Chapter 31
April 20th - Grythen
Kismette
Jeremy took out a huge book and placed it on the table slowly so that it landed gently. It looked extremely old-its hard cover was stained and mouldy, with a pockmarked lock protecting its contents. There were no words or symbols embossed in gold like a typical book of ancient spells, nor any illustration on the cover to suggest its purpose.
Jeremy unlocked the mysterious book with an even older looking key. Carefully, with just his thumb and index finger, he opened the book to its first written page. “This,” he pointed to the title on the page, “is the Official Record of Star Holders.”
Kismette leaned closer and tilted her head in the direction of the words. She can recognise the alphabets, but she couldn’t understand them when they were pieced together.
“I brought this book here to show you the greatest healer of all times, Matta of Tide. He lived in the previous millennium and helped King Husti-our King Fred’s great grandfather-to win the battles against all the warlords at that time and unify Quesdeja as a country.” He flipped to Matta Tide’s page, where all his abilities were listed.
Kismette opened her mouth in awe, impressed. The list seemed never-ending. A black-and-white photo of Matta Tide was affixed to the top left corner. He looked young and happy, squinting against the sun and grinning widely at the camera.
“These are all his known abilities and a brief biography of him. One of the most important things to note about him is that he could heal almost anything. He is also the only healer known, so far, to be able to prevent death from hunger, though it proved too draining for him to sustain a person’s life solely through magic. Till the time of his death, there was just one thing he couldn’t heal-aging. He lived to a ripe old age of three hundred and fifty-eight, the longest anyone ever lived.”
Kismette nodded absent-mindedly. She turned her face away, hoping to hide her thoughts. Would it be rude to ask…?
Jeremy chuckled. “We have our own pages too, child.” He turned the book to the back and began flipping in reverse through all the blank pages until he finally reached a page with her name written neatly at the top. “You’re our latest discovery,” he revealed, too used to explaining things to her before she even asked.
Kismette scanned her page, ready to scream in excitement, but it was empty. There was only her name and nothing else, not even a photo. She looked up at Jeremy for answers.
“You’ll get a photo when you’re twenty-five, when you go for your age-pausing spell. We don’t know much about you yet as your training isn’t complete. I don’t want to start limiting your abilities to what we think you can or cannot do. As for the biography, you’ll get one after you die, when people can pick out the milestones of your life,” he said matter-of-factly. “That’s my handwriting, by the way,” he smiled and pointed to her name. “Only a Segaris can write in this book.”
The healer inhaled deeply and looked at her page. Its lack of content seemed to be hinting something: that her destiny was still unwritten; it was her path to take, her history to write, her page to fill.
Jeremy cut through dozens of pages with a finger and opened the book to that page. “Ah, on the first try. I’m still good at this,” he laughed soundlessly. “See? That’s Zaelem.”
Kismette stabbed her finger at the blue star holder’s faded photo and burst into hooting laughter. He looked exactly like one of those gentlemen from an old movie, complete with short, gelled hair, a clean shaven chin, suspenders and a pastel blue tie. She scanned through his page, trying to pick up as many words as she could understand.
Zaelem Dragon…? Noir?
Star: Blue
Power: … eew, yuck, so many words. Skip.
Range: 5m
“Range?” Kismette squawked in astonishment.
“Yes, every star has a working range. You, me, Zaelem, Matta of Tide-we all have a range over which our powers can be used. We don’t need physical contact with our subjects. For example, I don’t need touch your hand to see your thoughts, but I cannot see them if you’re more than two metres away from me. Zaelem can move extremely fast, but he cannot run more than five metres in that speed. He will need to stop every five metres to gather strength from his star, which will become very tiring. Or, he can simply run at a normal pace.”
“You mean… he can choose when to run fast and when to run slowly?” Oh wait, that sounds like a retarded question.
“Why, yes, powers are not passive abilities, as we have misunderstood them to be in the past. The Research Centre published a paper a nearly five hundred years ago, finally clearing doubts about it. People who were thought to have no control over their powers can actually be taught to hold it in. Instead of pushing the power out like you, they have to hold the power in, because the willpower of the star is stronger than theirs. You’ve already met Gwen of Catherines-she’s an example of such people.”
More questions surfaced in her mind, but Jeremy interrupted them. “Come, now, my time with you is short. You have to learn to do distances today. Stay here while I prepare today’s target,” he stood up, closing the book softly.
Kismette nodded obediently. She watched as Jeremy left the pavilion and walked towards a tree.
“In a battle, you will not be fast enough to get to all those injured even if you can fly. People are going to die if you let them wait. That’s war, but you need not be afraid. Healers usually have much longer ranges than other star holders. Now-” her mentor placed a hand on the trunk of a tree, “-focus on this tree.” He proceeded to swing a small axe at the tree, slashing its bark.
Kismette nodded and guided the torrent of energy from her star to her hands. As usual, all forms of life came to her attention in shades of brilliant scarlet, vying for the healer’s energy. The tree’s wound was only a feeble puddle of red, calling out to her weakly from its far-flung position.
