Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Alderian did not make use of his gala attire to approach the Lotus Flower Palace this time; instead, he arrived directly at the outer perimeter, before the Gate of the Guardian of Order, demanding to be received.
His blood boiled with rage.
In the past, he had witnessed those true witch hunts: they pursued alleged suspects of altering the Threads.
The punishment was death; there was no other way to describe it.
Severing the Threads was equivalent to ending the cycle of incarnations, returning to Lethe without the possibility of ever existing again in any other form.
There was a time when the Guardian of the Threads seemed especially fond of this method of control.
Thus, a culture of submission, of silence, and of distrust was established.
Anyone could inform on you, and the Guardian could label any act of rebellion a “Thread anomaly.” He had always doubted that such anomalies truly existed, though his perception had now shifted irrevocably.
Having an entire squad at Augustine’s house could only mean one thing: the cutting of the Threads of some family member, or of Augustine herself, was imminent. The wide doors opened, allowing him to enter the great hall, which looked exactly the same as the last time he had been there.
“Welcome, Alderian. It has surprised us to know that you were requesting an audience,” the Guardian of Oblivion said from his seat.
Alderian tilted his head before speaking.
“I implore you to forgive my intrusion without prior notice, but the urgency of the situation has forced me to act quickly.”
“Speak,” the child Guardian ordered.
“A squad of elite A’aruin is under active surveillance toward my human and her blood tribe. They are subjecting us to unjustified scrutiny.”
The Guardian of Oblivion seemed taken aback, but he didn’t get to react, because the Guardian of the Threads interjected, seizing the floor.
“Unjustified, you say?” Her voice was sharp as a knife. “Are you sure you are in any position to make such a claim? Especially you.”
“I do not understand what you mean, Guardian,” Alderian said, unshakable.
“Last night there was clearly an anomaly in one of the Threads in that house, Alderian… do you want to know whose it was?”
Alderian looked at her in silence for a few seconds, weighing his response.
“If your Excellency has such clear suspicions regarding the responsible parties, I wonder why you have not summoned your suspect for interrogation and, instead, have favored a method that terrorizes the entire system.”
“How dare you question the designs of a Sovereign Guardian?” The Guardian of Order could not contain his astonishment.
“Enough,” the Guardian of Oblivion interrupted before Alderian had any chance to answer. A tense silence took over the room. “Guardian of the Threads, you have not informed us you started a procedure like the one Alderian describes. In these times, the Council must deliberate such matters.”
“Guardian of Oblivion, I remind Your Excellency,” the Guardian of the Threads said, her voice vibrating with a dangerous tremor. “My sovereignty, my decisions.”
“That is true as long as we are not in a situation of major danger,” the child said.
The Guardian of the Threads bit her lower lip, furious and humiliated.
“There is a rotten apple that must be eradicated for the sake of A’aru,” she insisted through gritted teeth. Her menacing posture contrasted diametrically with the cold calm of the child staring back at her.
“Yesterday there was an alteration in the Threads and it was my fault,” Alderian interrupted. “I have been practicing the art of war by my own means, and that has exposed me to an emotional state that perhaps has transcended to my Thread.”
“Impossible. Who would teach you to fight at a level that could alter a Silver Thread?” she said in a mocking tone.
“Prove then that you have outstanding skill; otherwise, it is difficult for this Council to uphold your word,” the Guardian of Oblivion suggested with a satisfied smile.
“I can prove it,” Alderian assured.
He was moving dangerous pieces. In the first place, he didn’t know if he could actually prove he had greater skill than an average elite warrior, but at least he could defend himself. If the Council accepted this explanation, perhaps he would make them lower their guard, at least temporarily.
The Guardian of the Threads weighed her possibilities calculatingly.
“Agreed, but there is one condition: we shall designate an appropriate date and venue, and we will select a formidable Elite Warrior for the challenge. If your anomaly truly was the product of your supposed training, the level you have reached should be the equivalent of the General of the Elite Warriors or higher.”
“Who could surpass the General?” the Guardian of Order asked, perplexed.
“One of us,” the Guardian of Oblivion said.
Alderian felt his legs weaken, but he nodded in silence.
“Furthermore, I will state plainly that I suspect the rotten apple is your human, Alderian… If you lose, if in fact you are not the cause of the Thread anomaly, you will be reassigned. We will let Aldana go into Lethe, and we will provide you an A’aruin according to your level.”
“Wait, a sentence without a trial strikes me as premature; to reach such a verdict solely based on my duel,” Alderian protested.
“In that case, the most appropriate thing is to maintain surveillance over your human tribe.”
Maintaining the surveillance was equivalent to an inevitable severing of Threads, potentially encompassing Augustine’s entire family. There was an implicit threat in her words.
“I will do it.”
“Very well. If you lose, do not distress yourself. I will assign you to me; you will find the exchange quite advantageous.”
Alderian stared at her, disconcerted, unable to believe what he was hearing.
“I would prefer that you let me go to Lethe as well, Guardian of the Threads.”
The Guardian of Oblivion laughed. First it was a soft chuckle, but it ended in an unsettling roar.
“So be it,” the child settled, wiping away the tears brought on by his amusement. “You’d better win.”