The Rahz Ascendancy - A Novel

Chapter Three: First Toll, First Time (Part 2/2)

Normally Dimas would stay to watch each of his workers eat their soup, but the worker arriving late had delayed things. In addition, he needed to meet with the other directors before accepting his reward from the Rahz. I’m having a good first season, he reminded himself. 

Dimas followed the stone passage behind the Workers’ Quarters. Not far along the path, which was dimly lit by tube-lights, he stopped at an outline of a stone door, rapped four times on its surface. It opened, operated by a doorman inside. 

Standing tall, Dimas entered the Directors’ Quarters. The other directors already sat around a circular obsidian table, where one was sharing an update. Not long before, they were chewing on meat, slurping from bowls, and cackling at each other’s jokes. But it was only a short break before continuing business. So you’ve started without me, thought Dimas. 

Dimas took his seat on an obsidian block. Director Hwed was speaking. His slight wrinkles formed various shapes as he discussed the progress of his turma crop. “We proceed on schedule. Despite a few replacements to light-tube energy cells two rounds ago and a slower drip frequency from the Water Cavern, we have maintained expected plant growth. I anticipate a strong yield in expectation with the Rahz quota.”

The circle of directors nodded. Director Hwed turned a wrinkled brow to Dimas and gestured for him to speak.

Dimas delayed his update. “Was it difficult to replace the energy cells?” 

Hwed’s brow remained wrinkled. “The Rahz know the cells do not last forever.”

“But they should last a consistent and extended period,” said Dimas, “at least half a cycle for the ones powering the lights.”

“They should,” said Hwed. “But apparently there are exceptions. In my next meeting with the Rahz, perhaps you’d like me to ask more about this?”

“That’s alright,” said Dimas, submitting. “I understand the Rahz work hard in the Spire to create them. Without them, the lights don’t work. Without the lights, the flax and turma can’t grow.” 

“It’s a real mystery, those energy cells,” said the director on Hwed’s left. Director Keen of the Shaping Room, where obsidian was knapped, sat shorter than Hwed. Keen’s face featured a sharp, pronounced nose that led the charge in any verbal interrogations he launched.

“As Dimas just described, that is hardly the case,” said Hwed, raising his folded, yet strong chin. Dimas had quickly noticed Keen’s rebelliousness. Perhaps Keen thinks he should be the Head Director instead of Hwed? Dimas decided he would stay friendly to Keen in case he held valuable information about Hwed. But why is Keen critical of the Rahz?

“Indeed,” said Keen. “It must be hard work generating the energy from the life force within them.”

Hwed ended the banter. “It requires half of the Rahz Circle’s attention at any moment, to ensure they capture enough power. This effort is on top of their search for the Truth. You all know how tasking this must be. And for this reason we as directors must manage the city.”

Keen’s nose turned down toward the obsidian table.

Dimas was thankful to shed the negative attention, which had shifted to Keen. Director Keen does raise a mystery, though, thought Dimas. Perhaps he could ask him more later. 

Hwed turned his aging eyes on Dimas. “Please, Dimas, give us your update.” 

“Thank you, Director Hwed. And first, please pardon my tardiness,” said Dimas. The Abyss! Why do I insist on reminding them I was late?, he thought. 

“Not at all,” said Hwed. “You are learning the way.”

Start talking before they ask me why, thought Dimas, simultaneously trying to calm his knee which had begun bouncing under the table. With no railing to grip, his hands pressed flat against the obsidian. “Since taking over from Director Leber, I have quickly brought the turma crop back in line with harvest expectations.”

“Well done. And your meeting with the Rahz today?” said Hwed.

“The Rahz was pleased,” said Dimas neutrally.

“How pleased?” said Keen, chiming in again. 

“Director Keen, he was pleased…enough.”

“Good man,” Keen said, perhaps living vicariously through Dimas now.

“Back to business,” interrupted Hwed. “May I ask what you believe has led to the crop rebounding?”

“The turma crop is mysterious,” said Dimas. “As you well know, Director Hwed. “It seems to have taken to its new caretaker.” Obviously I cannot tell my turma competitor my secrets. 

“You sound like the Rahz, speaking in riddles,” said Hwed. “You may speak plainly with us. It is well known you have a background in chemicals—your reputation led you to the Directorship promotion after all. Perhaps your methods may help the group.”

You mean help you, thought Dimas. Director Hwed managed Growing Room Two, which housed the only other turma spice crop. Sure, his methods might help improve the flax crop in Growing Room Three and Growing Room Four, but the Rahz cared much more about the turma than the flax. Flax seeds and leaves were important for food, but they had several cycle’s worth of back stock if a crop failed. 

“I will keep my workers diligent,” said Dimas. “Perhaps they will notice something driving the improvement. Unfortunately, I hesitate to say that the improvement may be more about my predecessor’s failures than my innovation.” Why must I mention innovation?, thought Dimas. Why plant seeds in their minds?—I can’t help myself. 

“Very well,” said Hwed. “You may keep your secrets to yourself for now. Does anyone else have important updates?” 

Director Seyam, a wavy-haired man, described his progress on improving the efficiency of the processed turma root within worker soup and the possibility of creating a flax-seed alternative. The update was met without interruption aside from a scoff from Keen about the futility of such an effort. He thinks, thought Dimas, that the turma has unique properties not reproducible by flax. I believe he is right.

Director Trib closed with a brief update on upcoming plans for birthmother and male breeding selections. It was nearly time for the new batch to seed then be retired into the Abyss. While the Rahz protect us, thought Dimas, the descensions are important to ward off the evils of the Abyss.

 Satisfied, Director Hwed nodded slowly to each of them. “Now,” he said, pulling a cloth bag from below his chair and sliding its contents onto the table’s surface. “Here is the round’s allocation.” 

My first turma allocation, thought Dimas. It doesn’t seem like much considering how much we grow. Each director received three large obsidian vials. A long time coming… Fortunately, Director Keen had been generous enough to share some of his with Dimas. With it, Dimas dreamed vividly. In a life of routine, dreams brought newness.

“May your dreams be favorable,” said Hwed. Then, he dismissed them with a two-palmed gesture. 

As they stood from the table, Director Keen caught Dimas by the elbow, leaning in, nearly stabbing Dimas with his nose. “Hey my boy, are you ready?” 

No reason to evade this discussion, thought Dimas. His nose is almost touching mine anyway.

“I believe I am,” said Dimas. They paced toward Dimas’s private chamber as the others spread back to their own rooms which outlined the Directors’ Quarters.

“Take this, just in case,” said Keen, sleeping an obsidian capsule into Dimas’s front cloak pocket. “A gift from Director Seyam. He’s quite good with chemicals, too, you know.”

“Thank you,” said Dimas as they arrived outside his chamber door.

“Oh, one more thing,” said Keen. “You’ll know what to do.” The older director patted the young director on the back.