The next day, Charles remained missing from the homestead. Victorian was spending time with Dove and talking to her daughter Emillie about the academy test on the big screen in the living room. Raymond watched them from the kitchen as he sipped his tea. Even with a night of sleep and a new day before her, Victorian remained reluctant to speak about anything. He decided he would patiently wait for her to come to him. For now, he could smile at the laughter coming from the children as they interacted.
Before the sun had breached the high bank of pink clouds over the city, Raymond made his way out of the house and down streets that stretched over the floating buildings, attending to daily errands and possibly finding a way to locate Charles. As always, he was intoxicated by the streets; filled with pedestrians and sellers, creating a storm of noise and commotion.
From corner to corner, the thin, bridge-like streets housed all kinds of tents--small and big--lined in endless rows and patterns. Behind most of them were multi-colored tapestries hanging from massive stone buildings, unmovable and hovering over the shoreline far below. Creatures of odd appearance and tall lumbering robots wandered through the alleyways. Children and small animals dashed around in the sunshine, distracted by the bright colors and exotic smells. Mostly human lifeforms, but all from different factions, divisions, religions and tribes from around the solar system.
A few weathered, rotund men from Oonossa bearing heavy scars searched through wares at an outside shop, with lush pine boughs hung from their back. Deals for a trade. Across from them, a small gathering of tribesman from Lintu puffed on a huge waterpipe with ten different chambers and tubes. Their stark blonde hair caked with sand, and pale faces starved for the fresh mountain water they were about to trade for. Feathers from native animals fell from their gear, landing swiftly on the ground before the wind freed them. And the local Animosh, with their long hairy snouts dipped in hot tea mugs, brooding and bristling their whiskers at the passing crowds.
This was the Port Land Market, a place where one cold find any kind of vendor imaginable. Entertainment, food, singers, dancers, artists, even some who used forms of arcane abilities to display amazing street performances, most with spectacular displays of light. It was pure eye candy for the relentless crowds, and Raymond never grew tired of the experience.
Yet today was different. This day his mind was troubled with the absence of Charles, as it often was. It was not unusual for Charles to disappear, but now circumstances had changed. It was time for him to come home to the family. Raymond snatched a small communication device from his belt and raised it to his mouth. "Charles, this is my third message. When you receive this come home. Now." He returned the device his belt. Just then, as he began to continue down the street, something stopped him. A familiar face was lingering in the crowds.
Across the pandemonium, he noticed a face he had forgotten long ago, but remembered as though they had parted yesterday. He jogged along the side of the street, finally reaching an arched opening in the side of the wall, which lead into a separate lounge area. "...Hister?" Raymond called out as he approached.
The figure in front of him nodded slowly, then emerged fully into the sun light. He was dressed in all white, flowing robes, with a matching head dress that draped behind his head. Less ornamental then a royal figure, but still enough to draw attention in a place so informal. He was flanked by two lanky androids, which were no more than mechanical mannequins, holding electrified silver spears in their cold hands. "It is I." Hister declared with a thin smile.
Fearatu Hister was a member of the Monto'Ac Royal families, the crown of the solar system and the original ambassadors to the gods. Hister's family was once one of the most prominent in the line of Royal families; nine in total. However, the imminent downfall of his line was unfortunately sealed upon his birth, a price he had lived with for a lifetime. In the Monto'Ac system, it is believed that any child born with a defect, either physical or mental, must immediately be destroyed. A stark opposition to the belief systems of the Andacons, who cherish defects as important signs from the gods, rather then an impure hinderance. Imperfection was not tolerated by the Royals, lest it be tolerated by their creators. Tragically, when Hister was brought into the world, he fell victim to a physical defect and would become the first child in royal history to do so. A hand like a claw was his mark. Hard as stone, with fingernails sharp as tempered steel.
The families feuded for years over how to progress. Hister was not initially killed due to his linage, but they knew something else had to be done to compensate for their sacrilege. Finally, the grand council, made up of the Monto'Ac Princes, decided that a proper punishment would be to banish Hister and his family to the burial moons of Kew'As; three identical black moons located just outside the Royal system, near the outskirts of their territory. As the name suggested, this is where the Royals buried their dead, and Hister's family had now become their caretakers.
