attempts to wrest the dead feathers out of Eridis¡¯ grip. She does not succeed. Eridis may not be as indomitable as Heleta but she takes pride in her capture, and while this beyhara, I think, is equal to the rest, perhaps there is something unique and rare in her prize today.

    Or that is the echo of the mind of Eridis Dinami.

    ¡°Domes give it space, give it grandeur,¡± says the priest. ¡°Sometimes, we feel the spaces within.¡±

    He is trite. He is obscure. He is an unknown figure, and in looking at this priest, I do not recognize him. He is not wearing the hanging red and black sash that defines the priests of the order. He is not long and lighthaired, as marks the Ligaeryae that fill their ranks. He is not inside the chambers.

    The priest, if priest he pretends to be, is staring above him. He, too is looking at the dome. But he is staring at it with something approaching the emotion known as admiration. It fills his oval eyes. He blinks.

    ¡°It is not time yet to dour,¡± says Faraka. ¡°We are still bringing in the beyhara.¡± She gestures down to her capture, but this is not what the priest has said, he was speaking to the dome, and Eridis seems to perk her shoulders, placing a frown between those three orange emblems I call her eyes.

    She is Zarr. Eridis is not Ligaeryae, like the priests. And she is also not Inmortalis, a rare kind that like the rabbar, have not been known to live below the High Mountains. But even below those named parts of the world consist of only the span of understanding given to those of us called the Kado. We are only one part of the world. A far greater world lies above those steep portions that chisel the sky.

    His eyes are oval. I see in the shadows of my mind a span of eyes. They are all light and crescent, the eyes of the Ligaeryen priests that step between the chambers. They are not oval. They outshine the dark; the eyes of the priest standing here are deep, somewhat circular chambers that speak to openings, to passings, and large interiors. They suggest¡ª

    ¡°They suggest the eyes of an Ab¡¯maluk, one of the Hinia,¡± the priest indicates, and now his words recall to me those from a certain page, one from a certain book I had once discovered in a certain portion of the chambers, titled Light of the Seven.

    The Ab¡¯malukae read minds.

    Eridis reacts, her eyes changing from bright orange to amber, back orange; Faraka wrests the beyhara¡¯s neck out from her hands; and I know what the Ab¡¯maluk Kikushi is going to say before he does, and I react, dropping the serrated strands of elepi I had been trying to resuscitate. They fall limp.

    ¡°The Dwang¨­ need builders,¡± the acolyte says. ¡°The Dwang¨­ will appreciate the fire of Ramona.¡±

    The acolyte looks at me. And I think of the stone to warm beneath my hands.

    END OF ACT I

 43 - A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte

    SEURAT, 1884-86

    Scene 27

    Tr¡¯aedis opened his eyes. The sensation made him feel light.

    He pushed himself up from the dream-bed. Its threads moved like water. They caressed his fingers, encouraging him to return to sleep; but he needed to feel his hair and make sure it hadn¡¯t been a dream.

    He moved his fingers through it; it had hardened over the night, now feeling like the surface of mindo, but broken up into various shards. He almost Thought for his hologram, but then remembered that he¡¯d never figured out how to use that function; before remembering that he hadn¡¯t put on his receptor ever since first taking it off. If he were in Lowers, he¡¯d have one of those enlarged pieces of glass they used to see themselves; and here, he hadn¡¯t seen anything like that.

    Water. He could go back to that place, the surface of blue, where he¡¯d come here. No, it couldn¡¯t reflect his face. The water around the Myodor residence; that was water. He could go there. But he didn¡¯t know where anything was beyond the general vicinity of the school, and he was certain at this point, the Myodor siblings were like Governors. Especially Ila ce. Sometimes he just said her name in front of students. And immediately, their eyes turned bright.

    It was different; because Governors didn¡¯t walk around society. Here the Myodors visited the school often, or at least Ila ce, with Triomphe and Pur? like her fabled retainers. But no, Triomphe was almost a principal of the school, and Pur? was practically a Myodor himself.

    Tr¡¯aedis pushed himself completely out of the bed, heaving his legs over. Another day with the toddlers. Koko, as far as he could tell, was a good teacher; if a little bothered by having a fellow Ligaeryen in his classes.

    A word that Tr¡¯aedis heard around him yesterday, pronounced by first Koko and then others; a word that many said differently, accenting an a or e or the rye. Of course he wasn¡¯t Ligaeryen. But his newfound golden hair, which he was beginning to suspect had shined in the sun, must have been an indication.

    He touched his ear; no receptor. Habit. No Thoughts from his parents, or Eleanor, or Blazon. Only thoughts of language. Yesterday were the words for trees, sun, and warmth. Or tree, sky and light. The word for ¡°sky-light,¡± valie, sounded close to some words he¡¯d heard. But he still wasn¡¯t certain. It was harder than he¡¯d thought to learn these lines, when he had to learn first the words. And there were still no records he¡¯d found in these few days of their written language; High English had still adopted, or merely modified, the original alphabet of Neo English, just changing the pronunciations; so Tr¡¯aedis knew that each and every spelling in his mind was only his own cloth and paper.

    Standing still, Tr¡¯aedis moved out of the bedroom; and as he expected, he then heard the early morning clamor of his fellow students at the Taenim Laev. The school he was now a part of; its meaning he did not know, but the tae was the short word before anyone said their surname. But ¡®family name¡¯ being within the word for school, academy, institution, and so on lent him little, other than the students considered themselves a ¡®family¡¯ of sorts. But, of course even the consideration of family here might have been different, as while he¡¯d seen many toddlers, he had yet to hear or see of parents. Not to speak of the practically indiscernible markings of age, only their color bands indicating their year, and those without monochrome designations being teachers. And he still had yet to see the world beyond the Taenim, after he¡¯d first come through it.

    ¡°Dyen, Traedis,¡± said the student coming rather lethargically out of the chamber immediately near Tr¡¯aedis¡¯s, as she usually did attempting, without great success, to maneuver her waist-length silver hair into sitting on her shoulders, like a lethargic animal itself. Which reminded Tr¡¯aedis of the lesson for today, or at best what fehel meant, in light of the words felot (¡®stranger¡¯), g?nhel (¡®acquaintance¡¯), and different of course from a word he¡¯d only heard from the Myodors, t?hel ri. There was always that ¡®el/hel¡¯ part, that to him indicated familiarity. But yesterday Koko had ended the lesson by saying fehel a few times, to the children¡¯s confusion, indicating a new word, and Koko had had the most wondrous and terrifying of creatures, the first Tr¡¯aedis had seen, which had resembled the hair (but was now settling back over the shoulders) of Enela, who was still taking her time to awake, but was also looking at him in confusion as he hadn¡¯t responded.

    ¡°Traedise felot,¡± he said, letting out the briefest of laughs; one element of language that had stayed the same.

    Enela, scratching her eyes, yawned once more and nodded, before reaching into a pocket of her shirt-cloak for a light yellow ribbon, which she tied around the bottom wisp of hair as she walked away. Yellow for Lye or third year, like Koko. Tr¡¯aedis looked to his left wrist. His grey tassel was still looped around it. Still not even a first year, Arc. The children and himself weren¡¯t given a name. He sighed, rubbed his wrist around the tassel, and then saw Areum emerging from his own chamber.

    Tr¡¯aedis waved out of instinct; he retracted his hand, but his friend saw, and the Arc, his frizzled red hair sparkling, smiled and returned the movement; of course Tr¡¯aedis did not know what he had actually done, but sharing at least the hallway, Areum and Enela, as well as Auder (Raf, second year, orange) and Bobe (Nam, sixth year and the student who oversaw their hallway, purple), the lattermost of whom he rarely saw, either because Bobe didn¡¯t sleep, or at least didn¡¯t sleep where he/she was supposed to: these students saw him the most (besides Koko), so they understood sometimes when he spoke in Neo English or waved.

    Areum came closer; Tr¡¯aedis had thought at first that their first year would correspond, if the seven years to mediary and high school, to roughly around ten. But Areum looked closer to his age, seventeen, if not slightly older, but again, Tr¡¯aedis could not truly tell, as Areum¡¯s skin was molded in pulsating red, moving of its own; which Tr¡¯aedis could never stop looking at.

    Areum pushed Tr¡¯aedis¡¯s head away, with his index finger.

    ¡°Ris, virx,¡± Areum said. Friend, stop that (but with a positive meaning). Of the various people he¡¯d seen so far, it was the people like Areum, the Nam Uerora of scarlet, and Pur?, with their skin that wasn¡¯t like any human skin he¡¯d seen, or even in V-movies for when the robots lived among them; but one thing was certain, and this Tr¡¯aedis knew¡ªit was more beautiful than any color of hair he¡¯d seen. For Areum he wasn¡¯t sure if it was ornamentation, congenial style, or an assertion¡ªbut this he knew, and as he moved his head away, Tr¡¯aedis came to feel that changing the color of your hair in Sector I, this entire time, or the color of your eyes, your face¡¯s contours, was just touching the surface. There was another world underneath.

    He walked with Areum out of the hallway, and Tr¡¯aedis thought of what he¡¯d practice saying before they arrived at the place where the teachers crafted their breakfast.

    I¡¯m learning from Koko again. Koko + student + today/time. Koko tr¡¯aenim¡ªhe didn¡¯t know the word for ¡°today¡± or ¡°time¡±. There was that command he sometimes heard, from Emeli to a student, or Triomphe to nearly everybody: drin. It may not match the tense, but¡ª

    ¡°Koko tr¡¯aenim drin,¡± he said, as they passed a sculpture in the sheerest silver of what looked like an immense Y.

    Areum shook his head. ¡°Koko tr¡¯aenim dirne,¡± he said, emphasizing the i so that it sounded like dire. Tr¡¯aedis nodded. ¡°Koko tr¡¯aenim DIRne.¡± to which the first-year laughed, making exaggerated opening movements with his mouth. While Tr¡¯aedis recognized the distinction in pronunciation, the more he learned this language, the more it sounded like the smatterings of High English he¡¯d hear from his parents¡¯ holo-meetings they¡¯d occasionally hold in their storied chambers, one engineer to another, with just enough physical presence needed to conduct mathematics. In High they spoke differently, or at least those of the Governing families, a language they spoke among themselves, their technocracy. But this was not High, this wasn¡¯t even Sector I, and probably wasn¡¯t Earth.

    But Tr¡¯aedis laughed away these vagrant thoughts, for they made him uneasy.

    They were entering the wide and broad chamber, the cafeteria, and again the spreads of red, of orange, of yellow, green, blue, and violet, the six demarcations of class, only Crea the seventh years who, like their teachers, discarded the monochrome distinction and favored their own colors. A wide and open sea of faces. Shocks of light on hair. That beautiful colored skin. Silhouettes of shadow that, to him, felt like walking reflections, of students who saw themselves, like some of those libraries in v-Art University.

    Areum was leading him to a series of upraised, tabular platforms, around which some Arcs were standing. Tr¡¯aedis saw that they didn¡¯t have their food yet; but Areum greeted the others by name, dipping his head in Tr¡¯aedis¡¯ direction, and Tr¡¯aedis restrained himself from waving with his hand. He felt conspicuous with his grey tassel, seeing on the others¡¯ a red hairband, just out of reach of the eyes; a tassel around the wrist like his own, but red; one Arc had no such accouterments, but her eyes, irises of a faint gold around amber pupils, burgeoned red as he looked; and the fourth¡¯s had a small red cloth wrapped slightly around his neck.

    Tr¡¯aedis, moving himself to stand just between Areum and the one with the cloth, held his left hand at his side, below the platform. Looking more closely at the platform itself he noted its surface to be somewhat granular, and rather faded but still visible, etches and lines put into its surface of different colors, corresponding to those of the Taenim Laev. He wondered if it was ritual for these students, upon ascending a color, to etch their new color into one of these standing-platforms; perhaps their first meal as a Raf, or Lye, and so on.

    That would be me, some day, he thought, and as without flair as he could muster, returned his left wrist to above the platform, resting on it. Areum glanced at him, but didn¡¯t give comment; instead continued conversing with the other Arcs, Emeli being interspersed throughout, but Tr¡¯aedis as he usually did, chose not to pay too much attention to understanding, he reserved that for his classes with Koko. With that thought, he thought he glimpsed the sleek brown-haired Lye stepping through the sheen of other groups similarly situated, as they all awaited their teachers for the daily ritual of Nutrieat, which Tr¡¯aedis thought of as ¡°making breakfast,¡± or ¡°making food,¡± and so far his favorite portion of the day; and so with that thought, he felt a soft whisper appear throughout the crowd, through the students standing around their tables; with that thought, he felt his stomach with his hands, and found it empty; with these thoughts he glimpsed Emeli, descending feet first from the sky.

    She was holding onto feet. Her unimpeachable mane of hair seemed to float as she descended, and she laughed with her mix of hearty disdain and unbridled exhilaration. Emeli had on a cloak robed in all the colors Tr¡¯aedis knew, and the feet descended, followed by long blue pants, matched by the same on the torso, in seamless serration; and then by, arms crossed, a tint of further blue on the chest, Avien, with clouds for wings. They brushed out into the air. The air seemed to take it in. Avien embraced it. As Emeli touched the ground, simmers of light touched out onto the ground beneath her feet. The areas of light that enabled all to see in the space around them was swimming with faint touches of blue. An ocean blue.<sup>[1]</sup></a>

    Tr¡¯aedis felt his stomach surge.

    As they were, the students were silent; simply watching. As Avien descended to the ground himself, Emeli extended her right hand, palm flat and fingers closed, facing the floor; that was the signal. From the left side of the cafeteria came the children and Koko, leading by a long golden thread, thin but recognizable, a hardy and fat and beautiful creature, making low bellows of sound in pleasure, as she waddled along towards the center of the space. An animal Tr¡¯aedis recognized as the Earth-extinct cow, and from what he remembered, sacred in some ancient cultures, and while this was not his first time in the Nutrieat, he again saw it as beautiful and lustrous, its skin of the clearest pearl, these great splotches of natural paint sprinted across, its mighty natural shoes in shining ochre, her eyes that brought them all into her gaze, the creases above its pink nostrils that beckoned an inner wisdom.

    ¡°Moo,¡± it said, and the students returned its call, Moos echoing throughout the cafeteria, and Tr¡¯aedis felt a pain clinch into his cheeks: he had been smiling for too long. He returned them to their normal expression but after the moos subsided, he saw that the cow was also smiling, and Emeli was speaking softly to her, her face bent just besides the cow¡¯s, and Avien stood by, waiting.

    ¡°Moo,¡± the cow said once more, and Emeli raised her head.

    ¡°Ave?, fehel,¡± Emeli said, and the students said the same, Tr¡¯aedis too; Thank you, creature, but with a light of estimation and gratitude in the latter identifier. Certainly more than felot or even g?nhel. The cow gave an expression that Tr¡¯aedis couldn¡¯t identify, but he thought he saw a like gratitude, accompanied by recognition, acceptance, and contentment.

    ¡°Moo,¡± she said once more, and then, Avien, clapping his wings once¡ªcausing a clap of air to emanate from his blue¡ªmade a gesture with his hands that Tr¡¯aedis only saw during the Nutrieat, and only when it was a fehel they were about to consume: making a fist with one hand, and enclosing it with the other. If it was a winglike motion like the rest, like a wing enclosing a stone; or perhaps an egg. Emeli stood, dusting off her hands on her cloak, over the sepia-toned part; smiling to them all, she turned and placed her hands, slowly and gently and quietly, over the cow¡¯s eyes.

    The cow sighed; and then, her paint-like splotches began to change and swirl, evolving, becoming a unified spleen of pink, an amorphous shape, that gathered together moved across her skin, to her face, and moving into Emeli¡¯s hands, as she continued to hold them there. Then she moved them away.

    Her hands and arms, and into some of her shoulders Tr¡¯aedis knew, were pink.

    The cow, now barren of her former paintlike splendor, sighed again, but more quietly; like she had lost something, which she had. She dipped her head, and the students in the crowd seemed to appreciate her sadness, murmuring amongst themselves; Emeli, her normally mysteriously benign expression morose, nodded to Avien, who weaving his arms through the air, conjured up a basket; Emeli thrust her arms in, and wove her hands in and out; pushing them in and out, her shoulders heaving with the effort, the pink in her arms slowly undulating down, some froth and drips of pink substance coming up from the basket, but she caught them all, not allowing any to spill; and the crowd were silent. Tr¡¯aedis felt a slight pang in his stomach; he was hungry; the children who had come in, who had disappeared into the crowd with their entrance, reemerged, Koko leading them, taking by their unified hands the long golden thread, and leading the cow away.

    Tr¡¯aedis watched them leave.

    He turned his eyes back to the Nutrieat. Emeli was finished, rolling up her sleeves, and Avien was holding the basket. The students in front of Tr¡¯aedis were gathering themselves into a line. Someone was touching his arm; Tr¡¯aedis turned his eyes again, it was Areum, making an eating motion with his hands, and Tr¡¯aedis followed him into line. He was hungry; the cow had given much, but there was much to share. He watched as the Arcs and Rafs and others in front of him took the rosy, pink bars into their palms, one by one, saying thank you over and over again, some looking in the direction of the artist who had graced them with her skin. He watched as they partook. Tr¡¯aedis took a pink bar of his own from the basket. Emeli was smiling with her own, returned expression, Avien¡¯s wings gently shaking.

    Incoming Thought-message from Adventa Rosan, Sector Class of 2237.

    Eleanor let out a long breath as she sunk back into her floafa. It was finally here.

    She pushed herself off her floafa, letting her legs first hit the floor; standing, she walked over to her nudd trees, checking if Mincy was still in the right position and Bode¡¯s leaves were hanging in the right way. They had to be drooping; she knew that from now on, once she accepted her Color Guide¡¯s Thought-message and officially began her orientation¡ªthat every day would be one in a long tide of the anticipation and splendor that meant, she was going to college; her nudd trees had to be sadder than her. Their days were simpler. They weren¡¯t going to college.

    She let her fingers roll off Bode¡¯s lower branches; they felt lukewarm to her fingertips. Her leaves fell back into place.

    Eleanor reentered her Thought-feed. Acc¡ª

    She turned back. She looked at her floafa. It was bright and orange. She left the Thought-feed and entered the House system, Thought for Eleanor Dorr. She changed her room settings to Dim. She looked again at the floafa; now, only parts of it still showed orange; the others were shadowed, closer to black. She sank into it.

    Accept.

    Why are you here?

    Adventa¡¯s Thought came with no sense of query; not really curiosity, more, just that¡ªa question. Thoughts of flame seemed to flicker at the background of Eleanor¡¯s thoughts; dimly, she felt for the floafa around her, feeling its alternating textures as her body shifted in place. She was here; she was sitting in her isolation, the room of Eleanor Dorr on the fourth floor of the Dorr palace, and somewhere within its stairs and hallways walked her parents. They were here; she was here, and she just knew she didn¡¯t want to be.

    She closed her eyes. She imagined leaving her body, and having all of it sort of shimmer away out of the confines of that room¡ªa place she couldn¡¯t leave, but still a place she knew. She kept imagining. She seemed to float up and out of mind and body and¡­ something else, there was something else sitting in the darkness. A pallor of flame that as she continued to rise above herself, began to hold its own light. A shape. An orange globe.

    She reached down. She tried touching it¡ªbut just before she placed her palms on the sphere, upon closer inspection, somewhat imperfect, lines and runaway diagonals etched into its surface. The world lay for her below and it was imperfect. She opened her eyes into the darkness and Thought, Accept.

    Orange is my favorite color because there¡¯s this coffeevenue in High that¡¯s broken. It never gives you orange, it gives you all the other colors, even red and yellow but still never orange. Oh, hi, alter hello ¨C Eleanor Vyaedus Dorr, are you? Welcome.

    Yes, I am. She stared into the unwelcoming, nearly absent light, that filled her surroundings in eddies and swells. She stretched her eyelids wide with her fingers¡ªcausing bulges and splotches to fuzz in and out. Blazon High, Plent. Happy to join the Orange Route.

    Eleanor! Adventa, Eleanor is a Governor. Although you might not have noticed her during the orientation, you were sleeping for most of it. Eleanor recognized the voice of Giya; the low tenor. Eleanor was a Governor, apparently. In the six days since officially meeting Giya as a cat, clambering up the cyber tree, she¡¯d yet to dispel that illusion. It¡¯d be so easy¡ªNo, Adventa Rosan, I am not a Governor, and I don¡¯t plan to be. I pretended for six days. Not answering specific questions about what it was like to be a Governor, to Giya over Thought-message, or when Giya stalked her, panther-like, in the cafeteria. Eleanor had to go to a raider game, something she normally didn¡¯t do, just to avoid those paws.

    I live in Plent by day. I am a Governor by¡ªhologram.

    Various cries of exclamation issued into the Thought-feed. There were more than just her, Giya Igre Bis, and Adventa Rosan¡­ but how many, she couldn¡¯t tell. So that was why you accepted twice. Adventa. A note of query still¡­ and yet, Eleanor couldn¡¯t bring herself to clear the curtain. All of her memories of how they were taught about Governors in class came rushing back to her in bits and pieces; information she had thought irrelevant and useless but had now gained this moment of clarity. Governors had no minimum age. Governors operated in Governing families, typically in Governors¡¯ residences in High, with exceptions (like Eleanor) where a child became elected. The exact number, no one knew, but any citizen of the Sector could TM any one of them at any time, and usually receive answer. They were the abstract and brief chronicles of the time for when the Government made an intractable error. They were the ruling class, a fact one of her teachers had made clear once, but only once; the highest class in their society.

    They also made Prognostications. To her, that she would become one; to Giya, that she would meet one, and to select orange. The thought came to her that if a real Governor were in this Thought-feed, they¡¯d somehow send their Thoughts differently. But she remembered what the Governors in orientation had been like¡ªthere certainly had been something different about them. But they weren¡¯t necessarily different themselves, only in appearance. Only in hologram. Eleanor wondered how many of the others here came from¡ªbut no, was that even¡ª

    My name is Dhoria Tsenter. I¡¯m from Beret High in Might. I¡¯m a techist, but chose to go to Sector for a different reason. Not the reason I selected orange, which is my favorite color, as it¡¯s the sometimes color of topaz; which my family uses.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    That is your reason, alter welcome Dhoria, Adventa said. I am Adventa Rosan, and for anyone else Accepting, I am your Color Guide for Sector University for the Class of 2237.

    Eleanor thought for a moment that, like orientation, she would be able to see everyone else in the Thought-feed. But it was just an ebb and swell of orange tide. She had missed some introductions; and thought that if she could see them, she could have a better sense.

    But, for now, for them¡ªshe was a Governor. This disillusion was not hers to dispel. It was only that; it wasn¡¯t real. And none of them were seeing her hologram.

    I selected orange. Like a dawn that you forget, she said. As if its imprint in the sky were only her memory. Emotions of understanding flowed through the Thought-feed. I¡¯m Giya. I selected orange, like the dusk that you remember, came Giya¡¯s pretend tenor, and Eleanor stifled her immediate response, to laugh. Welcome Giya, came Adventa¡¯s voice, and then, Weather and stones and coffee. What about the color I feel when I¡¯m in a V-movie, and (in the V-movie) eating real oranges. I¡¯ve had apples and I don¡¯t actually taste anything but I feel it. I¡¯m Senra, came another. Senra Beaudicious.

    Eleanor thought, like bounteous and delicious, and to how many prior Beaudiciouses Senra had descended. Senra Beaudicious, I do like V-movies.

    I like orange because it¡¯s between red, the color of blood we never spill, and yellow, the sun we are shown by the calendar. Something like that. Juara Torneo.

    Welcome, Juara. Adventa¡¯s voice. Rhythmic. In beat, like Hi-fi, with each person¡¯s inclination of color. With all the weather and stones and coffee and V-movies, or blood and the sun, Eleanor thought. Adventa Rosan¡¯s voice was a hidden sheen, the slipping curtain showing a glimpse of sunlight, the semblance of orange that spilled into the day. She liked listening to it.

    How did you become a Color Guide?

    That is all of you. Again, welcome to Sector University. I am Adventa Rosan, and thank you for selecting orange.

    Adventa left the Thought-feed. Eleanor felt that eddy and burst of space open up from within, the space her Color Guide had been occupying in their Thought-feed. Like an orange button, trying to button up a Lowers shirt for something of ceremony, and it popping off.

    That was alter short, came Giya¡¯s licorice alto, So what do we do next?

    Adventa was surprised, wasn¡¯t she? That she even made it to Sector. So she had to have been made a Color Guide with her admittance, Dhoria said.

    I can see that, said Giya. Weren¡¯t we supposed to receive an assignment? This is Sector.

    Eleanor thought she¡¯d seen TM you with next steps in that earlier message, but everything had been so¡­ hazy after orientation. Still. She had to remind herself that she was still physically seated on her floafa, which wasn¡¯t floating. Sigh¡­ Maybe all they had to do was select a color, and be¡ª

    I have an Exhibit at my school, have to go, said Dhoria, and they left.

    I liked Adventa, Juara said, she made sure all of us say why orange was our favorite color. None of us had the same reason.

    That was true. Although Giya¡¯s had only been the opposite of hers. Eleanor touched the soft-and-also-hard material of her floafa; it was like an invisible planet, of unknown make, of her being the galaxy. Her eyes still closed, its color was hidden to her. She was at the center; she was the orange sun. Around her, she felt, there was only that continued, meandering ambience from before she''d entered the Thought-feed; and as she looked at Mincy and Bode, their leaves bent, their own feelings slanted, she reached over and pressed them down.

    It was nice to meet all of you, she said.

    Silver.

    I awake to see shadow. My eyes blur. It¡¯s cold, and there¡¯s a weight on my eyelids.

    A silver castle on an open plain.

    I open my eyes, pushing them open with slightly more pressure. Silver rushes and all I see is white. It¡¯s mounted on the wall, which is silver. It appears like water. But as my eyes adjust its surface ripples, reflecting the shadows that my awakening has provided.

    ¡°Melea.¡± After a moment of thought, I recognize it as my sister¡¯s voice.

    My first sister. Mik¡¯vael.

    ¡°I¡¯m up.¡± I sit up. The wall was the ceiling. But then I see the wall which is the same. I reflexively lean back but before I fall through, an arm grabs it. It steadies me as I reach with my right arm to see¡ªbehind me is emptiness.

    Oh. I understand. I¡¯m in a restoration chamber.

    I turn to Mik¡¯vael; when our eyes meet, she shakes her head. ¡°You¡¯re not fully healed, Mel.¡± Her lavender hair is in disarray; she looks like she hasn¡¯t slept in three days. Because I know she can go two full days. Back in preuni we tried and after fifty hours we both admitted we were tired and that was while we were going for best in the Sector.

    ¡°I feel alter.¡± I move her arm away; but then as I move to shift into a full sitting position, a shock steels through my left leg. It feels¡ªmy knee is the mountain. The leg below it is the river. The thigh is the cloudy canopy shrieking into the sky. A hidden, great palace welcoming its guests.

    ¡°What?¡± I say in protest. Restoration chambers are few in High; for even with the weighted gold launchpads striking bone or collar, anything short of immediate death¡ªwhich of course with our body-maintenance prescriptions never occurs¡ªcan be healed after the body is placed into the restoration chamber. It¡¯s 2237. Cancer was cured a hundred years ago.

    ¡°Mel¡ªTM me the reason.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no one here to overhear.¡± No more ¡°doctors.¡± But I enter my Thought-feed and find Sis.

    I have an oldest sister. We have an oldest sister. But to my sister: I have Governor Gene. You must too.

    What is that? Is that different from what you Scions have? In the real world, Mik¡¯vael carefully presses a finger into my knee. My right leg angles up on its own. I think so. How could we both not have known about Majine? I gently move her hand away from my knee. ¡°Was I hit that badly?¡±

    Mik¡¯vael lets out an unexpected burst of laughter. It¡¯s nice to see. She¡¯s far too serious, has been ever since she became Second Agent. She attempts, weakly, to rearrange her hair. It just crinkles back into place.

    ¡°Your captain, Siara, she says she warned you. But you got hit by two at once.¡± I can tell that, seriousness besides, she¡¯s¡­ actually retaining her composure with the utmost strength she can. It reminds me when I watched her at the Agency Examinations¡­ back when she hadn¡¯t had her aegis, so with her favorite weapon at the time, made from one of those Lowers exercise machines, a long steel bar. Throwing it forty meters and hitting the portal so hard that it rang. Unrestrained¡­ her face, glowing with excitement. Her deep purple hair falling back into place.

    Now she¡¯s barely twitching, as if she¡¯s about to cry. Mik¡¯vael.

    ¡°Vael, I¡¯m a half-Governor, or whatever that means.¡± No one¡¯s listening; and they know everything. ¡°Maybe this is¡­ you know, like in Lowers, when they give you a steel leg. But I have the steel inside, and it didn¡¯t¡ªawake until now. Until I was hurt hard enough.¡±

    ¡°Would Governor Gene be superior, though? And you¡¯re a Scion. You¡¯re already physically improved from the best BMP¡¯s out there. I know because we¡¯ve tried so much.¡±

    Because I¡¯ve practiced against her and won in bouts of pure endurance. I force my leg over. The energy that rippled through it comes back but in tighter, shorter points. I force my other leg over, and both hit the floor. Alter titanium; zero percent reflective.

    ¡°I¡¯m healed. Mostly. See?¡± I take a step; nothing happens. I take another; I¡¯m fine. Half-Governor¡­

    How are they born?

    ¡°Hmm.¡± She is still tight-lipped, but isn¡¯t having to hold back anything. ¡°Isn¡¯t your Scion trait physical enhancement? I¡¯m still surprised, I think.¡±

    ¡°It might work differently with Governor Gene.¡± But I don¡¯t tell her that my true trait¡ªquarterly projections¡ªthey know everything¡ªmy true trait is something else. This proved it for once and for all.

    ¡°Maybe ask our parents? They decided to have their genes be put into birthport,¡± she continues.

    ¡°No. I feel like it¡¯s something different.¡± I didn¡¯t ask her if she was a tree. ¡°Group of Ten¡±¡­ just how many Scions are out there, unknown to the Government, or the Government does know, of them and the ¡°Paradisiac Company,¡± as they did the Furies. ¡°Vael, you forget that I was knocked out by that Agent, name started with an R. And that was not as hard as a two-meter by two-meter circle of solid gold. Two of them.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s true¡­ I wonder who¡¯s doing the more dangerous thing, you or I.¡± She forces another laugh, but this time it¡¯s more genuine.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t paying attention. Majine contacted me during the game.¡±

    ¡°She what? I thought Governors have to be¡ªoh. I see.¡± I start walking; she nods and we leave the chamber, its silver-perfect glow irradiating calm as we step out. A portal is right by the exit aperture; the chamber aide nods as we step into it, their receptor blinking. ¡°Thanks. I¡¯ll go back to the Beacons now¡ª¡±

    ¡°No. Stay in my place for a while. We need to talk more about this.¡±

    ¡°OK, all right.¡± I send a Thought for Home of my sister, Mik¡¯vael. She does the same; and the emptiness echoes of bright nothingness into our eyes as it all disappears and I open my eyes again to see a tall, tall dome. A wide, open campus of grassy courtyards, a whale-shaped building off in the distance, a tall tree of ochre. White paths that go through it. Various individuals walking through, some holding weapons in the sun. All wearing suits of flynder, iststarkes on their feet, their uniforms bearing their names.

    The Agency. I haven¡¯t been here since Mik¡¯vael tried out. Thoughts all enter my mind.

    I have to go to this ¡°shareholder¡¯s meeting.¡± From a raider¡¯s game¡ªby Governor¡¯s Seat. I press a finger to my receptor. Access other Thought-messages. I see a column of names¡­ Siara, Bodi Ayer, Vie. I read them as Mik¡¯vael leads me onto the grounds of the place I once fought against. Former Fury, dabbling with raiders, now part Governor. A player in a game by those above¡­ whose trait is a piece, a piece of it all.

    I wonder¡­ I barely hear Mik¡¯vael introducing me to the first Agent we come across. I wonder if even the Powers, Agate and Jaceus and the others, in Sector II are connected to this. Or the world Jaceus came from. Or how it all began¡­ Scions¡¯ traits and magic in a world so controlled by technology. I wonder if purification itself¡­

    The portals.

    ¡°She just came out of restoration, and it¡¯s only her second time here¡­¡±

    I shake my head hard and clear all thoughts. I look¡ª

    ¡ªA tall Agent with red hair is standing there, and the hair color¡¯s changed, but I recognize him immediately. It¡¯s that Agent. A name beginning with R.

    ¡°¡­ It¡¯s Raegoth now. No, no apostrophe. You¡¯re¡­ d¡¯Voris?¡±

    ¡°Melea.¡±

    He frowns, but then just as quickly nods, as if to himself. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you two were siblings.¡± Mik¡¯vael shakes her head in frank amazement.

    Incoming Thought-message from Raegoth Ni¡¯rial. He¡¯s wearing a receptor. He hadn¡¯t before, I realize. Accept.

    Given events recently I suspect your visitation is of similar significance. What were you last thinking of before I spoke to you?

    My prior suspicion falls. I¡¯m just a piece¡­

    Portals. It¡¯s all the portals. Everything.

    Just as I thought. Just as I thought. Thank you. ¡°I was her partner, too. Time passes so quickly,¡± he says, and Mik¡¯vael responds, ¡°She knows that. Sara still challenging you?¡±

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s why I¡¯m outside. If she does so again, it¡¯ll be in full view of the Agency¡­¡±

    Mik¡¯vael laughs, and I hesitate. Where does he fall into all of this?

    Who are you? I ask.

    In the real world, he¡¯s smiling and talking well with my sister. His eyes are ordinary and they see what I do. But now I no longer trust what I do see. Scion, Governor, full-blooded¡­ where does it end?

    I¡¯m nearly there. Or I¡¯m just at the beginning. I¡¯ve been writing. ¡°What is being a raider like, Melea?¡± he asks.

    ¡°It¡¯s fun. But I¡¯m not on the Beacons yet.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re a good team.¡± Writing helps me to remember. My ancient memories I¡¯ve learned to transport there instead. And I¡¯ve realized this.

    ¡°Nice seeing you, Mik¡¯vael. Melea¡ªwelcome to the Agency.¡±

    If the portals reflect the two we have here, the ones for purification¡­ My former partner, you won¡¯t remember, but his name was Hector, and he had blue hair. My future¡­ my past. He was my portal. And to him I was the purification. And to me¡­ is the god Horus.

    ¡°You too, Raegoth. Nice meeting you.¡± He steps away, and Mik¡¯vael, shaking her head in comic disagreement, points ahead to the tree. Its dark red boughs seem to shake lightly in the wind that passes us. ¡°That¡¯s the Thousandtree. We pretend it¡¯s been there a thousand years¡­¡±

    Is that a metaphor? I¡¯m not following you. I¡¯m sure you know about Governor¡¯s Genes and the other world with magic but gods can¡¯t be¡ª

    ¡®Metaphor.¡¯ Everything is. I¡¯ve remembered many things I¡¯ve forgotten. I¡¯ve still many, many years to go. But my advice for now¡ª

    Don¡¯t go into the portals. They alter your memory.

    Raegoth leaves the Thought-feed.

    They¡ª

    A rush of images, all the times I¡¯ve casually stepped into one. Thought for home. Thought for my sister. Thought for HQ. Thought for Beacons¡­

    A memory, so faint it¡¯s lighter than a hologram appearing in a dream¡­

    Hands, lifting me out of birthport. I shouldn¡¯t be able to see, but make out two like birthports, two to my left. Both are empty. One of them is wet. Glimmering with the residue of a golden liquid.

    Mik¡¯vael and Majine. The memory fades but I now remember. How had I forgotten? Born with two sisters, one of whom made into a Governor out of birthport. Out of portal. They may not have the same shape but they are the same shape.

    Each and every time.

    Each and every time.

    We are being purified.

    What do you know of the god, Horus, I asked.

    Senra looked at me askance, as they looked up from the book they were reading. Staring at the letters from above and mirror, I could discern a description of a child sitting in the rain, waiting for it to continue, as their schoolteacher designed bodiezes on the bench beside them. In that moment I could have used my receptor to identify its title and author, but then I thought, of the thing in my mind, about that boy in the sky, flying his great blue bird with its golden wings.

    It was something I had written. Something I could continue rather than wait. The thought of its existence continually surprised me, like departing the chamber of dreams to find one who comforts and completes you; perhaps still there, but still there with you.

    He doesn¡¯t have enough adaptations, Senra said. A few. Some treat the god in the long form, as they should, since he is immortal. But none long enough.

    I could sense their disappointment. But then again, Agent Senra, known also by the epithet Avalon, was rather disappointed by most questions that penetrated the fictional veil. After these past few meetings, my first conclusion has remained, that of any human being I had met in my memory, Avalon was the only one who had read more than I.

    I stood to move over to the aisle; running my fingers over some titles. All those I had read. Do any of those adaptations treat him as real, was my following question, and Senra turned the page, answering his portrayal by the Kingslayer, but I think you mean differently, and it was the penultimate, for Senra was a vivacious reader, one both fast and astute. I enjoyed these meetings; while I learned little, in Senra¡¯s wide swathe of knowledge, I often enjoyed watching them read.

    Is Horus real, is your question, they said. I nodded. Great golden wings. In a rush of wind and blazing light. I know to some he is, or rather was, by belief in their worlds. But I also think about this myself sometimes, Raegoth. Whether the world of fiction can ever truly break our own. With those words Senra themselves stood, closing the spine; the pages partly falling into place with the diminishing space. Once our visionices is ready, you should go there. It¡¯s the last medium, they said, as they adjusted the lining of their vest collar, making the A in AVALON briefly wink out, like a star. They nodded, and I the same; they then left the library, stepping along on the tiles.

    I looked at my hand; it was resting over a V-book. I Thought for the title: Turtle Titanium, book 1 of the Gallant tetralogy, by Rennie Jay. Xeric¡¯s favorite. His first time in our library he¡¯d requested a tome from William, or the Agent who had supervised the aisles before Senra, had received this saga of a visiting architect, one who¡¯d constructed a visorface of a turtle, and proceeded to build tortollan empires around the world. Meeting great fishes, writing short stories with racing hares, but eventually choosing to live solely within their titanium artifice, losing all traces of their former human courage.

    Why the Agent, then only six, had favored such a story, was beyond I; but, as Senra had explained, stories found an intrinsic attraction with individuals, in such a way that regardless of author, it was this common imagination that one dipped into, this immense, infinite water, which us readers swam. Some of us spent our lives merely looking at it, occupied by what weathered us, conversing with those beside us, or waiting; some sat close to it, watching also, but relaxed, or fretful with anticipation, observing the shore for a chance to dip their feet; some few sailed the waters, the subject of their curiosity; and yet some others, distant and near the far forest, too small to make out, seemed to be walking on the water itself.

    I returned Turtle Titanium to its place, and moved to seek another Agent; or, as they could be, a future reader.

    I was in a small library, for as I had discovered, all of the titles we contained were those we had chosen, and Agents frequently borrowed from our aisles. I first scanned the space around me, leaving the table where Senra had sat, surrounded by an aisle nearly a full circle, with a space open, through which I left. I was not near the coffee rotary nor the special space for the aforementioned visionices, that silver sphere I had seen my first time here; but coming upon another series of aisles, spaced together, or rather apart, each about a librarian¡¯s breadth in circumference and height, I soon heard the turning of white, and moved through the standing aisles into a section grouped like those still in Lowers, a series of rectangles with space between them for walking. I walked across the tiles, and saw their shapes, and felt their smooth.

