The Rise of Men

By Steven Novotny

The world has order. The Archen ensure it. Through conceded technological and intellectual superiority, Archen Wardens have bridled the vicious nature of men. A thousand years of peace has endured. And now, humanity has had enough.

Through a carefully staged event, a cabal of men reveals the latent power of humanity. The myth of inferiority is shattered and humans demand a new world order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Novotny
• Release date: Apr 14, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452489735

Steven Novotny

Steven Novotny was raised in Florida where he spent his youth riding motorcycles and horses through the swamps surrounding his rural home. Though deemed a “gifted child”, Steven found himself beginning his adult life at the age of sixteen, following multiple self-inflicted life decisions. Twenty some years later, he is a Lieutenant Colonel in the US Air Force and a college professor. He possesses multiple degrees, including a PhD, in engineering physics, aerospace engineering, and astrophysics. His avant-garde path to success has provided a wealth of experiences that he continuously draws upon in his writing. He is currently working on his fifth novel, making a small excursion from science fiction to explore magical realism.

Book preview

The Rise of Men

by

Steven Novotny

Published by Steven Novotny at Smashwords

Copyright (c) 2009 Steven Novotny

Cover Photo by Loran

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

To my wife, who has read every word I have ever written–at least ten times.

And to my boys, who will most certainly rise to be great men.

Prelude

The old man looked out from his dilapidated front porch and saw a lone figure breaking the wide desert horizon. The figure was straight and solid against the whipping wind, displaying the strength of a rooted tree. His loose desert garments fluttered parallel to the red dusk horizon, but otherwise he did not move. The old man stood from his chair and walked to the railing, trying to force his old eyes to discern the identity of the strange visitor against the backdrop of the setting sun. But the old man could tell nothing about the stranger, other than that he was doing his own assessment in return.

Abruptly, the figure started forward, moving with purposeful strides. As he quickly closed the gap, the old man considered retreating into his house, but decided he had too little time and too little desire. He straightened his back and faced the approaching figure, refusing to show anything but the resolve he had spent a lifetime forging. He knew the end was always around the corner, and he had never been afraid. If his time had finally arrived, he would accept it. And if this figure truly was an Archen, as the old man surmised, then the end was most certainly here. The old man descended from a long line of men who had found their ends, in one way or another, at the hands of an Archen. He had no right to expect anything different.

But as the figure neared, the old man realized it was not an Archen. The figure was not quite tall enough and not quite lithe enough for one of that detestably graceful race. Puzzled and intrigued now, the old man squinted deeper, trying to peer through the figure's wrapped head in an attempt to see the eyes, searching for the inhuman metallic sheen of gold or silver. But when the figure was only a few paces away, he finally saw past the shadows of the man's head wrap and clearly beheld the wide, dark brown eyes that were mirrors of his own–eyes that had been an unmistakable characteristic among every member of his own family for generations. The old man gasped as his eyes filled with tears. Rollins, you have come home.

Seeming to ignore the old man's emotion, the figure reached up and slowly unwrapped his headscarf, letting the long length of cloth fall the ground. The old man exhaled as he saw the younger man's hardened face, a face that had been so soft and young only a few years ago. The younger man watched the older's expression without emotion. His dark and matted hair framed his weathered face, but the young man's eyes were sharp and never left the old man.

I found them, grandfather. I found the Forgelen, and I spoke with them. They do exist and they remember the promise.

The old man's eyes widened, and Rollins could see a long swallow move down the sagging weathered throat.

It's true, Rollins continued. All of it has been true. The stories that passed from your father and his father and the infinite line before them, all the way back to the time of empires–they were all true. The old man collapsed to one knee, but Rollins did not move forward to help him. "I've made the deal. They will do their part within the next year... and then I will do mine. I don't know how they will do it. They spoke of human codes and something called jentics, speaking in words I've never heard before, but I know that they spoke true. Fifteen years from now, grandfather, it will all change. The promise will be fulfilled and our fathers will not have died in vain. It will happen grandfather. I have done, and you have done, what our fathers raised us to do."

