Author's Note: This is only the beginning of this story; there will be more later. It is a short story, not a novel, and will likely be about three more installments of this length. It is a first draft, so constructive criticism, especially about general tone, voice, and pacing, is much appreciated. Rated mature for themes (esp. later).

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The Machine

Exercroa, the last standing realm of humanity, stood on the brink of destruction. A sinister paroxysm – the Fjorik – already held their society at the throat. The only vestige of hope left in Exercroa – the doctors – searched desperately for a cure. The epic battle though seemed lost. Five thousand years after the Treason of Karled, humanity faced death. Tribes of grotesque creatures, hordes of slithering critters, and goliaths of beautiful deception sought to take over the small world. The Fjorik held no power over them; the Fjorik only controlled humans. This factor alone would send Exercoa into an irreversible bouleversement.

The Fjorik do not kill their hosts; they control them. This posed infinitely more problems than simple death. Killing diseases proved easier to control; the host dies and is buried. Unfortunately, it is much harder to bury a living man. The trick to the Fjorik’s devastating influence lay in their ability to hide. Though known as living creatures, doctors could not see the Fjorik, not even under the recently discovered microscope. Optical technology, in the last decade, shot forward, with the sudden inventions of myriads of visibility enhancers. Even the mages, normally focused on creation, turned their focus to the divination of the Fjorik, yet they evaded being seen. Thus the Fjorik remained undetected; they could not be seen; they could not be discerned.

The change of this – the discovery of a means whereby the Fjorik could be seen – would inevitably cause the downfall, and apotheosis, of humanity.

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Manali left the brothel, pockets empty. His meager change hardly slaked his lust. It was a shame the doctors’ plenipotentiary only covered manners concerning the eradication of the Fjorik. Were it not so, Menali would have been fully pleased with his experience. Now though, he left, unsatisfied, and eager for more. His earlier visit to the Mage Guild, before his visit to the brothel, rejuvenated him, perhaps more than necessary, and he found he contained far too much energy. His visit to the brothel amended that distraction at least…he’d had enough money for a pleasurable experience, if not the finest. Now though he needed to return to the lab, and there he would need to continue to discover the cure. As though that could happen. Exercroa, Manali knew, was doomed. That was why he spent all his money on brothels, his only pleasure. He couldn’t even really sleep anymore, nor learn more of physiognomy, his passion. He only had 30 minutes of free time a day; the remaining eighteen-and-a-half hours were solid work. He no longer slept – why bother when mages would restore his energy? Yet sometimes…he longed for just an hour or two of uninterrupted release.

The mages had it somewhat better. Their powers relied on their sleep; a mage with more sleep could work more powerfully. They slept for seven hours a day, and had a couple hours of free time. But why regret that which cannot be changed?

Manali arrived at the hospital. Nothing had changed. Nothing would change. It was still empty as a tomb, with the air of a mausoleum. He strode down the dimly lit white hallway and down into his lab.

“Manali!” a ceaselessly cheerful voice, somehow made more cheerful by the dark times, greeted him, “You are just in time!”

“In time for what, Alter?” Manali replied. He never really worked well with this man…he wondered vaguely when they would switch him. The inspectors (more numerous day by day, as an attempt to throw off the Fjorik’s meddling) would doubtless soon switch him to a different group. The only person in this group that he liked, Miki, he liked solely for aesthetic value: especially the innocence of her face and the rubicund color she blushed. Doubtless, she was a maiden.

“We may be able to finally see the Fjorik,” Miki whispered excitedly, her full lips moving in the way only hers could, a way that could send sensations tingling through his spine, like those he’d felt before…but what did she mean that they might be able to see the Fjorik?

“What do you mean?”

“It works! The machine, it works! It’s amazing, take a look,” Miki passed him a glabrous film, which he glanced at, expecting to see nothing conclusive. Instead, he saw a blazing white outline of Miki’s bone structure. There was an odd little bone in her arm, sticking out like a steeple. Yet the last method of detection hadn’t proved useful at all; the microscope showed incredibly tiny things, but not the Fjorik. Perhaps this would prove the solution, but perhaps not. Perhaps the creatures were unbreakably invisible.

“We need more test subjects,” Manali stated without emotion. “I’ll volunteer myself.” He wondered if one possessed him; he would never know if it did. And if he was, it seemed to be giving him a good time, at least, in part. Perhaps if one did indeed possess him, he would’ve quit already.

“Good, we were counting on it,” Alter said, his excitement now understandable, “I’ve already been through the process, and we found nothing, but we’re still hopeful.”

Manali eased himself onto the table and lay down, looking up at Miki’s face. In truth, he had never really paid to much attention to their work in the three weeks he had been assigned to them; he paid much attention to Miki though, and therefore, must have picked something up about how the machine worked. Miki switched the machine on with a mechanical whir. The sound in the room was phenomenal as it gathered energy. Surely the mages would be feeling this tomorrow, when they had to restore this massive power drain. After about a minute, during which Manali remained motionless (except for his eyes, which watched Miki, though glanced occasionally at Alter), the machine turned off. Miki reached up (Manali liked the way she reached) and pulled a film out of the machine. The three of them examined his bone structure. It looked quite normal.