    Agent 1123 was standing within this one. The Agent was turning the pages of some three books, between some raised small tables, one after another, reading all three at the same time. I Thought for their titles, three different translations, in Neo, High, and modern English, of the same text: I, Robot by Isaac Asimov. The three laws wouldn¡¯t be very much changed, I thought, and moved on, catching the scent of coffee in the yellow color; in the next aisle, sitting on a floafa, was Istria, alternating between sips and taking Thoughtnotes from a V-holobook, out of which a great charity of peoples, animals that no longer lived, various stills of flora emergent from its pages, this title too I did not recognize, but Istria shook her head as she saw me.

    ¡°Not today, Raegoth; I¡¯ll take a look after you finish the first chapter.¡± She turned a page, causing a monkey and dog to scamper out of her fingers¡¯ way. I nodded and moved on; in truth, I had only written but two pages, the sensation of just having, or rather that boy in the sky existing, by my hand, or rather by my thought, the simple and powerful child of an idle brain¡­ was enough. But it wasn¡¯t for my fellow Agents, none of whom, including Senra, willing to read those two.

    ¡°I¡¯ll try it first. It might be poisoned.¡±

    A twange in my stomach; I did not remember who had said those words. In the next group of chairs, the Agents Ari Cato, Danara, and Liebeslied, all reading their worlds, all contemplating what scheme of character, all giving such temples of the material such V-books were made their royal thought. Ari Cato would on occasion hold his V-book up and out in front of him, as if he were espying the true shape of the galaxy through an early iteration of the telescope; Danara was stifling the most immense sorrow, his shoulders hunched, and barely acknowledged my offer to read the boy in the sky. Agent Liebeslied did look up at me, or rather at my uniform, or rather past me, as if they were still reading, the words and voices somehow behind me. ¡°Behind me, the dancer plunged,¡± she said, and I turned, but then¡ª

    ¡°SNAPE KILLED DUMBLEDORE!!!¡± screamed Agent More Barry, nearly running into my legs as she nimbly dodged, doing an Olympic leap onto the rim of the couch between Danara¡¯s quaking shoulders and Liebeslied¡¯s right ear, her small arms pummeling its soft material as if she were trying to kill Dumbledore herself; neither the throes of a broken man nor the ear muted to all sounds of the world interrupted by our youngest Agent¡¯s revelation. I laughed, picking up the little Agent, and planting her solidly, but gently, on the floor; her resisting with surprisingly great strength. I knelt before her.

    ¡°The Agent Raegoth doesn¡¯t laugh at Agent More Barry¡¯s joke,¡± she whispered, and I realized her failed attempt at getting her three superior Agents to heed one from another Bureau.

    ¡°I was only asking if they¡¯d read something I¡¯d written,¡± I said, to which More Barry nodded, her face glum, but also serious.

    ¡°Can I see?¡± she asked.

    My heart leaped¡ª

    ¡ªit remained there, hovering, steadfast like the boy in the sky himself; forever unable to continue his flight, so lazy on this Sunday was his creator. I smiled and plucked at the button on More Barry¡¯s overalls. It didn¡¯t come off.

    ¡°I¡¯ve only written two pages,¡± I said; but without thinking, I Thought for V-book I wrote, and the holy cylinder emerged, come into creation, sliding out of nonexistence or shimmering like the angel¡¯s wing, barely seen¡ªno, like the starship departing hyperspace, or the moth, its wings frenzied, escaping the harsh light of the lamp above the porch in the quiet evening of a 1982 Japanese mountainside village; or rather, like the first portals¡¯ failure to fully teleport, their volunteers only partially forming, forever to be. Anne had been particularly irate then.

    ¡°More Barry likes the two pages.¡± The 9th Agent did a soft punch into the R of my uniform. ¡°She wants to read more.¡± More Barry beamed, and handed the V-book back to me; I could barely hold it. ¡°The person in front of her doesn¡¯t know what to do next.¡± She giggled, a sound like the bubbles in a fish tank, and happily skipped off. I could barely notice where; I was still holding the thing that I had written, a newfound feeling, for it had weight, it had substance, it had material. A person had read it. It now existed. All my thoughts from it before now made no sense.

    I could barely hold it any longer; I dropped the V-book, and slumped back onto the tiles of the floor. The V-book fell flat, opening to the current page; some empty white space, plain and inviting, lay below the most recent words. More empty white space, plain and inviting, continued onto the next page, and onto all the following pages¡ªas a V-book had infinity. The great beyond. A harmless sight of some sort of unknowable abyss. I had to remedy it. I had to fill that great beyond with life, with flight, with feeling. Sensation and stardust and the little in-betweens.

    I looked up; I looked back down, at the floor tiles. Covered triangles. My shoulders shook; I couldn¡¯t see past them.

    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s like that,¡± Agent Ari Cato said, patting my shoulder.

    <hr>

    <sup>[1]</sup></a> Avien di Wae¡¯s song ¨C ¡°Ocean Blue¡± by nanobii, released on his 2017 album Sunshine Express

 44 - The Starry Night

    VAN GOGH, 1889

    I am standing right outside it; its silver, rectangular surface almost gleams. If I stare long enough, I might be able to convince myself that it shows any sort of reflection; but so far it is only silver. A scion of its own, from the originals made by one of the Restors. And since revealed to be an instrument of the Government, as a minor version of the two portals that daily purify the Scions among us.

    But compared to the revelation Raegoth gave me, it is but one of many instruments played by the Government, among their infinite concert. After running and re-running my memory of the birthports, golden dew revealed, I just can¡¯t help but think, over and over, that I have no agency. The same word, the organization, the institute that has my sister in its grip, that always had superiority over the Furies, that constructed these many portals that run, run their silver course through all of society. Above Lowers everyone walks through them; sends their atomic memory into the silver ranks, to be concocted, studied, and re-organized into whatever plans they have for everyone I have ever known.

    A Thought from my to-be captain, Siara, enters my mind: Melea, are you coming?

    I send affirmation. I enter the portal and send a Thought for Beacons. Everything around me vanishes as my surroundings change; keeping my eyes open, in that indiscernible turn my window of sight is now an empty sky. I did it again; I portaled directly to Golden Seat, and turning myself in all directions I confirm that I am the only one on the platform of gold; looking below, the blades of alter grass scintillate and shine, being swept by the feet and golden launchpads spotting the environment as various Beacons run through them. The golden seat below my own feet is solid. I look down and sight Siara, Bodi, Vie, Lacon, and a few others across the field. I summon launchpads and hurtle down them to join the matrix of alter plastic ball and golden circle, rackets glinting in the sun and raiders shouting.

    Vie sees me first. Her brown-and-white hair flecks as she passes beneath me, and without looking behind me I know that I had left a trail of gold.

    ¡°You can¡¯t use all your launchpads that way,¡± she says quickly, tapping her receptor, I nod and say over Thought, But I was high up. Bodi wasn¡¯t up there this time.

    There¡¯s still the limit you can have out at once.

    She is right¡ªany single player is limited to three out at the same time. But I suppose that the other team¡¯s gold is of the same hue. I follow Vie along the edge of the field, Siara has the ball in her racket, not quite holding it in the net, but folding¡ªbouncing it rapidly, but so low and so fast that from where we ran, only showed vibrations of white in the sun. ¡°Beacons, spread out!¡± she yells, and then the Thought comes, Melea save your launchpads. We¡¯re trying the ¡°folder¡± today.

    We each summon 3 launchpads at once, 6 on each side, Vie says. I am now just behind Siara¡ªshe glances my way, and then flicks the ball forward and beneath another player¡¯s swipe of their racket, out so fast I barely catch it, and it¡¯s caught by Lacon¡ªby their racket handle, spun and tipped back to their own folding.

    The ¡°folder¡± is Lacon¡¯s idea. But they probably stole it from the original Sun.

    Vie¡¯s covering a player from the other team; Siara runs to set up the folder on the other side, covering a third player; I catch up to the second, recall my launchpads, and before sending the Thought for launch send a Thought for score¡ªBeacons 44, Melea 0. Hmm, OK in this round they¡¯re not showing the other team¡¯s.

    Alter. I put more energy into my legs. I soon overcome the second player, and suddenly Bodi drops out of the sky, landing on his own launchpad, tilted vertically, and our double envelopment is broken before it has begun. Siara fails to get the pass from Lacon, and the player I was covering overtakes it. Score¡ªBeacons 45, Melea 0. Ayer you knew we were doing the folder today! Siara says, and Bodi slips off his launchpad as it disappears, landing on the grass. He then whips his racket over and about, it whisks through the air like a frisbee¡ªand Vie, out of nowhere, catches it, and now she¡¯s running over on her launchpads to the Burner players adding to their pass score, wielding her two rackets behind her like a roadrunner¡¯s back feathers. A sharp image roils forward, I remember the V-movie, that had displeased most Sector audiences, of Dunc: WILD-E and somehow trying to adapt a slew of ancient works simultaneously, where WILD-E the android roadrunner, sleek and silver, chased after Fayar Gaebus on her sandworm. Vie, I see, is doing what I just did¡ªsummoning and recalling launchpads right after each other, so that she always has three below her.

    Stop staring, Melea, Siara berates, and I nod and run after. Soon we will hit the 50s, and be halfway there to Governor¡¯s Arena. My original objective¡­ but I keep seeing new things in this game, that preUni Mik¡¯vael and I never tried¡ªthrowing a racket!

    Bodi is returning to the sky, without a racket, which is still within the rules!

    I love this game.

    Score¡ªBurners 100, Beacons 88, Melea 5. Governor¡¯s Arena. Out in the distance, three golden saucers become visible.

    We come to a stop. Bodi falls out of the sky nearby, but only I notice it. Vie is beginning to sweat; Siara and Lacon are breathing lightly. I take some breaths in between their frequencies; for I feel no fatigue. I always had increased stamina, but ever since I acknowledged my Governor¡¯s Gene, it had become¡­ more apparent.

    ¡°We¡¯re doing good,¡± Siara says, wiping her mouth. Her light ochre hair fringes there. ¡°Melea, again, if¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± I send a Thought¡ªIf any of them is my aunt. I¡¯m more worried if they ask me if I¡¯m a tree again. But I hadn¡¯t forgotten my mission. ¡°Our folding isn¡¯t working.¡±

    ¡°Siara, please tell Bodi to stop interfering,¡± Lacon complains, but to which Siara only smiles.

    ¡°Bodi is our agent of chaos,¡± she says, simply, tossing her hair in Bodi¡¯s direction. Bodi is staring, his back to us, intently at the arriving Governors; something like a shape is arising on each of them. ¡°There¡¯s a reason I don¡¯t tell him your strategies.¡±

    ¡°Siara¡ª¡± Lacon begins to say.

    ¡°We¡¯re 12 behind,¡± Vie says to them, slapping their racket with hers; clack. ¡°Siara hasn¡¯t done her lightning yet.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. OK, Melea.¡± Siara nods to me, and I head over to join Bodi.

    I look at the Governors. Their Golden Seats, three in number, shimmer in the heat of the sun. One of them is a warren, husky and eldritch; I glance at it for the minutest second so that it doesn¡¯t ask me again if I¡¯m a tree. I¡¯m not. I focus my eyes on the Governor to its left, stage center, the one shaped as a world. It pulsates silver and ripples seem to beam across, from this distance, apparently concave surface. Its look is varied and speaks to me of two things. Perfection and Constancy. I feel an itch in my knees. Not the itch I need to scratch; a deeper itch. It is imperfect. It is inconsistent.

    I look away from my knees. The Governor stage left is comparably human. It is wearing a hologram suit. I remind myself that they are all wearing hologram suits. Golden Rule. The Governor is rather small from this distance. But I can make out their distinctly pointed ears, larger than a human¡¯s, and what shone out to be the cloak of a forgotten age¡ªred and yellow and a searing gold.

    A twang pierces my soul.

    ¡°Melea¡ªthoughts?¡± Siara¡¯s voice comes from the background. I barely hear it. Some voices rise within me. They number in three.

    I am not a tree. I feel my legs, stolid and filled with the invisible ichor of Governor¡¯s Gene.

    My trait is full-body, and I¡¯m using it effectively. My hand is strong upon my knee.

    I am Scion Emulus. And that Governor makes me feel the twang that comes to Scions in the presence of another not felt before.

    I remember what Majine had instructed me to do. I barely hear Siara¡¯s voice behind me, I barely see Bodi begin running towards the three Governors, and I barely feel the grass beneath my feet as I send a Thought, looking in the direction of the one who asked me if I¡¯m a tree, Portal to the Governor Warren :

    A tree, tall and curling and black (or a green, imposing).

    A sun, distant and concentric and yellow (or a sunflower, dying).

    A sky, horizontal and creeping and blue (or an ocean, tempting).

    Applause.

    The crowd claps its hands (clasps chains) together. I see these three significant objects placed on the stage. I am somewhere in the middle row. I cannot see well in front of me, except for the scene set, only that there are others seated to my right and left, in the six rows in front of me and the six rows behind me. Their faces I cannot see, only their hands, a cuffed chain tying right to left, as they gleam and glitter in mighty applause.

    There is no one standing on the stage. Only the tall tree. Only the spurts of sky streaming behind it. Only the phaethon plunging the scene into an awareness of despair. It all seems very familiar, like something I have seen before but with a name.

    The sun shines deeper and a face appears submerged. I can see from back here, those eyes of jade, her eyes following mine, like a portrait in a gallery. It is Majine, she emerges completely (clothed in the attire of a Governor, hologram suit made for everyday wear), leaping lightly to the stage, walking towards the front. A sticker of black. She stops at a small sticker of black, taped onto the stage. She clears her throat; the movement causes some even smaller spurts of something gold out, like a flower emitting pollen, they float.

    She speaks.

    ¡°I AM TODAY¡¯S ORDINAL. WELCOME TO OUR SHAREHOLDERS¡¯ MEETING.¡±

    Ordinal. A number related to math.

    Applause. It is automatic; but it is also voluntary. I keep myself from clapping. I focus for the briefest of seconds, and find that I can feel the seat beneath me; peripherally still the shadows of hands appear in shadow; the voice of Majine felt real to me as the calls across the grass of the other Beacons.

    Beacons. Objects or personages, giving light or inspiration. The premiere raider team of the Sector. Melea Vora?son yet to be partnered. I have to remind myself.

    Some rows above, a clear sound of struggle. A hinge of white confronts the darkness; it is a sign. Words appear upon it, colorless but different than the white.

    (0.25, 0.5]

    More numbers; but before I had discerned them as such in my mind, or the image of the words in my mind, if this is physical space, I had read them as letters. Raised lettering; pale nimbus white. Not because they had been shaped as such; but simply as they had appeared before my mind.

    ¡°OUR QUARTERLY PROJECTIONS ARE POSITIVE.¡±

    Applause.

    The white sign sinks into the dark. Majine seems to look at me.

    ¡°WE HAVE THE SILVER SPHERE.¡±

    Applause. It is seemingly louder this time; and suddenly, the black peeling dilapidated pieces of bark over the skin of the tree peel. They are more individuals. ,Peeling away like silver stars of people, like the climactic scene in The Scream¡¯s Museum Oslo where paper-people danced around the pretend prince, the ashes of the apocalypse falling around them, uttering the cry of an unrelinquished despair. Mik¡¯vael and I had joined them, screaming our hearts out after winning the raider tourney. In these dancing the bore of the tree came to reveal, the silver sphere, not too large or too small but just right. The humans can fit inside it. Human pathos you are become.

    Goldilocks, her gold braids dandling, held up the little humans by her pinkies. ¡°These are just right!¡± as she plopped them into the silver pot, a paintbrush on the workbench, sketches beside her depicting a pot in pencil yellow labeled HONEYPOT, and lavish paint run on her parents and sibling, making them the THREE BEARS, and all is good, and all is happy, and all is right.

    A pathogen of a breed, the human + bear child, dressed in a frock the color of dying sunflowers, with drops of gold spun into plaits, the lock of youth being dripped into the pot named of the hive¡¯s ambrosia, her paws holding paintbrush and paintbucket, her pawed unshod feet mixing trails of gold upon the stage, walks across and churning to face center on a sticker of black, emits a soft growl, and weaves her arm with the brush. Golden spray cause wreath of heaven. A slowed down scintillation of honeydrops ineluctable curve. And while the air is her canvas, various images shot through my mind: the Aegis line¡¯s recording of one¡¯s every action as if experienced in a V-movie, a row of leprechauns waiting the pot of gold, watching the rainbow streamers; screaming skeletons rushing in the rainbow road, their nanoseconds counted; the slowed-down spray of water in the opening scene to Parasite. Shot on Colorovo.

    After some silence, I realize the identity and the name of the Director in front of me; not an Ordinal, and certainly not a shareholder:

    Goldilocks effect, the Con Artist

    Goldilocks effect, the Con Artist proceeds to slap some golden paint onto the silver sphere, as Majine, no longer on the black sticker, stands out of the way a bit further behind on stage left; near the props presenting the little rows of houses. They appear empty and silent. There is no bodies coming out of them; I almost expect miniature figurines of black to rise out, an army of charred gingerbread demanding restitution from their baker, but they are empty and silent.

    They are empty.

    And silent.

    Soon the bear-painter seems about finished, splattering one last spray onto the sphere; it is about fully covered, a drop of golden sun. Pattering on her golden paws a few steps ¡®round it, she seems to inspect her work, her glittering alchemy, giving some growls now and then; but, continuing to paw around it, gradually making a mess on the wooden flats of the stage, she seems unsatisfied. She growls, again, louder; louder.

    Louder.[1]</a>

    Claps. Majine, still stage left, is clapping. She is looking at me. Goldilocks effect, the Con Artist is still looking at the sun. Here it comes. I am expecting, me, a name I call myself:

    d¡¯Voris

    ¡®Twas the name I call myself. I see the sun. It is gold. I hear the applause. I see their hands chained. I see the card inside me. I take it out. I see he letters on ¡®t. I read them, inside my stomach unreading unraveling the card white bone:

    Melea Vora?son

    Shocks and colors of faces around me. I see them. I see the humans who call me by that name. Keep your shoulders straight, sis. Stepping onto self-scanner Alterface I am altering! Melea, an Agent says. I see them. You¡¯ll join us, says the sport. I see them all. Are you a tree? No, the Conjuring.

    I am holding the large white card out away from my body.

    I am laughing.

    I am chortling.

    I am cackling.

    I am.

    Large, grubby paws reach around the shadows of the dark; a tubby fur reaching me in the darkness of the card. Its claws do not grasp me. But it clings onto the bone of the card and takes it. It takes the card. And the paw disappears, again into the dark. And

    Goldilocks effect, the Con Artist takes it up. The artist reads the card aloud.

    Applause. I feel my hands enchained.

    She reads the card and drops it into the sphere. It swallows it. Gulp.

    Chew. I hear it. We all do. Gnashing of teeth.

    A child¡¯s voice coaxes me to run, running very far

    And the sphere becomes,             And the sphere becomes,             And the sphere becomes,             And the sphere becomes,             And the sphere becomes, And the sphere becomes one of ichor.

    Applause.

    And I feel it. Something inside me, yanking out. A needle pulling thread.

    Majine is staring at me.

    A note to follow, says the Artist. She pulls into her apron¡¯s pockets for some jam and bread, to eat it. She eats the needle. Do.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    A deer, a female deer

    Siara¡¯s tongue, sticking to the grass. Bodi¡¯s voice, shouting of hoarse, as he fights the Governors. Vie¡¯s thighbone like a fallen chopstick. Lacon¡¯s arm, holding their racket.

    d¡¯Voris¡¯s name, taken. I feel my antlers, and they are dripping gold.

    The wind blew through the sky, causing unseen roils of power, she thought. But then she realized, they were all already in the sky. So the power was all around them.

    They were named the Powers, after all. Skylark thought to herself that Jaceus had gathered them together, had chosen them, because of their powers. He had said back then¡ªshe had the power of the sky. She looked around her; Agate was holding her bind, her golden hair (as seen in the mist) strewn about her, as she struggled to hold onto it; it was vibrating, as it tried to escape. Luke was in the same position¡ªexerting great effort, he had struck his own bind into the cloud-surface, and planting one of his feet inside as he used his other to hold himself on top. Cerise was walking over to the chord, ready to select hers; Mr. T was in line behind her; and then it was Jaceus and herself.

    The chord was kind of like¡ªlike a Lowers schoolbus, but dark, misty, and white, seeming to keel or retch as it lay (on its side?) waiting for Cerise to pick. Cerise sure was taking her time. Was the chord like the clens, alive but not really? Skylark saw that Tammarin was tapping their feet, constantly; as they watched in turn, very conspicuously moving their head to change gazes between the Powers already begun the test, and those waiting in line. And the rest of the green alien costume people were all around them, watching silently.

    We have no idea what we¡¯re actually doing, she thought. Agate had just stepped up, volunteered to go first (not surprisingly); picked a bind at random, which had immediately begun attempting to fly out of her hands, as she moved, haphazardly, to an empty space on the cloud they were on, and tried to wrestle with it. Force it into submission. Luke seemed to be having greater success; but Tammarin hadn¡¯t said anything, and she had so many questions still, like how exactly was Tammarin speaking to the clens, and the green people, and the chord only by using their feet; what Tammarin was, being this C Major; how were they all being kept up, if Jaceus and Cerise weren¡¯t doing anything, and why was Cerise taking so long.

    Skylark stared at the cloak, spelling these letters, spelling two words, on Tammarin: MOVEMENT BLUE.

    ¡°Can I select more than one?¡± Cerise asked, to no one in particular.

    Tammarin¡¯s stepping didn¡¯t lose its beat, but it almost lost one, Skylark thought. ¡°No,¡± they said. The tube suit people remained silent.

    ¡°OK, makes sense,¡± Cerise simply said. Skylark¡ªwithout stepping out of line, but just staying in the same horizontal position as Jaceus¡ªmoved herself over some to see¡ªCerise¡¯s eyes were now a vivid shade of violet, piercingly visible through all the mist, and her hair was changing likewise to a deep silver. She reached over to a bind on the skin of the chord. She put her right hand around its handle; she pulled it out.

    Twang.

    Skylark felt that. She hadn¡¯t felt that in a long time. Cerise, now with bind in hand, moved to find her own spot; but the bind wasn¡¯t shaking, wasn¡¯t fighting; Cerise simply moved over to an empty portion of the cloud, and began whispering to the bind.

    Their audience began humming again.

    ¡°I feel like I¡¯m in class,¡± Mr. T murmured, giving her a wink as he looked back; as he moved up and put his hands, both of them, around another. He pulled it out, giving a grunt; his large black hair, which had lost its T shape, frizzled in the mist, and with a final heave he yanked it out, stumbling; immediately the bind began struggling, Mr. T, with a jerk of his whole body, fell forward, losing his grip¡ªthe bind flew out in a sharp curve, returning to the chord, where it stuck itself back in like a knife slipping into butter.

    Mr. T heaved himself back up. ¡°No, Capricorn, not now,¡± he said, to himself; but Skylark heard. I can speak with the stars. ¡°Did I fail?¡± he asked, to no one in particular.

    ¡°You have¡ª¡± Tammarin began to say, taking a step forward¡ªSkylark held her breath¡ª

    ¡°Tammarin Le,¡± Cerise said, but her voice was deeper, more¡ªnot full, moist was the word Skylark thought of¡ªor colored with something like water. She was walking over. Her bind was not in her hands¡ªit was hovering alongside, following in her wake, slight wings of a deep, striking blue already emerged as it flapped along¡ªher feet creating ruffles of white on the cloud. The C Major stepped aside. Cerise stepped past Mr. T, who was looking at her strangely¡ªand struck her hand around the bind he had just lost.

    It didn¡¯t resist. The bind only unfurled a pair of wings, limply, and Cerise handed the second bind to Mr. T¡¯s waiting arms. It fell there, its wings moving slowly.

    Before anyone could react, Jaceus was moving over and taking hold of another bind, his right arm seeming to shimmer in the mist. As he pulled the bind out, its wings burst out, flapping hard. Jaceus let go, and his bind flew about, making circles around him as he watched, smiling.

    ¡°So this is mine,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve won my will over it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s one way of putting it,¡± Tammarin responded. ¡°You and Cerise, if she still goes by that name here, have become in tune with your binds. That¡¯s a good key. What do you say, Peridot,¡± they said, and Peridot, seeming to smile sheepishly and simultaneously trying to get out of his tuba, nodded. Oliviet hit him over the head.

    ¡°They¡¯re alter people, you¡¯re so offbeat,¡± she scolded. ¡°Skylark, you¡¯re next,¡± she said, and Skylark nodded; it was finally her turn. She stepped past Jaceus, who was still smiling¡ªor trying as best as he could to stifle it¡ªwas smiling at how well he had done, but it was her turn, and Skylark knew, she just had this feeling, that just before taking the bind into her hands, pulling it out of the soft skin of the chart, that as its wings unfurled, all the other binds in the chart called out in various hums, all singing different notes, and they were all coming out with wings spread, and as she held the one she had in her right hand, another flew into or around her left, trying to touch it, and she instinctively grabbed it, and the humming became a sharp keen, as the others flapped furiously about, but she only had two hands! She took a step back from the chart. They followed her. She counted five, six, seven of them? In total, including the ones held in her grip.

    I believe I can fly, she imagined them all saying, and without thinking she began to hum, and without knowing she was humming high C.

    They were all about her, but she saw a gap created by them, as they moved aside, and she saw the faces of Agate and Sterne and Tammarin, Luke¡¯s jaws agape, it looked like they were all in shock, or maybe Tammarin was both surprised and delighted to finally have the member they¡¯d always wanted. She could sing.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s concert,¡± the C Major indeed said; their brown hair looked ruffled in the wind, created by Skylark¡¯s binds. ¡°Now I have a quartet.¡± They seemed to be simultaneously trying to conceal the biggest smile Skylark had ever seen and forcing one of the most stilted politeness, as they tugged their blue jacket tighter over their shoulders. They turned to the side, saying sans rigeuer quickly, and turning back to Skylark, seemed about to shout, opening their mouth wide, but Skylark heard a clap, and then another, and then another; the humming around them resumed, increasing in volume, and as Tammarin stepped aside, Claude stepped through.

    ¡°Cerise has been procrastinating, ad libitum,¡± she said, and immediately Skylark knew this was different; she was entirely different from Cerise, and had suddenly appeared. It wasn¡¯t like when Cerise had been wearing all blue, and she continued to feel inside that the person in front of her was colored differently. Deep inside; and she watched as Claude stopped clapping, let her right hand fall down by her side, and raise her left hand; extending just a finger, she pointed¡ªno, she was moving it through the air in front of her, in broad and wide strokes, but also seeming to catch Skylark¡¯s binds in its grasp, for she saw them begin to follow in sync, their wings fluttering with the same up-down, side-to-side movements, as Claude moved her left index finger through the air like a painter on her canvas.

    She stopped. There was nothing actually painted on the air; but the binds were now humming a low note, one that sounded very like the one Skylark had herself hummed just a moment ago; but lower. The binds were still. Tammarin¡¯s expression of forced politeness was now¡ªamazement. If they were shocked before at Skylark¡¯s display, she realized, Tammarin was now amazed.

    ¡°You should have tested on the metronome along with Cerise,¡± Claude told her, but Skylark didn¡¯t understand, shaking her head. ¡°Tuera, little blue, below, with those two luthiers. They had the audacity to not test you.

    ¡°Her melody¡¯s at least D Major, Tammarin Le!!¡± With that, Claude turned to face the C Major¡ªthey immediately resumed their foot-beat with the cloud-surface¡ªOliviet slapped her own cheeks and started to bounce¡ªbut rather than attack, Claude looked upward, and her bind shot up.

    Skylark hurriedly followed it¡ªbut all she could see, craning her eyes, was that, high above¡ªup to the next residual¡ªwas a thin, barely noticeable but perfectly straight blue line traced in the mist, like a thin funnel, a steep cylinder of air and water, that the bind had made.

    She looked back down¡ªbut no one was saying anything.

    She¡¯s at least D Major! Skylark looked back at Claude, who still had those vivid violet eyes, and her silver hair¡ªno, it was now blending in with the mist around them, so that it looked just a halo. A bare silhouette around her head. It reminded Skylark then of Cerise¡¯s head, floating in that transparent case, like a miniature portal.

    She then realized that all the humming had stopped. And before she could say something more, with a sharp, scissoring note that sounded just higher than the C, the bind shot back down, and Claude caught it.

    She held the bind in her hands; touching one of its wings, she seemed to smile.

    ¡°It seems he still remembers,¡± she said.

    7 years ago, outside the Tribunal, the N?tr Kingdom

    ¡°Apolle, you¡¯re swinging too lightly,¡± Etr ce said in between breaths, ¡°that¡¯s not how you wield your shape.¡±

    Apolluceus laughed, and Jaceus watched as his older brother continued to twist his Magpotis, its shape seeming to follow his torso as he moved, like an illuminated bird or bright shadow, a green outline tapering to a point. Etr ce, her long ochre braids somehow evading it, held her own Magpotis up, deftly parrying, its three prongs catching the light of Apolluceus with vivid green shocks. Jaceus watched with awe. He couldn¡¯t wait for Apolluceus and Etr ce to choose a path, so he could choose one to follow.

    He felt a nudge on his shoulder. Pur?, his own bright gold hair a shock on his forehead, was making Etr ce¡¯s shape with his fingers. His middle three, but he was trying to bend them so that they all had the same length.

    ¡°I can¡¯t wait to find my shape,¡± he said. ¡°Myodors really are different.¡±

    Green shocks. Etr ce had jumped back. Apolluceus was saying something about how their two shapes weren¡¯t meant to match. It wasn¡¯t the first time; Jaceus wondered if match had any special meaning. He¡¯d ask Triomphe later, or maybe a Wos or higher.

    ¡°Me too,¡± Jaceus said. ¡°I think my brother¡¯s holding back.¡±

    ¡°I heard that, Jay,¡± Etr ce said, making Apolluceus laugh again, a sound that made Jaceus think of that bright and relaxed feeling, of going back to sleep after waking up too early. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you two be at the Taenim?¡± She pushed forward, and Jaceus thought he saw sweat appear on his brother¡¯s forehead.

    ¡°We got Raf yesterday!¡± Pur? piped up, holding out his wrists, both of which had the telltale orange length of string. Jaceus felt his, just a bit tied around his left ear.

    ¡°Tell that to Triomphe,¡± Apolluceus said, dodging a prong. ¡°A Magpotis is far away for you!¡± Dodging another. ¡°And stop smiling, little brother, it isn¡¯t funny.¡± He moved forward; catching his Magpotis in between prongs, he lunged, and Etr ce careened over with her Magpotis, still holding onto it, arcing over him like a swallow. As she landed, she thrust her Magpotis straight into the ground, cracks appeared in the stone, and faster than Jaceus¡¯ eyes could follow, was shooting towards Apolluceus feet first, past his Magpotis, and that jade outline around him wavered, struck him on the cheek!

    Now landing past him, she stood, and made the hand-flutter for victory. Pur? and Jaceus did the same, and of course Apolluceus had enhanced himself, for he had no bruise.

    ¡°And that¡¯s why I¡¯m not taking the Route of Color,¡± Etr ce announced, but a bit more loudly, as if she wanted them all to hear.

    ¡°Etr ce,¡± Apolluceus started to say, glancing at Jaceus.

    The Route of Color? Where their parents were? In his mind, Jaceus saw their faces. Invisible and clear, unmoving and silent. He turned to his friend. Pur?¡¯s eyes were also wide.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know either,¡± he said.

    ¡°No,¡± Jaceus said. Apolluceus had a Magpotis! He knew what his shape was!

    ¡°Jaceus,¡± Apolluceus said then, making his Magpotis go away, its green light flickering out, that vivid green outline leaving him. ¡°You should be at school.¡± He walked over; Jaceus saw the silver cloak around him, marked by their family¡¯s wings, and the shape of its wearer. Jaceus was only wearing the white cloak, and there were no wings on it.

    A hand on his shoulder. He looked up, and Apolluceus¡¯ eyes were there. Bright, direct.

    ¡°I¡ª¡± his brother started to say.

    Then Etr ce was there, pushing him aside. ¡°You moonshot idiot,¡± she said, and took both of Jaceus¡¯ hands in hers. Her magenta braids swung just over them, making his skin tickle, and he realized that he and Pur? had been sitting on the stones, not on the grass, and it was uncomfortable. He thought, He¡¯s joking, but then he also thought, the many times recently Apolluceus had spoken of the ones beyond, of Ra and the others, how only those in the Route of Color could feel their shapes. That the shape of a god wasn¡¯t just something to draw around you, to understand you. That the shape of a goddess was understanding itself.

    ¡°He wasn¡¯t going to tell you, and he¡¯s going in there today,¡± she said, and Jaceus knew, it was right there, just a bit beyond that hill: the Tribunal, the formidable statues of the ancient birds.

    He was going in there.

    Apolluceus, his brother, was going inside. Jaceus looked, and saw the doors, made of brightwood by the Ligaeryen carpenters, fragile and mighty. A light seemed to shine through them¡­

    ¡°You¡¯ll still be able to talk to him,¡± Pur? said, but Jaceus felt only the tickling, from the reddish braids, and he shook his head, and he closed his eyes. ¡°No, no, no,¡± he said. Maybe just by thinking, those memories of Apolluceus speaking that way would disappear. Just like his Magpotis.

    ¡°Ahhhh,¡± Apolluceus said, his voice sounding fragile, and Jaceus looked, and his oldest brother was standing, hands clutched around his head, teeth gritted and eyes closed. ¡°I can¡¯t do it anymore, Etr ce,¡± he said, and shaking, waving from side to side, Apolluceus was trying his hardest not to cry.

    Jaceus closed his eyes. His brother never cried; his brother was the oldest, he was strong. Herceus was the weak one; only recently entered the Taenim Laev. Still with a grey ribbon, oohing and aahing with the other young ones and the Tree-man.

    Apolluceus and Etr ce were arted. They had the wings.

    ¡°They won¡¯t understand even if I try to explain.¡± His brother was making obscure movements in the air. ¡°It¡¯ll take years before I fully leave them. Speaking to the pantheon takes time.¡± He was caught between turning back, making these confusing, wild, harsh signals to Jaceus and Pur?, and looking over at that hill. Jaceus got up and, avoiding Etr ce¡¯s hand, looked at Apolluceus¡¯ face. His brother, his older brother, had a confusing expression, one that Jaceus hadn¡¯t seen before. It wasn¡¯t like that time he¡¯d interrupted their class of Arcs, spying on a trio of Nam practicing the water-game, and had burst into joyous, raucous laughter at seeing the much younger students quail. It wasn¡¯t either like that time, Jaceus remembered suddenly, when Emeli was drawing a sky-light of all the Myodor siblings, and he saw how Apolluceus looked as he tried to correct his teacher on the proper contour of his hair tuft. And it wasn¡¯t like that time when Jaceus watched his brother walk on the water outside their house, speaking to the whale that would become their guardian, in words not in Nox, as their parents watched from the sky.

    It wasn¡¯t like any of those. Apolluceus had such a look on his face, beneath his sunflower crest, that made Jaceus think of when he met Pur? last year, an Element¡¯r born into a family who all flew, all with wings, but chose not to grow his out, and instead wanted to go to the Taenim, and become arted someday. Jaceus had known then, and he knew now, that he¡¯d follow Pur?.

    He looked at Apolluceus, and Apolluceus back at him.

    ¡°You¡¯ll hear it someday, Jay,¡± his brother said. ¡°The sound of birds.¡±

    the present, 2<sup>nd</sup> residual, Sector II

    Jaceus watched the way the bind flew about him, and tried to keep smiling.

    He watched as Claude continued to berate Tammarin, saying without saying, that she had been to this Sector, and how the Movement Blue was too linear, and how Cerise had delayed everything, and merely watching Skylark wasn¡¯t enough, that the little bird needed to just jump out of its nest, to truly fly.

    Skylark had on this expression, somewhere between confusion and eagerness, and he remembered, he thought back to when he had first met her, completely in awe when she saw him¡ªher expression of astonishment upon learning about the races¡ªthe amazement she caused on the Furies¡¯ faces when demonstrating her trait, raising his arm¡ªand later¡ªher expression of concentration, teeth gritted, as she held the Porter Perry up by the ceiling¡ªand now, while he couldn¡¯t of course fully grasp what it meant, she had commanded not just one bind, but seven, who were all flying about her.

    Jaceus looked again. Her eyes were silver¡ªmatching Claude¡¯s¡ªbut he had the thought, he wondered, just how much further she¡¯d go, would she be like Cerise, who by changing her self to another, could change her trait, would she continue to amaze, and fly up further with her binds up through the Sector, would she join the Movement Blue, go up higher.

    And meanwhile, he, a former member of the House Myodor, arted, had received his Magpotis, had succeeded through the seven colors of the Taenim Laev¡ªhe was now here, with this small group of Scions he¡¯d dared to name the Powers. Without his Magpotis. Without Pur?.

    Jaceus watched the little binds, all humming softly, and lowered his head. He stared at the surface of white, just beneath him, which he was still, somehow, standing on. At the behest only of this C Major, with Claude¡¯s implication of Tammarin being at the lower ranks, like an Arc, in comparison to the other Majors that flew high above.

    The surface was clear. The mist swam slowly around his ankles.

    What was he doing?

    ¡°Sorry, Skylark, she comes out like that, sometimes!¡± came a cheery voice, and Claude was back to Cerise, and as she touched her hair, turning it back to pink, and back to her hairpin; Skylark shaking her head, saying it was okay, and asking Cerise if she had been to Sector II before; Cerise nodding, and saying she had to pretend, ¡°because the colors here tend to be blue.¡±

    And Jaceus realized, that he still really didn¡¯t know them, Skylark and the others¡ªturning his attention towards them, he thought, all he¡¯d done back then, in making that negotiation with the Agents, was to not purify these Scions, for their traits, but without really thinking of what they¡¯d wanted, what they could gain out of traveling with him to another Sector, in a hapless pursuit of home, for they were all leaving theirs.

    ¡°Skylark, you have passed, crescendo,¡± Tammarin Le said, ¡°and yes, as you just saw, Cerise, unless she has a sky name, has just passed notes with a D Major on the next residual. You may go up, yeah,¡± they said.

    They were visibly flustered. Jaceus thought, they were probably supposed to tell her, You can¡¯t bring more than one bind with you, or so do I now have a quintet, but he waited for what Tammarin would say to him; for by now, Agate had also passed, her bind no longer trying to escape, held still in her hands, and the same with Luke.

    Tammarin opened their mouth; then closed, shuffled their feet, and reopened it. ¡°Jaceus,¡± they said. ¡°You also possess a bind, as you yourself noted, on beat,¡± and Jaceus smiled, although he already knew that. He already knew that; and now Tammarin was turning to face Agate, who held up her bind in front of her as one might hold a child. ¡°You do as well, alter person, but it took you some measures longer,¡± and Agate let out an audible sigh of relief, turning to Skylark and giving her a smile, Skylark returned it, Mr. T and Luke giving the former Fury some happy remarks; Jaceus just wanted this to be over, and Skylark announced a D Major, or something along those lines. Along those beats.

