Anthem's Fall

Chapter Forty

Chapter Ten

Gravitas

 

A brisk wind rose from the high country in the cloud darkened north and roughly blew his brown hair across his face. His solemn expression was cold and hard like the landscape far below. Gravitas Nerol opened his eyes, bringing into focus the shimmering frozen vastness of nearby mountains and the lonely hills scattered about their slopes.

His looks were winsome and Royal like his father’s once had been, though Gravitas’s young face was etched in maturity beyond his years. Gravitas broke from his meditation with a long deep breath. The frigid air felt sharply rejuvenating, its icy touch reaching the depths of his lungs. His nose was runny from the cold, and he sniffed as he pulled the hood of his tarnished crimson cloak over his head. The worn fabric of the cloak was thick and ragged. Old burn marks had left holes in the faded red stitching and along the blackened lower hem.

Gravitas turned in the mountain air and flew northward against the wind, traveling through towering craggy peaks that rose in daring enmity between earth and sky. The heavy crimson cloak billowed wildly in the wind beyond his feet. Though he was as accustomed to the cold as the sparse scattering of high-elevation wildlife below, he tucked the cloak’s scorched fabric across his chin and nose to insulate his face from the biting wind. Only his eyes were then visible through the masklike visage, providing him with the dangerous appearance of a bandana-clad rogue.

Snow-capped peaks and dirt-encrusted glaciers passed by far below, and a wispy trail of moisture shifted between the precipitous mountainsides. Aside from the vigorous wind, the entire landscape sat in absolute stillness. The silence was his sanctum. Gravitas flew with little haste across the sky, appearing as a tiny speck from the towering mountains far below, before he disappeared into a gathering of gloomy snow clouds.

Gravitas enjoyed his time spent here in the blustery high altitudes. He was somewhere in the northern reaches of the Canadian Rockies, though precisely where he could not venture a guess. It was here, far away from the sounds and worries of the world, that Gravitas felt most at peace. The touch of wind against his face and the frigid air in his nostrils brought him back to a childhood on Mount Karlsbad. Grueling days spent training with Master Tolland, and nights spent shivering by the drafty fireplace immersed in passionate discussions on the great responsibilities inherent in bearing Sejero blood. Did his old teacher still live on Mount Karlsbad? Did his parents still think about him? Gravitas wondered if anyone still thought about him: the last heir of the Nerol line who one day vanished and never returned.

But this ultimately was his fate—his immense punishment—to never know.

It may as well have been a death sentence, his banishment. The exile had been the death of Gravitas Nerol. Yet he had come to terms with his forlorn desolation many years ago. Over time the intensity of his piping hot emotions had dulled into bitter acceptance. One had to accept his lot in life or succumb to the great weight of doubt and self-pity.

A realization snuck up on him and shook him from his silent meditation. It was the fourth anniversary of his exile—the banishment from his home.

His home.

“Anthem,” Gravitas Nerol whispered to the stoic mountaintops, perhaps to remind his heart that his memories were real. Yet Anthem was a perilous world, a perilous word, and he dared not speak it too loud—not even to the vastness of the mountains. Gravitas did not want so awful a phrase to ever be uttered upon this place. His expression betrayed a hint of sadness after his whisper faded in the wind. The people of his past felt more distant and obscure to his own recollection than ever before. Familiar faces, comforting idiosyncrasies, and soothingly recognizable voices of those whom he had loved were veiled by the cruel curtain of time. The good memories, the ones worth keeping, always seemed to fade.

It was the pitiless memories that lingered on with persistent and vivid clarity even after these long four years had passed.

Gravitas remembered so clearly the mask of disdain that had branded itself into Emperor Faris Epsilon’s dignified features as the leader brought the side of his fist down hard against his throne three times; three portentous booms initiated the trial and echoed across Gravitas Nerol’s life. The Imperial War Council had been thrown into a state of upheaval, and it was because of Gravitas. An unscheduled and unrecorded trial had been called behind securely locked doors. Oaths of secrecy under threat of death had been demanded of all councillors in attendance.

