Weight of Worlds

The Sleeping Sons’ leadership was arrayed within the paved courtyard of the cloister, standing at attention as Asmar al-Firman spoke. Sansir tuned his words out, allowing the noise to spill over and past him as the General paced before them. His speeches never ran long or overly complicated, so it only took a few minutes before the hold over the commanders was broken.

Dispersing into smaller groups, Sansir watched as Asmar approached various cliques, insinuating himself with ease. He shared a few quick words, claps on the shoulders, or shook them playfully, before moving on. Always, he left grinning faces and fading laughter.

The school had arrived early in the night, but that many bedraggled tethered, including some peculiar people, were detained by necessity. Spending long hours in chill rooms within the guard stations as each were individually interrogated. Only complicated when multiple people didn’t speak a lick of Elensk, nor any other language on Vednar.

It took a very long time before they were released. Time with the itching burn of Ranvir’s attack just out of sight. Close enough that Sansir thought he could sense it, far enough that he knew he couldn’t. Yet, it still lingered. How long would that barrage suppress Saleema? Was it still ongoing? Had they moved away?

His mind rushed into an exhausting spiral, turning in and in and in on itself, indefinite in time and duration. Finally, they were released just as dawn cracked the sky. Sent to the palace, they passed one suspiciously large group of people after another. If not for their moody composition, he’d have called them riots. But they didn’t leave a wake of destruction and uproar behind. They scurried together, jumping at shadows and huddling tight against one another. A comradery darker sense.

A parade of fear and loneliness.

They had debated going to find Dovar and Kirs when they’d been given rooms, but the bed’s song called too strongly. Now, with noon peacefully passing to evening, he felt no more prepared to face the day. His eyes burned with lack of sleep, his legs were leaden and sore.

Grevor bumped his hip and smiled up at him. Sansir knew the blond tethered had gotten less sleep than him, having risen before Sansir did, but somehow he looked refreshed. A single night in the grasp of civilization had revitalized Grevor to the point of full rejuvenation.

It was ridiculous.

Asmar approached the group next to theirs, Idrees, Tulaiha, and two commanders. These were the ones least against Tulaiha’s position in a historically male dominated group. With Idrees’ presence, it was also the greatest concentration of power within the few cliques the company held.

Asmar’s eyes slashed across Sansir, Grevor, and Ayvir before he stopped at the other group. Did Sansir notice a moment of tension in his eyes? A spark of reluctance or annoyance? No doubt Asmar would prefer Sansir standing with his men.

Forcing his eyes away from the man was harder than it should be, though that could be sleep-induced inertia. Could be. It was possible. Craning his neck, Sansir looked above the roof of the cloister, towards the palace spires. Each peaked tip, capped with patina-green copper, like a step towards the center-most and highest tower. Snow danced idly around the climbing structure. Shivering and rolling about its massive structure, so distantly it turned to simple noise.

A tether-sense, aged and strong until it reminded Sansir more of an old forest, than anything man-made. A creation carved from nature. Yet this spirit had a sense of embers to it. Of flame yet to come, flames long past. A lethal pall to choke out the land.

“He is good at that,” Ayvir said, breaking the silence of their group just as the one next to them burst into boisterous laughter. Even dour Idrees cracked a smile.

Sansir’s lips pinched tight.

“I mean,” Ayvir said, raising his single hand. “He is not a laudable person, but seeing how he manages people, I understand how he got here. It’s impressive, that’s all I’m trying to say. He’s a twin master, yet couldn’t have helped us fight…” he trailed off and shook his head.

Sansir pursed his lips and nodded. “I know what you mean. I was surprised myself that he wasn’t a triplet master when I first joined.” At least he was when researching the Sleeping Sons beforehand. The leader of the Sleeping Sons, a premier force of Ankirian tethered, wasn’t a triplet master? Unheard of. He hadn’t even been a twin master when he’d gotten the position.