    He should¡¯ve studied how music was organized on Earth more, he thought. Even if, above Lowers, it seemed to be mass-produced by the Government, and there wasn¡¯t as much variation as he had anticipated. But maybe he¡¯d understand more some of the words this C Major was speaking, as it sounded like they were all from preexisting Sector I (or he supposed pre-modern Sector I musical vernacular).

    ¡°And lastly, you the oldest here, while it seems that Cerise synced your bind for you, which, well, our concert doesn¡¯t dictate, it¡¯s not yours,¡± but Cerise seemed about to protest, taking a step forward; and Tammarin coughed.

    ¡°Peridot, Oliviet, please contact Eberry,¡± they said, and Peridot laughed awkwardly, Oliviet the same expression but on her face; ¡°that D Major, Eberry?¡± she asked, and the C Major nodded. ¡°There¡¯s only one in all of Movement Blue,¡± they said, giving both of the bouncers a hard look. Peridot squealed, hopping once, twice; he continued hopping, and moved backwards, into the mist which quickly swarmed over him as he joined the rest of his peers.

    Only one D Major, Jaceus thought. Maybe I have a chance, came the wayward thought, but he struck it down, feeling a pang of embarrassment. He may be arted, but he¡¯s not his sister, Cerise had said. He wondered, again, if she¡¯d known that he¡¯d heard. Jay, someday you will hear birds, Apolluceus had said.

    Well, so far there were none here. Jaceus moved to gather together his Powers, stepping closer on the cloud towards them. Luke gave him a nod, but the others kept their attention on the C Major.

    ¡°Tammy, I think you mean the D Major Burberry,¡± Oliviet was saying, but Tammarin shook their head, adamantly.

    Jaceus sighed, quietly; in the light, sibilant hiss of the mist, he hoped no one¡¯d heard.

    ¡°Burberry was recently¡ª¡±

    They gave Skylark a look; different than before, slightly tinged, Jaceus felt, with uncertainty. ¡°Eberry, Oliviet, the one who only plays sharps and flats, don¡¯t be offbeat,¡± they ended in a whisper.

    Oliviet nodded rapidly. She clicked her tongue, and the rest of the other bouncers moved away; their green forms melded into the silver-white mist, and Jaceus thought he saw the chord also, slowly, disappear. Then Oliviet hummed two notes, close together, paused, and repeated; they all waited as, eventually, maybe after a full minute or so, the surface in front of her became disrupted, and a bind shot up, and she just barely caught it with her mouth. Continuing to hum, the bind¡¯s two wings flapping, grazing her cheek, Jaceus watched as she called.

    He felt the bind he had; the slim handle of the staff was cold, but smooth. It did not resist, but he could feel it flapping its wings, as if it was trying to leave. He held onto it more tightly.

    <hr>

    [1]</a> Goldilocks effect, the Con Artist plays a piano + vocal cover of The Beatles¡¯ 2009 remastering of ¡°Here Comes the Sun¡± from their 1969 iconic album Abbey Road, the one with the linear sequence  , where 1 = black, 0 = white.

 45 - Three Musicians

    <figure></figure>

    <hr>

    PICASSO, 1921

    Tristan stood between the green knight and the Alter Boy.

    Y¡¯sazant, their jade bangs hanging low beneath their chin, T-shirt set in alter white, beginning to touch the V-bow somewhat concealed over their back; their ever-present grin that in that moment, seemingly both the perpetuation of this cloak as Don De Mai as well as Tristan¡¯s ready companion, a troubadour of green, only to play (<i>Not like last time. I¡¯ll tell you exactly where to fire.</i>) at Tristan¡¯s command.

    Cel Rin, his grey polygon top a shroud atop his pate, wearing the Rin family¡¯s discernible shirt with silver lines, radiating outward from the Restor insignia; a look of dual stoicism and stentorian confidence, seemed the conductor as he stood at the head of the robot troupe, a stylus in his right hand, waving it from side to side as a silver symphony; Tristan¡¯s rival and sidereal winner, in serious form, without the pulchritude of color.

    His back was to them. Tristan pulled Y¡¯sazant to the side, tugging them by the string; Cel was only facing the musicians. They all bore the face of Cel Rin. Anima Rin, the father, stood further behind them; only distinguishable by the like polygon top, more burnished, but on taller shoulders and above only a frown. (<i>Cel! Get it right! Get it right,</i> Tristan imagined the father telling the son, behind closed doors.) There were other passerby stood there, still as cyber trees; and even though no music was being played, the faces of Cel silent as stone, Tristan focused in on the chin of Anima, still; the crescent frown, still; the burnished brow, still.

    <i>¡°Cello,¡± is the name,</i> Syz said. <i>A bit glaring. There¡¯s no actual cello.</i>

    <i>            The image created of it is the thing,</i> Tristan responded, instinctively. Turning his eyes to Cel, to the still shirt with its silver lines, tracing them down and across the legs like falling, geometric rain, the shoes vibrating with the unseen rhythm, and sharply back up to Cel¡¯s elbow, forearm, fingers clasped about the wood stylus, in a rapid up-left-right motion, forming the shape of a sail. Watching him this way, Tristan thought, Cel¡¯s left arm, held in front of his chest, unseen, was holding the cello invisible and erect, running his right hand across these hidden wind-strings, and, all throughout, the faces of Cel stood still, all throughout.

    The cello was close.

    <i>You¡¯re too close, haha, </i>Syz uttered, pulling him away by his shirt, but the sail kept billowing, moving swiftly, tugging along the art ocean¡ªCel¡¯s arm, Cel¡¯s hand, Cel¡¯s fingers. Cel¡¯s stylus.

    He opened his eyes. He was now standing at the rightmost wall, almost turning the corner and going into the next piece¡ªY¡¯sazant steadying his arm, Tristan now able to make out Cel¡¯s eyes, nose, and mouth¡ªand he remembered, rubbing his eyes¡ª<i>I¡¯ll do as you say, Tristan. Just tell me where to aim</i>¡ªand noting that Anima Rin was now more distant from them, his attention focused only on his son¡ªand there were passerby. Soon all to praise. The salient bow, conducted by Cel, the Rin wonder, constructed by Anima.

    Tristan watched them, ready for their praise.

    <i>His hand, holding the reed? Would stop everything,</i> came the voice of Don De Mai, and Tristan shook his head, wringing out his hair. It wasn¡¯t wet. Of course, it wasn¡¯t. It was the same¡ªdirty, messy, malfunctioning, un<i>altered</i> brown¡ªand he remembered the <i>chocolate brown</i> of his father as he looked to the reed-shaped hand, or rather the hand commanding the robots before them, and Thought to Y¡¯sazant, <i>Fire the stylus.</i>

    <i>            Your wish is my command, sir.</i> Syz, stepping into the shadow created by a bent right angle between two walls, pulled the V-bow completely out from over their back. It was long and mighty, casting shadows of white upon the walls. White without quiver, the two sides of the crescent-shaped, coruscating triangle peering over Y¡¯sazant¡¯s hands reaching for its center, pulling back the wind-string, holding the alter dart. <i>I should have rehearsed this,</i> came Don De Mai¡¯s voice, and Tristan kept looking at Cel¡¯s hand, moving rapidly in its sail-like motion. Up, left, right. Up, left, right. <i>I am the archer,</i>

    came Don De Mai¡¯s voice, and all kept their eyes on the nonpareil, Cel Rin, none on Tristan. They were all looking at Cel.

    A white alter dart peered into Tristan¡¯s vision, just before it struck Cel¡¯s hand¡ªno, sailing past it completely and into the waiting faces of the musicians. Cel¡¯s hand showed no cessation. <i>Give me another,</i> came Y¡¯sazant¡¯s voice, but Tristan was already there, handing his friend silently another alter dart, white and peerless, innocent and unfrayed, and before Anima Rin could notice what was happening around his son, Y¡¯sazant pulled back, knocked and loosed, and fired.

    Tristan and Y¡¯sazant watched together as that white alter dart, single and triangular, shot, sailing over the air confronting

    , green striking the coalescent hand, the stylus losing to    , falling like a pale wooden branch, Tristan following its descent to the hyper linoleum.

    <i>Clack.</i>

    It rattled, almost creating a silhouette of brown, as it met its resonance frequency almost immediately, before coming to a still.

    He kept his eyes on it. He tried not to think. He vaguely knew that Y¡¯sazant was there, right next to him, waiting; that they had stopped the performance. That Cel Rin was no longer playing. That Anima Rin was watching them now. That Meliodas Mott wasn¡¯t here, ready to give quips to his son. Comparing his son to the Alter Boy, ready to conquer Midyear and Tempest and the Exhibit after that. That green in light of this black and grey, was not a creative color.

    But Meliodas Mott wasn¡¯t here.

    Tristan forced himself to look beyond. He saw that, as he raised his eyes up, up along the silver-lined pants of Cel, up past his legs and to the still, quivering torso, that he had disrupted the performance, that the conductor was no longer commanding, that the Alter Boy was merely a 16-year-old, lanky, teenage boy who forced himself not to eat all of Restor¡¯s recommendations to maintain his rectangle-like form, who chose <i>Satisfaction</i> every year to maintain his confidence, who obeyed his father¡¯s every command so that he could be Alter Boy.

    Tristan found Cel¡¯s eyes. Cel, looking straight at him, without the noticeable glamor of recognition, but only a pallid expression, two eyes coated in a discernible conflict, between maintaining his confidence and turning against this new arrival, this other boy of chocolate hair, and his green knight, but Cel stood there, straight, immovable.

    Anima Rin was there. His father, bending close to his ear and giving him quiet words. Tristan could not hear, but he Thought to Y¡¯sazant what he felt the Alter Boy¡¯s commands:

    <i>You are not the Alter Boy. The Alter Boy does not lose to an outside force.</i>

    Tristan smiled; he smiled softly as he witnessed Cel struggling to remain still.

    Y¡¯sazant began clapping. They had placed the V-bow away, it was gone, out of Tristan¡¯s sight. Tristan glanced back and saw the two alter darts: one lost amidst the crowd of robot Cels, he couldn¡¯t see; one on the floor, next to the stylus, which Anima Rin was now bending to retrieve. He would stand back up, and point out Tristan Mott in the audience; Tristan¡¯s plan would fail. Tristan Thought to Syz, <i>Let¡¯s go. We did it.</i>

    <i>I can¡¯t believe it.</i> Back to Y¡¯sazant Syzer¡¯s tame bass. You <i>did it, Tristan.</i> They moved along with Tristan, away from Cel who hadn¡¯t said anything, to the audience or to his father, as the clapping, sparse and infrequent, arose from the rest. Tristan moved with Y¡¯sazant as he sought out the next piece, recognizing the triadic color scheme of Starboy, who was himself sprawled out across a gigantic color wheel, each of the three sections showing a diagram, slowly rotating; and as he saw Tristan beginning to grin widely.

    ¡°Tristan Mott! You came!¡± As he struggled to remove himself from his own color wheel, but of course he¡¯d tied his hands and feet to it, with wind-string no less, and Tristan laughed. He made out some various shapes on the three sections: one a scarlet heart, crudely drawn, but a heart no less, and second an outline of steel, perhaps armor, for the body (and it was blue); and third, a helmet with horns, yellow. Y¡¯sazant was helping Starboy with his ropes. It was all very crude. Was Starboy trying to emulate medieval torture systems, play out a disastrous failure from Knights v-World? He laughed.

    ¡°Thanks, Don De Mai.¡± Starboy grinned as he came, spreading his arms wide, in their sleeves of red against the torso outlined halfway blue and yellow, pants in red, and shoes in¡ªbrown.

    Tristan stopped. He pointed to the shoes. ¡°They¡¯re not primary,¡± he said.

    ¡°That¡¯s what you <i>think</i>, Tristan,¡± Starboy said, still grinning, as he waved to the few people who were there; there were some people there, three besides Y¡¯sazant, Tristan, and Starboy: a mediary student with a uniform he did not recognize, someone older, perhaps a teacher from some school, and lastly a person with hair of a silver cobalt, wearing the illustrious, nearly reflective material they all wore in High, one of the many patents by Mary Restor¡ªflynder. Tristan stared. Their flynder shirt was unornamented, but had an insignia¡ªa small silver globe. Tristan recognized it¡ªit looked very similar to the sphere Leia Chibio had been sitting in. It was¡ª

    ¡°<i>Visionices,</i>¡± Y¡¯sazant said. Their very light blue, off-white eyes were very still. ¡°You¡¯re¡ª<i>You¡¯re an Agent. Agent Avalon.</i>¡±

    The name didn¡¯t sound familiar. As Starboy, the teacher, and the schoolboy all reacted, Tristan Thought for <i>Government¡ªAgency¡ªListings</i>¡ªAvalon.

    The seemingly endless scroll of names vanished, all replaced by the name <i>Avalon</i>, and as Tristan focused in on his Thought-feed, saw the avatar: and he compared it to the person standing in front of them, and they were the same. Down to the silver insignia, the slim-fitting shoes that had to be iststarkes.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad I am recognized,¡± the Agent said. They patted their insignia. ¡°There are many school insignias, and I don¡¯t even have a full symbol like many Agents. You pay attention to the listings.¡±

    Starboy pushed himself in front of Y¡¯sazant, who was about to reply.

    ¡°What did you think of my <i>Three-Body Diagram</i>?¡± he asked.

    Tristan felt that the question was asked rather brusquely. Starboy, the named offender who¡¯d ousted, no, usurped him from his position in this Exhibit, was asking an <i>Agent</i> for their opinion.

    Agent Avalon moved smoothly to the side, and then did an about-face to face Tristan. Tristan saw that their eyes were like silver, but with small points of a different color within them.

    ¡°What did you call that, the William Tell re-enaction back there, by the Rins?¡± they asked him.

    <i>William Tell. A superancient story of some father who nearly missed striking his son in the eye during target practice.</i> ¡°It wasn¡¯t a piece,¡± Tristan said.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± the Agent simply said. ¡°And this, your friend,¡± they said, pointing to Y¡¯sazant¡ª¡°Were they not part of it?¡±

    ¡°They were, Agent Avalon, but I wasn¡¯t registered¡ª¡±

    ¡°I was,¡± Starboy said. ¡°Tristan, did you <i>do</i> something to Cel Rin¡¯s piece?¡±

    ¡°It was technically me,¡± Syz said. ¡°Don De Mai.¡±

    The Agent looked disappointed. They seemed to stare at Syz for a few more seconds, before Tristan saw a Thought-message come into his feed: <i>Thought-message from Senra Beaudicious.</i> He looked at them¡ªthey were nodding to him. <i>Accept.</i>

    <i>            My name¡¯s Senra, and you are?</i>

    <i>Tristan.</i>

    He almost said <i>Mott</i> but didn¡¯t say it.

    <i>Tristan, your performance was very impressive, something interesting out of all of these imitations of art. </i>Verbally, Tristan saw, the Agent was now lavishing the triadic techist with compliments. Starboy¡¯s grin almost split his face apart. <i>Thank you, Agent Avalon,</i> he said. He didn¡¯t know what else to say. An <i>Agent</i>

    was speaking to him, directly, and as Tristan studied them, he realized that they couldn¡¯t be more than a few years older.

    Agent Avalon, their hands behind their back, was moving to inspect the <i>Three-Body Diagram</i>. ¡°Does it have to be <i>you</i>

    on this machinery?¡± they were asking, and Starboy proceeded to answer. Y¡¯sazant, he saw, was coming over to him, a questioning look on their face.

    <i>Do you wish to do it again?</i> came the question, from Avalon.

    Tristan let the images wash over him. Giving Y¡¯sazant the alter dart. Watching them pull back the alter dart on the V-bow, aim, one jade strand of hair threatening to touch the string; releasing and the dart soaring over the space between them and the Alter Boy before striking the stylus. An entire performance disrupted.

    He felt something warm. Like¡ªthe arrow, dipped in residue of nightshade, being handed to the knight smiling as he knocked it back, wearing his white gauntlet¡ªaiming it upwards, to go over the enemy turrets¡ªlike a nervousness he had never felt before. But it warmed him. And as he looked at his friend and champion, Tristan looked at the V-bow and smiled.

    <hr>

    She held onto the bind in front of her, making sure not to let go ¨C its surface was slick with sweat ¨C no, it was water from the cloud ¨C as she rose, and the other binds rose around her, seeming to herald her ascent ¨C their wings were all fluttering, very rapidly, and she had this strange feeling, that if she just let go, that even if she wasn¡¯t touching any of them, she¡¯d just keep going up ¨C by herself.

    Without daring to think further, she unclasped her left hand¡¯s fingers.

    She immediately began dropping ¨C she grabbed it again, and her bind sang a clear <i>C</i>. The six others all sung the same, and as she kept on going higher, the cold air brushing past her skin, she could feel it flying past her hair ¨C she knew her cerulean was being tinged silver, like Mr. T¡¯s over there ¨C he was laughing, practically wrapped around his own bind, clutching it close to his chest, as it slowly propelled him upwards ¨C his black hair showing falling streaks of white, and Cerise, not Claude, Cerise, was laughing and smiling while she held onto hers, raised high above her head, holding onto it with one hand; and she thought, was Cerise using her trait, or were her eyes just seeing things ¨C for Cerise¡¯s bind¡¯s handle was seeming to shimmer blue, no, white, reflecting the various shades of white and blue being dazzlingly scattered around them as they kept on moving up ¨C long bits and streaks of cloud rushing all over them.

    They all kept on going higher. Skylark tried not to look down ¨C but she couldn¡¯t help it and looked, and thought she saw the great, now turning invisibly white, formless mass that was the chord, and Tammarin and their aliens just bare plumes of white ¨C the distance between that residual and this next one, was higher than she thought ¨C and they were <i>still</i> going ¨C and she thought, I¡¯m not scared, I¡¯m just holding onto this bind, this little wand-stick-key, and it has its own wings, and somehow it¡¯s pulling me, but I¡¯m not hanging by it, but holding it as if I¡¯m standing ¨C

    ¨C She almost let go again ¨C

    ¡°DON¡¯T LET GO,¡± Cerise was saying, now closer to her, having maneuvered herself over ¨C of course she¡¯d already mastered horizontal movement with these ¨C Cerise¡¯s eyes were practically glowing with excitement. Skylark¡¯s eyes flitted between them and the ground, <i>no, another cloud!</i>

    ¡°Don¡¯t let go,¡± Cerise told her, and then she heard Jaceus¡¯s voice, no, it was Luke¡¯s ¨C it was muffled by the wisps of cloud they were passing through, like how they¡¯d entered the Sector, but now going up instead of down ¨C <i>don¡¯t look down</i> ¨C Luke was saying, ¡°HOW MUCH LONGER,¡± and Skylark thought, <i>for eternity</i>, but then, as her binds all <i>pushed</i> upward, rainwater falling past her, sleeking through her hair and cheeks, still holding onto hers with both hands, she burst through, and all was clear.

    ¡°You can let go now,¡± Cerise¡¯s voice said, and she did, and ¨C her feet landed on cloud. Her binds, all seven of them, hovered around her, the one she¡¯d been holding onto a bit slower, its wings more visible, their clear, almost white feathers spreading out in clear compartmented lines from the handle ¨C but she looked away, for she was on a new residual, the <i>third</i>, they were to meet this D Major Eberry, and standing next to Cerise she looked up and all around them. She barely felt the water on her cheeks.

    They were standing on a cloud. She wasn¡¯t <i>completely</i> used to it, but this one or rather the area they were standing on, was much smaller than the ones down below, and she could see all of them, Luke and Mr. T laughing and shaking hands energetically over there, their binds sinking back into the cloud ¨C Agate was still holding onto hers, examining it closely, her breath forming a cloud ¨C and Jaceus was in the center, his bind firm in his right hand, taking deep breaths.

    It was then Skylark realized two things. It was a lot colder here, now ¨C unconsciously, she reached out, and took hold of a second bind with her left hand ¨C they were surrounded on all sides by walls of cloud, thick and white, and looking up, she saw that they kept on going up, but she thought she could make out ¨C tree branches.

    Wait, what? No, they were these sort of ledges ¨C slim, white ledges protruding this way and that, as it all extended upwards¡­ she couldn¡¯t see the top, this tall, white cylinder they were in, and she saw that they were all looking up, the six of them, all staring into that bright, hazy white sky.

    She looked back down. She didn¡¯t know what to do next ¨C she almost expected the D Major Eberry to be waiting for them.

    ¡°E-bore isn¡¯t here,¡± Cerise said, ruminating, her hands on her hips. ¡°He got Claude¡¯s note.¡±

    <i>E-bore?</i>

    Skylark had the sudden feeling¡­ that Cerise, maybe, had not just met D Majors before, but had gone all the way up¡­ or at least Claude had.

    ¡°I have to say, <i>how,</i> are we <i>still standing</i>?¡± Luke was asking, shaking his head with confidence; he was kneeling; he was, slowly, pushing his shoes through the surface. Agate came over and began doing the same.

    Skylark just thought that, <i>If I could just go up onto one of those ledges, and stand there¡­ </i>but then she heard, keening and quiet, a clear, piercing whistling¡­ coming from above, and there was a sliver of movement, up on that ledge, some hair ¨C and a bind was emerging from it, coming out from below it, and falling down, emitting the whistling sound. Not any particular note. This one was white, with white wings, blue on their edges, two of them. It floated in the center, Luke and Agate standing up to come closer, and they all focused on it, and then, she threw her head up, two other binds were coming down, both singing Ds, Skylark thought, <i>But Tammarin said Eberry only did sharps and flats</i>, and then, the spaces in sky just around the binds slipped, slipped off, revealing cloaks tugged back by two individuals, both with soggy black hair, both with black shirts beneath the white cloaks that had made them invisible, black pants, and these loud, jangling silver bells on their black shoes. The two individuals were laughing while holding their binds as they descended. The bind that had come first was still humming the C. Together it was discordant, Skylark thought, but she couldn¡¯t tell clearly whether it was the two individuals singing, for their mouths were open, or their binds.

    They landed softly on the cloud.

    ¡°Dorian,¡± the one on the left, by Agate, said; the D ceased, as Dorian looked around at them all, looking very amused.

    ¡°Dorian, I am Jaceus,¡± Jaceus said, but then the other spoke, ceasing his D, throwing an arm around Dorian¡¯s shoulders ¨C ¡°Doric,¡± he said, his eyes twinkling, but almost covered by his black bangs. ¡°We¡¯re Mordants.¡±

    <i>Mordants.</i>

    Were they not D Majors, then?

    And then, the bind in the center stopped its humming, and suddenly all was silent, or more silent, for there was always that sound of wind in the background¡­ Skylark expected Eberry to appear, from inside a cloak, but a hand pushed out of the cloud-surface below, grabbing onto the bind ¨C and the bind pulled it up. More black hair. Grinning, dark eyes. Ears dangling the same silver pieces. A black cloak, black shirt; black pants, only marred by a great silver arc thrown across it all, which, Skylark realized, obviously, was a <i>D</i>.

    ¡°<i>I¡¯m</i>

    Eberry,¡± D Major Eberry said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He now stood fully in the center, throwing his arms around the two Mordants¡¯ shoulders, all with black hair, wearing clothes almost entirely in black, their three binds hovering by their feet. Eberry turned in a swift circle, catching all of them in his dark eyes ¨C Skylark saw the flash of recognition ¨C as he turned to face Cerise, and his eyes showing a flicker of familiarity, but not instant ¨C there had been the slightest beat of hesitation.

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Cerise, Skylark saw, was looking all up and down Eberry, as if she were comparing him to a drawing.

    ¡°Still a D Major, E-bore,¡± she said, grinning, her hair flaring pink ¨C Eberry grimacing, and raising his left hand, pointing to her hair ¨C ¡°You never had hair of that color.¡±

    ¡°<i>I</i>

    do, <i>Claude</i> didn¡¯t,¡± Cerise said. She put a hand on Skylark¡¯s shoulder. ¡°D Major, I¡¯ve brought some tourists for you to entertain. Cleave, or concert?¡±

    ¡°Concert ¨C wait. You all besides Claude ¨C¡±

    ¡°Cerise,¡± Cerise said.

    ¡°Cerise,¡± Eberry said, ¡°don¡¯t know. <i>Cleave</i> is Sector II coffee. I make it. <i>Concert</i>

    is the same ¨C with my Mordants, and our binds, I perform. Then you all go back down.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re <i>still</i> a D Major,¡± Cerise noted.

    <i>I¡¯m </i>at least a D Major<i>,</i> Skylark thought, without saying it. ¡°Clay-ave,¡± she said.

    ¡°No, <i>concert</i>,¡± Eberry said. ¡°You were just a kid, Cerise, and you <i>liked</i>

    my concert. I would be off-beat to not show you again, with your tourists ¨C¡±

    ¡°But I <i>love</i>

    coffee,¡± Agate interjected. She seemed worried.

    She seemed <i>flurried</i>, Skylark thought. But it was just coffee. Agate did have this very clear expression on her face, as if she had been searching for something, searching for something for a long time, and it was just beyond her grasp.

    ¡°It¡¯s ¨C¡± She glanced at Skylark, ¡°¨C it¡¯s what keeps me going.¡±

    ¡°Not for me,¡± Eberry said, giving a sheepish short of grin. ¡°I hate this job.¡± He brushed off some nonexistent snowflakes from the collar of his jacket. Skylark suddenly was reminded of some upper-end Lowers fashion model, like that one with the stylish, somewhat grey-purple jacket, but she forgot his name.

    ¡°We¡¯re not kids,¡± Cerise said. ¡°Claude was very young back then.¡± She glanced to the side, towards Skylark, as she said this; as if to hint at something, but Skylark couldn¡¯t get what she meant.

    She nodded. <i>I just want a quiet moment, me and Cerise, so she can explain everything.</i> But something told her that that wouldn¡¯t happen for a while.

    The D Major was looking only slightly flurried. <i>We¡¯re really giving them trouble, us ¡®tourists,¡¯</i> Skylark thought. The thought gave her more questions ¨C did other people from other Sectors also come here? Was it going to be cleave or concert? When was Qumulo coming? Would something happen if Agate stopped drinking coffee?

    Eberry glanced once, to each side ¨C Doric and Dorian giving him slight nods ¨C and he shrugged his shoulders, giving off an enormous sigh ¨C sinking slightly down through the cloud-surface as he did. ¡°Okay, okay. My songs are really strong, though, and I¡¯m sure that Tammarin Le, who gives their sheets to me, told you all about ¨C¡±

    ¡°No, they didn¡¯t,¡± Cerise said. ¡°Agate wants to try your cleave, so let¡¯s have it.¡±

    Eberry sighed again, but nodded to Dorian and Doric, who stepped back a few steps, and, kneeling to the surface, proceeded with their binds to carve into the cloud, up and out, making long, swishing movements.

    Eberry watched them for a few seconds, and Skylark saw his expression ¨C almost nostalgic, not quite tireless, or maybe just a bit sad. Then he turned back to them, a large grin on his relatively pallid face, and Skylark shivered.

    Her binds keened.

    ¡°Is there something we can wear?¡± Luke asked, gesturing about. ¡°Like the cloaks you people have been wearing.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not in Movement Blue,¡± Eberry responded, but Cerise gave him a look, and he forced a laugh. ¡°Ha, ha, ok, I will do my job, and get you accustomed.¡± He didn¡¯t do anything, but the two Mordants seemed to go faster, as the cloud-stuff they were mixing rose, forming into something like a mini cloud ¨C one of those tall ones ¨C connected seamlessly to the surface, like an alter hedron. As they stood to mark they had finished, their binds stayed in their hands, their wings flapping slowly; they were tired.

    Eberry walked over, and laid his arms across the cloud-table. He beckoned for them, and they all came over to do the same ¨C except for Jaceus, who remained where he was, holding his bind and staring up at the sky intensely. Eberry looked around at them again, and as his Mordants stood off to the side, silent, he cleared his throat.

    ¡°Tammarin¡¯s always trying to recruit, and you know, but they just keep <i>falling</i>, right here, they can¡¯t even go past my Mordants,¡± Eberry said, making a sort of two-finger gesture, and Dorian and Doric, in the back, nodded. ¡°Tammarin had this, objective, to gather the right members for their quartet or quintet or¡­ how many does that go to, again?¡± he asked Skylark, giving her a curious, questioning look.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said. She thought quickly, back to Modern History¡­ an ancient memory, of some teacher who¡¯d sleep¡­ the thought almost made her <i>feel</i>

    tired. ¡°An orchestra?¡±

    ¡°Haha, no,¡± Eberry answered. ¡°It¡¯s the Movement Blue. But obviously, Tammarin couldn¡¯t gather all of us ¨C one, there¡¯s too many, and two, they were only a C Major, so they were <i>stuck</i> trying to get people only from their residual and below.

    ¡°You should¡¯ve <i>seen </i>them try to get Calamus Onekind. He¡¯s at least an F by note. That means two scales above me. But the luthiers always work in pairs.¡±

    Jaceus by now had returned¡­ he was positioning himself right across from Eberry, laying his arms across the sleek, silver surface. They almost reflected in it.

    Eberry continued speaking to her. ¡°So? Do you get it?¡±

    He hadn¡¯t really used music terms, Skylark thought. Was it intentional?

    ¡°Tammarin also wanted to go up, but they didn¡¯t have enough members,¡± she responded.

    ¡°Capricorn agrees,¡± Mr. T said.

    The D Major nodded, then shook his head. ¡°Tammarin had more than enough at their command. You saw them, right? Besides Peridot and Oliviet, those two snowflakes, Tam had all of them on that residual. A full, combined orchestra. But that doesn¡¯t mean they have <i>enough</i> to <i>go up</i>.

    ¡°And, Claude had told me that, when she came back, that she¡¯d bring someone who had enough.¡± He turned to face Cerise, who reacted slightly; and how he¡¯d recognized Cerise, who was so different, in the girl who could walk on clouds, who took Skylark around a v-ArtUniversity, Skylark couldn¡¯t understand.

    Claude had controlled her binds, and given one to Sterne.

    ¡°So ¨C do you want a pedal?¡± Eberry asked Skylark, still looking only at her.

    ¡°A petal?¡± she asked. She thought of flowers.

    ¡°No, no,¡± Eberry answered. He plunged his left hand into the table of cloud; ¡°you have to get the ratios right, for it to be a <i>pedal</i>,¡± and Skylark noted the difference, so it was another musical term.

    Agate, she noted, was making jerky movements with her hands, her eyes seemingly trying to capture every single facet of what Eberry was doing. They all watched as the D Major, after shimmying his hand around a bit longer, removed it; unsurprisingly, it was holding more cloud, although it was tinged with a surface of blue, curling in wisps through it; and Eberry took it like he was holding a snowball. In his right hand, still holding his bind, he brought it up close to the ball, like ¨C Skylark thought of, in his all-black cloak, some dark wizard from v-World, about to cast a spell, holding his thin wand out to the ball of blue flame ¨C and sung to it, murmuring notes, really quietly but just loud enough that she could tell they were notes.

    The bind flapped its wings, slowly and then more rapidly ¨C and Skylark watched as the ball of cloud slowly rotated, the white-tufted fringes turning ¨C and the blue slivers around it joining together, and even though she couldn¡¯t really see it, she felt that the whole thing was becoming more hard, tougher, even though it was still made of water and the clens.

    But that was all she understood ¨C as much as she kept staring at it.

    Sitting on Eberry¡¯s palm was a white, fuzzy snowball cloud, with a strong haze of blue coursing around it in one unaltered line.

    ¡°That¡¯s alter,¡± Agate¡¯s voice came from besides her. ¡°Eberry, I¡¯ve seen so many things here so far, but this by far is the most ¨C changing,¡± she said. ¡°So this is <i>cleave</i>?¡±

    Eberry looked at Agate for a second. Two seconds. Three.

    ¡°<i>Leave</i>,¡± he said.

    ¡°What?¡± Agate said. She glanced at Skylark; she shook her head, she didn¡¯t know either.

    ¡°Le<i>a</i>ve,¡± Jaceus said. He pointed upward. ¡°Same word, but not the same meaning.¡±

    Eberry grinned quickly. Like someone who¡¯d been smiling so much, that the reaction wasn¡¯t really a reaction anymore. He closed his lips; and then smiled again. He nodded to Agate.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, alter person. No, don¡¯t go. Stay. But as you go up, please take this pedal with you.¡±

    Skylark held out her hand; and Agate took the little cloud.

    ¡°<i>This</i> is what distinguishes us from your <i>alter</i>. <i>This </i>is <i>leave</i> ¨C¡± pronouncing it as Jaceus had, with the <i>a</i>

    elevated ¨C ¡°and it isn¡¯t what makes things a bit better (well, it does), it¡¯s what makes all of us go higher here. It also keeps us warm, even without our cloaks.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Doric and Dorian said.

    ¡°So ¨C if we drink that, we can ¨C that¡¯s how you all walk on the clouds,¡± Jaceus said, and Eberry nodded.

    ¡°Cerise kept you up, or if it wasn¡¯t her, Tammarin did, as is concert,¡± he said. ¡°The third residual, where our noted D Majors are hospitable, have particularly trained the clens to keep alter people and other tourists up.¡±

    <i>That¡¯s why, </i>Skylark thought. Jaceus or Cerise wouldn¡¯t have to keep her up anymore.

    Eberry put a hand on his throat, just the portion visible above his black collar that had the <i>M</i>.

    ¡°You have to sing,¡± he told Agate. ¡°To imbibe it.¡±

    ¡°Sing?¡± Agate asked. She seemed a bit nervous, suddenly; Skylark thought to herself that, of all the things related to music in Sector II, being asked to sing shouldn¡¯t have been surprising.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know any songs here,¡± Agate said.

    ¡°Just a note,¡± Eberry said. He smiled again, as if he¡¯d just stifled a laugh; ¡°any note.¡±

    Agate touched her throat; clearing it, she stared straight in front of her, and seemed to be thinking for a note to sing.

    <i>It¡¯s just a note.</i>

    ¡°Skylark, what note should I do?¡± she asked her, and Skylark let out a laugh.

    ¡°He said any note,¡± she said, making Agate smile; giving her one last look, Agate returned her eyes front, made a low humming noise ¨C increasing it in volume, with her mouth closed ¨C she was making a note ¨C and then she opened her mouth, and a note sounded, not too high, but definitely on the higher end, very clear, and Agate¡¯s eyes kept tethered straight, as she held it, emitting the A.

    Wait, how did she know that? Like back there, with the middle C.

    Agate let it go, softly; letting the A disappear into the air, almost without leaving a step. Her eyes were closed; she opened them, and Skylark thought, that was pretty good, but Mr. T and Luke were now coming over, their faces wide in delight and surprise, Luke even throwing his arms up.

    ¡°Agate, what was <i>that</i>?¡± Luke asked, and Agate shook her head, but she was smiling.

    ¡°Just an A,¡± she said, but even Jaceus was nodding, and Skylark thought, it was just a note, she hadn¡¯t sung an opera or anything ¨C but then Eberry, a big grin on his face, one that was natural, was thrusting his hand into the spot of cloud again, and Skylark realized the ball was gone. And Agate was rising.

    No, she was actually rising, her face moving upwards, her shoulders ¨C Skylark looked quickly to her feet, below the cloud-surface Eberry was using ¨C and they were <i>off the cloud</i>.

    There was air in between her shoes and the white, slowly swirling cloud surface. There was nothing in between except air. Agate was floating. The <i>pedal</i> Skylark had given her was gone.

    Skylark felt her mouth drop.

    ¡°That¡¯s ¨C¡±

    ¡°<i>Perfect pitch</i>,¡± Mr. T said. ¡°Rare nowadays!¡± He snapped his fingers, his eyes full of understanding. ¡°Active human singers in our Sector haven¡¯t been ¨C¡±

    But Agate was floating. Agate was <i>floating</i>. Skylark switched her eyes from Agate¡¯s, wide in shock and amazement and wonder, yeah, since she was floating, and Agate¡¯s feet, off the ground, they weren¡¯t going up any further, but they were hovering, they were staying, they were doing so on their own. They were shaking ¨C no, they weren¡¯t, Agate was holding herself still, her eyes wide; she remained in that hovering position, not even a meter above the cloud, but looking at those in front of her, they were all standing in front of her, as if she was an angel just descended, and rather surprised to see them all there.

    ¡°Skylark, you have to try,¡± Agate said, and Skylark realized that there wasn¡¯t only one, that Eberry was at this moment handing yet another <i>cleave</i> to her, soft and tuft-y on his palm; he now seemed to be rather enjoying himself, even though he¡¯d said he hated this job.

    Or maybe¡­ he was pretending. She got the strong sense that it wasn¡¯t so much what he did he hated, and more the <i>tourists</i> that kept choosing cleave or concert. But she wanted to go up, and she knew that there would be further ways to see, to hear, to listen.

    So she took the <i>cleave</i> into her waiting hands, thought, <i>Sing and swallow,</i> and did so.

    <i>Gulp. </i>The soft sphere of cloud ruffled through her. And ¨C she seemed to feel something ¨C

    Her binds rose and turned a vivid shade of blue.

    <i>Shock.</i> Like the <i>twang</i> but different. Like the sudden sense of excitement she felt when about to see something that she couldn¡¯t do. It was new, it was a soft chill, it was the cold resonance that filled the air around her as she breathed. She saw and she knew. She could feel the cold, these light pinches at the soles of her feet¡­ as she kept her eyes in front of her she could feel it, she could feel the light, that now shone through her, as she rose.

    She followed their eyes. They were slowly moving up.

    She came to Agate¡¯s height, and then, and <i>then</i> she looked down, and she saw that she wasn¡¯t standing anymore.

    She exhaled. But then she saw that she was moving higher, that Agate¡¯s head was now at her shoulders, and she was moving higher, and their eyes with their heads were fully craned upwards, and she was moving higher, and then ¨C

    And then she saw.

    She had gone so high up that the sky around her was spinning ¨C no, scattering ¨C these fast and white pieces, it recalled something from a lesson on snow ¨C and she saw the people below.

    They were so flecked and tiny, just dabs against the still white backdrop, moving and there were these small lines around them. Binds. She felt the air and cloud-snow amass around her, billowing up and out from what they were doing ¨C and she heard low sounds, and she heard low beats, and she heard them.

    Some steps below.

    She couldn¡¯t see Agate, like an angel ¨C she couldn¡¯t hear Mr. T singing to his dear Capricorn ¨C she couldn¡¯t laugh at Luke, she couldn¡¯t even see him ¨C just over the long cylinder that held Eberry and the others, some more of those cloud-shelves jutting out, there were still people, arranged in bits and pieces, blues and whites, all along a wide, wide white platform of cloud. There were so many of them. Over and over it, holding their little binds, and amidst their cacophony she could make out the buildings. Large and white, sheer shapes sitting on the white cloud, that didn¡¯t just end as far as she looked, and like the cleave that she had drank, some of them were tinged blue, others tinged in silver, but <i>all </i>in the varying shades of blue and white. She thought they were like the chart and the chord, living, but they were still, people were coming out of them, some jumping out from the upper stories, throwing their sticks out onto the snow, sparks and leaps creating small shimmers above them, and even though she was still so far up she could hear the drumming and the sounds, the synchrony of striving to make the sound, to make something worth hearing.