“Here’s the hard part. You have to force it to travel through everything between you and the tree. It’s just air for now, but if you learn this well, you’ll be able to heal through walls or even through living things. Let it out slowly and be careful not to let the energy go somewhere else, because it will if you lose focus.”
Kismette put her right hand out, the one she was more accustomed to using when healing, and waited. Nothing happened. “But… how do I force it out? It’s not something I can pull out of my hand.”
“With your mind,” Jeremy replied. “It takes great willpower to make your star do something it doesn’t usually do, but once you start, it gets easier every time.”
Kismette closed her eyes. Shutting out the sense of sight helped with concentration nine out of ten times. Her brows pulled together fiercely. The energy accumulated, but it refused to leave her hand. She pushed and pushed with her mind, until it felt like her skull was going to crack open and spit her brain out. Her hand was already getting sore.
But she will not give. She will not be a letdown. If Matta of Tide can do it, she can do it too.
Suddenly, she felt her body lurch forward and she stomped a foot in front to stop herself from falling over the edge. Her eyes opened in alarm, before realising that a stream of energy had, slowly but steadily, escaped her open palm. Energy drained from her body rapidly, but she didn’t want Jeremy to stop the session, and she fought to stand upright. I guess it’s too late to start eating well and rest more now, huh.
She felt dizzier and dizzier, but that glowing stream of hope was getting closer and closer to the tree’s slash.
“Are you alright?” Jeremy frowned.
She couldn’t answer. All the strength she had left was sent to push that stream of energy through its excruciating journey.
“Kismette?” He started walking back to the pavilion. “Kismette, don’t push it too hard. You will end up harming yourself,” he said urgently.
Just a bit more…
The thin river of luminous red flowed even slower, as though resisting its fate in the tree’s anticipating gash. Just as its edge touched the tree, everything turned black.
Zaelem
Zaelem glanced over his shoulders and pushed the locker door shut when he heard sloppy footsteps behind him.
“Yo, Zee,” Chairon murmured as he swung his bag onto the locker bench. He unzipped his bag and took out a metallic rectangle, leaving the contents of his bag displayed for everyone to see.
Zaelem only nodded to acknowledge his friend’s presence. He could still remember the first time he met Chairon. Of course, by then, everyone in The Academy had already heard of him, but to be talking to him on regular basis was another matter-it meant that you were probably an upper-class citizen, his colleague or his servant.
Zaelem had no intentions of making his acquaintance; he was just a lowly rookie at that time. All he wanted was to persuade Mejaine to go home with him. In fact, he flunked his Glate promotional exam just so that they wouldn’t want him on the team and make him sign the contract. Mejaine, on the other hand, was thriving on the dance floor. His dream of them going home together seemed to drift further and further away with each passing day. He sighed and slouched a little before remembering that he was still on the parade square. He straightened his back again.
Often, when there was nothing left to keep him busy, he wondered how their lives would have turned out if he didn’t decide to bring Mejaine to Grythen for that one special date. It was probably impossible to avoid that trip-everyone in the village dreamt of going to the capital someday and few achieved that dream in their lifetime. It was a dream for her too, and he went all out to fulfil it for her. He drew up a cruel saving scheme in order to hit the targeted amount of money in time and stamped out every single materialistic desire of his. What a stupid way to part with his hard earned money, he realised a little too late.
Mejaine fell in love with Grythen the moment they stepped into it. He could see it in her drunken eyes, but could never imagine the repercussions of it. Her love for Grythen’s way of life probably outgrew her love for him. Shiny vehicles chugged down the cobbled streets with their engines rumbling; buildings were tall and magnificent; city dwellers were well-groomed and well-mannered; women dressed in their finery and strutted down walkways like exquisite creatures meant for viewing pleasure. Nobody had dirt on their faces. Nobody was poor.
Zaelem tried to steal a glance at his Sir, hoping to gain an indication of what was to come. It was the day when all rookies finally graduated from probation class to become an official soldier of Quesdeja. All the men were lined up according to the alphabetical order of their names and, of course, he stood at the end of the row.
One by one, they were awarded their badges by Sir Teakwood. Everyone received the Glate badge with controlled glee; they had all passed the exam. Some had extra badges for the additional courses completed, raising their salary.
Finally, Sir Teakwood reached him. Instead of offering a handshake, he shook his head and sighed. “Zaelem, do you have no regard for the system?”
“No, Sir. I respect the system, Sir.”
“Then what is this? I’m sure you knew that leaving your whole paper blank leads to being retained. You came out top in the practical test and we are more than eager to recruit you, but this is the second time you’ve failed the paper. Tell me what the problem is, Zaelem. I know you could have done very well for this too.”
Of course he topped the practical. This was his second time going through the route and he sure didn’t feel like wasting time in the jungle feeding mosquitoes. “I- I do not wish to become a permanent soldier, Sir,” Zaelem confessed, his voice becoming softer towards the end. He could not bring himself to meet the eyes of his Sir.
“That will not be your decision to make, son,” Sir Teakwood replied sternly. “This afternoon, I want you to go to the Multi-Purpose Hall and retake the exam. If you fail again, you will be kicked out of The Academy and not be allowed to take the entrance test for another five years. Also, your casting of the age-pausing spell scheduled tomorrow will not be paid for by The Academy. The country has had enough of free-loaders like you.”