Although a morbid fate, Hister actually found the experience to be quite a beautiful childhood, spending most of his days wandering through the gardens, reading his favorite books, catching insects, or playing games with himself among the graves. The moons of Kew'As were unique because of a special soil, found only in that location, which reacted with the bodies of the Monto'Ac people. The soil would produce massive, colorful gardens of fertile plants and flowers, ranging in all size. Some flowers were so large they could even be seen from space, completely covering the surface of all three moons. A true wonder to behold. It was long believed in the Monto'Ac religion that the flowers were so beautiful and big, only because of their special bodies, gifted by the creators themselves. No outsiders were allowed to be buried there as a result.
Yet it was not so beautiful for Hister's mother and father, the new hosts of the dead, who had their own punishments to deal with. Being banished to a burial moon to watch over graves was only their fate. Their lives were far worse. Hister's father had killed himself long before they moved to the moons, shamed by the loss of his noble position and ruined family. This action, by law, led the council to order his mother to slowly commit self inflicted suicide, by ingesting a plant laced with a poison for many years, until her body slowly deteriorated and withered. Before she breathed her last breath, Hister was to place her hardened body in a ceremonial archway along the catacombs. There she remains to this day, overgrown by the plants which claimed her life, still ever watchful of her son through hollow eyes. All of this done in the name of the Monto'Ac religion. It was simply ceremony. It was their way. Yet for Hister, it was a life of torture.
Raymond had met Hister a few years after his mother's death, while attending a school for scholars and swordsmen at the age of sixteen. Hister was often bullied for his defect and ease of entry to the academy by those who remained willfully obtuse to his tragic story. An action which only caused Raymond to befriend and defend him. Today both had become older, hopefully wiser, and bit more grey, with a lasting connection which bound their souls.
Raymond stood before his old friend with a bright smile stretching his face, absorbing all the new changes time had cast on Hister's skin. The Monto'Ac had distinct heart-shaped faces and heads, and with Hister's age finally showing, Raymond could see new wrinkles all the more clearly on his defined bone structure. He appeared worryingly gaunt and pale, with sunken eyes and thinning hair. His energy however, was very promising. "Fearatu Hister! It is you!" Raymond drew him in for a close embrace.
Hister squeezed him weakly. "I had hoped I'd be able to draw you over with just a glance," his voice was rich, deep and elegant.
"How could I forget that face!" Raymond motioned to him. "That head makes you look so old now!" He laughed. Hister returned a hearty, happy grumble. "This is strange indeed. I have never seen you with grey hair before."
Hister patted Raymond's shoulder. "It has not become grey yet, my friend. Rest assured, I still attain much of my youth."
"As do I!" Raymond replied patting his chest.
"I see, I see,"
"So," Raymond leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "What brings you here today of all days? All the way from the crown?"
"Yes, that's right," he paused for a moment to study his friend's face. "I've come to speak with you about something. Something very important."
"Important?" Raymond scoffed. "Already? Hister, you've not been here for a moment, let's relax first." He led him inside to a small café just beyond the doorway. Hister's two guards waited by the archway. "Come inside, we'll have a drink!"
The inside of the small eatery was dimly lit, with the glow of blue light shimmering through the air, complimented by dark wood fixtures and black leather furniture. At the rear was a small bar with brass ornamentation, laced with mirrors which danced reflections on the ceilings and stone walls. They sat down at a raised, empty booth in one of the corners and settled in.
"You know," Raymond began, "it's been such a long time since I've heard from you. I was beginning to think you did not receive my letters."
"I have," Hister nodded. "However, I was hesitant to come see you in person. Last we met, our friendship had gone a bit astray."
"Oh, forget it," Raymond waved his hand. "It's far in the past. It was politics anyway. I've sense left that world."
Two drinks were set on the table in front of them, a complimentary hot drink made from sweet mushrooms and blue rose pedals which this area was famous for. Raymond stole a hearty gulp from one which stained his beard, then he passed the other to Hister.
"Have you?" Hister slowly lifted his drink. "That is good to hear. And how is the family?"
"We're doing fine," Raymond lied, his voice raising in tone. "Just trying to take it day by day, as always."
