Binarius

CHAPTER ONE

Reflections

She could feel the breath of the forest on her cheeks — the breath of a ghost, perhaps not even from this dimension. She felt weightless as she regained possession of her limbs, realizing quite instantly, that the tips of her toes were numb. Every subtle move that she made rustled the pine needles beneath her, and those sounds were like whispers through the forest, on a seemingly endless journey of resonance.

Get up. Keep going, she said to herself. Although, at this moment, she was thinking how blissful it would be if everything ended here. Her heart’s exhaustion was a cruel puppeteer to her imagination — portraying an existence of peace amongst foreign stars.

In the chaos and confusion, she had lost track of the sunsets. After escaping the intricacy of the underground tunnels, all of the days seemed to poison into each other, so much so, that she felt decades older. She was doing well following the rivers and keeping out of sight. Dry wood was easy to come by, and on the few nights that she risked exposing herself in the darkness, she found that her spectralin had weakened. After numerous attempts, she was left feeling both drained and defeated.

Gathering the few things she had, she faced the rising light and began the new day — whichever day it was. The Hums chirped above her in the trees, and although she should feel grateful for their company, there remained only sadness in her heart. This of course only made the Hums try harder to lift her spirits.

Once, while she was walking, a little one, probably only a season old, sat down on her shoulder, chirping briskly in her ear. The corner of her mouth angled up a bit, which surprised her because her lips were so tightly pursed together. The Hum felt it would suffice, and met with his family on the next branch, a couple of paces up the path.

The rye in her satchel was almost gone, and her energy was suffering. The food she had managed to take was the tainted food, which was distributed across the lands of Fia by the Desideriums. At first, the villagers were grateful for the food that was gifted, until it was realized that the food had been modified, and all of the spectralin had been removed — leaving only the most basic nutrients needed to survive, none of which really fed them.

The Desideriums (they had realized over the course of a few centuries) had plotted this kind of food distribution in an attempt to keep the people of Fia, weak of spectral power. This then, of course, led to the beginnings of The Ascension - which was only still thriving in vastly scattered communities on Fia.

The next kingdom couldn’t be more than a day away or so she hoped. She was afraid. Nevertheless, she forced herself to listen to the forest when it spoke to her. They were connected; she knew, the forest knew, and it would always send her some sort of message. Sometimes, it would be a branch falling with its tip pointing towards the direction of her intention. Other times, it would be a little Hum, who would fly in a different direction than its flock. The forest led the way.

All of the walking gave her too much time for reflection. All of it weighed her down like she had been bound with a string of rocks, and tossed into a raging river — water gushing down her throat — she alone was immortal. Firinne blamed herself. If only she had allowed herself to see them for what they truly were. Her expectations of others, and the longing to believe there was good in people — made the falsehoods that were right in front of her face become invisible. The fault was her own — she had chosen this ignorance.

She thought back to a story her mother had told her about how she was named. Her mother said that her name came from an ancient time, long ago, before The Blacken, from the language of her ancestors. While her mother was with child, the spectral essence of the baby’s soul, her soul, spoke to her. It told her what the child must be named — Firinne meant truth, and she thought it was ironic because the truth was the one thing she had not seen or had refused to see — whichever was the case.

In hindsight, she had seen all of the warning signs. Hints and whispers that dark intentions and selfish ambitions were at play. Yet, she loved them dearly — desperately, with every ounce of her being — the spectralin of her soul which now seemed tainted. She would have given them everything and this is where her thoughts became a mirror. She was forced, against her will, and now she was staring herself right in the face.

The guilt of what her ignorance had cost her Queendom, her family, and her people, was almost too much to bear. Legs shaking from the weight of it all, heart racing like the drums of war — the shame — to exist in her vessel — she pressed forward; alone and broken. If she stopped here, there would be nothing that she had left on these lands but a bloodbath — human blood — and the blood of betrayal.

CHAPTER TWO

A Spite That Burns

A Few Days Earlier

Firinne was sitting in her room staring out of the window. She could smell the spring in the air that lightly brushed across her neck. The past few weeks felt more like missing time to her, and she was looking forward to getting back to things that she had neglected. Triphosa had done her more than a favor; she had probably saved Firinne. Since the current wave of frequency had taken hold of Fia, Firinne found herself struggling more than ever before.

It happened one night after evening’s feast; Firinne collapsed on her way to her chambers, falling down a few of the stairs. Thankfully, nothing was broken, although maybe a piece of Firinne’s inner-workings. She had been taken to her chambers and put in bed immediately. Auralia was desperate to help her daughter but she was too overwhelmed with everything that needed tending at Citrine. So, Triphosa volunteered.