Rollins stood stoically, staring absently into the distance and considering the words he had just heard himself say. He realized that his grandfather was sobbing. After a long while, Rollins walked toward him and placed a hand on the old man's quivering shoulder. We've done it, grandfather. Be in peace. We've changed the world.

Chapter 1

Cowles could barely breathe from beneath the thick burlap hood that had been unexpectedly and unceremoniously pulled over his head by the men he was told to trust, his so-called escorts and guides. He had no idea where he was or to where he was being led, but from the echoed footsteps on the cobblestones, he was certain they were moving through one of the numerous narrow alleys of Carta's inner city. The night air was cold, but the combination of anxiety and exertion was making him wet with sweat. Several times he tried to slow down, but he was immediately hurried along by one of the several men with him, men whom he did not know and who said nothing more than hurry along, son with a slur that likely indicated an absence of many teeth.

Cowles had lived the majority of his fifteen years of life in the inner city. He had explored every alcove and passage through the maze of alleys and side streets, but with their current pace, the twists and turns, and the cursed hood, he had completely lost track of where he and his escorts might presently be among the infinite vastness of Carta's innumerable brick buildings. The darkness within the hood was nearly complete, precluding him from determining where they had turned off of the main streets, which were well lit by glow lamps, and into the pitch blackness of Carta's back alleys. The hood also effectively deafened him. He could not even hear the ever-present whir of the hoverbarges and thus determine how far away he was from the moorings on the northern side of the city. He couldn't even tell if they were moving toward the center of the city, toward the main square and governor's citadel, or toward the vast outer markets. All Cowles knew for certain was that these men could be taking him almost anywhere within the large city, and this made him begin to seriously reconsider the trust he had placed in the charismatic man who had convinced him to attend this important and secret meeting.

In fact, Cowles had much time to question the trust he had placed in the man that called himself Rollins. When Cowles had first been approached by the man who had expressed so much interest and admiration in his ridiculous little street show of illusions, Cowles had felt flattered and unusually appreciated. And the coins Rollins gave him were equally nice. For weeks following that first meeting, Rollins made every one of Cowles’ shows and spent much time with him asking about the details of his tricks. At first, Cowles did not want to reveal his secrets, but after additional coins and many meals at his favorite inn, Cowles told all. But Cowles continued to feel concern that Rollins would eventually become frustrated and simply leave when he inevitably realized that Cowles had no idea how he did half the tricks he performed. He was certain Rollins would simply think him coy when he explained that the tricks sometimes just seemed to work. But amazingly, this explanation seemed to pique Rollins' interest even further, thus keeping the coins, the food, and even the drinks coming.

Eventually the conversations began to change, and in hindsight, Cowles realized he should have been more cautious. After Rollins seemed satisfied that he had learned all that Cowles had to reveal, he began to tell instead of ask. Instead of having Cowles explain details of his own tricks, Rollins began instructing him in new ones. At first, Cowles was certain that he could not accomplish the complicated illusions, but as Rollins insisted and talked him through the process, he was surprised to find that he could soon perform amazingly complicated feats. Cowles was astonished at the extent of what he could accomplish just by focusing his mind. He could make small rocks float in the air, he could cause objects to jump from one hand to the other without opening his fist, and he had even once caused a small trinket to glow like an Archen lamp. He attempted to share his excitement with Rollins, but the man had become increasingly distant and reserved as Cowles' powers grew. And though Cowles surprised himself daily with the new tricks, Rollins simply seemed satisfied, as if Cowles had passed some important test.

It was at that point that Rollins informed Cowles he was leaving. Cowles was shocked and surprised at how hard the news hit him. He was never accustomed to having friendships and was admittedly enjoying this one. Cowles had grown up in a stable family, but found little closeness in his parents who were always busy with their importing business. And though he was enrolled in the finest school in the city, Cowles rarely attended, which meant he had few friends his own age. Perhaps it was this lack of relationships and the assumed friendship with Rollins that had made the sudden announcement of the departure so intense. He loved his life of roaming the streets of Carta, putting on shows near the market, and just being young. But it had also been nice to have a comrade in his adventures, something he had never had before and did not want to lose now.

