The Box is suspended, high above the Court as Masters and Trainees alike begin their training for the day. Suddenly, Klok bursts into the Arena. "Nabel!" he cries, running towards her, brandishing something as he goes.
Annabel turns to Franq and Däv. "Patterns," she says. "For the next ten minutes."
Franq and Däv groan and begin the rhythmic clashing of their knives on each other's blades. They grumble about it, and Annabel smiles. Then, she turns to Klok, who is bouncing beside her with excitement.
"What's the problem, Klok?" she asks. Klok is one of the few fighters who retained his schooling name as his fighting name.
"A message from Mel!" he crows happily.
The sound of the clanging from Franq and Däv's patterns falters, and Annabel glares over her shoulder. "Patterns, remember?" she asks, and then she promptly returns her attention to Klok. "Let's see it, then."
Klok nods and hands the paper to her. She opens it, reads it, smiles, and pockets it for later use. Then, she nods to Klok, who returns to the innards of the Arena.
"What does it say, Nabel?" Däv asks, looking up from his concentration on his patterns.
"Patterns," Nabel instructs and stands there, watching them, until they finally begin doing the patterns like they were meant to - subconsciously striking one blade against the other. "Finally," Annabel remarks as their bodies begin taking over where their minds can only visualize. "The clock starts now. Ten minutes, boys." She pulls out a stopwatch and presses the starting button. "And boys," she says, "don't hurt each other. I've good news for you when you're done."
Panting after ten solid minutes of pattern, Franq and Däv sheath their knives and lean on each other, breathing hard. Annabel finds the sight quite touching, for she has never had a sister, but she knows that business must be completed before they may rest. She stands before them, hands on her hips, and clears her throat.
Franq snaps to a straight stand, and Däv fixes her with a mildly bovine look before lumbering to good posture. Both look straight ahead, at the wall behind Annabel's head. Annabel smiles, for at least they knew discipline.
"Franq, I'd just like to congratulate you for passing your tests. It's good to be training two legal Trainees," she remarks simply.
"Thank you, Miss Nabel," Franq replies, a hint of a smile touching his lips before fluttering off to some other soul's face.
"Yes. You passed, barely. Which means, of course, you're to continue your studies. Less emphasis on this History of the Arena, and more on reading, writing, and mathematics. They may not seem important, but it's a bit easier to do a lot of things with those under your belt. After all, Däv won't be able to coddle you forever."
Däv's eyes snap to her face in a look of horror. "I do not coddle my brother, Miss Nabel, and you kn-"
Annabel holds up a hand to silence him. "Showers. Now. Go. I'm going to give your dear brother a nice, thick book to read, and you're to make sure he does so. Help him, Däv, but don't do it for him." That said, she flicks her hands in a shooing motion. "Go on," she says. "Shoo. Showers call."
Franq, still smiling, departs for the showers, and Däv follows after a moment's glance back at his Master. He can't help but think that Mel was right. She is aggrivating.
Annabel had given Franq The Chronicles of Dendrina, the book that had so occupied her time during her own Training. She had grinned when the twins took a look at it; she knew as well as they did that it wasn't on disk. Even if it were, neither would be able to injest the disk, for both had an allergy to the substances of easy knowledge.
Now, Franq struggles through the index of the book, Däv trying to be patient as his brother sounds out the words. Annabel had said she wanted him to read three of the tales in the book by the end of the week, and she had noted specifically which ones with light, penciled notes in the margin of the index.
Franq had decided to start with the story of Annabel first. After all, he didn't think he could manage reading the tales of Sandrylene and Tren quite yet. Something about them just didn't seem to sit well with him just yet. The index accomplished, Franq moves on to the first page of his chosen tale. He turns the old, weathered pages delicately, as if he is afraid of destroying them as they creak in the spine of the book. He gets through the laying of Clarinet's eggs with minimal problems, and then he is brought to the manner in which her chosen egg reaches its intended bondmate.
"After filling out the necessary paperwork, Sandrylene and Clarinet set sail from the Creature Refuge in search of Tren and the bondmate of the bishel egg," Franq reads, his finger tracing along below the words. "The seas, which have been calm for a long time, remained so for the extent of the journey of the Majesestic and her two-man crew." Franq paused and stared hard at the book. Written in light, dancing handwriting, similar to Nabel's own, were the words "Even though neither were really men!" He smiled and shook his head before continuing reading aloud.