“Well,” Manali stated, “if any of us are possessed, than all of us are. Let’s get some of the inspectors as test subjects…I have odd feelings about some of them.” Miki let out a nervous giggle, Alter a jovial, full belly laugh. Manali smiled for the first time in the last 20 hours.

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There was no solution in Creations of Infestation. Amala searched the book, but found nothing. She searched hundreds of books, but found nothing. Ten years she searched, but not once did she find anything remotely useful. Much of her free time – time meant for pleasure – found itself devoted to the search. What good would it be to spend time on anything else? Besides, Amala had no husband, no lover, no indulging pastime: only her books. She was sharp, knew her duty, and a mage. She understood her primary purpose to humanity, but could not constrain herself to just that. She needed to expend all of her resources to help: it was her duty.

“Amala,” the librarian said for perhaps the thousandth time, “you ought to enjoy yourself more.”

Amala retorted with her typical response, “I enjoy this. Now, quiet.” Perhaps she should get out occasionally…she was still young and unmarried. Some of the other mages had even approached her once in a while, but she rarely let herself be available. Somewhere, she knew, the secret lay hidden. There would be a way to unlock it.

“Really Amala, it’s gorgeous outside,” the librarian insisted.

“Fine.” Amala replied, realizing that she truly did need some fresh air…her nose hadn’t felt proper in a month. “But I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

“Shall I go with you?” the librarian asked.

“No, no,” Amala replied, “I’m sure I shall find the way back myself.” Amala really liked the librarian, she was a truly nice person. Sometimes though, in the last couple years more so than usual, she seemed to be trying to get Amala out to stall her from work.

“I must insist,” the librarian insisted, “I need the walk as much as you do.”

“Very well,” Amala gave in, “But we shan’t be gone more than five minutes.” The two left the mage library and set off down the street. It was a deserted street: most people believed they could avoid the Fjorik by avoiding others; therefore, even on this, the Festival of Harvest, when all of Exercroa gathered together in the capital, the streets were deserted. But isolation hardly seemed to work. Very little stalled the Fjorik. Distance served to stall them, to a certain extent. But, inevitably, they convinced their hosts to carry them elsewhere. If, the theory was, they could be seen, those with the plague could be isolated. Through that method, the Fjorik would be eliminated.

“You should take more breaks like this, it’d be good for you,” the librarian stated.

“Perhaps,” Amala stated, “though finding the Cure would be a rest for all of us. It is my duty to try my hardest. I work nowhere near as hard as the doctors and scientists.” Amala gestured to the hospital, which three of those mentioned were rushing out of. “They work nearly all day.”

“They work too much,” the librarian submitted, “but you, as a mage, need your sleep to be able to help them work so long.”

“Yet they do their duty well,” Amala insisted, “And I must try my hardest as well.”

“Ten minutes will do you no harm,” the librarian continued.

One of the doctors approached the two of them and spoke, “Come with me.” He spoke with a brief air that invited no questions.

“We are coming,” Amala replied. What would a doctor need of her?

“You are needed for a test,” he replied simply, “we may have found the Cure. We may have found a way to see the Fjorik. We need only a few more test subjects and we will know.”

“Of course,” Amala replied, “we’ll help in any way we can.”

“Good, come with me,” the man said, beginning to walk to the hospital. Amala and the librarian followed him. Honor, deference to law, required Amala to follow the man, and as a result, she did it with pride. She would be honored to help, especially on this break. The man hardly bothered to ask anything of her as he hurried into the hospital – for no man truly walked anymore, every step had a purpose to it, even ‘leisurely’ walks. As they descended into the laboratories he asked them for their names. With succinctness, Amala provided them. She didn’t bother to ask his name. He simply stated it in response. One word, “Manali.”

Soon they entered into a room. Manali provided brief instructions, which the two followed – first Amala, then the librarian. Manali ran the machine on both of them, taking a look at the film. One film showed a pure white skeleton. The other showed a black skeleton: the librarian’s frame. Manali found his first Fjorik.

“Come with me,” he stated. They followed. On a different floor, Manali ushered the librarian into one room, leading Amala into another. He began to speak, first mentioning the librarian in passing, but then proceeding to more direct questions, asked in a brief and shortened manner, “Any change in personality recently?” Amala mentioned the librarian’s attempts to distract her from her work. “Any visits to other places?” Amala noted the librarian’s visit to a family funeral a year previously. She’d never connected those two before, but now, placed together, it seemed doubtless. Her friend must have been infected by the Fjorik. “That is all. Keep this with you, always.” He handed her a key and the exchange was done. They left the room.

Manali locked the door to the room containing the librarian.

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