But Rollins was not leaving for good; at least that’s what the note said. In it, Rollins stated that he would be back in a few months and that some associates would escort Cowles to an important and secret meeting. Cowles was confused by Rollins' odd note and was not certain what to expect when they met again, but what was occurring right now was beyond the conceivable. At first, Cowles did not fight the men who had shoved the bag over his head and hurried him into an alley, simply because they identified themselves as friends of Rollins. But Cowles' patience was now running thin. And just at the moment when Cowles thought he could take no more shoving, pushing, and sneering, the group stopped.

Cowles heard a thudding knock followed by the grating sound of a heavy door being pulled open. Cowles knew the large city like the back of his hand, and had a good feel for the various styles of construction used in different neighborhoods. The door was clearly not the carefully handcrafted work common in the merchant neighborhoods surrounding the governor's keep, nor was it the shoddy entryways used in the seedier residences near the river docks. Nor was it one of the heavy metal doors used in the large buildings housing the trade guilds. Unfortunately, knowing what it was not still allowed too many possibilities, and Cowles still felt frustratingly lost. This left Cowles frowning and then annoyed that no one could see his great displeasure through the thick hood.

But once again he was shoved, pushed inside whatever door had been opened. The room felt colder and damper than the morning air, and Cowles was grateful for the hood, for he was certain the room smelled even less pleasant than it felt. Then he heard an even stranger noise. He heard a prolonged series of mechanical clicks and then the very heavy scraping of brick against brick, and by the sound, it was a lot of brick. He guessed that a whole wall section must be moving, causing his mind to be filled with images of secret dark portals descending into some forbidding dungeon beneath the city. His trust for Rollins suddenly and completely faded from his mind, replaced by an acute awareness of betrayal and lies. Finally, Cowles decided he had enough.

With a sudden burst, he ripped his arm free from the escort who had been doing most of the shoving. Before the man could react, Cowles yanked at his hood, feeling the cool air and lamp light rush over his sweating face. He caught a quick glimpse of a large stone hearth that seemed out of its natural place, and as he expected, the entrance to a dark tunnel revealed beside it. Before his eyes could completely focus on the rest of the room, his arms were grabbed forcefully, and the hood was pulled back down, quite ungently. Roughly, he was pushed against a hard wall, the force hurting his shoulder.

Through gritted teeth and in a voice devoid of kindness, one of his escorts spoke slowly and forcefully, directly into Cowles' ear. You're a special guest and a very important boy, but you're not important enough to sacrifice everything we've worked for. We have reasons for everything we do, the man said venomously. Try something like that again, boy, and I promise, you'll be sorry. Very sorry! Cowles did not move or argue. He had seen many bad men before and something told him to not doubt the threats of this one. The faceless man released his firm grip on Cowles' arm with an angry shove. Then, after a moment of whispers among the group, they were moving again. Cowles no longer resisted.

The blind twisting and turning continued, but now a steep descent was added to the treacherous march. Cowles stumbled many times, but was always grabbed and prevented from falling on his face by unseen hands. Eventually, he began to ignore the hidden dangers and resigned to stew in his personal darkness. He carefully thought about each word the man had spat into his ear. Special guest. Very important boy. These people certainly had an odd way of treating their guests and those they thought to be important. Who were they anyway? Cowles wondered. What sort of weird group does things like this? And what sort of group has secret passages running through and beneath the city? What had Rollins gotten him into?

Even in his half daze, Cowles realized that they must have been walking for hours. He felt that their trek would never end. And despite the possibility of significant unpleasantries waiting at the end of their journey, Cowles just wanted it to finish. The discomfort of the hood and the physical exertion he could endure as long as anyone, but he could no longer contain his unsatisfied curiosity. He needed to know what this was all about and why these scoundrels were involving him in whatever dubious plots they were up to. He also wanted to get to their destination so he could begin planning for his eventual escape. If these people thought that they could keep him against his will, they were mistaken. Despite his wealthy family, he was a boy of the streets and as resourceful as any. If there were a way to escape this mess, he would find it. Defiance and confidence began to build within him, and by the time they finally stopped, Cowles was ready for a fight.