    For all of them could hear. Skylark stretched out her hands ¨C looking down on the people ¨C as she still felt the chorus of cleave shake inside her, keeping her afloat.

    <hr>

    <i>Scene 32</i>

    Tr¡¯aedis watched the Arcs he knew¡ªAreum, Pener, Goye, Store, and Tueri¡ªrun up the low hill, their marks of red flashing. He told himself, as he had several moments ago, that he was almost there, that he was not a child, and that while he was still learning their language, he couldn¡¯t yet express his question¡ª<i>How do I become Arc.</i>

    At least he could run with them. He reached the top of the hill, making it in between Pener, who was adjusting his hairband, and Store, her shoulders heaving. He leaned over, catching his breath. He looked ahead. Store was pointing to a small group of Nam, their markings of purple visible from where they were, practicing their creations atop a ring of rocks around a small pool.

    <i>¡°Trix,¡±</i> Goye uttered, laughing and shaking his head. His long, yellow hair waved along his waist. Tr¡¯aedis nodded, saying the same: <i>¡°Wow.¡±</i> He knew nothing of how even to create. But standing there, he could tell, once one with a grey tassel reached Arc (red), and passed that into Raf (orange), then Lye (yellow); Wos (green), followed by Wen (blue), and only then into Nam (purple)¡­ one could create. <i>¡°Dirne min, dirne mon,¡±</i> said Store, heading down the hill, towards them¡ª<i>We have to be involved, we have to have the beginning of knowledge</i>; Tr¡¯aedis and the others followed, skirting down the grass on their bare feet.

    <i>¡°Koko tr¡¯aenim taera,¡±</i> Pener noted as they went, <i>Koko needs a student,</i> but Tr¡¯aedis knew he meant <i>Koko is missing his student</i>, being Tr¡¯aedis, and Tr¡¯aedis laughed, because he had much more to learn from the sixth years than from the toddlers who only floated in their wave-like cribs. <i>¡°Traedise di-mon, di-mon lvve,¡±</i> he said, prompting more laughs as they slowed down to a walk, the soft blades tickling his feet; it was ordinary, if not ritual, for the lower students to observe their seniors, but of course they would give them their distance. They were performing as well as creating, and they needed their audience. Even if, from what Tr¡¯aedis understood, most instances of the <i>Magcreat</i> were done with none, even from more advanced students.

    They were now just before a moderately sized group of rocks, jutting out from the grass, providing ample vantage for observation; Tr¡¯aedis tried positioning himself in between, or rather just below Goye, whose hair brushed his shoulders; and just above Tueri, who was loosening his red cloth as he watched. Pener and Areum found spots on the left side of the rock, and Store was somewhat behind them, around the center, but he knew that she was somehow seeing through the pink surface, with one of her hands pressed to the rock-surface, and like them, watching with fascination the Nam perform.

    One of them, who with bright yellow, nearly silver hair he had seen before at Emeli¡¯s sky-light drawing of Jaceus, was standing balanced on her rock, her left foot upon it, her right leg leaned backward and her two hands raised above her; the first thing Tr¡¯aedis thought of was a peculiar thing he had seen in Lowers, on top of some buildings, with sharp ends pointed in opposite directions. Staring down fixedly at the pool, she seemed to be gazing deeply into something none of them, maybe besides Store, could see at that moment.

    The second Nam had her legs dipped into the water. She was sitting up on the rock, her short purple-yellow hair like a flower-bud enclosed, her back to them; she was clinging to the rock with both her hands, occasionally striking it with her palms. As, while Tr¡¯aedis thought he could be wrong, the air directly above her portion of the pool was scintillating.

    And the third was lying spread-eagled on his own, looking up at the bright-tinted sun above them; but besides him on the water, with some occasional splashes like the Pegasus fountain back at the von Hiischklen manse, arose, and lowered an object of some crystalline fancy, silver, blue, nascent, arising again, spreading outwards, before centering in on itself, a slow-moving, solid and water, movement of the material from the pool. A slow-moving fountain being made.

    Goye proceeded to take long, deep sighs from above Tr¡¯aedis, sighs that seemed to express all in between for happiness, longing, and jealousy; <i>¡°Aeros,¡±</i> <i>Alter,</i> or the closest thing to it so far, came Store¡¯s, husky with the same. <i>¡°Trix,¡±</i> Tr¡¯aedis agreed. Unable to hold himself any longer, he pushed himself out from between Goye and Tueri, and knew that he was seeing, yet again, a flavor of art he couldn¡¯t quite grasp. But at least he could have their names¡ªlike he did his own, and the Arcs with him. It¡¯d be that <i>-</i> in between, and <i>t¡¯raenim</i>.

    <i>¡°T-t¡¯raenim,¡±</i> he asked breathlessly.

    Store turned to face him. She kept a hand on the rock.

    <i>¡°Gloire,¡± </i>she said, and Tr¡¯aedis suddenly had the impression, that she was referring to the one he¡¯d seen before, with yellow hair so bright, nearly silver and purple insignia on her wrists. He nodded.

    <i>¡°Hye,¡±</i> and Tr¡¯aedis thought of the one sitting, hitting the rock with her hands. As if by saying the name, Store was bringing up, like pulling a stone out of water, the image of its bearer. And then, as Store took another glance through the rock, nodding to herself¡ª<i>¡°Irie,¡±</i>

    she said, and Tr¡¯aedis knew she meant the one lying on his back.

    Now all he had to do was talk to them, by their names¡ª

    No, he was only an Arc¡ªno, not even¡ª

    Store had returned her attention to the three Nam. Tr¡¯aedis felt a sudden and slight urge, that, if he just wore something purple, and retreated from all gazes, found himself on the rocks by the pool¡ªmade sure to be watched¡ªand just¡ªand prepared the water, made it do something¡ªhe could¡ª

    But no, Store would just look at him, and know immediately who it was. Tr¡¯aedis slowly craned his head around the rock again. No discernible changes, other than some sort of light forming in front of Hye¡ªit was just an idea, a brave and crazy one, he knew he had to do it the long way, like the Arcs with him.

    But <i>how</i>? He could do no magic! He was from a world¡­ where people wouldn¡¯t step onto rocks and make the water form shapes, and light, as they peered at the sky¡ªtechists would just make an imitation, or something in a v-Art museum about the days before, when the trees around them were actually wood¡ª

    But he was here¡ªhe wasn¡¯t¡ªhe couldn¡¯t go back¡ª

    Tr¡¯aedis stared at the Nam, intent and focused and beyond concentrating, born and raised in such a world, one where <i>creation</i>

    <i>was</i> the thing, and not the thing itself¡­ he touched his newfound golden shards¡ªlooked at his grey tassel¡ªfelt the grass beneath his feet, saw the sky above with its burning sun. It was a sun. It was warm¡­

    He had to eat more of that leaf, the one Koko had given him¡ªthat was how it had happened. He¡ªhe stared at the water. The water that was stirring beneath the Nam, the water he had stepped in¡ªhe had to drink¡ª

    He stared for a bit longer.

    Then he ran forward, as the Arcs shouted¡ªhe ran towards the water.

 46 - Self-Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird

    <figure></figure>

    KAHLO, 1940

    Eleanor watched the Fire Man snuff out the fire, and she thought. It was only a matter of time. His eyes were concentrated, small windows containing fiery, liminal vistas, as he smoothed out the leaves with the tips of his fingers. It wasn¡¯t something warm he was creating. For these tips would fall directly into the water, and it wasn¡¯t something to drink. It wasn¡¯t tea. It was just something he was creating.

    Eleanor watched him finish the pot, bits and pieces of green in it, and pour into the elephant cup¡¯s open back; bits of green fell, and after he filled the cup, he stood and beckoned it to her, towards the hedges of elephants and rhinoceros.

    ¡°Give them water,¡± he told her. Eleanor shook her head; she appreciated the act, but there was no need when she¡¯d seen him water the hedges from her window just an hour before. She¡¯d also seen her mother walk through the garden, touching the verdant hides and recoiling; but the leaves weren¡¯t sharp, just prickly.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯re thirsty right now,¡± she said.

    Tupil shook his head; the fire was still in his eyes. ¡°They might be,¡± he just said, and taking the cup himself, sloshed it onto the snout of the large elephant nearest, then along the shoulders of the rhinoceros. Both stood at the head of their respective groves. Bits and drops of the water shone on the foliage, and Eleanor shaded her eyes a bit from the sun, but she couldn¡¯t make out the individual tea leaves bits amidst the greater verdant.

    They twitched; the leaves, nearly shivering, but it wasn¡¯t cold. Just the wind¡ªno, there was none, and the whole leaf-grown, bits and pockets of air cluttered throughout, snout of the elephant seemed to turn, and it snorted. A puff of air <i>bwooshed</i> out from where its nostrils might be, and it spoke.

    <i>¡°I wanted the girl to water me,¡± </i>it said, and the leaves were speaking, or rather Eleanor heard the words as they moved. <i>¡°Her trait is fascinating.¡±</i>

    Eleanor started¡ªlike she¡¯d just opened her eyes, realized that the Klost and Anderi were their selves in the dream, and weren¡¯t who they were in real life¡ªand the rhinoceros moved its head up and down, its horns shaking. <i>¡°You¡¯re fascinating,¡±</i> it said to the elephant, and Eleanor turned to the Fire Man. ¡°Is this you?¡± she asked him.

    He shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s difficult to explain, but no. They¡¯re bits of a Scion called Dante A.¡±

    <i>¡°A Scion,¡±</i> the elephant said, its prickly voice somehow sounding sardonic. <i>¡°Fire girl, you saw a member of our troupe. He sent us here. Before you came into this world of fire and name.¡±</i>

    <i>¡°Just a world,¡±</i> said the rhinoceros. <i>¡°Just a garden.¡±</i>

    ¡°Who¡ª¡± Eleanor started¡ª

    ¡°Eleanor, there¡¯s so much about the world of Scions, beyond this home,¡± the Fire Man said to her. ¡°So much I cannot teach you.¡± He sighed, and moved back to the table to return the cup.

    Again, Eleanor had too many questions, and none of them original. ¡°Were <i>you</i>

    a part of the theater troupe, Tupil?¡± she asked, but she saw his back harden, and he rose to stand, and he was tall; the elephant and rhinoceros seemed to withdraw.

    ¡°Don¡¯t call me by that name,¡± the Fire Man said. ¡°I am not a mere flower, Eleanor,¡± but he sighed again, and touched the elephant on its long trunk. ¡°I don''t want you to end like your father. But, the <b>Paradisiac</b> named Dante A gave us two parts of them, to watch over you as I remained in your father. They''re bioterra; so it''s fine.¡±

    <i>¡°Now you''re sounding like K Jeong,¡± </i>the elephant said. <i>¡°Daughter of flame. There is too much to explain. And, it seems, you don''t wish to follow the path of fire.¡±</i>

    <i>¡°University with the unblooded,¡± </i>the rhinoceros said in agreement. Eleanor nodded; while she wished to know, she didn''t really wish to go along with it. She''d <i>lived</i> her life untouched by fire, and it wasn''t her responsibility to keep trying to touch it.

    <i>Thought-message from Giya.</i>

    ¡°My friend''s almost here,¡± she said to the Fire Man, and he nodded. <i>Accept. Hey, my favorite Governor. You are going to predict I''ll be there soon.</i>

    <i>Something like that, citizen, </i>she answered. In the wake of excitement Giya let into the Thought-feed, Eleanor faced the two hedge-animals. They looked back, their leaves and hidden branches vibrant and concealing.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to college,¡± she told them. ¡°Tell Dante that.¡± <i>I don''t have to know my father to get there. I don''t have to understand these Paradisiacs or the path of fire. I''m a Scion. Sure. But I have so much </i>more<i> to worry about.</i> First her act of a Governor, which really any second could be dispelled.

    <i>I''m outside the portal. Your house is the one with the towers?</i>

    Tall and silver. <i>You will enter the Dorr palace</i>, Eleanor said. <i>You will meet my ancient animal topiary.</i>

    <i>Governor Dorr with the best lines</i>, came Giya''s response, and Eleanor smiled at Tupil, who was already leaning back on his chair, tea in hand. His own act but one she let continue. She was, after all, bringing a friend for the first time into the palace, and it wouldn''t do for a Governor to lack in hospitality.

    <i>¡°Eleanor!¡±</i> she thought she heard, just audibly, from outside the front gates. She thought she recognized Giya¡¯s plastic alto. Just like¡ªwell, not really¡ªbut kind of like, a kind of bird, with drawn-back feathers, giving a screeching sort of call for its morning companion. Eleanor preened back her own feathers, and walked. She made sure her orange hair caught the sun, falling across the topiary¡ªrather like a tropical bird, back when the earth had such weather, preening its feathers as it walked, dignified, across the garden.

    ¡°Eleanor, I¡¯m here,¡± came the stately alto, just bordering enough onto the low tenor to make Eleanor smile, as she touched the steel bars, letting them swing open.

    Giya Igre Bis stood there. She was wearing her normal Blazon uniform, the one that wasn¡¯t required but sometimes students of her stature showed off to the first-years. It was still dappled all over with her signature jade and black diamonds, running all over, as the sun above cast conflicting triangles across those shapes.

    She smiled; she ran a hand over them, seeming to outline the sharp edges. ¡°It matches the light in your garden,¡± Giya said. She inclined her head to Tupil; the family gardener raised his cup, of warmth and ceramic, and sipped.

    ¡°We have a piano,¡± Giya said, coming further in, sitting on the light steel chair Eleanor indicated. ¡°It¡¯s from Lowers. But, one of their professionals comes to visit and play.¡± Her voice, balanced, just between the two. Eleanor found it comforting. Like Adventa Rosan, whom she still hadn¡¯t heard from since that all-too-brief conversation with the others in the Orange Route.

    Eleanor sat down, noting that Tupil continued to sip his tea. As long as he didn¡¯t say anything¡ªwhile his fiery orange hair, too caught the sunlight, Eleanor thought the two hedges formerly speaking had positioned themselves, almost <i>nearly</i> covering him. She also thought that the white specks in Giya¡¯s hair kept flickering with the sunlight.

    ¡°What¡¯s real music like?¡± Eleanor asked.

    ¡°What, is Hi-fi not,¡± Giya answered, turning her head this way and that to look around the garden. Besides Tupil, they were alone. Ulera Dorr had deigned to visit her husband¡¯s domain of work, and they wouldn¡¯t be back before the sun set. Delano had an important meeting today¡­ he was going to a Netbanking conference soon, during the whole summer, before she left for Sector.

    ¡°Does the piano player play Lowers music?¡± she asked, and Giya nodded, returning her irises to Eleanor¡¯s. ¡°Songs even before Lowers, but, I just find myself thinking of Hi-fi, today, earlier the player actually came by, before I left for Blazon. <i>Happy about someone new</i>, and <i>Going to Sector University</i>, were the two tracks I heard today, or that I was thinking of,¡± Giya said. ¡°Have you heard them?¡±

    Eleanor thought to her favorite playlist: Ode to my Nudd Trees. Intentionally repeating such tracks as <i>Friend I¡¯m stuck with</i>, <i>Do I take my plants to college?</i>, and <i>Sitting on the floafa</i>. She¡¯d heard¡­ <i>Going to college</i>, <i>First day of college</i>, but hadn¡¯t thought about songs specific to Sector. She shook her head.

    ¡°Hmm, they¡¯re good, and, depending on the day, <i>Going to Sector</i> changes. How long have you had your gardener?¡±

    ¡°Since coming here, to Plent,¡± Eleanor said. ¡°He makes great tea.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah? Which flavors?¡±

    Which flavors¡ªoh. Giya, like people who actually lived in Plent, ordered straight from the Government. Eleanor thought, <i>He actually brews his own, from the leaves in his garden. I can name their names¡­</i> but she said, after looking up, appearing to think¡ª¡°Burgundy, Maple, and¡­ Ochre.¡± They were probably real flavors¡ªshe never checked what Mother sent¡ªbut tea was colors, like coffee, just not the main colors.

    ¡°Maple? Your gardener¡¯s not caught up. The <i>Nature</i> line was months ago, Governor!¡±

    ¡°Governor?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Eleanor, you have access to the lines as they¡¯re made. Interesting, Governor Dorr, very interesting,¡± and Giya, tossing her left arm over the back of the chair, seemed satisfied at her latest discovery, yet another, intriguing yet tasteful, thing about this Governor she knew.

    Eleanor just nodded. She¡¯d almost slipped. She was a Governor¡ªTupil didn¡¯t know of her fa?ade. No one did. She only told Mincy and Bode sometimes. Very quickly she Thought for <i>Tea, Latest</i>

    and found that the current line had flavors such as <i>Conch White, Abalone Grey, Sandy</i>, so beach. Like Tupil¡¯s shirt the other day. Yet another thing to keep in mind as she kept up this fa?ade¡­

    And she hadn¡¯t even been assigned homework yet for Sector. She let out a laugh.

    ¡°You know, I might turn out to miss Blazon,¡± Giya continued. ¡°It was, for a premiere school in our levgion, extraordinarily easy, but I had fun.¡±

    ¡°Did you?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, did you not?¡±

    ¡°Well, there was that day we were both leaving early,¡± Eleanor said. ¡°Because it¡¯s so easy now.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, Sector should be hard though. It¡¯s the best,¡± Giya responded, but Eleanor knew that Giya might have said, for the eighth or ninth time, <i>But it¡¯s in Sector I, and there are four other Sectors</i>. Giya sighed. ¡°But, you know, it¡¯s the best here, and in the past, we could go to college anywhere,¡± she said.

    Eleanor laughed out loud.

    ¡°Governor, you think it¡¯ll be easy,¡± Giya said. She was rubbing her chin while examining Eleanor closely. ¡°Or¡ªdid what I say was wrong? I¡¯ve been saying it.¡± Giya leaned forward slightly. ¡°You know at Sector that you can¡¯t leave until you¡¯ve Altered.¡±

    She did (although by asking Proen, while still trying to find out who else from Blazon was going). It wasn¡¯t like Lowers colleges that ended after four years. Some students at Sector could stay for longer. And, of course, ¡°altering¡± had to be more than changing your eye color every Alteryear, but according to Proen, ¡°becoming¡± the altered version of you.

    Eleanor thought, well, people leave Sector every year, and it¡¯s just college. ¡°Changing¡± is a constant endeavor¡­

    Giya was frowning. ¡°No, not really,¡± she said, and Eleanor realized she¡¯d spoken aloud, again. She heard the slightest of <i>tap</i>s as Tupil, still reclining back on his white chair, tapped his fingers on it. ¡°Altering is different from changing. If I met you first year, and then met you now, you¡¯d have altered, but would you really have changed?¡±

    They¡¯re almost the same word, she thought, but not aloud.

    ¡°My rank¡¯s been faltering a bit,¡± Eleanor said instead. Giya blinked¡ªthen she laughed, a surprisingly high alto, one that ended in a catlike growl. ¡°But still <i>alter</i> for the grade?¡± she asked, and Eleanor nodded with a smile. She had tried intentionally not answering one or two questions a test. It was just enough to bring her rank down a few places. Just enough to watch her chair move a bit closer to the front.

    Giya laughed again. ¡°I think I¡¯m still top 2 or 3, every class,¡± she said. ¡°Now Proen iHiela and Mii na Ten consistently outrank me.¡±

    <i>Mii na Ten!</i> The visiting student from High, who¡¯d come here only for his last year. Eleanor had forgotten about him.

    ¡°Is he going to Sector?¡± Eleanor asked, and Giya nodded. ¡°He¡¯s on the silver route.¡±

    Which confirmed her suspicions that there were more than just the main colors¡­ but wait, there were only seven class representatives. ¡°How many routes¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, the colors? Most of them are by upper years,¡± Giya said. ¡°How many colors were you offered?¡±

    Eleanor thought back. Only seven¡ªred through purple. No silver.

    ¡°Only the <i>truly </i>alter students (like Adventa) who are in our year can be Color Guides, and some students (like Mii) are offered other colors, like silver, or pink, or black.¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re not all told the same things,¡± she said.

    ¡°It¡¯s Sector University, what do you expect, Eleanor,¡± Giya said, laughing again. ¡°We have to alter ourselves.¡±

    <i>Tap, tap.</i>

    ¡°I really like your hedges,¡± Giya said. ¡°My parents just order stones.¡±

    ¡°Well, mine just like animals,¡± Eleanor said. ¡°Especially the extinct ones.¡± She imagined brown cat ears creeping up, slowly emerging behind Giya¡¯s head. Some cats were around in Lowers, apparently, but she¡¯d never seen them.

    <i>Do you want to go to Lowers</i>¡ªshe almost thought.

    ¡°Governor, I have my Form Governors today, just wanted to stop by,¡± Giya was saying. ¡°Oh wait¡ªEleanor, can I talk to you by hologram sometime? Like I¡¯m just some <i>average</i> student. Talking to a Governor.¡±

    Holograms. For a brief second, Eleanor thought, the barest wisp of an image, the afterimage of a hologram, appearing across the garden, walking past the gate.

    It was just an image. Eleanor shook her head.

    ¡°Sorry, Giya. We¡¯ve already met.¡±

    Giya was standing; taking another look around the topiary, waving to Mr. Tupil¡ª¡°Oh, right.¡± She sounded disappointed, somewhat¡ªbut laughed again as Eleanor led her to the gate.

    ¡°First one to get our assignments, let the other know,¡± Eleanor promised, and Giya nodded and smiled, taking a look back before she crossed the threshold. Eleanor watched her go, back to the portal¡ªher white spots glinting¡ªfrom where she stood behind the bars.<hr>

    <i>The doe steps through the tall grass, unaware of identity behind her; she is focused on chewing, on finding the best blades, for they make comfort lining her white-toned stomach, and she has her fawns to consider. Her ears flap in the breeze; they detect the slightest sibilance of movement, and her round plates, those inquisitive and curious eyes, are alert.</i>

    <i>            ¡ªShe turns.</i>

    <i>            And the cheetah bites her neck.</i>

    Rubbing my neck, I crane it to stare upwards.

    A body is up there composed, straight and still on the golden plate. I do not know what it is.

    I rub my eyes again. I had to send a Thought for the tree-Governor. I look at my teammates, arguing about Siara¡¯s tactics¡ª

    Siara¡¯s tongue, still and wet, a pink slug, of something break ozone out of the firmless sky in below the ocean, it is sitting there, and I turn, I don¡¯t see Siara but I <i>know</i> it is her tongue and vomit up on the grass.

    A twin shadow sweeps across it. Above my head¡­

    I reach up my hands again. There should be emptiness. Nothing except my auburn hair above the emptiness above the soma that cannot be cured.

    But I feel hair.

    And it isn¡¯t. It¡¯s harder, it¡¯s of a tougher material, and without seeing I know it isn¡¯t auburn it is sepia.

    Twin piercings of sepia¡­ engaging the shadow, plumes of half-elliptical curves. I crane my eyes around me and see that I am alone on the grass. There is no one behind me, and no one in front of me. All but me.

    The two things above my head are no longer congealing. They were new; but now they are drying, and the gold flecks of ichor sprinkled in the sun on the palms of my hands are as I see them turning sepia, dissipating, disappearing into dust.

    These sable crescents invite me, and I think of trees and I believe in them. I hear the elves, light and grace-footed, running through the forest and I see their stories. I feel the magic that was taken from me, and I open my mouth and gag, but it does not come out.

    All I see is Siara¡¯s tongue. It used to stagger laps on the roofs of launchpads golden illuminated, commanding the Beacons to go forward; now it just sticks to the grass, supple and beginning to wilt, its last throes glistening as the self-restoration blades attempted to remove it.

    I feel the air. It sings and murmurs. It seems to ask me, does the air need these plying machines, honed in moisture of speech, or all it does need are lies. Lies first prepared in the throes of Government. Lies second polished in the forays of peace. Lies third purveyed in the mores of destiny.

    I take my receptor off my head. I look at it. It is burned, transformed, enlivened by the things that sit my head.

    I know their names.

    <i>Thought-message to: Siara El¡¯To.</i>

    <i>            Are you alive? </i>That is the question.

    <i>Melea. You¡¯re still on the raider team. </i>The Beacon captain¡¯s voice has the shape of readiness and anticipation. She does not sound like the captain of the Sector premiere phalanx, eviscerated.

    <i>Who else is alive?</i>

    <i>            I¡¯m at the opposite end of the field. Lacon is with me; they¡¯ve lost their left arm. Vie and Bodi are here.</i>

    I look again at the launchpad above me carrying a body of one of us. So it is not one of the core five; another player whose brief life was caught in the span of some plaything¡¯s seamless and fickle ideations of liberty. <i>I¡¯m coming. Siara, I did not lose anything, but there¡¯s something strange on my head. I¡¯m coming.</i>

    <i>            Alter. Melea, you and Ayer were boundless. Stopping whatever that was, from taking more of us. </i>

    <i>            The rest of those who tried out are dead.</i>

    Siara leaves the Thought-feed, and goes to lick her wounds.

    (Or so I imagine. She can¡¯t lick.)

    I think. I concentrate, briefly. But I can¡¯t remember what had actually happened. All I can see in my interior recesses, dark and uninviting, is the sober reminder of life, that during Beacon tryouts I had seen some Governors, and we had fought.

    Like those days. Joining the Furies, back to back with Valha¡¯ya and her silver spheres of invisibility, my Governor-Gene enhancement and not my trait, which now I realize, had to have done with what happened here.

    But that¡¯s all I know. I look forward and run. A few seconds later I approach them, and they look exhausted and relieved. It¡¯s as if we won a game. I don¡¯t see any bodies and Vie is holding her left thigh, slumped in a sitting position on the grass. She has just lost the bone but she hasn¡¯t told them. Lacon has their raider racket sticking out of their left shoulder. It looks seamlessly fused and as impregnable as Lacon is they must have gone to a restoration center or been embalmed like me. Bodi Ayer is not there. Siara our captain is, mouth closed, silent and I see an alter plastic ball, up and hovering beside her.

    ¡°OK, full team assembled,¡± comes Bodi¡¯s voice and it is coming from around the APB, around it like the whole of a portal space that imprisons us in that instant before sending us to our desired location. But here there is no portal. Only the space of an open raider field, and the grass not wet with blood but the sweat of escape with our lives.

    Self-restoration.

    It comes to me then, the body on the gold.

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s my body, they separated it from my voice, and somehow, I can move APBs,¡± he says, and the others look too tired to dispute this additional fact of fantasy too advanced even for our restoration.

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    I think again to what could possibly have happened, for <i>something </i>did, but I can¡¯t think or speak of it. And even if I did remember I do not think they should know. Because my mind¡¯s recesses do possess one dim illumination: that what did occur was so beyond human, or Scion, understanding.

    I <i>briefly </i>consider asking my second sister directly. Or I could share these issues of darkness with Raegoth, mired by his own unbelievable revelations. The one about some god-vehicle. That doesn¡¯t make the single tint of sense. Alter to none. The portals being their own modified vessels of purification is one dark, immense boat ferrying the living to the Government¡¯s. The possibility of gods in addition to Scions, while that fact was known to me since I could walk, or run does not take that disposal of belief immediately. I have to think here, now, these top raiders, massacred and mutilated.

    ¡°Bodi, can you feel your body?¡± Siara asks. The first question I would have asked. But it appears as if the surviving team, captain included, had waited for my return. Their savior of horns.

    ¡°Interestingly, I can¡¯t. But I can feel this APB, like the way you feel your hands. And I can move it.¡± Bodi Ayer, the agent of chaos, sounds surprised, curious, and unlike someone who, I now recall, had shouted, and, somehow, with me, fought these Governors.

    An alter plastic ball, set to highest torque, striking a gigantic tree.

    ¡°It is the <i>only</i> thing I can move. For now.¡± And already, he is thinking of what else he can do, and as before I, too had something to do against the Government, or at least the Agents, Bodi Ayer must have something against the Governors. He knows their Golden Rules, and had ruled out part of the mix between lie and truth, that my aunt is or was a Governor, when it¡¯s really a sister I never knew I had, who told me to speak to the tree, and maybe I did?

    Because I am not a tree. I am Scion Element¡¯r, or trait without, but no change.

    Why did <i>I</i> ever fight against the Government, when it was unwinnable from the beginning? Because Valha¡¯ya was crazy enough to form a clandestine student organization for Scions at Sector University. Because the Scions there wanted to do something with their life, use their traits in ways I¡¯d never thought of. Because I turned away, and followed the older, more courageous student, daughter to Governors, unknowingly missing the oldest sister I never knew I had.

    Because I did find something with the Furies, something in Taylor¡¯s uncaring attitude towards everything, how his professional identity kept things bureaucratic, and even how the ¡®Lazy¡¯ boss would wear terrible socks. Because maybe it wasn¡¯t about winning, or even just not being purified, but being able to keep onto something that we considered part of ourselves.

    ¡°Vie, can you move?¡± Siara asks.

    Vie iHiela nods. ¡°Siara, can we summon launchpads off the raider field?¡±

    Siara our captain looks almost incredulous at this answer. She almost twitches her head left, to look at Bodi¡¯s alter plastic ball, still hovering; and seems to take a breath, and then a second, before giving what remains of her team her answer.

    ¡°No, iHiela, they¡¯re connected to the field¡¯s Upload.¡±

    Golden seat, shimmering, my feet upon it.

    ¡°What about Governors¡¯ seats? Those are launchpads, too,¡± I say. Not because I know this to be true, but the portals are connected to each other, and I, having Governor¡¯s gene, somehow materialized upon one via portal.

    So give them all Governor¡¯s gene.

    That is my idea but I don¡¯t say it. Because I don¡¯t know how to do it.

    But now I think that Bodi¡¯s ball is turned towards me, and Lacon, their black-lashed eyes squinting, seems intrigued. But more interesting now is that none of them seem to be in physical agony. Maybe they hadn¡¯t gone to restoration. Maybe the raider racket that is now Lacon¡¯s left arm was given, like my horns that no one is noticing. I prevent my hands from reaching up to test. And Siara, who I told, isn¡¯t saying anything, or rather, she has been saying things, without a tongue, and I look at her mouth, which is closed.

    Siara was given a voice, without a tongue.

    Bodi was given hands, without a body.

    Vie was given movement, without a central rotator.

    Lacon was given a racket, without the arm to move it.

    I was given horns without magic.

    ¡°Fifth Golden Rule. The arena is the field with the circles,¡± Bodi says. ¡°Field is really any space. The circle are the launchpads.¡±

    ¡°As I said, every raider field, arena, at least above Might, has Upload which <i>has</i> all the launchpads,¡± Siara says; but Bodi¡¯s ball is spinning. ¡°Circles include, yes Melea, the Governors¡¯ own golden launchpads.¡±

    ¡°I thought we couldn¡¯t use them,¡± Via says ¨C but then, she looks at me, her eyes stare ¨C ¡°Melea, your aunt, you first arrived ¨C¡±

    ¡°First Golden Rule. Governors have ichor,¡± Bodi continues. ¡°I can¡¯t speak to what ichor really is. But Melea, yes, her aunt, or whoever, she has it. That¡¯s how she came to us. That¡¯s why she can use their golden launchpads, or any circles in the field. That¡¯s why she¡¯s alive.¡±

    They are all looking at me. I suddenly see, in front of them, covering them like invisible silhouettes, the faces and slim hopes of the Furies, looking to one of their best fighters, coming back from another successful mission, skin cloaked in sweat, Savores occasionally strained in blood that I hadn¡¯t thought about removing just yet, because I wanted to show the Furies that our cause was difficult, that it wasn¡¯t my sister who was choosing who was sent to us, speaking with Vander Morht to keep us a necessary nuisance, that it wasn¡¯t our own disillusionment with the way things were structured that kept us blinded to the real state of things.

    Lacon starts to laugh. They scratch their racket arm, the twines causing shrieks of grievance. ¡°Bodi, just tell us what the strategy is. The goal is the same, right? To keep passing.¡±

    They left admission to every university in the Sector, to try for the Beacons. Because I can, I check <i>University feeds¡ªRaider¡ªRaider¡¯s Arena¡ªLACON DENIES ENTRANCE, CHOOSES BEACONS OVER RELICS. We may not have Lacon¡¯s passing, but that¡¯s what¡ª</i>

    ¡°We¡¯ll keep playing, of course,¡± Siara says. She nods at me. ¡°Melea tried out early, her aunt wants her in. Other Governors, maybe they didn¡¯t want that. Of course, Governors aren¡¯t supposed to interact directly with citizens, they don¡¯t alter us. But¡ª¡±

    She looks at Bodi again.

    ¡°You can¡¯t force them to change, that¡¯s the third.¡±

    How does he know all of this? How many rules are there? How are Governors, who can ask me if I¡¯m a tree, no, I¡¯m <i>not</i>, give me real fear, I¡¯m not thinking about it, so something <i>did</i> happen back there, where, I don¡¯t know, <i>how can they be bound by them? </i>What are they?

    ¡°¡­ I can¡¯t say,¡± he is saying to Vie, who must have asked one of those questions. Vie has the ibef, she likely has family going to Sector¡ª

    ¡°Are you a Governor, Bodi Ayer?¡± I ask.

    Vie slumps back. My next question is not asked for fear of further transformation. I know we can¡¯t approach them. But ¡®approach¡¯ is not entirely equal to ¡®be near.¡¯ I ready my Savores.

    I don¡¯t have them. You¡¯re in the present, Melea. You don¡¯t have weapons. Your racket¡¯s in your V-locker. You have your ichor-enhanced body.

    I still needed restoration. Bodi seems to turn, like a human¡¯s nod.

    ¡°No, Melea, I just said that Governors need ichor. While it¡¯s an interesting idea, I don¡¯t think that an <i>alter plastic ball</i> has that.¡±

    With a unified movement the rest of our heads turn to stare up at his body, a shapeless mass, on the launchpad above.

    ¡°You¡¯re not believing me.¡± I can see Vie and Lacon, physically readying themselves¡ªfor what, a storm of deer, APBs winding in from everywhere, Siara giving us her wrath¡ª¡°I know the Golden Rules, I let Melea on the team, I survived them. Maybe because I don¡¯t have a body, the rules don¡¯t apply.

    ¡°Well, and you still might not believe me. But there¡¯s a sport we used to have called baseball, and they replaced it with this game called <i>raider</i>. It was the Governors who came together and decided. It was the Governors, congregating in their hologram suits, afraid of the sun when it dances in your eyes, commissioning more violence, the launchpads, of the slowness of it, of just standing waiting for change to happen. By their own rules, they couldn¡¯t be made to change. So rather than do a game by scoring, now we can only win by passing.

    ¡°Does that make sense, Siara?¡± he asks our captain, who shakes her head.

    ¡°You and your deductions.¡± But, somehow, she looks satisfied.

    Vie appears skeptical; Lacon laughs again, while there are only five of us, one or two with Governor¡¯s gene, only one¡¯s which counts, I have horns on my head that they aren¡¯t seeing, the Beacons are responding rather indifferently, as if it¡¯s just a game, and I wonder if, their BMP¡¯s already so attuned, each year they do select <i>Satisfaction</i>, so that they do not feel the need to change.

    And the Governors, watching us, each year step on an Alterface, even though they have their own gene, and rules, and can, for whatever reason, take away a sport, and give high school students visions of the future.

    They can alter us.

    ¡°We make our own field,¡± I say. ¡°We take all the launchpads from here.¡±

    Saying that, I feel something like I once did, after I¡¯d stopped recording effects of the Magy¡¯cal Gene on me. Of course, there never were any. Or it was all the effects of the Governor¡¯s gene and ichor, just waiting to be used. Or I wanted to be a Scion all this time, to find a reason not to have to keep passing to my sister, to not follow her to Sector, and to put myself on a quest without any ending.

    <i>Raider games end after 100 minutes,</i> Telot tells me after a practice where I keep trying to pass to Mik¡¯vael and them after the tenth digit, the other team¡¯s players dropping off their launchpads in exhaustion and too tired to even stare. <i>Passes are all that matter.</i>

    I summon a launchpad, and put my feet on it. My horns reflect in the circular surface and I think of antelopes working together to somehow outrun the cheetah.<hr>

    Skylark looked around at the cleos clacking their claws, each seeming to perform a bit of dance. She laughed.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s very funny,¡± the teacher next to her said. He was inspecting the little animals closely, using his index and thumb to form a circle around his right eye. ¡°It could be, that they are performing a mating ritual, or they are trying to ward off predators, being us.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re just dancing,¡± Cerise said. ¡°It¡¯s called the <i>snow-dance</i>, some of the upper Majors have made one just like it.¡±

    Cerise proceeded to do just that, moving from side to side, raising her arms above her head and rotating her wrists back and forth. They were much smaller than the rest of her body compared to the claws of the cleos, which seemed to be bigger than the rest of their bodies, if the small tuft was the head and the round flat part the body. But Cerise was also wearing a tuba, what Peridot and Oliviet had been wearing on the second residual, and so like the rest of them her body was rather inflated.

    ¡°Break!¡±

    A child had come by. Skylark saw that he had tufted-white hair clinging to his head; and like the rest of the actual Sector II people here, he was wearing what looked like light clothing, but also looked very soft, and warm, and probably of multiple layers. He was the bravest one of a group; the rest of the children, similarly white-tufted, were all gawking or staring. Skylark laughed again, even though she¡¯d been here a while, and they were obviously tourists, Cerise included, because the boy¡ª

    ¡°It¡¯s not a snow-dance, it¡¯s called <i>clappella</i>,¡± and he laughed, and the rest of the children there laughed also. ¡°And these aren¡¯t from here. Cleos are from sixth and up.¡± He gave them one more curious look, before straying away; Skylark sighted a flap or two lifting up from the bottom of his shirt as he skipped off on the cloud-surface, and it reminded her of the trails that marked the bottom of Ultramarine¡¯s.

    She turned to look at Cerise, who was looking disappointed. Skylark imagined Cerise having a sudden urge to grab one of the cleos by its claws, shake it up, and toss it into the sky¡ª

    ¡ªAnd then maybe some white-beaked bird would swoop down and grab it up. But so far, <i>cleos</i> were the closest thing to the animals she¡¯d learn about in Sector I. <i>Lobsters</i>, or <i>shrimp</i>? Something like those.

    Oh! She had forgotten to ask them if they¡¯d seen her.

    She¡¯d forgotten to ask the rest of the Powers if they¡¯d seen her. Only now did she remember that feeling, that hectic sense of <i>blue</i> overpowering her, that¡¯d come as she rose into the sky. And she wanted them all to know. They all <i>had</i> to know. It was the <i>only</i>

    thing she wanted them to know.

    (And somehow, she didn¡¯t remember the time between landing, for surely she¡¯d landed, and reuniting with the rest.)

    ¡°I believe I can fly¡ª¡± she started, but the rest of them weren¡¯t looking, they were now turning their faces away from the box of cleos and, Luke and Sterne, they were saying something about finding a restaurant, they likely wouldn¡¯t find any nexus tubes sticking out of the clouds¡ªand Jaceus, taking one final, dismissive look at the trapped dancers, held his bind out in front of him and was looking at it again.

    It wouldn¡¯t go anywhere. <i>That</i>

    she knew, that, somehow these were <i>with</i> them, but not quite like how these cleos remained in this white, snowy box. Her own binds flew softly around her; some two or three of them came just above the box, seeming to turn and peer over it as if they had eyes.

