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  Epos (Maltia)

  5 November 2355

  Ethan’s 15th day on Tersain

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  In the captain’s room aboard the Epos, together with Martin Young, the now usual group has gathered: the Sanders family, Archeos, and myself. The captain is examining the sheet on which the results obtained by the philosopher and me are written. A row of figures, representing the digits of the Star Prophets, indicates the code that should give access to the map for reaching the Energheia artefact.

  “I have no choice but to trust you,” declares Martin Young, handing back the document. “Enter them and let’s see what happens.”

  Archeos takes the golden sphere containing the map. The rings surrounding it are made up of numerous circles, which can be rotated like the dials of a safe. The philosopher fiddles with it, constantly glancing at the sheet with the “combination” to use. Given the number of digits, it’s easy to make a mistake.

  “Right,” he says when he has finished. “Let’s hope God is on our side.”

  I wonder if he’s talking about the same God as mine, I muse idly.

  I haven’t looked into Maltia’s religious system, so I’ve no idea how similar it might be to those I’m familiar with. Come to think of it, it could be interesting to find out.

  Another time… I’ll have plenty of opportunities. For now, the priority is…

  Archeos presses a button on top of the sphere. With a click, the object splits along the lines that run across it like cracks. Then, it rises a few centimetres above the man’s palm, to separate into several pieces which, floating, arrange themselves on different layers to form an incomplete globe.

  “It resembles our three-dimensional maps,” comments the captain.

  “Astonishing,” says the philosopher. “I don’t think it uses mayea. How do the sections move in such a… controlled way?”

  Like everyone else in the room, I’m rather impressed. The various fragments of that sphere must correspond to the islands of Tersain. Probably not all of them, but only some with particular significance.

  Archeos must be of the same opinion.

  “It’s obvious that this is not a realistic representation,” he judges. “Apart from the floating continent and a few super-islands, there aren’t so many fragments of such size.”

  “That doesn’t help us,” observes Martin Young. “How are we supposed to interpret it?”

  “That’s only one of the problems,” asserts the old man. “We also have to identify the island we’re interested in. These must be the places considered important by the Star Prophets. Will there be a way to understand what grants them such significance?”

  While Archeos begins muttering to himself, the captain addresses the rest of those present.

  “Excellent work, everyone,” he congratulates us. “Now it’s up to the philosophers to get to work… but Ethan, you can rest for a bit. You’ve done more than could be expected of you.”

  Normally I would play it down, embarrassed to receive such praise, but right now I’m not in the mood. So I simply nod and, together with the Sanders, leave the room.

  Straight away, I take a corridor that separates me from the others.

  ???

  Shortly afterwards, I’m on the upper deck—as, for all I know of nautical jargon, the outside floor running along the very top of the entire ship is called. With my arms resting on the rail, I gaze at the boundless sky that surrounds the vessel in every direction. A few small, deserted fragments float in the distance, at times covered by clouds. Flocks of birds move from one to the other, altering their inclination according to the subjective gravity of each island. The sun is vanishing into its unusual sunset, and the sky has now taken on surreal shades of pink and violet.

  I’m trying to get my head working. I’d like to follow some logical train of thought, but my thoughts keep unravelling without forming any thread, so all I end up with is a persistent sense of anguish. Normally, reflecting saves me from negative emotions, but now I just can’t manage it.

  I just need to find a distraction. Then time will erase the negativity, as always. Under normal circumstances, I’d pick up a good book, but this time I doubt it would help.

  In various parts of the ship, the crew are busy ensuring the vessel’s integrity and carrying out maintenance on its numerous cannons. I pay no heed to the shouts with which they coordinate. Instead, I start subjecting myself to a series of mental arithmetic tests. The disappointment I imagine must be showing on my face becomes more pronounced as I increase the difficulty.

  I’ve undoubtedly got better at doing sums. But not only that: my memory is better than it used to be. I remember a load of information I thought I’d forgotten after the exams.

  At school, I’m not particularly brilliant: I just manage to keep a few grades above a pass. This isn’t down to my abilities, but rather to a limited interest in studying. Even so, my academic situation would have been quite different if I’d had abilities like these. It’s obvious that something’s happened to me, but I really can’t understand the nature of the change.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

  Someone strikes me on the back… in fact, it feels almost like a shove. I jolt in surprise and turn around. In front of me is Dawn, looking at me with a grin stretching from ear to ear.

  Apart from the bandage on her forehead and a few scratches, she seems in perfect shape once again.

  “Do you get a kick out of moping, or am I wrong?” the rebel asks me. “You’re always so glum.”

  Well, that’s not true. I mean, I’m often pensive, but to say I’m always sad…

  “With everything that’s happened—” I begin.

