Rise: Paths (Future Worlds Book 2) Read online

  Rise: Paths by Brian Guthrie

  © 2015 by Brian Guthrie. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

  Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein, the author and publisher assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for damages that may result from the use of information contained within.

  Cover Design: Christopher McElfresh

  Publisher:

  Editor: Laura Kenney

  Library of Congress Catalog Number:

  ISBN:

  1. Science Fiction 2. Fantasy

  First Edition

  Printed in United States of America

  Contents

  Chapter 1 - Unexpected

  Chapter 2 - Hubris

  Chapter 3 - Paths Cross

  Chapter 4 - The Nomad Council

  Chapter 5 - Truth or Vengeance

  Chapter 6 - Complications

  Chapter 7 - Cheating

  Chapter 8 - Conspiracies

  Chapter 9 - Tensions

  Chapter 10 - Questions

  Chapter 11 - Particular Skills

  Chapter 12 - Secrets Never Told

  Chapter 13 - Fiery Emotions

  Chapter 14 - Nomad Secrets

  Chapter 15 – Facing a Questioner

  Chapter 16 - Shadows

  Chapter 17 - Challenges

  Chapter 18 - The Arena

  Chapter 19 - Taken

  Chapter 20 - Weeping

  Transcript of Quentin’s Interview

  Chapter 1 - Unexpected

  When I landed on the nomad shell, the first thing that struck me was the stark difference the land mass presented compared to lower shells. We possessed a lot of information in the network of the super-shell, but this was my first visit. The first thing I noticed was the air. It's not that it felt different, but there was a noticeable thickness to it at this elevation. Far above lay the water shield, obscured by the night shield that was currently up on the shell. From Colberra, it was possible to see many more details. From here, an observer might spy a few clouds dotting the blue mass and nothing more. My companion, who'd carried me to this shell, had left as quietly as we'd arrived. Landing once the night shield had come up had been a strategic choice, providing us with cover from prying eyes.

  "Not that you expect to find too many eyes this far out, do you, Logwyn?" I muttered to myself, tucking my hair back into my cloak and pulling it tight.

  The costume given me for this trip felt bulky and thick. A tangled mess of tunic, pants, and something called an obi, I'd cinched it with a belt and covered it with a robe. The mottled brown attire favored by the Nomads left a lot to be desired. Still, as a cold breeze whipped at me from beyond the edge of the shell, I appreciated the warmth the clothing offered.

  Along with the air and wind, another thing that stood out was the slope of the ground. My companion, who had been offered me by the Queen upon my request, had deposited me on the upper slope of the super-shell. Because of the destruction wrought by its formation in the past, most of this end of the shell lay unoccupied, as it was tilted down to the north.

  "Putting me here helped with not drawing attention," I said, scanning the lifeless, dimly lit terrain. "Doesn't help me find someone to talk to once I'm here."

  Once I did find someone, my first problem would come to a head, namely that my destination remained unknown. I had no clue at all, actually, about where to go. Just a name. The only Nomad name known to me at that point.

  Suyef.

  #

  Finding Suyef turned out to be the easier of my problems to solve. His name is, apparently, something of an oddity among his people. I also seemed to have landed, quite fortuitously, in a section of the shell his family dominated. So, once contact was made with my first Nomads, his name proved quite handy. Particularly as they seemed less inclined to believe me until I dropped it in conversation.

  Soon after, I found myself sitting on a pillow in a tent nestled up against a large mountain, sipping a strong tea while watching an older man puff hard on ancient-looking device he called a "hookah." I wracked my brain for any knowledge of such a contraption, trying to find a reason the man would choose tosubject his lungs to what had to be noxious vapors. My search proved as fruitless as my access to the network on this mission. So I sat, as patiently and quietly as possible, sipping my tea under the attentive, if slightly glassy-eyed, gaze of the older man.

  "Suyef's not to be bothered," the man said after what seemed like hours had passed.

  I arched an eyebrow at him. "So you do know him?"

  "I would think so. He's my nephew."

  "Direct nephew?"

  The man shook his head. "Couple times removed." He puffed once on the hookah, blowing out a column of smoke before continuing. "Like I said, he doesn't want to be bothered."

  "I need his help," I replied, setting my teacup down and holding his gaze.

  "With what?"

  I shook my head. "That's for his ears only, I'm afraid." The Queen hadn't been helpful in pointing me to my goal, but she had reminded me of one thing before my departure. To tell no one of my work. So I spread my hands and shrugged. "Sorry."

  He frowned, lips jutting out a bit as he traced them with the mouthpiece. "He's gone to the edge."

  "Of the shell?" I asked, then shook my head. "Sorry, of course the shell. What other edge would you mean?" I frowned at him. "Anywhere near where your people found me?"

  It was his turn to shake his head. "Where he is on the edge is his knowledge alone. We know how to signal him but only he decides whether to respond."

  "So, can we signal him?" I asked.

  The man shrugged. "You haven't given me a reason to."