"And your Victorian?"
"Wonderful. Strong, independent, beautiful. I'm proud..." his strong voice wavered.
"What is it?" Hister grew concerned.
Raymond thought for a moment. "Not sure," he answered. "Things feel like they're changing. How should I put it," he glanced around.
"I can see things are not so wonderful down here in the Capitol city," Hister replied. He leaned himself forward. "I was hesitant to take a simple walk because of the street violence."
"You shouldn't be wandering around alone anyway," Raymond scoffed. "Where are your Royal guards?" he asked. "These toys you have by your side are a joke." He motioned to the doorway where the two android guards were standing.
"Royal guards?" Hister laughed. "Do you witness any?" he gestured with his spindly arms. "There have been none for many suns."
"They don't even properly guard you now?"
"Hardly," he sighed and took a sip of his drink. "I imagine they hope I will simply become as the dead eventually." He asserted, pondering his own words.
"I just can't believe it," Raymond hung his head. "After all you have been through--all they put you through. You and your family have paid your debts to the families and to the crown. It's shameful to see you waste away on some graveyard!" he declared, unintentionally thumping his fist on the table.
Hister let a thin smile creep across his dark lips. "I'm glad you still find me a brilliant mind."
"Absolutely I do!" Raymond beamed. They smiled together again. "And we need that mind here, right now. They call it the 'Capitol,'" Raymond snorted. "It is hardly a Capitol. People forget that name comes from the ancient word 'tapisco,' which means gold. They simply rearranged the letters over time, but it's still ancient, sacred text. Gold," he repeated, falling deep into thought. "Can you imagine? Gold. We certainly don't act like the most precious element anymore."
Hister laughed. "I feel like we're in school together again."
Raymond's expression remained stark and serious. "And it's not just that," he continued, a chill in his voice. "Something seems to be happening."
Hister leaned closer, intrigued by his friend's sudden shift in mood. "What is it?" he asked.
Raymond shook his head. "I'm not sure. I feel...an energy."
"In you?" Hister wondered.
"In me, in Charles, in Vic, in the world," Raymond stopped himself as Hister tilted his head in confusion. "Listen to me, I sound ridiculous," he slumped in his stool.
"Of course you don't," Hister assured. "Go on." He ordered.
"Well," Raymond gathered his emotions. "She had an encounter with a Skywhale yesterday,"
Hister quietly gasped, raising a bony hand to his chest. "And...survived?"
"Yes."
"That is truly incredible."
"Maybe not so incredible," Raymond's eyes were distant. "Perhaps it's common."
Hister slowly sat back in his seat, letting the words sink into his mind. He knew exactly what Raymond was referring to. He was as much a part of this discovery as Raymond, after all. "Eunoia," Hister replied thoughtfully. "You mean Eunoia."
"Yes," Raymond stated firmly, returning his eyes to Hister's hollow gaze. "I believe it now. I thought it was just Charles and I."
"I told you," Hister became lively, squirming in his chair and tapping the wooden surface vigorously. "The power of plants brings the power of the planets! The true powers of the solar system lie in the roots, not in the stars themselves. This is exactly what I'm trying to prove." Now it was Hister bumping his hands on the table.
"I believe it." Raymond promised.
"Why do you think the Twin Empire uses my moons exclusively?" Hister boasted. "They will trade with no one else. They pride and preen themselves, because status is their only worth besides war. Think of it, two planets worth of people, the largest and most dangerous planets in the system, subservient to flowers. So why not call the flowers gods?" Hister raised his glass and took a long swig of his drink, as if toasting to the idea.
This was indeed true. The Andacon Empire, or 'Twin Empire' as they were known commonly, had been trading with Hister and his moons for decades, after Hister opened his laboratories to the two leaders of the Empire, Castor Montrosaur and Castor Pollux. The Anadacons prided themselves on beauty, being humanoids made from crystal and light, and the liquids obtained from some of Hister's rare flowers were used to clean, polish, and keep their crystal structures healthy. It was also used in food, medicines and even building structures; an extremely valuable asset, as well as new revolution in their lifestyles which provided energy and longevity. Hister and his moons had quite literally become the key to their very existence.