    Wait. How would they eat? They couldn¡¯t use Net-currency or realts here. Skylark quickly caught up with them, Luke eagerly describing the muffins that Agate would sometimes make, Sterne replying that he¡¯d joined their group too late, far too late, and he wished now how he could thank that Scion Zarr with regeneration, what was her name? with the black hair, for inviting him. Wisteria, Luke said. It¡¯s a <i>shame</i> she didn¡¯t stay, she¡¯d probably not need to wear these heavy things, they¡¯re worse than visorfaces.

    He waved his arms around, narrowly missing Skylark with his right arm as she ducked. Agate, what if¡ªwhat if you started a bakery, here? This <i>cleave</i> is awesome, I mean, alter, I mean, they don¡¯t say that here, ha ha, and Agate as usual had her fairly-serious, how-do-I-approach-this expression, her light blonde hair seeming to lilt as they all walked together.

    Well not all of them, Jaceus and Cerise were behind, he was asking her something, and Skylark thought she had to listen, but she <i>was</i> hungry, and wanted to hear what Agate would say. She¡¯d never had one of Agate¡¯s muffins, and she barely remembered what Lowers food tasted like anymore, she could only think of the Sandwich Lites, and trying to think of living in Lowers she entered a place of somber blue, one that sounded of weak and faint things, of pushing and crying, of a name, and here she forgot.

    ¡°Skylark,¡± came a voice, and it was Cerise, passing her hand over Skylark¡¯s shoulder as she walked up beside her. Skylark felt a tingle, now, surely, the girl who¡¯d been here before, or Claude had (but did that mean that Cerise had been here, or both) and would tell her that her ascent had been amazing.

    ¡°Was that your trait, or was it the binds?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Cerise was looking straight ahead; walking side by side, she was taller, and she¡¯d changed her hair to white, but the kind of white that was clearly not like the snow here, or of that boy¡¯s. Her glasses shifted on her nose.

    She reduced her voice to just above a whisper; Skylark knew that Jaceus was just behind them. ¡°You can¡¯t fly yet, right?¡±

    ¡°Fly? That wasn¡¯t flying.¡± But then what was?

    ¡°The binds commanded your flight, elevated by <i>cleave</i>,¡± Cerise said. Her eyes were lightly tinted red; it was Cerise, and not the one who¡¯d orchestrated all her binds. ¡°They told me.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s they?¡±

    Cerise paused for only the most momentary of stops on the cloud; she kept walking, Jaceus¡¯s slow <i>poofs</i>

    unceasing.

    ¡°Oops,¡± she said. ¡°Too early, Skylark.¡± She gave Skylark a bright wink before accelerating forward, bumping right through the others like¡ªlike, and she didn¡¯t know <i>how</i> she thought of this, but a few years ago in the run of V-movies there was one remake, singular of an ancient kids¡¯ show, about these super-brilliant sages who only wore purple, green, yellow, red, and decided to finally get out of their mysterious home to find the moon. Cerise even gave this weird giggle as she bounced through, but Luke only laughed.

    They were walking nowhere. Skylark didn¡¯t see any buildings ahead that were clearly demarcated as places that gave food out to tourists. But, Agate was now asking Cerise that, and Cerise was responding that when she came here before, she had to sing (use her bind) to get anything, to do anything.

    So Cerise had a bind before, too. Skylark almost asked, <i>Is it below?</i>, but¡ªbut she was too early. She had to wait a bit, and then, maybe she¡¯d ask Cerise how to fly, and it was not because she¡¯d <i>seen</i> Cerise or Claude fly, but¡ªbut she knew.

    ¡°OK, so, Agate, you can get us anything, because you¡¯re the best at singing,¡± Luke said, but Agate was shaking her head. ¡°That was just my voice, Luke. I wasn¡¯t using my bind.¡±

    Agate held her own out. It was soft-winged, but also hard. Its handle was a dark blue (nearly grey) and had a second grip curving out. She looked at it with a measure of curiosity, but Skylark saw the anticipation sleeping in her eyes. Like she was trying coffee for the first time. ¡°But maybe¡ªsinging is important here, right?¡± Agate asked, to Cerise but it also sounded as if she were asking herself.

    ¡°It is,¡± Cerise said. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll figure it out.¡±

    Agate nodded. ¡°We have to eat,¡± she said. ¡°All we had was the cleave and the clen-mix below.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not hungry,¡± Skylark said. ¡°I have to go higher.¡±

    She felt pangs, but no one heard.

    ¡°Skylark, you keep saying that, but you gotta eat now and then!¡± Luke told her, throwing his arms out to the row of white houses. ¡°You literally have seven of these things. That¡¯s more than enough for all of us.¡±

    Cerise chortled.

    ¡°NO, that¡¯s not¡ªI don¡¯t think that¡¯s how it works,¡± she was saying, her eyes serious¡ª¡°All seven of Skylark¡¯s binds are hers. Don¡¯t touch them, Luke.¡±

    ¡°OK,¡± Luke said. ¡°I <i>am </i>hungry, though and¡ªwell¡ªwe can¡¯t just take something.¡±

    Skylark cast her eyes about. It seemed that in the last few moments, the people had cleared, leaving only them and the cleos. She breathed. A wisp of cloud curled out of her mouth. As the others kept talking¡ªwhich just sounded like Cerise just not telling them how exactly to get food¡ªshe felt an inkling, like something worming itself in her gut, that it wouldn¡¯t be easier after D Major Eberry, that he¡¯d let them go up, and Tammarin too, and even Ultramarine, on some kind of exception, and that even if Cerise was pretending to be fine, what she <i>hadn¡¯t</i> seen when she¡¯d gone up was a clear way up, and, she knew, that in one thig Cerise <i>was</i> right¡ªthat from here on out she had to use her binds. All seven of them.

    She looked back at them. Sterne was arguing, pointing this way and that, and Jaceus was saying the systems of protection again. Skylark thought of that small case, that had held Cerise¡¯s face in it¡ªand she thought of the nervousness that Tammarin¡¯s tuba assistants had had when talking about Eberry, but Eberry had really quailed to Cerise, or Claude. And Cerise knew things that, she had to admit, she wasn¡¯t telling, and just because Cerise thought it was too early didn¡¯t mean it <i>was</i>. And Cerise had said, she had pretended, she had <i>pretended</i> to not have been to Sector II before.

    She had to do it without them.

    Skylark slowly edged away; making steps on the snow, for snow it was, soft and welcoming. She kept her eyes on the group, something about why can¡¯t Agate just try to make something, and Agate was agitated, saying that the whole baker was just a temporary thing, they were only using it, and, whatever she did <i>try</i> to make, it wouldn¡¯t be anywhere close to the cleave.

    Cerise turned her head and caught Skylark¡¯s eye¡ªshe winked and tilted her head just a bit¡ª<i>You can go</i>, she seemed to be saying, and Skylark nodded as she finally turned and as she reached the first of the buildings, silent and tall, she found the door, just an open archway, somewhat curved at the top, and stepped in.

    Immediately she winced¡ªit was <i>colder</i>

    inside¡ªand everything was just tables here, just a group of long, flat white tables with nothing on them. There was one that seemed to have a space of a different hue for most of its surface, and as she came up to touch it, her fingers came off with something that felt like snow, but wasn¡¯t, it was just slightly warmer, and she thought of hair, but it didn¡¯t <i>look</i> like hair.

    She looked closer. Around the edges of the table were rough patches of it, and she realized that there was a rough outline on the table¡ªsomething had been lying on it. Just moments ago.

    ¡°<i>Portamento</i>, a few minutes,¡± a voice said, and Skylark saw that towards the back of the room what had looked like a wall was¡ªone very wide curtain, or flap of some kind, and soft movements and steps could be heard shuffling behind it.

    Skylark looked closer. Weaving her way in and out of the tables, she approached the flap.

    It was like Ultramarine¡¯s. But besides being much bigger and completely white¡ªno¡ªit was still blue, just a very, very light blue¡ªit had faint lines running through it, about a hand¡¯s breadth apart, running in long horizontal directions across it from side to side. And many of them¡ªwait¡ªeach line was actually a set of five lines, and between each set of five lines was a gap.

    She stepped back. There was something <i>searching</i>

    about this. She¡¯d almost touched it¡ªshe hadn¡¯t¡ªbut she hadn¡¯t. By alter, she hadn¡¯t.

    Alter. Did she just think <i>alter</i>?

    A low humming. She realized that her binds were with her. They all rose at once and hovered, about an arm¡¯s length away from the flag. They seemed to also try to get close, before zipping back¡ªthey were like, like¡ª<i>mm</i>, some extinct animal, one of the major insects¡ª

    ¡°Here for your clux?¡± the voice said. It came from behind the wall.

    ¡°Cl¡ªclux, yes,¡± Skylark said.

    <i>What are you doing,</i> she thought.

    <i>I need to go higher,</i> she thought back. <i>I¡¯m at least D Major.</i> That image of the blue fliers, circling that massive pillar of cloud, came back to her. That sense of impossible distance attained.

    ¡°I¡¯m here for my clux,¡± she said, trying to make her voice stronger. She thought she heard her binds raise their pitch by a half-step.

    ¡°Which Major,¡± the voice said.

    ¡°D Major,¡± Skylark replied. On a tingle of confidence, she added, ¡°Like Eberry.¡±

    A pause before what sounded like a sigh. ¡°Did you have his cleave affogato today?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, it was terrible,¡± she said.

    ¡°Then don¡¯t have it,¡± the voice said. ¡°If you¡¯re ever able, try B Major Windy¡¯s latte blue. It may be too high for you, but I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve already heard¡ª¡±

    ¡°Every day,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m just a D Major.¡±

    She imagined the speaker nodding. ¡°Binds, <i>allegro tutti</i>,¡± it said, and after a second her binds came together, lining up vertically¡ªall seven of them¡ªin what appeared to be two rough rows, one after the other in a left-right-left-right-left-right-left zigzag formation.

    They kept humming. It was a low C. But then, their humming made the tone shift up to a <i>D</i>. Then, in unison, they all together moved to the five lines on the flag that were at around her eye level. Then, all as one¡ª

    ¡ªThey touched it.

    Skylark felt a <i>twang</i> strike her stomach, like someone had actually <i>hit</i> it from the outside, hitting her tuba and into her chest, but no one was there in front of her, and it was piercing and cold and tingling, like the worm had grown into a lizard, and she reeled, but she used her hands to force her head upwards so that she could keep looking¡ªand the binds, their wings all overlapping each other¡¯s handles, like¡ªlike it was¡ªone big, feathery insect.

    She laughed, but it hurt, and soon her binds began to glow, and the notes ascended, to an <i>E</i>, then higher, to an <i>F</i>; and here, Skylark felt a squeezing on her shoulders, and a pinching on her toes, and an itch at her eyelashes¡ªbut she kept her eyes open, even though it made it all hurt even more¡ª

    <b><i>G Major.</i></b>

    A crash on the other side of the curtain.

    ¡°G MAJOR?¡± the voice yelled. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ªyou said you were D Major¡ªG MAJOR? I¡¯m so sorry! I¡¯m so sorry! I¡¯m offbeat! I¡¯m so offbeat, G Major!¡±

    And then, some muffled growls in pain.

    The binds continued to hum in G, and Skylark was satisfied.

    ¡°Ha ha, I was just pretending,¡± she said. She made her voice slightly sharper. The person on the other side was clearly below G Major. ¡°I still need my clux.¡±

    ¡°Right! <i>Presto</i>, G Major!¡± Some more shuffling, and then some movement to her left, and then that space where the wall made a right angle to the next wall blew open, caved inward and outward, and the person who was speaking, was there, carrying a long, folded thing in blues and whites, with what looked like snow dappling it.

    Skylark immediately recognized it as like the cloak C Major Tammarin had worn. She stared at it for a few seconds before remembering that she was used to this, she was receiving her clux like it was Saturday.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± she said, holding her hand out.

    The lower-ranked (definitely) was looking at her confusedly. Then he saw the seven binds, which had flown back to hover by Skylark¡¯s shoulders, waving their wings softly. He opened his mouth, and kept it open, his eyes, which were cold and silver, like frozen holograms.

    Then he shook his head, twice, thrice.

    ¡°You¡¯re composing,¡± he said. ¡°For your second chairs?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Skylark said. ¡°These are all mine.¡±

    Her throat began to clear; at first, making her voice slightly sharper had stung, but it was beginning to clear. ¡°I¡¯m waiting.¡±

    The Probably C Major nodded and, pulling open the folds of the clux, spread it out with his hands, so that it hung there. And before he said anything, Skylark¡¯s binds, led by the one with nearly white feathers, floated into the sleeves and collar and sides, and using their wings pulled it away from the hands; and then, slowly moving it over, they hummed a single <i>G</i>, and Skylark turned around and pushed her arms into the sleeves; and as she did so, she did so without thinking, her tuba was shrinking, becoming thinner, and became like a soft outer layer, in between the same and only shirt she¡¯d brought; and this new item, this clux; and as her binds pulled away, she found a hood on the back, and pulled it over her head, fitting her cerulean strands within, and she was warm.

 47 - Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion

    BACON, 1944

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    The knight stared at the vulture, the stork, and the crow. Pinned as they were to the slabs of wood. They were pallid and no longer bleeding. It''d taken some time for their feathers to fully slather off, and hearing Macotta¡¯s snorts in the dust-strewn air made the knight desire rest. But the vulture was peering down, its wings bound together in one swathe, red-like, the coagulation become the shade of skin. It was writhing in pain. But the stork was barely perched above a low wooden chair, its wings tucked in, a child¡¯s swaddling cloth giving its otherwise bare neck and head the raiment of hair. It was grinning with anticipation. But the crow was stuck in some swords of grass, its rear feathers and tail losing all mercy as they merged into the cross, its wings shorn, a swarm of jaundiced yellow piercing its heart. It was embracing God.

    The knight interlocked his fingers. He seemed to pray.

    Tristan sat by the door, waiting for it to open. It was the sixth hour. An image of the headline, ALTER BOY LOSES HIS BEAT, held firm in his mind. An impression of Father¡¯s gauntlet, striking his cheek. For Father knows. Father knew, even if <i>Energetic</i> didn¡¯t. And Syz hadn¡¯t told anyone. Starboy hadn¡¯t really seen. Agent Avalon¡­

    Tristan thought of the last words told him by Senra Beaudicious, those <i>Do you wish to do it again</i>, and the warmth in his chest, the cooling warmth that threatened to overflow, to ride over and trample on, the hand of the Father, hot feeling of energy, to the becoming cold feeling of touching his cheek. Threatened to crash over that rampart. For this time Father had given him ideas: more than one, ostensibly to work <i>to work with some of those older techists at your school, or even that presumptuous one who thinks he can only use the primary colors. </i>Tristan sat by the door to his room, waiting for it to open. <i>You¡¯re not eating until you come to me with an idea better than Anima Rin¡¯s robot metaimage.</i> Tristan sat by the door. Waiting for it to open. <i>You¡¯re not the Alter Boy. I was the Alter Boy my first year at Restor High. Anima had nothing to me then. </i>Tristan sat. Waiting for it to open.

    He couldn¡¯t count any lines on it; it was solid steel. Either his father would open it, or the dark knight would crash through, landing on him with his charger, pummeling his chest with its hooves.

    Tristan thought of a means of escape; but the chamber was closed, without windows; and he lacked his bow.

    No, he was still in the chamber, still in his room; he wasn¡¯t a knight. He was a techist in his first year, approaching its end with the green summer, at William Restor High home to the Restor Techist Academy which had once housed Anima Rin, the Boy Robot, and his companion and challenger, eventual ouster, the Boy Pilot, Meliodas Mott. Tristan shook his head. He was just a son. He was nothing. He had, briefly, pierced the art of Cel Rin, his father¡¯s oldtime rival¡¯s son, a facet of this new circumstance that only after the Alter Boy¡¯s losing his beat did Father tell him of, but he was now here, stuck, with the gate closed.

    <i>Perpetual Fleet,</i> he thought. He could use regenerator to combine those two pieces. Even if nothing was really made for the perpetual motion model. <i>Planes in Existence</i>, to really bring them to fruition. Make the alter darts hang more, look like they¡¯re actually flying. More suspension; closer to the Rins. Planes, not robots; but mechanical all the same. Tristan shook his head. None of those would work. They weren¡¯t really going anywhere; planes could fly, but they still needed something to fly <i>towards</i>, to <i>fly into</i> more than merely <i>flying through</i>. Like the <i>V</i>, but modeled with actual direction. He liked that. He found himself cast to that image of the knight, standing before the carcasses of the birds, their feathers gone, their skin pale. It didn¡¯t really mean anything.

    Tristan thought for his holoscreen; it emerged, sleek and see-through. Almost crepuscular, as he could see his plants through its faint matrix of intersecting lines. It was almost green; but it was a holoscreen, and so technically didn¡¯t have any color, only showing the green leaves.

    So it was with just a thought for <i>my piece</i> that he found the V-bow, its slim green bound by white, smooth crescent and triangle hanging there. In the light. Off to the bottom right, he found the alter darts: simple, white triangles (if not silver) that lay unplaced, waiting for their turn. His simple pieces. Tristan remembered. Taking one and placing it on the palm of one who pretended, one who was known to him. <i>Y¡¯sazant Syzer.</i> Tristan saw as the green knight notched the silver arrow, small and aerodynamic and true, to the shaft. Pulling back, letting go. Flying straight and silver.

    But they had missed the first¡ªjust by a hair. Tristan thought <i>shaft, angle, aiming capability</i> and after a quick examination of the horizontal and vertical motion equations, inputted a different ¦Ñ. Of course, the strength of the green knight, how much Y¡¯sazant pulled it back, would all come into play; but with that, instruction would do; after verifying by Euler, he thought <i>adjust</i>, and the <i>V-bow II</i>¡ªa name that came to him¡ªTristan saw the new V-bow before him, and it was good, it was striking, and it was beautiful.

    He ran his hands across it; touching nothing but the shape it drew.

    <i>Thought-message to Syz. Syz, I made the adjustment. Next time you won¡¯t miss. </i>And he waited.

    After about a minute with no response, he shut the holoscreen. Now he saw the leaves, and felt a pang. Of course, he wouldn¡¯t be able to eat until Father came in. Like the barest flicker of recognition that he might give to a fellow techist he¡¯d only known at Exhibits, he thought of how Meliodas might react, seeing not the model to overpass the Alter Boy but a true V-bow to do it again, penetrate, infiltrate, disrupt his piece, and he soon forgot, for he was hungry, and so Tristan got up from his sitting position, shimmied over to the nearest leaf, tore one off, and ate it.

    It had no taste.

    <i>Hey, Tristan. 0.5 degrees to the right?</i>

    <i>            No, not exactly.</i> He sent Syz the <i>V-bow II</i> by image, and waited. There wasn¡¯t even an aftertaste, and he was still without food. Reaching over to the next leaf, still on the same twig, he tore one off, and put it into his mouth. It had no taste. But, maybe if he had one more, he¡ª

    <i>It¡¯s good. It¡¯s great, Tristan. Obviously I¡¯m no Don De Mai or Chibio, but I can tell. This is something.</i>

    Thanks, was the immediate thought, or rather unconscious feeling, that Tristan felt, but without actually saying it. Thanks for looking at it even if you really <i>don¡¯t</i> understand the equations. <i>(They haven¡¯t even come to this room, he thought, looking across the walls.)</i> Thanks for, for firing my V-bow, and <i>at</i> a techist no less. My green knight. Thanks for listening. Thank you for being here for me.

    My green knight.

    Tristan realized he¡¯d let all of his feelings seep into the Thought-feed. <i>I can¡¯t leave until I do something for Pops, though, ha ha,</i> he said quickly, and Syz only released an equal feeling of gladness through. <i>I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll think of something. You¡¯re Tristan!</i> they Thought back.

    Tristan reached over for another leaf. His fingers grasped. It was nothing; just the brief air; he looked over and saw that the little auta fern was bare, its mock boughs showing their skin of green with the hint of where leaves had been. He swished his tongue around inside his mouth; still no aftertaste. The pang, down in his stomach, was still there.<hr>

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    <i>¡°The boy tried to step down. But he could not¡ªfor the bird¡¯s wings were too spread too wide. And the sky itself, of stark white plumage, was refusing to relent. Water and sleet whipped past them both, as the bird beneath the boy continued flying, headlong, into the storm.¡±</i>

    More Barry stopped reading.

    <i>Continue,</i> my heart demanded. <i>Continue, and when you reach the end, Thought for beginning, and start again.</i>

    The small Agent, uncertain, was checking the glinting, golden buttons on her overalls. They were tinted. They could, with my gaze, reflect the barest shadow of her pouting chin. She was dissatisfied. She didn¡¯t like it. Or her buttons were sweet golden rims, curved to bend towards the will of a miserly dragon, sitting atop its hoard. Or¡ª

    ¡°Is that all?¡± she said.

    ¡°What,¡± I stuttered. ¡°But¡ªit¡¯s only¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s only 222 pages,¡± Ari Cato said, removing the V-book from beneath More Barry¡¯s fingers. ¡°Raegoth, Morht not giving you any assignments?¡± He scanned the pages quickly, as if to remind himself of its length. He then removed his sunglasses, as if to look at me more closely, bearing his eyes of a crowded silver. ¡°Are you sure you haven¡¯t written before?¡±

    That was the question.

    William picked up her two receptors from the petite coffee table. She nodded, as if answering her inferior¡¯s question, or answering for the Agent Raegoth, who was lost, tossed like salad. Thrown, danced into the pot by the talented murine. She stood and left. Ari Cato nodded, as if to himself, before stretching. He had, after all, been sitting for the past twelve hours, the light¡¯s change around us the only indicator of time, and I was surprised to not hear cracks issuing from the Agent¡¯s knees, concealed as they were by his suit.

    <i>¡°The Agent More Barry is surprised,¡±</i> More Barry said, her hands patting, tapping the coffee table, looking for water¡ªshe had read the most, even adding her own imaginative sounds for the wind, the sky, the sea as the boy had flown it. <i>¡°She thought this was all the first chapter.¡±</i>

    Understanding. I had not positioned any numbers, or names, in breaks across the text, to render such chapters¡¯ existence. How¡ªby one who had read, countlessly, books enumerated by such anatomy¡ª

    ¡°Intentional, right, Raegoth?¡± N¡¯ziet said. ¡°Or, 9th Agent, each time an Agent changed readers, that <i>was</i>

    a different chapter¡ª¡±

    ¡°No!¡± More Barry shouted. ¡°One chapter is not enough!¡± Her hands had found the nexus tube, which shot up a small vase of water. She downed it as a fish out of water returned. ¡°She needs more!¡±

    ¡°Ha ha ha,¡± came a laugh. I was looking at N¡¯ziet, but it was not him.

    Heads were turning; it was Rexy, holding their sides; their weapon was not at their side, nor on the coffee table, or beneath it, or held by someone else. The 8th Agent had surprised all of us with their inflective readings, giving my verbs and adjectives an aura of expression that, other than what black mirror of quietude their eyes reflected, we rarely so saw. N¡¯ziet slapped C. P. on the back, giving a chuckle, and Rexy stopped.

    ¡°Chapters require patience. Patience needs an understanding of the time one has. Raegoth wanted to ¡®finish¡¯ as soon as possible, to show his fellow Agents,¡± they said, smiling.

    N¡¯ziet laughed again. Istria shook her head, but she too was smiling.

    ¡°If he says it¡¯s finished, then¡ª¡± she started, but I was seeing beyond them, the bookshelves beyond gaining a slick sense of sleet, imagining their covers and spines dappled in snow, and seeing, what, perhaps, what was beyond the storm, and why the boy was perpetually riding this great bird¡ªan ending, a sort of rush, that I had stopped my Thought while writing into the V-book, thinking it satisfied, but really, <i>headlong into the storm</i> suggested that, right now, the boy and his bird were flying, <i>in</i> the storm, and only I could discover this future.

    <i>Incoming Thought-message from: Van. I have an assignment for you, Raegoth.</i>

    <i>            I¡¯m reading,</i>

    comes my immediate response, and then to its correction, <i>The Agents are reading my first book.</i>

    First <i>book?</i>

    Van is skeptical, and while I do know that the tread of my memory must bestow his reason, that particular breadth to my life, as yet, I do not see.

    Unless he has seen it. <i>Director, have I written before?</i>

    <i>            You are to take Agents N¡¯ziet, Senra, Artok, and 1123 with you,</i> he says instead. Returning my attention to my fellow Agents, I see that More Barry was engaged in a fit of strength and valor against Istria¡¯s ten fingers, which parried and staved off her fists like the reds of a revolution; C.P. and N¡¯ziet looked on, amused. <i>It will be a techist Exhibition in two days. There will be interference.</i> And with that note of foreshadowing, the Director leaves my mind, and I wrest myself in between the two combatants.

    ¡°More Barry, I can write another,¡± I told her, as she reluctantly released her fists, and Istria laughed in her usual sanguine fashion, although I detected a sardonic aura to it. Had More Barry been winning? But these are vagrant ideas, as I send a Thought for the time, and see that it is night.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    All is calm at the Agency; but, I do have a role, and a responsibility to play. I relay them to the Agents named above, and meet N¡¯ziet¡¯s grin; for there are Scions to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

    <hr>

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    Eventually Savior realized that the mouth, the gaping beak, was still open. His crop itched. His throat was dry; and he watched as the flames of fire, their tall hands, emergent in red dressing, pulled back from the fronds. He squawked. He squawked for more ¨C for one. He by his protubural eyes could behold the children running around, their cheek feathers bulging. They were filled, satisfied. He was not. He was still hungry; his beak drowning in the sun; his stomach, and all its fluids, dry.

    ¡°SQUAWK!¡± he said. But no food came.

    Hands gone; the reeds, closing like curtains, or binds, or noodles melting in boiling water. Savior realized then that the little birds, those who had been fed, were wearing cards. White pieces of paper, very white, crisp. They stood out finely amidst the feathers that wore them. So fine that Savior could read their letters.

    WANDERCHILD ¨C PALETTE

    A MAJOR ¨C MOVEMENT BLUE

    MCHONGAJI ¨C CUUBU

    ZARR ¨C N?TR KINGDOM

    GOVERNOR ¨C SECTOR I

    DEER ¨C RAVING

    Each of the children was the same. Savior thought that their names, none of which came to the cavity of his mind, except DEER and SECTOR I, were strange. But as he peered at the children playing he could see no difference. They were all red. They were all orange. They were all screeching in contentment. They were all burning and he felt no flames.

    Savior sat on the tree. He was hungry. He peered down at the children.

    Flickering. He saw a flickering. Like a broken shade. Hovering, undulating, scissoring the air, like the weeping grain, the air above a certain spot beside the children was quaking. It was riling. Savior saw the other children, mouths turned towards this quaff of air, gaping, but producing no sound. And they all saw together the colorlessness of the air form, above the gauzelike green of the ground below, together and a singing of things, a slight burning, quivering, conceiving, creating¡ª

    ¡ªIt was on all fours. Dark, mahogany brown like blood scars on its flank. Much the same adorning its skull. Otherwise white, with tufts, claws, and a mouth greeting them with a snarl. Its eyes were stark. Sand orbs. Bright with fear. It did not know its surroundings, and red was on its teeth. It was panting. It had been fighting. It looked up at Savior on his tree and barked.

    Savior squawked at it in surprise. Then Savior saw. The collar of linen gold around its neck was changing. Gold into yellow into sun into white. Threads became solid. An open locket without owner descending into bone. A card:

    HONDIUS DOG ¨C KAIGEUHU¨¤

    Savior looked down at his neck. He did not have a card.

    Savior looked again at the dog¡ªor what had stood over the fire. A child now pranced. Spindly taloned feet. A bird to join the rest.

    And the hands came. Giant hands pulling back the sieve. Reaching in. Dressed by red. As they moved over the second child Savior remembered. Burning. Falling phoenixes through the sky. Images he had created. Soundless screams muted by sky. Savior remembered the bird he now saw, that had once been a dog, barking, its fight interrupted. Its mouth gaping.

    Savior remembered as he saw the hands drop those pieces of fire, burning into the bird¡¯s open mouth.

    Savior <i>flapped</i>.

    ¡ªIt was on all fours.

    Fours all on was it¡ªNames of the cards flying by¡ªsector I and movement blue and cuubu and kaigeuhu¨¤¡ªseeing them go, out of Hondius, honda minato headquarters¡ªout of kaigeuhu¨¤, a name or a word, <i>dogs go bark</i>, that image burned of the dog original, caught, in his fight against, Savior <i>flew</i>.

    <hr>

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    <b>Abraham Hondius</b> (1631-1691)

    <b><i>Dog Fighting a Heron</i></b>, 1667

    Oil on canvas

    Fallen temple in background. Demon in flight off in the sky. Landscape during the end. Reeds dipped in muddy water.

    The water was wet. Savior raised his talons; they were soaked. He was standing amidst a brush of reeds. The sounds of struggle, of fury and poise, came to him.

    He looked and saw through the reeds. A dog ¨C its coloration and vivid eyes, including the split golden collar, the same as that he had seen above ¨C was fighting wildly, engaged its jaws around the talons of a heron. The dog kicked the water with its hind feet as the heron swung and dipped, its wings buffeting. Its eyes stared in frustration and fear as it kept swinging its wings, as the dog bit and held, but the heron¡¯s leg was spindly, and Savior could hear it splintering.

    And then the dog would win. The heron would be unable to fly.

    Savior thought of the fire in his wings, and ¨C

    ¡°Heel!¡± came a voice. A voice of a Scion. Before Savior could light up the water, he saw a man step out from behind the broken pillar, the cracked vase on the wall.

    Both the dog and the heron turned; the man was kneeling, holding out his hands and giving them a clap. The dog stopped; it let go of the heron¡¯s leg, and landed on the orange-baked ground. Its tongue out and lolling, some blood beginning to show, it looked at the man warily. The bird reeled off and left, its injured leg limp, winging up and away ¨C dipping up towards the sky, its life returned.

    Savior looked at the man. The man didn¡¯t seem to take notice, clucking and gesturing towards the dog, snapping his fingers, reaching into the pocket of his trousers for a side of bacon. The dog, upon seeing it, padded over, slowly, as the man held out his hand with the bacon; the dog dipped its head, sniffing; and then, seeming satisfied, lapped it up, its teeth and gums for a moment appearing.

    Savior watched the dog eat the bacon. It reminded him that he was hungry. So he parted the reeds with his wings and stepped forward, making low splashes on the water.

    The man pat the dog on the head, and the dog padded away. Savior watched it head into the darkness, towards the far, green-toned hill.

    Then Savior looked at the man.

    The man was dark-skinned, and he wore a dark brown hat. He was wearing above his trousers a cool white linen shirt, with cravat and fringe, and wore a greatcoat of somewhat dark orange; nearly brown, or ochre; Savior couldn¡¯t tell. The man wore black leather shoes and tall wool stockings, and had around his right wrist and forearm a series of watches ¨C one in gold, one in silver, one brown.

    ¡°I am Didian,¡± the man said. He eyed Savior like he was a curious thing. ¡°This isn¡¯t my first Hondius. Which world do you come from?¡±

    Savior thought of the cards. He thought of the hands. He thought of K Jeong, floating down through the clouds, horn-wings prying close to the eyes. Pink and turpentine.

    ¡°Kaigeuhu¨¤,¡± he stuttered.

    ¡°I see,¡± Didian said. But Savior could tell that the man didn¡¯t believe him. And while the ground, stepping onto the orange-caked soil, felt unfamiliar to him, Savior knew at once that he had said the right name, from the right card, even if said in the incorrect enunciation. And staring at the man named Didian, Savior knew, that he was Scion, and without consulting the <b>Paradisiac</b> named K Jeong, knew that Didian would be on the power system of the world ¨C ¡°towards the end.¡±

    So he lay quiet. He did not squawk.

    Didian reached into his pocket again, and, rummaging around, seemed to find what he wanted. He pulled a small object out. A white egg.

    ¡°Eat this,¡± he told the bird. And the bird obeyed. Crack ¨C yolk slaking down throat ¨C entering crop and torso.

    Savior jormungand. And he felt the water of the egg drip inside him, and reverse the fire of the shards that he had taken from the hands. A flame quelled, a flame deinspired.

    ¡°When you return, do tell Feich¨ªn that, to record your name in the visitors¡¯ list, and tell him to make a note, <i>bodiesified</i>. Are you from the Paradisiac Company?¡±

    Savior squawked. He immediately thought, to flap, or fly, and find K Jeong, or Dante A, and let them know ¨C but Didian, continuing to examine this little curiosity, gave a hint of somewhere between a knowing and a smile. ¡°Give Sappho my regards,¡± he said, bending his hat towards him. ¡°The Revolution has been progressing well.¡±

    And with that, the man turned ¨C but gestured for Savior to follow. ¡°I have elsewhere to go. But do tell Feich¨ªn, won¡¯t you?¡± And Savior followed. Kept walking. Up and behind that fallen temple ¨C off to the left ¨C a tall copse of dark green trees, fir or evergreen ¨C

    Gavin Luke¡¯s ¡°Thread the Needle,¡± from his 2021 single <i>North of Hope</i>, can be one of Didian¡¯s.

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    ¨C he stepped out. The world was white. All was gone, or everything had appeared. Savior landed hard on his two feet.

    Two feet. No talons. Savior looked down and instead of the orange-brushed, somewhat feathered talons he had had, he now only saw slim, skin-colored feet. As he looked up to the rest of himself, he squealed, for he was wearing no clothes, and none of what he had on himself resembled what he had before.

    He instinctively thought that he had lost his powers. But then he heard a voice, and it was the voice of a human. So he looked up.

    Standing some ways from him, across a group of standing objects, whose colors he was beginning to realize, was a teenager. The teenager was dressed in a fine, sashed kimono full, from the top down and across the sleeves, with depictions of various flowers. His hair was long, though not quite yet to his shoulders; and had in his hair tied together a black feather and a wilting flower, whose species Savior could not name. The teenager was holding a sepia sketchpad, held close to his chest, with a stencil in one hand; and Savior realized he was being drawn.

    ¡°Almost done,¡± the teenager said. ¡°Hold still.¡±

    Savior froze, his right leg bent at the knee, his arms thrown out wide, searching for a wingspan. He held it, standing only on his left foot.

    His eyes were still facing forward, so he focused on watching the teenager sketch, making what appeared to be slashing motions across the pad. <i>Skritch skritch.</i> A few moments later, the teenager, his dark eyebrows thinning, appeared to be satisfied, or at least not disappointed.

    And then, Savior felt himself return, his color once again becoming that of fire, his feathers forming, his wings outgrowing. He landed back on his left talon.

    As his orange-rimmed eyes returned, Savior then was able to make out the rest of the wide room.

    The ceiling was arched, white; a chandelier, large and hazy opal in color, hung over the room. The objects separating Savior from the teenager were about up to his crop, some of them, or to the waist-sash of the teenager¡¯s kimono; about half of them were black, the other sepia-white like the teenager¡¯s sketchpad. They were all like tapered cylinders, with varying pointed or rounded tops, and were standing on black or white squares. Then Savior noticed that most of them were arranged on the right side of the room, those in white; and most of the black, on the left side of the room. As he continued to look, he saw tall white columns, mostly rectangular, rising up to support the ceiling, on the four corners of the room; and on the far left end, set into most of the wall, was a like grouping of black and white squares, but without the objects connected to them.

    Then he noticed there were other paintings in the room. And he whirled around, to see where he had come from.

    It was that same, deserted landscape. With great, overhanging clouds impeding any light, except that coming in slightly from the left ¨C it was dusk. That broken temple, or at least the rightmost part jutting out, with fallen columns. A clutch of foliage in the front, and the same muddy water bordering on the orange rock. Tall, dark reeds to the right. A low green hill far in the distance; and the beginnings of a copse of trees. Evergreen.

    The dog was gone; the heron flown. Savior felt like, as he was still close, he could reach out ¨C with his bright orange wings ¨C and brush against the water. He <i>clucked</i>, deep in his throat ¨C a sound he had not made before.

    ¡°Are you a Hondius?¡± came the teenager¡¯s voice from behind him; he turned.

    <i>This isn¡¯t my first Hondius</i>, Didian had said. Was Hondius the place? That abandoned, dreary landscape¡­ Savior didn¡¯t feel like he wanted to go back anymore. He hoped the heron was free, away from fighting dogs. But no, he remembered Hondius Dog, and he shook his head. He was not a ¡®Hondius bird.¡¯ He was Savior.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I supposed,¡± the teenager said. He was young, Savior realized. About, or a little older, than an age of reading calculus, and throwing sticks. ¡°Are the dog and heron still fighting?¡± The teenager held his sketchpad down, against his kimono; Savior couldn¡¯t see it.

    Savior shook his head. ¡°Didian stopped them,¡± he said.

    A smile crept up, suddenly, on the teenager¡¯s face ¨C and Savior smiled too. He hoped his drawing resembled him, and he wondered why he had been naked.

    ¡°So which painter, then?¡± The teenager turned and walked, going around the array of white and black objects ¨C Savior followed the kimono¡¯s soft, sweeping movements. ¡°Didian liberated you, didn¡¯t he?¡± The teenager seemed fascinated. Savior, of course, could not know why. He was just a <i>bodiesified</i> thing, something curious, and would be handling the ¡®lighting¡¯ for the <b>Paradisiacs</b>.

    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°I am Savior.¡±

    ¡°Savior, huh,¡± the teenager said. He came around; up close, he looked even younger, and his soft eyelashes appeared like brushstrokes beneath his black bangs. The petals and stems of his kimono¡¯s flowers alternated jade and sepia.

    <i>Are you in school?</i> came a thought, but Savior said instead, ¡°I am with the Paradisiac Company. The lighting.¡±

    ¡°Sure, okay, but which creator? Ernst? Or the Egyptian hieroglyphs? Didian had said we weren¡¯t touching those yet, but ¨C no ¨C wait ¨C <i>Hieronymus</i>?¡± the teenager asked.

    He sounded fearful.

    ¡°Didian ¨C¡± but Savior raised a wing, silencing him.

    ¡°I came from car,¡± he said. Those four words came out of him. He didn¡¯t say I c0me from Earth, or I came from Lowers, or I conquered out of a boy, into a man, by a spirit. Those were the four words he said, and they came out of his beak.

    The teenager looked piqued, but didn¡¯t say anything. He instead raised his own right sleeve to gesture across the rest of the room, across the other paintings. Savior, following the kimono¡¯s crest of flowers, saw ¨C saw that each and every other painting, besides some landscape, inside room, or view of a city, was empty of inhabitants. As if he had just emerged from each and every one of them, as if from each and every one of them their inhabitants, like the dog and the heron, had left.

    ¡°Where are they?¡± he asked, but he knew the answer.

    ¡°Didian liberated them,¡± the teenager answered. ¡°Did he tell you anything?¡±

    He had forgot. ¡°Bodiesified,¡± Savior said.

    <i>¡°Bodiesified,¡±</i> the teenager repeated, pulling up his sketchpad and scribbling down the word. ¡°You¡¯re of the Paradisiacs ¨C of course, but Didian talks about Sappho and Dante A. most often. They haven¡¯t been in our hall, but we welcome them to Kaigeuhu¨¤.¡±

    Savior clacked his talons on the white floor. Kaigeuhu¨¤. And then, for the first time, he asked where he was.