  “So what?” the young woman retorts, not letting me finish. “All right, the mission had some unexpected turns… but now we’re all here, safe, with what we needed. We’ve even got some free time: let’s make the most of it, shall we?”

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  Earlier she was a little shaken, but now she seems to have recovered… lucky her.

  It might not look like it, but I’m glad to see her bounce back. Seeing her lose her composure during the expedition wasn’t a pleasant experience.

  “What is there to do in your free time on this ship?” I ask.

  “Hmm…” murmurs Dawn, thinking it over. “I’ve got an idea: how sore are you?”

  I carry out a quick assessment. If I had to represent my condition using the controls of some unspecified aircraft, several warning lights would be yellow.

  “A bit,” I conclude. “You’re not thinking of making me spar again, are you?”

  “That’s what I had in mind… you’re not in great shape for it, by the look of things, and you could do with a bit more fighting ability, in case situations like today’s come up again,” says the rebel.

  “Against firearms?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  “You know, those aren’t the only weapons around,” she replies. “Many units in the republican army still use melee weapons. Today’s patrol didn’t have any, but…”

  “Wait,” I say, raising a hand. “Melee weapons?”

  “Usually swords… some even spears,” the young woman specifies.

  “I didn’t think they were still in use here on Tersain,” I remark.

  “Well, projectile and explosive weapons are gradually taking their place,” Dawn concedes. “In fact, mayeutic weapons are now among the most widely used. Lately, so-called energy weapons have also appeared, but for now they’re not very common.”

  That’s interesting. I’d been wondering what those beams of light fired by the Republicans’ weapons were. It must have been either mayea or something similar to lasers.

  While my curiosity is piqued by this information, I feel the gloom that had been weighing on me begin to fade.

  “Listen,” I say, deciding to seize the opportunity. “Could you explain to me properly how mayea works?”

  The rebel smiles.

  “You really do like serious things, don’t you?” she comments. “Very well. I came to find you hoping to distract you, and if this will help…”

  Really? I mean… that’s kind of her. In the end, despite already having her own problems, she came to my aid.

  “What do you want to know, exactly?” she asks.

  “Everything—from A to Z,” I reply. “I’d like to finally understand what it is and how it works.”

  “From alpha to omega? That’ll be difficult, but I can tell you the basics,” she agrees. “But let’s go inside—it’s getting too cold out here.”

  ???

  Dawn leads me to what she describes as a training room. It’s a room unusually large compared to most of the others. Apparently, it’s used for melee combat practice.

  “Well then,” the girl begins. “As I told you, mayea is the technique for reading and using the symbols of the universe. Do you know what they are?”

  “They’d be… the letters that appear when you use mayea?”

  “Yes and no. They are representations of what exists or can exist: in essence, absolute concepts linked to things. Air, water, earth, and fire have generic symbols… but even the wind has one. Also the air in this room right now has a symbol all its own. My hand has one, which is different from the symbol for your hand. You yourself have a symbol that distinguishes you from anyone else. The entire universe has a single symbol that identifies it. Are you following me?”

  “Mmmh…” I mutter, thoughtful. “They almost sound like quantum wave functions…”

  “Uh?”

  “I don’t really understand much about it, but in the place I come from, science says that everything can be described by a sort of formula. Usually it’s a concept applied to very small entities, but it should be applicable at any scale.”

  “I’m not sure I understood what you said, but it’s probably a similar philosophy,” Dawn nods. “So, let’s say that everything has a symbol to represent it. These have a dual nature: they’re an abstraction, like a name, but at the same time they are the thing itself; in fact, by acting on the symbol, you are acting on the object. That’s exactly what mayea does: it allows you to read the symbol—thus to identify and interpret it—and enables you to use it, making changes that alter the object. You can modify its shape, move it, even change its nature… all by acting through an abstraction, that is, the symbol by which we represent the object. Clear so far?”

  “More or less.”

  “Good.”

  Dawn turns towards the centre of the room.

  “Ah!” she exclaims, pointing her hand in front of her.

  The usual flash of light appears from her palm, and with it a gust of wind sweeps through the room.

  “This is a rather ‘rough’ air mayea,” the girl explains. “Basically, I acted on the symbol for air as a general concept, but focused the effect on the air in front of me. It’s comparable to shouting ‘kid’ in a room full of children. Probably, many will turn to look at you, but it’s your gaze that makes clear who you actually meant. Certainly, it’s less effective than calling the child by name, but there’s nothing to be done: if you don’t know it, you have to resort to alternative methods. It’s not easy to read the symbols of the universe, so you have to rely a bit on those already known.”