Zaelem winced inwardly. Mejaine already had hers casted by a friend’s friend’s friend, found through some unorthodox means. Long-lasting youth-yet another reason for her to stay-was something he couldn’t afford to miss out on if he planned to wait until she had her fill of city life. What if it took five, or even ten, years for her to realise her folly?
He felt like a dog with its tail between its legs, but he kept his chin up. He didn’t have a choice. “Yes, sir.”
Later that day, when he reached the hall, he realised that there were only two sets of tables and chairs. He gulped. Only two? Is this some kind of special test where they watch your behaviour while you’re doing the test and evaluate you based on that instead of what is actually written on your paper? He scanned the room and walked cautiously. He could point out a thousand spots in this room where a spy camera could be very well hidden.
Gingerly, he walked to a table and sat down, leaning heavily on the back of his chair. He fiddled with his pencil and eraser, and watched as the invigilator checked her watch impatiently. Seconds ticked by. It was already a minute past the start of the paper, but she was still waiting for the other candidate.
Zaelem swallowed. They never waited for anyone.
After fifteen minutes of sitting in complete silence, a blonde teenager rushed into the hall. He stood at the staircase clutching the railings, panting for a few moments before walking to the invigilator. “Sorry… I’m late,” he said breathlessly.
Well, duh.
“There was a… a bad jam out there.”
Zaelem eyed the teen. He looked way too young to be taking a Glates’ test already. Underaged and late? Boy is he in some trouble.
To his utter surprise, the invigilator merely ushered him to his seat. “It’s perfectly alright,” she smiled pleasantly.
Since when did invigilators smile?
“Is five minutes enough for you to cool down? Or do you need ten minutes?” she continued.
Zaelem sat upright immediately. Anomaly sighted, Sir. Alert, control personnel. All systems check.
“Er, one minute is enough. There’s someone else waiting too,” the teenager turned to face Zaelem and nodded. “Hey, dude, sorry to keep you waiting. I didn’t know there was someone else too.”
Zaelem held his gaze and nodded back, smiling a little so that the little guy would know he wasn’t angry. So, he thought he had the whole hall to himself?
“Thank you, Jenna,” the blonde teenager turned back to the invigilator.
Jenna?
“You’re welcome, Master Viken.”
Oh… I see. The gold-class Viken jetfighter has touched down on home base.
Chairon
Chairon stepped into The Command Centre’s Sports and Fitness Room sloppily, purposely making his footsteps louder.
He watched as Zaelem pushed his locker door shut and cranked his neck around to see who it was.
“Yo, Zee,” Chairon muttered as he swung his bag onto the wooden locker bench. He couldn’t be bothered to keep it in a locker-nobody dared to steal his belongings.
Zaelem looked up and simply nodded his head.
Chairon rolled his eyes and retrieved his silver music player from his bag. Why is he always pretending to be so cold to everyone? How long can one live in solitude before going crazy?
Zaelem walked across the room to begin his warm-up on the treadmill wordlessly, not the least bit bothered by his friend’s unusually quiet self. In fact, he seemed lost in his own thoughts. Chairon stole glances of the man from the corner of his eyes. He could remember a time when Zaelem wasn’t such an antisocial person. How did they become friends? Why did he even bother talking to him these days?
“Have you seen Kismette lately?” Chairon began casually, heading towards the next treadmill. “Do you know who sent her that ugly necklace she wears nowadays? I don’t like how she always plays with it. It’s such an irritating sight.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” Zaelem replied, keeping the pace of his breathing even.
“No, really. It’s such a disgusting piece of crap that looks so cheap it’s like she’s on sale too,” the Chief Strategist retorted and activated his treadmill. “Seriously, do you know who gave it to her?”
Zaelem poked the red ‘off’ button and stepped off his treadmill. “I’m done,” he murmured.
“Come on, Zee, you’re so close to her. You must know who gave it to her. I need to know my rivals… not that they matter, but still… won’t you help me?”
The raven-haired man rolled his eyes and sat on the exercise bench furthest away. “You’re being childish, Chairon.”
Chairon ignored the criticism and increased the pace and steepness of the treadmill.
He didn’t say that he already knew whom the necklace was from.
Ning: Hello, guys! I hope this chapter wasn’t unworthy of the wait. :) Sorry for taking such a long hiatus (and for having to take a hiatus regularly). How has everyone been? It's finally holidays for me now (3 months, yay!!), so I'm gonna be a lot more active in the sims community again.
I've swtiched to Picasa for image hosting in this chapter. Do the pictures load faster/slower/same as before? I don't know if I should continue using Picasa or go back to imageshack, 'cause imageshack took away the classic view and is... not so user friendly anymore. :(
Anyway, mini fun fact:
The cover for the Official Records of Star Holders is made from the cover for my site's index page. ^^
Psst, I've also sneaked Zaelem's old photo for you guys. *snigger*
Don't tell him I showed you guys! :P
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Next: Chapter 32