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Chapter 110. Gnoste
🕑 Added 2020-11-07 17:01:05 +0000 UTCIan woke at the crack of dawn feeling exhausted. After giving himself a small vitality infusion, he prepared to leave the Dunai estate for what would probably be the first and final time.
As he dressed himself, he dissected just why he was feeling so unsatisfied. What were you expecting? For everyone to worship you and repent? He went to Feather to be discreet, not to inflate his ego or demand apologies. Even so, he knew that some part of him longed for his family’s recognition, the same part of him that longed for Mother’s respect and love.
Ian drew his hand into a fist. But we know better, don't we?
As Ian stood before a floor-length mirror making final adjustments, Bluebird hopped onto his shoulder and flexed its wings. “Are we going to say goodbye to Germaine?”
He unfastened the void storage from his belt and began to widen its mouth until it was a giant, gaping hole, much wider than it was deep. He then bent over and picked up his packed suitcase, shoving it inside.
After cinching the storage closed, he gave Bluebird a nod.
—
Germaine was waiting for him at the periphery of the estate. After obtaining information on the back exit the matriarch intended him to use, he’d sent a message to Germaine’s glossY to plan an early-morning send-off.
He opened the door–one of the only ones in the entire compound with a real knob and hinge–stepped onto grassy, yellow plains. The frost crinkled underneath Ian’s boots as he proceeded forward until at last he stood before her.
“Ian,” Germaine whispered, diving into his open arms and circling him in an embrace.
“Good morning,” he chuckled, pulling back. Her arms remained around his neck, pulling him in close so that they could hear each other’s lowered voice.
“Your eyes,” Germaine observed. “They’re blue.”
Ian smirked. He’d put on some of the magic mud Euryphel used to change his eye color as well as a bit of dark powder underneath his cheeks to make himself seem older. Thankfully I don’t require the same kind of transformation as someone like Euryphel, Ian thought, recalling how the prince used makeup to change practically every aspect of his features. Having an ordinary face came in handy when going incognito.
“I know you can’t tell me where you’re going, but I know it’s only a short pitstop on your greater journey,” Germaine said. “You are incredible, Ian. No matter what happens with the SPU or Selejo, I love you.”
Ian’s thoughts intruded on her infectious cheer. Not if I get a continent destroyed.
Germaine reached into her book bag and pulled out a bundle wrapped in a white napkin. “Breakfast, since I know you wouldn’t have had the chance to go into the kitchen and ask the help.”
Ian grabbed the parcel, its contours becoming clear once it met his hands: a muffin.
“Thanks.”
But Germaine wasn’t done: She continued to rifle through her bag until she found her sketchbook. She slid her fingers adeptly along its side, her nails tugging at a sheet of paper sticking slightly up from the others. The sheet came loose and fluttered limply in the placid morning air.
“For you!” she exclaimed, her wide-eyed expression conveying the affection that her hushed voice lacked. Ian gingerly grabbed the sheet of paper, turning it over to reveal an inked sketch.
Ian barely glanced at it before averting his gaze back to Germaine. “Love you too.” He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small, dark bracelet, a near replica of the one he gifted to Diana, save for the presence of a single light-blue soul gem that was bigger than the others.
“Wow, it’s beautiful.” Germaine plucked the bracelet from Ian’s palm and held it up to the light of the sun, the rays distorting as they passed through the slightly-translucent edges of the soul gems. “I’ve never seen a blue soul gem before.”
“Neither have I,” Ian replied. The gem was the product of an experiment to use Bluebird’s processed energy to create a soul gem. The end result was a poor-quality gem with the appearance of blue topaz: useless for combat, but the perfect addition to jewelry.
Germaine placed the bracelet on her wrist and beamed, though her smile began to falter after a second, her lip starting to tremble. She dove back against his chest and pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him without speaking.
In the silence, Ian ruminated on Germaine’s sketch. “Germaine...why did you include Father?”
“He’s family,” she murmured. “Why wouldn’t I include him?”
“Nevermind.”
Germaine stepped back, her eyes narrowed slightly. “What did the matriarch say to you, Ian?”
Ian suddenly had the impression that he’d done something wrong. “She talked about how he found pleasure in destroying others...in destroying Mother.”
Germaine snorted. She looked around, then went forward on her tiptoes and whispered into Ian’s ear: “I despise that woman.”
“Why?”
“Father needed help. Instead, the matriarch banished him. No matter what she told you, I’m convinced it’s because Father married Mother.”
Germaine leaned back and shook her head. “We probably shouldn’t waste time talking about this now: You need to go.”
“Right.”
“Remember: Your family loves you–all of us.”
“Yup.”
Germaine punched him on the arm, her gaze going to Bluebird. “You’ll keep him safe, right?”
“I will keep Iggy safe!”
Germaine held in a laugh, her eyes filling with mirth. “Y’jeni, how’d you get that nickname?”
Ian rolled his eyes and grinned, then began to walk away from the compound towards the southeast. “Alright, I’m finally going.”
Germaine waved for a few seconds, then nodded and opened the door back into the Dunai estate, shutting it behind her with a click.
I never know how to properly say goodbye, but...this was nice.
—
Because Ian’s task was to travel discreetly, he couldn’t use decemancy to get around–at least not where people would remember. Any close-by End practitioner would be able to tell he was important, but as long as he kept himself concealed and tried to avoid population centers with powerful practitioners, the SPU Beginning practitioners seemed to think he’d be fine.
