The Blood Solution (Approaching Infinity Book 3) by Chris Eisenlauer Page B
Authors: Chris Eisenlauer
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her—when such was possible. It was a hope that he feared to embrace, though. Duty could not be ignored, not if the prophecy were to be believed. And what else was there but to believe it? Fosso had no doubts in that regard, nor could anyone who held Entitlement. One need only focus his or her powers of concentration to know the truth of the prophecy and its coming.
Fosso tore his eyes away from where Lissa had gone and now regarded the rising sun, a bright yellow disk resting on the ragged gear-tooth skyline of Tensa. Time passed and could never be reclaimed, and though the Sixth Secret could be a great boon, the promise of a thousand years meant nothing if the coming calamity could not be stemmed.
He pushed through the bushes and low trees, following the path Lissa had taken. He stopped long enough to collect and don his clothes—white linen britches, a shirt of the same material—then continued through the access way that led down into the cathedral.
He came down a set of widening stairs into a foyer. Both the stairs and foyer were done in the same polished speckled black stone, which spoke not of ostentation, but of strength and security as well as wealth. Sealed doors lined the walls and led off to his personal apartments and those reserved for visiting or other resident stewards. To steward, one need not actually hold Entitlement; it was enough to be an Initiate of the Fourth Secret, and in these desperate times, the Church could use all the help and all the instructors they could lay their hands on. Vos Raansik was at capacity with 450 acolytes and could not function smoothly without at least ten stewards so most of the apartments were in use now but empty at the moment as the day’s training was about to begin.
His slippered feet were soundless upon the smooth stone as he crossed the foyer to the far wall. There he stepped into the middle of three thick glass tubes with open fronts, each wide enough to accommodate three men, and all apparently without floors. As his feet settled to where the floor should be, his body was seized gently by an unseen force and began to sink lazily. At his back, the sun, visible through the glass, climbed higher into the sky while before him all was black. Soon the black gave way to light creeping up from below to fill the tube. The training grounds were revealed as he continued down: ten mezzanine levels filled with acolytes, many of them practicing the movements that Kan Fosso had made famous during his career on the fight circuit.
The crane might not be as fierce as the tiger or as deadly as the snake, but it was well-respected for its concentration, focus, and longevity. It was also quite capable of defending itself.
Fosso reached the bottom of the training grounds and stepped from the aperture in the glass tube. Sunlight streamed into the grounds from behind him through ten stories of tinted windows set within I-beams and concrete. All the surrounding walls were windows held together by the same latticework so that the view to the outside was limited only by the mezzanine floors and various pieces of building maintenance machinery.
The tiered ranks of acolytes quieted as Fosso stepped up onto the dais from which he routinely gave instruction. He looked them over, all of them, with hard eyes that nearly glowed, saying nothing. While he was not dissatisfied by what he saw, he wondered if men alone, with the Entitlement of God or not, would be enough in the face of the King of Spades. They would have to be, though. For even if the King of Hearts made an appearance, he could not save them all.
When all was quiet, he took a deep breath and uttered a guttural and thunderous, “Ho-oh!” with intonation that rose and fell to indicate affirmation and challenge both.
A heartbeat of silence ensued and was shattered by countless shouts and hoots of charge. The men at the base of the dais swarmed forward, each eager to cross fists with Kan Fosso, Champion of Voskos, Senior Steward
Fosso tore his eyes away from where Lissa had gone and now regarded the rising sun, a bright yellow disk resting on the ragged gear-tooth skyline of Tensa. Time passed and could never be reclaimed, and though the Sixth Secret could be a great boon, the promise of a thousand years meant nothing if the coming calamity could not be stemmed.
He pushed through the bushes and low trees, following the path Lissa had taken. He stopped long enough to collect and don his clothes—white linen britches, a shirt of the same material—then continued through the access way that led down into the cathedral.
He came down a set of widening stairs into a foyer. Both the stairs and foyer were done in the same polished speckled black stone, which spoke not of ostentation, but of strength and security as well as wealth. Sealed doors lined the walls and led off to his personal apartments and those reserved for visiting or other resident stewards. To steward, one need not actually hold Entitlement; it was enough to be an Initiate of the Fourth Secret, and in these desperate times, the Church could use all the help and all the instructors they could lay their hands on. Vos Raansik was at capacity with 450 acolytes and could not function smoothly without at least ten stewards so most of the apartments were in use now but empty at the moment as the day’s training was about to begin.
His slippered feet were soundless upon the smooth stone as he crossed the foyer to the far wall. There he stepped into the middle of three thick glass tubes with open fronts, each wide enough to accommodate three men, and all apparently without floors. As his feet settled to where the floor should be, his body was seized gently by an unseen force and began to sink lazily. At his back, the sun, visible through the glass, climbed higher into the sky while before him all was black. Soon the black gave way to light creeping up from below to fill the tube. The training grounds were revealed as he continued down: ten mezzanine levels filled with acolytes, many of them practicing the movements that Kan Fosso had made famous during his career on the fight circuit.
The crane might not be as fierce as the tiger or as deadly as the snake, but it was well-respected for its concentration, focus, and longevity. It was also quite capable of defending itself.
Fosso reached the bottom of the training grounds and stepped from the aperture in the glass tube. Sunlight streamed into the grounds from behind him through ten stories of tinted windows set within I-beams and concrete. All the surrounding walls were windows held together by the same latticework so that the view to the outside was limited only by the mezzanine floors and various pieces of building maintenance machinery.
The tiered ranks of acolytes quieted as Fosso stepped up onto the dais from which he routinely gave instruction. He looked them over, all of them, with hard eyes that nearly glowed, saying nothing. While he was not dissatisfied by what he saw, he wondered if men alone, with the Entitlement of God or not, would be enough in the face of the King of Spades. They would have to be, though. For even if the King of Hearts made an appearance, he could not save them all.
When all was quiet, he took a deep breath and uttered a guttural and thunderous, “Ho-oh!” with intonation that rose and fell to indicate affirmation and challenge both.
A heartbeat of silence ensued and was shattered by countless shouts and hoots of charge. The men at the base of the dais swarmed forward, each eager to cross fists with Kan Fosso, Champion of Voskos, Senior Steward
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