"Sandrylene found the change from the mindless waiting to be quite refreshing, and she preformed much of the ship's duties with much energy. Clarinet, for her part, seemed more withdrawn than usual, for she spent much of her time gazing for visions and watching the skies. All, she knew, were in vain; when it was time for her child to leave her, he would.
"Indeed, one day, she gave up watching. Had she misinterpreted the scenes? Could she have been wrong? Feelings of doubt for the first time in a long while tainted the spirit of the Moonstone Bishen.
"Then, a feeling sent gruesome shudders down her spine. The chill feeling of hatred and anger rose forth from her bosom, and her bright black eyes snapped to the serene, placid blue sky. There - silhouetted against the billowing clouds - she saw them, the sources of her maternal wrath."
He paused. Däv looked up from his trigonometry and turned to him. "What's wrong, Franq?" he asked.
Franq sighed. "I'm sort of lost. Why do they have to add so many adjectives to the words?" he wonders.
"To make it flow," Däv replied. "It's more poetic sounding with all the adjectives. Besides, it also lets you visualize it far better." He pointed to a block of words. "'The serene, placid blue sky' sounds better than 'The calm blue sky.' Don't you agree?"
Franq nods and turns the page. "I suppose," he reasons. He hates reading. Reading is what Däv is good at. Reading, math, language arts. Franq sighs. He is good with his body; he is strong, quick, and everything a Fighter should be. How is it that twins could be so different?
Refocusing on the book, he continues to read aloud, Däv sitting there and scribbling numbers almost in time to his words. Maybe there was some sort of vague rhythm to it. He continued to read. "The Wraiths were horrid creatures, black and bony with little or no comforting grace to them at all. How could Clarinet allow herself to surrender her child to the claws of such monsters? The wreak of carrion flooded from them as they crowed out a battle cry, sweeping down towards the ship, carried on the wings of death Himself. Black and covered with downy feathers over their leathery skin, the Wraiths attacked, searching for the egg. It was nowhere to be seen on the deck, for Clarinet was in no ways stupid. The Wraiths, she knew, would destroy her egg if she let them have it too soon. If she beat them, however, they would bring it back to their master, and that was where it needed to be.
"She stared up into the sky, and with her Vision Stone, shot at the creatures with blazing sparks of energy, shining forth on white beams from her eyes. Two Wraiths were hit, and they plummeted to the salty depths below. She continued her assault on the bird-demons, and before she knew it, she was outnumbered.
"However, she was not without friends. Sandrylene had, upon an earlier stop during this trip, purchased a bow and arrows, and she began taking shots at the monstrosities that sheered the air clean of relaxation with their gluttonous screechings. They smelled the egg, and they would have it, Clarinet's consent or no."
Däv looks up again from his trigonometry. "This is a really depressing story. Isn't there something better in there to read?"
Franq looked up from the riveting battle-tale and had the decency to look mildly abashed. "How can you say that? Miss Nabel asked me to read this story, and I will God da-"
"Really, can't you say something better than curses? Honestly! I thought our parents raised us better than that!"
Franq growls and returns to reading, glaring at the page as he does so. "More Wraiths fell, screaming, from the skies. Sandrylene and Clarinet were still outmatched, however, and soon, one of the Wraiths fell too close to the ship, and a wave sent the door to the main cabin swinging open. Clarinet's egg rolled out, and the Wraiths began swooping in to snatch it. More and more of them fell as they presented their vulnerable parts to the woman and dragon. Soon, only one remained, and it ducked and dodged all attacks. Clarinet knew this was the one who would bring her son back to its master. From there, her child could meet the master's child, and they would find, deep in their brackish souls, some common bond, allowing for peace.
"*Hold your fire, Sandrylene. Save your arrows for a more important matter.*
"'Your child is an important matter!' Sandry protested.
"*And that is the method of conveyance for him to reach his bondmate,* Clarinet responded, gesturing to the now-swooping Wraith.
