A Million Sunsets
an excerpt

Nephan slammed the door open and stalked out into the hallway. His green eyes flashed, and lower ranking Historians scattered out of his way. "Nephan, Adept of the Second Rank, your presence is required in the Council Room immediately." The voice echoed inside his head; for the fiftieth time, he wondered why they insisted on projecting announcements so loudy that they set his teeth on edge.

He paused for a moment to collect himself. The Council chamber was at the end of the hall, through large metal double doors. The metal on the doors was carefully constructed to look like a crude metal that earlier Ersadans had favored, but he knew that it was all modern matieral. The doors were unbreakable, and could collect and store the consciousness of anyone who tried to attack them. The circuitry that ran through the metal was hooked into the machine that ran the guild hall, and kept a record of everything that happened in the hall. As he approached, the doors swung open, and he walked forward into darkness.

As he reached the center of the room, the blackness faded away into a harsh grey light. The council was seated at the far end of the hall: their crimson robes glowed slightly due to the light-sensitive threads woven into the fabric. Each wore a single large ring on his forefinger: the rings were gold with a ruby inset. Only a few more projections, Nephan thought, and he would finally be eligible to be elected to the council. But merely having enough records to fill the ruby wans't enough, he remmebered bitterly, there must be something unique about his records, a family lineage recorded for a hundred generations, or a record of some previously unrecorded significant event. His own work was solid, even bvrilliant, but it still lacked a prize, a focus that other Historians could point to as an example of the best of their work. This trip should have been that defining moment: no-one had ever recorded the fall of Suktis, and it had taken him hundreds of years to find someone present at the event whom he could inhabit. Serna had been perfect: born of good stock, was near death, and as his consciousness dissipated into the air of the cold sea, Nephan had been able to step inside, repair the damage done, and keep the body alive until the boat landed. Forty five years he had worked, making sure that Serna became an acolyte, gained the respect of the priests, and was present when the disaster occured. He had even chosne the perfect mind to bring back: the girl was young, she was perfectly suited to her time and place, and had been a central part of all the happenings. If only she hadn't died so quickly!

"Adept Nephan, this is the second time you have returned with nothing. If your time away cannot be spent more productively, you will be assigned to the Recorders to assist in cataloguing and research."

Nephan bowed, robes sweeping the floor. "If such a thing were to happen it would be a great wate of a valuable resource. It is true, I was unable to bring a consciouosness back with me for the Recorders, but I have discovered a soul of great value. She was not only a witness to the fall of Suktis, but an integral part of the magics that destroyed the island. All of those energies were channeled through her. Try to imagine what could be learned from a careful analysis of her experiences as those powers went through her. “
One of the council members rubbed the gem of his ring pensively, sending flickers of up from his hands. “If you were in the presence of such a one,. Why did you not bring her back with you?”
Nephan cleared his throat, and continued. “If you will remember, I did mention that the energies that destroyed Suktis were channeled through her. By the time I could get to her, there was not much left. I almost had her, another two minutes would have sufficed, but she slipped away too soon. However, I plan to consult the Tracers and find out where her consciousness next emerged, and take her there.”
The conciliars looked at each other for a few moments, conferring; the leader of the council rose, and signaled the machine to record the pronouncement. “Let it be recorded that the Council of the Guild of Historians, in this year of Ersada 207,368, has approved the proposal of Nephan, Adept of the Second Order. Nephan shall search out the soul of the Conduit of Suktis, and bring her here to be recorded. Success in this enterprise will garuntee him a spot among our number—“ Nephan’s eyes flashed with ambition, blood rising to his cheeks. One of the council members glanced at him, instructing him to keep his peace, and the head of the council continued. “And failure to accomplish this endeavor will result in his being removed from our presence, and assigned to work with the Recorders.” He gestured to Nehpan derogatoritively. “I wish you success, Adept. You will need it.”
The pronouncement was recorded faithfully by the machine in the Council Room, and stored in the memory of the telepath who was hooked into the system. His brain, used to such transfers from a hundred years of employment, sent a copy of the record to another brain in another machine, in a relay station in the network. From there, the memory raced through walls, circuits, and wires, until it reached the spire of the Guild of Transmitters. In the top of the room stood a wall of five telepaths, dreaming deeply as the records and events of Windling streamed through their brains and out to their counterparts of the moon Lotha.
In the Great Machine, one of two hundred telepaths shivered upon receiving the transmission. She did not open her eyes or speak a word, but the girl who was wiping her face with a damp cloth noticed the small reaction. “What is it, Sol? Is the water too cold? I’m afraid I was delayed on the way over, and you know how quickly it cools.” The ginger-haired girl dipped the washcloth into a small cup at her feet, and wrung out the excess water. “Look, your hair has grown!” She smiled as she ran her fingers over the inch-long silky white hair that grew upon the telepath’s head. If it was this long, then she would have to shave it off soon, or the overseers would notice, but she couldn’t bear to do it today. She lifted the telepath’s hand gently, and ran the washcloth over her fingers, making sure that all the connections were secure and that the hand was clean and healthy. She didn’t see any chafing this time; they adjusters must have finally made those modifications she’d asked for.
The telepath shivered again, and Mada looked up, surprised. “What is it dear? Do they have you recording something interesting?” She knelt to wash the telepath’s legs and feet. Making sure to clean under the toenails. She didn’t know how someone who never moved could get so much dust under her toenails, but it happened somehow. She finished her work, and made a mental note to bring the razor with her tomorrow.
“I have to go now, Sol, dear. You’ll be alright till then.” She smiled, lip trembling slightly at the sight of the white hair that would soon be gone again. “Pleasant dreams.” She knew that her childhood friend had not heard a word she said since she had been taken, plugged into the machine at the age of five, but she never could help babbling when she was around Sol. She squeezed her friend’s hand one last time, and moved to the next telepath. Dipping the cloth into the water again, she slowly began to wash his face.
Sol shuddered one last time, seeing the flash of green eyes in the recorded dream of the City.