"I hear they already do!" Raymond honored the notion with his own swig. "At least Castor Montrosaur believes so, right?" Hister nodded. Yet as much as he wished to celebrate with his friend, Raymond found his thought drifting into darkness again. "But," he began, taking a deep breath. "At the moment, I'm not sure if this is my god, or my demon."
Hister sat forward again. "Raymond," he said carefully. "I hope you do not hold anger toward me."
"What do you mean?"
"Think of it," he placed his drink on the table. "I was the one who steered you to rare plants. You must hold me responsible for this trouble you find yourself in."
"Don't be ridiculous, Fearatu," Raymond dismissed the notion. "It was my mother and father who steered me to rare plants."
"True, but it was I who led you toward Eunoia itself." Hister corrected.
Raymond nodded. "But even so," he continued, "you are, and always have been a true friend," he reached out and grabbed Hister's shoulder. "Something I greatly need at this time."
"This is good news." Hister remarked with a gleam in his eye.
Raymond could feel more secrets brooding within his companion. "Now it seems as if you have a thorn in your mind, friend." He said.
"Of course I do," Hister proclaimed with a grey smile. "Have you forgotten? I have something to discuss with you."
Raymond laughed. "Oh yes, of course, pardon me."
Hister searched for the perfect words, then stole a long moment to methodically prepare his speech. "Raymond, you are right in so many ways," his eyes sparkled in the reflecting mirrors. "Yet you do not yet know it. Eunoia is simply one of possibly millions of species just like it. Not only in this solar system, but perhaps the entire galaxy. This was what you were planning to do, correct? With Solar Warden. Exploration." He gestured Raymond to answer.
"Yes," Raymond grunted, "until they melted us down into toy soldiers."
"Poetic, but tragic none the less." Hister braved a smile. "I know these plants should be researched, not shunned. And that is precisely what I do."
Raymond perked up. He had been patiently waiting for Hister to say these very words for ages. "You did it?" Raymond asked with excitement. "You created the Eunoia laboratories?"
"Of course I did." Hister affirmed. "What do think I do on those moons--watch the dead?" he straightened his posture slowly, a ghostly shadow grew on the wall behind him. "I discovered long ago that all of my flowers held within them some kind of power. Eunoia power. Mysterious, wondrous, spectacles of the soil. All different, ever growing, changing and evolving." Raymond could picture what he was describing so vividly. "I gave to them a new home. Or should I say, they created it themselves."
"Themselves?" Raymond repeated.
"Yes. Like a flame, Raymond," Hister's eyes flashed. "They manifested. Feeding on the dead. New flowers every cycle." His face suddenly flushed with color, as if reflecting the light of his own creations.
"Amazing," Raymond breathed, truly impressed.
"But some flowers are rare beyond imagination. Now they are truly special. For within them, lies the power to the stars."
Raymond clasped his hands together, stifling his excitement. "You found more Eunoia."
"No, Raymond," Hister stared into his eyes. "I have found the Eunoia."
Raymond searched his thoughts for a brief moment, recalling his wisdom. Then a feeling washed over him as a striking realization grabbed him. "A mother plant." He stated.
Hister reached into his pocket and extracted a small, round glass tube. Inside was a tiny black flower, resembling a pristine rose. "No bigger then the tip of my small finger," he said, tilting the glass toward the light. "Yet holding the wisdom of ancient spirits." Raymond became entranced, his eyes dare not divert from the prize in Hister's thin fingers. "Lost to all current knowledge. We discovered it very recently, growing on the tombs of the old Wiroans. Fitting." He spun the glass between his long fingernails. "We imagine it was never discovered because it was never looked for. The tombs are forbidden, even to us."
"How did you get there?" Raymond wondered.
"We traveled there."
"But the laws and restrictions?"
Hister laughed at the notion. "The crown has already cast away my family, and I with them," he declared. "We shall remain separated forever. It is only I who will carry on this line. And I who shall end it." His body became as still as a statue, hardened by a strong resolve.
"Hister..." Raymond murmured.
"This is my motivation, don't you see?" Hister leaned closer to Raymond, restricting his voice to a gruff whisper. "You know as I do. These plants are the key to the future. Not the Royal lines. Not anymore."
