The Price of Independence - Day 20

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It turned out Kaylene wasn’t so very far away, and Dem’s raised voice had carried quiet well. “Y’know he’s going to use you to get t’what he wants here.”

“Dem? I’ve known him for years, he wouldn’t do that.” Altman shook his head dismissively.

“Just how sure are you of that? Money and power can do strange things to people. My family didn’t always live out in the middle of nowhere. I’ve seen the things wealth’ll do to a person.”

“But Deman? He could never turn on me like that.”

“You said yourself, you’ve known him for years. I don’ mean to step in between the two of you. I just don’t trust him. Gives me a bit of a creepy kind of feelin’. No offense intended.”

Altman frowned, but nodded. “You don’t know him like I do, so I can’t expect you to understand. He’ll come around.”

She nodded, but her face spoke volumes. He wasn’t sure why he felt such a need to convince her. It’s the eyes, he thought. There was something in her gaze that saw right through you. Maybe she’s seem right through Deman too.

And maybe that’s what I’m really afraid of, he didn’t quite admit to himself.

The Price of Independence - Rough - Day 19

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“What do you mean you’re not sure! Do you have any idea how much money the Conclave will give you for this information? Are you insane?” Altman cringed back from the incredulous venom in Deman’s voice.

Deman had cornered him as soon as the two of them were alone, admitting his eavesdropping easily and without a trace of embarrassment and ready with a generous offer of help. “Haven’t you ever wondered if the Conclave’s policies are really for the best?”

“Don’t tell me you’re buying into that line of thinking. The Conclave is the natural choice to handle this. They know how to handle it safely.” His tone was dismissive, perfunctory.

“So do I. It’s not like it’d be in untrained hands.”

“Hands trained by the Conclave, of course! What, are you going to live here the rest of your life too, toiling in obscurity? If you want to accomplish something real, you need people, resources, money! Where do you think you’re going to get that?”

That was the part that stumped Altman. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to turn the deposit over to the Conclave, but if he didn’t … the young lord.

Wheels started turning in his mind. Kaylene had told them a story of a young lord who had failed to settle the area. If he had succeeded …

“Dem, this has been a lot to take in, and shouting at me isn’t clearing my mind any faster. You’re absolutely right about resources, people, money. Let me think it over some.” He pinched the bridge of his nose; the shouting was in fact bringing on a headache the likes of which he couldn’t remember ever having suffered before. He needed to talk to Kaylene, and soon.

The Price of Independence - Rough - Day 18

The ground was scarred, plant life stunted and dead where the ground lay undisturbed, but a large portion of the depression had been excavated, leaving only bare earth and a rock face that stretched meters back toward the hills. Altman’s eye followed the line of dead and dying plant life but found he couldn’t find the end; the visible sign of the electrite lying not so far under the ground followed ran right back along the exposed ridge and beyond, ending somewhere in the hills ahead. He felt his eyes grow wide, his breathing quicken.

“All of this … it’s all electrite?” The deposit was enormous, containing far more than he’d ever heard of in one location, and there was no telling how much lay hidden deeper under ground where the damage couldn’t be seen.

The excavation showed the site was being worked, as did areas where the rock had obviously been broken relatively recently. “You’ve done all this yourself?”

“Yes, and I’ve barely scratched the surface, if you’ll pardon my choice of words.

Altman looked at the exposed earth and broken stone, then at the frail, elderly body of his uncle. “And you’ve had nobody to help you in all this time?”

“I wasn’t always this weak, Altman. I’ve gotten worse the last few months, and I fear this winter will be the end of me. That’s why I sent for you. I needed you to know of this, and of my work. I won’t be here much longer to work on it, this you know. And you must decide whether to continue that work here, or inform the Conclave of this and continue the work under them. Soon enough all of this,” he waved his hand at the woods, the scarred earth, the electrite that showed the faintest of blue glows where the shadows gathered deep enough, “will be of no concern to me at all.”

Altman’s mouth twisted in thought as he stared into the serious, nearly sightless eyes of his uncle.

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Deman shifted uncomfortably where he knelt in the dirt inside one of the ramshackle buildings that obscured the electrite deposit from sight. The old man was slow, and hard to hear; it was frustrating beyond belief. Altman was little easier; the poor lad had never had the strongest of voices, but he was just close enough that he could make out what they were saying.

Electrite! Deman had never studied the geosciences as Altman had, but he was well familiar with the rare mineral. It was a subject of great interest to the administrators of the Conclave for its incredible value. Careers had been made over deposits a fraction the size of this monster, and he almost lost track of the conversation he was trying so eagerly to hear as his mind went over calculation after calculation.

