Anthem's Fall

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Nine

Vengelis

 

Dreams, nightmares mostly, emerged and receded like the ebb and flow of a shadowy tide in Vengelis Epsilon’s unconscious mind. Familiar faces cried out in pain, and venerated buildings fell to ruin with excruciating vividness. All the while perilous blue eyes stared unblinking at him through the void, filling his heart with hopelessness and exhaustion. Memories came to life in his tumultuous visions. Vengelis looked through a window into his own distant past.

In his mind he was sixteen again.

Vengelis recalled the day. Frost in his lungs, cold air against his skin, the wind swirled around him and whistled in his ears. It was his first journey to the bitter North, his first glimpse of Mount Karlsbad and Master Tolland. He was up to his knees in snow, a thick coat wrapped him in his own heat and a bag of spare clothes slung over his back. He stood in front of a rundown wooden cabin that was little more than a shed, its walls barely standing upright against the blistering gusts in the late afternoon dimness.  Gathering clouds brooded around him, impenetrable against the side of the mountain. A smell of coming snowfall filled his nostrils. Vengelis called out to the cabin, knowing he would soon be enveloped in what the clouds had to offer him.

“Tolland! Master Borneo Tolland!”

After a moment the door to the hovel opened. Vengelis caught a passing glimpse of a fireplace burning within. From inside the cabin, an average-sized man emerged. The hermit looked to be in his early sixties, his features more seasoned than old. He was holding a wide ceramic pot against his chest. Taking no notice of the heir to the Epsilon throne, the graying man turned and trudged through the deep snow toward a lofty snowdrift left by the relentless wind. As Vengelis watched him, flakes of snow began falling silently from the gloom of clouds. They eddied around him, weightless and beautiful. Vengelis pulled his fur hood over his head and took a step toward the man, who seemed entirely unaware of the impending storm or the bone-freezing cold as he brushed loose snow into the pot with an outstretched arm.

Master Tolland then spoke.

“This is perhaps the most crucial chore to living here, because it is the only real necessity. The snow must be boiled down of course—even this northern isolation provides little reprieve from the pollution of Anthem. But among the many other unnecessary chores, creating water is a must.” Master Tolland peered up into the dark drear overhead. He said nothing for some time and seemed to savor the imminence of the blizzard before he lowered his eyes and looked at Vengelis. “But that is ultimately the purpose of living here. Only necessities.”

            Vengelis remained silent, taking note of the man’s unkempt condition with disapproval. Behind this man’s disheveled appearance was unmistakable Royal blood. His brow was sharp, cheekbones high, and his hands looked strong and enduring, but it was hard for Vengelis to look past his threadbare impression. He was not impressed.

“Though over time,” Master Tolland smirked, as if he could read Vengelis’s thoughts. “Over time I can’t deny that I have developed an appreciation for the mundane. There is some cathartic value to the structure daily chores provide. It is, after all, our routines that root us in our reality. I take it you are Prince Vengelis Epsilon?”

Vengelis nodded, in disbelief his father had ordered him to this place—to this unsophisticated man.

“Even here, rumors have reached my ears of your deeds,” Master Tolland said. “Very impressive to be declared the greatest warrior of Anthem at your age. Especially considering your lack of formal training.”

“I have received formal training.”

“Is that so?”

“I worked with the most prestigious coaches of the Imperial First Class for many years. They awarded me their highest rank when I was thirteen. Their lessons were marginal at best.” Vengelis’s tone was indifferent. “Now I teach them.”

“Hmm.” Master Tolland raised his eyebrows. “Tell me, Vengelis, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to disregard my tutelage as easily?”

“Yes,” Vengelis said at once.

“Perhaps you will.”

“I read about you before I left Sejeroreich,” Vengelis said. “You used to be quite a warrior. Used to be. I have to say, you’re older than I was expecting.”

Master Tolland chuckled in a genial, confident manner. “It seems as though we are experiencing similar disappointment in our first impressions. You are shorter than I had envisioned.”

“Bold of you to insult an Epsilon. I’ll give you that at the very least,” Vengelis said. “You are the last of the Tolland family line as I understand it?”

“I am.”

“And you have no heir?”