Holding a scorched crimson cloak in his arms, Gravitas Nerol had stood alone before the entire assembled War Council. His magnificent armor and adolescent face were caked in dust and grit, just having returned from the frontline. His feet had tracked a trail of dirt into the War Hall. He was a lone David within a ring of enraged Goliaths. The hardened gazes of the gargantuan generals and shrewd councillors burned with hate—and a touch of envy—for the teenager standing before them. This boy was the soldier who had caused all the mayhem. This was the young man behind the hushed whisperings and murmured stories.

Gravitas Nerol was sixteen.

Like the others, Emperor Faris Epsilon’s gaze bore into the young man, his words steeped in antipathy. “You have brought embarrassment to the entire Imperial First Class.”

A roar of agreement resonated around the circle of councillors. Jeers and insults blended into an indiscernibly malicious uproar around Gravitas Nerol.

“I did what was right, with full knowledge of repercussions.” The solitary young Gravitas spoke to the stone beneath his sullied boots, unable to conceal the resentment in his articulate voice. “And I will accept any punishment this Council deems appropriate.”

“Useless coward—you’re no Imperial First Class! I should spill this hall in your blood!” The taunt came from behind Gravitas, and once again he was enveloped in condemnation from all sides. It was a rare occurrence—the War Council had found a communal scapegoat.

But Gravitas was a warrior, and this unprovoked threat stirred anger in his chest. He turned his head to the side, so as to address the insult. “I will accept any challenge without hesitation—it need only be given.”

The threat in his voice was not lost to the room, and most of the enormous generals and military councillors had risen to their feet in outrage. They were pointing and barking like a pack of dogs closing in on wounded prey. This degree of disrespect and lack of decorum toward a superior was unheard of in the lowest dregs of the Imperial Army, least of all in the presence of the War Council and the emperor himself.

Yet despite the affronted furor, no challenge came forth.

They had all heard the rumors, and no one was going to face this peculiar young man. Many doubted the details of the report. It was, after all, illogical. Gravitas was Royalty—of the Nerol family line—but still, the account of what happened on Orion could not be accurate.

“Quiet!” Emperor Faris shouted, staring at the besieged young man as he cleared his throat. “You are officially charged with the highest degree of crime against the Epsilon empire and your people. Grand treason on planet Orion, the murder of the Lord General of the Imperial Army.” Murmurs followed his assertion, but Emperor Faris’s voice carried over the hushed doubt. “The attack of a superior officer is a treason punishable by death. Now, it is normal military procedure for a superior officer to carry out the execution of the perpetrator at the time of the infraction. This case is obviously unusual in that none of your superiors will volunteer to carry out the execution.”

Gravitas took a step forward and looked imploringly at Emperor Faris. “With respect, the Lord General broke our military procedure first, my lord. He issued a genocide order on a vastly inferior civilization that posed no threat to our troops or our extraction efforts on Orion. The Yabu race had no physical capabilities whatsoever, and their technology consisted of spears and arrows. The Yabu saw us as gods, not as a force to fight against. There was no cause to attack them, least of all to order a holocaust against them.”

Emperor Faris sighed in distaste, his face darkening. “We are assembled to issue a punishment for the killing of Lord General Bronson Vikkor, not to discuss the petty woes of some insignificant race.”

Gravitas tightened his grip on the crimson fabric, his fingers stained with dried mud. “They were called the Yabu, my lord, and they posed no hindrance to our invasion.”

“Extraction, not invasion.” A woman spoke from the ring of councillors.

“I challenge anyone who was there on Orion to refer to our presence there as anything but an invasion. But call our intentions on Orion what you will, the genocide order issued by the Lord General was more sadistic than strategic.” Gravitas turned to face the many councillors, his tone measured. “Bronson Vikkor ordered the genocide of a people that lived in huts and brandished sticks and stones. I tried to reason with him, to explain to him that the Yabu were incapable of stopping our extraction rigs. I could not let the Lord General issue the genocide order unchallenged, and if you were there, you would not have wanted the Yabu blood on your hands either. If the leader of the entire Imperial First Class can’t be held accountable for—”

“Enough!” Emperor Faris roared. “Have you completely lost touch with reality, boy? Do you need a history lesson?”