Where are we? Cowles demanded from beneath his hood when the party finally stopped and seemed to be waiting for something. He realized that he must look ridiculous with his face covered and his hands on his hips, but he did not care. Where are we? he demanded again. If I'm truly 'important' to you, he said with great sarcasm, then I demand you tell me, now!

Even from beneath the hood, Cowles could hear a few sniggers, but he did not flinch. After a moment the laughter faded, and someone finally spoke up. Relax, kid. We're here. Five more minutes and Rollins will tell you everything you want to know, or at least everything he wants you to know.

Rollins, here? Cowles was shocked, angered and excited all at the same time. As he considered what to feel first, he heard a door open and was shoved forward one more time. I think I will feel anger first, Cowles finally decided as he stumbled into yet another room. But this time, he was forcefully seated in a hard but comfortable chair. He listened for what was going on around him and was suddenly surprised by someone yanking the hood from his head. As his eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the room, Cowles was even more surprised to see Rollins right there, seated across from him at the large table. But the man facing him was not the jovial Rollins that had always been so interested in his illusions. This Rollins had a grim, set face and determined, humorless eyes. Hello, Cowles, he said coldly. And suddenly Cowles felt scared again.

As Cowles' eyes began to fully focus, he realized that there was another man seated next to Rollins. The man was examining Cowles with a glare and an unsettlingly deep frown. He was balding and his remaining long wisps of gray and black hair shot in all directions. In strong contrast to the impeccable and charismatic Rollins, this man looked disheveled and quite unfriendly. Cowles immediately decided that he did not like the man, and based on the other's expression, the feeling was clearly reciprocated.

This is him? the man finally spat with disgust, not taking his hateful eyes off Cowles. Do you think us fools, Rollins? Do you know how much is at risk...

Shut up, Illio, said Rollins with such calm force that both Cowles and the ugly man flinched. Illio's eyes narrowed sharply, but he did not continue. Rollins never noticed nor even seemed to care about the man's bitter scowl, instead he simply continued to watch and examine Cowles.

Cowles, feeling uncomfortable under Rollins' probing stare, glanced nervously around the room. He now noticed that they were in a brick-walled room, spacious but dark with a low ceiling and no windows. The only furniture in the room was the single trestle table at which Cowles sat opposite Rollins and the man he had called Illio. Cowles also realized that there were many more people in the room than he had originally thought. He first noticed four men who looked like beggars and thieves standing a few feet back from the table. He figured that these were the men who were likely responsible for his abduction. He next noticed the large number of people standing quietly against the walls. In contrast to his escorts, all of these men looked well dressed, wealthy, and dignified. They were all older and undoubtedly important, and each had the air of risking much. But despite their dignity, Cowles found them all unsettling because every one of them was staring intently, directly at him, as if they were evaluating his worthiness for some excessively important matter. And the judgment did not seem positive. This made Cowles shrink slightly into his chair, wondering why in the world these people would be so disapproving of him when all he had done thus far was to get kidnapped.

Gentlemen, Rollins finally said with exaggerated formality, I would like to introduce Cowles. With a knowing smirk, Rollins allowed the disgruntled moans to roll among the men lining the walls. His dark eyes showed a spark of humor as he watched Cowles and then winked. Unbothered by the expressed skepticism and doubt in the room, Rollins continued. I think we should all take a look now at what my friend here is actually capable of doing. With that, Rollins slammed a dark gray orb, the size of his fist, on to the table and rolled it toward Cowles, who instinctively grabbed it to prevent it from falling on the floor. Immediately, the gathered men quieted and shifted for a better view.

Cowles stared at the orb for a moment and then looked up questioningly to Rollins, who provided no help or indication of what he was expecting. Cowles looked back down at the orb, considering its deep, dark color, its glossy surface and its perfectly seamless shape. Cowles, of course, knew what it was–it was an unactivated Archen glow lamp–and he also knew what Rollins wanted him to do with it.

Cowles held it for a moment, staring into the barely perceptible black swirls that flowed through the dark gray stone. He knew everyone was watching him, and though their glares had made him nervous earlier, he now felt no sense of urgency. These men wanted him to perform, they wanted a show, and he felt no compulsion to accommodate them.