For hours and hours, Triphosa put her hands on Firinne; summoning her energy to heal Firinne. It was as if Firinne had been paralyzed by something. When she thought back on it, it all seemed so fictional. She had no control over it and thought after thought, came racing through her head. Every fear she could have ever imagined came flooding into her mind; paralyzing her. She was too afraid to move; too afraid to breath. She screamed out in horror and every time that she did, Triphosa was there using her spectralin to try to counteract the effects of the frequencies that were attacking Firinne.

After a week of this, Firinne slowly started regaining control of her mind. That was three days ago, and when Firinne thought about that time, it was as if she hadn’t really been there at all. It was like being locked away in a room of your own mind, and having someone tell you what was going on while you waited in there. She remembered that she felt as though she might go mad from being locked in that room; the one that overlooked a town that was unrecognizable to her; a town of gray.

Firinne stood and walked over to the small desk that sat in the corner of her chambers. She began writing to her Uncle Bricius to ask if he would attend her birthday celebration. She knew her Uncle was  busy, always traveling, and therefore, knew that her letter was probably a waste of time. Bricius was a well known leader of the Aldithenih faith — Firinne despised it. She could never understand her Uncle’s rationale for believing in (what she thought) was a faith so poisonous.  It must be such a miserable life following a faith that condemns the smallest of mistakes with illusory threats of immortal agony.

Firinne often wondered how morally good these people of the faith would be if there was not such a horrible consequence lurking behind their every step through life. If eternal damnation was revealed to be a falsehood, then how many followers would take to the towns intent on acts of evil? True morality, she thought, was being a good person because you are an empathetic person, and not because you are afraid of the fate of your afterlife.

The faith of Aldithenih enraged her. She saw right through it. The faith had begun when the Mist of Blacken had arrived. Its basic premise was the belief that there is an all knowing being that created Fia, and if the people of Fia do not follow the Aldithenih virtues, they will be condemned to an eternity of torment. Firinne had no proof, but she knew the darkness was behind this, and it was just one of the many ways — manipulate and control.

Weakened and enslaved by fear, the people had forgotten their ways, the old ways.

Cyneric came into their chamber. He had barely glanced in her direction in the past three days of which he had been back at Citrine. She tried to ignore the guilt and secrecy that she felt emanating from him; so much secrecy locked up inside of him, he was full. Firinne could visualize all of it seeping out of the pores of his skin — wet and black like the thick, liquid the Desideriums siphoned from Fia.

Have you found a pretty little mistress who consumes your thoughts?  She was never good at hiding her feelings.

Cyneric stopped, with his broad shoulders facing her. Her eyes traced his pronounced silhouette down to his fists that were clenched so tightly, she could almost see the blood boiling in his palms. You make up such fantasies. They must bring excitement into your dull life! He took a drink from his flask.

You know you’re not supposed to have that in Citrine. Get rid of it.

"Don’t worry, your majesty, I’m leaving."

He then grabbed his sword, which was leaning against the far wall, and walked away, making sure to slam the door behind him so hard that Firinne was certain that he would pull the door clean off of the hinges.

This behavior had been going on for nearly a year now. She had known Cyneric for fifteen years, but something had happened. He was changed. Last Samhain, he began taking undisclosed travels, sometimes he was gone for weeks at a time. She had no way of contacting him while he was away. She was achingly in love with him, more than she ever thought she could love a person. When he was away, her whole body hurt as if it would cave in on itself if he did not embrace her soon. Now, when he returned, he barely spoke to her.

It was as if a part of himself that he had been preparing to unleash had been activated. At this point, the only thing that Firinne was holding onto was the person she knew him to be or thought she knew — but even the vivid memories of the past were beginning to fade. She felt like she would soon forget who that man was that she fell in love with, or more accurately, where the little boy she loved and had grown up with had gone. Doubt was beginning to plague her and the waters of spite were nearly boiling over.

Firinne hardly had time to think about it. She remembered that her Mum needed to speak with her — something about the food. She walked out of her chamber, following the stairs down to the cellar of the castle. The wooden door was warped and decayed, so she had to push on it hard to move it past the stones that were scraping the top seam of the doorway. Her mother, Auralia, was standing in the room, towards the boxes of spectral food which were stacked up against the wall. She looked dismayed. Her curly, auburn hair was held up by a carved piece of Birch that Firinne had made for her during the summer solstice.

There won’t be enough... Auralia said.

Are you sure? I thought that the last harvest would get the Queendom through to Mabon.