“I certainly do not, my lord.”

“It is not our responsibility to show courtesy to our enemies. We received none when it was our turn to face the merciless firepower of the Zergos.”

“The Yabu weren’t our enemy,” Gravitas urged. “That is exactly what I am trying to impress upon you.”

Emperor Faris shifted against his throne, his agitation appearing as though it might spill out of him. He brought the side of his fist down savagely on his throne’s armrest, splintering it to pieces that scattered across the stone floor. “You are too sensitive, boy.” He pointed to the great stone faces of their Sejero ancestors over the War Council, the Blood Ring glinting on his finger. “Where would we be if house Nerol’s forefathers had been as weak as you? It sickens my heart that someone as shortsighted as yourself bears Sejero blood. You lack the fortitude necessary to call yourself a warrior. You are feeble—if not in body, then in mind.”

To this the War Council applauded in agreement.

“I am strong enough to best your Lord General,” Gravitas said, his voice cold and his eyes brimming with passion.

Every councillor and general jumped to his or her feet, and Gravitas Nerol gladly centered himself into a fighting stance. He was prepared to take on every one of them without hesitation. Behind their facades of superficial prowess, most of these men and women were sycophants and bureaucrats. They were no fighters.

Gravitas was a fighter down to his very marrow.

“Enough! Enough! Sit back down all of you!” Emperor Faris shouted and considered the teenager, his expression filled with aversion. “You have dishonored us all, young Nerol. If you think our ways so horrid, our strategies of war so uncivilized, then your punishment is obvious.” He rose from his throne with finality. “You have brought shame to this Council. You have desecrated the pride of the entire Imperial First Class, and caused the death of one of our people’s most beloved leaders. You have permanently tarnished the Nerol family line, and brought disgrace upon the nobility of your forefathers. Were it not for the history of your lineage, I would call for your death—and I would have it. You have lost touch with the conviction that the strong must overcome the weak, lest they become weak in turn. You are lost, young man, and it is out of the respect I hold for your house that I give you this . . . mercy. By nightfall today, you are to leave Anthem. Gravitas Nerol, I banish you from our world.”

A subdued silence fell upon the War Hall. Gravitas allowed his mouth to fall open in astonishment for an instant before he averted his eyes from the emperor and stared silently at the crimson fabric in his hands. It was the highest punishment the emperor could give. Exile was worse than death.

“If I may, my lord.” Alegant Hoff, the largest and most ambitious of the generals in attendance, stood from his seat. “How will we explain the death of the Lord General—or for that matter the disappearance of a Royal son?”

Emperor Faris traced the forefinger bearing the Blood Ring across the fractured armrest of his throne in contemplation. “The official report of the incident that occurred on planet Orion is to be altered before it gets released to the public. The death of Lord General Bronson Vikkor will be attributed to the engine failure of his transport. The Lord General’s transport broke down in space during the return passage from Orion to Anthem. He met a tragic and regrettable demise in transit.” The emperor regarded Gravitas for a long moment. “Gravitas Nerol was on board the same transport as the Lord General. They died together when the ship fell out of contact somewhere in the wastes of space. We will hold a day of mourning across Anthem, both for the loss of our Lord General and the loss of one of our most powerful sons. That should bring this regrettable situation to an end, I believe?”

“Undoubtedly so, my lord.” Alegant Hoff nodded and sat back down.

“Send word to Pral Nerol. The Nerol family will be charged with providing this traitor with a means of exportation from the planet. He has cost my empire enough as it is. Open the doors. This Council is adjourned. General Hoff, get Gravitas Nerol out of our sight, and see to it he finds his way off Anthem at once,” Emperor Faris Epsilon said, not lifting his hard gaze from Gravitas as the doors to War Hall scraped open and a group of Royal Guards marched in to escort Gravitas away. “Seek atonement from our ancestors as you reflect upon your crimes, young Nerol. For you’ll receive none from your people, or from me. Now leave us.”