When was the last time I walked around like a regular? Ian wondered. He thought that it was probably when he went out to Fassar City at the Fassari Summit. I suppose it wasn’t actually that long ago.
He was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with “Sussea Technical Institute” embroidered in white letters across the front. Wearing a wool hat with a pom pom on the end, a bulky winter scarf covering his jaw, his winter jacket, and light gloves, Ian felt confident nobody would recognize him. He considered taking Bluebird out of companion mode and turning the glosSword into a discreet watch...but decided against it. He was satisfied with the paper-thin bird folding itself into the inside of his jacket.
He’d placed his old glossY in the void storage before he left the Dunai enclave; now, he had a new glossY in his pocket. The device was a blank slate, useful only because it was connected to an account with several thousand auris on it, enough for him to get around for a few weeks without incident.
The glossY was registered under the name of Ian Baldwin, a twenty-three-year-old from Shattradan whose parents were deceased and left him a sizable inheritance. Instead of going to higher education, Ian decided to explore the world.
Or something like that. Honestly, Ian was hoping nobody would ask too much into the backstory the SPU had prepared for him.
Unlike in the contentious West, all of Kester was fairly relaxed in their border controls, each individual state flowing into the other. Everywhere shared currency and common laws governing the continent; the key difference was in the nitty-gritty of local administration. As far as Ian knew, the only reason there were so many independent states in Kester–and the rest of the world, for that matter–was because of practitioners: The powerful wanted to rule, wanted wealth and prestige, and so they held onto their nearly symbolic positions while the less-powerful did the day-to-day heavy lifting.
Ian wasn’t going to complain so long as it didn’t impede him going into Gnoste to track down the supposed-necromancer.
The new glossY was loaded up with a map of Kester. While he wasn’t willing to risk actually connecting to the distributed network except for when absolutely necessary, he was content to use the static map to guide his steps to the nearest hovergloss terminal.
If I follow the walkway for another ten minutes, I should see it.
Sure enough, the terminal soon came into view. The signage was written in Swellish with a smaller Minoan translation underneath. Ian walked up to the station’s map of hovergloss routes.
“Take line 10 towards Flora-Li City,” the on-duty SPU Regret practitioner transmitted over quantum channel. “It’s supposed to be a bit faster, and avoid a stop in Feather’s capital.”
Ian boarded the hovergloss without fanfare, taking a seat by the window. He could feel the itch starting to gnaw at him, but he kept himself occupied by looking out the window and thinking of how he’d track down the elusive Kurin Ventrebel once he reached Gnoste.
The few towns the hovergloss passed through in Feather reminded Ian of Jupiter with their stark, white curves, especially the one town that was elevated over a river on the same kind of legs and anti-grav technology that suspended Jupiter above Lake Cyprus. However, most of the journey consisted of monotonous, grassy plains.
Ian took out Germaine’s drawing from his pocket, unfolding it and setting it down on the train car table in front of him. Ian could see the un-erased pencil outlines of his family beneath the dark black of a liquid-ink pen. Everyone was drawn in striking detail, though with the eye of an idealist: Mother and Father both looked young, almost the age of their children, while Aunt Julia and Germaine could be sisters.
Moreover, everyone was happy; carefree. The levity in the sketch was something Ian had never seen in his entire life from his severe Mother, not to mention the Father he barely knew; even Aunt Julia typically had a more calculating air around her when in good spirits. It was as if Germaine had drawn everyone as though they saw the world like herself: a place full of opportunity, love, and hope.
There was something about the picture that was impossible, irreconcilable with reality–and it made his heart ache.
—
Two hours later, words came in over quantum channel. “You need to get off on the next stop and take a connection to Gnoste Central Station.”
Ian stretched in his seat and re-bundled himself up, putting back on his winter vestments. He put the jacket on with special attention, making sure not to reveal Bluebird’s form clinging to the inside.
When the hovergloss pulled up to the next terminal, Ian disembarked and soon found himself on another train heading northeast through the Suvvan Desert. The journey had few stops, passing by quickly; soon they exited the peach-colored sands and began to travel over grass and light coverings of snow. Even though the hovergloss flew well-above the desert sands, Ian spotted a herd of oryx laying down in the sand under the shade of an outcrop of rocks and shrubs.
As they neared Gnoste’s capital, Morinapol, the hovergloss began passing over buildings that reminded Ian of the SPU. While Morinapol would undoubtedly have skyscrapers and modern glass found in any other eastern capital, the rest of the state’s buildings looked like they might have been built over two-hundred years ago with mundane brick and mortar. Unlike the Dunai estate that looked fashionably rustic, the buildings in Gnoste simply felt old.
Ian got off a few stops before the hovergloss entered the capital. He found himself in a nondescript residential area, but the SPU already had a plan prepared for where he was supposed to go next.
Ian walked through the thin, packed-dirt streets until he came upon a small, unremarkable house made of pale-blue wood. Ian could sense three people within: two elderly folks and a young child from the size and quality of their vitality signatures.
“This is the place?” Ian asked.
“Yes, Skai’aren. Jo and Porshek Vindradoon own this establishment; they’re also agents of ours.”
“What about the kid?”
“Just a kid.”
Ian snorted, then walked up and knocked on the door.
