Mind Games

Chapter 1 – Rituals The smell of centuries' worth of dust, sweat, and blood filled the air in the windowless, underground chamber. Even the time-worn stone walls seemed tense, as if they wished to scream in terror about the things they had witnessed. It was a place of death and pain and zeal. And power, naturally. Always power. Master Sthenys, head of the Antibreederist faction, sat on the floor of the chamber. The room was large and round, with two arched doorways facing one another, and it was constructed of tan stone blocks. Braziers on ancient iron stands lined the walls, providing just enough flickering illumination for one to see. That didn't matter to Sthenys. He had been a Reliant once, but his ascension to the Luminiferous Plane meant he no longer needed to concern himself with such trivial matters as visible light. He saw what he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted. With the Second Sight, the entire Wheel of Fire galaxy was laid bare. In order to witness what was about to happen in the chamber, he didn't actually need to be there at all. Nevertheless, he enjoyed being present for such special occasions. The chamber was as Reliant as Reliant got, and Sthenys's old Reliant sensibilities hadn't diminished over the centuries. On the contrary, they had distilled themselves down, concentrating into something even more virulently Reliant than the actual flesh-and-blood humans who populated the planet. The other Masters didn't know the depths of his Breed loyalty, of course, and he wasn't about to educate them. That sort of thing was discouraged, and any too-precocious Master might find himself summoned to the Tripartite Doom. Sthenys was wise enough to avoid that. The day would come when he could reveal the hidden desires of his heart, but today was not that day. For now, it was enough to sit in the chamber, invisible to any observers, and watch the ceremony. The room housed a stone altar near the west side of the circular wall. It was chipped and worn from many years of use, and its drainage hole was dark from the stains of many sacrifices. A gutter led from the altar to the object in the center of the room, and that gutter was similarly stained. But it was that object in the room's center that dominated the scene. It was a half-buried black crystalline polyhedron. The paving stones around it were cracked and raised, as if the thing had been driven into the floor with great force. Red sparks buzzed around inside it like psychotic fireflies. To those who were sensitive to unseen things, the object seemed to exude a malevolent aura, waves of dark energy that washed over the chamber like the beats of a demonic heart. The sounds of footsteps echoed from the corridor beyond one of the arched doorways, and Sthenys watched with anticipation. It wouldn't be long now. A cloaked and hooded figure appeared in the shadows of the corridor. He passed through the arch and stepped into the dimly lit chamber. His robe was red, and he wore a thick gold chain around his neck. His hands were clasped in front of him, the gray of his fingers barely peeking out from the red sleeves. Another figure dressed just like him followed, and then another; a line of them filed into the room. The first one, the one wearing the chain, walked around the stone altar and stood behind it, facing the room. The rest assembled in front of him in a loose fashion, like an audience waiting for a show. They all kept a healthy distance from the black crystal embedded in the floor. Sthenys allowed himself a wry grin. It was always the same. They pretended to ignore—yet shied away from—the very thing that the room had been built to house in the first place. But every Breed had its internal inconsistencies, he supposed, as well as rationalizations for those inconsistencies, and the Reliants were no exception. But they would be exceptional yet. Sthenys would make sure of it. It was his one great purpose, the goal for which he would sacrifice all else to achieve. When everyone seemed to be in place, the Reliant behind the altar spread his arms out to each side, as if in supplication, and began to chant his litany. “We have gathered here today in the name of Kota to affirm the principles of the Mentarchy. The Mentarch is the mind; we are the body.” The other Reliants chanted together in response: “The body is reliant upon the mind.” “The Mentarch commands, and we obey. Thus is our Breed made perfect.” “We are Reliant.” The leader turned to the door. “Bring the anomaly.” The crowd parted, making a path leading from the door to the altar. A pair of Reliants, robed and hooded like those already assembled, entered the room. Between them walked a naked teenage boy, his arms held in their grips. His wrists were bound behind his back, his ankles were chained together, and his mouth was gagged with a leather strap. His gray skin was paler in the places that had remained hidden from the sun. He was thin and lanky, but his shoulders were broad, and his upper lip and chin bore wispy gray hairs. Sthenys scowled at the boy's pubescent characteristics. They were rare mutations, anomalies in a Breed that was normally and proudly androgynous. The boy had started to develop masculine features, which meant he was sexually dimorphous; a Morph. His eyes were big, solidly black orbs, typical Reliant eyes, and they were full of fear. That look of fear gave Sthenys a sense of satisfaction. It was even affirming in a way, an emotional confirmation of everything for which the Mentarchy stood. The anomalies knew their guilt, and they feared, and that was good. Better fear than defiance. The boy's handlers escorted him to the altar. The parted crowd watched them pass in silence. The only sounds in the room were those of shuffling steps and the metallic clanking of ankle chains. Those sounds were soon joined by another. The black crystal began to emit a low thrum, just like the oppressive aura it already exuded, but audible now. The red sparks within altered their dance, becoming more frenetic. The waves of dark energy increased in power, pulsing out from it and washing the attendees' subconscious minds with pure malice. Some of the Reliants began to sway slightly; others didn't, but they occasionally shifted their weight from one foot to another. The two escorts unbound the boy's wrists, forced him upon the altar, and held him down. The leader shackled the boy's wrists, ankles, waist, and neck to the altar's iron rings with thick leather straps. The boy tried to protest, but could only make muffled grunts through the gag. When the boy was secure, the leader nodded to the two escorts. They stepped back and took their places among the others. The leader then looked out over the crowd, raised his arms again, and resumed his litany. “Value stems from that which imputes it.” “The Reliant has no value without the Mentarch,” the congregation answered in unison. “Blame does not exist. Responsibility does not exist. Accomplishment does not exist. Willfulness does not exist.” “Only obedience exists. We are Reliant.” “There is no distinction but what the Mentarch grants.” “Equivalency. Conformity. Indistinction. We are Reliant.” The leader produced a large knife from behind the altar and extended it in front of him with both hands. Its blade was old-fashioned steel, pitted and streaked from blood-induced corrosion, and its tip was pointed down. He held it aimed at the Morph's chest. The boy began to squirm and struggle against his restraints. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and ran down the sides of his head. Muffled grunts and screams filtered out from the gag. Sthenys grinned. Watching the boy's terror was euphoric. “There is one among us who is not equivalent,” the leader continued, “who is not indistinct... who does not conform. He is an anomaly. He is sexually dimorphic. He is not Reliant. What is the Mentarch's will?” “Cull him out!” The leader raised the knife over his head. “The Mentarch commands. We obey. We are Reliant.”