"'So be it,' Sandry replied and she retrieved as many of the arrows as she could.
"The Wraith swooped in slowly, riding with caution on the winds. He screeched once, sending the stench of rotting corpses flooding over the two sailors of the ship. The egg was snatched up, and the Wraith took off, high into the skies. Clarinet, however, knew what to do to ensure the egg reached its destination. With a deep breath, she pulled off one more shot, and the Wraith's legs and talons fell clear off. The egg fell towards the sea, and suddenly, it was nowhere, absorbed by a horizontal portal to another world and her master."
"Weird story," Däv admits, his trigonometry completely ignored now. "What happens next?"
Franq turns the page gingerly again and stares at it, tracing his fingertip along the scrawling text. "The egg landed lightly before a man of the utmost evil, Doctor Tirival Hend. Hend, who had heard of the Bishens through stories, knew that the egg posed a serious threat to his power. It was, as all creatures are at birth, full of the most sincere, pure feelings of hope, love, laughter, and joy. Hend realized that if his control of the planet was to continue, the egg must be destroyed, but he had no power over a creature of light. Thus, he constructed, through the labors of the miniature natives of the world, a gigantic maze. His anger, hate, and corruption sank deep into the soil of the maze, and from there, spread to overtake the entire world, destroying it, and forcing the human colonists who were trying to live there to build higher buildings and to make their lives entirely artificial." Franq takes a deep breath.
"What's wrong?" Däv asks.
"This is really, really depressing! This Hend character wants to destroy the child of Clarinet and Pierre, and in doing so, destroys the world he seeks to control, too."
"Would you rather I continue reading?" Däv earnestly wants to know what happens next. What becomes of the egg? Who are the miniature natives of the planet? Thousands of questions spin through his mind.
"No. Miss Annabel told me to read this, and I intend to do so."
Däv smiles. "Read, then."
"The natives of the planet had eight Sacred Gates, and Hend made certain to employ all of them. The maze could not be destroyed and his power balked unless one opened all eight Gates and returned them to their previous state.
"Of course, he made certain that none would do so. He slowly wormed his power into the markets of the world, and he implemented laws unlike any other tyrant ever in history. He makes the following declarations:
"Children must choose their own names. They may not receive an education without a name, and the name must be designed by the child.
"All inhabitants of the world must be without hair so that they may be branded with a mark upon their skulls for registration.
"None may marry. Life partners may be chosen, but religion is hereby forbidden, and thusly, marraige is impossible." Franq reads the next line silently, his eyes flicking over it again and again.
"What does it say?" Däv wants to know.
Franq whispers, "Finally, the Chair is the highest power on World. None shall oppose him, and if one dares to do so, the punishment is death."
Däv finds himself unable to comment. Each twin meets the other's eyes, and Franq closes the book. He can not bring himself to finish the chapter, let alone the tale. It is too, too similar to their own world. Both Franqiel and Elrondäv neglect the book and its oddly parallel tale. Neither will finish it, for who knows what sort of blasphomy it may speak? Who knows what tale it may tell. Curiosity sated, for now, Däv begins to teach Franq trigonometry.
While neither Franq nor Däv could bring themselves to finish Annabel's tale in the Chronicles, others had. Some had even gone so far as to memorize the tale. Deep within the labyrinth that Hend designed, his workers trudge onward. Tiny, spritish beings initially full of hope and happiness, they are now miserable, having undergone a full metamorphosis since the begining of the maze. Now, they congregate.
A seeress has had a vision, but she will not tell the others of its meaning. She merely repeats, over and over, the words of the Chronicles.
"Such are the laws of World," she hisses through her once-beautiful, now serpentine mouth. "This is the story of a woman, the child of the Master, the Chair, the Monster. This is a story of freedom, of wrongs righted. This is a story of change. A tale of wisdom. Of emptiness. Of strife. Of pain. Of anguish. It is a tale of love. Of life. Of joy. Mostly, however, it is the tale of death."
"Dear Corliss!" one from the crowd cries. "Seer of the unknown, what did you see! Please! Tell us!"
Corliss fixes him with an uncanny stare of her vacant, milky eyes. "The time draws nigh. She comes..."
Background by Absolute Background Textures.