Raymond was quiet for a moment. "I know," he breathed.
"Now it is time to show the world." Hister's tone grew dark. His eyes cold and black.
"But how?" Raymond inquired. "The Monto'Ac families will not comply. They have never allowed open research like this. It cannot be done."
"That remains the problem," Hister replied woefully. "But it is not only them, trouble spreads wide." Raymond nodded in agreement. "I see it as clearly as I see your pain, even now as I come to this place. Riots and protests in the streets, blood and steel. Rage, power, violence, anger. Everything seems to fall. Nothing seems to rise. And what of the Judges?" he asked.
Raymond allowed a grin and crossed his arms. "I happen to have seen them just a few days ago,"
"Jailed again?"
"What else can they do?" he shrugged and reclined in his seat. "They won't listen. I even requested an extended audience with them after my sentence so I could plead my case. But nothing. Deaf ears again. It's like talking to black space."
"Something must be done." Hister remarked abruptly.
"I agree," Raymond asserted. "We need real change. We need it now."
"Then let us claim it."
Raymond's face wrinkled with confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Let us move forward. What is stopping us?"
"Many things, Hister. You know that."
Suddenly Hister pounded his fist on the table, causing a few patrons to glance in their direction. "But something must happen, Raymond. Don't you see?" he proclaimed. "No one will come to your aid. No one will take action. It must start with one." He paused to let the notion linger. "Or perhaps, two." He stared into Raymond's eyes, hoping to draw a reaction.
Raymond thought for a long moment, gradually realizing this was a very serious conversation. "Hister," Raymond began, "what you are suggesting could be considered an act of war."
"No," Hister corrected calmly. "It is no different than the ideals of the rioters on the streets. In fact, that is a perfect place to start."
"The gods, Hister," Raymond huffed in exasperation. "Are you suggesting we form an alliance with something like the Power Chord? Join them in battle?"
"Of course not," Hister remained motionless and pensive. "I speak of us. The Power Chord is led by impressionable youths, striving for political attention by screaming and stabbing at each other. They change nothing but the news stories."
"It's much larger than that, Hister," Raymond remarked. "Kloven was once a great political mind before he was a crazed cult leader. He may be insane, but they say a fine line exists between them after all."
"So I hear." Hister was uninterested.
"I do not jest, my friend." Raymond continued. "Kloven is proof of that. I dare not defend, but, his attacks are precise and well planned. His crowd of followers is growing daily, and very passionate about his cause." Then he realized something. "He may leave more of an impact then we think."
"Is that why he remains in power and untouched?" Hister wondered. "I still don't understand it."
"Not many do, that's the problem. It's complicated."
"Go on." Hister's interest was piqued.
Raymond drew in a sharp breath. "Kloven is protected because he's doing nothing wrong. He simply creates plays and performances. Poetic readings and gatherings. If his fan base is rioting, there's noting the Capitol can do. They can't touch him. So they take his men, when they can find any." Raymond's words hung heavy. "People don't realize he's brainwashing them through his poetry. The performance is the danger."
"I understand," Hister displayed his fascination. "A gun directs the hand, but words will always stay the mind." Before Raymond could reply, Hister briskly leaned closer to him, as if to pull him into a trance. "Raymond," his voice was low and ominous. "Your world is crumbing around you. What will you do?"
Raymond's mind churned, contemplating the many possible implications of his involvement with something so severe. "I cannot, Hister," he said finally. "We are not the Power Chord. I have a family, you have royal attachments. It is insanity."
"Your existence is insanity." Hister retorted.
Every word Hister spoke was a firm blow to the heart. As much as it pained him to admit, Raymond knew he was speaking truth. "My friend," Raymond straightened himself and leaned his muscular arms on the table. "What you speak of is a paradigm shift. That could result in a solar war."
"The gods of these planets created a perfect solar system," Hister was already in thought. "One of their vision. Now, the gods are lost, except the ones we create and place in positions of power. Their vision has vanished. You know this, you see it every day. This is what I have come to realize over my many years, stranded in the darkness with ghosts."
"What have you realized?" Raymond asked.
Hister narrowed his eyes into dagger points. "No god would allow me to be." He uttered quietly.