  “But I don’t understand… why does the symbol appear when you use mayea?” I ask. “And why does it look like a letter from your alphabet?”

  “As I said, the symbol is partly an abstract entity,” asserts Dawn. “Just as the sound of a name can be written in different alphabets, likewise a symbol of the universe can be represented in various ways. Here in Maltia, we use a symbology familiar to us: letters of the alphabet, numbers, mathematical signs, or even figures. In another nation, there would be different symbols.”

  “So… they’re subjective representations of the symbol itself.”

  “Exactly. As for why they appear, it depends on the bond that’s created between mind and symbol. Mayea is essentially based on a thought, which is helped to take shape by a set of methods: to cast the mayea I just did, I focus in my mind on the effect and the symbol, and I help define its direction and force by positioning my arms and shouting. Someone else might use different methods more suited to them. What doesn’t change is the bond established between mind and symbol. The thought is converted into an action on the symbol, and an intermediate step in that process is the visualisation of the subjective representation of the symbol. But be careful: it isn’t a materialisation. You see the symbol, but it isn’t physically present. It’s your mind that is being influenced, as a sort of side effect. And it happens to anyone who witnesses the mayea.”

  “Oh… so, if I try to photograph that symbol, it won’t show up in the picture?” I ask, more to myself than to Dawn.

  “Photo…what?”

  “Nothing, it’s not important,” I say. “All right. So that’s why what I did today didn’t seem like mayea to you: no symbols appeared, but they should always be visible when you use mayea, right?”

  “Exactly,” she nods. “Sometimes they’re not easy to spot, so it might be that I didn’t see them, but they were actually there. Or you might have a symbology so alien that it’s not recognisable at all: perhaps your symbol for fire is a flame, and it blended in with the blaze you produced. Still, you at least should have been able to distinguish it from the rest… precisely because it comes from your own mind.”

  “My memories are a bit chaotic,” I state. “But I’m fairly sure I didn’t notice any symbols.”

  “In that case, it’s likely that what you did wasn’t mayea, but a phenomenon… how to put it? Physical,” says Dawn. “Though I really can’t understand what it could have been.”

  If the rebel had said such things to me when I first met her, I wouldn’t have taken her very seriously: perhaps it’s my own prejudice, but the way she showed off with ‘muscle’ activities like fighting made me overlook any assessment of her intellectual abilities. Let’s just say I didn’t have high expectations of her.

  After hearing her detailed explanation of mayea, though, I realise she has an impressive grasp of quite complex concepts. I don’t know where she learnt them, but the fact she’s managed to explain them to me like this is a sign of intelligence and mental flexibility I can’t ignore.

  Even on Earth, I haven’t often come across people with such inclinations.

  The fact remains, though, that I find it hard to imagine a phenomenon—explainable by the laws of physics—that could have moved those flames.

  “At this point, I wonder: did I actually do anything?” I doubt. “Maybe it was just a coincidence… a ‘flare-up’ from the fire, happening to coincide with a movement of my hand.”

  “And do you really believe in such a coincidence?” asks Dawn.

  “I…”

  I pause for a moment. Then…

  “No,” I admit.

  I can’t help it. Deep down in my mind, an intense feeling is pushing me to dig deeper… and not to rule out the unimaginable that my reason wants to cut out.

  The more I think about it… the more I realise that I already know the truth. And there’s no point hiding it, from Dawn or from myself.

  “I feel like I’m responsible for what happened,” I reveal. “And yet, I don’t understand…”

  A memory of the moments just before I—presumably—moved the flame flashes through my mind.

  Fire is energy… why did I think that? And what’s more, it was almost a thought that wasn’t mine… not really my own…

  I shake my head. Going down this path, I almost start to wonder if I’m developing some sort of psychiatric disorder.

  “I say stop racking your brains over it,” suggests Dawn, coming closer. “It’s about time we headed to the mess hall, eh?”

  In truth, I’d be glad to get to the bottom of it. I don’t like the idea of leaving something so important unresolved.

  But at the same time, I don’t want to ignore the girl’s advice. She might actually be right, encouraging me to break out of a circle of thoughts that risks never finding a solution, no matter how hard I try.

  “Yes… you’re right,” I nod.

  She gives me a gentle tap on the cheek.

  “Maybe later we’ll find you a candle, and you can try moving the flame with your mind,” she suggests, giving me a wink.

  I blush. A wave of heat spreads across my neck and cheeks. A delayed reaction, coinciding with the moment I actually realised what she’d just done.

  It wasn’t anything much. Just a little tap on the face… and a sign of complicity. But for someone like me, anything but used to such things, it was enough to spark an eruption of emotions off the scale.

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