    The teenager smiled at Savior, like he was the object of some fancy ¨C he was liberated, after all. ¡°We welcome you, Savior, to Kaigeuhu¨¤,¡± he said, leaning forward, just enough that his eyes faced the floor. Still in that posture, he kept saying, ¡°and this is our hall.¡± He returned to a vertical position, and Savior thought, <i>But which of the Sectors,</i> or <i>which world</i>, as Didian had proposed.

    But, he was just a bird, and he was in this beautiful hall, with these grand, united objects in some arrangement he did not know. So instead of squawking he smiled and clucked.

 48 - Sky Above Clouds

    <hr>

    <figure></figure>

    O''KEEFE, 1960-1977

    <i>Not now, Qyrie,</i> I tell it. It is not the time for that kind of movement. I see eleven Majors in front of me, some of them have their Minors, and each of them sees our Movement Blue in a different way. I suppose that¡¯s why they¡¯re called <i>Harmonizers</i>, some of them.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Willow?¡± I said into the air.

    G Major Tailor, rumpling and crumpling her long sock ¨C yellow today ¨C shook her head. ¡°Of all the questions to ask, concertmaster,¡± she said. ¡°You sent the A Major off to the twelfth residual two months ago.¡±

    <i>Hoping she¡¯d come back with answers. </i>It was a blue day for us in concert. I see that the one B Major present, Kororo, is silent, brushing her hair from where she sits atop the floe. Each movement of her fingers causes it to shine, reflecting across the cloud-seat in dazzling lines. She wasn¡¯t looking at me either.

    ¡°Qumulo, you called this sectional about the rests on the eighth residual,¡± A Major Bolero said.[1]</a>

    Always quick to her sheets, Bolero. Perhaps I should have sent her instead. I touch my bind again, and Bolero¡¯s face, which was usually pale like the clouds on the eighth residual, became somehow paler. ¡°We¡¯re going to find the enemy, <i>presto</i>.¡±

    ¡°<i>Prestissimo,¡± </i>agreed some others in unison. Kororo continued brushing, her floe drawing icy skeins. <i>Skeins. </i>For the briefest <i>fermata</i>, I almost wish we had some in our ranks.

    ¡°My Mordants reported more than one,¡± F Major Jacuzzi noted, holding up a finger. Her cloud-rings jingled from it, today discordant.[2]</a>

    ¡°Only one was breaking the clens, evaporating evas, silencing toners and mordants and harmonizers. The other was just watching.¡±

    ¡°And your Mordants didn¡¯t join?¡± Tailor asked.

    Jacuzzi lowered her finger. ¡°If they did, I wouldn¡¯t have Mordants.¡±

    ¡°Here¡¯s a note,¡± I said. My Majors looked at me ¨C well, those who did. Kororo was still looking off at a distant watershed, unreachable by infinite refrain.[3]</a>

    A Majors Bolero and Encanto, only both here because they were twins, already had their binds out, hovering at attention.

    ¡°Cleave affogato, anyone?¡± D Major Eberry queried, his arms filled. His own Mordants had excavated an entire area around them, about a measure down. ¡°I¡¯m sensing tension around the loss of some Mordants.¡± He laughed; his two Mordants echoed it like cloud timpani.

    ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll take one,¡± Tailor said, holding out her hand; Eberry walked over, and deposited one onto her waiting palm.[4]</a>

    ¡°Your note,¡± E Major Bassetto¡¯s bind said, from where it lay propped up against a white outcrop.[5]</a>

    Not for the first time today, I briefly regretted selecting the usual sectional venue. But the seventh residual was always freeform. And the cleos, while rarely sighted with so many of us around, would make this brief meeting worthwhile.

    ¡°Jacuzzi ¨C any Majors among those who fell?¡± I asked her, but a bit higher in volume. If they were all like Eberry¡¯s duo, then there was no <i>caesura</i> to Movement Blue.

    <i>Plop.</i> An affogato had dropped. Eberry bent, trying to recover it before it got devoured.

    ¡°My brother,¡± he said. ¡°D Major Burberry.¡±

    <i>Only a D Major, </i>I think, but only <i>solo</i>. I look across the stretch of cloud ¨C no one else had known. ¡°And Burberry¡¯s direct upper chair?¡± I asked him, in a tone <i>pedal</i>.

    ¡°Bassetto,¡± Eberry said. He handed a third affogato to Encanto. Encanto politely turned their head.

    ¡°And Bassetto, yours?¡± I asked his bind, which gave off an F Sharp.

    ¡°Stiletto,¡± it said.

    Audible sighs from around the plateau. F Major Stiletto had held a no-singing contest the other day. How tawdry¡­

    ¡°What about the <i>other</i>

    tourists?¡± Eberry asked. Heads turned; this was fairly novel, unless, of course, he was referring to that group of Scions gathered by the N?tr prince. Perry hadn¡¯t reported any particular Scion of note¡­

    ¡°Not other, Eberry, we do not welcome tourists who create dissonance in the residuals,¡± I said. ¡°Just tourists. What of them?¡±

    ¡°The <i>mchezaji</i> from Sector III?¡± G Major Niji asked[6]</a>, and Tailor besides him shook her head. ¡°They¡¯re on B Major Windy¡¯s watershed,¡± she said.

    ¡°The tourists I served two days ago,¡± Eberry said. ¡°They¡¯re alter people. And they¡¯re Descended.¡±

    Most of the heads turned; even Kororo¡¯s, while still brushing her hair. G Majors Chiaros and Pintero looked up from their cleave movanos[7]</a>; Jacuzzi laughed. Her cloud-rings jingled <i>a tilde</i>.

    ¡°What are their skeins?¡±

    Kororo ¨C she was sliding down her floe, hitting the flush white surface with a <i>poof</i>. She brushed off trivially small cloud-flakes from her timpants. More appeared as she looked back up, her face small, her eyes curious and probing.

    ¡°What are their <i>skeins</i>?¡± she asked Eberry, causing him to drop his cleave. A small claw emerged, quickly, to take it, before disappearing with a <i>pluff</i>. A cleo!

    ¡°B Major Kororo, I submitted my sheets to my upper chair. As is concert,¡± he added.

    Five scales above him; but, I think, about a third his age.

    <i>By sky, or below?</i> came a whisper from Qyrie.

    Kororo knelt. Inserting her small hands into the cloud-surface, she pulled out the cleo, its claws scrambling. She let it go, sinking back into the white. She stood back up, her head barely reaching Eberry¡¯s waist; her eyes appearing like those spaces of sky between clouds. She was frowning.

    ¡°E Major Azure¡¯s sheets go to F Major Jacuzzi. Jacuzzi, did you get them?¡±

    Jacuzzi was shaking her head, her laugh¡¯s ebbs still apparent. ¡°No, B Major.¡±

    ¡°And if she <i>did</i> get them, then Jacuzzi¡¯d have given her sheets to G Major Iota. And G Major Iota would¡¯ve given theirs to Willow.¡±

    That was why she¡¯d been silent. <i>Kororo</i>

    was the upper chair to Willow. I sighed, making sure it was just audible, <i>piano</i>

    for E Major Calm, sitting just beneath me, to look up, his eyes like stalactites.[8]</a>

    If only Willow herself were here¡­ the next time I call sectional, to call specific Majors would make things clearer; but that is not how we do things here in Movement Blue!

    ¡°So, B Major, you wouldn¡¯t have them, as A Major Willow is still on her session,¡± Eberry said. I could tell that he had almost said a joke instead, or offered yet another cleave affogato.

    Windy¡¯s latte blues made them taste like Sector I.

    ¡°A Major Willow would have sent notes, at least,¡± Kororo said. She now turned to me.

    ¡°Concertmaster, the guests who silenced Burberry may also be Descended, may have skeins that bring <i>caesura</i> to Movement Blue.¡± She then retreated to her floe, her feet nearly slipping off the ice. She resumed her brushing.

    <i>Descended caesura are handled by concertmasters and above, </i>I thought. The barest blue of an image flashes before me ¨C a much, much younger Qumulo, then going by her name by droplet Sella de Agua, then of course a guise for her <i>real</i> name ¨C meeting a pair of luthiers on the first residual, revealing she was Descended, and that (while it had been mostly pretend) she was there to evaporate all the clouds ¨C and witnessing then the descent of one of the Octaves through at least eight residuals ¨C even now, I still have sheets to write. For there¡¯s only one Concertmaster in Movement Blue.

    <i>D Major Eberry, once again, fails to bring cleave of the same quality as B Major Windy¡¯s latte blue. B Major Kororo reminds him of his scale. Various tourists noted, including some Descended. None of note, but provided here. Signed and sung, Concertmaster Qumulo.</i>

    <i>And Qyrie.</i>

    Something like that. Having met the N?tr prince ¨C who, of course, and unbeknownst to Kororo, is not Descended, but fully from a world of magic ¨C who was likely no higher than C Major ¨C I feel this is a song that even Eberry¡¯s Mordants can pursue.

    I look again at the D Major. He¡¯s trying to respond to his superior of five scales ¨C a member of our concert, and the absolute youngest to reach B Major ¨C and one who, according to Willow, had called down binds from the fourth through sixth residuals merely by <i>touching</i> a chord on the second. Binds all already <i>assigned</i>.

    ¡°B Major ¨C Concertmaster Qumulo ¨C C Major Tammarin Le sends their sheets to me. Two of these tourists¡¯ composition ¨C one of them commanded more than one bind, allowing another to pass the test.¡±

    ¡°The C Major allowed that tourist to go up?¡± Bolero asked ¨C but Eberry continued, looking at me ¨C ¡°Concertmaster, and the second tourist commanded <i>seven binds</i> out of the chord.¡±

    Kororo¡¯s brushing stops.

    Bolero is now, too ¨C among with the rest ¨C staring at poor Eberry with an incredulous expression.

    Encanto puts a hand on their twin¡¯s shoulder, as if to restrain her. ¡°And the D Major Eberry, <i>did not</i> get this Descended¡¯s skeins.¡± They looked at Kororo. Her eyes, blue ringed in white, bright and clear, nearly furious. Encanto continued[9]</a>, ¡°Does the D Major at least know the purpose of their visit?¡± They look at Eberry.

    ¡°A Major Encanto ¨C this Descended ¨C well, it seems those Descended with her may have different reasons ¨C but this one, Skylark, just wants to go up. How high, she did not say.¡± His eyes are down ¨C as if he¡¯s trying to relocate the cleo.

    How clear.

    Echoes of ennui around the plateau. ¡°But <i>why</i>,¡± Tailor is asking, and Eberry shakes his head. ¡°She just does,¡± he said. ¡°She might be their leader. That was not clear.¡±

    ¡°So she¡¯s just like us,¡± I say. I step down from my own floe and give Kororo a calming look. ¡°What is the call of the sky, Majors?¡±

    ¡°<i>To see above is to sing</i>,¡± they echo, and I nod. ¡°They are just tourists. Bolero, Encanto ¨C take your below chairs, and theirs ¨C find the other visitors.¡±

    They nod, and place their hands around their binds ¨C and with them, they sink back down through the cloud-surface.

    ¡°Kororo.¡±

    She looks at me, still waiting.

    <i>I think she wants to see their singing,</i> Qyrie says. <i>Ebbers didn¡¯t mention any singing.</i>

    ¡°Take Deliri and go to the twelfth residual. Find Willow. <i>Do not return until you do.</i>¡±

    I think she appears somewhat disappointed ¨C but then again, she is only nine. And Deliri is thirty-two, and the upper chair of Bolero. One of our best¡­

    ¡°I¡¯ll take two Conductors,¡± Kororo says, and I nod. Willow may well have discovered the Paradisiacs¡¯ performing venue, or the watershed of the Octaves, or perhaps even the skyports leading to the other Sectors. Eberry is looking miserable. Well, if Willow succeeded, then there¡¯d be no more tourists coming to bring possible <i>caesura</i> to Movement Blue.[10]</a>

    ¡°Give me a cleave pedal,¡± I order, and Eberry rushes to it.

    <hr>

    [1]</a> A Major Bolero ¨C TPRMX¡¯s 2015 remix of Ravel¡¯s <i>Bol¨¦ro</i>

    [2]</a> F Major Jacuzzi ¨C GARNiDELiA¡¯s ¡°PRIDE¡±, from their 2015 album <i>Linkage Ring</i>

    [3]</a> B Major Kororo ¨C SennaRin¡¯s ¡°Missing Piece -WwisH-¡±, from her 2022 EP <i>Saihate (Complete Edition)</i>

    [4]</a> G Major Tailor ¨C Valley¡¯s 2022 single <i>CHAMPAGNE</i>

    [5]</a> E Major Bassetto ¨C my head is empty¡¯s 2023 single <i>lose yourself</i>

    [6]</a> G Major Niji ¨C SHAUN¡¯s ¡°Swan Song¡±, from his 2022 single <i>Omnibus, Pt. 2: Inside Out</i>

    [7]</a> G Majors Chiaros and Pintero ¨C David Parris and Xander Carlson¡¯s 2022 album performance of <i>Watercolor</i>

    [8]</a> E Major Calm ¨C Scizzie¡¯s ¡°aquatic ambience (sped up)¡±, from his 2022 single <i>aquatic ambience</i>

    [9]</a> A Major Encanto ¨C Wako Composers Collection, <i>The Works of Robert W. Smith</i>, 2019

    [10]</a> A Major Willow ¨C Dani Sylvia¡¯s ¡°I¡¯ve Seen Forever (Live from Willow Studios)¡±, from her 2023 album <i>1:11</i>

    <hr>

    ¡°We¡¯ll try every building,¡± Luke affirmed, looking around at them all, and then he frowned. ¡°Wait¡ªwhere¡¯s Skylark?¡±

    Jaceus did not know. She was going someplace, somewhere higher; a place only her eyes could see. She was like Avien, who¡¯d spend most of his time in the sky, whether or not he was carrying Emeli in his Vareau, and very little of it actually <i>teaching</i>.

    But he supposed that he would discover for himself in what ways, around the ways people lived, Sector II differed from Sector I, and from the place he only remembered as home. He¡¯d told them that he¡¯d find a way here; but so far, they were meeting Majors, who became increasingly fretful about their going up. He could tell himself of who he was. But they didn¡¯t know, and the thought came to him that he could try going in dayform again. Shining in the light revealed of an Emulus. That, certainly might do something.

    Or he could use his bind. He looked at it. Sometime in the last few hours it¡¯d stopped trying to squeeze out of his fingers. Which didn''t make much sense to him as the same handle, held tightly, had been able to carry him with ease up through the sky.

    But in his hand, all it''d done was squirm, and flap its wings.

    ¡°Jaceus, you coming?" Luke asked, coming over; Jaceus met his eyes, their eagerness abated as the plan to find food without taking it from the people here had been made. "We''re just going to ask. Skylark could be eating right now."

    He was just someone who followed, now. Jaceus thought of the times that he''d take off the Myodor wingcloak, apply some rain to his hair to change it to green, and join the crowd of Wos as they peered around the golden arch. He¡¯d stare in frank and faux amazement at Ila ce turning the corridor, the rays of the sun actually seeming to change in her footsteps. She was just like that. He ran his hands through his green, wet hair and watched.

    They were getting away from him. Jaceus moved his feet and followed, and the snow lifted off his feet as Luke led the way eagerly, heading to the nearest building; and Sterne fell back to speak to Jaceus.

    ¡°Jaceus. You¡¯re in high school, right?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°I was. But before¡ª¡± He¡¯d almost said it. <i>Taenim Laev.</i>

    High school and university both, in the terms of Earth.

    ¡°Before, Jaceus. In the other world?¡±

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Why was he interested? Jaceus regretted now, ever mentioning it to them. He had to, to get them on this quest. But it didn¡¯t feel much like one now. He didn¡¯t know where they were going. If Emeli were here, she¡¯d chide him, just as she had Ila ce, on desiring to venture into Palette. If only she could see him now, walking on snow, holding a paltry version of a <i>Magpotis</i>.

    Reflexively, he jerked it. Nothing happened.

    ¡°These binds, they¡¯re truly fascinating things,¡± Sterne said. ¡°I got really lucky, you know. I only passed because of Cerise.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you did,¡± Jaceus said. ¡°She said something about Skylark¡¯s binds all being hers. Skylark took those seven binds out from the chord. So¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, Jaceus.¡± And here, the former high school teacher, his black fluffy hair still flecked with white, frowned at him. ¡°I know Cerise did something with this bind I have.¡± He made a whistling sound, and his bind came about, from behind his shoulders; ¡°So I know it¡¯s mine, even if Cerise enabled it.¡±

    But Sterne hadn''t earned his bind in the same way. Jaceus nodded though, and smiled. This was a Scion who could speak with the stars. Or his conception of "Capricorn"¡ª"Sterne, did Capricorn give advice on how to eat here?"

    Sterne frowned. Gone was the look of eagerness to know more about the Powers'' leader. In its position was the informant of knowledge that Mr. T served as pseudonym, occasionally telling his students of his trait, and of course they wouldn''t remember, but he told them.

    ¡°Capricorn is reticent," Mr. T said. "Alpha Centauri keeps telling me stories. But they don''t know how to eat in Sector II." His voice was deeper, and Jaceus thought immediately that the others didn''t really ask about the true nature of Sterne''s trait, and while none of it so far was truly magical, he hadn''t felt the use of magic around him, he hadn''t met so many Scions that he could know them as, well as Rennie Jay might capture the various facets of life and society in Sector I.

    "Neither do I," he said. "But Luke has a plan."

    "He does, doesn''t he?" Sterne smiled, levity returned. "And it''s separate from his battle Plans."

    Jaceus smiled. Luke had nothing in terms of field strategy as it came to combat. He had yet to see the former Fury use hand and leg but Luke had lost severely to that Agent he''d suppressed with his shape.

    "Jaceus! Keep smiling like that; we can have them just give their clen-cakes to us."

    Cakes or in their petite form called, <i>mindo</i> above the Lowers levgion. A stable delicacy that had nothing again to the <i>pomes</i> of the Nutrieat. Jaceus sighed, in the deep way of his own that Pur? would entreat, <i>Jaceus, keep breathing like that. It becomes you. This is the way that us Element¡¯r enter Vareau.</i>

    But Jaceus was no Element¡¯r. Jaceus was only Emulus, and only an Element¡¯r, or Vareau-aided, would know those sky-routes as naturally as Ila ce concocted prunesticks.

    By now they¡¯d reached the first building. It was tall and heavy, sitting deeply on the snow like a chord, and there were no windows¡ªit was all just a single slab of ice, or snow, or such combination drawn out of the clen-biology that had only been alluded to here in drops and beats. Jaceus followed Luke and Sterne around its corner; there Cerise was pulling the door open, making a smooth sliding sound on the ice, and indeed there was a small area of it ringing the door, and Agate followed after her, and they were soon all inside.

    All was quiet in the room. It was spacious, filled with white corners that projected deeply into large piles of snow, and there were children playing in it, diving into it in their warm white shirts and using their hands to form balls of snow and ice which they proceeded to lick, throw up the slopes to watch them roll down, or toss them each other in the most casual mockery of combat.

    It wasn¡¯t something he hadn¡¯t seen before. Some of the more eager Lye would teach their youngest, secured in their placenta to float just out of them, yelling at each other in the briefest formations of the words they¡¯d just learned, and Jaceus watched as Sterne and Cerise immediately went to joining them, taking up balls of snow in their bare hands and replicating the throwing and the tossing.

    ¡°OK, so no food, not counting all of it which, you know, we can probably eat,¡± Luke said. ¡°Let¡¯s go to the next one.¡±

    But he let them play for a few more seconds as Sterne picked up a hapless child, who perfectly allowed him, and set it on top of one of the hills, and watched the child go down.

    ¡°Wonder if they have birthport?¡± Cerise asked as they left. ¡°Or do all these kids just emerge from the snow.¡±

    ¡°And they¡¯re birthed from the clens, yeah,¡± Luke said. ¡°I don¡¯t know, they probably have something similar. Birthports was introduced before the Sectors were made, right?¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s something unique to Sector I,¡± Agate said. ¡°Anne Restor.¡±

    Sterne clapped his hands as they reached the next building. Empty, silent, white. ¡°That¡¯s right. Birthports are like portals, after all.¡±

    Jaceus thought of the portals, and how they had their own shapes, and that if Sterne was right, the children of Sector I came out of such things that had their own shapes, which meant¡ª

    ¡ªBut he refused to allow himself to consider further. There would only be so much that he did to help the others here, or learn about their world. He was a prince of the N?tr and he would return. It was well into the second year now. And he wasn¡¯t reading Rennie Jay anymore.

    Cerise pulled the door open. <i>Screech.</i>

    Beyond it lay a small space, with two doors: both with lettering etched in ice on their centers. Majors and above only on the left. Minors and everyone else on the right.

    Cerise laughed. ¡°Of course,¡± she said. ¡°And right next to the kids.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Sterne asked. He approached the door labeled <i>Minors</i>: running his hands over the white blocks, only the <i>M</i> capitalized. ¡°Majors, like Eberry, and Tammarin Le. We¡¯re not Majors, so¡ª¡± He stopped¡ª¡°Unless, Cerise, you¡¯ve been leading us all this way because you <i>are</i>¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Cerise responded. ¡°I¡¯m not a Major. Majors are irksome, and it takes a lot to become one.¡±

    Jaceus nodded. That made sense, but he decided to assume that Cerise before had tried, Major or Minor both.

    He stepped up behind Sterne. ¡°What happens if we go through the Majors¡¯ door? And where does this go?¡±

    ¡°Their rehearsal rooms,¡± Cerise answered. ¡°Majors usually have Minors with them, they¡¯re kinda like¡ªhmm, I guess a bit like the Agents with their partners in the field.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Agate said.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Cerise said. ¡°Rehearsal rooms are for Majors only. And above, look.¡± She waved her hand over and above only. ¡°As we saw, Tammarin was C Major, E-bore D. There¡¯s E through B above that. And then¡ª¡±

    She paused, once again not revealing just how much she knew, Jaceus thought. ¡°So here they congregate. Regardless of just how high up they are in the scale. Eberry was easy; I don¡¯t know, if you learned about it in school, it¡¯s Sector II¡¯s military.¡±

    ¡°Military,¡± Agate said. ¡°But there haven¡¯t been wars since¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Cerise said. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. The people here are weird. They sing all the time, and pretend to fight, when they¡¯re <i>completely</i> different, alter different, things.¡±

    Jaceus decided to reserve recollection on what she¡¯d just said. Because Qumulo had seemed like she could fight, and not sing.

    ¡°So we go through here, then,¡± he said, pointing to the Minors¡¯ door. ¡°And everyone else. They have to eat, so there¡¯ll be something through here.¡±

    Cerise nodded. ¡°Something. Everything is through the clens, and they¡¯ll probably have cleave. That¡¯s really all they eat.¡±

    Luke didn¡¯t appear too satisfied with that response, but Jaceus noted how Agate¡¯s eyes lit. She had really liked that cleave, even though it had tasted to Jaceus no differently than water, maybe with a touch of that spark that bluesimmer had. But he knew that the rest of them (well, besides Cerise, in all likelihood) hadn¡¯t had bluesimmer. So he nodded again, and Cerise pushed the door open, and the emptiness and silence of before was shattered.

    <hr>

    Her stomach full, Skylark thought of the last time she¡¯d had something truly good, and all she thought of was the times Alauda would make something blue, saying it was Lowers version of bluesimmer, and as soon as their parents left for some birdwatching convention, he¡¯d throw it all around the room, using both his fingers and his power, and she¡¯d watch it reflected in his eyes like the ocean.

    She smiled to herself, and watched as the next Minor stepped up.

    It was Peridot. He opened his mouth, slightly; and she knew that he recognized her, but back then she hadn¡¯t been wearing the <i>clux</i>, but he¡¯d seen her gain the seven binds, which lay at her feet in a ring, only the tips of their handles protruding from the snow.

    But Peridot didn¡¯t say anything, and even if it was because Oliviet wasn¡¯t here to scold him, he couldn¡¯t be <i>offbeat</i>, here ¨C here he was just someone who was ruddy and green and smiling, anxiously, as he knelt to touch his bind to the one in front of the ring. Skylark watched as the only other Major in the room, the same one who¡¯d given her the clux ¨C E Major Calm Ic Icle ¨C who still didn¡¯t seem much more than Tammarin ¨C kept the Minors in line, occasionally whistling low <i>E</i>s and <i>E</i> sharps, his slender white bind prodding their backs.

    ¡°Next,¡± Skylark said.

    Peridot¡¯s face shot up, his eyes soft and alert. He was probably glad to get back to Tammarin Le. Skylark had nothing for him, and as Peridot fluffed up his light-green hair strands, singing a low note, Skylark thought, <i>Alter one</i>, and the rightmost bind in the semicircle, one with blue feathers so dark they were green, floated up out of the snow and stayed there, its wings slaking off the excess; Peridot¡¯s bind shook its wings rapidly and Skylark¡¯s shot forward, a short horizontal vector, striking it, pinning it to Peridot¡¯s face: he swung his arms back a few times as the feathers on his bind slowed to a still.

    Alter One returned to its position in the snow. Skylark thought, <i>Good,</i> and it shone a bit, warming the snow around it.

    Eventually Peridot¡¯s bind came off his nose, and Peridot, taking his bind, its wings clasped around itself, stared at Skylark so hard that she could almost hear him saying, as if he had a receptor, <i>You beat me, and Tam couldn¡¯t get you in their orchestra.</i> But he didn¡¯t actually say anything, and rubbed his nose, and walked back to not the end of the line ¨C good, she didn¡¯t think she could go through it again ¨C but to the slowly growing audience of defeated Minors with binds and others about her age, but without binds ¨C sitting in pairs and trios across the slopes of snow built up towards the back.

    She looked at Calm. He was still inspecting the line, keeping it steady; he gave no indication of stopping. <i>His</i>

    clux had the words MOVEMENT BLUE; and hers still didn¡¯t, but she was supposedly a G Major, and that was above E Major, right?

    ¡°Next,¡± she said, but the next was already kneeling, her hair nearly obscuring her face, and Skylark for no reason felt a beat of worry, that somehow this one would summon eight binds from across the room, from other Minors¡¯ hands, but the Minor just touched her one bind to Alter Blue, and Skylark, sighing, thought <i>Alter One</i> again and, this time, pushed the girl back a meter, and she lay there, on the snow.

    Skylark looked at the line. There were at least ten more. Since first stepping through the Majors door she thought it¡¯d be Majors, but so far, mostly Minors.

    Mostly Minors. There was an E Major, right there.

    ¡°Calm,¡± she said.

    Some uncertain stares around. They couldn¡¯t be calm, they were being tossed back on the snow over and over.

    ¡°E Major Calm,¡± she said, more loudly; it sounded so strange, coming out of her mouth like that. <i>E Major Calm.</i>

    Like <i>Agent Calm.</i> But it just didn¡¯t feel that way to her.

    The remaining Minors in line all turned towards Calm. He had just leaned against one side of the wall there that almost looked like it was designed for leaning against it, with a human-sized indentation. But it was snow, and so it was literally made from someone leaning up against it, over and over.

    He saw her, and gave an uncertain sort of smile, or a frown, or a sneer, and before she could decide he tucked up his clux and tossed back his soapy, dark orange hair. Then he came off the indentation and started walking over. A bind flew up out of a pocket in his cloak and hovered around his head, and soon the stage was just her and Calm, and she knew what was going to happen.

    ¡°G Major Skylark,¡± he said.

    Hearing it made something jump ¨C and settle, just as quickly ¨C in her chest.

    I am a G Major now, she thought. And I have seven binds.

    She smiled like she was just getting started, that she knew exactly how much energy her binds had left, even though she didn¡¯t, and she had no idea, as they¡¯d never flown about at her command this much before.

    <i>But I¡¯ve saved Alter Blue</i>. Her lead, which had just been touched, the other six taking turns.

    ¡°E Major, I can¡¯t pick any of them,¡± she said. Were all Minors this slow to respond? The bind that Ultramarine, not even a Minor, had shot at Sterne had been faster than anything she¡¯d done so far¡­

    ¡°Sorry, G Major,¡± Calm said. ¡°We normally hold auditions out and send sheets down to the residuals at least a week before. These were all the Minors and page turners we could scrummage up.¡±

    She¡¯d come here, demanding that she go up, and some Major telling her she needed Minors, now, not just binds, even if she had seven of them, even if that was insane, and that she¡¯d missed a sectional from Concertmaster Qumulo, and she¡¯d nodded and nodded and nodded and now she was here, defeating everybody. It still felt like class ¨C not any class she had taken ¨C but like class, still.

    And she never studied.

    Skylark thought, <i>Alter Blue</i>, and, with the barest twinkle of white, her lead bind shot up out of the snow, and flung itself across the air like a book closed at Calm.

    In a single, brief moment, Calm swept his cloak up and around ¨C time seemed to slow down ¨C and ¨C he enveloped Alter Blue in the clux, stepped to the side, and the clux kept going straight, hurtling into the indentation. It hung there, the clux settling itself over the bind, like a towel waiting to be used.

    She wasn¡¯t in Lowers. <i>She was in Sector II!</i> Skylark threw those thoughts away and, without thinking their names, summoned the remaining six, which hung in the air before her, like the haloamps she knew they had in Plent, and she thought <i>Horizontal</i>, and she felt a <i>jerk</i> forward, as all six of them swept forward, and Calm ¨C once again ¨C time seeming to slow down ¨C his eyes hard ¨C and a second set of eyelids arose over them, his eyes turned white ¨C and a flash of white spun across the six darts, a soft series of <i>cracks</i> and they spun out of control, and Skylark lost her balance, falling back, and landing on the snow. <i>Ploof.</i>

    She looked up. It didn¡¯t hurt ¨C the clux had covered her ¨C but ¨C she was a G Major! This E Major had been so shocked ¨C and she looked around, but she couldn¡¯t see her binds, and Calm was just <i>standing there</i>, inspecting his white bind like it was a new pencil, and she realized that that sound in the background before had been muted discussion from the crowd, now they were silent. They were watching a G Major fall down.

    No. She was here, by herself, she hadn¡¯t seen them in two days, and she was <i>G Major Skylark.</i> She thought it to herself two more times, as if she was saying it, and then pulled herself up.

    She laughed. She wasn¡¯t in class. Falara wasn¡¯t sleeping by the window.

    Wait ¨C something hit her side, she looked down ¨C it was a long white bind ¨C back up ¨C Calm was still holding his, his eyes like silver plates ¨C a flash of that Porter, Perry, rushed through her mind ¨C and she grabbed it.

    <i>¡°Staccato, staccato,¡±</i> Calm said. ¡°What are you doing, G Major?¡±

    Skylark smiled.

    ¡°I¡¯m just testing you, Calm,¡± she said. ¡°You can do better.¡± Her chest began to heave a bit; this was taking a lot of concentration, <i>really</i> pretending. What if her binds were wrong? Was she really G Major? She also felt, strongly, that Calm wasn¡¯t trying hard at all ¨C he had intentionally waited until some Minors had tired her out ¨C and this all felt like that one time in v-World she¡¯d played the wizard, and Falara the witch, and they were fighting, and of course Falara was going easy on her, and ¨C

    Calm was standing right next to her. ¡°G Major, you¡¯re embarrassing yourself, you¡¯re <i>a piacere</i>, but not on beat,¡± he said, so that only she could hear; she nodded, and handed him his bind. ¡°Take this,¡± she said. ¡°I won¡¯t go easy on you anymore.¡±

    What had Cerise said? That she wasn¡¯t using her trait? And, obviously ¨C as she stepped back a few steps, and Calm slid back to his position at the far end of the stage ¨C she realized that, obviously, Calm could be doing all this without any magic, that all the Majors and Minors here could use their binds to fly through the air just by <i>thinking</i>

    it. That wasn¡¯t any different than what she was doing.

    Just how strong <i>were</i> G Majors?

    <i>Come to me,</i> she thought, and various portions of the snow around on the stage broke apart, as her binds pushed themselves out, and they all came before her, hovering in the air, their wings outspread. Alter Blue wasn¡¯t there ¨C it was still stuck to the wall over there. Skylark took a step forward.

    Flash of white by her eyes. <i>Shtick,</i>

    one of her binds threw itself up in front of her, and with a spattering of snow, no, snowflakes ¨C they coalesced into her vision, filling all that she could see ¨C and her bind was gone. Calm¡¯s bind, still together and tall, flew back to Calm¡¯s waiting palm, where it lay itself on its side.

    Skylark immediately went to her knees and searched the snow. It was all just snow. What had been her bind had fully disintegrated.

    Some murmuring from the crowd. A G Major had just lost one of her binds, to an <i>E Major</i> who still wasn¡¯t trying yet.

    OK. OK. It wasn¡¯t anything alter important. She could just go back down there to the chord and get another one. But the thought didn¡¯t feel right, and as she got back up, she saw that Calm¡¯s clux hanging over her Alter One was shaking, and she felt a renewed sense of hope.

    She could do this. She still had six; he only had one, even though it was faster, and the way he moved ¨C she¡¯d thought she¡¯d been using her trait, but maybe she hadn¡¯t and the thought made her feel ¨C she didn¡¯t know. She thought of the time she¡¯d flown up, even if that had been just through the binds, and she thought of the time she¡¯d kept the Porter up on the ceiling, and he¡¯d only fallen down because she¡¯d let go. Not because Jaceus had come in.

    How did it go? <i>I think of gravity</i>, or something like that, when she¡¯d presented her powers to the rest of the Furies. Or she¡¯d always known, or she¡¯d always thought about it that way. She¡¯d just thought the direction up until now.

    She raised her hands.

    The towel on top of the bind rose off completely and her bind was there. It sang a <i>C</i> which shifted immediately into a <i>D </i>and then an <i>E</i>, <i>F</i>, and <i>G</i>, and as she kept her hands up, it returned to her, but this time it <i>was</i> different, it wasn¡¯t coming because she¡¯d thought for it to, but because she¡¯d <i>made</i> it move. She kept it there, just before her, as with her left hand she <i>felt</i>

    for the others to come to her in the same way, but no ¨C they were already there ¨C but they matched the notes that Alter Blue was keening, and the whispers returned in the Minors watching. In that moment, she felt that she could move them, and so

    I did. I sent them all to E Major Calm in wide movements, forward and curving, anticipating his own movement up. And so he did. Another flash of white and his legs left the floor. The whispers became breaths. And he used his bind to fly, like she had seen back there on the first residual, and the way he moved <i>now</i> to dodge and swerve, not his cloak but only him, coordinating left, right, turning over ¨C his orange hair sending glitters and specks across the snow, from the light ¨C

    ¨C She had seen nothing like it. He dipped and soared through the air, as she kept thinking, imagining the gravity beneath his body crescenting the air, narrowly shifting, almost as if he were actually dancing, all the while keeping his bind in the clutch of his left arm, and the people there were focused on his every movement there, but she kept imagining the air beneath and around him just ¨C <i>it¡¯s just gravity, and I have six of them ¨C no, seven ¨C </i>and so they flew. Flying circles and darts and yet he moved around them all. But as she watched, Calm adjusted his hold on his bind ¨C took glances down at her, standing on the floor of the stage ¨C and he knew, she did, she knew, that <i>she was G Major</i>, and without thinking, she watched as her hands in front of her began to follow the E Major¡¯s movements, as her fingers ¨C she had ten of them ¨C followed her binds, almost as if they were acting on their own, and her binds were moving faster, Alter Blue becoming a streak, and a collision of white and blue, and an eighth bind in the mix fell out.

    She watched it plummet. E Major Calm descended.

    Just before it hit he touched it, and prevented himself from crashing, but her binds were striking, and before they hit, beneath his orange mop, he raised a hand ¨C in surrender ¨C he was giving her this moment ¨C his movements were now hers ¨C and she let her hands drop to her sides.

    One by one her seven binds came to attention, vertically at attention, around the fallen Major, and before she could think for their full return the silence around was growing, no, it was changing ¨C sound ¨C and they were clapping, she turned her head and looked, they were taking snow from the pile around them and rubbing it in their hands before clapping some more, some hums were emanating from their own binds, all different sounds merging into <i>G</i>, and Skylark, looking at Calm through her smile, cold, her breath forming ¨C walked forward, and, one by one, selected her binds from the air, before landing on the eighth ¨C his ¨C and touching it to his shoulder.

    And as she watched ¨C his eyes were lowered ¨C the wings on Calm¡¯s bind were shrinking, retracting into the handle, and re-emerging on the bottom half ¨C so she turned it over ¨C and handed it back ¨C she dropped it onto his lap.

    ¡°<i>Key</i>,¡± he said. ¡°G Minor Calm Ic Icle, for your concert.¡±

    ¡°I am G Major Skylark li Agle,¡± she replied.

    And the applause grew.

 49 - Narcissus Garden

    KUSAMA, 1966

    Starboy trembled, his brown hair ruffling, as Tristan watched closely. The younger student was holding his hands together. Then raising one to gesture to a distinct point on the hologram.

    ¡°That¡¯s where the red goes,¡± he said. Starboy lowered his hand.

    ¡°I see,¡± Tristan said.

    He was sitting on a cube and it wasn¡¯t very comfortable. Starboy¡¯s knees had to feel pain, sitting in that crouched position, all this time while explaining the Blood Bus. But Tristan didn¡¯t feel like saying anything. Tiko Toko, after all, as well as Visi Trimat, were also sitting on cubes. Only the presenter was forced to crouch.

    So that was the blood. Tristan had thought the blood was the red portion, but the road beneath the bus, a long straight line of it, was just the road. Starboy was being more creative than he had envisioned.

    The rest of it was incomprehensible. Tristan thought of how to ask his question. How is the bus represented as a rectangular prism, if you¡¯re going to use cubes? What is going to represent the sky? How closely will the actual work resemble the hologram? What¡ª

    ¡°It¡¯s all made from one cube,¡± Visi said. She was getting off of hers, and after a series of punches, quick movements later, her cube was now a rectangular prism¡ªbut with a long, flatter prism below it, extending out. All still yellow. ¡°And someone will be the sky.¡±

    With a shock to what he saw Tristan remembered that just last week or two weeks ago or whenever it was he had demonstrated to them all William Restor¡¯s substance, material, image and had proven that any cube could be molded into any different shape. Starboy may have been his insolent, primary usurper but he was still a techist of Restor. Tristan didn¡¯t know who Starboy¡¯s parents were, for naming their child such an alter bland¡ª

    Starboy was standing, his knees making slight cracking as he turned off the hologram and smiled widely at Visi Trimat.

    ¡°That¡¯s right! Of course, Visi, you get it, I always insert myself into my pieces, just need some wind-strings¡ª¡± He looked at Tristan¡ª¡°to hang myself up, above the prism turned cube, still a prism, above the bus, above the street, below the blood.¡±

    The hologram had shown only the sky, directly above the bus, so the sky was the blood. Tristan thought he saw a body, spilling blood, above the bus of its creation. But of course Starboy wouldn¡¯t be actually¡ª

    Sky was the blood. But then the sky was the blood¡ª

    ¡°I am the blood,¡± Starboy interjected. Visi was nodding, full understanding in her eyes. Tiko Toko was staring at the prism and road on the floor. ¡°Red for sky, yellow for the bus, and blue for what you¡¯ll be wearing,¡± they said.

    ¡°Yes!¡± Starboy said.