Raymond seriously considered the thought for a moment. "No god would cause a war." He countered.
"Then I must overthrow god." Hister's words hushed all around them, as if a shroud of silence had settled over the room, filling the air with creeping shadows.
Raymond released an anxious breath and absorbed the atmosphere, which had now grown uncomfortable and malicious. Hister no longer appeared to him as an old friend, but a new one. "I feel as though I need time to think, Hister," he said calmly. "This conversation has lost me."
Hister nodded thoughtfully. "I understand."
"And yet," Raymond discovered deeper notions emerging within him. "It has also enlightened me. As I always find in your company." He managed a smile and began to leave. "It was good to see you again."
"I am glad." Hister's voice was faint and distant. As Raymond passed, he held out his hand to stop him. "Raymond, come to the moons. Soon. I want you to see everything for yourself."
"Of course," Raymond happily agreed. "I would be honored. Take care, old friend." His dark red sash danced in the wind as he neared the door, trailing behind him like a dragons tail as he disappeared into the streets once more.
Hister remained in the café for a long while after, the light trapped in the mirrors reflecting in his eyes as he became lost in thought, planning for the future. Raymond was a true friend. Perhaps the only one he ever had. And now, their friendship had become everything to him once again. It was time for loyalty to prove itself, and for action to become a reality.
Underneath the pink and orange sky of the industrial district, Kloven's sat outside on his stage, bathed in the lights of the dying sun. Half of his body was cast in shadow as he sat in a tattered arm chair, arched backwards with his head hanging from the back. He sat up, moved his body around, then continued to read his book of poems, greyed with ash finger prints. His hand slid up the bridge of his nose to adjust his large glasses, eyes flickering as he read the words.
Behind him, a large looming figure approached. His steps thumping and echoing through the buildings. "Kloven," a booming voice called out.
"Wassador," Kloven replied, continuing to read through his book. "Did you know, there is only one planet in our solar system that is unaware of the outside world. Imagine that. Being surrounded with intelligent life. Life that could completely alter your world. Like swimming in an ocean of teeth, surrounded by invisible islands. One sense lost and all will vanish." Wassador rustled his thick whiskers. "What do you think about that, my friend?" Kloven turned to him, then rose to his feet, snapping the book shut.
"It is the way of things." Wassador returned, his voice low and unassuming.
"Truth. It is the way of things." Kloven stood before him and placed a hand on Wassador's massive, broad chest, which made him appear as a child standing beneath a bear. "Time flows and we with it. Like waves we are. Ever rolling. Ever eternal." He turned and walked away, arms stretched to the sky. "But are we fate as well? Does this little world tell us all has been decided? This is the real riddle."
"Kloven," Wassador said again, possibly attempting to stop another poetic monologue.
Kloven slowly turned to him. He stared in silence for much longer than Wassador was expecting. Then he stood up straight and ambled toward him again, adjusting his glasses. "Yes, I'm sorry my friend, what is it?" He stopped in front of him and awaited an answer.
"Time begins to run thin." Wassador declared with sharp concern.
Kloven's eyes widened, he tilted his head in thought. "Yes. Yes it does."
"When is the time for action?" Wassador inquired.
"The action has already begun," Kloven strode away once more, moving to the center of his stage. "And now, the players move to their positions. Change is in the very air we breath. Every single being on this planet can sense the smoke. Fire is on the horizon." Wassador looked to him with an intense expression. "And we shall be the wave that sends them back into the planet's womb." He whispered to himself.
Kloven stood motionless for a moment, lost in his own thoughts, letting the wind blow through him, gazing out over the colors in the sky. "Bring me everyone," he ordered. "Bring them all to the stage tomorrow. I have more to write and far more to tell." He brushed past Wassador, leaving a firm pat on his back, then disappeared into the depths of the dark industrial lairs.
Wassador remained for a moment longer, pondering his leader's last words, letting the sun sink into his eyes. Then he turned, and followed Kloven down into the shadows.
The many colors of the Power Chord fluttered over the industrial site. Banners and flags, tapestries and brightly painted structures waving with the wind's flow. The world was silent and beautiful. It was the great calm before the oncoming storm. Although only the roots of the earth could feel it, a new movement had begun.