  I gritted my teeth, looking around the room. "Suppose I'm not a good enough reason?" The look he gave me served as my answer. I smiled, shrugging slightly. "Fine, I guess you've left me no choice but to tell you." I leaned toward the man, my voice lowering. "I need his help finding someone." The man continued to stare at me. "Someone very important."

  "There's only one person important enough to get his attention," the old man muttered, puffing on his hookah. "His father."

  "His father's dead," I countered, suspecting a trick.

  "Since when? I spoke to him recently."

  Now it was my turn to give him a look. "Define recently." When he didn't answer, I pushed on. "If by recent you mean more than twenty cycles, then okay."

  The man puffed on his hookah one more time, then gave me a slow nod. "And you say this person you seek is important?" My turn to nod. His eyes narrowed, then he clicked his fingers. "We'll see if he responds. What's your name?"

  #

  I spent a few more days among the Nomads and learned very little of them. They kept me isolated in a tent and hardly spoke to me. I did learn one thing. They all dressed exactly alike and, to the outside eye, all appeared the same, down to their voices and gaits when they walked. The only discernible difference lay in their genders, and then only because of a few items that tend to stand out. My hopes of finding the person who visited me back in my office dwindled quickly. I was convinced it was a Nomad, and not just because the Queen let it slip in our first conversation.

  On the fifth day, Suyef finally responded. The Nomad elder summoned me to his tent, puffing on his hookah and handing me a small note before waving me away. Stepping outside,
my hands fumbled to open the note. All I found were a series of numbers that were most likely coordinates. This guy was not making things easy.

  Two days later, a guide deposited me on the edge of a sweeping cliff that overlooked the core. My guide left when we approached the precipice. A quick sweep of the area revealed nothing and no one.

  I was alone.

  #

  Standing on that cliff did give me one thing: an appreciation for the size and scope of our world. Staring over the edge, looking at the core, I couldn't make out any of the numerous shells that orbited deeper in our world. Glancing up to my left, I spied the only shell visible in the atmosphere at this time: Colberra. Still, my quest hadn't left me completely unaware of current events. Things were changing.

  Pondering the size and shape of our world, my preoccupied mind failed to notice I was no longer alone. I'm still not sure where he came from. One moment found me staring off into the abyss, the next, a Nomad stood there.

  "Suyef?"

  He didn't answer. He moved to walk away from me along the cliff. I followed, certain it was him.

  "I need your help." No answer. "I need to find someone." He kept walking. "The Queen sent me." He stopped, allowing me to move closer, but didn't respond. "Can you help me?"

  "It's hard to help someone who doesn't speak openly of what they need," he said, his voice so quiet I had to strain to hear him.

  "I've been sworn to secrecy."

  He turned, his dark eyes locking on mine through the slit in his cowl. "As have I."

  "By her?" He shook his head. "By Quentin?" No response. "You know where Quentin is, don't you?"

  His eyebrows rose slightly. "And now we come to the point."

  "I need to speak to him."

  Suyef looked away. "He's not in a talking mood."

  I frowned at him. "A talking mood?"

  The Nomad returned his gaze to me. "Things are not right with him. Very not right." He turned and walked away. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

  #

  The Nomad led me to a cleverly hidden cave entrance nearby. Even from the air, I doubt this would ever have been found. A fold in the terrain created an odd overlap along the edge of the cliff. At the point where the fold joined together lay a small opening that led down into darkness. Into this I found myself descending, following the now-quiet Nomad.

  After a long climb, followed by an underground trek guided by a light in the Nomad's hand, we arrived in what amounted to a living room buried under rock. Four walls, a roof, a floor, a couple of fabricated leather couches, and a metal table with two chairs.

  "No network station," I commented, setting my travel sack down on the table.

  The Nomad grunted. "One doesn't come here if they want to be connected to the world."

  Opposite the entrance stood another door. I pointed at it.

  "Is he through there?"

  "As is the matter reforger, our latrine, and our sleeping quarters," he answered.

  "How big is this place?"

  The Nomad replied, "Neither too big nor too small."

  "So…just right."

  He glared at me. "Or that. It is here and that's what matters."

  "Why here?" I asked, waving a hand at the ceiling. "Under all this? Why all the secrecy?"

  Suyef glanced at the aforementioned door. "Something happened to him near here. At least, he thinks it did. So this place is here."

  I pondered those words, my eyes locked on the door. "May I speak with him?"

  "You can try."

  Beyond the door, I found a hallway with several rooms opening off to each side. A matter reforger, a latrine, and two closed doors I assumed led to sleeping quarters lay down the hall. The passageway continued on for some distance, ending at another sealed door. It slid open at my approach to reveal a ledge and waist-high wall opposite the door. On the far side of the wall lay nothing but sky and the core far below. To either side, the ledge continued along what looked to be the side of the shell. To the right, the ledge ended about ten paces away in a rock face jutting out from the structure. To the left, it continued on much farther, reaching a small outcropping that gave the ledge a lookout point of sorts.

  Sitting there, wrapped in a cloak similar to those worn by the Nomads, I found Quentin. He looked awful. His eyes were sunken, his hair a matted mess, and he looked like he'd been missing a few meals. His lips moved but made no discernible sound. I stared for a few moments, uncertain of what to do.