“Makes you wonder why he didn’t land a better first impression with Ranvir,” Ayvir commented. They all watched as Asmar detached from the group, glancing toward them for a second. He walked away, leaving them alone.

“Not really,” Grevor said. “I know most, if not all, the tricks he uses. I’ve been trained in them just as he has. Asmar’s just better at it. Naturally talented and hard-working. He read our body-language and knew enough of our history to understand not to approach. Cracking an existing dynamic open is difficult.

“Yet, Ranvir breaks most of the molds we go by. He spent many years, formative years, under an entirely different social structure with other social norms.”

“That is weird, right? I’m not the only one whose noticed how far away he stands.” Ayvir’s sudden enthusiasm made Sansir chuckle. He mimicked Ranvir, taking a step closer and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s turned away, actually,” Grev cut in. “Just slightly, leaning on his rear leg. Kasos and Amalia do it as well. Makes them seem farther away. On top of taking to these cues easily, Ranvir also has issues with authority, which comes through extremely clearly. Disdainful, even.”

Sansir remembered the earliest of Ranvir’s blunders at the academy. ‘Coldfront’ had been born from Dovar breaking his nose during one such occasion.

“Then you factor in Ranvir’s ability. His facility with his own powers. It exudes from him, to where he’s teaching an organization, with hundreds of years of tradition and training, how to travel through space. Ranvir’s competency is not quiet, nor will it be ignored.

“You take all of this and compare it to Asmar. He’s the leader of the Sleeping Sons, a most illustrious position. As you said, he’s supposed to be a triplet master, but he’s not. While he might not immediately come across as weaker than Ranvir to us, he would know. And how old is he? Early fifties? Ranvir’s less than half his age.”

Ayvir gave Grev a perpetual look. “Are you just trying to say that Asmar doesn’t like Ranvir?”

Grevor rolled his eyes as Sansir laughed. Wrapping his arm around Grev’s waist, he pulled him in close. “He got you there.”

“It’s too much of a simplification,” his blond boyfriend attempted to refute. “That’s hardly the point I was trying to get across.”

“You were trying to get across how smart and educated you are.” Sansir kissed him briefly to take the sting out of the words. Ayvir snorted and crossed his arm. Without the other limb, the move looked unbalanced.

“He’s also my dad,” Sansir confessed. “But don’t tell anyone.”

Ayvir blinked at him. “What do you mean?” he knew, of course, that Sansir was from the same flyspeck village in the middle of nowhere that Ranvir and Esmund were from. “How?”

“It’s complicated.” Sansir waved it off, his stomach boiling with upset. The immediate regret of the decision making his face cold. “And not that important.”

Ayvir gave him a long look, then nodded. “If you want to tell me, I’ll be here.”

Sansir hesitated, looking around at the others. No one was accessing their powers at the moment. “He took advantage of my mother, then left her at the front lines when she got pregnant. He was aware of her fragile health, but didn’t care to help her or even get her to some place safe first.”

Ayvir looked at him with pity, the feeling leaving Sansir to feel like something was gnawing at the bottom of his stomach. Then, with a twitch of his lips, Ayvir stepped closer and squeezed Sansir’s shoulder. The bald tethered could not fight the slight grin on his face, especially not looking at Ayvir’s split-wide smile.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Sansir said. “Grevor made me realize that. What has happened cannot be changed. I got many happy years with mom and Asmar can’t take those away. Now, I’m just looking toward the future and the sooner we get this whol…” he trailed off as a strange keening rang out.

Distantly, the sound still easily traveled.

“Is that a bird?” someone asked.

The sound wasn’t quite right. There was something else underneath it. A slightly deeper rumbling. The massive tether-sense in the palace tower snapped tight as the keening cry grew in volume. The buzzing intensified, splitting into the sound of thousands of insects screaming.

A streak of tan rushed overhead, then purple lights crashed overhead. The keening faded out as two figures resolved from the light. The tan streak coalesced into a ball and streaked towards the larger of the two forms.

Saleema had recovered, and the fight had found the city.