    But the road is brown? Tristan thought quickly. Starboy had kept his shoes brown for Three-Body Problem. Something had to be brown again. His hair didn¡¯t count.

    ¡°Tristan, what do you think?¡± Starboy was asking.

    Your hair is brown, he thought. No¡ªan obvious¡ªthe whole thing is inverted, so you¡¯ll actually be lying on the floor, and the wind-strings will hold up the bus¡ªno, Starboy wasn¡¯t that good¡ªbody above shape, continuing medieval theme¡ª

    ¡°You hate the cube,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s why it¡¯s being melted.¡± Tristan pointed to the elongated portion on the floor by Visi¡¯s feet. It was obvious now. Starboy, the usurper, was only contending out of recent, invigorating spite for the profession, for the act itself, he hated techistry, and so by inspiring the Blood Bus below him, without dripping blood but entirely composed of it, he was¡ª

    ¡°I hate the cube?¡± Starboy was looking confused. Very. Tristan for an instant thought back to how he¡¯d understood Cel Rin¡¯s piece. The body is the image. Or the image of the boy. And Starboy may be the wont contender but he wasn¡¯t that brilliant. Or stupid. Or whatever it was.

    Tristan ran his hands over the hologram, or rather waved at it. He was still sitting not too close to it. It was horrible. It was lacking in spirit. It gave him weak designs. Was it Blood Bus, or Blood Without the Boy, or Bus Boy. Just a weak servant to whatever that he had created. Tristan didn¡¯t want to say anything so he kept his mouth shut to the blood bus and waited for Visi or Tiko Toko to respond.

    But they didn¡¯t. Tiko Toko, the student whose name he only knew because they had introduced themselves, was running their hands over the portion of the hologram that seemed to touch the bus platform on the floor; Visi was merely tapping her left foot by it, hard in thought. Giving the unblooded more examination than the work deserved.

    What do you think, Tristan? The boy asked. It¡¯s not alter. It¡¯s not anything, he thought.

    What do you think, Tristan? The father asked. It¡¯s mine. It¡¯s my creation, he said.

    What do you think, Tristan? The knight challenged him.

    Tristan turned away, and he left them there.<hr>

    Eleanor saw the reflections of the students across the water and thought.

    None of them were altered; they were all still there. She could discern a great number of them, and while she knew she could now access Sector¡¯s Thought-frame and see any student, including those soon to come, such as Dhoria Tsenter, Juara Torneo, Senra Beaudicious, and Adventa Rosan, she was still too distant to truly see. They were only small shadows, flickering in the sun, and like the candles of old, cast their flames upon the cool silver surface, which cascaded them in ripples, extending out but not quite reaching where she stood. It was like Giya had said, and was common truth: Sector was the largest university (in the Sector), and yet, somehow, the most reputable.

    Just beneath, or rather behind, the reflections on the water, still as pretend glass she saw, a series of blurred slabs, like paint in a gallery, but then she just turned her eyes up, to see what she was actually looking at, and it was the Entrance to Sector University, catching the sun as it fell across the columns, but without any sort of roof to block it, it fell straight across, drawing the shadows even further across the students who walked between its arches.

    There was one central arch. With an exclamation, someone almost bumped into Eleanor from behind her, and as she moved away, she thought, it was just like the V-movie entrances, shaped like large letters, except that this one, which stood above the single, roofless columns, did not resemble any letter, and so, holding that thought, she felt her Seagull top and pink pantalons, made sure once again that her hair didn¡¯t even brush her neck, and she thought to herself,

    ¡ª<i>I am a Governor,</i> and moved forward with the other wide-eyed and, some actually gawking, incoming students, some accompanied by their younger siblings, extraordinarily few parents in sight, or even adults, as they all swept forward in an incoherent group, towards the raised platform that was taking them all over the right side of the water, over and onto the titanium flooring beyond. Eleanor stopped herself from trying to recognize anyone from orientation, or anyone to match to the feeling of their Thoughts from the talk with Adventa, or the two Sector students she¡¯d physically met, Giya and Proen, as, after all, this was a <i>scheduled</i> opening to the citizens of the Sector, not just any students to-be, and while she knew there were TMs from Giya, one from Dhoria, none from Adventa, she stopped herself from looking for any of them.

    She was just a student; she was still in her last year at Blazon; she¡ª

    <i>Accept.</i> She didn¡¯t even know which she¡¯d accepted. Eleanor reached the platform, which was just wide enough for two columns, most going in, some coming out, and it didn¡¯t even have railings¡ªno, her hand struck something, it did, and her hand didn¡¯t even hurt¡ª<i>hologram railings</i>. Of course. Eleanor kept walking, not hitting the person in front or behind her, as she waited, and looked over the side of the invisible railing, at the edge of the water, which was beginning to show her face¡ª

    <i>Hi. This is Dhoria.</i>

    Eleanor looked back face forward, noting the insignia of a school she didn¡¯t recognize on the back of the student in front of her, a tall white flower. <i>Hi, I¡¯m Eleanor</i>, she Thought back, wondering if Dhoria Tsenter was being obtuse intentionally; but now she¡¯d reached the end, she¡¯d barely noticed any incline, and landed on the smooth white surface of the titanium. It did not reflect, only showing vague, amorphous curtains of color that broached its perfect surface. <i>I came off the platform over the water. I¡¯m wearing pink and white, have orange hair</i>, she said.

    <i>You didn¡¯t say that earlier. Are you in your hologram?</i>

    Hologram?

    I¡¯m a Governor, I¡¯m a Governor, she thought again, and said yes. Then she said no, that she wouldn¡¯t wear it so openly. As an aside, she thought, would a Governor¡¯s hologram be differently touched than the rail?

    She felt beneath her feet the alter titanium, or rather she didn¡¯t feel anything, and then felt herself moving forward with the rest of the throng, and she didn¡¯t know¡ªas she wasn¡¯t explicitly looking for Adventa¡¯s beige hair¡ªwhether she was the only Governor, who for some reason, was here, not caught up in various duties up and among the tall silver towers that defined that part of High where the Governors all resided.

    She passed beneath the arch.

    It was one of many, she saw, as back there some had been hidden, what with all the students grouped about, or the light, one of a series of arches that ran across the wake, and she had to step more carefully, as she lost sight of the tall white flower, and now she couldn¡¯t quite see anybody, they were all bathed in golden light, and as she felt the sun practically striking her shoulders, changing the pink into ochre, the issues of amazement from those around her beating like footfalls, she saw a girl up ahead, in a vivid pink top and white pantalons, with sudden orange hair, short, but maybe shimmering into something longer, and a hand was coming out from the right, or stage left, to tap her on the shoulder¡ª

    She felt a tap on her right shoulder. She whirled, and saw a girl with large, somewhat box-like eyes, sea-salt, slightly rectangularly curved hair¡ª<i>only sea salt because of those tea flavors right now</i>¡ªand wearing a long shirt broken down the middle into orange on one side, white on the left. Fading blue pants, cut somewhat short, and she was carrying something, fist curled, in her left hand.

    ¡°I¡¯m Dhoria.¡± the girl said, and Eleanor, looking again at the image she had caught, realized it was just a reflection¡ªor it had been, it wasn¡¯t there. She looked beyond Dhoria, who was a bit shorter than she was, so looking just above her grey-white top, she could now grasp their surroundings, others were passing beneath their own arches, they still hadn¡¯t reached the pillars, and, in fact, looking beyond their sheer lines, Eleanor saw that there was nothing, and that past the water and the bridge, the entrance and its various arches, all there was, was nothing.

    ¡°I¡¯m Dhoria Tsenter,¡± the girl said. Eleanor brought her gaze back down, and saw immediately how Dhoria seemed to be clutching, or trying to squeeze, what she held in her hand. She was nervous or excited, and all Eleanor could think was, if what she saw <i>beyond</i> those silver arches was like the orientation¡¯s V-world or V-movie space¡ª

    <i>TM from Dhoria Tsenter. Accept.</i>

    I¡¯m <i>Dhoria, from the Orange route,</i>

    Dhoria Tsenter said, but she, too was turning away to look at the scene around them, holding the thing in her hand. Eleanor wondered if she¡¯d been here before. Eleanor could have visited at any one of Sector¡¯s previous open-visit days, and she¡¯d known for a while that she¡¯d go to Sector but she¡¯d, somehow, not felt like actually <i>seeing</i> the campus, either physically as she was in that moment, or through any one of their Thought-spaces. And not just Sector. Most universities offered open visits, and Thought-spaces, and Thought-feeds with entry staff and current students, including Raider U, Peppa Peppa V, and <i>any</i> other university, and she thought of the others from Blazon, Jule to Peppa Peppa, Klost and Layra to Restor Institute, Anderi to Topping Mae, each going to a different place, with different people, different things, different ideas in each space of what their <i>own</i> college meant, for she knew that each and every one of them was equally unalterable.

    ¡°I¡¯m Eleanor,¡± she said, as she walked forward, along the only direction she could take, directly ahead, into the great golden letter, was it golden now, slowly forming an <i>E</i>, or an <i>F</i>, the two unimpeded bars at the top half stretching out, and maybe Dhoria said some things, in the air or in their Thought-feed but, she thought maybe they were unnecessary things, not as necessary and not as defined as the coherent silvers and golds becoming the world.

    Voices. Boundless clamor, a full space entreating her, white and sepia and bold dints of green and flamingo and oriented, violent sky, a tickling of strength meeting her hair, the airnanos finding new horizons, Dhoria¡¯s sea-salt head reflecting the rays, hard; Eleanor¡¯s eyes making out distinct and ready faces, belonging to arms, joined by torsos and legs and feet shoed or unshoed, by hair of colors chosen and changed over years on Alterfaces. Immediately she could see, some were noticeably less noticeable, and with a start she remembered that Sector admitted directly out of Lowers, where instead of all the nanos coursing through their bodies were various things they would put <i>on</i> themselves.

    A finger in her chest, and Eleanor stopped herself, Dhoria retracting her pinky, and they had stopped before a massive pedestal or wall, not transparent, as Dhoria herself had walked into it, she was rubbing her head. The wall looked to be of alter stucco, or maybe even alter <i>stone</i>, which was said to not be stone, but some architecture in High had begun to use it.

    This did not reflect either of them, and Eleanor found herself looking only at what appeared to be a silver, but nearly white or opalescent, surface; like a portal, except that this was just a wall before them¡ªbut as they stood there, it was just the two of them, Eleanor¡¯s orange hair, Dhoria¡¯s sea-salt top simmering in that unimpeachable air around them, around everything¡ªthe wall hummed, and it turned into two solid halves, one of orange the color of Eleanor¡¯s hair, the other of sepia the color of Dhoria¡¯s, with an unbroken line down its center.

    With the unspent rush of sound from beyond, she looked, and saw that there were other like plats of color, or divides of color, or keen swirls per who stood before them, staring at the nonvisible reflections of themselves. She saw practically every color, and some of the tablets had so many lines and rivulets of color that in the dizzying sun, they were hard to look at.

    Eleanor turned her eyes back to hers, to which Dhoria was still staring at, still turning her left wrist in and out. Then she realized that the stone was mirroring Dhoria¡¯s shirt.

    ¡°Did you know about this?¡± she asked Dhoria.

    ¡°These stones,¡± the other girl said. ¡°They¡¯re the university¡¯s.¡± A soft <i>clinking</i> began to issue from her left hand, as if she were trying to break a single bodieze.

    ¡°No, they¡¯re the Government¡¯s,¡± Eleanor said. It didn¡¯t matter, did it? It was ¡®Sector¡¯ University. Everyone knew that. It was in the name, and all else that flowed from it. Giya would say, <i>It¡¯s only stone, Eleanor, and it changes color, but it doesn¡¯t matter who¡¯s standing in front of it. It¡¯s changing color.</i>

    Maybe they were all changing.

    ¡°What are you holding?¡± Eleanor asked Dhoria. ¡°Small stones?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Dhoria said. ¡°It¡¯s my latest techist piece, in its early stages.¡± She held out her left hand, and unclasped her fingers. Inside the palm lay a circle of what looked like small alter plastic pieces attached, or strung through, a circular string. As they turned ever so slightly, on the natural surface of Dhoria¡¯s hand, they seemed to glint different colors. Then Eleanor remembered what Dhoria had said, her techist family used something that was orange.

    ¡°Topaz,¡± Dhoria said, before she could ask. ¡°Real topaz. My family has a collection. It¡¯s not substantial¡ªbut it looks better than the litany of materials you would find otherwise.¡±

    Eleanor nodded. Not that she could tell the difference, and, she felt, for someone from Might, if the stone in front of them were real, surely Dhoria would have reacted more¡­ fervently.

    But she didn¡¯t ask. Sector clearly had the resources to display all of these stones, pretend or not, in front of these visitors, and she was pretty sure that they weren¡¯t even <i>on</i> the campus yet. This was all still¡­ a foyer of sorts. A very grand and tumultuous one.

    And then the stone glowed, and Dhoria was walking into it, and <i>walking into it</i>, her body receding, her body gone, and before questioning the Upload/portal/V-movie aspects of it, Eleanor walked forward, and stepped into the orange.

    ¡­ She and Dhoria were sitting on chairs, suspended in a great chasm of light, but before she could reach out for something to hold she realized that they weren¡¯t moving and that they were just two pinpoints in a vast group of chairs, others sitting in them, and the prior confluence of people speaking in awe and exclamation was now reduced to a single articulation, a single voice, a single knowledge.

    The knowledge was arriving to them, heard as if through a long and vibrant tunnel, and was this like orientation, but Dhoria was tapping her shoulder and running her right hand distinctly up and down, here, and there, there were, what was it called, some kind of string techists used, holding them up.

    So this was a techist course. Eleanor prepared to close her eyes.

    ¡°¡­ and for you visitors, whether or not you were accepted to Sector, please note that this course is <i>not</i>

    required unless you elect the Jade Route, for those aspiring techists not alter enough to pursue techistry professionally just yet, and the Jade Route requires¡­¡±

    Eleanor nodded, barely acknowledging that she may have chosen a route with classes and not just some other classmates¡­ she wasn¡¯t going to be a techist. It was too late anyway. She didn¡¯t <i>know</i> any techists.

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    Oh, Dhoria Tsenter. Now she did. The other girl was examining the strings, <i>still</i> holding her techist draft piece in her left hand. Eleanor took this opportunity to examine the other students. Of course, she knew she couldn¡¯t tell immediately which were students, which were visiting. But she hypothesized that the ones paying attention were visitors.

    Eleanor peered into the darkness.

    And almost instantly she found one, not because the other girl was noticeable, but because the Sector University student was sleeping.

    Her long, chartreuse-pearl hair was braided on one side, visible from where she was sitting; it faintly glowed in the silhouette of stars¡ªno, there were no stars, these were all lights, glowing shrouds around each student as they slept or studied, or their receptors pinpoints of color as they talked to one another, and echoing seamlessly through it were what words the respected professor was giving, saying various things, and this student¡¯s was also flashing bright white, so she <i>wasn¡¯t</i>

    sleeping, and her right arm, nearly dangling or hanging over this side of her chair, was swinging gently back and forth. It was like¡ª

    <i>Hey. Do you think that student goes here?</i> came the question, from Dhoria, modestly skeptical; and while the answer was certainly yes, she couldn¡¯t quite see the girl¡¯s face but by the way she reclined back on her chair she was quite tall.

    Not that that indicated age, or nearness to altering. What Giya had said¡ªthat you couldn¡¯t leave until you¡¯d altered¡ªso could you stay forever?

    Eleanor wondered if there were those here, like her on parental Netbanking scholarship, who stayed for years without altering¡­ she remembered now. Whichever curve it was that described the way currency flowed down from High¡ªpart, not substantial, but part came from a certain number of Sector University students whose parents were Netbankers, and so received from primarily those who lived in High, but spent a part of their yearly towards their lackadaisical children staying here, which went back to the university, and back to the Netbankers.

    It had a name, this phenomenon. But she forgot. She hadn¡¯t answered Dhoria.

    <i>She¡¯s here,</i> she said. <i>But she might not be ¡®here.¡¯</i> None of them were¡­ this class was in a space of its own, illuminated by all of these receptors, the spiritless voice its demeanor, but Dhoria seemed disappointed by this revelation. In their Thought-feed with Adventa Rosan she¡¯d said something about going to Sector to not be a techist or something, and Dhoria¡¯s large eyes glowed, showing just how clearly disappointed she was.

    But Eleanor didn¡¯t want to speculate, while the girl with chartreuse braids, pearl styled differently on the other side, was so consumed by her own world, it was entirely possible that she was also listening, inscribing the knowledge onto her Thoughtnote, doing work for other courses, planning an event for a club¡ªthere were clubs¡ªor discussing with fervor the latest Sector raider game, there¡¯d been something recently about tryouts for the professional teams, some top team had closed theirs, going with a much smaller roster¡ªshe¡¯d gone into the <i>Raider</i>

    events Thought-feed, Beacons had only taken three players this year. Melea Vora?son, Lacon Brite, Vie iHiela. iHiela. Wait. Eleanor focused on the name and the avatar arose. Scanning quickly the bio she saw, <i>the only member of the iHiela Netbankers not pursuing the realts, her younger sibling Proen recently admitted to Sector.</i> Wow. She was the older sister of Proen iHiela.

    Eleanor left the Thought-pool. She looked at Dhoria, upon whom a fulsome light encased, her right hand around a string.

    Her receptor wasn¡¯t shining its own star. ¡°Vel¡¯atta¡¯s Resistance isn¡¯t actually being used here,¡± Dhoria said. ¡°This is an Aur suspension.¡±

    Eleanor thought back to all of those techist courses she¡¯d taken. Vel¡¯atta rang a chord in her mind, but it was faint. Aur suspension was unknown to her in the dark. But, it seemed the silent cacophony of receptor lights was coloring down into the surrounding black, and Eleanor thought she saw the sleeping girl¡¯s arm cease its pendulum-like motion.

    And the voice of knowledge focused in on Dhoria, highlighting everything from her chair¡ªwhich Eleanor realized wasn¡¯t a chair, but was one of those malleable cubes that all techists in school used¡ªto the thin but hard white lines that crossed, so tightly they all but blended together, across the top of her hair, as if from first year on an Alterface she thought of <i>separation</i> or <i>separate hair</i>. Her eyes calm but hard. As if she were stone¡ªtopaz¡ªherself.

    And Eleanor knew the others were watching. The teacher had said something, or had said nothing and Dhoria Tsenter was pointing out an inaccuracy, a flaw, in what the voice of knowledge had said. Or, as they and others were visiting a class that had pulled them in, they had intentionally misspoken, seeing if any aspiring, postponing techists would¡ª

    ¡°Correct, we are in an <i>altered Exhibit space</i>, as Exhibits cannot use Vel¡¯atta¡¯s, so an Aur suspension, while only released 27 days ago to visible use, would be an alternative.¡±

    Then the voice resumed its line of thought. The receptor lights resumed their conversation, but some remained dim, as heads turned to espy Dhoria, whose light was gone but sat there still, as she slowly removed her right hand from the Aur suspended-string. These heads and hair included the one who had been sleeping, or feigning it, who turned her head fully to face them, and she had what was in the first instant Eleanor looked to be hair, but was actually a series of small spheres or balls dangling, and what Eleanor had believed to be her shirt was a blanket, but she was looking at Dhoria, her gaze somewhat agape, but closed by eyes that were both curious and amused.

    <i>Thought Message from Jupiter Harena.</i>

    But Eleanor hadn¡¯t given her name. She looked at Dhoria¡ªDhoria was looking back at the pearl-stringed-hair girl, a query in her square eyes. She¡¯d also received the TM. She also didn¡¯t know Jupiter Harena, which could only mean that¡ª

    <i>Accept</i>, she Thought, and then Jupiter spoke to both of them.

    <i>What are your names,</i> said Jupiter, thus answering the question. Here at Sector they could TM others¡ªor other students¡ªsimply by looking at them. So all these lights included the current students conducting their own scintillating evaluations of the aspiring Sector students, for of course even if you knew the difference between two kinds of suspensions, you could only be visiting out of pure curiosity.

    Eleanor Vyaedus Dorr, she thought.

    <i>Eleanor</i>, she Thought, and <i>Dhoria,</i>

    from Dhoria.

    <i>Thanks for making a class more fun,</i>

    Jupiter Harena said, and then the Thought-feed closed, the pearl-white receptor on Jupiter¡¯s ear shut off, becoming only pearl. And then she closed her eyes, pulling up her blanket, letting both her arms dangle. As if she¡¯d fully interrogated every visiting student here, found some who were interesting, and then went back to her world of lights.

    It was just a class. Eleanor leaned back and said to Dhoria, <i>Stay until it ends?</i>

    <i>            Sure,</i> Dhoria Thought back. <i>I should get ahead.</i>

    So she could alter herself, right? Eleanor continued to look at the lights beyond the darkness, and watched as they shifted between colors.<hr>

    Tr¡¯aedis found himself splashed upon the grass.

    <i>¡°Flit,¡±</i> came a voice from above him, the expression of disbelief, as he didn¡¯t look up to see which of the three was speaking. But he could hear more than disbelief, a statement of the highest annoyance, or even more than that¡ªthat he had invaded something sacred, something pure, or about to be¡ªsomething <i>mayre</i>¡ªand steps on the grass, as the three Nam whose creations he had disturbed, came about.

    He didn¡¯t look at them. He could still feel his soles stinging. The pool had been barely to the height of ankles, and he had jumped, but¡ªhe still felt it¡ªin that wake, throwing himself into that scintillation, he had gulped as much as he could.

    The Nam were speaking in low tones; he could hear the Arcs arriving, Areum speaking, saying very quickly, embarrassingly, words that he caught, <i>nohmayr</i> (needs improvement), <i>Bul?</i>

    (I¡¯m sorry), <i>t¡¯raenim</i>.

    He stared at the grass. At the dry shards. None of the water¡ªso much had splashed up¡ªPegasus fountain, von Hiischklen taboo¡ªrain falling in shards¡ªthe grass was dry¡ªhe gulped, and felt the water shiver down his throat.

    <i>¡°Tr¡¯aedis t¡¯raenim, mine-Nam, li, Magcreat torr,¡±</i> said the first voice, and with a burst of recognition he heard the girl who had said <i>¡°Aeros¡±</i> to Emeli creating sky-light, Gloire. He knew. Without fully understanding he knew. <i>Tr¡¯aedis, only the student (not even an Arc), had dared to disrupt our Magcreat.</i>

    Just as he had done as he¡¯d come. A <i>felot</i>, a stranger, stepping into Pur? and Triomphe and Ila ce¡¯s Magcreat, a newcomer from an outside world, a foreigner to their games, to their show of something so natural to them all.

    Areum was tapping him on his shoulder. <i>Stand, Tr¡¯aedis,</i> came the thought. <i>The audience is waiting.</i>

    A pain in his chest. Like he was hungry. He raised his right knee, ready to stand¡ªno, it was a <i>twang</i>. Bright and strange and painful. Like a small spire, reaching further into his chest.

    Tr¡¯aedis clutched it, and, still holding his hand to his heart, stood.

    And he reached up with his other hand, feeling his light-shards.

    <i>¡°The head is not more native to the heart,¡±</i> he said. And, of course, those around him failed to understand. But he could feel them. Like the pain in his chest. It felt the students around him, the first-years, a mesh of light; it felt the sixth-years, a coruscating pilgrim of something sticky and sharp in his chest.

    Gloire was now facing him. Her eyes were hard, and she stood at his height, but he felt as if he were staring at a pillar. She was pointing to her mouth, and back to the pool; to her stomach, to the shards of his hair. She looked like she had just learned something of great shock but was concealing it behind a questioning sternness; just as a Nam treating one lower than Arc.

    <i>¡°Tr?dise, noht Ligaeryen,¡±</i> she said. She knew his name. He supposed everyone knew. He looked at Areum; the Arc, his morning friend, was now quiet. The rest of the Arcs were likewise. An Arc, one wearing of red, could not dare to address a Nam, and Tr¡¯aedis had disrupted their creation.

    Wait¡ªshe had said, <i>not Ligaeryen</i>. They really did knew. All his pretense had fallen. He held his heart, his fingers tangled in his shirt; the shirt he had been wearing since arriving, which was slowly wearing down¡ªits self-maintenance nanofibers declining to work, even here.

    Tr¡¯aedis could not respond to any of them.

    <i>¡°Noht tr¡¯aenim,¡±</i> Gloire said. She gave him another hard look, and sharing some common of understanding with Hye and Irie, turned and went back to the rock she had been on. The clear surface of the pool awaited, unchanged.

    Hye and Irie soon followed, laying their bare soles on the stones. And the water awaited them, unchained.

    Tr¡¯aedis stepped forward.

    But this time, Areum and Store, both their eyes and expressions still and unpretending, stood themselves in front of him, as he heard the older Nam return to the modus of creation, the bare <i>slap</i>

    of sole, some <i>sigh</i>s of concentration.

    But Tr¡¯aedis pushed himself against them, using his hands, as he continued to feel the sting, the unknown <i>twang</i>

    inside him, as he saw in their faces an isolation of familiarity, a departure from what he had only experienced here since arriving, the distilled embargo of duty and something lighter.

    He barely noticed that, his hands and fingers emitting droplets still, spraying upon Areum¡¯s shirt, causing in it splotches of grey that spread; that Store¡¯s similar canvas-like shirt, nondescript, without really touching any part of the spectrum, that was formerly yellow, was now becoming wet.

    He thought of that feeling he had forgotten, of to face the actors of Blazon, to feel the cobalt of their rejection. A curtain closing. Glimmers the light beneath it. Frays and tassels. A feeling of the stage beneath his Eagle shoes¡­

    ¡­ And the actor brushed back the curtain, feeling the light.

    And Tr¡¯aedis found himself on the water.

    He felt it, hard beneath his feet.

    He saw the expressions, untouched, as the whirling creations he had disturbed, again, arose.

    And while he pushed and thrust his hands through the air above them, creating nothing, in looking down he saw himself in the water.

    A human with golden shards¡ª

    A silhouette of a student, standing, sifting their hands through the air¡ª

    A wisp of a bird, straining to get out, its wings shaking above.<hr>

    I enter the Exhibit, and there are Agents with me. I come with them, and we are their retinue. Agent Artok, wielding not their holocard to simply identify to all, AGENT OF THE GOVERNMENT, but as an entity not of the Second Bureau.

    We are techists. Or rather, Artok is, and we walk at their command. Their V-locker hovers invisible beside them¡ªcontaining not their Weapon, but a temporary one, one built for our requisite task, to enter as techists, with Artok a creator.

    Agent 1123, laconic and strong, puts away their Canopy.

    ¡°Next time, we portal,¡± N¡¯ziet reasons, dusting off his bare chest¡ªotherwise suited in white flynder¡ªas he enters immediately into some squats. ¡°I keep seeing numbers whenever we use¡ª¡±

    ¡°Phil, not aloud,¡± Senra cautions, for we have entered in full, and the Exhibit before us, one in the outdoors, with alter titanium birds hanging from invisible wind-strings, the students and techists and teachers carousing. ¡°Number¡¯s in the listings.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re correct,¡± N¡¯ziet says, and finishes a leg raise. Seeing the hedron there, he hands it off one-armed to a passing mediary student, who struggles to take it with both arms. I take it from the student¡¯s arms and lay it on the floor, silver surface shining. ¡°Where are the De Mais?¡± I ask the student, who responds with awe in his face.

    But not at my soma. For today, all five of us walk equipped with a joint project Artok and Joe¡¯s¡ªa ¡®hologlass,¡¯ one that changes your external appearance and voice from the top down. We are recognizable, after all.

    ¡°Ray, we¡¯re over by the fourth quadrant,¡± Senra says, and I see their receptor flashing, for of course ¡®our¡¯ place here is in the Exhibit¡¯s Thought-feed. ¡°Thank you,¡± they tell the student, who continues on his way, leaving the hedron behind.

    We keep walking. Our matched suits of white, the retinue of four to ¡®Arch¡¯ De Mai.

    Again I review. <i>This only works, because the De Mais operate as we do,</i> says Senra yesterday, in the Agency library¡­ <i>They have known members, but new members consistently appear, and we suspect that many are techists in high school, but it keeps Exhibit attendance up.</i> And so we are. Arch arrives at the fourth quadrant. An Exhibitist, stuttering and laughing, sweeping and bowing her way for us, leading us into a semicircle demarcated by white alter limestone paint. Arch¡¯s four¡ªfollowers, or unfamiliar family members, not yet tested, proceed to setting up encampment, or rather, the stand of Arch De Mai, for what Senra, or rather ¡®Zen¡¯ has named and registered as <i>A Lot</i>.

    Our lot complete, N¡¯ziet returns to his exercises, the techist themselves retrieving <i>A Lot</i>

    (or rather the piece of it) out of their V-locker. A wide, silver cone, about their waist¡¯s height, placing it at the very center of our semicircle. 1123 is positioned along the circumference, observing the passing students, some offering chance glances of curiosity; Senra is walking around the cone, giving it due examination. From where I stand, on the bottom edge of the semicircle, just beyond, an observer¡ªthe <i>Lot</i> appears. In coruscating images¡ªto me a beached white whale with harpoon¡¯s end protruding, the horn of an otherwise empty forehead, a semicircle parking space in Lowers for one of a tycoon¡¯s many cars. Senra, standing amidst the semicircle, their matte-silver hair reflecting in the cone, or perhaps a triangle with its own semicircle, is the space wanderer, taking claim to this extraterrestrial lot, and, somehow, they are going to squeeze themselves into the cone.

    ¡°Flat, bare, idiotic, but brilliant,¡± N¡¯ziet says of it. ¡°Arch, you¡¯ve really out-<i>altered</i>

    yourself here.¡±

    Arch grunts. ¡°Didn¡¯t make the angles exact,¡± they say. And I wonder if Artok is truly here to contest. According to Senra and the Director, this Exhibit, occurring shortly after the Sector¡¯s Midyear, is primarily for techist students; less those competing, like the known and named De Mais, the Chibios, or the Rins. An opportunity for those enchanced, to enhance their learning of such science and art, or perhaps, to enchant what passing crowd they can.

    Was Artok a techist before joining our ranks? I make a Thoughtnote to <i>Ask Lind about Artok¡¯s beginnings.</i> I wait for others to come by. Standing now besides Senra, just beside a holoscreen reading ARCH DE MAI¡ªA LOT, I wonder and wait.

    <i>There will be interference.</i> And we are not to come as Agents, but as techists. I watch and wait, but the Director has a plan, and Senra knows the field. I watch as N¡¯ziet starts making nonconspicuous gestures towards the silver cone, beseeching the crowd to come by.

    A pair of high school students arrive. They ask questions, to which Arch answers. The students smile and nod; this piece has surprised them, but surely, it has an innermost complexity. Senra knows this; Agent Avalon says something to ¡®creating the alter above the lack of alter,¡¯ gesturing to where the students are standing; N¡¯ziet picking it up, and performing a swift walk-to around the students, his path the other semicircle¡¯s boundary¡ªforming a complete circle. ¡°Here, this cone, is alter¡ªand you two, not marked, are not,¡± Avalon says. One student understands, biting their lip; the other does not, and so, nods and smiles.

    ¡°Brilliant, Zen,¡± N¡¯ziet says after they leave. ¡°Next time, we¡¯ll go to Midyear.¡±

    Zen stares after the departing high schoolers; they seem dissatisfied. Perhaps they had wanted more questions. Even though this is all fa?ade. I look around us; of course, merely looking will not grant me the sight of Scions, as outwardly they still appear the same. Only interference.

    A kind, of Avalon, followed by their other Agents, leaving behind one hapless Art, as we give chase after the mongrels.

    ¡°Oh, Ray. I see them.¡± N¡¯ziet stretches and points, up there¡ªup there I see a box, what appears as a cyber wooden raised platform, where seated some Exhibitists or teachers, giving us all their regard.

    I squint. They seem to judge, but I see no Scions.

    ¡°I¡¯m joking. Ray, you are Third Agent, but in all seriousness, to be pliant and pliable, is, sometimes, to be playable,¡± N¡¯ziet says. ¡°Vander¡¯s said there¡¯ll be interference. If they react, then we move.¡± He returns to doing his exercises, this time some knee bends.

    ¡°Some wisdom, N,¡± I tell him. I look at our techist¡ªthey are stock as still, a still, silver silhouette in front of the spire.

    <i>Crash.</i> The sound is vibrant. We all hear it.

    ¡°Something is happening,¡± Senra says. <i>That¡¯s the interference,</i> they say over our shared Thought-feed. <i>Art, remain here. We go.</i> They pull back their sleeves, revealing arms defined by a central silver line each. Like the paint. They go in the direction of the sound. N¡¯ziet, 1123, and I follow.

    I glance back at our poor techist. Arch De Mai is alone.

    After about twelve seconds¡ªour four flynder suits standing out¡ªthe crowd of students, onlookers, teachers, and Agents guised as techists¡ªwe see them. We see the two high schoolers from before, one with hair of a gleaming green, the dazon who had understood; one with hair of a bark-like brown, the boy who had not. They are dressed in white shirts and faintly brown pants. They are standing, surveying their handiwork.

    A broken machine. Cogs and bits scattered about.

    It lies in the center, below an array of alter steel fixtures, suspended beneath a wider canopy (but not like 1123¡¯s), lying still on the grass. Bits and pieces of light strike the refracting shards, the original work no longer identifiable.

    The dazon and the boy are standing off to the side. The dazon is putting away a jade-and-white flash: a bow. The boy has his hand on the dazon¡¯s shoulder, whispering some strong words, into their ear. They are the interference. They are the Scions.

    N¡¯ziet is tearing off his hologlass¡ªbut Senra stops him with a hand. <i>We¡¯re doing this as the De Mai family</i>, they say, and their earlier statement rings about¡ª<i>many are high school students.</i> I understand Avalon.

    ¡°We are the De Mais,¡± ¡®Phil¡¯ De Mai proclaims, pushing himself through the students, and they separate, letting us part, 1123 or ¡®Numbers¡¯ De Mai walking steadfastly, ¡®Zen¡¯ De Mai, their silver-matte glinting in the fallen shards¡¯ reflections cast about, calling for the Scions¡¯ names. <i>¡°Don De Mai,¡±</i> they call, and the green-haired vagrant looks their way, as poor Art stands alone and unseen, and I as ¡®Ray¡¯ De Mai bring up the rear.

    We soon surround them. Exhibitists soon appear¡ªrather dilatorily¡ªbut Zen De Mai waves them off, giving explanation to how to these youngest members of the family, that were just jealous of the piece, they would by default be disqualified from this Exhibit, the De Mais formally apologize for these children to the wounded techist, and I see for myself that the creator, a high school student in a uniform with a silver V-book lapel, is besides themselves, unhurt and untouched by the fallen pieces, but their art is broken, their chest heaving as they look upon.

    It was a far superior piece to <i>A Lot</i>. I give the two Scions a hardier examination.

    The dazon has a look upon their previously triumphant face betwixt confusion and elation, caught between whether they were finally being welcomed into the esteemed De Mai house, or were, indeed, now being apprehended by the pieces of the Government. The boy has a face, he is looking at Avalon, and he understands.

    ¡°I have to go home,¡± the boy says. He looks at us all, even though he does not know us. Even though he is soon to be welcomed into the garden. ¡°Don and I have a lot of altering to do.¡±

    He seems confident, laying down his fears to rest. But it is there. I see it.

    Pride sits beneath his eyes, reflecting the light. He watches us closely.

    As, the techists around us fading away, the Agents lead him out of that place.

 50 - Trivia

    <i>There is only one path out through the forest.</i>

    So the knight heard. But he chose not to heed the words of Erudius, and by tightening his steel-tipped feet in his stirrups he coaxed Macotta out of the cold waters, and onto the bank. It was drier there. Tristan patted Macotta, while not getting his bracers caught in his mane. Macotta bristled, but permitted him to pass his silvered hands through the black tassels.

    After staring at the trees surrounding them, the knight thought he would cut them down. He required a thing in his hands, to take from thought, and give it form. He removed his hands from Macotta¡¯s mane and put them by his side.

    Nothing but worn plate.

    And then Macotta snorted, pushing forward, and a hand, connected to an arm, sleeved in green tassels, reached out from the bush, and patted his head. Macotta snorted in contentment. The hand retracted.

    The hand extended, holding a green apple. Tristan did not recognize its skin. Macotta gulped down the apple, happily; two bites, his white teeth bursting, and the hand retracted.

    The hand extended; it was holding a length of twine, or the sliver of oak, and Tristan took it. The hand retracted.

    The hand extended, holding a long limb of wood. It was supple, easily held; Tristan took it.

    Tristan had the length of wood, whose mother he too did not know, on the saddle in front of him just beneath Macotta¡¯s mane. He held the length of string; neither was a sword, or a dagger, or even a halberd. Before he could piece the two together, tie the string around the wood, the hand extended, followed by another, and the two took the twine and stick, and with deft, calculated movements, tied one small part of the twine to each end, bending and curving the wood, and the string held, connecting the two into one implement, one which the hands handed him, and the knight, watching the hands gesticulate in that way, pulled back the string, with his right hand, taking care not to break it; and with his left hand holding the curve, watched the two together form a decent shape, not untoward, not unwieldy, but somewhat graceful.

    Tristan thanked the hands. But he knew that the thing as it was, while good in his hands, would not suffice to cut down through the forest. There were other ways. He could go back through the brook. Macotta would cuff him later with his newly shod hooves. But after reconvening with the other knights, he could rest and found new paths. Percival would tell him that there was only one path; one beyond the forest, one that led to the thing he truly wanted. Bedivere would caution them both against straying too far into unknown woods, for the trees were silent at night.

    Sun. Tristan let go of the wood and string, and raised his right harm against the light.

    Hands extended.

    <i>Clang.</i>

    He lowered his arm. A silver piece was resting on his right bracer. It was triangular and, without touching it with his left hand, which was bare, Tristan could tell it was sharp. Just sharp enough to pierce through the air, at least the leaves, if somehow he could get it attached to a longer shaft.

    Hands extended.

    Their green tassels brushing the leather, fingers smooth and coarse. Hands that led to arms in large, verdant vambraces. Above them was shadow, still concealed in the upper reaches of the tree, descending down, as if the tree itself were the man or woman. These hands placed a long basket, but one that the knight could hold between his arms, and inside this mouth of leather and sheepskin, with a strap he could fit around his shoulder, which he did, were long wooden branches, but honed and polished and cylindrical. He once again looked into the shadows. And the hands extended, making movements within, retracting vine and bramble, and Tristan saw that the sticks inside the basket now had like silver pieces, and he kept watching.

    The knight saw as the piece before him connected via a steady length of twine, from hair of goat, to one of the cylindrical pieces, in his left hand, and by continuing to observe the shadows he held one end of it with his right hand, coaxing it to the string, pulling it back, matching his thumb as it scraped against the wooden center of the bend, feeling the string tighten as he pulled it back, and instinctively, for there was no way through the trees with such a small piece, the knight brought his arms up, and in a rough spasm, let go.

    The piece soared. It fell somewhere across the topmost branches.

    Without a sound, the hands were there. They handed him the next.

    Tristan repeated the same movements, and let go. But this time the knight had leaned back, using his legs to hold fast to the horse, as he aimed <i>above</i>.

    And the arrow, for arrow it was, shot far and fast and high, flying over and up until he couldn¡¯t see where it had went.