“My Sejero bloodline will die with me, if that is what you are getting at.”

“Waste,” Vengelis said with genuine anger. “It’s against the law for a Royal son to have no heir. Though I’m sure you already know that.”

“I do not consider myself a member of your father’s empire, in case you couldn’t tell.” Master Tolland raised a hand, indicating their thousand-mile harsh isolation on all sides. “As such, I am not obliged to follow anything but my own will.”

Vengelis nodded skeptically.

“You are here by the mandate of your father?” Master Tolland said after a prolonged silence.

“Yes.”

“Welcome to Mount Karlsbad. Here you are a guest. Here you are the student, and I the teacher. Such superficial notions as lineage and heredity are irrelevant here.”

Vengelis smiled smugly as he looked at the veritable beggar standing before him. He tossed the bag of spare clothes his servants had packed for him into the snow, and he began to limber up. “All right, I’ve had enough. I’d like to get back to Sejeroreich by sundown, and it’s cold as hell out here. I came here to appease my father, but this is becoming ridiculous. I really don’t want to inadvertently kill you, old man. If you submit and walk back into your . . .” Vengelis eyed Master Tolland’s shack. “House. I won’t tell anyone. I can lie and say you put up a surprising fight for a guy your age.”

“I suppose this is one way to do it.” Master Tolland placed his pot in the snow beside his front door. He also began to limber himself, stretching with a flexibility that surprised Vengelis for a man his age. “If you can defeat me, I will allow you to leave for home immediately. I will write a personal letter to your father, Emperor Faris, stating that I have nothing of worth to teach you. Does that sound fair?”

Without the slightest word or nod of agreement, Vengelis erupted forward, throwing his right fist at the man’s nose. Master Tolland easily sidestepped, and Vengelis’s arm crashed through the door of his cabin. Warmth and the fragrance of simmering stew wafted through the doorframe.

“Your first task will be to build me a new door.”

Vengelis laughed and launched another wild swing. Then something happened he did not entirely understand. He registered Master Tolland moving very quickly, and then within an instant, his back was buried in the snow. The old man had tripped him. Vengelis tried to jump to his feet, but Master Tolland had a strange hold on his right arm. He was pushed shoulder first into the snow once more, and Vengelis realized with a shock of pain in his elbow that he was caught in a submission lock.

He seethed. He screamed. He threatened.

“What are your thoughts on discipline, young Prince?” Master Tolland asked from behind his shoulder, his voice as calm as it had been a minute previous.

Vengelis was covered in snow. It melted on his fuming and trembling cheeks.

“I . . . don’t . . . have . . . thoughts . . . on . . . discipline!” Vengelis screamed, his eyes nearly bursting out of his sockets with rage. The pain in his arm was beyond anything he had ever felt, beyond anything he could have imagined.

“How?” Vengelis gasped.

Master Tolland released him and Vengelis rolled over and sprawled his limbs through the snow as he gasped for breath, steam pouring off his body from the exertion.

“Then that is your first lesson on the subject,” Master Tolland said. “The subject of discipline, that is. I suspect it will be the first of many.”

“I don’t . . .” Vengelis coughed as newly falling snow landed on his face. “I don’t understand.”

Master Tolland looked at the young man through the veil of snowfall. “I take on one student at a time. My last pupil recently completed his training. I would not normally take on someone your age as a student. However with him gone, and your unusual circumstances—being heir to the throne—I will accept you. If you wish to possess the kind of abilities I have just showcased, then I encourage you to stay with me here in this northern desolation. I will teach you how to unlock the true potential of the Sejero blood that resides within you. Your training will be complete the day you are able to best me. You will learn technique and theory of the physical arts, as well as the philosophies of power.” Master Tolland crouched down to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “There is more to Sejero power, in all of its infinite glory and peril, than the blunt strength and foolish arm wrestling contests of the Imperial First Class and the Grand Arena. I hope one day you will come to see that.”

 

Pitch-blackness descended over Vengelis’s memory. His dream began to shift and dissipate: thin rays of light penetrating into his chasm of darkness. Even in the diminishing oblivion, hopelessness dominated. Real vision began to come into focus, and with it came excruciating pain.

Vengelis jolted upright with a rattling gasp for air.