Thoughts and memories began to swirl through Cowles' mind as he considered the orb. He remembered the first time he was told how the Archen were special because they could breathe life into objects, and that men would always serve the Archen because they possessed no such abilities. Cowles attempted to recall when he first accepted that the hierarchy of the universe was one in which men created great and elaborate things, but it was the Archen who made them work. The Archen alone were the ones capable of using their superior intellect, their unfathomable focus, and their strength of spirit to activate and bring life to the powered items of the world. The lot of men was one of labor and toil, and would always be such, serving masters who by birthright held the secrets of power.

But now Cowles held an object, certainly made by some master human craftsman, who could create but not animate. The man or woman who created this dead orb, beautiful in its perfection but tragic in its silence, certainly never considered that their creation would change the world. But that was exactly what Rollins wanted and what these people in this room were waiting for Cowles to do.

But Cowles was never one to do the things that others wanted, precisely because they wanted it. Cowles was rebellious, even when compared to others his own age, and he certainly did not like the feel of being bullied here. He glanced up at the men around the room who were starting to scowl and shuffle their feet, but inexplicably they were still waiting, which made Cowles realize what a big deal this must truly be. Cowles then glanced at Rollins and wanted to ask why he was doing this, but Rollins sat expressionless and patient, and Cowles knew he was simply giving him all of the time he needed.

But it did not take Cowles long to decide. He knew why Rollins wanted him to do this, though he did not understand how this would help, or exactly what purpose this would serve. Rollins was a man like Cowles, he did not like feeling controlled or bullied. This fact Cowles had learned over numerous dinners and numerous pints of ale, and was the main reason the two bonded so well. And Cowles also knew that, to Rollins, oppression and control were epitomized by the Archen. And suddenly, that seemed good enough for Cowles. If his friend wanted him to do this simple trick to show everyone that the Archen were not as special as everyone had thought, then so be it. Cowles decided he would help his friend, give a little show, and then go home. So he did it.

Without even sitting up straight, Cowles casually placed both hands over the orb, closed his eyes, and focused his mind on the dormant energy trapped within the rock. Immediately, light erupted from the stone, streaming through his fingers. Cowles calmly set the orb on the table and sat back in his chair, considering the fact that he had just done what everyone believed to be impossible. He had never actually activated Archen items before and was a bit amazed that it had actually worked, though he hid his surprise behind blasé coolness. With a satisfied smirk, he looked around the room to soak in the awe of his audience. But his mood quickly turned dark when he saw the faces of the stunned men. Where Cowles had expected to see simple amazement at the simple trick, just as he regularly received during his shows, he instead saw shocked fear and even horror. Granted, he had never demonstrated control of archenology before, but he had certainly done illusions far more impressive than this, and never had he seen such a reaction.

Worried that he had done something wrong, Cowles looked to Rollins who sat coolly, paying no attention to the growing murmurs and groans around the room. After a moment, he simply gave Cowles a nearly imperceptible nod and then abruptly stood up. Grabbing the glowing orb and holding it above his head like a trophy, he turned toward the others.

With a clear and deliberate voice, Rollins began slowly, Which of you does not fully understand what this means? He stared piercingly at each man, one at a time as he spoke. Which of you here does not know that the world has just changed? No one answered, but many looked lost or doubtful. To those faces he spoke. You have just witnessed an end to the bonds that have held all men in place. You have just witnessed an unequivocal expression of man's freedom and ability. The days when men needed to be held in check by Archen masters have past. The days when Archen masters were capable of holding men in check have past. Today, the world has changed.

You can't be serious, came a trembling voice. You can't be saying that we should or even could stand against the Archen, simply because one boy can turn on a lamp. Illio looked around the room, searching for others to join him in his incredulity. He found no allies, but he did see enough fear among the others to encourage him to continue. You speak like we are to start a revolution, he accused, pointing a shaking, nervous finger at Rollins, who still had not reacted to Illio's words. "Who exactly is it that you expect to throw their lives away, fighting the Archen and their hordes of soulless warriors?" The room