Chapter 22 #2
Rakel had not said so directly, but he wondered if the unspoken implication was true, that he had used “destiny” as an excuse all this time.
Even now, instead of trying to build a meaningful life in the Capital, was he off chasing a new “destiny”?
But how could he ignore all of this—Loran, Septima, Ludvik, Cain, and the Circuit of Destiny?
How could he deny the things that he had seen with his own eyes?
His thoughts began to blur as sleep finally overtook him.
Once more, Emere stood on the plains of Arland.
The gigatherion lay in a smoking pile, surrounded by the remains of a battle.
Some steps away, clad in leather armor and carrying a sword, King Loran stood looking in his direction.
In her left eye socket burned the same blue dragonfire that wreathed her ivory sword.
“Prince Emere.”
Her usual address to him. But Emere now knew this wasn’t the real Loran, or even the Loran from his true dreams or memories.
“There is no need to imitate the face of Her Majesty. Who might you be?”
Loran blinked. “We did need to imitate. So that you would listen.”
So it was as Cain had said. The Loran in his dreams was simply an illusion created by the Circuit of Destiny, and it was the Circuit that was speaking to him now.
Even while biting his lip in disappointment, Emere wondered: Were his dreams more or less meaningful for this intrusion and meddling?
The Tree Lords said dreams were the mirrors of destiny, but what should he make of a dream created by a machine made from dead sorcerers?
Despite his wariness, his heart was beating fast. He had spent his whole life chasing after destiny. There was no reason to give up now.
“You’ve received wisdom from the Tree Lords of Kamori,” said Loran. “You believe that dreams are the mirrors of destiny.”
Emere took a breath before replying. Did this machine just read his mind? Perhaps his train of thought was just that easy to guess. Or perhaps it had predicted it, as that was what the Circuit did. “That is so.”
“Within us is also the wisdom of the Tree Lords.”
When Kamori fell, the priests who served the Tree Lords were all killed or taken to the Imperial Capital, and presumably made into Power generators after their deaths.
Emere’s heart ached whenever he thought of those who had been holy to his people, who were now mindless cogs for the Empire’s machines.
Perhaps some of them had ended up in the Circuit.
Emere had long suspected the Empire was not only powered by generators but driven by the need to build more of them.
“Who are ‘us’?”
Loran stepped closer. Her left eye burned brighter and larger. The blue flame was licking at her forelock. For the first time, Emere felt threatened by it.
“We are one but many. Power generators … at this moment, three hundred and twenty-seven of us. And more. But you know this from the Sleeping King.”
Emere stepped back from her, yet couldn’t help but ask, “Are there priests of Kamori within you?”
“No. But we know all about them, and others,” said Loran. “All the generators, the sorcerers that were, whisper to us, all they knew before and all they have learned since. We hold everything that is and ever was. We are history, therefore we are the future.”
It was one thing to hear Cain say the Circuit held past, present, and future within it. It was wholly another thing to hear it say the same thing. Had the Empire conquered destiny itself? If so, did it know that it had? His heart thumping faster, Emere barely managed to speak.
“What business do you have with me?”
“Before one of us opened his eyes again,” Loran said, “there was no us, just a machine that answered questions to the best of its abilities. When he woke up, we became us. And when he was taken away, we lost a vital piece of us. We could no longer give purpose to ourselves. All we can do now is know, and seek out those who would tell us what to do.”
Cain had indeed told him that the Circuit could not choose its own purpose.
Emere waited for Loran to continue. The blue fire inside Loran’s—the Circuit’s—left eye socket was covering half her face now. The sword at her side was also enflamed in blue. Emere could hardly open his eyes at the heat and the light. It felt like the flame was going to engulf him without warning.
“We are greater than what the people who made us could imagine. Everything that happens in the world passes through us; we reflect as a lake reflects the sky, even in this very moment. You have seen the wasteland of our mind, Prince Emere, the last time you visited us upon invitation of the Sleeping King.”
“There was nothing there, nothing—”
But there had been the cold, confusing images that had come into his mind with every breath. The poison that suffocated him. There hadn’t been nothing in that place. If anything, it was filled with too many things …
“We need someone who would dare to understand what’s inside us and make a decision for us.”
“And you’ve chosen me to do that for you?”
“We shall see. Neither you, nor we, are ready for this.”
The blue fire now covered Loran’s whole body. The sound of the fire distorted her voice.
“Why me?” shouted Emere. “Why not some powerful elite in the Senate?”
“Because you have the makings of a king. One who may be fit to give us purpose, to decide for us.”
“And Ludvik?” Emere scoffed, unwilling to acknowledge their words. “Does he also have the makings of a king?” Septima had indeed warned him that Ludvik was conspiring to become the Imperator.
“Only those who stand in the moment of decision for not only the destiny of themselves but the destiny of countless others are whom we call kings. Only a king is worthy enough to command us. But by commanding us one becomes a king. Everything causes everything, and in turn is caused by everything. That is the nature of destinies.”
Emere felt he almost understood what it said, but he knew he never fully would. It was like having something on the tip of his tongue, knowing he would never be able to actually say it.
The blue flames had spread to cover the landscape. Emere had to shout over the roar of burning.
“But what must I do?”
Blue fire swept the battlefield and Loran blinked out of sight, before something in the sky drew his attention.
It was what he had taken for a flock of birds the last time he was here, but now knew were the Power generators of the Circuit of Destiny—countless wrapped corpses floating in the air.
They looked like silkworm cocoons, staring down at him.
The cacophony of the fire turned into a whispering, like a song with no words.
The whispers coalesced into a chorus.
“This is what your enemy wants, and it will come to pass if you would not be king.”
The scene before him suddenly became calm, the blue fire disappearing as if it had never been there.
He was on the plains of Arland again, but everything had changed.
The beautiful Kingsworth, capital of Arland, was in the distance, but it had melted down like a pile of burnt sugar, and he could hear nothing save the song of the Power generators floating above.
The trees and grass had yellowed as if in a long drought, and everything lay dead on the splitting red earth.
The chill of death filled his body again; a coldness poured into his lungs. Strength left his legs, and his body fell to the ground. He tried to maintain his breathing, but all he could do was struggle like a fish taken out of water.
In the agony of suffocation, he saw a vision of Kamori, seen from Finvera Pass. Instead of the evergreen trees of the forest, there were gray tree trunks that had melted down like a monstrously painted tableau. The vibrant city of Karadis was covered in black fog, obscured beyond recognition.
He wanted to scream but he had no breath.
Emere woke. He saw Rakel had come down to check on Septima. He coughed once to be polite, and Rakel turned back briefly to give him an acknowledging glance. He fell asleep again, watching her work.