Gravitas had been too numbed by the verdict to hear the applause that claimed the Council as General Hoff and the Royal Guards took him by the shoulder and escorted him out. The polished dark marble hallway beyond the War Hall was empty and silent—temporarily off limits due to the secrecy of his trial. Gravitas allowed the Royal Guards to direct him down the hallway and past a row of tall windows. Beyond the glass, a waning summer sun hung low over Sejeroreich. The city stretched far into the horizon. Range upon range of magnificent skyscrapers gleamed in the solemn light of the setting sun. Looking sidelong past the glass, Gravitas thought it paradoxical that a city so beautiful could house such callousness. He realized, staring out over the great city, how little one man’s beliefs mattered against the glory of a thriving people.

Emperor Faris was right. He was lost.

General Hoff suddenly halted their procession. Ahead of them, Master Tolland was sitting silently on a bench that stood in their way, his expression pensive and tired.

“Lord Tolland, you know you shouldn’t be here. The top floors of the palace have been vacated for the evening,” General Hoff said with more than a trace of concern in his voice. He raised a huge hand and placed it against an alarm on the wall. “Emperor Faris has passed his judgment, and the boy is to be exiled. If I press this alarm, hundreds of soldiers will be here in moments.”

“And who would come that could add any clout to this group?” Master Tolland motioned to the dozen Royal Guards—the strongest ranks of the Imperial Army—that stood imposing and silent behind General Hoff. “But there will be no need for that. I wish only to speak with my student.”

General Hoff shook his head. “I can’t allow that.”

“You can.” Master Tolland unhurriedly stood from the bench. “And you will. I have no intention of thwarting your charge as my student’s warden, general. If I did, you would not still be conscious. I only wish to speak to Gravitas. Now please, allow us a quiet word together.”

General Hoff moved the hand reaching toward the alarm to touch a communicator in his ear. “Yes. Very well.” He spoke to the communicator and turned to Gravitas. “Your father has departed Municera and is bringing a ship to the palace’s roof hangar. We will wait with you here until he arrives. If you agree to carry on without incident, you may speak with Tolland.”

“I agree,” Gravitas murmured and stepped away from the Royal Guards to approach Master Tolland. Together they walked a short way down the hallway to get out of earshot from the general’s company.

“It’s all over.” Gravitas Nerol’s voice was hollow. “Unless I choose to face off against them, against the entire Imperial First Class, there is nothing that can be done.”

Master Tolland placed a hand on his shoulder, knowing any words would be lost on the youth. Gravitas leaned forward and rested his forehead against the glass of a window. Far below, the courtyard was brimming with tourists to the palace, all of them looking upward and embracing its soaring height with reverent wonder. Celebrations were underway across Sejeroreich: the Epsilon empire had secured the boundless resources of another world, of Orion. The years of plenty would endure for another age, and another inferior race had fallen to the power of the Sejero. Looming over the jubilation of the crowds, the gigantic banners of each Royal family shifted in the breeze against the palace walls.

“I failed them,” Gravitas said, his throat constricting as he stared down at the Nerol banner.

“Failed who?” Master Tolland asked as he surveyed the burnt crimson cloak.

“Everyone.” Gravitas could not bring himself to speak of Orion or the Yabu people. “You should have been there. You should have seen what we’re capable of. I watched as the Imperial First Class killed them all. We murdered every last one of them, to the smallest child. We descended from our transports in the high atmosphere and they tried to defend themselves with wooden spears.”

“I am familiar with the barbarities of the Imperial Army. You are not the first to witness the horror of the Epsilon empire. Nor will you be the last.”

“I’m sorry, Master Tolland, but I cannot endure a lecture. Not now.” Staring down out the window, Gravitas sighed in despair. “I don’t understand it. Aside from the Epsilons and some of the generals, the rest of the War Council isn’t even powerful. I could have taken on all of them. Are the other Royal families really so intimidated by the Epsilons that they would rather cower than stand their ground? Emperor Faris doesn’t intimidate me—I do not fear his Blood Ring or his armies.”