Yes, I’m sure. We will be lucky if this lasts until Yule. We will survive, but our people will not. Something has to be done. The indoor gardens will need serious attention. She put her hand on Firinne’s shoulder. Take some of the young ones to the gardens to work the soil, would you?

Okay. I was thinking that we could also plant some more seeds while we are there. If enough spectralin is given to them, they might start bearing fruit just in time. Firinne said.

I was going to talk to you about that as well. We need to send someone to the mountains to meet with The Guardian for seeds, we’re low. I don’t know how much longer we will be able to keep this going…our Queendom I mean. Her face was speckled with  freckles and age.

Auralia kissed her daughter on the forehead and left through the warped, wooden door. Firinne could feel her mother’s weakness, and knew that she was probably rationing her intake of spectralin food.

She went to the Academy to gather the children from their classes and explained to the Magister that the children were needed in the gardens to assist. Magister Lirveen didn’t protest, as he knew that it would be good practice for his students.

Imphius Lirveen was a small, scruffy old man. He had a full beard, and a full belly to match, which felt like a round stone pressing into your stomach whenever he hugged you. He was the head magister at the Citrine Academy of Artistry and Spectralin Sciences, which he was immensely proud of. Teaching children had always been his lifelong passion and he was a grand asset to the Queendom.

Imphius was also a light-hearted, practical joker. One of the most popular of his jokes was that he would collect items that had been left behind by the students, wrap them up beautifully in a box, and gift them to the students on their final year of academy. The students would be completely perplexed, wondering how they were supposed to react, as most of the time, they had forgotten all about the item left behind from the years that had passed.

Once in the gardens, the children began working right away.  They were all turning the dirt in their hands, humming, and speaking to the plants. From every child, there was a green aura looming like a mist between the child and the plant. Firinne could almost see the children's thoughts in her own mind — intentions of love and strength to the plants; thankfulness for what the plants provided the Queendom, gratitude for keeping all of them strong, and thereby safe from the Desideriums.

Everyone in the Queendom knew that if they were left to only eat the food distributed by the Desideriums, they would lose their spectralin which would give the Mist of Blacken more psychic control over them. It would be easier for them to penetrate their thoughts and manipulate their emotions. Firinne knew that eventually they would suspect something, they would see or feel the Queendom’s strength, and battle or infiltration would ensue. But they could not worry themselves over that now — it was their only hope for survival. Fia needed them to live.

The children had begun planting the seeds and with the shared spectralin, they were now sprouting out of the ground. They were growing within seconds of being planted; winding up, out of the soil where leaves would begin unfolding themselves, like Flutters out of a cocoon. The children gathered up all of the fruits and seeds from the elder plants and put them into baskets. One by one, down to the kitchens, where the cooks would sort the fruits, start preserves, and package the seeds to be stored in the cellar. Firinne knew that the shortage of seeds was concerning, but it was hard to be certain which seeds contained high or low spectralin. The seeds which produced plants of lower spectralin would give little to no fruit or seed. All of the fear, hate, anger, and egos, was draining the life from their world. The more the Desideriums were ordered to push, the more people would fear, and the more the darkness would conquer.

The nighttime stories that her Mum had told her were engrained into her at such an early age that Firinne felt as if she had actually been there to see it all for herself.

The lands of Fia were once a peaceful place where the ancestor of old, taught the new generations the secrets of the cosmos.  No one is certain who gave them the great wisdom, and if The Clandestine Guardians were asked, they would simply reply, The Ethereal Collective. They taught the generations how to access their inner spectralin.

The people of this land were once a powerful people, a people who lived empathetically with Fia, and one another. Then, the Mist of Blacken came. At first it was only noticed as a slight discoloration in the skies. After that, it came in like a fog, heavy blackness with a low, rumbling vibration. To this day, no one knows who sent the Mist of Blacken or who is controlling it, but it was known that if the Mist brought to the lands a vibrational frequency opposite of Fia’s, that Fia would be in danger. Fia is a living, breathing being just like humans. It is our job to protect her so that she can protect us. Balance, vibration, spectralin, empathy.

The Mist of Blacken settled above one of the lands, where an obsidian castle was built overnight. It has swirled relentlessly above Castle Blacken for over a decade now. Back in those ages, the Mist almost succeeded in spectral manipulation of the people of Fia. Through spectral manipulation, the Mist gains access to the mind and modifies the essence of the soul to create an illusion of existence. The people who were affected by this manipulation — they were endlessly afraid, locked in a state of panic — forever stuck in a frequency ensuring their