Once the old man knocks off this mortal plane, Altman will be rich! And with me to guide him, help him through the process, the bureaucratic nightmare that awaits him when others recognize the value of what he’s reporting, I will be rich too. Maybe even more rich.

Deman’s mouth widened in a predatory grin he wasn’t consciously aware of as the vision spread itself before his mind’s eye.

The Price of Independence - Rough - Day 17

Altman considered Tremaine’s words carefully. It was true; his uncle had, on multiple occasions, stressed that complying with his own beliefs was not a prerequisite for assuming the mantle of Tremaine’s work. But Tremaine’s arguments had wormed their way into his mind with a disturbing speed and efficiency, and once there, had planted the seeds of doubt. Who were the Conclave to dictate the pace of innovation in the world? Who were they to proscribe knowledge from those who would know?

They were powerful, and they were dominant, that’s who they were. But Altman could think of no reason that that should entitle them to such power. They were a group of people who had gained their power hundreds of years before in this land and had spread rapidly to other lands besides, and by keeping knowledge and education itself locked away, ensured that nobody questioned why it should be so. Altman couldn’t think of it without something uneasy stirring within him, a sick feeling as though the bottom of the world had opened up and left him over a great abyss. How could he never have seen it before?

That much was easy enough to deduce, he concluded. He’d never bothered thinking about things such as politics or social policies before. He’d been too concerned with absorbing as much information as he could to worry about who else was or was not absorbing it along with him, nor who could or could not do so.

His reverie was interrupted by Tremaine’s sudden “Here we are.” His voice was a little breathless; the walk had been short, but had taken a lot out of him.

They were in the forest a ways from the house, with several small wooden buildings clustered in front of them. They were slightly ramshackle, as if they’d been standing for several years without proper care or even frequent use; the forest had been hard at work reclaiming the ground upon which they were built, and roots were starting to grow under the wall boards while vines snaked up several of the walls. Water and temperature had worked their insidious magic to warp and twist the wood, leaving the smallest of openings here and there for the forest’s footholds.

All looked normal enough, save for the space beyond the buildings. Archerd would have missed it had he not been forewarned by Tremaine’s description of the effects of electrite the night before; just visible beyond the screen was the start of a dead zone, the vegetation having sickened and lost some color. As they moved past the buildings the damage became clear; a depression lay beyond, and within that depression, nothing lived. “And here it is, nephew. The mother lode of electrite if ever there was one.”

The Price of Independence - Rough - Day 15

Today I break a record for lamest update ever. The words were just NOT flowing today, not at any kind of decent speed anyway.

Altman stared deeply into the depths of his cereal, saying nothing. Deman rolled his eyes apologetically at Kaylene. “He gets this way sometimes. Don’t mind him.”

She nodded. “I did sort of get that impression.” She kept her eyes on Altman, though.

The Price of Independence - Rough - Day 14

Altman found himself nodding. “I have to admit I’d never thought of it in that light, uncle, never gave much thought to what the Conclave’s discoveries might be capable of doing out in the world.”

“Few do, and that’s the problem. Most lack the imagination, though even the imagination would do precious little good without knowledge of what the Conclave holds back. But enough of that, I didn’t call you here to argue Conclave politics. I’ve shown you the electrite, but that’s only half of it.”

Altman’s brows rose; Tremaine slowly got to his feet once more, selecting a book with a well-worn leather cover from a shelf of similar tomes. It was a small book, and thin, but he carried it as though the secrets of the ages were contained therein.

“This,” he said, laying the book down next to the box on the table, “contains all I’ve been able to record of my knowledge of electrite and its properties and effects.” Altman’s eyes widened. “I brought you here, nephew, in the hopes that you would continue my work.”

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The next morning was filled with a quiet awkwardness for Altman as he found his mind brimming with thoughts about the electrite and the secrets at his fingertips, uncertainty about what to reveal to his friends, and hovering over it all, sadness at the prospect of losing this incredible uncle he’d just discovered. It was a lot to take in over hot cereal, eggs and fruit.

“Alt, you’ve barely touched your food! You’re going to make your poor uncle think you don’t appreciate his culinary efforts, you ungrateful lout,” Deman observed, stuffing his own face with egg and toast. Kaylene ate impassively.

“Hmmm?” Altman offered, finally eating some of the cereal he’d done little more than stir till then.

“If you’re not going to eat, at least let us in on the big mystery. What was it that brought us all the way out here?”