    Macotta snorted. He was becoming impatient; his hooves were dry, and all the apples Tristan gave him weren¡¯t for standing, they were for trotting, or for galloping as fast as he could carry all that armor. At least he didn¡¯t have to clean it.

    Tristan thought of where the arrow might be. He looked back into the forest.

    A green knight stared back at him.

    <hr>

    Tristan stared at Y¡¯sazant. He couldn¡¯t believe it.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a techist,¡± his friend was saying. ¡°I¡¯m not Don De Mai. That was all pretend.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what we¡¯re asking, student.¡± Zen De Mai. ¡°We are asking if you, simply, are a <i>Scion</i>, or <i>Descendant</i>. They are the same thing.¡±

    Syz shook their head, their bright, vivid jade bangs falling.

    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± they said. They looked at Tristan, and back to Zen De Mai. ¡°I¡¯m not. I don¡¯t know what that is.¡±

    Tristan didn¡¯t know, either. But neither of them were members of the De Mai family. And so they wouldn¡¯t be descendants of the first De Mai techists. But that wouldn¡¯t justify why they were sitting in a library, one that wasn¡¯t vast or ornate, and not in the GAT facilities, at least the one for student techists, which he¡¯d entered to receive his Alter Crest badge.

    He fingered his white shirt. He¡¯d worn it today so that he <i>wouldn¡¯t</i> be recognized as a techist, just an observer, and, of course, that was Y¡¯sazant¡¯s idea. Not his. His ideas came into the V-bow. Y¡¯sazant was still holding it, one hand around it, as it sat on their lap beneath this small white table they were all sitting around.

    But Syz appeared nervous, even though, as he was sure Syz knew what GAT facilities looked like. Anyone who cared about techistry would. <i>If</i> they were in GAT right now his father would come. And take them away.

    And, of course, they hadn¡¯t come in through the outside. After leaving the Exhibit they¡¯d all portaled, in groups of two, directly here, and Tristan couldn¡¯t locate the portal from where he sat. It was just a library, with both real and V-books, and while the other readers here were all dressed in uniform, he didn¡¯t recognize them from Pops¡¯ techist registry.

    ¡°The one you¡¯ll be in,¡± his father said. GAT¡¯s Tiers.

    <i>Thought-message to Syz. Syz, we¡¯re just in a library. Maybe the university where the De Mais go. Maybe even Sector.</i>

    <i>            No Tristan. I recognize some of them. They¡¯re¡ª</i>

    <i>            Yeah, they¡¯re the De Mais. The real ones.</i>

    <i>            No Tristan! They¡¯re all¡ª</i>

    ¡°I¡¯m not Phil, and that¡¯s truth,¡± Phil De Mai said, before his entire self changed, and he was now a bald man, bare-chested, a red bird of fire on his chest, wearing deep white cloth-pants. Y¡¯sazant gasped, their mouth actually open wide.

    Y¡¯sazant had very white teeth. ¡°You¡¯re the Philosopher!¡±

    The Philosopher smiled, showing white teeth of his own.

    ¡°Only in name. Senra, you were true. They know us.¡±

    ¡°Senra,¡± but then Tristan remembered, Senra Beaudicious, or Agent Avalon, who too was now changing, into the Agent, in high school like them, with the full flynder, iststarkes beneath the table, and the silver globe on their lapel. Hair of a crystal silver. Their sleeves were rolled back, a long silver line marking each arm. What had been there before, he realized.

    Tristan stared. They were <i>all</i> Agents. As he watched, the rest of them changed; Numbers De Mai becoming an Agent with glasses, mouth closed; Ray De Mai¡¯s round, thick layers of white slimming down and up into the tallest Agent at their table, one who looked at him, curiosity raining down out of his middling brown eyes, sharp and strong red hair, and whose suited back rested against the deep sofa behind him.

    Exclamations of ¡®Raegoth!¡¯ and ¡®Fourth Agent Senra!¡¯ suddenly percolated the room, as Agents in the aisles around them left their books to come greet. Tristan looked down, and even though he hadn¡¯t caught a full glimpse of them all, the room felt now like it was shining, like he and Y¡¯sazant had been thrown over a wall and into the throngs of the crusaders, come from battle, quenched, the light sprinkling their blood stains and their golden armor no longer heavy but strengthening, all abright with the sanctitude of being alive.

    ¡®Raegoth,¡¯ the one who must be the one with red hair, was smiling.

    ¡°Not all of us yet,¡± he said. ¡°Artok¡¯s yet to come.¡±

    And as if that were some hidden signal, the Agent with glasses stood and left.

    ¡°We¡¯re much better in the listings, right?¡± the Philosopher asked. ¡°This many Agents, surrounding these inquisitive students from the Sector¡¯s truest techist school. Or at least by name. You are not descendants. What, Senra¡ªwhy are they here then? In Agency Headquarters?¡±

    Of course. They had come because he¡¯d broken another techist¡¯s piece, he didn¡¯t know who, or he¡¯d forgot, there was a name holocard, he thought, no, there wasn¡¯t¡ªY¡¯sazant had been there, right next to him¡ªstill no TMs from Father¡ª

    Wait¡ªhow did Y¡¯sazant know they were Agents¡ª

    He looked at Syz, but at that moment the wall just behind that shelf containing volumes of <i>V-movie in the 23<sup>rd</sup> Century: ¡®V-plays¡¯</i>, there were thirty-six of them, morphed, and another Agent strode through, brandishing a terribly long Weapon, it was protruding up and over their head, but not brushing the ceiling, as Tristan saw there were at least two floors above where they sat.

    ¡°I¡¯m not doing that again,¡± they said, and both the Philosopher and Senra laughed. The new Agent squeezed themselves in between the two, just on Y¡¯sazant¡¯s left; the unwieldy stick, Tristan didn¡¯t dare follow its full design, it was an Agent¡¯s, and he hadn¡¯t done anything <i>that</i> serious.

    The Weapon had a silver sphere hung at its handle, if that was the handle. It was like Senra¡¯s globe, but big enough that from here he could see that it had something swirling inside, a steam of colors. The Weapon had quick, precise orthogonal braces that he could see through the sofa where its holder and the Philosopher sat. The Weapon had at its top, or the top third, long and intricate silver curlicues, and Tristan immediately saw that as uncohesive the whole design looked, there was an integral there, a parabola there, and maybe even Vel¡¯atta¡¯s Resistance, but in miniature, and Tristan realized that the thing he had made, the white and jade thing, it was still beneath the table, Syz don¡¯t take it out, put it back in the V-locker, this <i>thing</i> he had dared to construct, was nothing.

    ¡°Tristan.¡±

    Syz was staring at him, their face pushed forward, blocking his view. ¡°Do you know what a scion or descendant is?¡±

    I just want to touch it, he thought. But Tristan turned away, and looked at Raegoth and the others seated. By this time the others in the library had gone back to their reading. Or they were studying him, and learning of his disqualification from the last Exhibit, how even <i>Starboy</i> with his primitive, <i>primordial </i>colors had¡ª

    ¡°I¡¯m the son of Meliodas Mott,¡± he said. ¡°Tristan Mott. I am a techist.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Senra only said, their expression not one of acceptance, but of a different tone, as if they¡¯d wanted him to say something else. ¡°We are starting, for the first time, an internship program here at the Agency. While we will be scanning schools¡ª¡±

    ¡ªHere the other Agents turned, surprise deepening their faces¡ª

    ¡°¡ªSenra?¡± Raegoth asked¡ª¡°I am leading it, along with others you¡¯ll soon meet, others yet to attend university, and I¡¯ll continue it when I enter Sector,¡± and here Tristan started to pay closer attention, as Sector University was the premiere locale for not just techists who wished to do more than just be techists, but for students everywhere in the Sector. Father hadn¡¯t even mentioned it once. But he¡¯d known for years that he¡¯d never go. <i>Techists first, students second, </i>he¡¯d say.

    The armed Agent nodded in congratulations; but here, they were Agents, and so an Agent going to Sector, and leading a program for the first time, and coming to Exhibits, and finding him, was nothing.

    And as such, the others¡¯ nods¡ªRaegoth¡¯s in affirmation, the Philosopher¡¯s nearly indifferent¡ªshowed to him that here was a higher place, and he suddenly remembered the V-movie, <i>Portal 13</i>, where the son had wanted to be an Agent, and the father had said he had a chance. He¡¯d seen it with Syz. Syz was also staring at the Agents, with the kind of profound fascination that they¡¯d reserve for techists not Tristan when they thought he wasn¡¯t looking, or when Cel Rin had first come into the school, drawing up his retinue and parochial followers like kingdom come, the dichromatic saint.

    ¡°For both of us?¡± Y¡¯sazant asked.

    Senra nodded. ¡°Being a descendant of this or that techist, real or not, does not hinder you. Per our rigorous prior research, both of you, Y¡¯sazant Syzer, and you, Tristan Mott, are welcome to the program.

    ¡°It is a golden opportunity.¡±

    Tristan could see both the Philosopher and the one with the beautiful piece besides them, skeptical. He was just a high school student. He hadn¡¯t taken any Agency classes. Joined or even seen the model student Agents. Knew who they were on the listings, and he thought, right now I can go through their avatars, and find the ones sitting here¡­ Tristan glanced up, and saw that some of the Agents on the upper balconies were staring down; they returned to their reading and light discussion as if it were natural.

    But he wasn¡¯t, this was the <i>Agency</i>, and, he knew, that many Restor students would ignore their receptors, flashing, dismount from their cubes and projects, turn their eyes from the falling raiders if only they could stand¡ªor sit¡ªif only they could be here, talking to Agents, the pride of the Sector, the path most pristine, an elegiac life, one that Tristan saw ahead of him, suddenly, thrown across his sight precluding him from seeing their faces, but he saw groups of people, their faces hidden, but they weren¡¯t shadows and they were bright¡­ he knew that the Agents lived here, on this grand campus that had everything, not just a library but, as he barely heard voices from his left saying something, he Thought <i>Agency</i>, and then <i>Avatars</i>, and then as the listings in holoscroll surged, he shook his head, <i>Campus,</i> and saw a list of some twenty or so places, seeing <i>Library</i> around the center, but he also saw <i>Training Center</i> below it, <i>Animal Reliquary</i> above and <i>Forgery</i> and <i>Gallery</i>. And others. Any of them he could select, and before he could think for <i>internship</i>

    he felt a tap on his shoulder.

    Syz. ¡°Tristan, it¡¯s your turn.¡±

    My turn.

    ¡°My turn for¡ªSyz, what, yes, we¡¯re doing it.¡±

    He breathed. That was all there was. In that moment, in that singular boson, devoid of color, he could think, and stay, and hold onto that thought. Only that thought.

    ¡°Tristan, I just said I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t decide right now. I¡¯m not certain I want to be an Agent. I don¡¯t even know what I want to do. Tristan, we¡¯re only in our first year. I mean¡ª<i>Agents.</i> You have to go through their Examinations, once a year. This year¡¯s already happened. Some of the new Agents, Tristan make us, make Cel Rin, I mean, go to avatars and find Rexy.¡±

    Without saying a word he Thought back for <i>Avatars</i> and for <i>Rexy</i>, and a dazon with black eyes, carrying¡ªcarrying¡ªa unity of pieces he couldn¡¯t comprehend¡ª

    ¡ªhe whispered to himself, hoping they all wouldn¡¯t hear, <i>¡°Alter.¡±</i>

    ¡°Alter, Tristan, and I kind of like going to Restor, so I think I might just go there. I mean back there. My friend, you¡¯re the best techist I know! Techists don¡¯t become Agents. Agents serve and enforce and monitor. I¡ªI mean, <i>Agents,</i> Tristan, what about your dad? He¡¯s on an upper Tier in GAT, isn¡¯t he? What if¡ª¡±

    What if. That wasn¡¯t enough.

    ¡°I have to do it,¡± he said, and he wasn¡¯t sure if he was saying it for himself, for the Agents silent, or for his only friend in all the world he knew. All thoughts of Meliodas of the black knight of the dark waters were deep beneath the mist. All he could think were of¡ªthat handle with its mathematical crenulations¡ªof how Agent Avalon had thought he was worthy¡ªof how empty and perfect this white, round table was.

    <hr>

    Jaceus threw his arms through his clux. It still reminded him too much of the wing-cloaks, but that wasn¡¯t something he told them, especially not Cerise, who after his failure only spoke of Skylark, how they had to find her, especially now, as Movement Blue¡¯s concertmaster likely had held concert, but Jaceus didn¡¯t feel the same measure of enthusiasm.

    As he did before, he imagined, for its own sake, what it might be to have not gone here, and stay with the Furies, and lead them, as Lucas had suggested, and maybe he¡¯d have become closer to the truth of things, of the ways of these worlds, than he was now.

    ¡°Jaceus, do you have your papers?¡±

    ¡°Sheets,¡± he said. ¡°Here, Sterne.¡± He reached down to the low cloud-stool and, beneath Kadens¡¯ copy of <i>Nine Notes of Cloud</i>, pulled out his newest sheets. They were slightly damp, but, and this continually surprised him, that was preferred among the Majors.

    He handed them to Sterne, who thanked him and proceeded to write some notes.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready, Sterne. Have you seen the others?¡±

    Mr. T nodded and, after drawing a few more circles, wrapped up the sheets and inserted them into one of the pockets of his tuba. Jaceus was sure that some of the pockets had empty sheets¡ªbut he nodded as Sterne sang praises to Agate, who still wasn¡¯t in <i>sync</i> with her bind, even though she had perfect pitch, and it was probably due to her being a Scion¡ªhere Jaceus, who had begun to walk towards rehearsal, stopped.

    ¡°Because she¡¯s a Scion?¡±

    ¡°I mean Descended, Jaceus.¡±

    ¡°No, do you think that it¡¯s because of her being descended?¡±

    Mr. T shook his head as he walked besides him. Jaceus prepared himself to answer if the former teacher would ask to wear his clux for a bit. He wouldn¡¯t, because only he, Jaceus, was newly announced C Major, from the performance they had done with Kadens and Amaranth. A G and an F Major, that was enough.

    ¡°Well, and they still haven¡¯t explained clen biology¡ªno one has since Ultramarine¡ªbut I suspect, from my studies of Sector I extinct fauna, that if Sector II¡¯s originally came from, the coral polyps in the oceans, right below us, in the wake of AIV as Atlantis¡ª¡±

    He paused; Jaceus wondered at moments like these, if Sterne still thought about teaching. He knew about coral; there were some Element¡¯r families in the N?tr, living beyond the Range, who dwelled among such formations underwater. But Sterne only knew of coral as it used to be, untouched by magic and the singing dances of the dragons.

    ¡°I¡¯ll save my lesson for later, Jaceus. But I suspect that our binds bond to us, and it¡¯s likely not like the bonds between different animals of the past, something attuned to the water here, and the water inside us¡ª¡±

    Jaceus thought¡ªto himself¡ªthat he was glad he had brought Mr. T.

    ¡°¡ªBut Agate¡¯s a Scion, and as her trait prevents her brain from being fatigued, that affects the water inside her brain. That water, of course, affects her ability to sing, recognize the notes, and ultimately, sync with a bind. She passed the test, but she¡¯s still having difficulty.¡±

    By now they¡¯d reached the snow-pit, and the rest of the Majors, Minors, and page turners had amassed, and Jaceus immediately recognized Kadens among them, his blue-white hair bulbous and tangled. He was conducting already with his bind, soaring around the Minors milling around him, touching their shoulders and the G Major examining their sheets.

    Jaceus turned to Sterne.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know about the human brain. But that¡¯s a really sound theory, Sterne. Your trait involves the stars, who are beyond you, and Cerise¡¯s her hands, and Luke is purified. If he still had his trait¡ª¡±

    ¡°OK, Jaceus. Thank you.¡± Mr. T turned and approached the edge of the pit, readying himself for the slide down. He adjusted his wild black hair before settling himself firmly into his tuba and then letting himself descend.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Jaceus watched Mr. T¡¯s tuba go down, swinging to the sides as it passed some others, likely page turners desiring the hard climb, as they moved up. Some of them saw Jaceus and attempted to wave, causing them to release a handhold, and slip back down again.

    He would take a different route. It was three days now in Skylark¡¯s absence and the word <i>tuba</i>

    kept making him think of Pur?, and that made him wonder if Pur? was thinking of him, how he was spending his days as <i>taehel ri</i> without him. What Ila ce might be saying to him. What Herceus was telling him to make him laugh, and how Triomphe might be telling them of the alternative paths besides the route of color. And that made him think of Apolluceus and Etr ce, and as he looked down at the Minors around Kadens, sound beginning to percolate, he thought again to what Qumulo had told him, of how someone had been taken to his world, because he was taken here.

    Jaceus was having the easier route, even if he was now in his second world¡­ for he had magic, and could not speculate as to how one, Descended or not, could live in the N?tr Kingdom.

    And there, his eyes gold and glowing, was Pur?.

    Jaceus coughed.

    <i>¡°Jaceus!¡±</i>

    came a distant voice, and he looked down the hill, and could barely make out Sterne at the bottom, his black hair contrasting sharply with his yellow tuba, waving and jumping. Jaceus nodded and, taking a few steps forward, tossed himself off the edge.

    ¡°?,¡± he said, and thinking as hard as he could of his gold, raised his bind above him and let it carry him down.

    A few seconds later, he arrived. And as Sterne clapped his hands, and the Minors moved around him, Kadens was there, his clux reading MOVEMENT BLUE in bold blue, his eyes flaring. Jaceus knew without thinking that, with his <i>magpotis</i>, he could take him in a beat.

    But here he only had his bind, and his memories. So he smiled and lit up into dayform, only slightly, such that only Kadens and other Majors above C here would notice ¨C

    ¨C And that, more than anything about this place, made him miss those who could look at him unaffected.

    Kadens nodded and, his bind with its great wide wings, dropping by each of them and lightly grazing their heads, made Jaceus again think of Sacre del¡¯ Ement. But he was in Sector II on Earth, and she was in one of the eight kingdoms. She was cavorting with the fellow members of Mine Tiara Dirn, and Triomphe was telling her stories to the Nam and Crea, and Ila ce was being her Sunbird.

    ¡°Jaceus, your sheets.¡± Kadens¡¯ hand was extended.

    Again, his voice. It sounded like it had a wind inside, like he was speaking around a funnel, not quite like the lilts of High English, or the fluidity of Nox, but Jaceus knew if he responded, Kadens would keep speaking, because Kadens liked to speak. He was a G Major, which for Jaceus in this regard meant somewhere around Triomphe¡¯s regard among the people beyond the Taenim Laev.

    Jaceus reached inside a fold of his clux and pulled them out. They were dry. He caught a glance of the notes drawn therein as he handed them to Kadens, the circles his weak attempt at their music, as they were vastly, extraordinarily different from the Madrigal back home. But he believed now that they hadn¡¯t changed from the music on Earth, just less structured, less concerned with how the circles and dots flowed together, more arranged for ¨C and this was purely theory ¨C their facility with the binds. For every higher Major had better sync with their bind, which meant more musical variability. And Kadens was smiling at him, a G Major looking down at a C Major, he was like Tammarin Le, but he wished for his <i>magpotis</i> although ¨C he¡¯d never used it to produce sound, only shapes.

    ¡°That¡¯s beat, Jaceus. Blue beat.¡±

    Jaceus nodded and watched as the G Major took his sheets from the other Minors arrayed there. He saw Sterne was asking a question to a much younger page turner, and he realized ¨C as he did each time ¨C that all of them were holding binds, or had binds fluttering about them, sheets plucked around the air, by hands, tubas emerging, and Jaceus wondered, was this the usual route for everyone in this Sector, as going to the Taenim was expected, or did the people on the third residual <i>choose</i> to come here, leaving their lives, and as for age ¨C while the Taenim did not accord one¡¯s tassel by age, but by proximity to one¡¯s shape ¨C Kadens looked older, but Jaceus surmised that, like Sector I, age and appearance had very little in correspondence.

    ¡°CONCERT BLUE!¡± Kadens roared, and Jaceus followed the rest as they huddled, grouping together like swans, onto the stage that was just nearing readiness by the Harmonizers, marked by their wearing of <i>hornets</i> instead of tubas, their wide golden brims nearly sweeping the floor as they brushed away the residue of snowflakes from the previous performance. Jaceus made sure not to step on any of their <i>claves</i>, which emitted low tones as they cleaned, subsuming the flakes and depositing them onto the hornets. Then he found his mark, where he was supposed to be, as a C Major, in between ¨C what was her name? Harmonie, Kadens¡¯ C Major ¨C and C Major Vielle, who gave him a curt nod as they hummed a series of notes for their bind, which hummed them back.

    Jaceus looked ahead. Today there were five C Majors ¨C two others he hadn¡¯t met in his row ¨C and beyond them, just one or two Majors in each line going forward until the center, where stood Kadens. No A or B Majors ¨C as Kadens was the highest Major here. Kadens was brushing back his hair with his bind, or rather his bind was brushing his hair, Kadens using both of his hands to flip through the tall stack of sheets on the pedestal of ice in front of him.

    <i>There are many ways to use a bind</i>, Jaceus thought. So different from one¡¯s <i>magpotis</i>, traditionally seen as more symbolic than functional, other than for shape-matching and demonstrations. He supposed in that respect the Movement Blue and N?tr were less distinct than he had thought.

    An image brushed his mind ¨C a blue bind, shooting out of the distance, and Sterne falling¡­ Jaceus hadn¡¯t seen anything like that since. They didn¡¯t fight here. They just performed.

    Just like home.

    Harmonie was tapping his shoulder.

    ¡°Jaceus, you¡¯re on cue,¡± she said.

    He nodded and held up his bind, whose wings rose; and, imagining the note <i>C</i> in his head, or rather right in front of him, a sizable crescent, he opened his mouth and hummed <i>C</i>, and his bind followed.

    Soon Harmonie and Vielle followed, raising their binds, and Jaceus closed his mouth. He was still doing it ¨C his bind did all the singing, but ever since Agate ¨C no, he was just singing, and he had to do this until he was G Major, that was they all said for those who were permitted to go up ¨C or able ¨C unless accompanied by Minors.

    He lowered his bind at Kadens¡¯ drop of his arm, and watched as F Major Amaranth, her velvet hair resisting her bind¡¯s attempts to worm itself into her curls, sang the notes herself ¨C and he could tell, he could tell from the first time he heard her, that everyone knew she wasn¡¯t using her bind to sing, but because Kadens never said anything, no one said anything either.[1]</a>

    She should teach Agate, he thought. Kadens¡¯ arm ¨C he raised his bind again, and hummed. Agate was searching for other variations of cleave.

    No, the reason she wasn¡¯t here ¨C she wasn¡¯t C Major. He turned his head, past Vielle¡¯s black locks ¨C and looked at the raised snow-slope, but it was empty today ¨C oh, he forgot again. There were Minors on the stage, identifiable by their not wearing of the clux, and page-turners forming the back row in their mock cluxes that, the more he glanced at them, the more they looked like the Sector I garb they had had.

    He imagined that their calm expressions held anxiety and envy.

    He returned his gaze to the front. Kadens was throwing his arms up and down, around and behind him ¨C concocting brief poses that Pur? couldn¡¯t even do, even after temporarily taking off his scales ¨C writhing and elbowing, his forearms turned around him creating triangular crevasses, and Jaceus had to find a way for his right leg to go in, and then, extricated, they became a tangle, and amongst the high laughter and echoes thudding throughout the dark cave, both their <i>Magpotises</i>

    laid against a wall, next to some pointy rocks, and the raw <i>Magcreat</i>

    liquid shifting ahead in the shadows, as they searched for each other, even though they still couldn¡¯t figure out whose arms were whose, whose legs were whose, whose triangles and trapezoids of shadow were whose.

    Until they touched, and Jaceus felt himself go soft. And all the darkness in the cave became the beats of light and fire.

    Some notes sung. The notes swam around him.

    Jaceus raised his bind. He sang of Pur?. And soon the music stopped.

    His bind squirming, Jaceus let go, and it jerked off into the air, flapping wildly, winding its way upwards and quickly out of sight.

    Silence. And then a clapping of hands. Jaceus opened his eyes, and looked.

    It was F Major Amaranth, her velvet-colored eyes piercing orbs. He had broken their measure. She gave him a stern face, but smiled slightly, as if she¡¯d known exactly what he¡¯d been remembering.

    But she couldn¡¯t. She couldn¡¯t. None of them could. He lowered his hand and he felt embarrassed.

    ¡°C Major. Did you take your cleave this morning?¡±

    Kadens was frowning. His blue brows furled.

    Jaceus shook his head. He had, but he¡¯d take another.

    Kadens nodded, and his bind flew over to where a page-turner, already holding out a fresh cleave, was standing, it retrieved it and flew over to Jaceus. He held his palm out. It fell on it, he sang his note, and the cleave drifted over and up to his open mouth, where it disintegrated within.

    Jaceus held himself down. Clarity swam behind his vision and, a few seconds after, his bind descended, back onto his waiting palm.

    <i>Why don¡¯t you fly, Pur??</i>

    <i>Pur? only smiled and resumed his breathing exercises. His feet spread apart and his neck tilted back. Jaceus imagined a set of wings extending from behind Pur?, but he¡¯d never seen any, so he couldn¡¯t see any now.</i>

    <i>          Just because ¨C I¡¯m Element¡¯r ¨C doesn¡¯t mean I have to. We¡¯re Lye now, Jaceus. I still choose to roar and wear my scales. But I like being on the ground, and running on it.</i>

    <i>          As he said this, the soft air whistling through his teeth, Pur?¡¯s chest and back remained still and hard. Jaceus thought to himself that Pur? could still run on the ground with his wings. But he¡¯d known him for three years now and he knew one thing ¨C that without wings, he was like Jaceus, even if he wasn¡¯t Myodor.</i>

    Jaceus sighed through his teeth and, without further signaling, Kadens resumed his conducting and the sounds resumed. Amaranth returned her head to the front and Harmonie and Vielle, who had been looking, turned back to the front.

    More sounds. Jaceus closed his eyes and tried as hard as he could to imagine the strange combination of binds¡¯ notes, being anything, marginally or tangentially close, to the Madrigal, once and forever a diluted path for those in vareau, roaring and cascading their variegated scales and skin-flecks through the runnels of the sky.

    Then the bind succeeded in Amaranth¡¯s hair to nestle itself completely within, and she stopped singing. Jaceus immediately heard the gap it caused, not one in the sheets, and Kadens raised a hand again.

    ¡°Missed a note, Amaranth.¡±

    Soft, muffled sounds from the curls around her shoulder; Jaceus saw the hair moving, and wondered¡­ ¡°Not on my sheets, G Major.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re in concert. Not <i>ad libitum</i>. Give me your sheets.¡± G Major Kadens was shaking his hand out, and Jaceus felt his heart plunge as the motion looked <i>distinctly</i>

    like the V?ng for <i>pletmayr</i> ¨C hastening, quickening, a need to do something quickly. Jaceus after making Nam watching the lower colors at <i>Magcreat</i>

    making the movement for their soaring understanding of their <i>shapes</i> and Ila ce always responding with the motion for <i>lvvo</i>. A strengthening. With emphasis. Four fingers clasped, waving up and down.

    F Major Amaranth shook her head. Her curls unraveled and her bind hovered out.

    ¡°<i>Solo crescendo.</i>¡± At this a wave of gasps issued.

    G Major Kadens shook his head, and laughed. Deep from his throat and Jaceus saw the bob in his neck vibrate.

    ¡°Let¡¯s take it back a few measures. Concert ¨C¡± He raised his arms.

    And Jaceus saw the multiple binds tucked into the pockets of Kadens¡¯ clux ¨C and as they all raised their binds, Amaranth laughed, sharp and elevated, and a number of sounds were different, discordant, but concerted: they seemed in line with each other, Harmonie besides him was standing straighter, and as he watched a number of hands rose, higher than the group of them; Kadens was shuffling through his sheets; and without further conduct a number of binds all hurtled towards him ¨C

    ¨C and they landed. Striking him from all sides, Kadens froze. Handles stuck out of him, their wings protruding like flowers. And the binds on him hummed a deep and disconnected note, somber and rising, and as Kadens¡¯ bind, great wide wings broader than any bind Jaceus had seen, rose slowly from within his clux, but its wings were frail, twitching ¨C Amaranth was there and ¨C stepping lightly on past the head of the F Major to her right ¨C her bind sticking out from the back of hers like a large pin ¨C she took ahold of it. With two quick jerks she <i>snapped</i>

    it in two, and a sharp, hissing scream in <i>G</i> seared through them as they all ducked, but Jaceus shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked and saw that a small tuft of cloud was oozing out of the broken bind, and the F Major was standing on the podium on top of Kadens¡¯ sheets, one foot raised and on the slumped form of the G Major, his other binds nowhere in sight, and she tossed the broken pieces up in the air; they seemed to hover, life seeming to still reside in their halves; and then Amaranth¡¯s bind emerged from her hair fully, broadening its wings ¨C four of them, all white ¨C and clasped the halves with them to itself, to the handle, and as the <i>G </i>scream became silent, a note just below it became redolent, as the bind unclasped its wings. And there were no longer the two halves. Amaranth¡¯s bind hovered there in the air above its owner¡¯s velvet curls ¨C and, as Amaranth began laughing again, her eyes clear ¨C it extended its wings outward, and a third pair of wings grew from its handle.

    Then it screamed the note, and Amaranth¡¯s laughter matched it in pitch.

    <hr>

    Why wasn¡¯t she struggling?

    Skylark nodded her head several times as G Minor Calm explained once more that it was concert here to have at least two Minors, especially if you were going up past the fourth residual. Whether you were a <i>largo</i> C Major or, even a <i>descant</i> B Major who had B Minors ¨C well except B Major Kororo, she didn¡¯t need Minors ¨C

    ¡°Who is Kororo?¡± Skylark asked.

    Calm shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t be <i>alto</i>, G Major. Some of us in concert say that she can sing past the Concertmaster.¡±

    She had a sudden thought of Miss Gravity ¨C giant blue shoes ¨C hair in both blue and white ¨C eyes a searing snowstorm ¨C

    ¡°And who¡¯s past the Concertmaster?¡±

    She extended one foot out; already light wisps of cloud caressed it, she was so high up. <i>But there were so many residuals left to go.</i>

    Calm sighed; sat himself down with a <i>poof</i>, letting go of his bind; it moved besides Skylark¡¯s foot, balancing itself on her shoe.

    ¡°You¡¯re not from Sector II,¡± he said. ¡°Are you from below?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m alter,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m an alter person.¡±

    ¡°And you came alone?¡±

    Falling through the clouds. Turning pink ¨C Cerise¡¯s trait ¨C Claude, moving a finger through the air, Skylark¡¯s binds obeying ¨C Jaceus.

    I have to go higher.

    ¡°I came alone,¡± she said. ¡°I came to go up.¡±

    Calm sighed again. ¡°The Concertmaster leads us,¡± he continued. ¡°But there are above her, the Octaves.¡±

    She didn¡¯t know what that meant. But in that instant she saw how much higher, how much further, she had to go. And she felt glad.

    ¡°OK, Calm, let¡¯s go.¡± She raised a hand. And her binds joined Calm¡¯s, mingling in the nearly silver ribbons of mist.

    He was thinking about it. She had seven binds ¨C and, of course, she¡¯d gone easy on him ¨C he had just been an E Major. And she¡¯d only just come here, already doing so much.

    ¡­

    But was she?

    <i>I can teach you to bodiesify.</i>

    ¡°I have to give my final sheet to my former upper chair. Then we¡¯ll go.¡± He was arranging some sheets of paper, marked by a few quick lines; she remembered, he¡¯d explained, as an E Major he¡¯d reported to some F Major, but now as her G Minor he didn¡¯t. And now <i>she</i> had to report to ¨C

    ¡°A Major Bolero?¡±

    ¡°Not Bolero. We would ¨C we would, as is concert, hold auditions like you did for your Minors. You didn¡¯t come from a <i>page</i> already ¨C a line of Majors from <i>C</i> to <i>B</i>

    ¨C so, right now, G Major, it¡¯s just you, with one G Minor, Calm Ic Icle.¡±

    Did she want more?

    She didn¡¯t think so. G Minor Calm nodded and, making a <i>click</i> with his tongue, swept back his arm for his bind to leave her shoe, take his sheets, and whisk them off, upwards ¨C creating a soft cylinder of white plume that disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared.

    Skylark did some thinking and moved her binds, two of them, into the upper pockets of her clux; two more by where her tuba touched her shoes; one each by her hands; and Alter One hovering in front of her.

    They started humming. It was <i>G</i>, high and demanding.

    ¡°<i>Portamento</i>, G Major,¡± Calm said, but then Skylark thought <i>Go up</i>, and <i>up</i> she went, all her binds carrying her forward and up and off the snow. Calm gave a shout, before coming up alongside; Skylark ignoring the <i>thud thuds</i> in her chest as, of course she¡¯d done this many times, she kept her hands in her pockets and stared up at the sky ¨C the next layer of cloud, clear and white ¨C a row of them ¨C the binds in her clux tight against its folds, like rods ¨C wait ¨C

    Calm was here, heading up ¨C she looked to her left and there he was, no bind in sight, <i>flying</i>. Wind, light and thin, heading across his face.

    She stopped ¨C still the thudding but thinking hard to <i>Hover here</i>, knowing they were, somehow, without flapping their wings ¨C and slowly turned herself so that she was facing him.

    ¡°Where¡¯s your bind, Calm?¡± she asked. He wasn¡¯t flying.

    ¡°It¡¯s not mine,¡± he said, but unfurled his clux, and within it she saw, tucked against his chest ¨C she recognized it ¨C the bind that had shattered. Into snow ¨C it was white, and there were lines etched on its wings.

    Its wings moved, as if in recognition.

    ¡°How did you get that?¡± <i>I thought it died!</i> But ¨C wait ¨C she had seven!

    <i>Which of you isn¡¯t mine?</i>

    None responded. They didn¡¯t talk to her.

    Slowly ¨C she opened her own coat. Clux. Calm was smiling.

    She didn¡¯t like it. Just as she¡¯d turned his bind ¨C he¡¯d taken hers ¨C he¡¯d given her a fake one ¨C it was working for him ¨C she searched his eyes ¨C they were ¨C calm ¨C

    ¡°I¡¯m a Mordant,¡± he said. ¡°I modify clen biology. Binds without enough water inside them cannot be put <i>da capo</i>. Yours has a high snow content.¡±

    But ¨C it had shattered into snowflakes ¨C so binds could be brought back ¨C she had to thank him, he was her G Minor ¨C that meant ¨C she had <i>eight</i> binds ¨C

    ¡°And while you were sleeping, in session ¨C I gave you one of mine.¡± He gestured to her clux ¨C and the one by her left hand swirled around, and she dipped a bit, but returned to her position ¨C it was white with white wings ¨C she was starting to forget which was which binds she¡¯d seen, they only came in white or blue ¨C while she was sleeping ¨C he¡¯d taken her to what he¡¯d said was his <i>case</i>, a human-sized portal-refrigerator, yesterday, and it was next to a bunch of cases where all the Majors on the residual slept. But she¡¯d stayed up last night ¨C her breath clouding on the glass of her case, watching outside for any others who came ¨C and none did. Until she at some point fell asleep, without having her BMPs ¨C wait.

    She wasn¡¯t the only one with more than one bind. The thought dissatisfied her.

    ¡°Sorry ¨C <i>diminuendo</i>, G Major. It¡¯s our <i>sopra</i>. Each of us in concert have our own desires to go up the key.¡±

    She had a sudden thought to go back to the flag, and shove Calm¡¯s face in it until he admitted he was only G Minor, E level ¨C but she was already in the air here.

    <i>Up</i>, she thought, and her six binds and Calm¡¯s second pushed her ¨C and Calm laughed, but he followed ¨C and as they pushed through the clouds, water cold as ice slicking up all around her, she saw a block of shoes, no, large blue boots, like rainboots ¨C six pairs ¨C kicking left and right ¨C in unison ¨C and she shot up past the layer, and there were, some two meters away, six Majors in stunning blue cluxes, of midnight blue, each with a giant silver letter curled over their shoulders ¨C they were all moving, in sync, moving this way and that ¨C left ¨C right ¨C no, left three steps, right one step ¨C and back. She watched until she could make it out ¨C their silver, sharp letters, gleaming in what she now realized was an immediate onset of darkness, or a great dimming, like moon¡¯s crescents ¨C

    ¨C spelled BOLERO.

    Their binds now swung in from the back, silver pinpoints of light that shot so fast, and gracefully, around the six Majors, highlighting the letters. BOLERO. As the Majors gradually swung their way over the cloud, going past them ¨C their binds trickling bars ¨C Skylark tucked her clux in more tightly. It was colder here.

    BOLERO. The letters seemed to fade as the Majors stepped into the distance, smaller and smaller until those midnight blue coats vanished like dark splotches on the cloudscape.

    <i>¡°Alter,¡±</i>

    Skylark said. So that was A Major Bolero ¨C no, her Minors ¨C <i>they weren¡¯t Majors. They were Minors.</i>

    She turned to see that Calm was sitting, legs splayed out ¨C staring after the departing cluxes, her resurrected bind sitting on the snow in front of him. He had been shocked, completely embarrassed earlier when learning she was G Major ¨C to an E ¨C but these were <i>A</i>, and not even the A Major Bolero herself!

    She smiled. Bolero¡­ A was one higher than G.

    She looked again, out over the cloud ¨C it was barren and empty, just a flat distance, white and dark. But it wasn¡¯t night ¨C only the sound of a soft, rushing wind, like someone was breathing, in, and out, slowly.

    ¡°What¡¯s on this residual?¡± she asked, into that air.

    ¡°Sectionals,¡± he said. ¡°Led by A Major and above.¡±

    So that was a sectional. How could she join ¨C

    ¨C She would not. She had her own ¨C she looked down ¨C and she felt them, all six of hers.

    <i>She stepped out of the theater, Lucas and Cade laughing, saying how the movie wasn¡¯t great or original and not a proper reboot of the MCU¡¯s sixth saga¡¯s ¡®Blue Star¡¯ cycle. No, it was introduction, said Cade, but Skylark wasn¡¯t listening, she¡¯d stopped by the steel-ringed balcony that looked over the river. She¡¯d missed Lowers ¨C there was something peaceful about it. It was wide and the surface was nearly violet ¨C Luke asking her if she needed a way back home up in Might. She thought about how Miss Gravity had looked at the Skyborne, laughing in their faces and adjusting her boots. Big and blue. ¡°I can go anywhere,¡± she said. ¡°Because I can fly, you idiots.¡±</i>

    Skylark closed her eyes. Big blue boots. Big boots ¨C she couldn¡¯t even feel her feet, it was cold ¨C blue.

    She moved her feet ¨C and ¨C a dark, lurching <i>swooping</i> entered her mind ¨C she lost consciousness ¨C I ¨C she felt ¨C I ¨C I ¨C want ¨C

    ¨C Shaking her shoulders.

    ¡°G Major, G Major,¡± and it was Calm.

    <hr>

    [1]</a> F Major Amaranth ¨C ¡°Self Care¡± by Mac Miller, on his 2018 album <i>Swimming</i>; ¡°Wishing¡± by Kana Nishino, on her 2011 album <i>Thank you, Love</i>