  "This is one of his more lucid days," Suyef whispered from behind me.

  A shock raced up my spine, sending tingles onto my skull as I grabbed at the wall.

  "Don't sneak up on someone like that," I hissed at him, pointing at the expanse. "Especially in a place like this."

  The Nomad didn't take his eyes from Quentin. I followed his gaze, rubbing at the tingles on my neck.

  "As I said, one of his more lucid days."

  "What happened?" I asked, looking back at Suyef. "What turned him into this?" When the Nomad frowned at me, I continued, "I've never met him before, but from what my research revealed, this wasn't what I expected."

  "People change, especially after a lot of time has passed," the Nomad muttered, beckoning me to follow him back inside.

  He led me to one of the closed doors and opened it. Inside lay a room with a single bed in it, but that's not what I noticed. Sketches covered very inch of wall and ceiling space. All on actual paper. So much paper—and I'd thought it in short supply just a few weeks before. Only the light fixture jutting out from the roof broke up the drawings. And every one was of the same person.

  "Micaela."

  "He started doing this shortly after we came here," Suyef commented, eyes roaming over the sketches. "There are more stored elsewhere."

  Every image was different. Each was a head-shot of her but in every one he changed something: here a scar, there a different hair style. In some she smiled, in many she looked thoughtful. One she laughed in. Every one captured her eyes perfectly.

  "Clearly, she matters to him," I whispered.

  "More than she will admit, I think."

  I lowered my gaze to the Nomad. "What happened to him?"

  "Only he can tell you that."

  I frowned at him. "Because you refuse to tell?"

  "Because I wasn't there when it did."

  "But you know what did it?"

  He nodded. "I know precisely what did it, but only he can tell you what happened." He took in a long breath and let it out. "First you’d have to get him to focus long enough to answer." He pointed up at the pictures. "This is the only thing that brings him out of his madness. Her face. Her name. If you want him to talk to you, you have to make him think of her." He stepped near me. "And then you have to tell her what he says."

  A thought pricked at my memory. I stared at the Nomad, trying to glimpse him better through the slit in his cowl. "It was you who visited me, wasn't it? Who started all this?"

  He cocked his head to one side, shaking it slightly, but he said nothing. Giving him another look over revealed little, as they all looked alike in build to my untrained eyes. His voice, however—that, my ears had heard before.

  "You did come to me," I whispered. "You gave me-"

  He held up a hand. "Whatever you speak of, this is not the place, I assure you." He glanced back down the hall toward the ledge. "I suggest you keep your memories to yourself. Focus on someone else's."

  I nodded once at him, my hand moving away from my travel sack and the mysterious box it held. I could play along. For the moment.

  "What about her story?" I asked. "Will he listen if I tell it to him?"

  The Nomad cocked his head to one side and nodded this time. "It's probably the only thing he'll listen to."

  #

  Getting Quentin to sit still for a conversation was like trying to catch the wind. It proved just as futile and frustrating. Persistence only paid off so much. You would think in a place that small, a person would run out of places to hi
de. Then again, I still can't tell you where they found quarters for me. The door was simply there where it wasn't before. Scripting probably played a role, but I never caught either of them doing it.

  Suyef proved next to useless in helping me with this endeavor. He seemed content simply to keep an eye on Quentin, although why he felt the need, I would be waiting a while to find out. The Nomad would nod once or twice at me upon my attempts to strike up a conversation, shrug occasionally, and move off. My task, it seemed, was mine alone. So, I took to just following Quentin. If he wouldn't stay still for a conversation, walking around wherever he went seemed my best option. My hope that this might give me some insight into what was wrong with him died quickly. That answer proved as elusive as real conversation. Sometimes he would sit and stare at a wall for hours, fingers drawing almost absentmindedly what looked like intricate script on the floor. Just as I began to wonder if he'd ever move from that spot, he'd be up, running back and forth from room to room. He'd rummage through things, looking under and inside anything that moved, tossing anything that he found easy to lift whichever way he wanted. After that, he'd stumble to a halt and just stare.

  Other times, he would mutter incessantly. Nothing easily made out, mind you. Just gibberish. Suyef seemed the most concerned when this was happening. He'd hover much closer to Quentin when he did this, leaning slightly, head cocked to one side as he watched. I strained my ears to make out anything intelligible but never succeeded.

  "Be grateful his temper is cool right now," the Nomad said to me after one of these occasions. "If the rage takes him, my only recommendation is to make yourself scarce. Quickly."

  During those first days, thankfully, the rage never came upon Quentin. Instead, a routine of random behavior seemed to be the norm. It went on for several days before something new finally happened. Quentin was mobile, me hot in pursuit. Suddenly he stumbled to a halt, turned, and stared right at me. Here it was, my chance to talk to him. I opened my mouth to speak and he cried out, finger pointing at me. The next instant, he lunged at me, grabbing at my cloak and ripping a piece of it off. I jumped back, yelling for Suyef and preparing to run. The Nomad appeared from down the hall.